Fear and Loathing in FanimeCon ‘08: Friday and Saturday, Early Sunday; Impressions

The difficult part about writing this project is in maintaining that balance between fear and loathing, madness and exuberance that gives anything near a reasonable descriptor of the external processes and internal state that defines my convention experience. There is a lot to write about- a lot of small oddities and large weirdness that seem to have defined this year’s experience more so than others.

But to write about it? To give it proper justice? Odd that it would prove to be such an onerous undertaking. But nothing I’ve written thus far has properly captured the Moment. Nothing in my previous drafts have scratched at its surface.

But maybe it’ll be a bit different now. It’s nearly four thirty in the morning, Sunday, as I write this, and I don’t plan to edit a word. I’m buzzed off just the right amount and right ratio of alcohol and caffeine to maintain that edge- that fine blade between inhibition and utter lack of control. Tonight, more than last night at least, I can write something worth reading.

So how has my convention been? Frantic. It was a good idea to show up to that forum gathering. Hanging around with Nick Zebra and assorted companies has been an interesting experience, if slightly outside my usual comfort zone. Frankly, that’s no issue in of itself- comfort zones are to be pushed, and pushed often. Off-color stories  and general low-grade mischief is an excellent way to begin a convention, hands down.

Fun was had, as fun was sought. And that is really half the key- to seek it out. To seek out company, likeminded or not. And…

…

…and “Ride on Shooting Star” is playing on a heavily distorted Strat fifteen feet from me. An acoustic guitar is serenading a couple of convention-goers even closer. It’s nearly five in the morning, and whole crowds are still up, sharing stories, sharing jokes, enjoying each other’s company.  Hentai is playing a few rooms over. Above me, hundreds of rooms are jammed to peak capacity, filled with sleeping dreamers. In a few hour’s time, these halls will yet again be congested, yet again a cacophony, a din of voices and exclamations and ten thousand discordant footsteps.

Even when we’re against each other, we’re for each other. The Cosplay Masquerade was… an odd experience, to put it mildly. To be more blunt, however, I’ll have to say that it was, in all, a horrid waste of time, with a few major exceptions. As discussed between myself and a number of friends, as much synergy the advent of the digitally socialized generation has brought about, it had come at the cost of some creativity. At last count, we had established six separate occurrences of the annoyingly popular “Hare Hare Yukai” dance, three “Caramel Dansen,” two cases of “Motteke Sailor Fuku,” and two cases of “You’ve Just Lost The Game.”

Was I disappointed to find that geek skits have, according to third-hand accounts, gone downhill since its early years? Yes, very much. On the other hand, only geeks- specifically, only geeks with Nintendo DSes and Pictochat- would’ve turned it into a hundred-way free-for-all MST3k experience. Much jeering, a little cheering, plenty of memes and even a little free porn from an unnamed and talented sketch artist with a proper appreciation of the female figure.

I think I’m starting to get a fix on the original purpose of this project. Never underestimate a strong communal spirit. When was the last civilian-level football convention? Or golf? Anime conventions are very much one very large, very inclusive party- and it is that inclusiveness that makes them succeed as well as they tend to do.

We feel that we belong here, I think. This isn’t business- there are no goals. This is all pleasure for us. To do what we want, when we want it. And that’s something that extends beyond geekhood, but into the human identity itself.

Sunday now. Early Sunday. And I’ve yet to scratch the surface.

Flash Response 20080521

There’s one on every single goddamn campus. You’ll see them on the lawns, in the quads, standing atop the public stands and podiums. There’s a trio of them less than ten feet away from me right now, screaming and ranting damnation, brimstone and hellfire. Cajoling, pleading, begging and screeching.

If it isn’t obvious by now, I’m talking about streetside preachers. Campus preachers. These forefront evangelists demanding the salvation of your souls at the cost of- what? There is a cost. Don’t give me that look. Faith is done in cost of free will. Faith, especially blind faith, is done in cost of recognition of alternatives. It is done in cost of one’s cognitive viability- one’s intellectual aptitude. These fundamentalists, these my-way-or-the-highway-to-hell radicals, are demanding my brain in return for the salvation of something that they cannot prove to exist.

I rant today about religion.

Fear and Loathing in FanimeCon 08: A Savage Journey Into the Heart of the Geek Identity, pt. 0

Let me tell you something, boys and girls. Being a geek is a lot of fun. Sure, the average age in which we have our first sexual encounter tends to be a little higher than most folks. Sure, we get a bit surly from getting picked on so much by our fellow peers in school- the overmuscled, steroid-fueled jocks and cheerleaders that made first grade through senior year such a miserable mess. But things get better, and when they do, they get better.

Being a geek is fun.

MY EYES!

Mother, what a frightening spectacle.

Hoist the Colors

Only inattentive idiots think that the weather’s a boring subject to talk about. Take today, for example: after a half-week of chilling winds, the sudden burst of sunlight and heat afflicting us down here in sunny San Jose is like getting slapped across the face with a towel soaked in boiling water. Whereas its cold counterpart is a wakeful stinging, a hot-water whip does more to damage one’s reactions than it does to stir it. It is a vicious assault, leaving you woozy and incoherent, your attention span focused not on your treacherous assailant, but the burning urgency of the injury. It is like being belittled by your parents- you’re angry, you’re enraged, and the sheer heat of the insult leaves you absolutely unable to do anything but scream incoherently.

Indeed, the weather’s a fascinating topic.

Unfortunately, as of late, my opinion towards politics has not been as positive. I had started this year with much anticipation. Much optimism, even. This was gearing up to be one king hell campaign, the sort that defines an entire era of American politics. In some ways, it still is- the utterly unprecedented neck-to-neck fight between a woman and a minority for the Democratic candidate will mark itself down in history textbooks for the years to come.

But that’s pretty much the only thing that will come out of this era. That little footnote. That tiny statement about what a carnival freak show the presidential election of 2008 has become. Why? Because John Fucking McCain is going to win one for the Good Ol’ Posse this time around. If you haven’t heard it yet, you heard it here first, folks: say hello to another four, another eight years of shoveling elephant shit.

Eris, there goes the tattered remains of my good mood.

Road Man for the Lords of Karma

The caffeine buzz hits. My eyes crack open, the lids feeling as if they’ve been pried apart and shunted open with crowbars, a raw ache tinging the corners in protest. The neurochemical change is slow, hindered by weeks of abuse of the bean, but it assuredly happens. An irritation sets in- a repression of energy, a heightened speed in the cycle of thoughts that twist away like a small, vicious tempest- a state of things unique not to me, but ubiquitous to everybody but zen masters. The average human being, caught up in the omnipresent complexities of life in civilization, lives within sight of psychosis, the bubbling cauldron of small dread and silent fears, the FNORDs of our lives, so pervasive that, except under duress, we fail to truly notice its leering fangs and glinting, narrowed eyes that peer at us just outside the range of our vision.

The damned, terrible bean has twisted me and ravaged my words. I’m in the perfect mood for journalism.