I found out recently that I have a fear of magnets. It was about the same time as it was commented on that my speech patterns are very familiar. everyone who has seen an Eddie Izzard video, or Pinky and the Brain, or Short Circuit - they are liable to find huge chunks of my discourse already laid out for them. I can't remember my own phone number, but I can give you scenes from Batman returns. You want to know me? Borrow my video collection.
That's what all sci-fi fans do. As the brain works by association, and language is learned simply by reflex, it makes sense that the more anal and attentive audience that we are should take this to the next level. In fact, I myself have been living my life according to one scene from the fabulous Elvira, Mistress of the Dark for the past five years:
[the letter D from a cinema sign falls down and hits ELVIRA on her head. BOB - who is arranging the letters - looks horrified and hurries down the ladder to help]
BOB: Oh my goodness, are you OK? How's your head?
ELVIRA: [puzzled] I haven't had any complaints yet.
Elvira, Mistress of the Dark is a classy film, and if you are going to live your life by one dramatization, this is one that I would recommend. It has a demon impaled on a high-heel, and a bath of gasoline. I find that both of these things have happened in my life, both after a night out, so I can identify, but lets no go there. I have a limited word count, but an enormous repertoire.
Like all mothers, the media does have a slightly dark side - but it certainly doesnt control you; it feeds you. What you have in your lounge is a 21-inch nipple.
My entire conversational skills exist in trying to manouevre people into saying "How's your head?" by any means necessary. I was in a fight of late (I refuse to say that I was beaten up as I did 'have a go back' as heterosexuals out there say, but once again, this was due to media influence. Basically, I turned into the Eddie Izzard security men from Unrepeatable going "Come on! Come on!") and a rather nasty gash on the side of my noggin gave me ample opportunity to say, when people questioned the state of my head, "I haven't had any complaints yet!" Cue drum roll and comedy cymbal tap.
Lance Parkin's 17-tonne 3ox magnum opus Interference (something most of us are not averse to, except late night watchers of Lexx on Channel 5) has the idea all wrong. The media culture helps control the characters, and - like a perverse series of Haagen Daas commercials - it persuades you to do things. Our media, however, is not like this at all, unless you are extending the metaphor to a mother-like figure that tells you what to do, yet cares and nurtures you. And like all mothers, it does have a slightly dark side. But the media certainly doesn't control you; it feeds you. What you have in your lounge is a 21-inch nipple.
Lately, I've become less dependant on my 'mother', but I really shouldn't as I need some new material. Most people have figured out where it's all from these days, and I can only console myself with the fact that I'm watching season three of Buffy the Vampire Slayer before all of you. Ha.
Although in six months, I am no longer going to be funny.
I'm not asking for pity, or to be judged. I merely state that all fans are the same to a greater or lesser extent. It's just that I'm a little more lazy about rearranging the thoughts into something more apt for the situation. I am not the laziest by a long chalk, though. I did know a member of the West Midlands Whonatics who only communicated using the "Do I have the right?" speech for four years. I have heard that he's made progress: he's currently on "They're still in the nursery compared to us!" but I think this is a little less elegant I its construction. I, on the other hand, all I ask is you don't act surprised if you're heard it all before.
At the beginning of this, I said that if you want to know me, borrow my video collection. As a fellow fan (or someone which has picked this up while they were on the train after someone drunkenly left it there), I now revoke that honour. You are not getting your hands on it. For simply, it is me on a magnetic medium.
And they wonder why I'm afraid of magnets.
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