There was no Wii...
... and that was the lowest point of the entire weekend.
PAX was absolutely incredible. It was exactly my sort of convention: seven thousand video- (and board- and card-) game players enjoying their hobbies together. Unlike other gaming conventions I've attended, however, there's a fascinating shared consciousness to the entire group. These attendees have been brought together not just by the games they love, but by a common social thread: an appreciation for the sharp, irreverent humor of "Gabe" and "Tycho." As much as inside-jokes are to be avoided in most entertainment material for public consumption, there's no inside joke quite like one shared by twenty thousand (and more) people. Between the tapestry-sized blowups of strips of the comic and the muliple Q&A sessions with the artists themselves, Penny Arcade was everywhere; this was an event for the fans. We infused the very air with a common collective consciousness, not entirely unlike the way we infused the 802.11-compatable radio spectrum inside the convention hall with Nintendo DS games.
I was particularly impressed at the "gentlemen of the hour" themselves. Mike and Jerry have strangely hypnotic stage presences---strange because there's really nothing out of the ordinary about them. They're just two guys, and they're just talking. I suspect that might be a massive part of the appeal of listening to them: there's really no wall between them and the fans. When they did put themselves on a pedestal, it was for the express purpose of knocking each other off. Whereas many other celebrities seem to realize they're the best at what they do, feed their egos on that realization, and become something outside of their fanbase, I really think these guys have made an interesting next step: they know they're the best at what they do, but they've realized that they have no idea why people care. They seem genuinely thankful and maybe even a little surprised when their convention necessitates a fire marshal's visit. To me, that's terribly endearing. To be certain, there were abuses of power this weekend; they almost--almost made me feel sorry for Jack Thompson. But these guys have an approachability and a feeling of genuine normalcy to them that makes them absolutely fascinating.
Several weeks ago, Tycho posted on the Penny Arcade blog that any people who had pre-registered but couldn't make PAX could e-mail for a full refund. But first, he would "pour out a small portion of Bawls upon the baking sidewalk in your fond remembrance" During the first Q&A session, I had an opportunity to ask him to follow through on his statement of intent, since Katie had been unable to make the trip: I'd bought a bottle of Bawls and had retrieved a bit of sidewalk from a construction project next to the convention hall. He seemed mildly surprised when I pulled the chunk of concrete out of my convention bag, but he did as promised---one of his stage-crew produced a box from the back so that the stage wouldn't be damaged, and he went to town. That was a class-act.
The rest of the convention was a Norman Rockwell painting of enjoyment---an almost Disney-esque experience. I was absolutely floored by the flow of the entire convention: racking my brain, I can find almost no situations of major discomfort, annoyance, or irritation. To be certain, there were lines, lines, and lines; the event will be held at a much larger convention center next year. But with a DS in tow, even the lines became a sort of "mini-game:" find a game floating on the ether that you'd never buy for yourself, download a multiplayer instance, and get involved.
In fact, if I had to identify one reason the convention went so well, it would have to be the "gamer mentality." This was a crowd of people who crave games, and a crowd of immensely creative people. At every turn, there was a game. When there was nothing going on, games would spring up from nowhere; the convention made the local news when a crowd awaiting the first Q&A session simply picked up a large fabric-covered Pilates[sp?] ball and began trying to volley it to the fourth floor. Those who couldn't reach the action began cheering for the players, and soon a chant of "All hail ball!" was resounding through the open-air space in the center of the convention building. I've never had so much fun just... waiting before.
Complementary to the gamer mentality (and probably as important), the "enforcers" (convention staff) were drawn almost exclusively from volunteers from previous years. I've always been a fan of "Tuskegee-style" projects; in general, I think things are done best when they are done by the people who will enjoy their use directly. In contrast to other conventions I've attended (where the security staff was uncommunicative, unhelpful, and generally ignorant of the goings-on of the convention itself), the enforcers knew exactly what was going on (or who to ask), talked to the con-goers as peers, and were generally a fun bunch of people. They were all volunteers, and when they weren't working, they took off their duty-shirts and just enjoyed the convention. You can't ask for a better attitude from anyone working for you.
All in all, it was a heck of a great three days, and I'm definitely headed back next year.
Take care,
Mark
PAX was absolutely incredible. It was exactly my sort of convention: seven thousand video- (and board- and card-) game players enjoying their hobbies together. Unlike other gaming conventions I've attended, however, there's a fascinating shared consciousness to the entire group. These attendees have been brought together not just by the games they love, but by a common social thread: an appreciation for the sharp, irreverent humor of "Gabe" and "Tycho." As much as inside-jokes are to be avoided in most entertainment material for public consumption, there's no inside joke quite like one shared by twenty thousand (and more) people. Between the tapestry-sized blowups of strips of the comic and the muliple Q&A sessions with the artists themselves, Penny Arcade was everywhere; this was an event for the fans. We infused the very air with a common collective consciousness, not entirely unlike the way we infused the 802.11-compatable radio spectrum inside the convention hall with Nintendo DS games.
I was particularly impressed at the "gentlemen of the hour" themselves. Mike and Jerry have strangely hypnotic stage presences---strange because there's really nothing out of the ordinary about them. They're just two guys, and they're just talking. I suspect that might be a massive part of the appeal of listening to them: there's really no wall between them and the fans. When they did put themselves on a pedestal, it was for the express purpose of knocking each other off. Whereas many other celebrities seem to realize they're the best at what they do, feed their egos on that realization, and become something outside of their fanbase, I really think these guys have made an interesting next step: they know they're the best at what they do, but they've realized that they have no idea why people care. They seem genuinely thankful and maybe even a little surprised when their convention necessitates a fire marshal's visit. To me, that's terribly endearing. To be certain, there were abuses of power this weekend; they almost--almost made me feel sorry for Jack Thompson. But these guys have an approachability and a feeling of genuine normalcy to them that makes them absolutely fascinating.
Several weeks ago, Tycho posted on the Penny Arcade blog that any people who had pre-registered but couldn't make PAX could e-mail for a full refund. But first, he would "pour out a small portion of Bawls upon the baking sidewalk in your fond remembrance" During the first Q&A session, I had an opportunity to ask him to follow through on his statement of intent, since Katie had been unable to make the trip: I'd bought a bottle of Bawls and had retrieved a bit of sidewalk from a construction project next to the convention hall. He seemed mildly surprised when I pulled the chunk of concrete out of my convention bag, but he did as promised---one of his stage-crew produced a box from the back so that the stage wouldn't be damaged, and he went to town. That was a class-act.
The rest of the convention was a Norman Rockwell painting of enjoyment---an almost Disney-esque experience. I was absolutely floored by the flow of the entire convention: racking my brain, I can find almost no situations of major discomfort, annoyance, or irritation. To be certain, there were lines, lines, and lines; the event will be held at a much larger convention center next year. But with a DS in tow, even the lines became a sort of "mini-game:" find a game floating on the ether that you'd never buy for yourself, download a multiplayer instance, and get involved.
In fact, if I had to identify one reason the convention went so well, it would have to be the "gamer mentality." This was a crowd of people who crave games, and a crowd of immensely creative people. At every turn, there was a game. When there was nothing going on, games would spring up from nowhere; the convention made the local news when a crowd awaiting the first Q&A session simply picked up a large fabric-covered Pilates[sp?] ball and began trying to volley it to the fourth floor. Those who couldn't reach the action began cheering for the players, and soon a chant of "All hail ball!" was resounding through the open-air space in the center of the convention building. I've never had so much fun just... waiting before.
Complementary to the gamer mentality (and probably as important), the "enforcers" (convention staff) were drawn almost exclusively from volunteers from previous years. I've always been a fan of "Tuskegee-style" projects; in general, I think things are done best when they are done by the people who will enjoy their use directly. In contrast to other conventions I've attended (where the security staff was uncommunicative, unhelpful, and generally ignorant of the goings-on of the convention itself), the enforcers knew exactly what was going on (or who to ask), talked to the con-goers as peers, and were generally a fun bunch of people. They were all volunteers, and when they weren't working, they took off their duty-shirts and just enjoyed the convention. You can't ask for a better attitude from anyone working for you.
All in all, it was a heck of a great three days, and I'm definitely headed back next year.
Take care,
Mark