Not a good look to go against the point of what I'm tryna say.
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Hello, all: I’m back again to inform you of the waking, bleeding nightmare I am forced to endure once a year: being in America. As much as I enjoy my time here in Nippon, every holiday season I am forced to return to my childhood home of Lisbon, Ohio to endure the Traveler’s Check-distributing wrath of my mother and stepfather. Sweet kami-sama, how did I ever survive 25 years in that basement? Of course, the students at the school where I teach English took it very well, as this time around they are much younger than my usual class. You see, I usually teach 7 year-olds, but the latest school year brought me a new group who was simply too immature for the complicated storytelling and mature tree-jumping of the anime series Naruto - so much so that they would loudly complain whenever I brought in taped copies of the program to assist me in teaching rudimentary English and the way of the ninja. Gladly, the new group of four-year olds I tutor at Sakura Yochien absolutely love the show, and often guess the plot twists before I can! Oh Toshi-Kun, your encyclopedic knowledge of the original manga will be the death of me. "I hate myself. But I might be able to love myself. I might be allowed to stay here. Yes. I am nothing but I. I can be I. I wish to be I. I want to stay here. I can stay here!"- Shinji Ikari, Neon Genesis EvangelionMost of you may notice by this point that I am not wowing you with the prose that has made my blog #17 on DDRFreak.com’s “Top 80 Blogs, 2003.” This update is not deserving of the clever wordplay or 8000-word updates as seen in my “Legacy of the Bandai Wonderswan” feature. No, the subject of this post is so ugly, even I was debating changing the topic and writing my long-awaited “Mistranslations of the Contra Series” article (heh, maybe next week). Minna-san, sadly I must speak of American anime fandom.It’s bad enough when a country like the United States has the audacity to hold an anime convention; what’s even worse is when a supposed “friend” asks you to go to one with him. This “friend” was Rob. He picked me up at the airport, where I was four hours late because a certain stewardess on Tokyo Airlines refused to believe me when I told her it was legal to smoke cigarettes on Japanese airplanes. I tried to find an episode of Getbackers (frankly, it makes 24 look childish in comparison) where this happened so I could cite precedent, but that particular episode was nowhere to be found on my laptop. When I finally let the pilot (apparently the stewardess couldn’t fight her own battles) win his silly argument, I scratched an alchemy circle on the back of the seat in front of me with a stale piece of Pocky I found in my tote bag. Let’s hope, for their sake, that it didn’t work. ”"I'm not used to being liked. Being hated, on the other hand, is quite familiar."- Gendo Ikari, Neon Genesis EvangelionAfter I met up with Rob, he asked the unthinkable: “Do you want to hang out at Ohayocon after Christmas?” I wanted to knock my luggage out of his hands, right then and there. But I’ve always felt a little sorry for Rob; he’s had his nose to the educational grindstone most of his life, going to college and then… graduate school?! While he was off doing that, I built up a pretty nice DVD collection that now lines the walls of my 20 by 20 ft. flat (most people don’t even have bedrooms that big) in Akihabara. Hey Rob, let’s see the gaijin at MIT come up with anything as good as Sony of Japan! So, needless to say, I took pity on Rob; after all, this is the guy who thought Soultaker was a movie and not a 13-episode series! Which is why, after Christmas, I asked my asshole stepdad for 400 dollars, and soon we were off to Columbus for what would become the worst weekend of my life.Ohayocon, like anything American having to do with anime, is a sick perversion of the art form. As much as it pains me, I must speak of the countless tragedies I faced that weekend, each one like an atomic bomb dropped on the Hiroshima of my heart. I have attended many conbatsu (conventions) in my homeland of Japan, each time bringing away priceless memories and rare swimsuit figurines of Cardcaptor Sakura. Not this time. When Rob and I entered the Columbus Hyatt, I was shocked to see an immeasurably long line of eager “anime fans” waiting for registration. I jabbed Rob with my elbow and stated, “Heh, looks like Drag On Ball Z is really picking up over here, eh?” But secretly, I was terrified. Terrified that a single member of this misguided rabble could possibly match the sheer depth and breadth of my manga collection. It was then I decided to shake off these fears by going up to our room to play Osu! Tatakae! Ouendan! on my purchased-in-Japan raspberry-colored DS Lite. That’s our superior version of your Elite Beat Agents, a title I cannot even think of without bile rising to the tip of my throat. Of course, Rob asked if I wanted to hang out with the other people to check out their costumes, to which I curtly replied, “Baka.””Baka.”The streets of Shibuya make this look like child’s play."As long as there is trust, there is betrayal." -Battle RoyaleThe rest of the weekend was mainly spent on my hotel bed, absolutely enthralled in revisiting the Legend of the Galactic Heroes universe – and you’d be crazy to think that I brought my original DVDs with me to the States. Nope, they’re all under lock and key at a Tokyo bank, completely paid for thanks to that war bond my grandpa gave me on his deathbed. I guess if Grandpa Max knew his grandson possessed the entire Legend of the Galactic Heroes set, he would know that he didn’t lose his legs in the Pacific Theater in vain… even if he was fighting for the wrong side. Most of my enjoyment, however, was cut short by the incessant interruptions of a certain Rob, who kept asking if I wanted to “check stuff out.” As much as I loathe Rob, I pity him, too; he can never possess the knowledge and love I have for Japan, no matter how much he tries. So I accompanied him to the dealers’ room, to scoff at the merchandise and inform the unlucky consumers of the inferior products on sale – even though they deserved to be fleeced like the mindless sheeple they are. I was not at all surprised when the room looked like someone emptied a Japanese dumpster on a group of poorly-arranged tables. I have been inside of many Japanese dumpsters (mainly to increase the size of my substantial manga collection), and what I saw in Columbus was no different. Rob went off to look for products based on the mindless trash he enjoys, while I would pick up random items, shake my head morosely, and return these items from whence they came. I did see something I liked, however – a plush figure of Shadou za Hejjihoggu (Shadow the Hedgehog) that I somehow missed during my usual weekend-long excursions to the Akihabara Marketplace. I asked the vendor – who was clearly not Japanese – the price of the item, to which he replied, “Twenty dollars.” I was incensed. “Twenty dollars? Why, with my connections in Japan, I could get that for 4500 yen!” It was then I was asked to leave the room; and it wouldn’t be the last time I would be given that command this weekend. Rob met up with me at the entrance, holding a Samurai Champloo poster. Rob, you ignorant bastard. ”A manslayer is a manslayer till the day he dies." – Rurouni KenshinVowing never to return to the dealers’ room, Rob and I took in a few panels. The prospect of a Metal Gear Solid panel delighted me so (after all, I am a follower of Kojima Hideo’s philosophy, as seen in Metal Gear Solid 2) that it didn’t even strike me that the moderator of this panel might know less than me about the franchise that has proven gaming’s validity as an art form. Inevitably, his utter lack of knowledge about Policenauts made me storm out of the room, slamming the door behind me, which probably destroyed that fool’s attempt at panel moderation. Rob didn’t come with me, but I didn’t need him anymore; for what I saw next strengthened my resolve to stab at the very heart of Ohayocon in a way only I could. My poorly-produced con program told me that my mortal enemy, Tiffany Grant, would be hosting a Q&A session the next day.I know I have not spoken much about disgust in this review of Ohaycon, but Tiffany Grant disgusts me on such a level that it is impossible to relay in words – let alone in a language as savage as English. You see, Tiffany Grant is a scary old woman who once played a character in an anime bastardization – er, English dub - over a decade ago, and to this day she has the hubris to masquerade as this character as if she knew the original creator’s intention and the character’s complex psychology. Whenever I see her rapidly decaying body wrapped in a plug suit crudely designed to resemble Asuka from Neon Genesis Evangelion, I vow on my collection of Azumanga Daioh pencil boards to unmask her as the fraud she is. Overcome with sweat and rage, I used the autographs section of my program to construct the perfect burn on Tiffany Grant. At first, this insult was mostly devoted to the fact that she smells like your hands do after you handle pennies. This, however, did not express the utter contempt I have for Tiffany Grant. Not giving up, I cranked Morning Musume on my iPod and formulated a plan that turned out to be the craftiest revenge scheme ever concocted at an anime convention.Rob, confused by my interest in attending an event at Ohayocon, reluctantly followed me to Tiffany Grant’s panel. There, a dozen misguided fans of her “work” (I can’t believe I’m giving it that much dignity) asked her inane and pointless question after question. But soon, it was my time to strike. And strike I did. When her leathery, crow-footed face turned towards my raised hand and said, “Yes, the boy in the Sailor Mercury t-shirt,” I sprung into action. It took me a brief 20 seconds to acquire the bokken (wooden sword) I had secured to the underside of our chairs with duct tape the night previous. Shouting “Japan BANZAIII!” in the manner of those noble kamikaze pilots from the War of United States Aggression (so tactlessly referred to in your history books as “World War II”), I charged the stage, bringing down the bokken forcefully onto the plywood table in front of Tiffany Grant. It was a tragic mistake not to channel my ki correctly. The bokken splintered into a thousand pieces, leaving me with no other plan of attack besides shouting, “You’re no Asuka!” as two Ohayocon toughs escorted me out of the room. For me, the battle had been won. In what seemed like a miracle, the Ohayocon staff told me I was not allowed out of my hotel room until Sunday afternoon, when my controversial nature wouldn’t affect the then-over con. I didn’t miss the activities one bit, but that baka Rob was so caught up in enjoying the heights of mediocrity that he forgot to tell me he was leaving. But no matter. I spent the last 18 hours of the con staring past the Columbus skyline, hoping to see a glance of my treasured Nippon in the distance. I missed her so.In closing, I give Ohayocon 2007 my lowest rating ever.
I tend to think people who like shit like azumanga diaoh shouldn't be talking about good taste. Thats just one of the many things that bothers me with this article.
I get the article fine.I tend to think people who like shit like azumanga diaoh shouldn't be talking about good taste. Thats just one of the many things that bothers me with this article.
tried to find an episode of Getbackers (frankly, it makes 24 look childish in comparison)
thats pretty funny from a guy whos name is triforce spelled backwards
I'd rather go by the nickname Ecrofirt, paying clear nerdfag homage to a game series, than ever be a 21 year old man who watches anime, goes to conventions about anime, or would ever publicly tell anyone I was remotely interested in that weirdo shit.
Quote from: Viz on January 19, 2007, 12:08:39 AMthats pretty funny from a guy whos name is triforce spelled backwards Uh oh! Does not compute! Head am assplode! Caught in my own game?I'd rather go by the nickname Ecrofirt, paying clear nerdfag homage to a game series, than ever be a 21 year old man who watches anime, goes to conventions about anime, or would ever publicly tell anyone I was remotely interested in that weirdo shit.
