If the House convention turns out like this, I'm THERE.
I dreamt last night, among other things, that I was visiting a science museum with daasgrrl, and we were being told that the Earth Science exhibit "A" was the one recommended to most visitors but that it was actually bad and people who knew anything about earth science ought to go to exhibit "B." We had those portable audio guides with headphones, and as we walked down the hallway I suddenly recognized the voice and exclaimed to daasgrrl that the narrator was thingswithwings*, and wasn't that neat?
Then we got to the main room, set up with rows of folding chairs and a clear space in front of the wall like a stage, and it wasn't a science museum anymore but the House convention, and the rows were filling with excited fans. I was at the far end of the second row with an empty seat next to me; daasgrrl had disappeared somewhere, and I was a little hurt at being abandoned but also knew she had other friends she wanted to see.** I think I recognized some people from my f-list. Everyone was talking and laughing and generally thrilling with anticipation.
Something started going on up front about shoes, about getting people involved with the show to put on silly shoes and have their photos taken. Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard appeared beside each other in seats in the front row -- I think RSL might have been wearing a tux -- and a whole bunch of fangirls rushed up to the side of the stage waiting for their turn to dress the actors in ridiculous footwear and clamoring for HL to put on a pair of high heels one of the girls was holding up. He agreed magnanimously, and the audience went wild.
Next thing I knew, they'd got RSL in this flared, fuchsia satin skirt that went to his shins***, but no-one was paying him much attention for whatever reason. Still crowded around HL, probably. So I stepped up and I guess we got to talking but I don't remember that part so much as how we started slow-dancing up there, pressed close together from cheek to chest to hips, and it was fantastic. We even pretty much managed between the two of us to keep the rhythm (though where the music was coming from, I could not tell you) and avoid stepping on each other's feet.
It went on forever -- so long that there was this sort of zooming-out effect and the sense of time passing and a narrator who talked about this blossoming romance between RSL and his fan and how a lot of people disapproved (because of the swiftness of it? the age difference? the innate inequality of a relationship between actor and fan? something about one or both of us specifically? I don't remember the reasons). It continued to be wonderful for a while regardless, until I got the sense that RSL thought this was more serious than it was. Kind of like Wilson, he felt a strong attachment or responsibility to every woman who crossed his path, and, while we were still dancing, he made a comment to me about wanting to get married. Which was too much, too fast for me, so I broke it off. :(
On my way back to the front of the convention hall, some teenage guys started pelting me with softballs, first by hand and then with one of those automatic pitching machines set to high speed. Apparently they were among the people who disapproved of my relationship with RSL, and this was some form of social punishment. So I had to fend off the stinging impacts with my hands and arms until I'd passed them by.
It didn't shake my deep sense of happiness, though, that I'd had this time with RSL, and as I crossed a few residential streets and cut through small meadows to get to my mother's house, I smiled and felt at peace. I was looking forward to seeing her after so long. I found her in the backyard, barbequing. To my distress, she wasn't happy to see me; she thought I'd turned my back on the family during all that time I'd been away with RSL having our romance in the spotlight. Her maid/housekeeper**** came up to us and was much kinder about my return, asking how it had been and why I'd left and come back. I told them I'd wanted to enjoy what I could have while I had it. I suspect that all was well again after that, but that's when I started to wake up.
* Whom you can hear reading her own fic at Jinjurly's podfic archive
** I am not pathologically needy in real life, I promise.
*** I think he still had his suit pants on underneath; I don't remember seeing them, but I definitely don't remember seeing a few inches of hairy leg, either.
**** Who does not exist
Then I had breakfast and checked my f-list, and right at the top, daasgrrl had posted about RSL. *makes spooky noises*
There was also the part with my high school creative writing teacher and eluding an assassin in a Japanese restaurant with no power, and Sunday night's was about starring in a play and hanging out in a limo afterwards with queenzulu who was also Eliza Dushku. And a parade in lower Manhattan that involved a dump truck navigating narrow, hilly streets, and a bunch of schoolboys in blue thrift store-acquired school uniforms.
I don't know. These are the most interesting things that haven't happened to me lately. Life and writing have been frustrating. At least there is Comment on Neglected Fics Week (*nudge nudge*) and House tonight.
Then we got to the main room, set up with rows of folding chairs and a clear space in front of the wall like a stage, and it wasn't a science museum anymore but the House convention, and the rows were filling with excited fans. I was at the far end of the second row with an empty seat next to me; daasgrrl had disappeared somewhere, and I was a little hurt at being abandoned but also knew she had other friends she wanted to see.** I think I recognized some people from my f-list. Everyone was talking and laughing and generally thrilling with anticipation.
Something started going on up front about shoes, about getting people involved with the show to put on silly shoes and have their photos taken. Hugh Laurie and Robert Sean Leonard appeared beside each other in seats in the front row -- I think RSL might have been wearing a tux -- and a whole bunch of fangirls rushed up to the side of the stage waiting for their turn to dress the actors in ridiculous footwear and clamoring for HL to put on a pair of high heels one of the girls was holding up. He agreed magnanimously, and the audience went wild.
Next thing I knew, they'd got RSL in this flared, fuchsia satin skirt that went to his shins***, but no-one was paying him much attention for whatever reason. Still crowded around HL, probably. So I stepped up and I guess we got to talking but I don't remember that part so much as how we started slow-dancing up there, pressed close together from cheek to chest to hips, and it was fantastic. We even pretty much managed between the two of us to keep the rhythm (though where the music was coming from, I could not tell you) and avoid stepping on each other's feet.
It went on forever -- so long that there was this sort of zooming-out effect and the sense of time passing and a narrator who talked about this blossoming romance between RSL and his fan and how a lot of people disapproved (because of the swiftness of it? the age difference? the innate inequality of a relationship between actor and fan? something about one or both of us specifically? I don't remember the reasons). It continued to be wonderful for a while regardless, until I got the sense that RSL thought this was more serious than it was. Kind of like Wilson, he felt a strong attachment or responsibility to every woman who crossed his path, and, while we were still dancing, he made a comment to me about wanting to get married. Which was too much, too fast for me, so I broke it off. :(
On my way back to the front of the convention hall, some teenage guys started pelting me with softballs, first by hand and then with one of those automatic pitching machines set to high speed. Apparently they were among the people who disapproved of my relationship with RSL, and this was some form of social punishment. So I had to fend off the stinging impacts with my hands and arms until I'd passed them by.
It didn't shake my deep sense of happiness, though, that I'd had this time with RSL, and as I crossed a few residential streets and cut through small meadows to get to my mother's house, I smiled and felt at peace. I was looking forward to seeing her after so long. I found her in the backyard, barbequing. To my distress, she wasn't happy to see me; she thought I'd turned my back on the family during all that time I'd been away with RSL having our romance in the spotlight. Her maid/housekeeper**** came up to us and was much kinder about my return, asking how it had been and why I'd left and come back. I told them I'd wanted to enjoy what I could have while I had it. I suspect that all was well again after that, but that's when I started to wake up.
* Whom you can hear reading her own fic at Jinjurly's podfic archive
** I am not pathologically needy in real life, I promise.
*** I think he still had his suit pants on underneath; I don't remember seeing them, but I definitely don't remember seeing a few inches of hairy leg, either.
**** Who does not exist
Then I had breakfast and checked my f-list, and right at the top, daasgrrl had posted about RSL. *makes spooky noises*
There was also the part with my high school creative writing teacher and eluding an assassin in a Japanese restaurant with no power, and Sunday night's was about starring in a play and hanging out in a limo afterwards with queenzulu who was also Eliza Dushku. And a parade in lower Manhattan that involved a dump truck navigating narrow, hilly streets, and a bunch of schoolboys in blue thrift store-acquired school uniforms.
I don't know. These are the most interesting things that haven't happened to me lately. Life and writing have been frustrating. At least there is Comment on Neglected Fics Week (*nudge nudge*) and House tonight.