Fannish Musings: If My Fandoms Were Men
|Title:||Fannish Musings: If My Fandoms Were Men...|
|Date(s):||unknown date, but after 2004|
|External Links:||Katya's Fannish Musings...: Fannish Musings: If My Fandoms Were Men, Archived version|
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Long, long ago, there was a survey on LJ that compared fandoms to men (as in, which one are you embarrassed to have dated, which one do you still think about longingly, etc.)? I thought it was a great idea, but none of the categories really fit my views on my fandoms. So I created my own version to help explain my current take on my many, many (sob) fandoms (in order of my immersion in each fandom):
If my fandoms were men
If it were a man, MFU would be the sophisticated, charming man about town whom I met at a society gala. He is a favorite of my parents (and grandparents), who still refer to him as "such a lovely young man." Little do they know of his secret identity, the stiletto concealed up his perfectly tailored sleeves. He is far too reliant upon his superficial facade, and can be somewhat dull as a result; he is a reliable, predictable companion, and can be quite witty, but he has a lamentable predisposition for wallowing in sentimentality that sets my teeth on edge. I remind myself to watch for the dangerous, demanding underside that reminds me of his untapped potential, as this always convinces me to give him another try. I want to cure him of his reliance on romance and teach him to enjoy his secret prediliction for lust and adrenaline; lure him away from the safe and familiar and help him to revel in his love of the shadows, of life lived outside the boundaries of what society deems acceptable. While I think he has amazing potential, I don't think I'm the right one to tap it, sadly -- I can only hope that some more talented soul can shake him free of his rut.
If it were a man, S/H would be the gorgeous guy who lives across the courtyard with his (equally gorgeous) partner and soulmate. The two of them have the highly enjoyable habit of leaving all their shades and windows open, thus sharing all the details of their lives with their neighbors. There's no way I'm every getting a piece of either of them -- they're committed, darlin', and it's not to me -- but it's a heck of a lot of fun to watch. (And since neither of them is exactly shy, there's plenty to watch. Hoo boy.) I'm not in love with them, but I'm a friend, and while we've kind of lost touch, I try to occasionally drop in to check up on them and wish them well.
If it were a man, TS would be the sleazy kid from the wrong side of the tracks, the one I went to school with and avoided for years before we finally hooked up at a bar while I was out-of-my-mind drunk. We had a short, torrid fling, and I was infatuated enough by his few good qualities to overlook his many bad habits for a while; but the glow wore off at the same time as the alcohol, leaving me horrified and crossing my fingers that this temporary self-indulgence didn't bequeath me some dread disease. I was appalled by my wallow in squalor, but every once in a while I run into him and we flirt a bit, maybe have a date or two. He's gone completely to seed by now, and our relationship is mostly based on nostalgia, but he still reveals the occasional flash of brilliance; those hints of 'what might have been,' and the ever-so-faint possibility of redemption, keep me interested enough to welcome the odd encounter from time to time.
If it were a man, Pros would be the dangerously delicious lad I see all the time at the local pub, where he and his exotic-looking partner spend far too many hours drinking, groping one another, trying to make each other jealous by flirting madly with all the patrons, and generally bitching endlessly. They're in love, so there's no joy for anyone else -- they may talk a good show, but they always leave together. It really doesn't matter, though, as I'm quite happy to buy them the occasional round and enjoy the entertainment they provide. I'm not infatuated, just happy to see two such fabulous specimens having a good time together in the few all-too-brief respites from their rather grim lives; fingers crossed they live long enough to grow old and grey, still sniping at and shagging each other.
If it were a man, DS would be the great passion of my life, the one who completely swept me off my feet and left me shaking and in tatters. He was the cool kid who knocked my socks off in school, the one with the dangerous edge and the hidden vulnerability. I couldn't believe it when he bothered to talk to me, and I kept waiting for the other shoe to drop the entire time we were together; but I was addicted, and happy to take as much of him as I could get. For him, I was happy to put up with his past relationships, with his emotional baggage, with his broken edges, neuroses and insecurities. I thought I was really in it for the long haul, completely committed -- alas, however, we grew apart. He was always just a bit too out of my league, but it was one hell of a ride while it lasted. I still drop in on him from time to time, and he is still smart, funny, edgy, and sexy as all hell; we're just not able to connect like we once did.
If it were a man, SGA would be the funny geek I hung around with in high school. He was the smartest kid around, and boy, did he ever let you know it; but I found him hilarious, and always got a kick out of watching him flay the skin off whatever poor thug was stupid enough to try to push around any members of the chess team. He was the master of sarcasm and attitude -- it was all about the banter with him -- and I loved watching his brain work. He was surprisingly competent at pretty much everything, and adept at most every situation; and there were times when he'd reveal sharp teeth behind the wry smirk, not to mention the occasional tear or two. I was never passionately in love with him, but he was, and still is, a lot of fun, and I enjoy the time we spend together.
If it were a man, SPN would be the creepy weird guy who lives downstairs in the basement apartment with his equally strange brother and comes and goes at all hours, reeking of sulphur and gunpowder and dripping noxious fluids on the pavement. I have no idea what the hell they're up to, but I know it isn't good...and yet I find myself fascinated, unable to look away. I'm completely obsessed, almost stalker-esque about the two of them; I stay awake until I hear the growl of their muscle car in the alley, and peer out through my blinds to spy on them as they squabble on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. I don't really worry about them noticing me, though, as they're completely wrapped up in one another, co-dependent to a frightening degree; they have the occasional fling, singly and together, but a somewhat alarming percentage of their one-night-stands seems to meet an untimely fate. They still manage to attract the local skanks, and I can see the appeal, for they are almost inhumanly attractive, and can turn on the charm when they want to; but they're even more dangerous than they are beautiful, and that's saying something. Beneath the pretty faces and come-on lines, they're like wounded animals, ready to turn on anyone who comes too close. I make sure to keep my distance, as they are far too damaged for me to handle -- but I do wish they could find comfort somewhere, as no one should be in that much pain.So there you have it.