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The enthusiasm in the air is infectious. I'm waiting, with thousands of fans, in what feels like a massive holding pen. We're packed into the largest hall of the Washington State Convention and Trade Center in downtown Seattle. The room is like an airport hanger, vast as a Wal-Mart. The crowd is mostly young and male -- an army of 20-something geeks clad in t-shirts, hunched over handhelds.
Conventioneers pass between the LAN room and the show floor.
Despite the fatigue I'm feeling from sitting on cold concrete for the past hour, I'm still buoyed by the crowd. They're obviously psyched to be here. And though we haven't been unleashed on the show floor, open gaming rooms and huge LAN setup, it's obvious that the weekend has already begun. One in 10 gamers around me is playing a Nintendo DS. I'm awash in Wi-Fi Mario Kart matches and Pictochat conversations. Beach balls bounce above the crowd. Cookie Brigade volunteers sell freshly baked deserts to the masses, collecting proceeds for the Child's Play charity.
And then there are the penises. When the line finally starts moving I notice a cloud of multi-colored pipe cleaners clinging to the wall, each twisted into the shape of turgid cock and balls. If games are the reason why nearly 60,000 fans converged here to hang out for the weekend, dick jokes are the glue that holds them together.
Yeah, PAX is something special. And, sure, there's a hint of riding-the-short-bus kind of special in there. The three-day gaming convention is put together by the same nerds that make Web comic Penny Arcade. Self-effacement is part of their comic's formula. But the biggest part remains a love of for gaming. And it's this passion that surrounds and penetrates the entire event. It's a convention for the gamer's soul -- one that healed and invigorated this jaded game journalist, reminding me why I got into this crazy business to begin with. I'm already looking forward to next year's show. And I swear, next time I'm not taking a single appointment. Next year I just want to hang out and play games like everybody else.
Fallout 3 celebrates the nuclear family.
On paper the reason to come to PAX is the huge show floor. The hall looks like a slice of E3. Huge crowds cluster around demo stations, clamoring to play Gears of War 2 and Left 4 Dead. Bethesda owned all with a slick presentation for Fallout 3 -- at one end of their acre was a gleaming Streamline camper. Inside, the press demoed the new game amid '50s era décor. Outside, a mannequin family, dressed in Vault uniforms, enjoy a barbecue. On the far end of the space under the watchful eye of a looming Brotherhood of Steel power suit, gamers try out Fallout 3. Scattered among the living, breathing humans are charred mannequins, the burnt masses who didn't make it.
Judy Nails cosplay makes me feel funny.
Rock Band 2 and Guitar Hero: World Tour dueled from opposite sides of the hall. Activision boasted a Judy Nails cosplayer, who shredded in head-to-head score challenges against players. Harmonix brought geek rockers Darkest of the Hillside Thickets onstage to play their song "Shh..." from the just-announced "PAX Pack" downloadable content for Rock Band. And though Microsoft, Sony and Nintendo were all present and showing their latest games, the show floor wasn't all about the big guys. An indie game contest called the PAX 10 showed off homegrown games and let attendees vote on their favorite. Retailers like Pink Godzilla hawked rare videogames and imported paraphernalia while a dedicated booth sold what looked like a metric ton of Penny Arcade swag.
Most heartening to this older-than-average gamer were the many tabletop gaming concerns vying for attention among all the glitz of next-generation games. Magic: The Gathering purveyors Wizards of the Coast made their presence known with demos of Dungeons & Dragons and a new online version of the massively popular card game. Fantasy Flight displayed their board game versions of their World of Warcraft and StarCraft.