There's a geek convention or three going on somewhere in the U.S. every weekend of the year, and this weekend it's Anime USA, the annual Japanese-cartoon fest in Tysons Corner, Virginia, a strip-mall suburb just outside Washington, D.C. Of course, at the same time, Farscape fans are getting together in California and s.f. literati are lining up for David Brin's autograph in Arizona -- so what makes this bunch of 2,500 manga and anime lovers so special? Strolling through the lobby of the Sheraton hotel, where Yuna from Final Fantasy is perfectly likely to bump into Emily the Corpse Bride, one answer presents itself: Youth. It's everywhere, and it's got this incredible punk-rock-hip-hop-cyber- Matrix-via-Woodstock kinda vibe going. These kids, these costumed throngs of pink-haired and thigh-booted and staff-wielding kids, have simply way more energy -- enthusiastic, hyperkinetic, physical energy -- than most of the introspective types who've so frequently gathered over the years to celebrate their love of genres fantastic.

The perfect example: At 9 a.m., there's already a small crowd in the ballroom. Twelve hours ago the place was jumping with a J-rock concert; twelve hours hence it'll be a red-carpet extravaganza as the Cosplay Contest gets into full swing. But right now, in the relatively quiet time while a bunch of the hardcore cosplayers are down the hall waiting to hear costuming goddess Yaya Han reveal her secret makeup tips, 15 or 20 kids are here to make their own entertainment. They're standing around an eight-foot-square thing that looks like an inflatable boxing ring and is inhabited by two inflatable bodysuits -- which, in turn, are inhabited by two grinning teenage guys, about to throw down in a friendly, early-morning bout of sumo wrestling. This is not fiction, not an imaginary story: These two geeks at this geek-filled geekfest have woken up early to engage in athletics.

The ref steps back from his position straddling the edge of the ring, and one of the boys shouts, "Mortal Kombat!" He flexes, videogame-like, at his opponent, and seconds later he is flopped to the faux-fleshy floor. Thud. Well, really, considering all the aerated padding, Thfffdfffd. Game over.

They de-skin, and two petite girls hop in to take their place, giggling. "Go Gina!" comes the cry from the peanut gallery as the wrestlers, smothered in puffy plastic, face off. For the second time in a row, the actual melee takes less time than getting into the sumo suit did: The smaller girl goes down quickly, and then again. The victor, in pointed contrast to the boys' jerky pixel-warrior poses, does a happy little victory bounce like Muhammed Ali. (Or maybe like Tigger. Or a bunny rabbit.)

Then, with a big, fat smile, she hurls herself face-first to the ground so the ref can unzip her.