Seems pretty obvious, right? I have a few other owl things I’ve seemed to have misplaced. Perhaps they’ve flown the coop.
Very rarely does one get the privilege to meet a human being so genuinely selfless in their mannerisms, so open with their heart, so contagiously enthusiastic about pursuing their passions, and so beautiful to the eye, mind and soul. I am at vexing loss for words over this tremendous void we’ve acquired in our tangible realm of existence, a void we will learn to accept but never fully understand. Nick, if you were to look down upon us now, we might be unrecognizable to you. We are all tidal waves of torment, temporarily living beside ourselves as we mourn. We blindly propel forward only to come crashing down into a million shattered pieces, undulating between reason and insanity, but please understand that we will be okay. There is something to be said about strength in numbers, and we are no exception. It holds no relevance the level of friendship and intimacy each of us have reached with you, dear friend, because you have enriched all of our lives for the better and impacted us entirely.
Once the aching in our hearts fade and we can draw breath without staccato rhythm, we are going to embrace the life we were given like we’ve never before. The moment our eyes dry and we start to see through this thick haze of angst, confusion, and all the emotions between, we are going to strive to fulfill our dreams as you did yours. You have left us with the greatest example of accomplishment, and as we regain our strength we will pick up the pieces and carry on for us, for you and because of you.
Handsome and brave Knight of the Sky, Nicholas Dimancescu, it was an honor to have been your friend, and we will always love and cherish you.
Here are some* photos of the branded clothing I had to don.
*I have done over 100 promotions. I have done over 100 different promos. Be afraid, be very afraid.
Over one past weekend I worked at PAX East. If you aren’t familiar with what it is, don’t worry because I wasn’t either. But I now know it stands for “Penny Arcade Expo.” Before March 11th, I would have asked myself, “What is this ‘Penny Arcade’ you speak of?” Thanks to this up and coming service called the “inter-net” I also know it is a popular and longest running “webcomic focused on video games and video game culture, written by Jerry Holkins and illustrated by Mike Kr[-something or rather].” Shit. The last video game I defeated was Donkey Kong. On Super Nintendo. When I was, like, eleven. And with the help of my mom ’cause she’s cool like that.
I relied on public transportation to get me to & fro. The green-line to the red-line, the red-line to the silver-line, the silver-line to the Boston Convention and Exposition Center. There were lots of Spring Break-bound kids with rolling luggage clogging up the train, antsy for out-of-state sunburns and boozy socialization. I could sense their eagerness for youthful debauchery, this collegiate so-called rite of passage. Once I hopped off at Park Street and waited for the red-line, there was something noticeably different about the air. Something was less arrogant, less assertive, less Alpha-Tau-Omega-SB-2011-4EVR-y, and far less shots-shots-shots-shotsshots-shots-y. It was more maladroit, pale-skinned-y, floor-length-leather-trench-coat-y and MMORPG-y. Once I arrived at my destination, I realized the source of the electrostatic shift – gamers. And there were thousands of them. For a second I was worried they’d smell a faker in their midst, turn on me and beat me with their handheld gaming devices. Luckily for me, they were too involved with their portable video games.
The magnitude of the booths impressed the heck out of me. Actually, no, they weren’t just booths. A booth makes me think of a branded 10 x10′ tent with siding and banners that click, velcro or zip-tie together, and can be assembled in 10 minutes by two people. Sometimes there is a wobbly folding table involved. At PAX East, it felt like I stepped into a gamer amusement park, where two-dimensional video game worlds were realized on the most grand scale mobile trade shows can allow. Have you ever seen a soon-to-close KB Toys in a dingy strip mall, flickering fluorescent bulbs shedding its ugly light on uninviting parched shelving, revealing dustballs and shitty looking toys not even a blind kid would play with? That, to me, is the New England Home Show. Remember FAO Schwarz in it’s heyday, especially the multilevel flagship stores, where every square inch of space was interactively magical and it took all your adult effort to not to climb all over the oversized stuffed safari animals, or stomp the crap out of that floor piano in a hectic childish rapture? That, to me, was PAX East 2011.
A prominent PAX booth became my home base for three days. My job was to get people to take a quick survey, fetch prizes and take photos. I won’t go into specifics, as I would like my food to go down smoothly, but due to my small stature, the exponential growth rate of stagnant (and often smelly) body heat, and the rare opportunity for prudish males to gain physical contact with the opposite gender, my left shoulder was soaked. These next photographs might show you how my uselessly over-Purell’d shoulder came to be so.
You see my point.
I met some very interesting characters, er, make that caricatures. There were a couple dudes that didn’t want to make eye contact with me and a few that held this weird non-blinking eye contact, as if they were challenging me to a staring contest or preforming Jedi mind tricks. To change things up with our photos, the other “booth babe” and I suggested doing a stereotypical promo pose with a pair of guy friends. One of them said they didn’t know what that was, and since he looked young I asked him his age and if he had even been to prom yet. He simply said, “I’m home-schooled and lack socialization skills.” You don’t say? Here’s a tip, if you find yourself an outsider at one of these conventions: never ask costumed people of they bought their costume. More likely than not, they spent countless hours making their costume from scratch. Speaking of which:
I could spend the rest of this post trying to sum up everything I saw and felt at PAX East 2011, but I’ve got stuff to do and there ain’t no way I could begin to wrap my head around the psychology of gaming and the gamer. I will simply observe from a far, detached and dry shouldered and leave you with pictures of some highlights from my weekend.
I’m slowly – okay, fine, rapidly – turning into a “uniquely eccentric” cat lady. I’ve completely accepted this. It’s not my fault my cat’s name is Tom Hanks and he’s flippin’ adorable and does really cute things that deserve to be shown & told. It’s just not. So stop shaking your head in disapproval and click this banner I made for a video I made about a cat I love.
After taking a closer look at a few photos my parents had taken of the orphanage during our adoption process in Thailand, I got the exact name of it and used the effortless power of the internet to start my bloodline search. I discovered that my orphanage has a website. I was adopted in ’87, so a lot has changed and with time passing it only makes it more difficult to trace my life’s journey back to the start. I only have a Thai birth certificate, an English translation of it and now this website. This is a good starting point. Maybe one day I’ll meet my two blood-siblings as well-I’m getting shivers just thinking about it.
Here it goes.
I enjoy a good, hearty giggle when there’s a human spectacle occurring before my very eyes, but when that human spectacle is barreling towards me in the middle of the street with a handheld garden tool, I draw the line.
I own a scooter and park it around my building because I live in a garden-level apartment and can keep an eye on it if I lift the blinds in my living room. I own a Genuine Scooter Company “Buddy” scooter. It has a 50cc 2-stroke engine and uses the same type of oil as a lawnmower. It’s not exactly the most intimidating or loudest vehicle on the road, but it rubbed one man the wrong way.
I scoot over approximately three feet of sidewalk to gain access to the street I live on and have been doing so for over a year. Recently my boyfriend purchased a 50cc scooter. One beautiful day while on his scooter and as we were leaving my house, a pudgy middle-aged man with presumable poor vision and smudgy glasses took a wide-legged stance on the sidewalk, blocking our path.
“It is illegal for a motorized scooter to be on the sidewalk! Get off the sidwalk!”
He was yelling at us like a senile senior citizen yells at kids tramping on grass. We simply scooted off the sidewalk and up the street, slightly buzzed from his harsh overreaction.
The next day my boyfriend and I were exiting via scooter the same way we always have. As we were turning the corner we both said to each other, “Wouldn’t it be funny if we got yelled at ag–.”
“Hey, f!%@heads! Get. Off. My. Sidewalk!”
Skip forward about a quarter mile down the road and at a T-junction with a stop sign where we have lawfully stopped our scooter.
[Crazy Man, on bicycle, enters STAGE LEFT in a frenzied rage. Crashes on left side of scooter. Flips over handlebars.]
Our first reaction wasn’t panic, it was puzzlement. We weren’t in the wrong, so how and why did this man crash into us? I left my asphalt-camouflage ensemble at home that day, and my Harry Potter Cloak of Invisibility was at the dry cleaners.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Did you not see the stop sign?” Asked my boyfriend.
This man, shoeless and screw-loose, had this ghastly and crazed look in his eyes. I wasn’t sure if this man thought we were in the wrong for the impact and that’s why he looked angry, but then he opened his mouth.
“Now you know how serious I am. Stay the [bleep] off of my sidewalk!”
He threw his helmet at my feet as he rose from the heap of bicycle and was gripping this rusty gardening tool in his knobby hand, swearing and yelling every other second. When I asked him why he didn’t have shoes on but managed to bring a spade, he barked, “Because I was. Working!”
When my boyfriend mentioned calling the police if this shoeless crusader didn’t leave us alone, he started to wheel his bicycle away. People that formed around our scene told us to get away from him. We did end up calling the cops but the slimy bugger pedaled away. The officer did say if he was at it again to call back.
Vengeance will be mine.
Humming of the wind tenderly rustling the trees. Hushed lappings of the lake against a rocky shoreline. Nature at her sweetest and most calm. There is so much serenity here I don’t know how to behave. My city-saturated body wants to melt into a blob on the dock and just be. It also wants to wrestle with my inner romantic and buzz around on caffeine, write some prose, paint some pictures and harvest this inspired creativity. I truly have a breath of fresh air, ready to cleanse my mental palette, but I just don’t know how to expend it yet.
I tried my hand in fishing, even bought a red rod to match the red streak in my hair, and figured I would just sit for an hour to see what happened. I didn’t make a sound as to not scare the bounty below but that lasted for about two minutes. Meddling in contemplation seemed wonderful, but my romantic side decided to be daring. I fished with beef jerky and sugar-coated peach candy rings. I don’t think this worked with the Navajo’s.
My Sebago-ADD is kicking in and it’s about dinnertime.
To be continued, but here are some lovely representational photos in the meantime.