Oh, Lordy, it’s Close to GameDay . . . and we’re playing Georgia. I enjoy/dread this rivalry game more than Alabama. My stomach is in knots just thinking about it.
Speaking of knotted stomachs, guess who else is having the same problem: Georgia’s quarterback. May the stomach virus live long and prosper — at least until Sunday.
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I’ve finally gotten around to uploading some new pictures at Crunchy Images. I seem to have amassed many black and white photos of Hermione. Sorry, Willis, there are no new pictures of yourself to fawn over this time. If you pose well and often this Saturday, I’ll have some more of you from the Georgia game.
God, I hope it’s a victory smile.
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I upped my Geek Cred this week by attending a Midnight Halo2 Release Mob outside of the mall this Monday evening/early Tuesday morn. Compared to some of the other blokes there, I feel quite normal now, thank you. Steven and Ken were the ones actually looking forward to the game anyway; I was there for the atmosphere. It was the best mob ever.
Only three other times have I been involved with some sort of mob over an entertainment item. The easiest to deal with was the release of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. After all, most of the people there were kids, and they were surprisingly polite, calm, and not given to shoving others around. Oh no, that is behavior only found in grown-ups these days.
Another mob experience of mine was the release of The Passion of the Christ — an experience I wholly regretted later. While waiting in the hall of the theatre to see the movie we all were squished together like balls in spandex. A woman who had the distinct air of thinking she was much more Christian than the rest of us was trying to squeeze herself to the front of the queue.
She bumped into Ken and me then mouthed off at us — oh, how I wish I remembered what she said. I was already irritated by the close quarters and mouthed off something back — oh, how I wish I remembered what I said. She shut up, though.
And now for the worst mob experience ever, I give you . . . a free showing of Hannibal in a college town. In hindsight, the movie was certainly not worth the fuss, but I had tremendously enjoyed the book and was eager for the big-screen version.
The deal was being put up by an activity-producing college group known as the UPC. As long as we had our student I.D.s we would be let in to see this new movie before it was generally available in theatres. “Well, hot damn,” I thought along with every other college student in town, “you can’t get any better than a free movie that’s actually good.”
At first, we all were organized, civilized, young adults, sitting in a long line that wrapped around the side of the theatre with two hours to go. As time got closer, however, rumors started to travel down the line. “I heard you needed a wristband to get in, you were supposed to pick it up at Foy.” “Someone said they’d only let in the first 200, do you think there’s that many people in front of us?” With a little under an hour to go, we noticed the front of the queue sprinting towards the entrance.
Civilization be damned; we all began running fast towards the door. To this day I still don’t know how me and my group of friends ended up against the large windows at the front — pretty good for being around the side of the building thirty seconds beforehand. They were not actually letting us in yet; some idiots had just bolted toward the entrance. From my window view I could see inside where the members of UPC were aghast, staring at the crowd outside. They had not expected this.
I became scared when I saw one of the kids crowdsurfing behind me. People were pushing and shoving around, trying to either lift him up or get away in case he fell. I felt a great surge of pressure as the crowd backed into us, pushing us hard against the glass. A mental image of us crashing through the glass ran across my mind. Now there were horrified looks on the UPC people. Thankfully, Paul braced himself against the glass and shoved the crowd away with his back. We were in a little bubble amidst the crowd.
The UPC people finally seemed to get it together enough to begin to let some of us inside. They did it very slowly, a person at a time. Somehow, once again, me and my group managed to wriggle away from the glass, towards the entrance, and get inside. I believe we were one of the last people to be let in. Eureka.
And all that pushing, shoving, shrieking, and cursing for a movie that didn’t live up to the perfect ending of the book.
So, back to Monday, that mob crowd was much more laid-back. The employees passed out sheets with numbers on them; we got 46. With numbers in hands, people could go off, do their own thing, and come back later. Ingenious! When we came back and gathered around the door, everyone else seemed much calmer due to the number system. Of course, a lot of the people could’ve been stoned, too. What can I say, it was that type of crowd.
When a line was finally beginning to form, people sorted themselves by number. Looking at the sea of hoodies behind us, we realized our 46 was a great victory. Once people were settled, many people jousted to prove their tech geekiness by pulling out their camera phones, stepping back, and snapping shots of the crowd.
And so we waited, jovially talking amongst ourselves, getting to know groups 45 and 47, and reading — I had brought a book. The only rumor that came through this mob was that #205 was Trey Smith, an Auburn football player. I bet he wish he had his jersey number instead — 22 would have you right near the front.
They let us into the mall at midnight, trekking toward the game store in a reasonably organized manner like kindegartners toward the playground. Within 45 minutes we had gone in, gotten the newest and greatest in games, and were heading home in Elliott.
Kudos to the gaming store for knowing how to control college kids better than a college student organization. They know how to make mobs survivable, if not somewhat fun.
Maybe someday I’ll be able to participate in a mob that involves torches, shovels, and pitchforks.