I hit New York Comic Con for the third year in a row, this time waiting until the day-of to snag an $80 day pass via Craigslist. The boy who sold it to me in Port Authority (the transaction had all the earmarks of a situation that should end with cops appearing and shouting “swarm! swarm! swarm!” into their walkie-talkies) was supernice, and sure enough, the thing worked fine—I tapped in with no problem.
I arrived a little before the first of four (why?) paid photo ops I'd signed up for. I'd spaced them out enough that I figured I'd have tons of time between them to shoot cute, straight/bicurious boys in revealing leotards (Comic Con being to guys as Halloween is to girl = the perfect opportunity to dress like sluts). I figured wrong! Though the lines are miraculously well managed, the photo ops kinda sucked the air out of the room. (I'll post sexy boys in leotards in another post next week!)
First up was William Shatner, 83. By all accounts a bad person, he was actually supernice. His line as enormous (ka-ching!), and we filed through the heavily shielded pro-photo tent so quickly it was the photographic equivalent of leaping from a moving van. After placing my $$$ camera in the able hands of a lesbian or lesbian-ready attendant—NO CAMERAS ALLOWED ANYWHERE NEAR THE STARS IN THIS AREA, FOLKS!—I stepped up to Shatner and told him quickly I was there for Twilight Zone, that he'd been in one of the best episodes ever. He thanked me graciously, a photo was snapped as soon as I looked up and then they were encouraging me to go-right-now. I'd wanted to ask him about being in SNL skits with the recently departed Jan Hooks, but NO EXTENDED CONVERSATIONS IN THE PHOTO AREA, FOLKS.
Shatner got my attention as I dazedly left, making sure to thank me for coming. I will just have to take all of his co-stars at their word when they say he is an ogre.