The Sentinel was my first television fandom, so it was also the first fandom I entered without even the vaguest clue about the canon. I’ve learned a lot of helpful tricks for moving smoothly into unfamiliar territory, but I didn’t know them then, so I experienced some confusion at first. And when I say “some confusion,” I mean “an enormous amount
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So, welcome to The Sentinel fandom - where ignorance of the canon is a good place to start.
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Hee! SO well put. :)
During my six-month soujourn in TS, I read a lot of the fiction and then, when I saw the show, I kind of went "huh?".
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*howls*
For me, my entire period of slash reading was before I'd seen the show. I ended up buying bootleg DVDs, and I watched about half. I'll get through them all one day (my stack of DVDs and tapes to watch eventually is scarily high), but the truth is, TS canon is definitely not as good as say, that of due South.
Good recs, BTW. My warning to any newbie in this fandom is--there are qute a few really angsty stories out there. I also have had more trouble with the characterization of Blair than Jim. Overly Macho!Jim is just annoying--Girly!Blair is traumatizing.
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Actually, no. I hope it was a howl completely at my expense; I certainly howled a bit when I realized what I'd done.
Excellent warnings, let me say. The characterizations can indeed be bad, though I don't think I've ever encountered Girly!Blair (actually, I'm probably repressing the memory).
And, oh, god, how could I forget to warn them about angst? Some authors in this canon ramp the angst level up past "Anne Rice under a pseudonym," past "Victorian melodrama," past soap opera, and past 11, all the way up to "16-year-old suburban loner girls who write lots of unrhymed poetry and have just had their hearts broken for the first time."
Though, actually, there are places on the dial even higher than that. Early Professionals slash, for example, combines purple prose and extreme angst to create a writing style I like to call "bruise ( ... )
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Angst is a matter of taste--I find that the real world offers all that I can handle, thank you kindly.
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Mission: to bring respect and understanding of diverse cultures to dictators, tyrants, and other totally dogmatic and harsh people. To move with canine stealth through the rainforest and other challenging terrain, seeking rebels, victims of oppression, unusually tasty local cuisine, and works of erotic native art. To expand my horizons and discover new uses for aloe vera - possibly a number of new uses, if my Sentinel's horizons also expand to the right degree.
See? Perfectly normal mission statement. Oh, wait, you probably meant the other kind of mission statement. Can't help you there.
Oh, and I need to tell you that I love the Stitch icon. Adore it, even. (If I had icons, I'd have one of Stitch with the bra on his head, you know, from the end of the movie. And possibly a quote about falling with style and grace.)
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And say, The Professionals, is that about a couple of hookers? *g*
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The Professionals is about a pair of contract killers from the wrong part of Sheffield who were sent to Las Vegas by a mysterious, shady boss, and then were unable to return to England for reasons that don't need exploring at this juncture. In the episodes, they're usually given strange and challenging tasks, often involving the deadly attractive supernatural monsters that stalk the neon-lit streets of Las Vegas, and they carry them out with style, witty repartee, and a strong undercurrent of sexual tension.
You remember now, right?
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You're not serious, are you?
Though, if you are, give it to me, baby!
Forgive me, I'm still mulling over the 'snorting powdered Waterford crystal' thought, and wondering about shooting up China White made from real China.
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And no, I wasn't serious about The Professionals, more's the pity. ('Cause, hell, if that was a real show, I'd damn well learn to watch television, or die trying.) My description is partly a pastiche and partly from my own fevered imagination.
(In case you don't know: the real Professionals were Brits who worked for an agency called CI5, a sort of English anti-terrorism organization. Bodie was an ex-merc and Doyle was an ex-cop with terrible hair; together, they fought crime.)
* Warning for any highly impressionable and terminally stupid people who have somehow got access to this page and learned how to read: do not put powdered tableware or decoratives into any part of your body. Ouchy ouchy.
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So the people who made The Sentinel owe FF big time. Instead of a last episode that sort of destroyed one of the characters, they should've had a last episode with, at minimum, kissing. A way to thank the fans, you know?
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But I love the way that fic has dealt with TSbyBS. The episode SUCKED BEYOND THE TELLING OF IT, but fic has made it all better!
Additionally? I don't really hang around WITH fellow perverts online (because I'm a serial lurker until recently), but hang NEAR them. Because they have the most fun. And the prettiest boys.
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That settles it. TS may not have been the best show, but it's definitely the slashiest show of all time. (And FWIW, I pretend that TSbyBS never happened unless I'm reading post-TSbyBS FF; yet another advantage to not watching the show.)
And you're so right that it's best to hang with the pervy crowd. I want a bumper sticker that says "Perverts know how to have fun with pretty, pretty boys." Or, actually, I don't. An icon, maybe, but not a bumper sticker; I can just picture myself explaining that one to the next cop that pulls me over.
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I do indeed read Terry Pratchett. And I love him. Kind of. See, I really, really loved his earlier Discworld novels, and IMO the latest ones have been sort of hit-or-miss. So, while I do read Pratchett, my copy of The Truth is still a total virgin, sitting patiently on the shelf and waiting for me to gather my nerve.
His novel The Truth has a character that will snort anything powdered as long as it comes in small packages.
I had a lot of friends like this in high school. Sort of makes me all nostalgic. But only sort of. And, hey, that sounds like Pratchett might be doing OK in The Truth after all; perhaps it's time to face my fears and read The Truth. (Please, please, no "You can't handle The Truth!" jokes. My brain has already supplied me with all I can stand.)
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