West End Grrl

So, what happens when you take the High Altar of Geek and plonk it in the very heart of mainstream, high-culture London?

Aside from a personal visit by the Mayor (who once collected Marvel comics, so he said) and an amazingly rude anchor girl from a national news team (I don’t care if you’re ‘on the telly’ luv, you’re not using my display as a dressing table), a great deal of fun, frolics and photographs.

Yes, Westminster City Council invited Forbidden Planet back to West End Live.

You know I’m intrigued by the nature of geekdom – the marketeer in me labels it the customer-base of my company – but I’m still a fangirl at heart and Forbidden Planet’s people are less statistic and more friend. Not so the milling hordes in Leicester Square last weekend! Busier than even the organisers expected, the shoulder-to-shoulder crush was sightseers, tourists, families, theatre lovers and luvvies; the urban(e) heart of the West End who stand outside my demographic and who don’t give Star Wars so much as a sniff of disdain.

Yet we were busier than we’ve ever been.

Aside from our giant Spidey, we took with us a dressing up box – masks, helmets, hats and props from now-hot comic book culture. Unsurprisingly, the guys wanted to don The Hulk mask-and-hands and roar at camera-wielding girlfriends; unsurprisingly, the Who voice-changer was a massive hit with every kid of ten or younger; unsurprisingly, the Indy hat-and-whip caused much amusement among the ladies. The ‘surprisingly’? The appeal was universal.

Dressing up is one of those things we never grow out of. It breaks our boundaries, transcends the faintly bitter taste of ‘role-play’ and embraces the sweet allure of ‘stage and screen’. With us, once again, were our friends from the UK Garrison – this time clad in a variety of movie-class costumes – and fronting the ‘come-as-you-aren’t’ theme of the FP tent. They epitomised what the packed throng of visitors were teasing at the edges of – the desire to be the legend, the hero, the star.

Returning to my personal mission statement about the new age of geek credibility, it seems that West End Live blurred the ever-fading line between geek and chic even more… On a weekend where the Mayor collects Marvel and the ol’ comic store becomes the new green room, there’s no limit to how cool a geek can get!

Focus

Last weekend, I returned to a place of haven and refuge – Holland’s Wood, Brockenhurst, New Forest.

The forest is glorious, an easy place to abandon yourself in air and trees and sky and sunlight. It makes a tranquil resting point from which to venture outwards.

The tourist-friendly gravel paths are all very well – but I’ve done those. This time, my weekend’s biking was a shimmering, superheated cross-country fight that had me facing pathless, treacherous heathland; mud and mosquito, slope and shingle, rut and ridge – and one apparently spontaneous river.

Rattling loud protest at the pounding it was taking, my bike showed me something I haven’t seen in a long time.

Focus.

Somewhere outside Ringwood, the sun blistering my shoulders, my entire attention sharpened down to a perfect, searchlight-like beacon illuminating the forward motion of my front wheel.
My knees still absorbed the shocks, my feet still pushed, my hands still gripped the handlebars like they were a white-knuckle ride… but all I could see, feel, think, the only thing in my head, was the next metre of upcoming ground. Everything else had just… ceased.

One thought.

Created by apprehension, it came with confidence and complete control. It was timeless, intense, white-hot – and unbelievably freeing.

As the ground levelled out and my concentration receded, I found myself laughing – relief or release, I don’t know – but its sheer force brought an insight.

Our lives are increasingly about multi-tasking – in the home, on the web. How many Social Media sites do we maintain; how many tasks do we complete while we schedule more, while we write, draft, chat, code, listen to Last FM? On Twitter, we continue multiple conversations; on FriendFeed, we flick from tab to tab. We group our friends into sets just to keep track of ourselves and we jump dementedly from URL to URL like we jump between the brightly-manic stepping stones of Plurk.

Every day, our minds range outwards along so many lines - our attention is scattered and we rarely bring the full force of our concentration to bear on a single thing. When extremity pulls all those lines, hard, in the one direction – it’s astounding what you can achieve.

Sometimes, it's good to take your head out of the screen. It reminds you what else you can do!

Reclaim the Geek

Merriam-Webster defines ‘Geek’ in the following way: -

1: A carnival performer often billed as a wild man whose act usually includes biting the head off a live chicken or snake
2: A person often of an intellectual bent who is disliked
3 An enthusiast or expert especially in a technological field or activity

In a long proud geek grrl career, I’ve not yet seen something’s head bitten off as proof of geek credibility – but I’ve seen almost everything else. From role-players and re-enactors to readers and writers, from techies and twitterers to the new cult of ‘geek chic’, the term has come to encompass a swath of archetypes. The geek really has inherited the earth; he (and she) should be stabbed by the stigma of the term no longer.

After EasterCon, I did wonder where the kids had gone; was concerned the geek community was spiralling slowly outwards to the galaxy’s edges. Yet at Salute, I found them – younger ones, mainly, playing tabletop games while Dad used the excuse to ogle military figures his missus would never let him buy. Intrigued by the ratio of ‘size of Dad’ to ‘need for DPM’, I was delighted to see that Geek 101 still fires the kids’ imaginations and has them passionate and jumping.

At the London Expo, I saw where they go next: they progress from war- and board-games to online shared gaming environments, to savvy and street-smart manga and anime. These are exciting words, worlds to recreate as they meet up. Their costumes may be terrifying (and their sword-play worse!) but that’s not the point – their fire and creativity is growing, and has an outlet. They revel.

Then comes the age of realisation: understanding that the game is over and it’s time to take your fantasies and grow up; to look forwards. At the Bristol Comic Con, I was touched to see one guy present his portfolio – and get offered the job he’d always dreamed of. His lessons counted and gave him a future.

Sadly, we can’t all be that lucky – but I have been, in my own way, and there are many people in my twitterstream who’ve taken an apprenticeship as fanboy or gamer and used the new webwork of social media to help spin it into a highly successful career. And with my new Mac sitting shiny-white on my desktop, I too am creaking open the doors of the contemporary Geek Clique.

In an interview with the Guardian in December 2003, entitled ‘We’re All Nerds Now’, Peter Jackson talked about the rise of Geek Chic. Blossoming then, it’s had five years to gain momentum and influence.

This is not about being a ‘weed’, ‘nerd’ or ‘bore’ – this is a life choice.

It’s time to reclaim the geek.

Show Me The MonQee

He’s met some top talent, been through twenty-two episodes of adventures and has had every part of his anatomy scribbled on… hey, hey he’s the MonQee, and he’s finally come to rest in the art toy cabinet at the Forbidden Planet London Megastore.

In addition to the host of names from the previous MonQee post, a thank you to the kings of UK space opera, Neal Asher and Alastair Reynolds. And a huge thank you, too, to Terry Pratchett himself for his approval for and support of the project: the fact that his email arrived on my birthday had to be a coincidence!

The MonQee Project is now live here. This completely unique piece of urban vinyl will be auctioned through MissionFish on eBay as part of the Forbidden Planet’s thirtieth anniversary celebrations. To find out more: watch this space!

All proceeds, of course, go to the Alzheimer’s Research Trust. The MonQee, we hope, will go to a very good home – he deserves nothing less.

Ook!

Vader's Fist: Event Horizon!

Girls can’t resist a man in uniform.

And when that uniform is iconic, faceless white armour, it’s a beacon of irresistible allure – and undeniable authority.

The ladies loved them, begged to be cuddled or hand-cuffed. Guys knelt on the pavement, fingers knotted behind their heads. I watched people, at gunpoint, lay full-length on the floor to have white boots planted on their backs. From elderly ladies to tiny cubs to suited corporates to brides-to-be, everyone adored the Stormtroopers.

The traffic hooted, chanted, cheered and sang; the local police stopped to join the fun. One ‘arrest’ turned out to be a pornographer who asked if the Troopers would have sex with his wife on camera… helmets still on. I think that startled even them.

Out of armour, the boys were pretty normal bunch – but kitting up, they underwent a miraculous transformation. Protected by their anonymity, they developed attitude and confidence; they carried themselves differently. Their speech patterns and accents changed. They became their own Brand, instantly familiar to all who saw them.

I understood their transformation… but how did they get away with making people kneel at gunpoint on a public pavement? Surely it was offensive, oppressive? Anywhere else, it’d be a tinder-spark to ignite a hundred political accusations. Wouldn't it?

Two days with the 501^st UK Garrison taught me three answers.

Firstly, simply – they understand their audience. They’re performers; their manners are flawless and their perception (if not their visibility!) sharp – they instinctively understand how far they can go.

Second, more subtle – they’re fictional. They’re iconic of our childhood, playthings, not quite real. In their stylised-skull helms, their very lack of humanity makes them a game – and less than a threat.

Lastly, crucially – they’re both magnet and power-source, they generate energy and around them, people come to life. Everyone wants to be involved, wants the photo-op – wants a part of the legend for themselves.

And that energy expands – their presence at Forbidden Planet drew in the Bulgarian Eurovision entry (seriously), filming round the store. It drew in a random Vader – turning up in costume to join the fun. It drew in cosplayers, rickrollers, passing press and pausing tourists.

It also showed me something.

The event was a vortex – a literal ‘event horizon’. It pulled attention from every direction.

Thanks to cowfish, the London Flickr Group were there. On vlog detail, sizemore was arrested upon arrival – but took some awesome footage. There were eyes and wonder and cameras everywhere; events like this are generated, enhanced and maximised by the tools and friends of Social Media.

I have a feeling Vader’s Fist will punch out and go Viral.

I’ve always known how it’s supposed to work… it’s the first time I’ve ever been in the centre of it.

It’s kind-of a Force to be reckoned with.

Biting the Bullet

There are a dozen reasons why it’s taken me nearly 20 years to do this, and another dozen to explain why I’m doing it now – but they’re both long stories and this is kind of a long story already.

Its working title is – has always been – Khamsin.

It’s a novel about culture shock – about a strange person, in a strange place, asking for an agenda that no-one has to give.

It’s a novel about the implacable strength of blind faith – about believing you’re right when the rest of the world knows you’re wrong.

It’s a novel about microcosm and memory – about how who you are is made up from everything you’ve been.

More than anything, it’s a novel about passion – about how it can drive you screaming round the edges of insanity… and about what happens when you lose it.

Don’t get me wrong, it’s genre fiction and while I harbour boundary-pushing ambitions, I have a long way to go. Again.

The link is here.

If you’d like the explanation, you’ll find it in the footnote.

This has been an advertising post on behalf of Danacea’s Daydreaming. Normal geek service will resume after Salute on Saturday.

Thangkya.

First Time

I love the snow.

Not the mucky slush that slides grey over the pavements, I mean real snow – tumbling flakes and crunchy underfoot and cold down the back of my neck. I love to be out in it – I’ve walked in snow, camped in it, cycled in it, fought in it and fucked in it. It elates and intrigues me.

I love thunderstorms, crashing and passionate extremes of wild weather. I love wind-thrashed seas pounding on the shingle and the icy douse of the glittering spray.

And I love the sun – I turn my face to it and feel it lift my heart.

This morning, it was snowing – properly snowing, not the desultory sneeze I glimpsed through my hangover on Easter Sunday morning. As I watched, it blanketed the grass, softened the trees and a muffled quiet settled with the flakes.

My son has never seen real snow. While I broke the garden’s perfection with my cherry-red Docs, he stood in my bedroom window, his cub nose pressed against the cold glass. He wanted to go out in it, but was wide-eyed and wary and had to know it was safe.

When he came outside, he wouldn’t put his feet in the white stuff. He tracked in my bootprints to the sounds of the neighbourhood’s kids shrieking with glee. Then he stood, staring, as they pelted each other with snowballs and squalled defiance of the chill.

A couple of snowballs in the face, though, and he got the idea.

We joined in too – four thirty-something Mums giggling like girls as we dodged the incoming bombardment. We built the ubiquitous snowman and were pushing the kids round the garden in Joshua’s mini-Jeep, stopping to kick the caked snow from its tyres.

There were tears and tantrums, wet feet and and cold fingers, and a very excited dog. There was laughter and elation and excitement; there were kids soaked from head to foot and Mums yowling encouragement and offering cuddles.

There’s something about snow that just brings out the child in all of us.

It was a magical first experience for my small son.

And a new one for me as I’ve never taken – or tried to edit – a video before. I wouldn’t have done this one, but for @joec0914.

Amazing, the things that Twitter makes you do.