Tuesday, January 10, 2012
What Good is a Fandom if You Ain’t Around to Play in it?
I'm almost certain this is our very first ever non-Han and/or Leia photo. I have to apologize, but this picture just spoke to me. I'm not really sure why. ;-)
Seriously though, it's scary how much I identify with this pic and its accompanied caption. I have to imagine that someday my obsession with Han and Leia might have to wane – at least oh, so slightly. Until then, I eye boring, normal, everyday life with distain. Grocery shop? Pay bills? Dare I say it…homework? Or even worse…real work? Ha! When there’s a new chapter of fanfic up to read? Or write? Not to mention a new blog post to craft or comment on?
Oh, the humanity!
I really have a hard time remembering what I did before I fell into this whole fandom thing. I must’ve had a lot of free time on my hands. That’s all I can figure. I know before I started reading the EU books my bookshelf was neatly designed with stacks of books here and there, some lying on their sides, some standing so as to be aesthetically pleasing to the eye. (I saw that once on TLC, back when I watched television.) Now my book shelf is end-to-end Star Wars books all standing up like little storm troopers neatly in rows.
My husband’s cousin came to visit and she was perusing my bookshelf. I felt slightly embarrassed by the obscene amount of Star Wars books that litter its shelves now. Seriously, no one understands. She didn’t say anything. I didn’t say anything. The moment could only be described as awkward. After that I contemplated moving all of my books to the bedroom. But who has the time? I had to write this post, after all. And people thinking your slightly crazy isn’t such a bad thing sometimes. For example: this cousin has two young children and we don’t live in our home town, so we are her closest relatives. People don’t ask suspected crazies to babysit their kids. I’m just saying. I don’t have time for that. I’ve got to finish reading the next book in the EU book club.
My kids are easy. They love Star Wars and think it’s cool that I do, too. I know I have but a precious few years before all of that will change. But, hell, you could be a flipping rock star and your teenager would be embarrassed of you, so it doesn’t really matter. My husband is…accommodating. I’ve read him some of my writing, maybe about five thousand words overall of the 100K+ I’ve written. But he’s clueless. The other day, while home for the holidays, he suggested we ‘pop in Episode I of Star Wars’. Cool, right? I pulled out my blu-rays and popped in Episode I and at the very first scene he says, “I don’t remember this part.” I say, “Which episode are you talking about?” Response: “Episode one! The first one that came out, you know, with the Death Star.” I know, I know, I should at least be happy that he only wants to see the OT and doesn’t even acknowledge the prequels. But he’s totally clueless.
Husband to Child: “What’s a touchdown worth?”
Child: “I don’t know.”
Husband to Child: “What planet is Chewbacca from?”
Husband to me: “There’s something wrong with this picture.”
Gotta love it!
I often feel unjustly persecuted when I feel I have to 'hide' my love of Star Wars. And I don't even try to hide it all that much. I have a Darth Vader gumball dispenser on my desk at work. I sport my Star Wars Target t-shirts on the weekends. But I have changed my SW tee before going to drop my kid off at a friend's house. It's really unlike me to care what people think, but somehow this is different. It's as if they might see me wearing that shirt and suspect how very far deep I am in this thing. It's ridiculous. Especially when I know that no matter how much they might imagine, it would pale in comparison to the truth.
I know we've talked about this before. It's not as if I'm a serial killer on the sly. I'm just a SW fanatic, for the love of Jabba the Hutt! I know Princess Leia's last name and Han Solo's homeworld. I have more pictures of Harrison Ford and Carrie Fisher on my computer than I do of my own mother. I'm reading over 50 books for the second time in less than two years. Alright, so the first step in any addiction is to admit you have a problem.
I don't see the problem.
Anyway, there wasn’t much more of a point to this post, other than to discuss my obsession. Kind of obsessive in itself, isn’t it? Anybody else have stories to tell of how the real world views their compulsion? Feel free to share ‘em. Meanwhile I’ll be pretending to have a real life while I'm anxiously awaiting your comments…