Showing posts with label nerdly. Show all posts
Showing posts with label nerdly. Show all posts

Thursday, December 26, 2013

The Five Stages of Fangirl Grief

My Doctor is gone, perhaps not forever, but for a few years until they manage to work him into a special. Now I enter the mourning period that lasts from character death until I meet the new guy and can assess Peter Capaldi for his worth as the Doctor.

I'm thinking about buying a black veil. How very Madama Vastra of me.

Being a Fangirl is a thankless job. We support our beloved characters and the writers that created them, putting them up on pedestals. We find ways to defend bad episodes or books or movies. We engineer arguments that validate actions out of character when writers just miss the mark, because we obviously know these characters better than their creators-- Why else do you think Fanfiction exists? We buy merch, pre-order tickets and books, and construct meticulously accurate costumes to wear to overpriced conventions where meeting the actor that plays your favorite character shatters your world at their level of douchebaggery. I'm talking about you, Bruce Campbell. And, we completely lose touch with reality. We can't ever accept it's just a show, a book, a movie, etc, because some part of us is weak, and craves the satisfaction we receive from our chosen fandom. For some girls, it is romance. Actually, for most girls that is the case, I'm sure. For that, I blame the way girls are conditioned by society, but that is a whole other argument, and I am getting sidetracked. For some girls, it is escape, and in that way they are also kind of falling in love with the idea that this life can substitute the terrible one they are currently living. Then, there are the mental cases like me-- I like to use the words creative, but hey, whatever, everyone knows we creative types all have alcohol and mental disorders. That's what fuels our art. But, for girls like me, it is not that my life is terrible. It's that it's just not enough. The limitations of this life, or of this universe, are stifling. I have an over-inflated sense of importance and purpose, and the only way I can live out my dreams of accomplishing impossible, super hero, mad genius, worship worthy endeavors is to live vicariously through science fiction. For the record,  I am the worst type... in case you were wondering.

It doesn't matter what type of Fangirl you are, or what kind of deprived satisfaction you receive from your fandom, you need it for a reason. It fills a void, no matter how stupid or silly it is. For all my constant and delusional detachment from realty, my fandoms are probably the only thing that keeps me out of an institution, because once I fill the vacant well of my uncalled chosen one depression with a good episode, or a new book, or an excellent fanfiction, I can do normal, mundane human things like hold a job or operate a moving vehicle. Trust me, you think I am bad now, this is the best of a potential bad scenario people.

The one variable that balances the entire Fangirl equation is consistency. As long as we know that all is right in our fictional universe, we are at peace. We can function fine, even in periods of hiatus between releases or seasons. Unfortunately, I know as a writer that the problem with fiction is that consistency is boring, and a good story needs chaos an upheaval to remain compelling-- to remain the reason we choose it to live vicarious through it. That is why I hate fanfiction authors who write stories just to marry character or have kids-- that shit is so fucking pedestrian! I can do that in real life! If I was capable of functioning in the real world, would I need write fanfiction about Dean Winchester--emotionally misunderstood bad ass with freckles-- to get me through from week to week? Would I have learned the word fernweh  just so that I could properly describe the emotion of being homesick for the planet Gallifrey, a place that does not actually exist (or, might just be trapped in a bubble universe-- jury is still out) or that I have never been? Fuck no! As long as we know our favorite character-- the one we relate to, admire, dress like, change our slang and speech to emulate-- or our fandom is coming back, that is what keeps us in balance.

The problem with living off the fumes of someone else's creativity is that that no matter how much we love, need, worship our chosen fandom, the outcome is completely out of our hands. We did not make it. It is not our brainchild. And, because fiction needs upheaval to have compelling plot, characters die. Sometimes it is just to keep the plot riveting, and sometimes it is because actors leave. Sometimes it is not the death of a character, but the cancellation of a show or the disappointing release of a book or movie dooming it to end. Regardless of the end result, the fact remains that you can't do anything to stop it.

Fangirl grief is differently ordered in its experience than regular, normal, emotionally stable, sane person grief, but the stages are the same.

Stage One: Anger

Normally, the first stage of grief is grief. You're just inconsolable. You are miserable, and you isolate yourself. But, in fandom, it's different. It is personal, even though it really isn't. But, feels personal. It feels like you're dying. Then you throw the book across the room or the remote through a window.You blame the writer or the production company or the actor. Then you hate them.  Then you curse them with the fury of a thousand burning suns that they will never work again after creating this abortion of fiction! This is also any intelligent fangirl's assessment of a Twilight book. Twilight fangirls are a whole other level of fucked, and we do not include them in regular fangirl community. But, I digress, you're just in a rage fueled passion that cannot be sated because it is out of your hands, and you must find some way to seek revenge. Some do this by abandoning the fandom, or maybe just taking a break. Long story sort, some shit it probably gonna get broke.

Stage Two: Denial

Ahh, Fanfiction, the slut of fandom. She makes you feel good. Tells you what you want to hear. Makes your dreams come true. But, in the end, you know none of it really counts. Fanfiction can keep a fandom or a character alive after death. It is what Fangirls are relgated too to find any way of keeping that vicarious outlet going, and feeding that satisfaction until they can properly mourn, and move on, hopefully finding a replacement character or fandom. When anger is still fresh, Denial and Anger can blend into reading or writing fiction that completely corrects the problem, resulting in new head cannon-- or, what you think should have happened, erasing the terrible tragedy (because, once again, we fangirls know so much better than the creators), by ignoring it ever happened and continuing to operate like nothing has changed.

Sometimes denial comes in the form of spoilers. Fangirls don't always find out about the tragedy of cancellation or character death in the moment. Occasionally, we'll just be on Pintrest updating our nerdly boards with pictures of our characters and memes with inside show jokes, when we see "Going to miss you, so and so". WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK! NO! NO! <hyperventilation> NO! THIS IS NOT HAPPENING! We deny like a motherfucker, telling ourselves it is not true, until we find proof that it is not all a hoax. We immediately launch a full frontal search assault on Google to get to the bottom of this, which more than likely will tell us what we loathe to hear: the truth.

Stage Three: Bargaining

You know what will fix this? A PETITION! Let's all get online and start a petition that we will send to the write's agent or the production company. We can protest too! Just, fix this okay. Don't take this away from us! YOU CAN'T TAKE THIS AWAY FROM US!

Stage Four: Depression

Pajamas for days, unchanged. A full body blanket cocoon. Junk food, after starving yourself of course, because you would rather kind of die at this point. Hysterics and tears ensue. This could be temporary, if the Fangirl has several fandoms which she can focus on and take comfort in, but until she finds a replacement fandom or character, this could be her life now. What does she have to live for at this point? If it was her primary fandom, this could be a long period of turmoil, during which people in her life are just going to have to accept that yes, she is going to keep being this fucking ridiculous over a television show. Keep making fun of her, that will help. Good idea. She probably already felt very accepted and safe and confident, which is in no way is the reason she had to turn to a fictional creation to find life satisfaction.

Stage Five: Acceptance

While the scar will never fully heal, and can be ripped open with ease at any future point, she will muster the strength to move on. Her mourning period will end, and she will find a new outlet. She will eventually be able to re-read books or re-watch old episodes and movies. She will pine for the good old days, and it will be nostalgic. The point is that, for whatever reason, she needed this thing in her life at this very point in her life. It got her through. It gave her comfort, or confidence, or emotional fulfillment. She will always look back on her fandom and remember what she was going through then-- relationship trouble, depression, trouble with a job, financial hardship, maybe all of the above. People don't disappear into fiction because their lives are perfect. But, fiction might the the thing that kept them from hurting themselves or from giving up or from having a complete mental collapse.


Thank-you for your BRILLIANT portrayal of the eleventh Doctor.  You Sir, are AMAZING!

I will always remember when you were the Doctor. Thank you for showing me that even a square peg in a round hole like me is capable of being brilliant, courageous, strong, important, and beloved, is capable of being the Doctor.

Saturday, August 3, 2013

Goodbye, and thanks for all the Fish Sticks and Custard.

Matt Smith is leaving Doctor Who.

Old news, right?

I know that being a Doctor Who fan comes with the unique challenge of accepting change, despite the fact that Whovians are ironically terrible at accepting change. The only thing worse than losing a Companion is losing the Doctor. Your favorite Doctor. Your fucking role model and soul mate, and the despite the fact he doesn't exist and you have a real life husband, is the ONLY PERSON YOU WILL EVER REALLY HONESTLY TRULY LOVE.

I joke about Eleven being my soul mate A LOT. Like, on an unhealthy level of muchness. But, it's true... being my soul mate, I mean. If you don't believe me, here is evidence in writing. http://primaimperatrix.blogspot.com/2011/10/river-song-must-be-capricorn.html. So, why, as the hours tick away, eeking closer to the moments when I will discover the new identity of the Doctor, do I love him so much? Why am I putting myself through an emotional black hole? Well, thanks to therapy, I can explain to you why.

I was a weird kid.

Like, really fucking weird.

Not in the way that all kids are weird, but in the way that you take bets on whether or not I was going to be a functioning adult, or end up in an institution hearing voices-- SPOILER ALERT: Neither so far. I realize now, people never knew what to do with me, what to make of me. My family, my teachers, my friends-- every one just decided rather than to try and sort it out, they would just get out of my way and let me do my thing. That's great, but fuck, that was lonely. I was just this precocious, curious kid who made people feel uncomfortable, so eventually they decided to sort it out by repressing me. 

Stop asking questions, Bekki. Stop talking, Bekki. Sit still, Bekki. Stop doodling, Bekki. Stop playing, Bekki. Don't run off, Bekki. Focus, Bekki. Grow up, Bekki. Be serious, Bekki. Don't be naive, Bekki. Stop being radical, Bekki. Accept your limitations, Bekki. Stop dreaming, Bekki. Calm down, Bekki, and just relax.

 I guess it was a lot easier to make the weirdness stop than to spend energy on trying to understand it. 

All I have ever wanted is to try everything-- taste exotic foods, jump out of planes, get lost in a place I don't speak the language and make a friend in the process, immerse myself in a foreign culture, sleep under the stars in the middle of nowhere, see something rare and magnificent that few to no others ever have or will... and that is just page one. That is my ONE wish-- try everything, see everything, experience everything, feel everything. 

Basically, I have wanted to run away my entire life. Why stay? I don't fit in here. I make everyone uncomfortable. I waste my and others time and energy trying to explain myself. I'll just leave. I'll find some place I belong, or maybe I don't belong any one place, so I will just keep moving. I have always been on my own anyway, so doesn't matter if I do this myself too. But, I don't have the means to do any of that, do I? So I'm just kind of here, being a professional weird person.

I can't be too melodramatic-- there were people that I found along the way-- Wyatt, Dankoski, Doc, Greg, Jess, Linda, my Braintrust. They encouraged me to embrace my talents, convincing me that I was dynamic and clever and important and loved without strings attached. They praised me so much, and could never figure out why I was so pessimistic and hard on myself. But, I was so broken by then, I could hardly believe anyone could genuinely believe in me.

Being a nerd kind of fixed that. I think Science Fiction saved my life on several occasions, because having some place that was not here to go was awesome and a huge relief. Books, comics, movies, shows, fanfiction, all of it-- it took me to a place where weird was a prerequisite and a commodity. Being clever and brave and curious could save lives. Having an innate feeling of importance and duty was not strange in Science Fiction-- that's what made you the protagonist. I lost myself, a lot, and I got to the point where I did not care if I came back. Living in my own head was a million times better than living in the real world, so I lived in my head and I vacationed in the real world, like for paychecks and bills and required, expected adultness.

So, when a girl like me finds a show like Doctor Who, you feel incredibly cheated that everything you ever wanted and thought important is fiction, and it's just not fucking fair. At first I wanted to be a companion, but then I realized they get lost or left behind. Then, I realized what I really wanted was to be the Doctor. A cosmic nine year old with a box that could take you anywhere in the universe? A person who felt so outcast that he ran away... Yeah, I could relate to that. A person who was feared, loved, or respected everywhere but his own home, but the loneliest being in the universe. No one ever stays. People just float in and out of his life, and he keeps traveling on his journey. Just a boy, and his box.

That's what my life started to feel like. Just a girl, and her imagination. In the end, it was always just me and my head universe, getting through the day, alone.

I was designed to love a character like the Doctor, but there is just something about Eleven. The hazel eyes, the floppy hair, the facial expressions, the frantic nervous gestures, the unrestrained curiosity and enthusiasm, the loyalty and protectiveness he has for his traveling family, his self sacrificing bravery, his steadfastness, his darkness, his cleverness, his sarcasm. He's the manifestation of everything I want to be and the life I want to have, even if it is fiction. I have always believed that your true love would be the person that you are equal with, a real partner, so who else was I going to fall madly in love with? My husband? Right.

Boil us down, fiction or real, we're essentially the same person. Look at how loved and accepted the Doctor is-- look at how much loss people feel that he will be gone. My entire life I was made to feel unaccepted as I was, and here is someone just like me, loved by millions. That is so affirming and validating.

When I say that the Christmas Special is going to be the worst day ever, I am deathly serious. Think of the person you love most in the world-- how much do they mean for you? How much have they done for you? Now imagine watching them dying. Now, times that by infinity. That is how I am going to feel watching Eleven regenerate.

Let the teasing commence... I expect nothing less.









I dearly miss you already, Eleven, but River taught me that  if you truly love someone, you say goodbye like they're coming back.

See you around, Eleven. 





Saturday, April 27, 2013

Prima Impertrix of Braintustencia

I'm going to lose my teaching position, and that really, really blows.

It's not because I did a poor job-- I did an excellent job. It's because the lawmakers in this state suck at their jobs. Pension reform, or their complete and utter lack resolving the aforementioned issue, has created a massive shortfall in education funding. So, long story short-- in which I save you from my anger filled rant-- I am going to lose my job, and set sail into a sea of unemployment rocked by a stagnant economy and budget cuts at schools across the state, amid the already established attitude that Social Studies is useless because it is not tested by federal or state tests. Unfortunately, this has not prevented absolutely everyone and their brother, sister, uncle, and aunt from getting certified in secondary Social Studies.

... and, all I can think about is how much I am going to miss the hell out of my kids.

I call my kids, because to me they are my kids. They have all gravitated to me for what I think are two reasons:

1) In me, they see someone who is nerdy, liberal, atheist, socialist, and curious-- all traits they feel in themselves, but are not encouraged in their small corner of Central Illinois. They are my beloved outcasts. In me they have found a kindred spirit who says, "That belief in you is worth believing - don't question it just because others don't understand it." I am a product of this same area, and I got out-- so will you.

2) They all have some form of parental issues, be it from being the product of a broken home or just being dysfunctional, they have all had to grow up just a little faster than they should have. In that, they share my pain.

So, I call them my kids because I feel like I am nurturing their minds, and serving as a stand in for a parent that does not meet a need that I can meet for them-- encouragement, discipline, engagement, understanding... the list goes on. Whatever it is that I have done that compels them to seek out my guidance and attention.

The worst part of leaving is feeling like I'm losing them, and they are losing me. We need each other, because  they meet a need for me too. Since having started therapy-- did I mention that? Oh, yeah, by the way, I started therapy-- I've been working on my need to achieve, and be recognized for that achievement. I'm slowly realizing that my self worth does not have to be wrapped up in my accomplishments. But, for some time, I have aspired to be one of those creative geniuses, like Whedon or Roddenberry, who created a universe. I fantasize about having a booth at a comic convention, and signing books and posters and headshots and other forms of swag with my creations emblazoned on them. I can hear the squees of joy as they approach my table, and I scribble my name across their most precious object with a felt tip pen. For so long, I wanted to create a universe of science fiction characters and stories that would envelope people, that I could use to spread my message. Basically, I wanted to be a cult icon.

And, then I was sitting at my desk after school, my feet propped on my desk and telling a story, my Braintrust circled around me in pulled up chairs, listening intently... and I realized, I am already somebody's hero.

My therapist wanted me to work on phrases that I could repeat to myself-- things that would calm anxiety or  lift a depressed mood. And, now I have one-- I am already somebody's hero. Whenever I get upset about anything, I can just repeat that phrase because I have now achieved my life's ambition.

I have achieved a cult of personality.

... This may be the closest I ever get to being Joss Whedon.

Wow... and it's not developed around my my intellectual property, it's around me. It's like a giant validation that everything I am is acceptable and in no way broken like I have become accustomed to believing. That's a pretty powerful revelation.

 Every day after school is like holding court-- I sit at my desk, my kids gathered around, and we tell stories and nerd out. And, they look forward to it. Hell, they page me on the intercom when I am not in my room right after school.

Now, it makes me sound pretty shallow, and I'm still going to aspire to creating something other than myself for people to worship, but still... damn, that's fucking cool.

I have to admit, I have gotten a little addicted to the attention and praise. But, I feel like whatever I have gotten out of this, the kids have gotten much, much more. I'm their safe place, and a small taste of stability in their lives. And, the fact that I'm leaving scares me for their sake.

If nothing else, I know that I have at least established my demographic and fan base.

It's going to be all tears and feels my last day of school.

While I call them my Braintrust, one of the kids-- and, this speaks to their brilliance and nerdliness that it is in Latin-- started refering to me as Prima Imperatrix, or in other words, the First Empress. It all started when we decided to form a micronation. Now, I am the brave and wise leader, Prima Imperatrix of Braintrustencia.

I cannot express in words just how much I am going to miss these kids...






Sunday, October 2, 2011

River Song must be a Capricorn.

Today, we were finishing up some projects we had been delaying around the house. Darryl came over to help, and afterwards while I worked on homework, he wandered into the office-- mostly to play with Rigby I think, who happened to be in there as well-- and noticed one of the books I had on my shelf.

"Sextrology?" He asked, and I assume raised an eyebrow-- I'm not sure if he can even raise an eyebrow (I know I can't), because honestly I wasn't looking when he said it. But, in my mind, he did because it adds a descriptive flair to visualize the scene. I'm a writer... I take these kinds of liberties.

"It's not really so much about sex. I mean, that stuff's in there, but it's more about the genders." I said grabbing the book off the shelf. "Here, take a look. It's weird how accurate it really is."

As Darryl read his chapter on Virgos, he decided he didn't like the book because, as I had said, it was too eerily accurate. Then he found the section on zodiac specific turn ons. Wyatt and Darryl laughed over their supposed Virgo turn ons. Now, I bought this book when I was really into Astrology in high school, and to be honest I really haven't read it since. But, it's a neat book, so I held on to it.

"Read the Capricorn ones. I haven't read this in forever, and I can't remember them."

The following is a few of the listed Capricorn turn ons:

dark, wavy hair
lanky physiques
collegiates, intellectuals
tweed, flannel suits
strangers or travelers
big noses, chins
stoicsim

...Remind you of anyone?



Oh, this explains so very, very much.

Saturday, August 27, 2011

Rolling in dough while Carlin rolls in his grave.




I found this 'Calvin and Hobbes' strip in one of Wyatt's compilation books, and it made me think of this song by Bo Burnham-- who is made completely out of sarcasm and brillance. But, both are pretty spot on. Click here to watch since Blogger's stupid, useless video uploader keeps malfunctioning.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Eo9pU1q8sy8


Especially the Calvin strip. I mean, just get on IMDB and check out this article. "Movies you won't even believe are coming out".

http://www.imdb.com/list/vmHqw4Vs-Dc

I mean, seriously? Can we not possibly continue as a species without another Independence Day? Without raping a fine stand alone film for gross movie profits for summer blockbusters? That's how you end up with awful sequels that ruin the original epic movie-- Jurassic Park 4, for instance. Or, without ruining what happiness of my childhood I have left with movies like Indiana Jones 5 or Ghostbusters 3. And it's not just movies. A couple of months ago, I was was looking for news about the new Zelda Wii game that has been delayed like three years, and I found an article complaining about the fact that the video game industry is also out of ideas.
" More Proof the Video Game Industry is Out of Ideas (E3 2010)"

http://www.cracked.com/article_18609_more-proof-video-game-industry-out-ideas-e3-2010.html

And, don't even get me started on the vampire thing that they have thoroughly beaten into the ground, and thankfully, seems to have been staked and dying out for the time being... until the damn two-part finale that was only broken up in the sad attempt to make as much money and the stupid two-part debacle that was Deathly Hallows-- thankfully the second part made up for the failing of the first.

I digress though.

I claim to be an artist. I am a painter. A photographer. A writer. I am creative and whimsical when the muse calls, and sometimes I finish something I am so amazed that I accomplished and proud that I created...

Like Bo said--

"Have you ever been to a birthday party for children,
And one of the children won't stop screaming
'Cause he's just a little attention attractor
When he grows up to be a comic or actor
He'll be rewarded for never maturing
For never understanding or learning
That every day can't be about him
There's other people, you selfish asshole!"

That's me. I make art, and people tell me it's great. I'm that kid screaming for praise and attention. My drug is attention, and yes, I am an addict, but I only wish I got paid to indulge in my habit...

... And then I see art by someone who is a real artist, like my father in law. I feel like my paintings are the kindergarten scribbled, put up on the fridge equivalent of what he does and that makes me feel so insignificant and untalented and undeserving of any attention for my so-called "gifts".

It makes me feel like a poser artist. One of the delusionals who thinks they have speck of talent, but doesn't, but no-one will tell them for fear of hurting ther feelings. I guess I am being too hard on myself-- at least I am not one of those losers who draws manga and anime and posts every single crappy sketch and scrap of aforementioned crap art on their Deviant Art page. 75% of Fan Art these days is one of my favorite characters as a slutty Japanese school girl, or as a big breasted anime bimbo, or for some weird ass reason, and anime style dog. I mean, wtf? I'm not looking for images of bukake splatted female characters from my favorite fandoms. I just wanted a cool background. Those people are fucked up...

But, I endure, hoping that what I lack in writing or painting talent, perhaps I more than make up for in originality and creativeness. If that's the case, at least I am doing better than Hollywood.