(August 4, 2002)
We decide to check Comic-Con once more to see if there's anything else we need
to buy, and to see if Keef has gotten into trouble again.
We don't find anything we want to buy (whew!) and Keef isn't in any new trouble.
The Comic Book Legal Defense Fund has a booth here, though, and they chat with
Keef about the hassle over infamous "I'd rather be mastur------"
T-shirts (all of which Keef had sold by the end of yesterday).
(Because Comic-Con is on private property, the First Amendment doesn't apply.
But because there's a ton of posters showing nearly naked babes all over the
show, "inconsistent application of standards" does apply.)
This just in!
Hey, we made Keef's strip! Check out Salon.com
to see the strip he published barely days after the end of the convention.
Robert sez he can die happy, now. (Also, you can check out his other
strips while you're there.)
We also stop by to say good-bye to Michael, and he gives us a piece of original
(!) art (the Christmas strip from last year that Robert has lusted after). Now
we feel REALLY obligated and we'll have to proof his web site twice as strictly
("there's a smudgy letter on this page!").
1:16 pm (1,789 miles)
San Diego, CA
We bid a fond farewell to the World's Largest Comic Convention and San Diego
(home of the World's Largest Outdoor Organ).
As we mosey out of town at 80 mph, we reflect on the fact that geeks come in all
shapes, colors, and genders. There's white geeks, brown geeks, black
geeks--hell, when you put somebody in a Klingon costume they could be purple for
all you know!
2:01 pm (1,843 miles)
On the way back, we decide to take the inland route instead of the coastal route
(because we've seen plenty of ocean). The inland route is mostly brown and bare
scrubby hills, with temperatures hovering around 100 degrees.
Our government has decided that a clever way to catch Mexicans sneaking into the
country would be to put up a checkpoint on a freeway in the middle of the seared
landscape. Uniformed agents rigorously glance at each car before waving it
through (remember--we have a van that appears to be full of stuff; with their
level of checking, we could have smuggled in an entire Mariachi band).
In any event, now that we are certified Illegal-Immigrant-Free, we head towards
Riverside and the World's Largest Paper Cup.
World's Largest Paper Cup
3:05 pm (1,888 miles)
If you have the address for the cup (800 Iowa St), it's easy to find, especially
once you get close to it. It looks over the road, like--well, like the World's
Largest Paper Cup.
It's in a light-industrial part of town, which is pretty deserted on a Sunday.
Although there's a pull-through by the cup, the cup itself is behind an iron
fence with "No Trespassing" signs posted.
At one point, apparently, this used to be the Sweetheart Cup company, but now
there're signs all over advertising wholesale furniture and lamps.
The cup itself looks about 50 feet tall, and doesn't appear to be made out of
paper. It's a darn good facsimile of a paper cup, though it seems a little
18:00 (1,980 miles)
We finally pull to a stop at Lancaster, which is the town that serves Edwards
Air Force Base. Edwards AFB is where the Space Shuttle lands when it can't get a
parking space in Florida.
We hear several mysterious noises during the night, but we figure it's just
experimental government aircraft, not UFO's....