Lately “the fear” (cf. Thompson, Campaign Trail 72) has been creeping up on me; my version is that feeling you get when you go to a party, a coffee shop, a conference or even a convention and suddenly you are one billion miles from even faking fitting in. You wonder if you are pestering the celebrity guests or the booth folks, and even the staff… You wonder:
WHY AM I HERE?
I really should stop doing this, I should stop pestering folks in the comment sections of their blogs, I should stop getting too wrapped up in fannish stuff. Why am I even doing this blog? Oh yeah: writing exercises to stave off early onset senile dementia. Cling to that thought. Feel the anomie. The weird little narcissistic variant thereof, complete with overworked self-consciousness. I am feeling brotherly sympathy with Genshiken’s Kuchiki. My teeth explode with pleasure.
Gang of Four – “At Home He’s a Tourist” (Live on Rockpalast, 1983)
This kind of shit happens, no biggie. It happens to everyone. You can even do things with it if you push through it.
Here’s a more extreme version of the condition. Skip about halfway through the piece for “the fear“. His version is about awkwardness and gaming fandom but the effect holds for all kinds of “communities of interest”. Read it.
Honestly, lots of folks have been supportive on this blog, I just need to clear my head.
The urge to run off to Japan, rent an insanely over-horsepowered El Dorado convertible with special tires from Sandoz laboratories inflated to 70psi and set out toward Fukushima in search of the Japanese Dream has become impossible to resist. Even if the logistics of the enterprise are dubious.
At very least, if those clowns for that cable TV show ambush me on the street in Akiba again, I’ll be ready with some high-octane bullshit for them.
So that’s my story and I’m sticking to it.
I have scrapped three versions of a tightly argued and well-structured theory post due to toxic contamination and now I find myself 6,000 miles from home. It turns out that the rental market for vintage El Dorado convertibles in the Kamakura/ Yokohama area is a little tighter than I first imagined. She who up with me puts is also a bit annoyed at my antic manner.
I can’t complain. It’s coming on Christmas, They’re cutting down trees. They’re putting up reindeer and singing songs of joy and peace. Comiket in one week! I understand no Japanese, so making the pilgrimage will undoubtedly be a gigantic alienation crowd-fest at the end of a 2 hour train ride.
I have almost figured out the online guide map and have found a total of one Genshiken-related porno dojin with Hato-kun as an Adult Video star. The name of the circle is something to the effect of “busty little girls pedo bear ice cream circus”, if you can believe web translation service. Tuesday is rotten girl day, Wednesday looks like game day and Thursday, New Years Eve is a sausage fest.
If anyone out there has any other ideas, I will entertain amusing suggestions; Slavoj Zizek dressing up as Santa Claus and screaming post-Marxian bullshit at the main offices of the NHK on Boxing Day, or even the Murakami show at the Mori, I can be persuaded give them a try… I might even, possibly…. report back here on them.
There must be a beach somewhere around here. It’s not too cold yet. Maybe I can get some swimming in. They have these things called natsu-mikan here; they are like grapefruit only more bitter. Good grapefruit are hard to find. You have to be rich to afford them.
Best of the season and a happy New Year to all.