The Otakon Diaries, Part 3

SATURDAY, 9 AM

We woke up and headed back to the Convention Center, this time skipping any Dunkin Donuts or Burger King, the latter of which kind of disappointed me. Not because I’m a gluttonous blob of cholesterol, but because that Burger King in Joel’s neighborhood was another part of Otakon tradition. The service there was always awful. They were rude, slow with orders, and always screwed up. Not something like “I asked for no onions, but they put them on my sandwich, anyway”, but usually “There is no sandwich in here.” And when you went back to get your sandwich, they’d get so perturbed, like its your fault. I miss it.

SATURDAY, 10 AM
FIGHTING BEAT

This was a Thai movie (I think) that sounded like it was going to be awesome. The summary said it was about a Muay Thai fighter who must beat up a bunch of thugs to save his family’s nightclub. Sounds like a typical A-Team episode. I like it.

Of course, it didn’t end up being all that good. Not bad, but really, kinda lame, all things considered. Basically, imagine an action movie made in 1999 with Freddie Prinze Jr, Taye Diggs, Sarah Michelle Gellar and Katie Holmes, plus one really good white martial artist and Steve Harvey as their father figure who owns a bar and taught them karate. Then, the mob comes into town and tries to get Harvey to sell the bar, but instead, the ragtag bunch of hot teen actors and actresses use poor karate to fend off the henchmen while the one talented guy fights the actual legit tough guys. Now take all that, but film it in 2007 with the same stupid shit that most modern action movies do nowadays, like doing bullet-time for every single kick and slowing down every punch. That’s what this movie was.

The bulk of the first half of the movie is reminiscent of most teen-targeted action/suspense flicks over the last few years. Lots of hot chicks, some goofy meatheaded dudes, and the quiet, serious one whom we can tell will be the one kicking ass later in the movie. And, well, that’s basically what the entire movie was. The badass guy was pretty much the only dude with any talent; everyone else looked like they took their first Muay Thai class a few days ago, and were trying to remember what the fight choreographer told them.

In the end, it suffered from the worst thing an action movie could do; I never screamed “OOHHHHH MEEYAAHON!!” at anything, nor did I laugh at anything unintentional. It was simply there. C

SATURDAY, 12 PM

I decided that I would be a slave to bullshit no longer. None of this fish taco crap anymore. I went to California Tortilla, and I got a burrito. And it was good. I also had to wait a long time for it, which was both a blessing and a curse. I drank three large sodas; one while waiting, one while eating, and one when everyone else showed up a few minutes later. And while I love soda, I think I now have diabeetus.

SATURDAY, 1 PM

VAMPIRE COP RICKY

I will only accuse this movie of 33% false advertising. It did feature a cop, and he was a vampire, but I’m pretty sure his name wasn’t Ricky. Imdb says he was, but none of my friends seem to remember that name ever being used. So since I’m only half sure about that, I’ll lower that figure to 16.5%. But I won’t hold that against it. This movie was pretty awesome.

The movie starts with an ominous looking castle in Transylvania. A vampire rises out of his coffin (in really over-the-top, white-guy-in-a-Korean-movie fashion) and a mosquito bites him. So, of course, the ’skeeter becomes a vampire too. Somehow, it travels across Europe and Asia on a plane and gets driven to Korea on a DHL truck. Meanwhile, our hero, whom I will call Ricky only for the reader’s sake and in no way is an admission that I am wrong, is a corrup cop in league with some gangsters. Or a gambling ring. I forget. Anyway, after making a move on a girl he likes and getting rejected, he’s driving home and gets into an accident with the DHL truck. The ’skeeter bites him, and, well, you can guess where it goes from there.

And you’d be wrong! I bet. The movie goes for some of the typical “I’m turning into a vampire” schtick (discovering and hiding the fangs, staying away from daylight) but adds a new wrinkle; he only has most vampire symptoms when he’s sexually aroused. Awesome. So in one scene, he’s walking the street and surrounded by hot chicks wearing tight clothing, and suddenly, he grows fangs and his eyes get all yellow and cat-like, like in the “Thriller” video. He also gets super powers, like incredible strength and fighting ability (wherein he channels Bruce Lee and screams and howls a lot) and becomes something of a superhero while trying to take out the gambling ring he once helped.

Long story short, its very, very good.
I did miss about five important minutes in the middle, when I had to take a mighty, mighty piss from the 90 fluid ounces of soda I drank, but it did a good enough job of telling the story that I didn’t get too lost. There were some things that don’t make much sense, like his girlfriend getting dropped three stories to what her captors think is her doom, only she ends up just getting up afterwards like nothing happened. I don’t think we were supposed to laugh at that, but maybe I’m wrong. But in general, its very good. It feels very much like a modern American action comedy, but doesn’t insult your intelligence like one.

I was a little worried coming into it, because its become easy pickings for directors to fuck up vampire movies because ever since “The Lost Boys”, vampires almost exclusively became represented as faggy goth metrosexuals with sunglasses, piercings and stupid hair. Fortunately, Vampire Cop Ricky kicked it old school. Excellent. B

SATURDAY, 3 PM

FUNKY FOREST: FIRST CONTACT

The Otakon guide had this written as “Funky Forrest Movie”, which made me think it would be about dancing animals in the forest, until I realized they spelled Forest with two R’s. So perhaps it was about a person named Forrest, who may have, in fact, been funky.

As it turns out, I was wrong, although in hindsight, I really don’t know how else I could’ve come into this movie. In short, it’s fucking awesome. One of the best movies I’ve seen at Otakon, and maybe the best live-action Japanese movie I’ve ever seen, although my memory is a little hazy.

To describe it would be almost impossible, and to recount some examples would only ruin the surprise. The movie thrives on the unexpected. It’s the perfect movie to just come into with no prior knowledge and just sit down and enjoy. It’s kind of a cross between Monty Python’s Flying Circus and Wonder Showzen, the latter of which one could argue is already a spiritual successor to the former.

The movie, which clocks in at almost 3 hours, is largely comprised of recurring characters and skits, with incredible performances all around. Even the actresses, who in Japan are often pop idols and models cast for their looks and stature first and their talent later, are amazing in the movie; three of them you can argue would’ve stolen the show, had their segments not been in the first act.

There are two segments that kind of serve as the centerpiece of the movie, and while I wasn’t particularly a fan of them, the movie probably needed to have them to make sure it wasn’t 100% zanyness. Think of it as a long rest hold in the middle of an awesome wrestling match; it’s necessary, even if you wish you could skip it and get back to the awesome stuff.

The movie is a masterpiece. Plain and simple. It won’t change your life, and it’s not all that quotable (rarely are foreign language movies, anyway), and I can’t even imagine owning it on DVD, since I’d be hard pressed to find other people who would enjoy it as much as I did. But it’s that rare movie where seeing it for the first time is by far the best; you may notice new things the second and third time around, but discovering what the movie has inside for the first time is by far the most fun part.

And in many ways, it was the perfect Otakon movie. Whoever is in charge of Otakon’s viewing guide sucks at writing summaries, but I’m almost glad. They tend to not offer any significant details whatsoever, just the insignificant ones, so if you decide to give the thing a chance, you basically have zero expectations for everything. And when you find something this good, it’s totally worth it.     A

SATURDAY, 6 PM

Not content to simply consume gallons upon gallons of high fructose corn syrup and a gelatinous blob of sour cream, beans, steak and rice at California Tortilla, I met up with my friends at Five Guys, which just so happens to have the most delicious burgers in the history of ever. If you’re ever in the Maryland/Washington/Virginia area, by all means, stop at a Five Guys. You won’t regret it. Of course, on this evening, I wish I had the opportunity. We saw the line at Five Guys and deemed it too long, so we all grabbed hands and went to the mall across the street. Malls have food courts. Surely we could find something we’d all like.

We go to the top floor, wherein they have four restaurants. There was a generic Chinese place, which didn’t take credit cards. There was a salad restaurant, which I’m sure I could use, but come on, that’s boring. There was Sbarro, which always confounded me, because I love pizza, but I don’t think I’ve ever ordered anything at a Sbarro once. And there was a McDonalds. Come on. I’ve gained 20 pounds this summer. Which choice do you think I made?

So I walk up to the McDonalds counter, after waiting in line for quite a while thanks to the guy in front of me who… well, didn’t speak much English, and only was a problem for reasons I’ll get into in three sentences. So I place my order and get the usual; Double quarter pounder meal. Fuck yeah.

“We’re out of cheese.”

Well, that’s okay. It’s not like I need cheese. I’m sure my heart would be doing backflips at that news, if it weren’t so bogged down by the cholesterol already in there.

“We also don’t have any ice.”

Huh. Well, it’s not that big a deal. Soda’s usually pretty cold coming out of the fountain, anyway.

I got my order, and man, what a disappointment. As it turns out, cheese is a vital ingredient in double-meat sandwiches. It holds the patties together, then it holds the patties to the top bun. I never realized how important that was. So I’ve got a dry, underwhelming burger that’s falling apart in my hands. Time for a drink.

What the fuck is this shit? It’s warm! Warm root beer sucks, in case you were wondering. Mountain Dew is the miracle beverage, because it tastes fine when it’s flat and when its not cold. Root beer is the opposite. It sucks when its flat, but its even worse when its warm.

So yeah, Baltimore McDonalds = No buys.

I should also note that all my friends except me were wearing awesome Star Wars shirts. Apparently no one gave me the memo, which is a shame, because I have a badass Boba Fett shirt I used to wear like every day in 6th grade, then I rediscovered it in 10th grade, then I never wore it again. Jonny was wearing an old shirt of mine that gets cooler every time I look at it. It’s tiedyed, but it’s one where it’s just one giant dyed circle, but then they screened over the circle with the Death Star and a sweet space battle. Anyway, we were marveling over how awesome my old shirt was when Joel decided to open up his stupid mouth.

“Too bad its factually incorrect.”

“What do you mean?”

“They mixed up the lasers. TIE Fighters shoot red lasers, and X-Wings shoot green lasers. That shirt has ‘em backwards.”

Now, I love Joel. And to his credit, he’s almost always right about everything. But he picked the wrong two dudes to question about Star Wars laser colors, considering Jonny spent seemingly every day over the span of two years playing TIE Fighter for the PC and I played and beat the other ones as well. We fucking know our laser colors.

Long story short, Joel bet that we were wrong, and, well, he lost. Sorry Joel, but that’s what happens when you fuck with me. Joel’s end of the wager was that he had to pay for Jonny’s oil change; something that probably was necessary before we drove back to Massachusetts the next day, considering the light had been on the entire way down.

SATURDAY, 7 PM

BLACK LAGOON

I’m a little torn on this one. I have a feeling that if I gave it more of a chance, I’d probably enjoy it more. I also think I didn’t give it a fair shot, since it immediately reminded me of Cowboy Bebop, and pretty much everything compares unfavorably to that, in my mind, at least.

Anyway, Black Lagoon is a series about a misfit crew of bounty hunters on a ship, led by a smooth talking black dude, featuring a white dude in a tie, a wacky computer hacker and a big-tittied chick with a violent side. See what I mean?

Of course, I wouldn’t call it a ripoff or anything. Some could argue Bebop borrowed heavily from Outlaw Star and even Lupin III. And it’s not like they’re identical casts, either. The dude in the tie is our featured character, but the similarities with Spike end there; he’s just a white-collar businessman thrown into combat out of nowhere. The real main character is the big-titty bitch, Revy, who shoots a lot of people. The hacker guy is a guy, not a little girl. The leader, Dutch, has a deep voice like Jet but doesn’t have a metal arm and doesn’t fight very often; just kinda pilots the boat. Oh yeah, that’s the other thing. They’re on a boat, not in space.

Anyway, enough with the comparisons. The show is okay. I’d say it kinda suffers from Nothing Specialitis. There’s not a character whom I feel compelled to watch more episodes to see, nor does the plot seem like something that’ll lead to more rad adventures. In Trigun, they were in a crazy new environment, and I was curious to see what would happen next. In this show, they’re on a boat. Chances are, they’re only going to be fighting other boats, or maybe a plane. And furthermore, it basically seemed no different than any other action anime out there. In one scene, Remy jumps between a bunch of smaller boats and shoots everyone piloting every boat, while seemingly being impervious to point-blank gunfire. She’s just your typical girl with a gun. And there’s nothing particularly charming about her personality. Although as opposed to Claymore and most modern goth fag animes, at least she has a personality. So I’ll give them credit for that one.

If I had more free time, I’d give it more of a chance. I have a feeling I’d like this show a lot more if I were back in high school, when the breast size of the female protagonist was just as important as the plot of the show. Nowadays, I can see giant titties whenever I want. And I do. Often. So it’ll take more than titties to win me over.     C+

SATURDAY, 9 PM

GREAT TEACHER ONIZUKA

This was one of those shows that I always saw on the rack on Best Buy (usually just referred to as GTO) that I never once felt compelled to even pick up and read the box. It was just there, and I probably guessed it was a street racing anime or something. Doesn’t that sound like what something called GTO would be? And the main character was some boring blonde guy in a white suit. I mean, it couldn’t possibly be anything interesting, could it?

Well, it turns out it is. It was actually pretty damn awesome. I only saw the first few episodes, but I will say my interest is piqued. It’s funny, because when I was first getting into anime when I was younger, I was picky about certain art styles, and I tended to hate older stuff because I just couldn’t get past the dated look and silly sense of humor. But ever since I started watching Lupin, I’ve grown to love old anime. There’s something charming about old shows that try really hard to sell every joke and are completely unaware of their audience.

GTO is about a man named Onizuka who decides to become a teacher. It’s funny, because the reasons he gives are the same things I’m starting to think about now that I’m graduated and about to enter the real world. Teachers get weekends and summers off, and get to just talk with people all day for a living. Onizuka’s got the right idea.

Anyway, the show is wacky and zany, with a lot of funny one-shot gags and one-liners. And to be honest, I barely remember anything about it beyond that. But I do look forward to seeing more of it, whenever that is.     B-

SATURDAY, 11 PM

Black Blood Brothers

This was going to be the MVP of the weekend. I had a feeling. I mean, it was called “Black Blood Brothers.” Perhaps it would feature lots of racist Japanese depictions of black people, like the Mushroom Samba episode of Bebop. Maybe it would just be really violent and awesome.

Jonny and I got pumped about it all day. Neither of us even read the description. I mean, come on. It was called “Black Blood Brothers.”

Well, it kinda sucked. I’m sure its fine, but it ended up being some boring, cliche vampire show with absolutely no black people. Bullshit. I mean, it was called “Black Blood Brothers”, for Christ’s sake. C-

SATURDAY, 11:30 PM

After fleeing the theater in disgust and disappointment, we all decided to meet up and go home. On a side note, I almost died on the way back to the car. For some reason, I decided not to walk on the ample sidewalk and instead dallied along the side of the street. So a car decided to punish me by whipping past me at about 70 MPH on a crowded city road, probably only missing me by 6 inches. Jesus Christ that scared me.

So the next time any of you see me, make sure to get the most of it, because you never know when I might almost get wasted by a car.

We went back to Joel’s for possibly the last night ever. It was sad. As it would turn out, so would be Sunday. I’ll give you a hint; Chapter 4 is gonna be really, really short.

The Otakon Diaries, Part 2

FRIDAY, 9 AM

We woke up, and went to Dunkin Donuts, where Jonny had a $30 gift card. I didn’t make use of it, however, since I was too busy eating an apple I found in Joel’s fridge. I love apples. But only certain kinds. The larger and more solid they are, the better.

You know what’s weird about apples and oranges? Look at the actual constitution of them. Apples are like moist tissue; it breaks into little chunks, but the chunks end up usually somewhat square shaped, like it was wood or something. But oranges are comprised of these tiny little fluid-filled sacs that are all perfectly lined up against each other and form a tight sphere and eight exact slices. Oranges are crazy. I almost wonder if we should eat them or appreciate their biological supremacy.

FRIDAY, 10 AM

ROYAL SPACE FORCE: WINGS OF HONNEAMISE

This was supposed to be a show called “Phoenix”. Something about people getting immortality or something. But, as is often the case at Otakon (particularly the 35MM room, which this year had been renamed the HD Room, although now that I think about it, I don’t think they actually had a 35MM projector this year, so maybe that title was apt… aaaanywaaay), that would not be showing. Instead, we got Honneamise. This was one of those movies that I’d always heard mentioned and seen on the occasional shelf, but never heard anything about, and never felt compelled to watch before.

In short, it was pretty damn good, although I only saw about half of it. Pretty solid foundation, I know. But I actually enjoyed it quite a bit. The animation and visuals were amazing; I couldn’t believe it was 21 years old. It’s about a dude who the government decides to send into space, meanwhile the country is about to go to war with a neighboring state and the space flight is under protest from the poor, oppressed citizens who feel the money would be better spent. The dude meets up with a religious chick, and in one scene that doesn’t particularly make a lot of sense, he tries to rape her. Like, seriously. And halfway through the movie, too. She’s changing, he charges in, pins her down (in front of her sleeping daughter, no less), and gets knocked out when she hits him over the head with a trophy. And the next morning, he tries to apologize, and she’s totally cool about it. What?! And they never mention it again. Amazing. You have to love Japan sometimes. B+

FRIDAY, 11 PM

GETTING HOME

A live action movie from China, this was about a factory worker who was trying to get his dead friend’s body to his home on the other side of the country. I thought there would be lots of zany dead body comedy like in “Weekend at Bernie’s”, combined with zany road trip comedy like in “Tommy Boy”. Wait, didn’t I already talk about this?

Anyway, I was only kinda wrong. There was some Mr. Bean-like hijinks involving the body (stuffing it inside a tractor tire and rolling it along the road; dressing it up like a scarecrow, etc), but it was actually a relatively low-key comedy. It was funny, but not too wacky. Some parts are actually pretty sad, primarily surrounding the main character, as the dead body is pretty much just a plot device and doesn’t really have much value outside of that (as would be expected of a dead body). In some bizarre way, it actually kinda reminded me of “Kiki’s Delivery Service”, in that we had a likeable protagonist who just gets helped out by different strangers throughout the course of the movie, and there really isn’t any antagonist or bad guy. On the whole, I enjoyed it. B-

FRIDAY, 1 PM

I love burritos. Well, I actually love all kinds of food, but between the months of March and May this year, I probably had a burrito almost every day. Maybe I was catching up for lost time; there aren’t a lot of burrito places on the Cape, so it was largely something I discovered upon moving to Boston, and even then, not ’til my Junior year. Unless you count Grilled Stuft Burritos from Taco Bell, which had been a vice of mine for ages.

But anyway, there’s a great burrito joint just outside the convention center called California Tortilla. They have all sorts of wacky varieties of burritos, but fuck that. I want straight-up burrito. Beans, steak, rice, sour cream, salsa, yeah. So as I stood in line, waiting for my chance to order a delicious burrito, for some reason, I made the mistake of looking at other things on the menu. And there I saw them. Fish tacos.

Now, I’d always heard of fish tacos. There was a Stella routine where they talk about Irish things, like Shaquille O’Neal, soda bread and fish tacos. I always wondered what exactly they were. I decided to order some and find out. Was it shredded fish, like tuna, stuffed in a shell? Fried nuggets of battered fish in a soft shell, not unlike a KFC Twister?

The answer was both “the latter” and “neither”. They fucking sucked, that’s what. God, they were gross. Biggest waste of six bucks ever. Although I did manage to get like three refills of root beer and give myself diabeetus, so that was good.

From there, I went to the game room, where I found Dan waiting his turn for Soul Calibur IV. Dan was a very, very good SoulCal player. In general, he’s very good at a lot of fighting games, although I can still wreck him in King of Fighters, since NO ONE can beat my Ryo. But SoulCal, or at least SC2, was Dan’s forte. He was fucking good. The social retards he surrounded himself with all took pride on their SC2 abilities, and on time, one went so far as to proclaim himself “the best Nightmare in Kingston”. So of course, Dan picked Nightmare and swept him in two straight. That’s how Dan rolled.

Of course, SoulCal 4 had only been out for a week or two, and Dan was a busy man. So he came into today’s contest somewhat cold. His opponent was a black dude in dreads who had just owned the machine. When Dan faced him, he had something like 11 straight wins. Much like a friend in Vegas with a hot hand of dice, Jonny and I crowded around him as he took on the champ. And, well, he got his ass kicked. Pretty damn decisively, too. He got swept in a best of five, three in a row. Oh well.

“What the fuck was that?!” I asked him.

“I’m too nervous. I choked.” He replied. “He’s really good, though.”

“Bullshit. Get back in there and kick his ass. This is your game, remember?”

And so Dan got back in line. He faced the man again, now with his streak at something like 17. And Dan lost again, swept in three straight.

“Come on, dude. You have this. Watch his low strikes.” I really had no idea what I was talking about. But I wanted to coach a winner.

“He’s really good, dude.” Dan replied. And he got back in line.

At this point, his foe was getting cocky. He had his own personal cheering squad, and sometimes, to toy with people, he’d let his hype man play a few rounds instead. Then, when the guy was down 2-0, he’d take over again and win three straight. And make no mistake, he was good. With his streak at 22, Dan sat down again.

Dan got swept once again. But for the first two rounds, God, they were close. You could sense the anticipation in the air from the crowd around us. Dan slowed the game down, waited for him to make his moves, countered, and took the first two rounds to the very limit. There was a palpable excitement in the crowd. With a few breaks, maybe this guy could unseat the champ. But after losing the first two in heartbreaking fashion, Dan couldn’t muster the magic for round three.

“You got him, man. You figured him out. Get back there.”

“Yeah, I think I do, too.”

So Dan got back in line. And the champ won a few more. Finally, with the streak at 26 and Dan next in line, he handed the controller off to his hype man, and never took it back. His friend lost in five, and the streak was over. The new champ slid over one seat, and Dan took him on. Of course, Dan swept him. And he won the next five matches too, before finally falling to an Asian kid with an intense death stare.

God, if he only got that last rematch, he coulda beat him. I just know it. Not getting to beat the legit good dude was like the Colts finally beating the Pats in the AFC championship in ‘07, but only when the Pats had traded away their WRs, had no running game and half their defense was injured. Oh well.

FRIDAY, 4 PM

CASE CLOSED

Fuck you, I like this show. It brings back memories of my Freshman and Sophomore years of college, where I was living by myself, watching a lot of TV, and making appointments to catch this show and Lupin III. But yeah, this show was always pretty damn awesome. The voice acting was wacky, but strangely appropriate. The mysteries were always cool, even if it was sometimes hard to solve by yourself because they’d introduce critical evidence out of nowhere right before the solution. And despite looking and sounding like a kids show, the cases would always be something grotesque, like “the body was found in a puddle of blood and semen with a car battery latched on to his nipples” and no one would bat an eye. Good times. B

FRIDAY, 5 PM

SPECIAL A

More like, Shitty A. This show had so much potential. The first scene was about a little girl whose father, a wrestling fan, taught her all the tricks to pro wrestling, like drop kicks and body slams and shit. Which of course, led me to believe this show would be about a little girl who grew up to become a pro wrestler. That would’ve been awesome. But no, it was just about some secret student organization where the chick was always getting beaten in tests of skill by some guy. Boring. Maybe it got better, but once I realized it wouldn’t actually be about wrestling and was almost identical to “Best Student Council”, a show I saw in the same room a year ago, well, I wasn’t interested. What a letdown. Not that I should’ve known that going in; it was a replacement for something called “To Love Ru”, which sounded like a generic boy-meets-alien-girl show, but whatever. D+

FRIDAY, 7 PM

WELCOME TO THE NHK

Nothing really wrong with this show. Visually, it was pretty impressive. Good character design. Pretty decent dub. Interesting story. But I don’t feel compelled to watch any more than two episodes. Maybe. We’ll see.

Basically, it’s about this dude who’s a complete shut-in. I guess these are common in Japan recently. He almost never leaves his home, and spends most of his time sleeping or on his computer, not doing much. Hmm… sounds familiar. Anyway, in the throes of his madness, he decides that NHK, which I think is a TV station in Japan, is part of a conspiracy to create more shut-ins (or Hikikimoris or some wierd Japanese phrase like that), and the cute chick who works at the comic store wants to help cure him of his anxiety.

I don’t think I disliked the show so much as I disliked the people watching it. But I’ll get into them later. This show was fine, but once again, I don’t think I’ll be downloading the rest any time soon. Because that would be illegal. C+

FRIDAY, 8 PM

Burger time. If you’re ever along the mid-Atlantic corridor (Baltimore, DC, Virginia) then by all means, find a Five Guys. Even when the place is below standards (like the one by the Harbor in Baltimore), they still make the most delicious burgers ever. You can load them up with toppings and condiments, but the meat itself is so delicious, you’re sometimes better off just throwing some ketchup and pickles on there and calling it a burger. By this point of the night, I had gone to the dealers room and, for the first time ever, bought not one, but two things. A sweet MGS4 shirt that I’ll probably never wear in public, and an even sweeter Castle of Cagliostro poster that will both look great in my room and make sure I never have sex with a woman ever again. Way to go anime.

FRIDAY, 9 PM

SABER MARIONETTE J

Much like Tenchi, Macross or any of the Gundams, this was one of those shows that I had heard the title of so many times, but never once felt compelled to watch. And, well, it’s alright, but I wasn’t missing anything. It’s about a kid who finds a robot chick in an underground cave, and she ends up being clingy, obsessive and crazy. I assume, from the opening credits, he eventually meets two more. It’s typical mid 90s anime wackiness; if that’s your thing, check it out. Personally, I prefer 80s anime wackiness. In the 90s, jokes were generally just unfunny, and you laugh at them because you want to pretend what you’re watching is actually funny. Kinda like how in “Lord of the Rings”, when the hobbits set off the fireworks in the party and everyone laughs, only it’s not really all that funny, but you pretend to enjoy it because you assume that kind of whimsy and mischief was funny in the days of Middle Earth. But in the 80s, the jokes were funny, both intentionally and unintentionally. For instance, “Future Police Urashiman”, which remains the greatest television series of all time, had really simple humor, like Ryuu’s car driving through a restaurant and breaking a table or two, which is just goofy, but then Ryuu would say right afterwards “Oops! Look like I ruined someone’s dinner!” which is completely unecessary, since we just saw what happened, but somehow makes a lame joke instantly funny. But yeah, nothing special about this show. The snooty antagonist is kinda funny, though. C

FRIDAY, 10 PM

CLAYMORE

This is a show that should’ve been made at least 10 years ago, preferably about 13. Modern animes follow a disturbing trend nowadays that requires them to have a significant lack of color, personality, and likable characters. The action scenes are over-stylized, and there’s unnecessary usage of CGI for certain visual effects. Also, they tend to have really, really awful dubs. Enter Claymore.

Claymore could’ve been awesome. Maybe it still is. But it falls into all the traps set by modern animes in an effort to appeal to the modern anime fan. I mean, shit, someone’s buying it, so I guess I don’t blame them. But this show in 1995 would’ve been a lot better, I think.

From what I can tell from the first episode, it’s about a female knight who’s part of this secret organization of demon beast hunters. She goes to a town, ices a demon beast, and takes a really annoying young boy under her wing. I assume in later episodes, she kills more demon beast things, the boy falls in love with her, and she probably dies. But I don’t know anything for sure. At least, plotwise, I don’t.

I do know that the show suffers from everything I just said. Really, awful dubbing (I couldn’t believe how bad the boy is), no personality, and the main female lead being so angsty and quiet that I really don’t give a shit about her at all. Characters don’t always have to be overly jolly, nice people with warm hearts. But there has to be something there for me to latch on to so that I can root for them. This show didn’t have it. Look at Fujiko, from Lupin. She’s a lying, cheating, stealing bitch who sleeps with any and every guy she thinks can make her the most money, but she’s a genuinely likable character, even if she double crosses Lupin almost every episode.

Anyway, I’m sure I’m not giving Claymore a fair shot, considering they only showed one episode, but I’m probably not gonna see if I’m right or wrong anytime soon. C

FRIDAY, 11 PM

MNEMOSYNE

Raise your hand if you like boobs. What about guns? And who here likes torture porn? Is your hand still raised? Then this is the show for you. Actually, to be fair, it was actually kinda good. But it was also a little disturbing, and I can’t in good conscience recommend it to anyone I would see in person on a regular basis.

Its a show about a big titty detective named Rin, who has green hair, glasses, and a strange lesbian relationship with her secretary, who looks like a teenager but is supposedly much older. Rin is also immortal. The show opens with a red-headed chick chasing Rin up some stairs, shooting Rin repeatedly, then finally shooting her some more as she hangs off a building ledge. She shoots her so much, she shoots her hand off. Rin falls to her death. The artists take special care during this scene to show that Rin is only wearing a lab coat and nothing else, but them titty is always obscured by something. Then, Rin somehow wakes up the next day without a scratch on her. Still naked, though, and our view of them titty still obstructed.

I bring this up not because of disappointment that I didn’t get to see them titty, because come on, I have the internet. I can see big anime titty whenever I want. But for the first few scenes, Rin is almost always naked, and each scene, they take special care to obstruct our view.

And then, for the rest of the episode, they just give up and show as much titty as possible. I have no idea why. It was like they were making the episode, and some producer shows up halfway through production and is like, “You guys do know that we can have full frontal, right?” and all the animators jump out of their seats and are all like “FUCK YEAH! TITTY CITY!!”

Anyway, Rin is a detective, she solves a mystery of some dude, it turns out the dude is a clone, Rin gets tortured to all hell (hope you like piercings), dies, and magically comes back to life, wherein she forces her torturer to be eaten by zombies (!) and blows the laboratory up. I dunno. There were 7 more episodes, apparently, and I’m sure they answer every question, but I’m a little weary of watching any more. I don’t know if I can look at a nipple piercing the same ever again. Not that I’ve ever actually seen- no wait, I did once. It was gross. Nevermind.

So like I was saying, the show’s okay. Well drawn, but just a little too grotesque. Also, like “Welcome to NHK”, I was stuck in an awful theater. But once again, I’ll get into that tomorrow. C+

SATURDAY, 1 AM

And that was it for Friday. All in all, not a bad day, but relatively unremarkable. The only thing I saw that I would feel compelled to watch on my own was Honneamise, which I’ll probably end up doing. Saturday looked much more promising, and was traditionally the better day in past Otakons, anyway. I went back to Joel’s, bought a mint ice cream sandwich (Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints the Mormons those things are fucking good. I wish I sold them on my truck) and Canada Dry Vanilla Cream Soda (much, much better than regular cream soda. I need to be on the lookout for that shit up here… man, I’m thirsty for it right now), plus some Candy cigarettes, because they were there and they were delicious. I highlighted my schedule for the next day, and went to bed, with visions of sugar plums and big titty bitches getting tortured dancing in my head.

The Otakon Diaries; Part 1

For me, it isn’t even about Vegas as much anymore. When you hit your 30s, your friends settle in different cities, get hitched, pump out a kid, start working 50-to-60 hours a week … you look up one day and realize you haven’t seen three of your closest buddies in 15 months. Vegas becomes the great equalizer. There’s always that first glorious stretch with everyone sitting at the same blackjack table, throwing down drinks, cracking worn-out jokes and busting chops, when you realize that nothing has changed. Thank God.

- Bill Simmons, on Las Vegas

Ah, Otakon. My Vegas. It’s a testament to just how nerdy I am that I could equate the experience of gambling, strip clubs and heavy drinking to three days of pushing through crowds of smelly wierdos, eating greasy food and watching animated shows with balloony boobed, gun-toting women. But Otakon is my Vegas.

I don’t come to Otakon for the anime. I don’t go for the Dealer’s Room. I don’t go for the cosplayers, the game room, the panels, the workshops, the music videos or even the live action movies. Although the live action movies certainly help. But for that one weekend in August, the gang is back together. Nevermind that we’ve never had the same group in any of the four years I’ve gone, but still. The gang is together.

This year, however, Otakon meant even more. For the first (and probably last) time, everyone came. My brother Dom, his old roommate Joel, my friends Jon and Dan; in the past, there was always some obstacle preventing someone from coming. This year, none of that bullshit. Everyone made the trip to Baltimore. And at this time next year, Jonny will be in Singapore, I might be in California and no one knows where Dan will be, so there’s pretty much no chance of it happening ever again. We would seize the days.

THURSDAY, 9 AM

My plan for the day was to go to work, then hop on a bus right after to Logan, get on my 8:30 flight to Baltimore and arrive at around 10 PM, which meant I would miss pre-registration, and I’d have to spend an hour in line on Friday morning waiting to register. No buys. But fortunately, God was on my side.

“Fuck it, bro,” said God. “I got this one.” He decided to make Thursday incredibly cloudy, which bode well for me as an ice cream truck driver. I drove to the park and ride, jumped on a bus at 1 PM and got to the airport at about 2:45. Got on the standby list for a 4:30 flight, got my giant bottle of mouthwash confiscated by security, talked wrestling with the security guy, left my ID at security, had security dude find me in terminal and give back my ID, sat as the plane was delayed for 90 minutes, and finally took off to Baltimore at 6 PM. Unfortunately, no awesome road trip stories this year.

THURSDAY, 7 PM

Joel picked me up at BWI and we arrived at his home, an incredibly awesome four-story rowhouse in a nice area of Baltimore, right by the harbor and only minutes from the convention center. Of course, just arriving at the house was another reality check. This was Joel’s parents’ house, not his, and as Joel was getting a new job, settling in with his girlfriend and moving up in the world, well, he couldn’t stay at that house forever. Even if the house is awesome and his parents are really, really cool people. It wasn’t until Saturday night that it truly hit me that I’d probably never sleep in the house again, which made me sad.

But this was Otakon. A time for happiness, not regret. We met up with the rest of the gang and got to the convention center in the nick of time.

Typically, whenever I go to Otakon, I come in with an air of superiority. Even though I’m just as losery as everyone else for going to this thing, I like to walk around with a mindset of how I’m better than almost everyone here. I have good hygiene, I have excellent social skills, my personality flaws are minimal and relatively unnoticeable, and I’m generally better-looking than at least 70% of the male attendees. Humble, too.

Of course, this year, God wanted to make sure I had as much of an obstructed view from my ivory tower as possible. After a tough training session two days earlier, my body was sore as all hell. But only certain parts. My legs were fine, but my ankles and feet were killing me. My chest and biceps were fine, but my upper back and triceps were crippling me. So certain things, like running up stairs, I was fine. Other things, like getting up from seats and out of cars, on the other hand, were incredibly difficult. Ironically, running was fine, but walking was often difficult. As a result, I basically hobbled around the Baltimore Convention Center like I had scoliosis. I also had a vicious cold sore on my upper lip; by far the worst cold sore I’ve ever had, and maybe the single most painful facial blemish of my life. Jesus Chris this thing fucking hurt. And man, was it unsightly.

So for all my chin-up, chest-out strutting that I was planning on for the weekend, I was left hobbled and scarred like a common otaku. Ugh.. I hate using that word. “Otaku”. Makes me sound like a weeaboo. As I type this, the body soreness is gone, but the cold sore is still in full effect. And it’s in that awful stage where it’s trying to scab up, but the scab keeps falling off, and the skin is all pink and shit and its gonna stay pink for like three months… God dammit.

THURSDAY, 10 PM

This is Simmons’ blackjack table. The highlight of the weekend. Quite literally the highlight of the weekend, actually. Thursday night, we all gather in Joel’s den, which is conveniently located on the top floor and has a great view of Baltimore at night. And we go through our schedules and highlight what we all want to see. Every year, its always the same. We take turns reading the wacky descriptions for each movie and show, we call each other gay and ‘tards, we play video games, we watch 80’s metal music videos, and we pump ourselves up for the weekend. We make a trip to the convenience store and get lots of unhealthy snacks. We scarf on the delicious treats Joel’s GF made for us. We argue about when we should wake up. It’s the best time of the whole weekend.

Although I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little worried about the schedule. In short, there wasn’t much that had me excited. Most of the things I was looking forward to were simply because of the title. Stuff like “Black Blood Brothers” and “Funky Forrest Movie”. But since the foolish abolishment of the live action martial arts/action-exclusive theater two years ago, I always had a hard time finding something to get jazzed about. In fact, the only thing I was really excited about was “Getting Home”, a Chinese movie about a guy dragging his dead friend’s body across the country. The summary made it sound like “Weekend at Bernies” meets “Tommy Boy”. But, alas, that’s why we come; to discover hidden treasures.

Like kids before Christmas, we all went to bed wishing the morning would come as fast as possible. Otakon, for maybe the last time of our lives, was finally upon us.

These kids today, with their sleepy expressions and their Satanic tattoos and their running around in the arcade parlors and their shiny gold “blam blam” or whatever they call it and their dangerous skateboards and their Chef Boyardees and their dang-fangled computer machines teaching them how to make bombs and their iFrogs or whatever they call it and their automobiles with the wheels that look like they’re still spinning when they stop and their trenchcoats and their colorful tee-shirts with the Marxist propaganda on them and their thong sandals and their Britney Spears’s husbands and their powdered wigs and their peg legs with decals on ‘em and their low-carb diets and their Rockin’ the Vote and their collectible bottle caps and their tiny little cameras inside the tiny little portable telephones and their “For Shizzle McFizzley Ding Dong Dizzle” Snoopy Dog language and their general disrespect towards their elders

One night, about a year ago, I was hanging out with a friend in the city. We thought we’d hit some bars up, but I didn’t have much money, nor was I the type of guy who would go to a bar and spend hours talking up some hot babes. So the night was basically headed towards bust-ville. But then we got a call from another friend, who was hanging out at some wacky college dorm room just outside of town. We were bored, so we decided to join him.

Long story short, the night was otherwise forgettable. The people this guy was hanging out were no-one special (except that chick who went to MassArt and looked like Rosario Dawson. Many buys.) Anyway, there was one point of the night were some girl was leading us to some room or something (this story is longer than it needs to be, I’m sorry) and my friend said something like “Don’t make me turn this car around!” or something.

Now, whenever I hear something like that, the first thing I think of is Chris Farley’s part in Billy Madison, when he says “I’ll turn this damn bus around… that oughta end your precious little field trip pretty damn quick!”

So of course, I said this line right then and there. Those who know me in person know that 85% of everything I say comes from some movie, show or game. That’s just how I am. But evidently, this chick didn’t know I was quoting something. Perhaps eager to impress the people around her, she got on my case for no reason.

“What’s your problem, you like disappointing kids or something? What a weird person! You hear this guy? He’s wierd!”

Really, I have no idea what the hell she said. It was this scrambled mess coming from her mouth that didn’t really make any sense. Perhaps my Farley impression was so spot on that the rage and frustration in my voice came across to her as some sort of sexual pleasure or something. I don’t know. She was kind of a bitch, anyway.

Regardless, I have no idea why I remember this. I had certainly forgotten about it by the end of the night. I never saw the bitch again, anyway.

———————————

I’m an ice cream truck driver. It’s actually a very well-paying position, as long as the sun’s out. Not that I’m keeping any of it. My credit debt is astounding, and gas is fucking expensive. But that’s besides the point.

I hate kids. I really do. Of all ages. I used to work at an ice rink, where I’d man the skate rental booth during “Rock Night” (public skating with flashy lights and the greatest hits of 2001 and 2002 on repeat), and all night, I’d be surrounded by snotnosed little pricks. Not even that much younger than me. I was 16, 17 or so at the time, and these little fucks were 13, 14, or 15. But god, I hated ‘em. Just the same snivelling assholes every week.

So why would I take a job where I deal almost exclusively with kids? Well, it’s not because I’m a pedophile. Because I’m not… as far as you know. But it’s pretty much only because of the money. It’s really good money. I love money. If kids were made out of money, I would like kids.

But, unfortunately, kids aren’t made out of money. If they were, even then, I would like kids in the way a fox likes a hen. I would tear them apart and consume them.

But I’m rambling now. Let me start over.

——————————–

Remember how the crazy bitch was all like, “You get pleasure from disappointing children?!”

It turns out, that’s actually quite true.

I love disappointing children. A disappointed child’s face is as precious to me as a child’s laughter to most other people. Children are assholes. I hate them. So it’s always fun when their best laid plains go awry.

When I drive the truck past some kids on the street, they pump their arms in hopes that I ring the bell. I don’t even look at them.

A big brother acts tough in front of his little brother in front of my truck while they wait for their father to bring money. “I know what I want!” the older brother says. “What are you getting?” the younger brother asks. “You’ll see” the older brother replies. “Just tell me. I don’t know what I want, yet” the younger brother pleads. “No! You’ll just copy me. It’s the best ice cream here” the older brother declares. Finally, the father shows up. “What are you having, guys?” the father asks. “Cookies and Cream Screamer” the older brother triumphantly declares, choosing the largest, most fattening, and second-most expensive item on the truck. He feels like a big man, now. “No, Cody, that’s too big. You’re not getting that. Get something smaller” the dad replies. “BUT DAD! COME ON! I WANT THAT!” the boy protests. Plan foiled.

Some asshole kid saunters up to the window like he’s Gino Felino and slams a 20 down on the counter. “I’ll have Lemon Chill” he declares. Then he folds his arms and waits for his ice cream. Having let go of the 20, a gust of wind comes by and blows the 20 off the counter and into the parking lot. The bill gets pushed further and further while the little asshole chases after it, too stupid to realize the trick to catching paper in the wind is to run ahead of it and block its path, not chase after it and let it continue to blow away from you.

Sometimes they’re just assholes.

Some little fucker walks up, and takes his sweet time deciding what he wants. Like, 10 minutes. Finally, he decides. “Tear Jerker Bomb Pop”, he says. No please, no question, no request, nothing. “Okay, that’s $2.50″ I say. “I know” the little shit responds. Who the fuck does he think he is? I know? What are you, fucking Bob Barker? Shut your goddamn mouth. I’m older than you and I have more money.

Above them all, I had a true moment the other day. Basically, every single stereotype I have about snotnosed pricks came true at the exact same time. This little fucker wanted some giant ice cream, and his mom says “No, only a popsicle.” The kid enters Cartman mode. “BUT MYEEEAAAAHM, I WANT ICE CREAM!” the little shit says. “No. I said a popsicle” the mother responds. Good job, Mom. “BUT THAT’S NOT FAAYEEERRR!” the child cries. “Fine. We’re not getting anything, then”. Mom holds her ground. Good job, Mom. Don’t back down. Not for this little shit. The kid isn’t giving up. “NAAAAOOOOW! ITS NOT FAAYURRR!” Now he’s swinging his arms and hitting his mother. Come on, Mom. Crack him in the mouth. I won’t say anything. “Well, pick a popsicle, then. Or we won’t get anything.” Wrong way, Mom. Make him pay for it. “NO! I WANT ICE CREAM!!” I hate this kid. I bet his name is Aiden. “Well, pick something.” Why are you backing down, Mom? Stop! “I WANT THIS ONE!!” He points to the original thing he wanted in the first place. “Okay, fine, Aiden.” WHAT?! You just gave in like nothing!? And his name was Aiden, too! I was only guessing! I swear to God this happened.

————————————

Which brings me to my greater point. I really fucking hate kids. And there’s nothing they can do to make me not hate them, except be perfectly bland. If they act like kids, I think they’re annoying. If they act too old for their own age, I laugh at them behind their back and think about how much they’re gonna get their ass kicked at school.

Now, I know I was just like these fuckers when I was their age. That doesn’t excuse it. I was guilty of it, too. And that’s why, to this day, I absolutely hate watching old home movies. And there’s nothing that makes me angrier at a family dinner than when my parents start talking about the stupid shit I did and said when I was seven and how cute I used to be. I hate the fact that I was once a kid. I watched wrestling, I played Nintendo, I watched cartoons, I would never shut the fuck up about anything. Okay, maybe things aren’t that different now, but still.

You know what the problem is, though? It’s America. American kids are fucking assholes, and I’m a little worried about what the future holds. Like, in 30 years, is every Fortune 500 company going to be run by Aidens? Will every single girl be named Sophie? Will the government be run by greedy little shits who don’t want to share? (Hmm…) Why do I think this? Because I occasionally have customers who are foreigners. Mostly British and French-Canadians. And the kids are always polite, but not to an extent where I want to punch them. I don’t even understand it. Why are American kids such pukes, and kids everywhere else aren’t?

Look, I know I’m being a little shortsighted, here. Obviously, there are plenty of asshole British kids, and Lord knows there’s a few asshole French-Canadians out there. And sure, I’m guessing not all American kids are assholes. But seriously, now.

Ugh. I’m fucking tired of kids. I never want to see one ever again.

That all being said, kids, continue to buy ice cream, please. I need the money.