A story
It's late, but not so late that the tubes are crowded with people panicking about catching the last train. The carriage is actually quite quiet; in the middle section of a dozen seats, there's you, reading your magazine; a slightly older lady opposite; a 'normal' looking young man and a woman in her mid to late twenties, wearing a black trenchcoat and sitting two seats along from you. She's listening to her iPod with such fervour that she's actually mouthing the words.
After a few stops, she notices your magazine and starts to peer at it; maybe the J.G. Jones pictures of DC characters that punctuate the article have caught her eye. Anyway, you take it upon yourself to ask her what she's listening to.
She looks marginally sheepish, partly that you've noticed her singing, but equally that she's not sure you'll recognise what she says.
"Dr. Horrible's Sing ALong Blog."
!!!! OK, attractive lady has not only heard of that internet-only Joss Whedon penned fan favourite, she likes it enough to be singing along to it on the tube! Instantly, and without hiding your enthusiasm, you shut your magazine and move into the seat between you. "Wow, I can't believe you know that!"
But she wants to talk about your magazine. So you explain that it's an article about Final Crisis, which you haven't read. She has, though, and she gives her opinion that it was definitely good, just confusingly non-linear. You ask her if she's read his other works, and she admits to having read a synopsis of the first issue of Sea Guy, and definitely being intrigued. She returns this recommendation by highly recommending his run on Batman
All-Star Superman, you both agree, was amazing, and just what you want from a Superman story, especially as neither of you usually care for the Man of Steel.
So you ask her what her pull list is, and she reels off DC comics you don't really read, although when she reveals that she's bought the most recent issue Batman because she's a Neil Gaiman fan, you're shocked with the revelation, and she enthuses how awesome it is - like Sandman's the Wake you realise, and she confirms.
At this point, when she's comparing Catwoman's tale with Golden Age Batman, the young man opposite you interrupts your conversation and asks if it was true that Batman was originally a villain. She authoritatively but amiably denies this and says he was always an anti-hero, but always on the side of good.
(Later, while nominatively trying to get to sleep but actually composing this post in her head, she'll realise he might have been thinking of Superman, who was conceived as a villain).
The lady also has something to say about Batman. What it was wasn't memorable. One suspects she was trying to prevent interruption of this awesome two person clicking that was happening on the tube at midnight of all places.
For click you have. Conveniently, you ask her where she was getting off just as the train pulls into Finsbury Park. "Here," she says, disappointed but energised from the conversation (and the wine she'd clearly had all night). "It was so cool to meet you, though."
Fortunately, you remember just on time that you also need to change at Finsbury Park and you meet up with her on the platform again. It's OK, it's a very common mistake for people at the north end of Piccadilly Line, to forget they're actually on a Victoria line until too late. They really should give one a colour that isn't 'blue'.
After enthusing about how awesome Neil Gaiman is for some time, you suggest she'd also love this comic series called Fables. She confesses she's just taken that off her pull list, due to a decrease in quality after the war. At least you both liked The Good Prince, and find Jack of Fables simultaneously really fun and really interesting. When you both start talking about how much you love House of Mystery, she may have seemed like she was holding back on something. This, you might now like to know, is because she didn't think you'd understand and it's JUST LIKE MILLIWAYS BAR. She would like to extend her apologies for that.
At a natural break in the conversation about comics, you ask what she's been out doing tonight, and almost have a geekgasm right there on the train when she says she's been at a talk by, and later drinking with, the guys from the Centre for Fortean Zoology. Perhaps assuming her geekcred couldn't get any higher, you ask her what her day job was.
Whups.
Although, she seems just as enthusiastic when she finds out you teach six year olds. She loves teaching kids, it turns out, and really enjoys interacting with children, so she wants to know a lot about your work.
Her name, it turns out, is Debi. You give yours; the next day it is remembered as being Steve, but this could be falsified through a haze of wine.
Because it's so freaking rare for you to find fellow geeks, especially living in North London (poor you, she knows loads), you ask for her phone number. She gives her email instead. It's possible that from her email, you've found this blog. Certainly, google the first part of her email and this blog is the number one hit. Higher than that self help website, presumably much to the chagrin of the woman who wrote the self help book which relies on that username as a selling point.
Anyway, if you are reading this, 'Steve', Debi would like to reiterate how awesome the whole conversation was and how singularly fantastic it is to click and have a massive geekversation with a complete stranger. She'd also like to mention that at no point - and this is unusual for random comic fen you meet in town - at no point did you hit the indescribable 'creep' button, which is why she never once felt the need to work 'I have a girlfriend' into the conversation. Because the conversation was just about geekdom, and it really made her day.
Although it did cause her to drunk dial said girlfriend and get called out on being a GINORMOUS DORK. She regrets nothing.
After a few stops, she notices your magazine and starts to peer at it; maybe the J.G. Jones pictures of DC characters that punctuate the article have caught her eye. Anyway, you take it upon yourself to ask her what she's listening to.
She looks marginally sheepish, partly that you've noticed her singing, but equally that she's not sure you'll recognise what she says.
"Dr. Horrible's Sing ALong Blog."
!!!! OK, attractive lady has not only heard of that internet-only Joss Whedon penned fan favourite, she likes it enough to be singing along to it on the tube! Instantly, and without hiding your enthusiasm, you shut your magazine and move into the seat between you. "Wow, I can't believe you know that!"
But she wants to talk about your magazine. So you explain that it's an article about Final Crisis, which you haven't read. She has, though, and she gives her opinion that it was definitely good, just confusingly non-linear. You ask her if she's read his other works, and she admits to having read a synopsis of the first issue of Sea Guy, and definitely being intrigued. She returns this recommendation by highly recommending his run on Batman
All-Star Superman, you both agree, was amazing, and just what you want from a Superman story, especially as neither of you usually care for the Man of Steel.
So you ask her what her pull list is, and she reels off DC comics you don't really read, although when she reveals that she's bought the most recent issue Batman because she's a Neil Gaiman fan, you're shocked with the revelation, and she enthuses how awesome it is - like Sandman's the Wake you realise, and she confirms.
At this point, when she's comparing Catwoman's tale with Golden Age Batman, the young man opposite you interrupts your conversation and asks if it was true that Batman was originally a villain. She authoritatively but amiably denies this and says he was always an anti-hero, but always on the side of good.
(Later, while nominatively trying to get to sleep but actually composing this post in her head, she'll realise he might have been thinking of Superman, who was conceived as a villain).
The lady also has something to say about Batman. What it was wasn't memorable. One suspects she was trying to prevent interruption of this awesome two person clicking that was happening on the tube at midnight of all places.
For click you have. Conveniently, you ask her where she was getting off just as the train pulls into Finsbury Park. "Here," she says, disappointed but energised from the conversation (and the wine she'd clearly had all night). "It was so cool to meet you, though."
Fortunately, you remember just on time that you also need to change at Finsbury Park and you meet up with her on the platform again. It's OK, it's a very common mistake for people at the north end of Piccadilly Line, to forget they're actually on a Victoria line until too late. They really should give one a colour that isn't 'blue'.
After enthusing about how awesome Neil Gaiman is for some time, you suggest she'd also love this comic series called Fables. She confesses she's just taken that off her pull list, due to a decrease in quality after the war. At least you both liked The Good Prince, and find Jack of Fables simultaneously really fun and really interesting. When you both start talking about how much you love House of Mystery, she may have seemed like she was holding back on something. This, you might now like to know, is because she didn't think you'd understand and it's JUST LIKE MILLIWAYS BAR. She would like to extend her apologies for that.
At a natural break in the conversation about comics, you ask what she's been out doing tonight, and almost have a geekgasm right there on the train when she says she's been at a talk by, and later drinking with, the guys from the Centre for Fortean Zoology. Perhaps assuming her geekcred couldn't get any higher, you ask her what her day job was.
Whups.
Although, she seems just as enthusiastic when she finds out you teach six year olds. She loves teaching kids, it turns out, and really enjoys interacting with children, so she wants to know a lot about your work.
Her name, it turns out, is Debi. You give yours; the next day it is remembered as being Steve, but this could be falsified through a haze of wine.
Because it's so freaking rare for you to find fellow geeks, especially living in North London (poor you, she knows loads), you ask for her phone number. She gives her email instead. It's possible that from her email, you've found this blog. Certainly, google the first part of her email and this blog is the number one hit. Higher than that self help website, presumably much to the chagrin of the woman who wrote the self help book which relies on that username as a selling point.
Anyway, if you are reading this, 'Steve', Debi would like to reiterate how awesome the whole conversation was and how singularly fantastic it is to click and have a massive geekversation with a complete stranger. She'd also like to mention that at no point - and this is unusual for random comic fen you meet in town - at no point did you hit the indescribable 'creep' button, which is why she never once felt the need to work 'I have a girlfriend' into the conversation. Because the conversation was just about geekdom, and it really made her day.
Although it did cause her to drunk dial said girlfriend and get called out on being a GINORMOUS DORK. She regrets nothing.