Animania.

A phrase like 'anime convention' is one usually met with head-shaking and the immediate writing-off of the individual as a sad nerd. I know this. I have been there. But an anime convention is also cool. All it takes is for the rest of the world to get over the idea of it being nerdy or stupid.

An anime convention is a riot of colour and characters. This convention celebrates many different aspects of the phenomena; gaming and drawing competitions are held, there are stalls selling merchandise ranging from licensed prints to figurines from the series that constitute the gathering of the masses. Hold still for long enough and you will hear the warbling of a slightly sharp or flat voice hollering along in Japanese to the kareoke setup. To be short, Animania comprises and celebrates many Japanese mediums - printed art/comics (manga), the animated from of said comics (anime), video games - all of these inevitably lead to one particular thing:

Cosplay.

How does one describe cosplay? It is a blending of the words 'costume play'. They are living, moving works of art; people who for this short period of time take on the persona, clothing and characteristics of any given character from one of the above media sources.

What makes these costumed people so amazing is that the frequently construct these costumes themselves, using a couple of modified clothing patterns and images from the media source to deliver the finished product.

These costumes are often complicated, involving armour, heavily detailed weapons or pieces that have to be commissioned specifically for the costume - created from cardboard, PVC - sometimes even fibreglass.

Some of these costumes are full-bodied, and the cosplayer themselves may have spent countless hours constructing it

An anime festival can also incorporate role-playing skits, where the costumed people proceed to act according to the character the masquerade as - in front of a massive audience - producing humour or drama often as the media form dictates.

By far the best large-participant skit I witnessed was of five young men, all dressed in different costumes belonging to the same character. They, without words, proceeded to perform a medley of short dances, culminating when four of them summoned the fifth to the stage, 'Captain Planet'-style, and then proceeded to dance to Michael Jackson's 'Thriller'.

 The cosplay continues on such as this; with the skits escalating to auditions for the 'World Cosplay Summit' - A worldwide cosplay competition entailing role-playing dramas, fine details and many, many amazing costumes. These were a level up from the dancing Sorii - there was a giant cannon, a Vespa thrown across the stage, a coffin and fake blood splashing down a white satin dress synchronised to the sound of a gunshot.

Following this spectacle, we exited the auditorium. It was time for me to try something entirely alien and intimidating and walk on that stage.

Prior to the event, I had entered a cosplay designed the year before. It was Kairi from Kingdom Hearts II and as with any project, I experienced joy and frustration and tears in constructing it. I had made a costume for Sora as well, and (actually....I still have to fix it. If Josh still has it.)

The day before I left for London, Josh (then-Boyfriend) and I had dressed as Kairi and Sora and gone down to the beach with my sister Prue taking photos. There was water, sand, stone-skipping and a masking-tape paopu. Oh the memories.

Anyhow. I entered the costume in the hopes of maybe getting somewhere with it. Part of what followed was the Cosplay Catwalk, where the people entering walk onto the giant stage and try not to fall over. Well, that is what I did. There was wandering, and the kind of in-character acting that can only occur when you are so terrified of everything else that you keep going to avoid the deer-in-the-headlights-pose.

The lights were so bright; they almost completely blotted out the faces of all in the audience. I was dimly aware of the theme music from the game playing in the background and I meandered the stage in character, the animalistic-terror in my mind wondering faintly when the MC would walk over and talk to me.

Seconds stretch into hours on that stage, and after about a week, I exited, stage left.
The anticipation had been horrid, but I had seen so many of the greater costumes in finer detail. It was worth it.

One of the reasons why this kind of event is good as both an event and an exhibition is that you interact with what is going on. It is optional to stand with your oversized weapon and allow people to take photos of your handicraft. It is recommended to at least try the wizard-sized Cosplay chess and/or Twister.

But you talk to the fellow cosplayers; learn how they made whatever instrument they wield or simply listen to how they interact with others. It's one of the best questions to ask because it's not necessarily about the 'what' (is that?) or 'who' (are you?)

It's about the 'how'.

How did you make that two-metre long sniper rifle?

How did you detail those dupion?

How did you organise thirteen people to wear similar costumes?

And so on. Occasionally you have the opportunity to assist in your own ways - I personally couldn't believe it when the Ichigo I met told me he's been using ribbed elastic to apply a 'bandage' affect. It becomes a two-way exchange of data and information as you assist in costume design simultaneously with learning how to apply a zipper or particular type of finish that in the end, will create something funky and radical and definitely worthy of an exhibition.

As awesome as fine detail is, though, there are some things that just need the right form of portrayal. These guys, for example.

They were a couple of young men dressed as creepers from the game Minecraft. I have not played minecraft, but I understand that these things hiss and explode when they get close to you.
It was one of the best costumes I had seen all day.

Of course, there is the level of interaction that you experience with complete stangers in this environment. You have suddenly donned the face of another person; another identity. This means that even though you don't know somebody from a bar of soap, you instantly have some common denominator or unifying...thing.

It would be like walking into a large room of people you didn't know and exclaiming something about the game. You know none of those people. But all of a sudden you have something in common with at least one of them. Most of the time.

So riddle me this:

When you round a corner to enter the venue and have someone sight your costume and scream the character's name, what do you do? This guy was running in slow motion with outstretched arms.

I ran too.


Oh, BTW, I picked these images up from The Cosplay Society, Pinin Photography and Muki Dorifuto. And off of Facebook from the magnificient people I met from attending the day. It was grand guys, and I hope you appreciate my plug for you all. And Aurora Entertainment too.

</disclaimer> 

Adventures in Newcastle. Part 2 - the most awesome friday. ever.

I can't guarantee photos for this. It all happened so fast, there was really no time to begin taking photos. So close your eyes and get someone to read it to you while I explain in detail why this was possibly the best Friday I have experienced all year.

The first part of Friday mostly consisted of zombie-shuffling it to uni.

Lecture at 9am = have to beat the traffic = leave home at 7am.

Bec and her cousin Sam had gone to a beach the day before and didn't arrive home until some early hour of the morning. So understandably it was a little bit before we were able to get the ball rolling. We left a bit after 7, all tired and scrubbing our eyes. With my roommate and her cousin and their five hours of sleep, this was understandable. I'm just not a morning person.
I remember (and I had this struggle this morning also) looking into the 'tea/coffee storage area', eyeing off the coffee. Wondering if it was worth it.

When I arrived two weeks ago, Dad was kind enough to do the shopping for essential bits. He did bring me back instant coffee. But it was Decaf.

I love you Dad, but it's still Decaf. I'm having caffeine withdrawals and I keep trying to tell myself that the caffeine is a placebo and I really just want the coffee taste.

Decaf is not coffee.

So. I had been eyeing off the coffee. I think I had some. Too bad Bec doesn't drink it too.

We left a little late with the intention of dropping Sam off on the way. She sat in the front of the small Suzuki Swift, giving reactive directions towards the house we were in hot pursuit of. Even though 'hot pursuit' might seem a little overrated, believe me, it wasn't. It wasn't Sam's house, so we wound up motoring as quietly as a 22-year-old sports car would allow us through the streets of suburbia. We found the house, and Bec and I set off for uni.

You would think that having spent so much time out looking for the house, we would now be resigned to double-clutching it up the large hills and doggedly trying to get in the left lane so we wouldn't have to leg it across North Lambton. But we got there.

Bec checked the car clock as we climbed the exit ramp to University Drive, and, surprised, remarked on the time it had taken us to traverse northwest Newcastle. I replied,

"That's because I am secretly a Time Lord, and this (here I gestured to the dark blue Swift) is my TARDIS"

Spot the Doctor Who fan if you dare.

Getting to uni was no trouble. We did manage to get a bit lost on our way to the lecture room - all the while wandering through the thick cloud of mosquitoes that throngs the Uni. They feast on the blood of students, and thrive in the bushland that enshrouds the learning facility.

Bec was swatting them. I was not smart enough to take a bag for my lecture book, so occasionally I managed to smush one or two using the butt of my water bottle. It looked like the club of a battle-worn warrior  - lots of bloodstains - by the time we emerged from the woods and entered the housing for the lecture theatre.

Post-lecture and uni we still had a large amount of day to survive. But the first thing we needed to deal with was actually the fuel in the car. It had been empty that morning, and we'd put twenty dollars in. Unfortunately, that wasn't enough to fill the tank, so we meandered off to Mayfair in search of Woolworths Petrol stations and their discounted petrol.

As we were exiting the uni, I had a sudden desire for ice-cream. It wasn't even a slight hankering for, although I suspect it was not as insatiable as the cravings of a pregnant woman. I don't know. I have not been pregnant. But I still wanted ice-cream.

So, we are now driving through Mayfair, a part of Newcastle neither Bec or I had been to, in search of cheap(er) fuel and ice-cream.

Our search yielded a Woolworths with a special deal on my most favoured brand of ice-cream. In small punnets. We were sold, and shortly after we located the plastic spoons in the store Bec and I were sitting in the TARDIS, in the shade, lost in the bliss of 400mL of ice-cream. We had two punnet-things: mint choc-chip and cookies and creeeeeeaaaam. I LOVE cookies and cream.

SO good.

We perused suitable directions from the checkout lady, and were soon in pursuit of a fuel station on a street that didn't exist. Failing that, we started looking at the maps for fuel-station icons, and with no particular place in mind, we set out.

At the traffic lights of the intersection that would take us back onto a 20-year-old highway, we spotted what was most possibly the best-named noodle bar in Newcastle.

"KUNG-FU NOODLE"

To phrase it as Bec had done - 'It's like the perfect combination of Kung-fu Panda and Spagattah Nadle! It's like, a kung-fu noodle with a speech impediment!" (If Spagattah Nadle makes no sense I suggest going here. It will explain all.)

So far, it was looking like a pretty awesome Friday.

We drove on for a short period of time, and suddenly! There was a fuel station. I bet that by now you're either bored, waiting for it to get really good, pitying the way I get excited over small things or possibly getting excited yourself. I don't know. You tell me, reader.
There was a fuel station, and I remembered which side of the car the fuel was on, so we were pretty much sweet. It was a Woolworths station, and we filled the car and set off, keen for home.

By now we had approached the part of the afternoon where I would start chanting the word 'pool'. The world had heated up sufficiently and I wanted nothing more than to head back to our place in Cardiff Macquarie Hills and get. in. that. pool.

It was only as we began to climb a hill not far from the refueling that I noticed the fuel gauge. Most cars, when full, will have a gauge that looks like this:

F|                         E

(The little | next to the F is the needle.)

Ours looked like this:

|      F                                      E

So we were both pretty excited.
I think there is a photo. I may post it. It was taken while driving, with Bec holding my mobile phone and me making the car go.

As we continued, I began to recognise the occasional landmark, feeling slightly less lost and more like we were headed home. My sense of direction generally sucks, so the way things work with Bec and I is very simple at the moment.

I drive. Bec navigates.

It's worked well so far.

Anyway, she was telling me about an intersection we would pass through very soon that I would definitely recognise, that if I didn't recognise it, there was something wrong with me. As we passed through it I felt unfamiliarity until I saw the RSL club. It took a moment for my brain to rotate its position and suddenly I knew exactly where we were. About two intersections from home, that's where.

We pulled up and barreled inside, only to encounter a most perplexing of choices.

I had been expecting two packages in the mail, and was indescribably excited about th prospect of having not one, but two packages coming within the next week or so.

One of them was on our loungeroom floor.

Russell (the landlord) had placed it there when it arrived, and I was immediately faced with a dilemma.

Box or pool first?

Box won. There was a clamp-light that Mum had bought at Bling from home. It already has a name.

Have a guess what.

WALL-E.

Ooh yeah.

Shortly afterward, Bec and I had, with the absolution and deliberation of an avalanche, made it to the pool.

Pools are great. I like them a lot.

You would have to think that this is the end of the day?
This is the bit where if it was an infomercial, I'd have a smaller stunt double jump up from behind the counter-or-whatever-I-am-advertising-from and we'd both yell,

"but wait, there's MORE!"

And you're all like "what? how can that be? can this day possibly get more excellent? how will they do it?"

And if this was an episode of bleach, that would be the bit where the motion would freeze at a dramatic point and the words 'to be continued' would spider across the screen and make you want to headbutt the universe because the episode can't end there - you have to find out what happens next! Fifty episodes later!

I am getting overexcited.

Anyway. We had an early dinner, made greater by the fact that I had made a lot the night before and nobody else had been home to eat it. We simply heated it up and then proceeded to sit on the loungeroom floor, munching on rice and chicken meatball while watching Bleach.

Bec hasn't encountered Bleach before. And I'm actually quite enjoying watching the first season again.

We crashed relatively early.

But it was still, without a shadow of a doubt, the most awesome friday. ever.

Adventures in Newcastle. Part One.

Tonight’s post has two bits. But they both relate back to my recent becoming-a-Novocastrian. Enjoy.

The trip down

We were supposed to leave at ten that morning, but running on true Hazelgrove time meant that we didn’t get away until after lunch. Dad was still busy working on the Suzuki, and I was doing some last minute boxing. At about 11am Dad pulls me outside for the most intense ten minute car-mechanic-intro I think most people could experience. It is one of those little things that I wish I could do – like speaking Japanese or being able to build small explosives – be a bit of a closet mechanic. There’s something cool about grease-marked hands and the feeling of working with your hands.

My session went something along the lines of

“Radiator. Pressurised. You have a butterfly’s chance in hell of getting it open when the engine is hot, so don’t try. Coolant goes in there - it’s green.

Oil. Dipstick. Don’t get oil on the engine when you pull the dipstick out it’s bad this is the full line don’t let it get below halfway down the indicator tare the stick before you measure.

This is the lock for the bonnet; make sure you can open it without looking at it.

Coolant overflow. Window-water. Check everything once a week. Engine gets over halfway on the temp gauge that is bad. Come around the back spare tyre….”

From there I was suddenly engaged in the act of removing the rear left tyre using the other definite piece of anti-darking-metal in the car. I quite like my tyre iron. It has an ‘I’m serious’ feel to it. It doesn’t have a name yet. 

Anyhow, changing the tyre probably would have been more fun if I hadn’t had the sun heating up my unprotected shoulders and back. I could feel the heat, and almost expected to hear the sizzling of pork-like-meat as I knelt by the jack and tyre.

The last lesson I had with the car before bailing back inside to continue streamlining the crapola I was bringing with me was how the steering lock worked. Dad explained the purpose of the oddly-shaped piece of steel and how to operate it and why I should definitely not put with the end on the right side of the car because that would damage the window.

Once again, the anti-darking-metal-topic crossed my mind, and I’ve got no idea as to whether the idea manifested itself there and then or formed over the space of this week. Either way, my blue steering lock is now called Appropriation.

I'll give you a photo of it tomorrow. If I remember.

(By the way, if all this is refusing to make sense I would suggest looking for a trilogy of books by Scott Westerfield. It’s called The Midnighters and the main enemies hate steel, groups of thirteen and new things.)

So. Fast-forward to leaving time; Prue has located a mixed CD that I think I burnt in 2004 or 2005. Either way, it’s old and there is an embarrassing amount of bad music on it. 

Jack had located the gorilla costume he’d purchased online which had arrived on Friday and he put it on, in spite of the oppressive heat outside. Laughter ensued. 

There’s just something that I think is about full-body-animal suits. It’s like they have some sort of power because other people cannot see your face = anonymous = act stupid. Well, more outlandish than normal, at the very least. Ten minutes of side-splitting, tear-generating laughter and I ducked inside for the last, almost-most-important-thing-to-do-before-travelling.

Sunscreen.

To put it this way, the dear Swift had the window tint peel off about six years ago. It is a two-door car, and it predates air conditioner, so the only form of ventilation is the window. Open window. Sun. Lots of it.

Equals sunscreen. Lots of that too.

Prue and I headed up the party, with Dad in behind driving the Tarago. We weren’t even halfway to the stop when I began to feel the sensation of burning flesh, so by the time we pulled over at Coolongolook, my left arm was roughly the same colour as….as…..well, go and look for some pencils. Coloured ones will be of more use. Look for the one called ‘Vermillion’. Got it? I was that colour.

We pulled out a towel and I draped it over my shoulders in the hopes of delaying skin-cancer by approximately two hours.

It was on the next leg that more things happened. Dad started to film us driving, and Prue pulled out her camera to take the odd photo of the two of us. I drove.

Me trying not to laugh.

I think she was secretly very pleased about wearing my top-hat the whole way.

Or not so secretly.

Dad continued behind us into Newcastle, which was one of the single most scary things I have ever done. City driving + cars + cars + cars + directions + big intersections + red lights + cars = lots of stress.

There was also the 'green apples' tree that Dad had hung in the car. It was incredibly pungent. The car continues to reek of 'green apples' in an eerily similar fashion to as it had about ten years ago when Dad first bought the car and had 'green apple' in a spritzing bottle. It's still in the laundrey somewhere, harbouring memories of what 'green apple' should smell like. I think.

The end of this part of the story I guess was that we did get to Russell’s in one piece. Prue and Dad and I started unpacking stuff until Dad went to go buy food. The bottom line?  We were all knackered, and probably the simplest pleasure we derived from that evening was sticking our legs in the pool at 10pm. 

That’s right. I’ve now got immediate access to a pool. Be jealous.

Dad and Prue left at about 11:30pm and I headed inside. It was so hot; that was one of my primary impressions. Russell, the landlord, found a louver fan and I slept with it pointed at my head.

Bec arrived the next day with her family, whereupon a similar process was repeated, albeit with slightly less drama, and they arrived at three. PM.

Immersion

In short, I like talking about music.

Today I bought Pendulum’s newest release – ‘Immersion’

Admittedly, it’s not hot-off-the-stamper-new, but that’s okay. I suddenly feel the need to tell you all about electronica.

I had this album on my iPod earlier last year, and then last month the thing reformatted itself, so I lost all my music. I couldn’t replace the album in question because I had sourced the files from my brother, who had probably sourced it from someone else, and so on, and so forth.

I don’t know. I think that there’s a small feeling of satisfaction that I gain when acquiring a particular album, even if I’ve already got a copy of it – since usually the copy wasn’t entirely legit. And then brain sits back and thinks,

“Okay. Awesome. I actually own this one now.”

There’s something special in it, and at the same time there’s no anticipation of the purchase. I’ve already filled my ears with the sound, so why should money be required? It’d be the difference between looking up the spoiler cliffhanger for a season you follow and waiting until you get to it. I’ve done that so many times with Bleach that eventually I resolved to keep off the wiki until I caught up.

I hardly visit the wiki anymore because I caught up and can remember most of the character’s names.

What were we talking about? Ah, music. Again.

The anticipation is greater when you have had as little contact as possible with a new album, but there is the satisfaction of knowing that you have at least legally obtained something.

I think that Pendulum has been a relatively different genre of music for me. Usually I listen to rock, if you wanted to know what I typically listen to. In reality though, my taste behaves closer to sand. It gets most places with minimal effort, like a ninja. I listen to rock, pop, metal, alternative, j-pop, jazz, classical, grunge, punk, indie and electronica: almost everything from Owl City to Flyleaf. I just have a wide range of influences, that’s all.

Anyway. I first discovered Pendulum mid-last year, when I drove home from Bible Study. Triple J was on, and suddenly this song came on with the most amazing electronic riff I think I’ve ever heard. Even though it’s only a very short drive from our place to the house Home Group was at, I stayed in the car, lost in the awesomeness, headbanging to this song. I dashed inside and hopped straight on Tank the Laptop, determined to find out exactly what it was. I had a fragment of the chorus to go on, and after visiting Triple J’s high-play-frequency list, youtube, and a quick conversation with my brother, located the song.

From there, Jack located the rest of the album and I listened to it frequently while working at TAFE. It was good music to lose the type of thinking where you use words. Because then when someone needs you to respond to their query regarding the accessory you think is absolutely not necessary, you don’t have words. They’ve all been drummed out by the awesomeness.

Ranting about the music itself wasn’t actually the main cause for me blogging. It just came as a byproduct.

No, what I actually wanted to talk about was the case.

I haven’t seen a CD case like this since the early 2000’s. The spine is ribbed black plastic, and the jewel case overall actually feels brittle. There’s no other way to describe the fact that this case feels more cheaply manufactured than others I’ve bought. That and the print job on the CD itself looks just a little grainy.

I privately wonder if this legally purchased copy was legally manufactured, and then I remember that this is the twilight era for optical disks. I suppose, as much as I hate to think about it, that finishing cases will deteriorate slightly if everyone is just going to purchase downloads or stream off various sharing websites. I can’t name any since I don’t know what’s still out there. I think Limewire died sometime last year.

Did it?

Doesn’t matter to me. There’s just something….something about being able to physically hold what you’ve purchased. That the music has a physical substance to it. That was the argument of a friend of mine a few years back when iTunes was just starting to sell music online; about why he preferred to purchase the CDs rather than files over the internet.

Four years on, I can’t help but agree with him.

The Eye.

If you had asked me when I first discovered that I was going to London what I wanted to see, it probably would have been 'The London Eye'. Admittedly, it did number at 3 on my bucket list (after Tower Bridge and Big Ben) but it was definately in the forefront of my mind in the planning stages.

For some reason I left it to my second-last week, but that's cool because I could see most of the landmarks and go 'I've been there and there and...' well, you get the idea.

Decided to go on the 'flight' in the later part of the afternoon, so we'd get to see lights on the skyline as well. Moot and I arrived when the sun was still doing the 'eye-burning' thing, so I went looking for the fourth thing on the bucket list -

4. Cafe Manga (behind the London Eye)

So, I got a coffee and wrote a musing in the Travel Journal:

"Manga Coffee.
So, let's hear it for more incongruities with Frommers! (The travel guide I got for this adventure)
I was so keen for Cafe Manga that it hadn't crossed my mind that since the book was printed in 2009, that some things might have changed...
...evidently. Either that, or I was expecting a themed-cafe. That is what the blurb said, after all.
So now I'm in County Hall, and there is no Cafe Manga. There is a Chopstix with anime painted on the walls. It's an all-you-can-eat though, and I don't feel like spending £8 when I'm not really that hungry.
So 'Zen Cafe' it is. They have a 'manga coffee' which I am dissecting flavours on now. It is really odd.

There was half a mountain of whipped cream on top and since I stirred about half of that in, it is sweet and bitter at the same time.

It tastes like they've mixed chocolate in with the coffee, which might-or-might-not-be-flavoured. It has a slightly burnt flavour. The taste was smooth, but the smell is not. I suspect it's hazelnut.
The barrista is probably trying to figure out what I'm doing.

*UPDATE* I asked the guy. It was a coffee with chocolate poweder and hazelnut shot."

So, post the pulp-fiction coffee I went and watched the red pod on the giant ferris wheel make about three-quarters of a turn and suddenly noticed the expansive cloud cover ruining the clear day that was predestined for sky-soaring. The blue owl and I made it past the metal-detector and boarded the great hunk of steel.

The pod was constructed from a steel skeleton and double-glazed glass windows, and the skeleton stuck far in enough that Moot was able to sit on one spot and enjoy the whole ride. It got more exciting as we went further up. As we rose above the skyline, more and more of the buildings melted into the cityscape below us, until finally we sat on top of London.

At this point, I was moving from vantage point to vantage point, taking photos like a busload of Japanese tourists would when accosted by a Koala.

It. Was. Captain. Awesome.

I really enjoyed it and got to wanting to go for another circuit. As we descended I took more photos of the vista to the south of the Eye. I think that Moot really enjoyed the experience, whether he was animate or not.

If it is not yet clear, Big Ben is south of the Eye. And the clockface had lit up.

I seem to have developed some sort of stigma with the iconic clock. It's like, a first impressions sort of thing. Well, maybe not entirely first impressions, but definately...ah.

See, every time I see this I half-expect to also suddenly see Sora and co. fly around from the back, sweeping wide circles and firing fireballs at some giant wraith. I am also certain that the save point is located on the other side of the tower. I've seen it from three sides and still expect the glowing green thingie to be on the other side.

Nerd tendancies aside, I finished the ride on a high and impulse-bought the picture that they took. After all, I don't actually have many images of me doing things here. One of the many reasons one needs a bro' when travelling. Moot is in the photo also - my family has a tradition of anticipating ride photos and doing interesting things in them.

I don't know who the other guy is.

Here's to taking a photo of a photo of me acting like an idiot.

Cheers.