“Running” by No Doubt plays through the loudspeaker, competing with the murmuring of conversations in the room… “Running, running, as fast as we can. I really hope you make it…”
Like a cyclist in rush hour traffic, I shuffled in and out of queues and spectators for the latest on offer in the magazine section of Forbidden Planet on Oxford Street yesterday. If Santa Clara was a haven for vampires, Forbidden Planet was a haven for fan-boys (and in the latter years, fan-girls too). If the rent was £mega for a bedroom near the “new arrivals” section of the store, you’d still have a problem distinguishing the flurry from an auction for shower-camfootage from an A-list celebrity.
You’ve seen them on the streets and perhaps even in your neighbourhood. You may even have one living in your house. They come in all forms but thank goodness the majority nowadays are harmless, to your sinuses. You get the passive-fan-boy who will spend the remnants of his pocket change on a new piece of geek chic whether it be a book, a figure or a bracelet. But fear the ultra-fan-boy; the guy who has signed his bank account over to the store vendor to have a standing order and subsequent (sometimes intermittent) influx of comic-culture cool currency.
“Better to spend the remaining moolah on an installment of the latest graphic publication and live on tinned beans for the rest of the month. Soap, shampoo? Don’t need any of that crap” is something I hope I will never say.
I like to poke my nose in and out of comic-cultural events because I’m a fan of art in most forms. I’m copping a good look into the circle nowadays with the rise in number of timewarp retro reissue figures (e.g. Transformers, He-Man) reminding me more and more of playtime in my childhood. Oh, and the appearance of an elevating amount of translated Asian comics which are also fuel for the fire of my nostalgia. I was in the magazine section checking out Animerica magazine to find out more about the translated Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon manhua (Chinese version of “Manga”) graphic novel before heading to the toy section to see what was new since the last time I was there 3/4 months ago. As I was admiring the vinyl/resin figures and superhero busts in the display cases (not be misread as “superhero’s busts”) I felt heat rising from the floor. Was this building on fire? Some fan-boys would agree to some context (”This shop is on fire, man. Cookin’, I want everything here“). As the glass of the display cases were having flashbacks to the conditions at the time of their birth, I tugged at my collar to release the trapped expanding air. Before the stale odour of unwashed flesh formed a thick layer of film on the roof of my mouth, I left, gasping for air upon my escape through the front doors.
Flashback to Saturday lunctime…
Met up for lunch with ex-University classmate Stav, who had made his way into London from his place of study in Canterbury. I had told him previously, following thoughts on a previous situation, that we were going for dim-sum. He was happy to try something new and after I described what it was to him (with the vague words, “You tell me, after you have some“), he was still game for discovery. Chinatown is of course the place to be in central London when one wants dim-sum, so there we searched for a good place. Decided to go to a nice looking place that offered on its menu “Crab meat or Chicken Shark’s fin dumplings.” I was curious to try this new hybrid of poultry with plagiostomi, but at the same time, sceptical. If someone offered you crab meat dumplings or Chicken Shark’s fin dumplings, which would you honesty go for (The Matrix “red pill, blue pill” evocation)? I decided to go for the Shark’s fin dumplings in soup. That was the first time to my knowledge that I ever had Shark’s fin. The hunter becomes the hunted.
Headed to HMV pretty eager to pick up the standard version of the Amélie DVD I spotted in their sale a few weeks ago. I was considering going for the double-disc edition somewhere along the line, but Chris had bought the standard version and told me it had the director’s commentary on it. Director’s commentary for me, is the most important extra you could put on a disc. It offers a wealth of insight into a film’s production and sure beats the lights out of any “making of” documentary. Dang! Since the last time I was there, a new sales type offer had begun and no more Amélie for under a tenner! Oh well, I’ll just have to nick Chris’ copy. He probably won’t notice if I use my powers of ninja-ra or distract him with a funny piece of writing on the Karate Kid trilogy (thanks Richard).
Picked up DJ Shadow’s “Six Days” DVD single (video directed/written by the exceptional Wong Kar-Wai) and headed home.
Fellow GMT night owl Miyu’s keyboard has started to play up. Her L and Q keys have gone stiff. The D key on my keyboard occasionally goes stiff and sticks. Sucks, because sometimes I mean to say “candy” instead of “candddddddddddddddddddddddddddy.” There must be some people out there who think I’m a candy freak Gremlin now. I don’t want to replace this one, it’s got dark transparent bluey-green keys with white lettering, which is great when I lose my touch typing bearings when typing solely under the light of the monitor.
Clocks go back an hour at 2 am for daylight savings. Excellent. It’s about the closest to time travel I will probably ever see in my lifetime, which sucks.
Flashforward to Sunday…
Today on the sabbath, it’s been windy. Really, really windy. Hasn’t been like this for a long time. Whilst the tree in the front garden moved in the wind, imitating Cirque du Soleil’s dancers and contortionists to the erratic tune of nature’s own whistling, I thank my lucky stars I am not living on a weather vane.
