I'm all of a sudden feeling acutely depressed, not so much from the STYCYD eliminations last night -- though that's probably hastening my spiral into black -- but because I realized this week is Comic-Con week. I've been going every year since 2003, and while that run of 6 years isn't impressive when compared to the hardcore veterans, the guys who've been going since it was still held in hotels, it still marks -- sadly -- my greatest commitment to anything this side of sticking through the last season of Alias. I didn't think that I would, but I'm feeling regret, remorse, guilt, yearning for not being there this year.

I'd already decided at last year's Con that 2008 would be my last year attending, since I'd (finally) grown out of comics, thus pruning away 75% of the reason for attending. I haven't abandoned the remainder of its appeal -- the general pop culture aspect that's been creeping into the center stage of the Con recently -- but the other reason why I decided to stop going was because the last two years, I'd been exhausted, either from illness or my poorly timed plan to watch the last two seasons of Doctor Who in the days leading up to the Con while still going to work everyday.

Funny thing is, this week I've been just as exhausted from work as I would've been had I gone to San Diego.

Indie rating: The Raveonettes - "Blood Red Leis"