Xizor . . . Who Knew . . .

So the slurpiness on Saturday.

Everything took longer than expected. The allergy shot line was long. Had to drive to my brother's house. My brother's friend showed up way late. We got lost . . . in Taylor.

So it's at this commercial building, which looks like all the other commercial building that you see in "commercial parks". There aren't that many cars, but there are lots of out-of-state license plates. We walk to the back of the building and there are three men smoking and two porta-potties. Hmmm.

I walk in the door. "Are you registered?" I am asked immediatly. After the disappointed look at my response, I am given a form to fill out, asking me more information than I feel comfortable giving. And they cannot make change. After all the money is straightened out and the forms filled, I think we are free to wander. "Don't forget your badges!" I make badges for the boys. My handwriting is neater.

To the left of the entry is a geek garage sale. 40 thousand different flavors of Star Wars figures. Other figures . . . Spawn is one that I remember. All the Star Wars gear that my mom has in her basement (though no Dagoba system). All of the Paladium books. They did something with Ninja Turtles. Interesting.

Then there are the shirts. P really wanted to buy one and I wouldn't let him. Asked him if he needed another shirt that he was forbidden to leave his apartment in . . . said "I saved Palladium books and all I got was this t-shirt" with characters on it. Sorry. No. We browse the silent auction, which is all stuff my brother and his friends already have. I then check out the gamers.

They seem to be shut-ins. Or people who pay no attention to the outside world. The archetype or stereotype seemed to be in force . . . I seriously wondered aloud where they all found pants that were three inches too short. Thick glasses from the seventies. Stains on their shirts. Nothing matched . . . or more accurately, everything clashed. And ponytails are very in. There was one in every group. And not wimpy, can barely make it into the rubber band ponytails. No, I've been actively not cutting my hair for ten years, ponytails.

I will say the ratio was definitely in my favor. I was one of three women there . . . and the other two were in bad outfits. Well, one was in a leotard . . . so I guess that was a good outfit from the crowd's point of view. She would have looked better without the gold helmet . . . but whatever. I had cleavage and good shoes. And no one looked up from the games to notice. Well, the artist guys noticed. But that was it.

So the best part? My brother loves this movie called Free Enterprise. And it is very much like him and his friends. But there is a line in the movie -- "Xizor, who knew?" when they find an action figure at some comic book store and the kid behind the counter corrects them in the pronouciation of the name. (It's pronouced "Shes-or") It is a common family saying when we discover something. "Hey, Dave, did you know that Trader Joe's has raspberry trail mix?" "Xizor. Who knew?"

So in the festival of geek garage sale, I asked if they had a Xizor . . . partially because I had just discovered that Xizor was actually a character in Star Wars (to which I did say, "Xizor. Who knew?). Scariness when P pointed out that if they had one, it would be with the "Shadows of the Empire" label, but those boys, they know their Star Wars figures. So they found two. And the mark-up was only one cent . . . judging from the Meijer price tag still on the package. Evidently, Xizor has not really appreciated in value. Who knew? So now my brother and I both have a "Prince Xizor with Energy Blade Shields". Well worth the ten dollars.

Oh, and they are N.I.B. which means that I cannot remove him from his clear plastic coffin and play with him. Because then he would not be N. or I.B. And that would destroy his value. So says Dave.

And the guy who's username was "rat_bastard" (I know . . . ) was the cutest guy there. He put it on his nametag.

Who knew.