While You Were Sleeping…

August 20, 2005

NOTE TO READERS: Contrary to what I told the fangirl at Fandemonium, not to mention any rumors brought up by the “I Find Your Lack of a Social Life Disturbing” post, Darth and I are NOT a couple! Not in any way, shape, or form. Period. End of discussion. Vader may be my favorite character, but middle-aged cyborgs aren’t my type.

Moving on…

You have to forgive me if I whine and crab a little. I had a bad day at work today and am in need of a little venting.

It started when I woke up at nine-thirty AM, thinking I had a free day to loaf (or do laundry), when I remembered I had agreed to cover a co-worker’s shift today and I had half an hour to be at the bookstore. After falling and bruising my shin in the shower, spilling orange juice down my shirt, and almost wrecking when an idiot on a motorcycle cut me off, I made it to work fifteen minutes late, only to discover I left my lunch on the kitchen counter at home.

After that, things got worse.

Vader did try to help, so I can’t complain there. I thought it was pretty nice of him to offer to track down and annihilate the motorcyclist, though I had to turn him down because I didn’t want it traced back to me. But the moment I got to work, he immediately found a novel and a chair, leaving me to put away newly arrived stock and help a customer track down our last copy of “Standing For Something,” which we eventually found jammed under the clearance shelf.

Then, during a lull in business, while I was trying to decide whether to clean the bathroom or leave it for my replacement to do the nasty work, someone walked in. During this time of the day, it would normally be one of three people – a little old lady who would likely purchase her weight in books and gifts for the grandkids, a mom with four or five kids in tow looking to buy Boy Scout Supplies, or a group of missionaries in to kill time between appointments.

This was none of the above.

I don’t consider myself the nervous type, but can you blame me for jumping when IG-88 thunked his way into the store, knocking over a display case of CDs in the process? My co-worker looked up at the sound of the case falling, but upon seeing nothing out of the ordinary she went back to arranging DVDs on the shelf.

The assassin droid clumped his way to the cash register. My gaze moved to Vader’s chair – surely he knew about our inopportune visitor? No such luck. He was snoring like a reek with indigestion, the book still open in his lap. How come the movies never show him sleeping, anyhow, and why did he see fit to catch up on his sleep here?

“You would be Kenya,” he rumbled in a monotone.

“Guilty,” I replied, trying to put my best face on the situation. “Can I help you… um… sir?”

“I need no help,” he droned. “I know what I am here for.” His head swiveled toward the snoozing Dark Lord.

It didn’t take a brain surgeon to know why an assassin droid would want Darth Vader. “Oh no. Who hired you anyhow?”

“None of your business.” His head swiveled back to me. “Stay out of this if you wish to maintain your own pathetic biological life.”

“And you have a good day too,” I grumbled sarcastically.

I had a few seconds to think while IG-88 stomped his way over to Vader’s chair. Okay, I knew Vader was a Dark Lord of the Sith, responsible for some pretty atrocious things. But c’mon, the guy’s been through some rough stuff. And I like the guy and really didn’t want to see him die an ignoble death at the hands of an assassin. Besides, seeing as I was the only one who could see him, I would most likely have to clean up the mess.

But I couldn’t shout and wake him up – not only would it attract the attention of my co-worker and boss, it would tip off IG-88. I wasn’t at all sure I could send him a telepathic message either. I wasn’t sure if IG-88’s noisy approach would wake him up…

Then I saw the cart.

Shaun*, our back-room guy, usually pushes the cart out into the store once or twice a day filled with stock to put away, and today it was loaded with – God pays attention to the prayers of geeks after all – over a hundred pounds of heavy hardbound books. I closed my eyes, prayed that nothing would be too badly damaged (except IG-88), and shoved the cart in the droid’s direction.

CRASH.

WHONK.

SNAP-HISS.

“Kenya Starflight, what is going on down there!” screamed the boss from her office.

“We had an accident,” I replied, staring in horror at the tipped cart, the books scattered all over like dead birds, the overturned clearance table pinning the droid to the floor, and the now-wide-awake Sith with a lightsaber plunged hilt-deep into IG-88’s chest.

The Empire had better thank me for saving their Dark Lord’s behind is all I can say. At the very least negotiate with the boss to get me a pay raise. After all, Vader may have destroyed the droid, but who had to clean up the mess, stuff the robot in the dumpster, and talk a terrified little old lady out of calling the police (and who would have thought somebody’s grandma could see Vader and the droid anyhow)?

Luckily, my boss saw fit not to fire me. Partly because the cart’s gotten away from everyone at least once, but mostly because mine wasn’t the biggest screw-up of the day. Apparently one of the new girls forgot to check the bathroom before closing the store last night, and the boss had to deal with a backed-up toilet and a blinding fog of stench permeating the store first thing this morning.

“Don’t worry, the damaged books won’t come out of your paycheck,” she assures me.

That may be, but this incident’s coming out of Vader’s hide. He owes me big, man.

*Name changed

The Dark Lord Speaks II: Fandemonium

August 8, 2005

I write this as my hostess, Kenya, lies on the couch recuperating from the weekend. Like most of the fans at the convention, she has subsisted on very little sleep for the duration of the event (though unlike most of the others, she is Mormon and was unable to rely on coffee to keep going). Due to her incapacitation, I will take the time to report on the very aptly named Fandemonium.

My observations of the event? Namely that the Civic Center would have made a likely site for a weaponry test this past weekend.

Harsh words, you may say, but then, you most likely did not spend three days accompanied by a female Vader imposter and surrounded by a mob of sweating Jedi, wizards, ninjas, warriors, and creatures from your worst nightmares. I honestly cannot say what draws so many people together to make idiots out of themselves. Mass lunacy, perhaps.

And Kenya… good stars, she humiliated herself this weekend. She does not drink, yet her actions this weekend were that of an intoxicated individual. (At which point she chimes in from the couch “I was drunk on the fandom, Darth-boy!” Sigh.) I could only stand back and watch as Kenya, in all her low-budget Lady Vader glory, performed the Macerana on stage before a cheering crowd, engaged in a Battle-Cosplay duel with Anakin Skywalker (during which she was soundly defeated and hammed shamelessly before the spectators), participated in a parade down the city’s main street in a suffocating costume with 105 degree heat, danced to the tune of “Livin’ La Vida Yoda” with a bizarre half-man half-fox anime character, caught the bouquet at a geek wedding, and made a fool of herself on television when she was interviewed by a cable network anchorman.

If that was not bad enough, I made an interesting discovery regarding fans in general.

While in the dealer room, waiting for Kenya’s cousin to finish purchasing an imitation blaster, I was quietly observing a Chinese fantasy video when a screeched exclamation struck fear and loathing in my heart:

“Darth Vader, I want a hug!”

May the Force spare us all – it was a fangirl.

One individual responding to the last post theorized that only hard-core fans could see me. Unfortunately, whoever you are, your theory is correct. And even more unfortunately, I was currently surrounded by hardcore fans of every shape, size, type, and IQ level.

Kenya, thankfully, maintained enough sense to tell the aforementioned fangirl that I was her boyfriend, that my armor was an elaborate costume I had made myself, and that she would appreciate it if the fangirl did not maul me. That appeased the young woman and defused what could have been a very precarious situation. If too many people learned Darth Vader was on their homeworld, chaos would likely ensue.

I came to Earth to study fandom, and based on this first impression, I can honestly say that nothing could have prepared me for encountering the fans. Darth Maul’s obsession with destroying the Jedi was a child’s daydream compared to these people’s passion for their chosen fandoms, and the scum that populates Jabba’s palace seem as bland and ordinary as a suburban family compared to this… eclectic group that gathered from hundreds of miles around to celebrate whatever it is they love. It is, in a word, bizarre.

On a less critical note, however, I must say that I admire these fans. Despite coming from a variety of backgrounds and fandoms, there was remarkably little bickering, and the few “my-fandom’s-better-than-yours” fights that did break out were mostly good-natured teasing. It was not uncommon to see people in Yu-Gi-Oh, Final Fantasy, and Harry Potter costumes mingling as equals, or for someone to give up their place in a lengthy line for another, or for a spectator to fetch a glass of water for a sweaty and exhausted Battle-Cosplay participant. One young man even allowed Kenya to borrow his precious home-crafted lightsaber to wield in her duel against “Anakin.” The bitter inter-fandom fights detailed in Kenya’s stories seemed nonexistent here.

In short, fans are some of the strangest and most dedicated people one will ever encounter. But they are good people, and if all fans are like those at Fandemonium, it says a lot about fandom in general.

Perhaps I will come back next year… so long as Kenya refrains from dancing. After observing her, I have come to the conclusion that I look absolutely ridiculous doing the Macerana.

The Geek in Her Natural Habitat

August 3, 2005

FINALLY, THEY HAVE A SCIENCE FICTION CONVENTION IN IDAHO!

Okay, I’ll calm down now… Vader’s giving me the strangest of looks and I scared the cat…

All right, much better.

So anyway… I’ve never been to a convention before, so I’m psyched. I know, I know, I wrote all about conventions in my “Eye of the Storm” stories, but they rely on guesswork more than actual experience or (heaven forbid) research. I’m just hoping this shindig’s worth the $25 I paid for it. It should be – the schedule of events includes everything from video game tournaments to seminars on animation and bookbinding to a guest speaker talking about werewolves in Idaho to costume contests to a Star Wars themed dance… even karaoke, which I must admit is a big draw for me.

I actually found out about Fandemonium 2005 a few weeks ago – at the grocery store, no less. I had gone there to pick up some last-minute purchases for the weekend (namely, ice cream and an extension cord – aren’t impulse trips to the store fun?). I was on my way out and paused to look at the Community Events board to see if there was anything interesting there.

There was. On a poster graced with something that might have come off “Star Wars” if “Star Wars” had been released by Disney (I later learned it was supposed to be Cthulu, whoever that is) were the seductive words “Fandemonium 2005 – Idaho’s Convention for Fantasy, Science Fiction, Horror, Comics, Indie Films, Anime, Video Games, Role-Playing Games, and More!” And even better, the convention would be taking place in my hometown!

So fast-forward to now. The convention’s this weekend. I’ve already purchased my ticket, dusted off my Darth Vader helmet, submitted stories for the Fan Fiction contest they’re running, and made arrangements for my cousin Mark – yes, the blind cousin who pushed Vader into the wave pool at the water park – to come up from Utah to attend with me. All is set and ready to go, and I’m pumped for this weekend…

Well, there’s one damper on the situation.

“What makes you think you’re coming?” I demand as Vader sits at the computer, purchasing his ticket online.

“I came to this planet to study the fandom,” he replies evenly. “This is the opportunity I have been hoping for – the opportunity to study a variety of fans up close.”

“Dude, they’ll eat you alive…”

“They won’t be able to see me.”

“Don’t be so sure. Brandon can see you. Mark might be blind, but he knows you exist. Who’s to say more fans won’t see you and flip their rockers?”

“Then they can draw their own conclusions.”

I have to concede that point. With every weirdo in the Northwest US bound to show up, I suppose a seven-foot-tall man in Vader armor will be the tamest sight there.

“Just behave, okay?” I order. “I don’t want to have to leave early because you Force-choked some Trekkie. Waste of a good ticket.”

He cocks his head. “What is a Trekkie, anyhow?”

“You’ll find out, trust me. We’re probably gonna have Trekkies, Ringers, Potterholics, Anime fanatics, D&D masters, gamers of all kinds, and who knows what else there. Think the Mos Eisley cantina on Prozac.”

He nods. “I look greatly forward to it. I enjoy a challenge.”

I can’t help but grin behind his back. Maybe I’ll let him write the next blog, after the convention. Let him share his “observations” of fandom. That is, of course, if he doesn’t crack at Fandemonium, and if Mark and I don’t have to drag him out in a straitjacket…

Wait a minute. Is that my mom’s credit card he’s using to buy his ticket?

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