Oh, Fannenbaum! Oh, Fannenbaum!

Bo and I love Christmas. It’s not because of the presents, cooking good food, or visiting with friends and family, though we do enjoy these things. Neither is it the spiritual aspect, since we are both atheists. No, we love Christmas because every morning we get to get up and turn on the tree. It’s an odd ritual, that no matter how bleary or hungover we are, can always tug the corners of our lips.

Let me explain.           

In our family the holiday season only really gets rolling when the tree is up, which usually happens not long after Thanksgiving with a visit to a local tree farm, where we pick out and cut down our own tree. Once the tree is installed, we put on a Christmas movie like Die Hard or The Ref, and decorate. 

This year we watched the Nick Offerman’s Yule Log, a departure from the norm, but a pleasant diversion since we are big fans of Parks and Rec.  Over the next couple of hours we unpack three decades worth of ornaments given to each of us since we were infants and hang them on the tree. 

The result is a wonderful cultural smear that from a distance looks like an ordinary tree complete with the little baubles and characters that you would find on most trees. On closer inspection though you find that some the angels are a little different, or that the bulbs have dirty works written on them. The drummer boy and nutcracker hang alongside Boba Fett and Captain Picard. Shuttlecraft and fighters zip in between dewdrops and icicles.  Looking around the room you don’t see an Elf on a shelf keeping an eye out for naughty children, but a space station complete with its own cascade of little ships.  

Many of these ornaments make noise and the ones that are plugged into the light strands running around the tree spit out little lines of dialogue lifted from movies, or wishing us a happy holiday. The result is clamoring conversation of shouted messages from the Borg, Darth Vader, C-3P0, R2-D2, and Worf every morning when we turn the lights on.

Hanging alongside the Star Wars and Star Trek ornaments, are a large number of angel ornaments that Bo has been given over the years. Much like my ornaments, the angels are a yearly ritual that help mark the seasons. It’s a tradition that Bo and I have continued, and in addition to the ornaments that we often receive from our families, we usually end up adding three or four ornaments every year. We talk of getting a house, not because of the investment, but because we might end up with more space, and therefore can add a second tree.

Several years ago, I added to Bo’s collection by cross-stitching an 8-bit version of the angel Castiel from the show Supernatural. The show is a favorite of ours and the ornament was a neat way to tie together the various aspects of our tree. It also served as the genesis for our new tree topper, which we completed this year. 

Christmas, like Fandom, is a holiday powered by nostalgia. Each year we reinforce traditions often handed down from parents to children through repetition, which creates a confusing sensation of past and present.  I think it’s part of the reason why we often see strife amongst in-laws during the holidays, because we are encountering traditions that differ from our own, which disrupt our existing narrative of what the holiday should be. Over the years, our tree has become our tradition, a way to combine both of our childhoods, fandoms, and our love for each other. Our friends have even gotten in on the tradition by keeping an eye out for fandom related ornaments, launching us into the future.

I am not sure what kind of ornaments will be added to our tree this year, (I have my eye on Captain Phantasma though!), but I do know whatever it is it will be a wonderful addition to our expanding library of ornaments adding to the joyful noise that is our Christmas.

Happy Holidays! 

A Lovely Wet Slog

Spoiler free! This post is about the wait in line and contains no information about the movie.

Thursday night Bo and I trooped down to the Bagdad Theatre, to wait in line for the latest episode of Star Wars. The show was scheduled for 7 PM and we took our place in the queue sometime around three, expecting a line would form not long after. Despite the nearly constant rain, twenty or so fans had already lined up. We unpacked our camp chairs just past the first bend in the line and we felt we had a pretty good chance of getting good seats. I am glad we did, because the line wrapped around the building and down the block an hour later.  

When we purchased our tickets for The Force Awakens, I expected to have to wait in line to get good seats, but wasn’t excited about it. I have been spoiled when it comes to seeing movies. My first job was sweeping popcorn at the local six-plex, so I had never had the experience of waiting in line. I didn’t have to, by the time the people were lining up, I had already seen the movie. Don’t get me wrong I had waited in line for tickets, but that was for concert seats, which is a different experience since most concerts offer reserve seats, a service that movies theaters are only now beginning to offer.  Boann, on the other hand, waited in line for all of the re-releases, and had fond memories of the experience.

“There is something about an opening night crowd, that is different from any other,” she said when I griped about the need for a wait.

After we settled in with provisions and coffee, we started to take notice of the people around us. In the bend where Bo and I settled, we swapped stories with a professor, a waitress, a gaggle of Target employees, and a young couple bedecked in side buns and lightsabers that could have easily been Bo and I ten years earlier. Despite the rain, which came down in pelting sheets more akin to a 

Midwestern winter rainstorm then a Pacific Northwest one, we excitedly shared stories or information from cell phone feeds. Little by little, a temporary friendship developed and added to a feeling not unlike the buildup to Christmas Eve or an important birthday, a build of anticipation that sits in your chest or throat. As the afternoon went on, the excitement built with the addition of new faces or every time the staff made another round to check people in.  

The doors to the theatre opened at 5, and in preparation for that, Bo took our camp chairs back to the car. While she was gone, I couldn’t help but wonder if she and Dr. Frankenfurter were right.  If the wait, the rain, the people around us would make the experience better or if it was just a necessary price that had to be paid to do this thing we had waited months to see. Looking around at the people, I smiled.  No names were swapped, just a mutual enjoyment for what we were about to see, and the hope that it would be better than the prequels. Part of me knew that when those doors opened I probably wouldn’t see these people again, but that didn’t stop us from enjoying the time we shared.

Finally, the moment arrived, the spaces in line condensed, and the line slowly began to move forward. Each group making their own mad dash to prearranged seats or concession stands, after showing their armbands to the ticket takers. It’s sounds like bit of chaos, but the staff at the Bagdad did a wonderful job of containing and controlling the madness so that all could have a good time. 

The two hours we spent in our seats having dinner and beers evaporated in the buzz of the crowd. Bo and I rehashed stories about other important movies we had seen over the years. I live-Tweeted our conversation and the things we were seeing so our friends and family could fallow along. As the lights went down the crowd let out a cheer loud enough to be heard on Hoth, and I realized that I wouldn’t have wanted this any other way. I would have enjoyed the film no matter what, but the wait and the comradery made it that much sweeter.  

Review: Beat the Champ

I have never been a big fan of wrestling, which I blame on my mother, who forbade my sister and I from watching the highflying antics of the WWF. She feared the bad influence on us, so I missed out on the early narrative that wove together Rowdy Roddy Piper, Hulk Hogan, and Ric Flair. Other than a few illicit viewings at sleepovers, my first real extended exposure to the sport was in college. Every Monday I would curl up on a couch with Julie Newcomb, the girl I was dating at the time, who was really into the sport. Over the next year, she gave me a crash course in the mechanics of how wrestling operated. While I was never keen on the matches themselves, the dynamics that dissolved and formed between the wrestlers in the aftermath of the battles was fascinating. For a while, I even considered going to see a couple of the Wrestlemanias that passed through Chicago at the time.

Sadly, my interest in the sport waned after Julie and I broke up, but I continued to consume the sport, in small consumptive ways through movies like Nacho Libre and Mikey Rourke’s The Wrestler. I also kept any eye out for films starring wrestlers like The Rock or Mic Foley. Part of me wanted to keep in touch with the mythologies that flowed alongside the battles.

This fascination explains my immediate enjoyment of The Mountain Goats’ recent album, Beat the Champ. Each track is unique, switching easily between driving classic rock like on the track Werewolf Gimmick to a poppy bounce in The Legend of Chavo Guerro. The song, Fire Editorial, could easily fit into any musical about Americana. While the Mountain Goats play with style, lyrically they are digging deeply into people who live in this world of sports entertainment. Some of the tracks like the Ballad of Bull Ramos and The Legend of Chavo Guerro are about the lives and families of real wrestlers.

In many respects, this album is exactly why I started this blog. Beat the Champ moves the fan experiences out of simple consumption and into creation, filling the same space that Filking does in science fiction and fantasy fandoms. Filking is a musical style whose lyrics are about science fiction and fantasy, often television programs or movies. While the Mountain Goats are clearly a mainstream professional band and Beat the Champ will definitely turn a profit, I still think this album is clearly an expression of fandom because it was crafted by someone who has a deep appreciation of wrestling.

While the songs on this album are written by an aficionado, I still think it has quite a bit to offer non-wrestling fans. Each song transcends the action in the ring, playing with themes like inadequacy, loneliness, as well as the thrill of a crowd, all things that could easily have meaning anywhere. Don’t be surprised though, if after you have listened to this album a couple of times through, you feel a thrill when someone climbs up on turnbuckle ready to pounce.

Outside the Fishbowl

Friday, November 20^th marked the opening day of Orycon, a science fiction and fantasy convention that we had been planning on attending since we moved to Portland in July. The brisk November morning, got off to a rough start though. The westbound MAX lines were sluggish so we ended up walking the last third of the way, and we learned that a family member had passed away earlier that morning. I was also trying to trouble shoot a printer issue by phone for the company I work for part-time, so by the time we got to the Orycon check in desk, on the lower floor of the Portland Waterfront Marriott, we were both in a very odd headspace. After taking a walk through the dealers room and touring the conference center, we retreated to a nearby restaurant for lunch and to regroup.

While we waited for our food to arrive, we plotted out what we wanted to do over the course of the three-day con.  Going hour by hour we weighed and measured the merits of each seminar that caught our attention so we could spend our time efficiently; a complex task when there could be up to a dozen different seminars, workshops, and classes on every floor of the conference space at any given time.

“Are you guys with the convention?” 

The man sitting next to us is perched on the edge of his chair trying to get a look at the colorful program books and fliers we received at the check in desk. Bo and I had managed to hammer out a schedule for Friday and part of Saturday and clearly this man was completely fascinated by our conversation.

“I’ve been watching all the costumed people everywhere. Is it like Comicon?”

“A little,” I said, “I think this is more focused on writers though. They have a ton of writers here and a bunch of classes on writing.” 

“I love to read. I’m almost finished with the last Game of Thrones book.”

“Oh really, what do you think?”

“He’s too long winded. I think I might put it down. Can you recommend anything?”

“Of course!”

 Over, the next several minutes Bo and I peppered the man with titles, author names, genres, and short story collections. The Martian, The Iron Druid series, 2312, the Dresden Files, Cherie Priest’s Clockwork Century series, rattled off our tongues and onto a notepad the man pulled out to collect our outpouring of suggestions. While he wrote he would spit out quick questions about content and themes, and the two of us would shake out a one or two sentence run down before free-associating to another title.

The more we rapped about what he liked and what we suggested, the more excited he got. Likewise, his excitement buoyed our spirits and helped carry us into the next several sessions and panels that we attended. His questions, at least for me, helped clarify why I was here; to connect with a fandom and craft that I hold dear to my heart. It’s so easy to get caught in the fishbowl of a convention, that we often forget that people look in, sometimes in wonder others in curiosity, at the passion we have for the fandoms we inhabit. Sometimes it’s nice to get out and share that with others. The man, this stranger, was genuinely thankful for the raft of titles that we shared, but I am not sure if he knew how important he was to us.

Happy Thanksgiving!

An Ongoing Anniversary

“So, have you decided what you want to do for our anniversary?”  

Bo shrugs her shoulders in answer to an ongoing discussion about what to do on our upcoming wedding anniversary, which is three days away.  We had been married for seven years so the event isn’t  a big one in the sense that it isn’t a milestone year, like five and ten.  Yet, we still want to do something, but we hadn’t been able to pin down an activity that fit the occasion.

“You want to just do the Kennedy School?”

The Kennedy School is a hotel and resort run by McMenamins, who specialize in rehabbing historic properties and turning them into hotels, bars, and attractions and is where we got married in 2008. The Kennedy School was once an old elementary school and has served as a backdrop for at least one anniversary and countless other evenings, meals, and movies.  

 “So where did you get your hair done?” asks the blue haired waitress dropping off our lunch, “since we seem to be hair twins!”

Wrapping myself in a cliché, I tune out and focus on my meal, while Bo and the waitress talk. Bo frequently gets her hair colored in vibrant colors, which usually spurs conversations with strangers about what they want to do or have had done to their hair; conversations that sometimes go in different directions.

“Have you heard of the Passport?” she asks as I tune back into the conversation a minute or two later. She then digs through the stack of menus and fliers on the table before, finding the Passport brochure, and taking us through how the program works. 

The Passport is McMenamins’ reward program. For twenty-five dollars a person, you get a book that you present at each McMenamins’ locations, where they stamp it with a unique stamp. Each page represents a region like Westside Portland or Downtown and when you finish a page, you get a reward in the form of swag, food, or gift certificates. Some locations, like the Kennedy School hotel and Edgefield, take up a whole page and you can grab a page full of stamps and a reward in one afternoon. In addition to visiting, you can also get stamps for trying their seasonal beverages, ordering flights of the McMenamins’ alcohols, or participating in McMenamins’ sponsored activities. Once you have a stamp for every open location, you have achieved Cosmic Tripster status, which gets you a prize package that includes an exclusive Tee-shirt, three vouchers for hotel stays at any of the McMenamins’ hotels, and access to a party with all the booze you can drink.

“I will let you two talk it over while I get your refills,” the waitress says walking away.

In most cases, these kinds of programs make my skin crawl. Bo and I are protective of the data that we put out in the world, so unless I can see a definite benefit to helping an organization collect data I tend to ignore the program. The Passport, like McMenamins itself, is rooted in the past. Instead of a barcoded keyfob or other impersonal system, the Passport is old school with paper pages and ink stamps to track your progress.

“What do you think?” Bo asks.

I chew on the inside of my cheek while I consider.

“It can be our Anniversary gift,” she says and adds “think of like re-celebrating every time we go out; an all year Anniversary!’

“Why not?” I finally say, “we like McMenamins and there is usually one nearby most of the places we go regularly.”

“And it will be fun,” Bo says waving the waitress back over.

Walking out of the Bagdad, Passport in hand, I turn to Bo and ask, “So you want to go to the Kennedy school tonight?” 

Small Victories

When we arrived at the Pearl Room at the main branch of Powell’s book store in downtown Portland, two dozen people had already staked out their spot for the Jenny Lawson reading. Each one lost in a book or quietly conversing with friends while they waited for Lawson to arrive. Lawson’s visit is a part of a book tour to promote her latest memoir, Furiously Happy. Over the course of the next two hours the two dozen would fill the floor to capacity and a separate room where people could listen to the reading.  I am one of about two dozen men sprinkled amongst the hundreds of women who have shown up to see the author read. Standing 6’2” and 270lbs, I can’t help but feel a little awkward, but like the other people who have come early to see the blogging phenom, I am a big fan of Lawson’s work. Fortunately, I could hide alongside my wife, who introduce me to Lawson’s blog, thebloggess.com in 2012, shortly before her first book came out. When she announced the Portland leg of the tour, we couldn’t resist the opportunity to see her live. She is one of the few authors that I have come across that can adequately and succinctly describe the social chaos and personal upheaval that a person struggling with depression, or really any mental disorder, deals with on a regular basis. I have directed several friends and family who are dealing with depression and anxiety to Lawson’s books or blog.

That, and she is wicked funny.

Lawson read two chapters from her book: one long, one short. The first was the opening chapter of her book, which is about the words we use to describe mental disorder, that takes place through a conversation with Lawson and her mother. The second was about a dog food eating pharmacist.

I have heard Lawson’s voice through some of the videos she has posted on her blog or on CNN. Often when I read a book, I assign a voice to the narrator, either my own or someone I know who fits the tone of the story. Rarely is it the author’s. I listen to a number of podcasts so sometimes one of their voices emerges.  Reading Lawson’s books, and listening to her read her own book, I couldn’t imagine anyone else reading her stories. They are singularly hers and anyone else reading them would feel weird, like putting on someone else shoes. It put me at ease and for a while, I was able to forget that I was sitting in an uncomfortable folding chair with my own person struggles.

The Q&A is short but Lawson’s openness is evident in how she engages the audience in the Pearl room, honestly and unabashedly answering questions about how she dealt with emotional issues as a teenager or offering advice on how to introduce someone to your own struggles.

Before opening the room up to the book signing, she thanked the audience for their courage in making it to the event. Lawson writes about her struggles with depression and anxiety cultivating an audience who may themselves be agoraphobic. For many in the room, myself included, going to an event in a busy store, in downtown Portland is a victory. Lawson even made space for people who couldn’t stay due to mental or physical fatigue; you could leave your books with the staff and Lawson would sign them to be picked up the following day.   

There is something odd about waiting in line for someone to sign a book. The feeling is similar to when you are about to go on a date, or meeting someone you admire, or interacting with someone you don’t want to be a fuck up in front of. A messy ball of excited hopes and personal expectations that grips your guts while you stand there trying not stare at the person you are here to meet and creeping them out. A sensation I have felt before interviewing a subject for an article. For me time seems to dilate creating an odd sensation of hyper-awareness of everything that person is doing that is extinguished as soon as they say ‘Hi.’  

Fortunately, Lawson is lovely. As soon as it’s our turn, her smile puts us at ease. As with many of the people in line, Lawson even agrees to a picture. Although most wanted to have their picture taken with the author, Bo, my wife, wanted a picture of Lawson holding a sock she was working on. Lawson then takes a moment to sign our books; she even personalized our book, which was wonderful. 

Bo and I walked away hand in hand having spent a wonderful afternoon with an author we admired, looking forward to her next book and visit. I could go on at length about the fan community that she has formed and how, much like Amanda Palmer, she encourages them to participate in charities but I won’t. Instead, I encourage you to visit her blog, join in the community and watch Lawson’s next book take shape.

Resources

There is a new resource section where I am cataloging some of the interesting fandom related materials I have come across in the course of this project. These are books, websites, films, or organizations that are dedicated to a specific aspect of fandom. Again, it is by no means exhaustive, and as I come across more I will post them here. I am always on the look out for materials about fandoms so if you have suggestions please let me know.

Not for Nothing

I have been slowly making my way through Anthony Bourdain: Parts Unknown, which I recently started watching on Netflix. I became a fan of Bourdain’s unflinching and sardonic style on his Travel Channel program The Layover. Where The Layover highlights the great eateries in specific cities, Parts Unknown uses food as the lens through which Bourdain examines the major socio-political, cultural, or economic issues inherent to that region. Part travelogue, part cooking program the CNN produced Parts Unknown eschews the many well-trod locations for lesser known, and arguably, more interesting places like Quebec, Detroit, and Sicily.

There is something alluring about how Bourdain approaches talking about food. He’s clearly a fan of food and how it’s prepared beyond just a professional interest and so are many of the people we meet through the program. Bourdain wants us to see more than just the typical tourist experience, he wants us to eat where the locals eat, to show us that it’s safe to step off the beaten path or dip your spoon into strange bubbling cauldrons. Yet, we only spend about a third of the program watching food being prepared or eaten. When we do see food, it often serves as a launching point to a larger discussion about local issues that directly affect the cook or the other diners at the table. These conversations are like so many conversations we have at our own dinner tables; fraught with concerns over family, life, and the topics of the day. 

My favorite scene comes in the fourth season of the program when Bourdain is in Shanghai having dinner with some of China’s nouveau-riche. The meal is held in the host’s massive wine cellar and is a menagerie of excess: fresh Antarctic Shrimp, Australian beef, wines from every region of the world, all prepared and served to white glove perfection. At one point in the scene, a guest mentions that there are many Chinese restaurants in New York, Bourdain’s hometown. The host asks Bourdain if he would do a New York accent. Bourdain hems and haws before spitting out, “not for nothing,” which he repeats several times before the host fully understands. Now, the phrase is a colloquialism used in the Northeast, and in New York, to soften the blow from unwelcome or difficult advice. It’s not clear how off the cuff the comment was or if the selection was a calculated choice made in the moment, but the effect in context is amazing. The exact words, in conjunction with the excess on display, are in and of themselves a comment, a statement that this meal has a price beyond the money that the host paid for it, a bill that has yet to be paid. It is a moment made all the more poignant due to the most recent economic collapse that is only starting to unfold in China.

Now I will be the first to say that I have a tendency to read too deeply into things. I often am left spinning on imagined intentions of friends and family that I have to ask my wife to help me clarify. It’s a habit that occasionally leaves me avoiding people until I can find clarity about what happened or at least forget why I am being weird. Maybe it’s also a little bit of Monday morning Quarterbacking.  Maybe it’s a bit of clever editing made by a producer in post.  Yet, from what I have seen of this show, the depth of coverage in other parts of the world like Israel, South Africa, Toyko, or Mexico City, this does not feel like coincidence. It feels like a conscious choice made by a sharp storyteller masquerading as a food critic. 

Anthony Borudain: Parts Unknown sixth season can be seen on CNN on Sunday’s at 9 PM.  

This makes me feel like a kid again

One more post today... I am sure have seen it at this point, but I want to share my excitement.

It's 1-21-2015! The Future is now!

For those of you that are not currently under a rock, the internet is ablaze with all kinds of tributes to Back to the Future. While I won't add an oft repeated  complaints about not having a functional hover-board or flying car to the heap, I do want to point out one interesting bit of Fandom ephemera. Toyota is using today's date to announce the release of their new fuel cell powered auto-mobile with a co-branded Back to the Future themed ad campaign complete with guest appearances by Christopher Lloyd and Michael J. Fox. Since it's an ad I will skip the technical specs and point out what I find interesting. 

There are a couple of things that interest me about this ad. The first is the pure nostalgia that Toyota is using to drum up interest in this product. To this day the brassy opening theme that threads through BTTF or its subsequent sequels takes me back to countless holidays, rainy summer afternoons, or slow weekends.The films' constant rotation through TNT, USA, or any one of the many pay channels turning it into a pleasant sound track for people my age. Much like Star Trek, this movie purposed a future filled with wonder and hope that was just a decade or two away. We even get a glimpse of an alternate future where it seemed like every possible decision had been made with a greedy intention. It gave us hope that our mediocre present could be changed with the right bit of technology and good intentions. 

I was also interested at the center of the ad, Misha. Misha is an engineer at Toyota and is a big fan of the BTTF series and credits it with inspiring him to become and engineer. We watch as he bebops around the fictional Hill Valley on Universal's back lot and to the various locations that were used in the filming of the movie collecting trash to put into the land fill. The video ends with  graphic that explains how Toyota is collecting the methane gas from the landfill and stripping away the hydrogen so it can be used for fuel.

This is an really fascinating application of fandom as a selling tool. We are witness to resultsof Misha's passion for the films, the Toyota Mira. Not only does his work take root in his love of BTTF, but also our trades on the audiences enjoyment as well. Christopher Lloyd says it best in the video when he calls Misha, "a real Doc Brown."  Misha has done what we all wished we could do, change the future for the better, with noting more then a pile of trash and a fantastic car.    

Cheadle Lake Reenactment

On Sunday September 27, I visited the Northwest Civil War Council’s Cheadle Lake Reenactment. This visit was research for a larger project that I am working on about the elements of fandom that are inherent in a reenactment. The three-day event depicted not only military camp life but also had a community of civilians as well. The NCWC is one of the few, if not the only, Civil War reenactment group that includes depictions civilian life alongside the military camps and battles. In addition to the afternoon battle, I also saw a field medicine demonstration and a tour of women’s fashions of 1863. Sadly, I only had half a day to see everything and I am sure that I missed out demonstrations and conversations with the participants, so I am plan on going again to another reenactment next spring.

These are some of the images that I took of the battle itself, which included several infantry, artillery and cavalry units from both sides of the conflict.

In the foreground a line of Confederate troops.  Across the field Center and to the right are an advancing line of Union troops. 

This is closer to the end of the battle. In the foreground medics tend to a downed Confederate General from a Louisiana army. 

These cannons are no joke. I was seated about thirty meters away from the battery when the battle started, and I could feel the concussion of the blasts in my chest and the report left my ears ringing. I highly recommend earplugs when you go. Strangely, the mortar (the tiny one on the right side of the picture surround by bodies ) was the loudest.