Hello, diary. It's been a week. Quite a week. Longtime observers might notice a word missing from my profile; if not, they can always write and ask. I've been pretty unhappy this week,
although I have been very busy. I've had to realign some attitudes and consider some
possibilities where before I didn't need to give any of that any thought. I had to
investigate one bedroom apartments, which are bloody expensive!! But also intriguing; I've
never had a place of my own. I always swore that I wouldn't live alone, that I would be too
scared, to unhappy with not having anyone to come home to. But right now I choose to think
of it as liberating. A chance to make my own identity and engrave it on a place. Let's not
even go into the simple pleasures - such as opening up the fridge and not having anything
there but my stuff. Many people might have thought of all of this before, but I hadn't, I
had always been a roommate/parter type of gal.
So to top off my week of ASS I had pre-registered for Otakon. Otakon is a convention for
japanese animation fans. For some of you, this is already conjuring images in your mind; of
lurid nubile teenage wenches in rape comics, or cute little fluffy animals, or of
pasty-faced geeks huddled around a big screen TV watching Tokyo explode, AGAIN. For the rest
of you, I just spelled it out. Of course, I haven't really captured the rich flavor and
texture of the fan culture; the video homage to favorite artists with popular music
overlaying sweeping/touching/violent scenes from a favorite show; the in-the-flesh homage to
a favorite character by way of the fine art of costume. (Duct tape should not be visible
guys. Nor foil. It looks like crap.)
Well, it was probably a good idea to get out of the house, but I could have lived without
accidentally leaving my car in a parking lot that closed so that I had to take a really
expensive cab ride back home. And go get the car the next day when what I really wanted to
do was crawl under my bed and hide. And going back the next day to find out an Orioles game
was going on and the inner harbor was packed with drunken baseball fans. I always used to
say baseball fans were so much better than football fans, more mellow. I take it alllll
back. I walked for several blocks behind this asshole who kept drunkely making asshole
comments about everything he saw. Some kids rode by on bikes and he pointed at them and
said, with his slight southern drawl, "Look at them little Michael Jackson kids." Can I just
tell you how close I came to punching this guy in the FACE??? Like look you white-sheet
motherfucker, can you crawl back into the hole out of which you came? I was so appalled.
Sometimes the fact comes hard to bear that no matter how progressive you think the country
has become, it's still probably full of ugly old white men to whom all black people "just
look the same".
Now there were a few positive notes to this weekend's little cultural experience. For one,
I'm walking through the art room with my best friend. I will preface by saying that for a
long long time we have made jokes about looking like a lesbian couple. Hell, just about all
the time we have hung out we've made these jokes, but I have never really quite believed it.
Until today, when this woman runs up and slaps stickers on us and says, "For real women who
like women and like anime!!". I was like, damn, I guess we do look like a couple of
lesbians. I don't mind, but I wonder if Telf does. The stickers, by the way, were for the
AniLesboCon, some group of women who like "shoujoai", or lesbians (whether actually written that way or fantasized) in anime. If I wasn't so creeped out by the weird obsessive culture that anime presents, I might be interested.
The other positive thing was: when I finally did get back to my car, stuck in the garage,
the next day, I was shocked to find the drivers' side window open, and nothing stolen out of
my car. Thank you, Baltimoreans!!!