My PAX East Trip

Posted on March 31, 2010 by Adam Susskind

A write-up about my visit to PAX East.

A few months ago, two friends and I decided that we wanted to take a trip to one of those big gaming and technology conventions. The soonest one within three hundred miles was the Eastern cousin to Seattle’s annual convention staple, PAX, or the Penny Arcade Expo, an event organized by arguably the world’s most successful webcomic creators.

Anyway.

Friday morning, the three of us met up at the local Park&Ride to grab a bus into the heart of New York City, and then from there to Boston. The trip was all smooth sailing until we got to MA and realized that the map I had printed out didn’t have any street names on it, or at least, not the ones we needed. Finding the train station was an exercise in patience, and while I enjoyed walking around Boston for an hour, delaying the inevitable need to partake of the world’s most expensive public transport, I cannot wholly say that this activity was so looked upon by my companions. Eventually we asked where we were and realized that we had in fact been walking in the right direction and were two blocks away.

To Boston’s Metro Authority: Boylston Outbound is missing St. Peter Street on the rail map. This turned out to be an issue because as the closest station to the South Street Bus Terminal, it served as our easiest if only means to get to our hotel at St. Peter. We just ended up getting on the damn train hoping that it would get us there, and it did, the “Platform 9 and 3/4″ of all train stops appearing sometime after Howe or Kenmore. Luckily the hotel was immediately across the street, but I was still sure that we were going to find a way to get lost.

We checked our bags because check in didn’t begin until four that afternoon, and decided like three real stooges that it made more sense (and let me start by saying that I was equally at fault for this) to walk about a mile before begging someone to tell us how far the convention center was. It was another 20 minutes in brutal cold and wind before we found a train station, which could have been found about sixty feet outside our hotel, but hey, whatever. I’m not bitter.

As a matter of ritual we asked how to get to the Hynes Convention Center from the train station, and in order to look like a local I just called it “The Hynes” but then realized that I looked like an ass because I was both asking for directions AND wearing a badge for the geekiest of all conventions around my neck. Is anyone keeping score?

We got to the show and realized what we were in for. It was populated almost solely by the Mountain Dew drinking, Cheeto consuming crowd. It took a bit to get used to the idea that we were surrounded by middle aged people clearly living with their parents. The four hundred pounder in the Viking helmet was a nice addition. We opted to walk in a straight line, which lead us almost immediately out of the convention and into the Mall connected to the building the show was in. After a quick lunch, we headed back in, grabbing a “swag” bag each, which had nothing of interest in them, and became that irritating thing that we each had to carry around all day.

The first day we did a lot of walking around trying to see what there was to do. We played Rock Band in front of twenty or thirty people, which was enjoyable, but I’ll be real honest: playing exact replications of songs is fucking terrible. I get so little enjoyment out of banging on plastic drums. Anyway: Rock Band gamers, enjoy your game but put “play a real instrument” on your bucket list. It’s a world of difference.

That evening after visiting an Expo hall in which Nick, my good friend, grew obsessed with getting a free shirt, and I bought a signed DVD from a few people I’ve been a fan of for a while, we sat down in the line for a concert in the Main Theater. It was supposed to start at 8pm, so we got in line at 7, and we weren’t allowed in until 9.

We didn’t much like the band, so we just ended up leaving. Getting home was fairly easy, but everything in Brookline (just outside of Boston) was closed by then except for a Wallgreens. Thankfully, it was the only shitty meal I had on that trip. It was frozen White Castle Mini-burgers or bust, so I went with it. I microwaved it first of course.

The real fun began the second day with a breakfast that cost more than it should have. We pretty much knew the rail system back and forth by now, so we made it straight to the show and signed up in one of the rooms to play some games we didn’t actually own on one of the several hundred systems they had set up on a big show floor.

Afterwards we walked around another Expo room we hadn’t seen and then made our way to the Rooster Teeth panel.

Rooster Teeth is best known for its hit web series, Red vs Blue, which has always been made using the Halo series. They debuted twenty or so minutes of the new season, which was predictably hilarious for the first 15 minutes. Then suddenly, the video changed to CGI, which resulted in a very enjoyable, very well choreographed battle scene that would never have been possible inside the actual video-game Halo.

While my two friends waited in line for something else, I went up to “Jamspace” which was a fairly wired room equipped with, surprisingly, real instruments. I signed up and played a slow jazzy tune with a guitarist and bassist, which started with my dropping a stick, readjusting a cymbal and starting again. The crowd clapped.

After that it was time to try out Dungeons and Dragons. I’d had mixed experience with it, all of it pretty much positive, but I hadn’t played in six or more years, so we figured we’d all give it a go. Turned out it was more entertaining than expected. Nearing the end of the game I thought I might go for what they refer to in baseball as a “fancy dan” which involved leaping onto a table and throwing a sword at someone, but instead I got stabbed in the back, tripped trying to jump onto the table, and bled all over the place. Still, between that and my friend Adam’s story about his character “Abraham Lincoln” we were all in stitches the entire game. Maybe the best part was looking at the people at the table right before my stunt and saying with confidence, “Watch and learn folks, this is called ‘betting on the home team’.”

On the way home we intercepted a small crowd from the convention who had come around the other side of the train station intent on entering it. A kid of maybe 16 years old in a beanie was just about to enter when he saw an old homeless man right inside the door. I guess he thought he would go in another door or something so he started to back out. I didn’t have any money on me, so I didn’t feel too bad about walking past the old man. The kid in the grey hat fell into step on the other side of me, that is, away from the hobo, who, to my surprise looked at the kid and yelled, “Gimme that hat!”

It was only hilarious after the fact. I didn’t look at the kid but was told after the fact that he was about to take off his hat. He was just a kid from the show and I didn’t really feel like seeing him get stepped on, so some other guy and I told him to fuck off. He got the message.

We got back to the hotel.

The third day, Sunday, we opted to avoid confusion with check out and just hang in the hotel room with our stuff and go straight to the bus back to New York. The trip was uneventful.

Overall it was an excellent weekend. I know I’m forgetting some things, but if anyone has an interest in the show, or if you just want to see Boston, I recommend both.

Peace,

Thanks for reading.

My Halogen Dream

Posted on March 30, 2010 by Adam Susskind

Time for another Freakin Ficly! This one’s about someone undergoing some interesting change.

My eyes still shrink-wrapped in sleep, I grip the headboard and pull myself up and back a bit to get the blood flowing. The blanket hits the floor and I stumble past the beautiful woman in my bed.

She has fixed me up almost to the point where that old adage: “I’m too good for her now” almost applies, but not quite. She’s changed everything about me. Never asked for anything in return. She doesn’t move, sleeping deeply under the cover.

3:00 in the morning. It’s the perfect hour when you want to be completely alone, not so perfect when you’ve got a job. Eight hours a day is too much to commute.

I grab my toothbrush and run it across my teeth in the dark bathroom with all the deftness of a hoofed mammal. Toothpaste everywhere. The foamy Colgate “Extra Whitening” spills into the sink, and in the shimmering yellow from the streetlight outside, I see a hint of red in the sink. Raw gums.

I grope for the light, eyeing my nondescript silhouette of a reflection in the dark mirror. The halogens burst on, sending shadows into oblivion. I guess I’ve undergone more change than I thought. This is not my body.

There’s a rustling behind me.

“Coming to bed, Will?”

That’s not my name.

Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/16490

Someday

Posted on March 30, 2010 by Adam Susskind

A Ficly with a surprise-ish ending.

She said that arguing about everything and arguing about nothing were “pretty much the same thing”. She said it so calmly, so out of tune with how I felt.

I keep getting a busy signal. She must have unplugged her phone. I can just picture her ripping it off the wall. Of course, maybe that’s just me hoping she cares enough to be upset.

I hang up after enough tries, hoping that at some point she’s going to return the calls, and then I’ll be able to ignore her, or at least try to.

I step outside onto the patio and look into the thick woods beyond the backyard, impenetrable. It’s incredible how years of love can fall apart. Walking back inside, I grab my keys, my jacket, and wallet heading for the car. I need to speak to her. The car rumbles and sputters and stalls, coughing and gagging, just like the old man that the creature in the driver’s seat has become. Angry, rough, stupid.

The car doesn’t start.

I’m not sure how many more years I’ll be around. I hope my daughter will forgive me someday.

Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/16481

If You Look Carefully…

Posted on March 26, 2010 by Adam Susskind

Damn alarm went off at 3:45 instead of 5:45. Couldn’t fall back asleep, figured I’d try and write a little fiction. This one is about a junkie from the FUTURE!

6:00 AM again, like the foul little period at the end of another endless night. I lean back into the cushions of the couch and watch an hour drip by.

I start another ten second hallucination that will feel like days. I must have lived a lifetime in mere hours. It’s like watching a movie and scrubbing through the interesting parts. A year ago I stopped getting these visions naturally, tried to buy some more. Turns out you can get anything with a little time, a lot of money, and the determination of a junkie.

I’m standing in the blackness of my apartment looking out a window through the venetian blinds embedded in the glass. On a top floor suite like this in pretty much any building in the new part of the city you can see the faces of the people in their cars. Given the angle, it’s a little tough, but if you look carefully, when they bank a turn or adjust their pitch, sometimes you catch someone’s eye as they whiz past, and they nod, or they don’t, but either way you know you made contact with someone.

Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/16388

The First Shovelful

Posted on March 25, 2010 by Adam Susskind

A ficly that, yes, is obviously inspired by the funeral I attended today, but I think it’s still a decent piece of writing. A friend of mine started to cry when the first shovelful of dirt hit our French Teacher’s casket. So I wrote this…

By now the doors would be locked, but I had stolen the key. Felt like I was sorting through my ring for hours before I found the right one. Everything was just a little blurry. I’m not sure if that’s a sign that my vision going, or just the fact that my eyes are welling up. It’s probably the booze.

I flick on the master light switch and the whole building lights up. Christmas in July. The score board on the far side of the rink flashes on and resets itself. Still, it’s shockingly quiet. The only whisper comes from the fans up in the rafters, shaking and spinning the same way they always do, irregularly. This place is getting old.

I never thought it would be so easy to find tragedy on the ice. The police certainly cleaned up the mess ruthlessly. Not even a trace.

When my sons lowered their brother’s casket into the ground and grabbed the shovels, I realized I hadn’t been expecting the dirt to be so loud when it hit the wood. They all paused, holding heavy shovels of soil, letting the sound sink in.

Originally on Ficly: http://ficly.com/stories/16331

Madame Hiria Kojtari: The First Monday Back In School

Posted on March 23, 2010 by Adam Susskind

Gonna post twice today, that is, this and the Ficly. I never brag about my writing, but this is powerful. Maybe just to me, but if I was going to cry, this was going to do it. Please read.

The gang (my French class) probably noticed that I didn’t share any memories of our teacher, Madame Hiria Kojtari, today. That’s just because I can never find the right words in the moment. As soon as my fingers hit a keyboard though, I’m good to go.

I thought today was going to be much easier than it was. Mme. Kojtari’s French V class met yesterday for Pizza that no one ate. A whole pie and all eight people could do was look, but other than that sobering moment in the pizzeria, it was a fairly entertaining outing. Jake fought with Natalie which added an air of normalcy to the gathering, and we all managed to avoid the subject of our teacher. I don’t know how we pulled that off.

I wrongly assumed that our get-together would be an indicator of how we would fare come Monday. Today, dressed in black, we all headed to a lecture hall which was serving as a temporary place of grieving. It was too weird skipping class to stay with my friends. Could I have gone to my classes? Maybe. I knew I didn’t want to talk to any of my friends who weren’t involved with the situation or who were still blissfully unaware because their ignorance would only serve to anger me. Granted, that isn’t a fair way to treat my friends, but I avoided most of them, so perhaps they won’t ever know what I’ve been through.

In Room 130, the lecture hall, a “crisis team” from the district education center was there to offer help, and I couldn’t have hated them more. Crazy how I so vehemently wanted them to leave when all they were doing was trying to help. It felt like they had walked into the situation expecting to make a difference. I wanted them to get the fuck out of my face, but I smiled a waved like a drone.

Our principal who has a tendency for speaking for too long had nothing to say. He spoke for two minutes and when he got a knot in his throat, the girls lost it. Sitting in front of Jake, Iram, and I, a row of our friends cried their hearts out. None of the guys shed a tear.

I signed the massive sheet referencing our failure to form a decent circle with our desks when she would ask at the beginning of each period. “I’m sorry we couldn’t get our desks in a circle, but I think out L-shape was pretty spiffy. Maybe some day I’ll learn the subjunctive tense.”

Jake drew a picture she would always draw to explain reflexive verbs. The caption read, “Be reflexive, please come back.”

Still doesn’t make any sense that this could have happened to our Madame Kojtari. I told a friend on Facebook that I wish there were words for how I feel, but instead I’m stuck referencing how surprised I am.

The song playing on my computer right now “Thank you for the inspiration/ thank you for the smiles/ thank you for the unconditional love.” Is this a joke? How much more apropos could it get?

The day continued. There was debate as to whether or not we would have the courage to go to the classroom come period 8. I voted yes. We all ended up going. Alina said we should put our desks in a circle. It ended up in the shape of an “L” anyway. I guess we’ll never get that right.

Well. She wasn’t there. She was gone and we all knew it because we weren’t reading Voltaire’s “Candide.” We were dressed in black, some weeping, some watching others cry.

One of the crisis counselors came in and Alina asked indirectly for her to leave. Ashley wanted to play French Monopoly like we had the previous Thursday. Why? Because we asked, and Madame K couldn’t find a reason not to break the rules a bit.

We got three turns into the game of monopoly today. The girls cried and I held a friend just waiting for the situation to blow away suddenly, maybe in the same way Hiria Kojtari up’d and left us.

At lunch my best friend Nick greeted me tactfully. He didn’t bring it up, and did me a huge favor by not saying anything about what I was going through. Makes me remember why he really is my best friend. I said goodbye to go sit with the class in the middle of a sea of loud kids, who were none the wiser. Natalie was crying again, and when Jake gave her a quick hug, I thought I was going to loose it.

We regrouped at the end of the day to listen to the principle deliver a brief explanation over the PA out of a sense of duty, but he could never have done her justice in twenty seconds. He used words like “passed away” instead of “murder”. He is the consummate professional, and I appreciate the way he handled the situation, but it felt like everyone then knew why my friends and I were in black, but no one understood the nature of the beast.

Well, at least my friend and classmate, Iram, looked good in black. When we walked to the bus in the rain, I kept telling him that I would spend thousands on a camera if it meant I could get him at that moment: Black tie, black shirt, black shoes, black slacks, five o’clock shadow like a man who hadn’t slept in days, glasses, and a walk he and I shared like we’d just lost our best friend.

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