Sunday, February 10, 2008

Bang Bang Baby Bang Bang

No internet and no tv make john a dull boy.

That's why I resort to making a podcast and writing about pink-haired ninjas.

have also been working at the real job.

and then, while in possession of teh interwebs for at least five minutes, i found this:

god. you'd think after years of saving ryan's privates, the da vinci load and...some other lame movie porn title i'm forgetting...that THIS would have been it.

and now to get back to work on the second episode of the podcast: ETHNOCORE.
topics include:
-my black eye.
-midnite vultures.

also, flash back to the New York Anime Festival:
it was a cold time. it was a dark time. it was a time where i was waking up on brandon's couch early friday and saturday morning--having officially given up by Sunday to finding any real lede to a piece that would morph from gift guide into "NYC-Anime" guide.

i have a personal love-hate relationship with cons. I hate them. But I love walking around and seeing what's avaliable.

But I fucking hate the entire sub-culture that revolves around it: the faux-anonymous, the GLOMPers, the screaming children, that one asshole in a Cloud outfit who can't hold his goddamn Buster Sword straight.

I also hate the fact I can run around the entire show floor in 15 minutes, decide that i cannot bring myself to:

-Spend $85 on the G1 Megatron figure that the wholesaler swears I can just remove the orange cap to make him bad-ass again.
-Talk to nice guys about their upcoming wares, but then have them try to suggest I write about their upcoming Hentai titles.
-Leap onto a random Ichigo's sword and embrace the sweet darkness that is sleep.

I personally loathed the entire thing more when I stopped to ask a seller if I could photograph her product. As I set up my camera, I looked up and realized she was adjusting her one-piece and making sure her tits were bouncy. I felt sick. I just wanted the merch. Although I guess it's all one and the same when you boil it down.

But I sort of remember this one person--or better, this roaming group of people. There were dozens videotaping their burned-out joy and attacking the stuffed Guano. Yet in my repeated circling of the entire fucking basement of horrors, I felt like I kept running into these people the most.

Imagine my shock when I checked the front page of a certain site of general amusement--and found one of the group staring back at me. it felt strange, almost like i recognized her from somewhere. And then it hit me.


Now, do I really know her or have ever met her? Clearly no. Is that even a real name? Of course not, it's a handle. So then, how do I know that? Why was I so sure I almost recognized her and her crew from somewhere? Simple.


And it was at this humble moment did I realize that not having the Internet isn't a bad thing. It means I'll stop recognizing people I should truly have no reason to ever acknowledge--like Julia Allison.

Granted, the cosplayer is better than the attention...monger.

but she's also on /cgl/. and that is like three billion times scarier than being made into a media figure by THE GREAT SATAN 2.0.

btw, happy 2/10/08! i'm going to go hide back in greenpoint and let an army of angry polish people protect me from Anon.

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