40-TEEN

I abhor age. I reject it. I'm not getting older. I refuse to use age as an excuse or limitation.

So I was not particularly happy when I had to confront a certain landmark birthday. In fact, I won't even say it. Nor do I want to hear it. Instead, I have trained my family to refer to it as "40-teen".

Now, among our circle of friends from our college days, there's a bit of a tradition emerging where the wife sends the husband off on a bucket list vacation to celebrate that birthday-which-shall-not-be-spoken. (Thanks Mona for that idea!)

When Sue asked me where I'd like to go, I thought: "Where's the one place I could go that would most prove how completely immature and not-old I am?"

"Mardi Gras in New Orleans!" I said.

"NO!" Sue said.

Then I had a much better idea: Comic-Con in San Diego. Comics and science fiction have always been big parts of my life so visiting the Holy Mecca of all things geek would be a natural bucket list trip for me.

The trouble was getting there. This year's attendance is expected to top 150,000. Passes sell out faster and faster; last year they sold out in something like nine minutes.

Devising a way to guarantee myself a Comic-Con pass would take skill, determination and invention.