How Far Off the Reservation Have I Gone This Time
(LJ-Only Post because DW up and disappeared on me and ate the original version of this as I tried to sneak it in before the deadline for the server upgrade. And anyway, I've decided to include a poll anyway, so nyah!)
Welcome new friends (and old friends. And rubberneckers. I don't judge)! I was going to post a welcome post last night as normally this journal is much more fic and fandom-intensive than it's been for the past couple of months because I've been combo-thwarted by writer's block, wonderful betas who point out that the reason I'm not comfortable posting a story is because I took a major shortcut and that's why I hate the ending, and also the fact that I needed to finish my thesis first (or, need to... it's drafted, dammit!).
But then, as is her way, callowyn started sending me tumblr pictures of... well... okay, she may have talked me into reserving the tumblr name "jensenwearsappallingclothes". Because, well, COME ON:
The merchant marine, king of the twinks, backwards visor w/ Puma chique, plus what the hell is that?
Wait, you say: that last image isn't brick pants! No, that one is a picture of me, your humble LJer, back in the nineties. Oh, Cally: it was a different time: a time when people went out in public wearing fluorescent leopard-print leotards and didn't attract comment or the attention of Child Protective Services. I feel comfortable writing about these horrors because yes, I was there; and yes, they were visited upon me as well. Furthermore, my recent addiction to My Daguerrotype Boyfriend has caused me to question where the blur in the line is between "RPF" (which I have never successfully written) and "historical fiction" (which I can sometimes manage)-where does the thread of residual guilt cut off? (Judging by the current topper at MDB, about eighty or so years seems like a good place-yowza. Damn you, Gallipolli!)
None of that is really an excuse for the idea which then seized upon me: Final Cut Pro (which I don't have because there are many trained primates out there with much better artistic abilities than me as well as the fact that I'm not an Apple person) has something called "the Ken Burns effect," which will pan and focus over various photos. Because I have no impulse control, I then turned on Ashokan Farewell and started typing:
"The nineties were a confusing time for all of us, but for none of us so much as the budding actors and models of the millenial generation. From their roots in the grunge era, middle class white Americans were forced to navigate the pitfalls of the misappropriation of urban hip-hop culture. By today's standards, the casualty rates would be considered appalling. Still, young, photogenic men continued to flood into Hollywood and from there, to Vancouver, eager to ply their trade of appearing non-threatening enough to be featured on merchandise marketed to the pre-teen demographic."
The prose just flows using Ashokan Farewell, or at least I think so. Cally informs me that if I write it, she'll read it, because-and I quote: "I would watch the hell out of that." Yep: approximately five minutes of panning and scanning over the horrific clothing brazenly worn in public-and often, for pay- by our most beloved fandom figures during the 1990s. Broadening my horizons into Inception fandom just broadens the opportunity to allay the shame of poor Mr. Ackles:
So, I ask you friends, both old and new (at least, those of you whom I haven't already scared off): would you watch the hell out of something like that? Or will I let that tumblr account lie fallow because I never follow up on this sort of thing anyway? And for those of you who are new, you've probably learned just about everything you need to know about me from this post. Just ask Cally: I'm like this in real life too.
Poll Ye Gads: A Poll
Welcome new friends (and old friends. And rubberneckers. I don't judge)! I was going to post a welcome post last night as normally this journal is much more fic and fandom-intensive than it's been for the past couple of months because I've been combo-thwarted by writer's block, wonderful betas who point out that the reason I'm not comfortable posting a story is because I took a major shortcut and that's why I hate the ending, and also the fact that I needed to finish my thesis first (or, need to... it's drafted, dammit!).
But then, as is her way, callowyn started sending me tumblr pictures of... well... okay, she may have talked me into reserving the tumblr name "jensenwearsappallingclothes". Because, well, COME ON:
The merchant marine, king of the twinks, backwards visor w/ Puma chique, plus what the hell is that?
Wait, you say: that last image isn't brick pants! No, that one is a picture of me, your humble LJer, back in the nineties. Oh, Cally: it was a different time: a time when people went out in public wearing fluorescent leopard-print leotards and didn't attract comment or the attention of Child Protective Services. I feel comfortable writing about these horrors because yes, I was there; and yes, they were visited upon me as well. Furthermore, my recent addiction to My Daguerrotype Boyfriend has caused me to question where the blur in the line is between "RPF" (which I have never successfully written) and "historical fiction" (which I can sometimes manage)-where does the thread of residual guilt cut off? (Judging by the current topper at MDB, about eighty or so years seems like a good place-yowza. Damn you, Gallipolli!)
None of that is really an excuse for the idea which then seized upon me: Final Cut Pro (which I don't have because there are many trained primates out there with much better artistic abilities than me as well as the fact that I'm not an Apple person) has something called "the Ken Burns effect," which will pan and focus over various photos. Because I have no impulse control, I then turned on Ashokan Farewell and started typing:
"The nineties were a confusing time for all of us, but for none of us so much as the budding actors and models of the millenial generation. From their roots in the grunge era, middle class white Americans were forced to navigate the pitfalls of the misappropriation of urban hip-hop culture. By today's standards, the casualty rates would be considered appalling. Still, young, photogenic men continued to flood into Hollywood and from there, to Vancouver, eager to ply their trade of appearing non-threatening enough to be featured on merchandise marketed to the pre-teen demographic."
The prose just flows using Ashokan Farewell, or at least I think so. Cally informs me that if I write it, she'll read it, because-and I quote: "I would watch the hell out of that." Yep: approximately five minutes of panning and scanning over the horrific clothing brazenly worn in public-and often, for pay- by our most beloved fandom figures during the 1990s. Broadening my horizons into Inception fandom just broadens the opportunity to allay the shame of poor Mr. Ackles:
So, I ask you friends, both old and new (at least, those of you whom I haven't already scared off): would you watch the hell out of something like that? Or will I let that tumblr account lie fallow because I never follow up on this sort of thing anyway? And for those of you who are new, you've probably learned just about everything you need to know about me from this post. Just ask Cally: I'm like this in real life too.
Poll Ye Gads: A Poll