Comic-Con-A-Chameleon

This was written by CBS News' Christina Ruffini

They came from all over: Metropolis, Gotham City, even a Galaxy far, far away.

Adults, dressed head-to-toe like a bunch of Prismacolor power-lads, their geekdom elevated to such a magnitude of misfit, not even Stan Lee could hope to compete.

When my friend first floated the idea of attending the 11th Annual Baltimore Comic-Con, I almost slapped the Hot Pocket out of his mouth.

I could not think of a reason why two socially functional individuals, neither of whom lives in their mothers' basements, would even consider frequenting such a function.

For those of you too busy cultivating human relationships of the three-dimensional kind to be in the know, "Comic-Con" refers to any one of the massive comic book conventions that take place in cities across America every year.

Although the largest and most extreme embodiment of nerdly prowess happens at the San Diego shindig, Baltimore is fast becoming a reputably-sized romp - one which my idiot friend was dying to attend.

"Please!" He begged, over and over again. "If you go you won't have to buy me a birthday present."

Since I hadn't planned on actually purchasing him one, I thought this gave me a good out.

Writing off my Sunday, I dug out a graphic t-shirt and some thick-rimmed glasses, and mentally prepared myself for a day of dodging nerds.

True to expectations, Baltimore Comic-Con was crammed with them.

Upon our arrival, we met a group of co-workers dressed as the entire cast of GI Joe.

To their left was Blade, who was taking his vengeance on all the Twilight Vampires, and Thor, whose axe wielding almost cost several zombie children their sight.

Under the red and gold entryway, proceeding into the main ballroom, we were greeted by a spandex-clad hostess who ushered us toward an absolute smorgasbord of superhero swag.

There were busts of Yoda and Wonder Woman Dolls. T-shirts with slogans written in Klingon. Life-sized cutouts of fantastically proportioned women and, let us not forget, comics, comics, and more comics.

Lost in a sea of collectable action figures and released-only- to-DVDs, my friend disappeared and did not resurface again for an hour.

Many a man - and probably some Green Lantern-loving ladies - has been lost at a Comic-Con.

After twenty minutes of looking for him over, under and around shelves of Superman, Spiderman, X-men, and many other similar "man" modifiers, I finally gave up and decided to sit down and take in my surroundings.

A girl with green hair was chatting politely with a man in a kilt. A backpack-clad twenty-something traded one color of paper for another, as he swapped wads of wilted cash for plastic-covered copies of his childhood idols.

Saggy Iron Man waited in line for the creator of "Batman: The Dark Knight," to sign a page, and 40-year old Daphne pushed toddlers dressed as Freddy and Velma in a double-wide stroller converted into the Mystery Machine.

Nerds do not discriminate. They came in all shapes, sizes, ages races and genders. I saw black Supermen and a white Hulk. There was an Asian Power Girl and a few Latino Peter Parkers.

And more shocking than the price of owning Dick Grayson's first appearance, was the fact that most of these folks seemed pretty normal.

One man, a Department of Defense employee for more than 30-years, explained it to me this way:
It's not about how much your costume makes you look like a Power Ranger. It's about how powerful said ranger ensemble makes you feel.

And who among us wouldn't want to spend a day in Spiderman's boots?

Maybe I am starting to lose some of my hard-earned cynicism, but as the minutes ticked by, I began to enjoy the parade of happy faces nodding approvingly at the rampant ridiculousness.

I began to understand the high that comes from having someone ask to take your picture, or the thrill of finding the one volume you were searching for in a stack of thousands.

Though some may cringe at the prospect of spending their Sunday with a bunch of overgrown kids and their comic books, I soon realized that perhaps feeling like a kid is the best part.

By the time my friend finally found me, I was busy shopping for a costume, a comic, and a second childhood, courtesy of Comic-Con.

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