I was recently informed that I'm a class-A dork for being a fan of "The Prisoner," and having recently watched a few episodes, I kind of agree -- but the hell with it, it's fun. Add to that the hockey jerseys, plus the fact that I have a blog, and, well...
But I'm a lot less outward about it than I used to be. A post of Noah's brought back some memories of youthful convention-going -- sparsely-attended comic book cons in hotel conference rooms, where the guest of honor would be some guy who inked one issue of "Badger"... sparsely-attended record conventions where long-haired dudes would charge $20 for still-in-print SST vinyl. Both Colorado and Arizona were off the beaten path con-wise, so I never got to go to one of the big productions.
The all-time goofy champ? My friend Andy and I traipsed down to Denver to a Doctor Who con -- yeah, I was a big fan for a couple years -- where the guest of honor was Tom Baker's scarf. Nowhere near the giant production I'd imagined (I was thinking San Diego Comic Con), the gathering was in a warehouse down in one of the sketchier parts of Denver, back before urban renewal days, when the city was really heavy urban wasteland. It was about what you'd expect -- I hate to trade in stereotypes, but it was a bunch of fat graying ponytail people, lining up and walking reverently through a room, viewing the scarf in a box on a table. There was also some guy who had operated a camera for some episodes or something, just adding to the glamour.
Afterwards, we walked through the rubble of war-torn downtown Denver, and some old dude offered to box us before asking for money. We declined both.