We have a guest writer! Here’s my good friend, Gonzo Mehum, to write a report on Fanime 2008.

The train clattered across the tracks, guided by high-tension power wires. Somebody’s kid had pissed in this car some time ago- the acrid scent of it lingers yet, despite the powerful air conditioning. My shoulders ache under the weight of both messenger bags- one with this laptop that I write on, the other with assorted brickbracks, medication.. and an untouched, virgin case of Red Bull. Not my drink of choice, in fact, but it was the cheapest by volume available at the local Safeway.

Next year, I will plan ahead and order a supply of Bawls from Thinkgeek instead. Red Bull tastes like the Taiwanese drink brand Vitali- but filtered through the kidneys of a chronically drunk diabetic. Caffeinated Sprite, on the other hand, actually goes down well, with or without a chaser of strong spirits to make it worth it.

But that is not the present concern. I make idle chat to the couple behind me- the guy in the trademark forest-green cape and the dull-metal gray mask of Dr. Doom. It’s a neat costume, and comes with a simple, but impressively scaled, duct-tape bazooka. It is immediately obvious where they’re headed- and it’s my destination as well. As the train clatters on and the city of San Jose’s office buildings loom across our dirt-stained windows, the energy amongst the odder-looking occupants of the train steadily grows.

Light gray concrete, giant spheres of the same outlining a gushing, fountain. An abstract mural of polished red, black and blue tiles. And costumes, costumes everywhere. It’s like stepping into an alternate universe, once every year- an impromptu pageant of vibrant colors and impossible constructions, swords and batons and spiky hair; flowing robes and nosebleeding skirts; cardboard and styrofoam.

I breathe in, out, and the tension flows away.

I’m home again. FanimeCon’s in town.

“You sure?” she asks, and the guys give me an odd look. I nod- their hospitality is appreciated, but… it’s still early afternoon, I’m a lightweight, and frankly, domestic Guinness is piss. Plus, the girl looks somewhat hassled by the vortex of energy and goofiness that seems to orbit Nick Zebra like a tornado. The man does not slow down- which, hell, has proven to be a great personal trait so far. Fanime starts off with a bang with him- and to catch up, I trade off the Guinness for a quickly guzzled can of Monster. Then another. Then a smaller but more intense energy drink.

I’m fueled. My thoughts crackle with the white-blue lightning of Way Too Many Stimulants. The jitters kick in fast and don’t fade.

Unfortunately, manic energy tends to corrode forward planning- not on my part, so far, but Nick finds himself without a badge. We elect to patrol the convention grounds anyhow, horseplaying and joking along the way. The front of the convention is still a riot of activity, and will continue to be so as long as the sun’s still out. Cosplay groups and photographers everywhere, and the front plaza is a storm of colors and the clicking of shutters.

In a pique of mischief, inspired by the frankly amazing Assassin costume of a member of our group, we quickly fall into formation, heads down and hands clenched, quite deliberately walking straight through a small crowd of posing cosplayers.

Break.

We split. The Assassin comes out, daggers braced, to delight and laughter of the crowd. Impromptu theatre… and it’s only possible in this time, at this place.

This is my… seventh? Eighth year here? Every year it gets better. No lie- every year, except, perhaps, for the first couple of years the convention was held in San Jose. The crowd has gotten only friendlier has it has gotten bigger. The art inherent in the costumes have been polished and matured. There is a growing magic here- and every year, I’m half afraid I’ll grow too old for it.

“Oh… god,” I groan as I step off the pad and kick off my shoes, letting the cold cement floor sap the intolerable heat of my exertion out. The Assassin and I’ve just played three successful rounds of DDR, starting off with the grueling, bone-resonating gallops of Tsugaru. I can’t move- I’m drenched in sweat- and it was totally, completely worth the fifteen minute wait to hurt myself so.

I might be more masochistic than I’d like to admit.

He’s better than me by a long shot. That’s immediately clear. Hell, that’s no shame- I’m out of shape, my gut evident of my sloth for the last half-year or so. Doing as well as I have is accomplishment enough, and it’s clean, well-earned sweat that pours from me. Not to mention a good way to pass the time, waiting for Nick to come back from his room so we can head off for dinner.

We had what I could only describe as “Asiatic-American” that night. Let me assert to the reader that Orange Chicken is not a traditional Chinese dish. No, really, it isn’t. I have my suspicions about the mayonnaise-glazed fried prawns with walnuts too. Also, to my lament, it has proven consistently difficult to find a properly fiery Sichuan dish in San Jose these days- no face-numbing Sichuan peppercorns, and the chili oil barely had a noticeable capsicum content. My tastebuds lament.

Nick regaled us with his misadventures as an EMT technician at dinner. NOT usually something you’d want to hear while eating various questionable meats and fat-glazed vegetables… but, hell, it was worth it. It’s always amusing to hear of another’s sexual pitfalls- in this case, the victim had asked the fateful question of whether or not guys can get as much… entertainment… out of shower attachments as girls. The answer was no- especially not if you then opt to stick your equipment into the hosing itself. And especially not if it gets stuck in the brass screw ring.

Thus why Nick and his EMT team got involved, and thus part two of the story- when the guy subsequently lied about his… length when he was told that they’d have to cut the pipe close in order to prevent any mishaps when they take the bolt cutter to the brass casing. Lied about it multiple times.

And retold by Nick to, of course, hilarious effect.

No, we’re not particularly mature. I think I prefer dinners like these.

Saturday morning. Groggy start. Stayed up all night playing Smash Bros Brawl with my roommates. Getting better at it too- Samus Aran’s Final Smash is a bit of a cheat anyhow, as it covers nearly two-thirds of the screen with its effective attack zone, and Zero Suit Samus’s attacks all seem to have a certain stun time attached.

However, I had mistimed my caffeine intake- on the first day too- and the effects are apparent. Sluggish thoughts. Brain like thick cotton. A bit of a chest ache too, from when the multiple Red Bulls and Dayquil all kicked in at once.

And to make a bad situation worse, my phone stops working.

Aw hell. Parental units failed to pay the phone bill in time. And with it goes half the contacts I’ve garnered. I make a few emails to buffer against broken promises, but it still slashes a giant hole into my plans. Time to play this by ear, it looks.

Actually, no. Time to take it easy.

Geek culture as it currently stands is fairly young. At most, it’s roughly three generations strong, starting from when VHS became cheap enough for anybody to use, and globalization’s monocultural effects began its slow but quickly accelerating creep across the East and the West. But when historians finally look back upon this subcultural movement and turn its sneering nose up at our excesses and our rampant commercialization, they’ll be forced, grudgingly, to admit that we at least had the decency to churn out decent artists.

A lot of decent artists.

It’s been a lament- a backhanded compliment, really- this year that there’s more stuff to spend our money on in the Artist’s Alley than in the Dealer’s Room this year. Which isn’t an insult to the quality of goods being sold in the latter part of the convention this year- indeed, they even have some authentically hand-forged blades this year, much to my surprise and consumer lust, all steel-gray grace and rippling fold patterns.

Indeed, the main problem isn’t the quality of the merchandise being hawked this year. …it’s just that there really isn’t anything new. Or truly eye-catching. Between the brightly colored figurines of busty and scantily clad women, anime on display, toys and exotic foods and costumes, costumes absolutely everywhere… why does it all seem so routine?

Oh, right, because I’ve gone through this so many times already, and the stuff hasn’t changed much over these last couple of years.

Artist’s Alley, on the other hand, lacks not a sense of… “new?” Not the right word. Let’s try… ugh. “Fresh.” It fits, but the level of cliché implicit in that word bugs me. But you can feel a much closer kinship to the folks behind the booths in Artist’s Alley- they’re fellow fans, if they aren’t also your friends outright.

Which is actually more likely than not. Even if you haven’t met them face to face, as a fan, you’re very likely to have met with them once or twice online somewhere. Hell, it gets outright incestuous at times, especially amongst cosplayers.

This is our world. We have our own laws, codes, celebrities, and gossip. Unfortunately, we also have our own drama- whole stinking herds of it. Passion- and a fan is defined by passion- can be blinding.

Saturday evening, and we’re in line for the Cosplay Masquerade- a showcasing of costumes, and skits to accompany them. It’s a popular event- and so I scribble frantically on my Nintendo DS, playing SquareEnix’s latest release, as my friends and I wait it out hours before the actual event.

The Masquerade’s held across the street from the convention proper- and there’s a commotion.

…Eris, you’ve got to be kidding me.

Protestors.

Two of them, from the looks of it. I’ve seen this before, when I was still at UC Riverside- a massive white sign proclaiming us to be sinners and deviants. A crowd forming in response. Tension’s starting to run high- no, wait.

Anonymous’s here.

A second group forms off of the protestor’s right side. Men in masks, a boom box playing Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up.” The entirety of FanimeCon’s been RickRolled… as a counter-protest. The crowd’s laughing. To prove that not everybody of their faith’s a humorless nutcase, a Christian anime fan group’s passing out candy and chiding with the crowd. The fanatics are visibly uncomfortable- they can accept scorn, they can accept being coldly and pointedly ignored. They were definitely expecting a confrontation or two.

Being turned into a joke wasn’t part of the plan.

Hell, it’s a good day after all. The crowd’s happily cheering at whatever small incident makes its way amongst the cosplayers. Jokes and snacks are being thrown about. The line’s finally starting to move, even. And best of all, the protesters are packing up- through sheer mockery, we’ve driven them off.

I’m proud of us.

I am completely ashamed of my fellow fans.

Holy hell, these skits are bad. No, really. BAD. My friends have started counting off how many times Hare Hare Yukai’s been danced, Rickrolls been had, “YOU LOST THE GAME’s” been yelled… it’s bad. It’s horrible. I’m glad they don’t allow us to bring alcohol to these events, as my liver would’ve ben shot to hell by now.

And yet I’m having a great time.

Kudos to whichever brilliant mind in Nintendo’s R&D group decided to add wireless capabilities and Pictochat as standard in every Nintendo DS. You have saved my life- or at least my sanity. You have my gratitude- and that of at least one hundred others, if not many, many more.

There were, to be fair, downright awesome skits. The CSU San Luis Obispo group was easily the best dancing group of the entire assembly. The Trinity Blood costumes were to be marveled at. And having Rick Meyers as MC? I’d call it genius, but he had that role last year too- an excellent tradition, then, and one I hope they’ll repeat for years to come.

But, gods, everything else was mind-numbingly horrible. Or, in the case of the Death Note cosplayer duet… mindscarring.

Pictochat saved me. It turned the entire thing into a session of Mystery Science Theatre 3000. There was mass mocking, old memes, new memes… free porn, even, from a talented sketch artist somewhere in the crowd. Admittedly, some of the taunting was in shoddy taste, or even downright cruel… but, frankly, after five or six renditions of the same dance and song, I consider it by far the lesser of the two evils.

Actually, this Masquerade was probably proof of something somewhat sinister- namely, the homogenization of the geek subculture. While the Internet has proven to be a powerful social tool for us, it would be mistaken to say that its effects have been nothing but beneficial. It is no mistake that we’ve had so many variations of the same skit- to the point that the audience was actively booing the stage by the fourth or fifth rendition. Lightspeed audiovisual communications has apparently had the undesirable effect of homogenizing not only which shows we watch, but how we respond to them too.

I think I am, perhaps, overstating the threat. It may just be a reflection of Kyoto Animation’s commercial genius that their top two products have dominated our collective psyches so thoroughly.

But just in case, I think I’ll bring my DS to next year’s Masquerade as well. And, this time, with a full charge.

Sunday, and I feel… not better, but more… frenetic? Almost no sleep last night- after hitting the dance floor for a bit, I stayed up the rest of the night writing the first, failed, version of this report.

Let’s not talk about it. It’s a shameful, pitiful article.

There is a growing sense, however, that the end is approaching. Slowly, perhaps, creeping up to us more subtly this year than times before. There remains a lot to do. Seminars to go to. Cosplay shoots to check out.

Speaking of cosplays, my roommates were especially interested in the cosplay construction seminar being given this year. The materials and production methods discussed by the panel were extremely informative- it would be wise to take a small notebook to such an event in the future, even if you only cosplay casually. The tips given were extremely good- and given that my friends have access to SLO’s engineering departments, I fully expect an amazing mecha cosplay from them next year.

The business panel we attended afterwards was also interesting… to an extent. There was a feel that the target audience was decidedly Not Us. A younger audience, perhaps- and perhaps less cynical. Ohki expressed much distaste with the panelist’s recommendations as to a fledgling business’s webpage provider- while she was undoubtedly right in asserting that the modern business simply cannot function efficiently without a web presence in this day and age, recommending Geocities or the ilk as a company website provider is, by far, suboptimal advice.

The rest of the performance was fairly believable. While the panelist’s credentials are a touch… green, perhaps, her fledgling company’s gone through and survived enough upheavals and alterations to be worthy of respect. Business management is a lifestyle difficult enough to warrant high-level college education for- to approach it from the ground up instead is, to say the least, an enormously challenging task.

I also checked out the maid cafe this year. Though the Fanime Maid Cafe had suffered some bad reviews last year, I am happy to say that they have since tightened up their performance. I am also saddened to report, however, that the bad reviews of the previous year has taken their toll- there was a noticeable lack of customers despite the stellar service… as well as a noticeable lack of maids compared to last year’s staff. However, my experience was a heartening one for this latest addition to the FanimeCon experience- they went out of their way to make their customers feel welcomed and relax, and I had an involving chat with one of the maids whilst enjoying a decent, if small for its price, roast beef sandwich.

Unfortunately, latter discussions online with one of the persons in charge of the program revealed that price was not a factor under their control. While I am certain there are price control means that Fanime has not yet addressed, I understand all too well the difficulties in doing so. I’ve only worked in the food industry myself for a while, but price control is a pernicious task for even fast food joints- and the current economic situation will only exacerbate this.

The best aspect of this year’s Maid Cafe event, though? A surreal Alice in Wonderland cosplay group that was sitting right next to me. A tea-time event to be remembered, as fleeting as my exposure to it was.

Impromptu theatre, again. And, again, it would never have been remotely possible to enjoy such a thing in the “real” world. Sparks everywhere… mostly friendly.

Monday.

Christ, Buddha, Bloody-lovin’ Eris. Feeling beat-up. Stayed up all night dancing- again. Had an amusing moment where I did a head-first roll across the floor- forgetting that I had a hard glowstick stuck through the brim of my Raoul Duke hat. Surprisingly, the thing didn’t break on me- but I think I have a few bruises on my head.

Lots of fun, though. I’ll be the first to admit that, between letting me dance and letting the world end, most people would choose to end it all. But, hell, I was buzzed up on a one-two combo of liquor and Nodoze- not, in fact, a very safe combination at all, as my roommates persistently warned me. However, I did manage to avoid the mother of all hangovers via my usual preemptive remedy: obsessive and paranoid intake of water. And I had fun on the dance floor while I was at it.

This was one of the better Fanime dances, I think. There was a decided lack of anime-inspired music this year, unfortunately, but the crowd was very enthusiastic, and that’s the only necessary measurement in deciding the success of a dance. The traditional conga lines spun off seemingly at random, limbs and enticing curves flashed through the flickering strobe lights, and everywhere there were neon-colored glowsticks, streaking rainbows through the darkened dance hall.

However, Monday itself was low-key. Most of it was spent doing some last-minute gift-shopping (always save money for the last day- rampant sales throughout the Dealer’s Room, even if a lot of it tends to be leftovers. That said- never buy grab bags), as well as rummaging around the dealer’s room for anything of interest.

I was saddened to see that a local artist had run out of Mitsuru Kirijo bookmarks. Atlus had created what is now officially my favorite RPG of all time, and I’m infatuated with a certain redhead in the game.

The rest of the half-day was spent packing up, cleaning up, and making sure we didn’t leave anything behind in the hotel room. Given that we had quite a few hundred dollar’s worth of assorted electronics in that one room, nobody was desperate to leave without a thorough once-over. We hung about for a bit, but the grand majority of the folks had to leave fairly early, as it was a long, long drive back to SLO. We saw a tricked out Speed Racer-style Porsche just before the group departed.

I myself went back via the local light rail system. And, yeah, I did take a look back at the convention while the train pulled away. And yes, it was a bit nostalgic. FanimeCon comes only once a year- and while any geek worth his or her salt will find a way to meet his or her own kind throughout the year, online or off, nothing is quite like the convention experience. It isn’t the panels, the video showings, the games or the toys.

It’s quite simply the fact that, everywhere you go, every corner you turn, there’s somebody that you can empathize with, or that can empathize with you, right there. For one weekend out of the year, there are no strangers- just new acquaintances.

For all of the commercialization, all the high school drama that infects our community, I am convinced that FanimeCon remains worth attending, just for that alone.

By fans, for fans, amongst fans.

Mahalo,

Gonzo Mehum

Categories: reports