time is an illusion, lunchtime doubly so.
I was about nine or ten years old when I joined my first "official" fandom by joining my first mailing list. It was for The Real Adventures of Jonny Quest, and despite that, I was towards the lower end of the age spectrum. Many of the older MLers, whom I devoutly looked up to as pillars of wisdom and nerd!cool, would frequently reference this book that sounded really funny. It was called The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, and when I mentioned I hadn't read it, they all eagerly told me I was the perfect age and I had to read it.
My first exposure was only days later. My family was leaving on a road trip and we had to pick out audio books. There was an abridged version of the Guide, and I suggested it. It was put into the mix along with Susan Cooper's The Boggart and a couple other kids' books. I don't remember much about that first listen--I get car sick and I slept for much of the ride--but it left enough of a positive impression that The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was the first book I bought at my school's next Scholastic Book Fair.
I don't know if I read it and then heartily recommended it to quatredeathlady or if someone else in her life recommended it or what, but I wouldn't be surprised if she came into it entirely without my influence. That's how our lives worked in those days--we'd come upon some new book/teevee show/game/movie and then eagerly write a letter or email to the other about it, only to discover they had already found it on their own. We're weird like that. It's possible it's genetic. But, either way, it became a cornerstone in both our lives. I re-read that mass market paperback countless times, at least once a year, even before Towel Day. I highlighted my favorite parts and underlined things. By the time I hit high school, the entire thing was a sea of yellow and pink and orange and green and blue. People have said to me, "What's the use in highlighting your favorite bits if you're just going to highlight the whole book?"
They didn't get it. Obviously.
To determine which of the 8th grade honors English students would get into Freshman Honors, they had us write an in-class essay making a case for a fictional character to be entered into the Literary Heroes Hall of Fame. Most of my class wrote about the protagonist of whatever novel we were reading in class at the time. I wrote a tongue-in-cheek missive demanding Ford Prefect entry. I'm sure it was partially panic--at thirteen, my main goal was to be "different" than my peers, so I knew I couldn't write about a school book if I wanted to stand out. There were probably dozens of other books I had read that year, but it always came back to the Guide.
I remember hearing about Douglas Adams dying. I was a sophomore in high school. I remember I was upstairs, on the landing. I remember sitting on the bed in the guest room and crying when it finally sunk in.
I remember the first Towel Day and explaining to my parents why I wanted to bring a towel to school. Because my parents are generally awesome, their response was, "Well, all right. Whatever."
I remember when the movie was announced. I remember obsessing over the casting and worrying and stressing and then realizing there was no real need to panic. I remember making t-shirts for opening night with quatredeathlady. We went through every font on my computer until we found one that would both encapsulate the mood of H2G2 and also be easy to stencil onto a t-shirt. I remember going through our books together, pulling out quotes we could put on the t-shirts (we went with "Don't Panic" on the front and "You sass that hoopy Ford Prefect?" on the back).
We loved the shit out of that movie. I was so frustrated with all the kids at school who complained that it was too different from the books. I spent a lot of time looking down my nose at them and telling them that every version of the Guide was different, if they had listened to the radio plays and watched the miniseries and read all the books, they would know that. Which, you know, not the most mature thing to do, but I was nineteen and the Guide was something so dear to my heart that I couldn't stand listening to their criticism.
It's still dear to my heart, obviously. I will never get a tattoo, for various reasons, many of which have to do with needles, but if I did, it could only be something from this book. There's nothing else that's been that much of a constant in my life, nothing else that I could 100% guarantee that I would love forever and ever and ever. I always tell people that there are three things that really shaped my sense of humor--my parents, MST3k, and Hitchhiker's Guide. It was smart and funny and interesting and sarcastic. It did things with language and social commentary that I don't think I had realized you could do in a science fiction book at that point. It's a book that I have constantly (and will constantly) held up as something that I wish I could do. I've had a relationship with this book for nearly sixteen years. That's more than half my life.
Ten years since the first Towel Day and it still means everything it did and more. And I still know where my towel is.
My first exposure was only days later. My family was leaving on a road trip and we had to pick out audio books. There was an abridged version of the Guide, and I suggested it. It was put into the mix along with Susan Cooper's The Boggart and a couple other kids' books. I don't remember much about that first listen--I get car sick and I slept for much of the ride--but it left enough of a positive impression that The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy was the first book I bought at my school's next Scholastic Book Fair.
I don't know if I read it and then heartily recommended it to quatredeathlady or if someone else in her life recommended it or what, but I wouldn't be surprised if she came into it entirely without my influence. That's how our lives worked in those days--we'd come upon some new book/teevee show/game/movie and then eagerly write a letter or email to the other about it, only to discover they had already found it on their own. We're weird like that. It's possible it's genetic. But, either way, it became a cornerstone in both our lives. I re-read that mass market paperback countless times, at least once a year, even before Towel Day. I highlighted my favorite parts and underlined things. By the time I hit high school, the entire thing was a sea of yellow and pink and orange and green and blue. People have said to me, "What's the use in highlighting your favorite bits if you're just going to highlight the whole book?"
They didn't get it. Obviously.
To determine which of the 8th grade honors English students would get into Freshman Honors, they had us write an in-class essay making a case for a fictional character to be entered into the Literary Heroes Hall of Fame. Most of my class wrote about the protagonist of whatever novel we were reading in class at the time. I wrote a tongue-in-cheek missive demanding Ford Prefect entry. I'm sure it was partially panic--at thirteen, my main goal was to be "different" than my peers, so I knew I couldn't write about a school book if I wanted to stand out. There were probably dozens of other books I had read that year, but it always came back to the Guide.
I remember hearing about Douglas Adams dying. I was a sophomore in high school. I remember I was upstairs, on the landing. I remember sitting on the bed in the guest room and crying when it finally sunk in.
I remember the first Towel Day and explaining to my parents why I wanted to bring a towel to school. Because my parents are generally awesome, their response was, "Well, all right. Whatever."
I remember when the movie was announced. I remember obsessing over the casting and worrying and stressing and then realizing there was no real need to panic. I remember making t-shirts for opening night with quatredeathlady. We went through every font on my computer until we found one that would both encapsulate the mood of H2G2 and also be easy to stencil onto a t-shirt. I remember going through our books together, pulling out quotes we could put on the t-shirts (we went with "Don't Panic" on the front and "You sass that hoopy Ford Prefect?" on the back).
We loved the shit out of that movie. I was so frustrated with all the kids at school who complained that it was too different from the books. I spent a lot of time looking down my nose at them and telling them that every version of the Guide was different, if they had listened to the radio plays and watched the miniseries and read all the books, they would know that. Which, you know, not the most mature thing to do, but I was nineteen and the Guide was something so dear to my heart that I couldn't stand listening to their criticism.
It's still dear to my heart, obviously. I will never get a tattoo, for various reasons, many of which have to do with needles, but if I did, it could only be something from this book. There's nothing else that's been that much of a constant in my life, nothing else that I could 100% guarantee that I would love forever and ever and ever. I always tell people that there are three things that really shaped my sense of humor--my parents, MST3k, and Hitchhiker's Guide. It was smart and funny and interesting and sarcastic. It did things with language and social commentary that I don't think I had realized you could do in a science fiction book at that point. It's a book that I have constantly (and will constantly) held up as something that I wish I could do. I've had a relationship with this book for nearly sixteen years. That's more than half my life.
Ten years since the first Towel Day and it still means everything it did and more. And I still know where my towel is.