Apr. 22nd, 2008

I aten't dead! But wow have there been a lot of telephone calls today.

Also my life is very boring. Not that I'm complaining, it's not boring to ME, but it's hard to make it interesting to others. Um, I had a delicious sandwich for lunch? Nobody told me I was tall today? A pigeon did try to kill me with rusty metal this morning (no lie, it shoved a huge chunk of rebar off the overhang) but considering last year a dead bird fell on my head, I find I may lack credibility in re: birds if I report these things too often.

I have been reading across a few fandoms, more frequently than I used to, and it's fascinating to see how each little fandom pulls in on itself. Most people that I know don't have one singular fandom, but two or three intent ones and maybe a couple of others in a minor sort of way. There's a lot of criscross trading going on. And yet, there's a vocabulary that builds up within each little community and doesn't necessarily escape it -- certain turns of phrase and terms that have nothing to do with the story setting (not like The Plass/MRE/Scourgify) but are common in the stories and are just useful, quirky words.

It's neat that I can take a sideline, that I've reached the point where I don't have to comment on the goings-on in fandom or the casting spoilers, I can just watch it happen around me. It helps that I don't belong to any fannish communities and my flist itself is highly diverse at this point. All fandoms and no fandoms...I never could be conformist that way.

The Zen of Fan. Omm.
I was introduced to the poetry of Robert Service through my Canadian-born grandmother, who took down her enormous Illustrated Service and sat me at the dining-room table to read while she was trying to put my brother down for a nap one day. True to the pattern of my life, I opened the book to The Cremation of Sam McGee, tastefully decorated with minimalist snowscapes and a pastel-brown wooden boat with smoke billowing up.

I was nine. Who doesn't love a good cremation joke when you're nine?

I can recite most of the poem from memory, all of it if I have prompting. I blame Robert Service for sending me to Jack London, too.

The Cremation of Sam McGee )

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