Max-stravaganza

A week since the last post. I don't want anyone to think I've already quit the 'Ganza. No, this won't be an on again/off again Ross and Rachel/Sam and Diane/Chris Brown and Rhianna kind of relationship. No, I am still dedicated. But over the past seven days, I have still been going through geeky detox (Geek-tox?), recovering from Comic Con 2010. It's a life experience. It's like going to war or shopping at Best Buy on Black Friday. I check into my room. Heading to the convention, the guy who plays the priest on "V" was in the elevator with me. The doors open, and there's Stan Lee. Definitely set the mood for an epic weekend of epicness (note: as you can tell, the Scott Pilgrim cast ran wild in San Diego. And by "run wild," I mean that Michael Cera took his hands out of his pockets and was only slightly awkward as he hit up the local bars). I could do a day-by-day run down of events/photos, but you can go on Flickr or Faceboo

Getting rid of another one of my pre-30 bucket list, as tomorrow I'm finally going down to San Diego for Comic Con. (Sidebar: You have noticed that there are a few more things added to the list, many of which involving food and extreme sports. On the other end, my dream of holding the WWE heavyweight title has been put on the backburner, at least until later on in life. I saw a movie that revealed the true horrors and struggles of being a Wrestler. I'm speaking of course, about Ready to Rumble ). And although Comic Con seems like the perfect destination, you can't simply hop in your car and drive down the 405. It's something that men and women prepare their whole lives for. If you dive in head first , you could end up rocking back in forth in the fetal position as a horde of Stormtroopers circles you. Yes, I read comic books. Yes, I think that Han shot first. Yes, I work for a publisher. Yes, I can tell you the difference between Sin City-era Frank Miller an

It has been two years, six months, seven hours and fifteen days since my last post. I suppose I could go on a blow by blow, self-serving, "Story of our film so far"-style recap of what has happened since. Like those Christmas letters that your one aunt always sends, three pages, double sided, telling you everything that happened to your forgotten side of the family since January of the last year. But recap pages are for 1970s comic books and people with short term memory loss. So I'll spare you and simply dive back in off the top turnbuckle, probably ending up with brain damage. No, I wasn't off on vacation. No, I wasn't unfairly suspended for throwing at Aaron Rowand. The point is that two and a half years ago, I realized that by keeping up a blog, I was accomplishing nothing more than perpetuating my stereotype as a pretentious student. I had the look down. Checkerboard Van's. Check. Messenger bag. Check. Urban Outfitters t-shirt with an offbeat