Un-conventional Fandom?

I have zero interest in meeting any of the performers or writers whose work I admire.

Don’t get me wrong: it would be nice to meet them in a professional capacity. But that’s not because I’m super excited to shake J. K. Rowling’s hand or make the peace sign with my arm around with William Shatner’s shoulders; it’s because if I met either of those people in relation to my own work, I’d know I’d “made it” as a professional artist. Similarly, if I ever in a million years somehow get to a point where such a thing is even conceivable, let alone possible, the idea of working with them on a project about which we’re all passionate is, well, a really fun, if not very practical, daydream.

But generally, I don’t want to take a photo with actors and actresses who play characters I love. I don’t want to get the autograph of writers whose work I devoured. And I’m not interested in cheering with the rest of the audience as the director of something I enjoy walks onstage to receive an award.

Part of that is Thumper’s mother: often, I don’t have something nice to say about the stories that really get under my skin. I’m almost as critical of other people’s work as I am of my own, and although it’s fun to consider what makes stories tick on my own blog, if I were actually talking to the artists who created them, I’d probably think it was best to say nothing at all. I mean, how much of a douche would you have to be to run up to shake an author’s hand after he or she just won a trophy and blurt, “By the way, I think you suck at female characters”?

Exactly as much of a douche as I am, but don’t want to be.

So I guess that’s another part. Unless I’m actually friends with this performer or writer or director, there’s no chance for meaningful discussion that interests me. Either bringing up those subjects is a jerkface move (to everyone else in line) or the conversation that would follow is unbalanced (because my line of thought doesn’t have as much weight as the author’s to other people who might want to participate) or else it would just make me feel like a tool who’s being inappropriate and rude.

And there’s also just the fact that I’m in a state of denial: I don’t want to know how the sausage is made.

I mean, I want to know about the explicit decisions and ideologies that went into making it, but I don’t want to know about the stupid little contingencies that fueled what I thought were awesome or terrible choices. I don’t want to know about how the actors joked backstage or what they do as a hobby or how much in real life they love the guy who played their character’s nemesis. Heck, I don’t even want to have to face the fact that the faces I associate with Greg House and Dana Scully actually belong to people named Hugh Laurie and Gillian Anderson who are completely different individuals.

One of the reasons I love stories so much is how they open up a whole new world (hey, the Disney links seem to be a recurring theme in this entry). Like Aladdin in that clip, they ask “Do you trust me?” and if you decide to reach for their hand, suddenly you’re whisked off on an amazing flying carpet ride. But unlike Jasmine, I keep coming back for the ride, not for the guy offering it to me. While I’m on the carpet, I don’t mind that he’s there too — I know he has to be, duh, stories don’t write and perform themselves* — but I’d prefer that my journey be about me and not about him.

When I’m into a story, I don’t like having to remember that it’s all pretend. That each part of these characters — everything they are from the words they say down to their posture — actually belongs to someone else. And I guess I’m a bit stupid: even seeing an actor or actress who plays a character I love perform a different role messes me up. At her first appearance, I had trouble not reading Lisa Edelstein’s Celeste Serrano as “Cuddy playing a role on The Good Wife“; I know if I watch Californication, it’ll take me a long while to adjust to the idea of David Duchovny rather than Fox Mulder playing Hank Moody.

Which I guess brings me to the final reason I’m not into meeting actors or writers: I’m kind of a jerk.

I’m sure all the performers and writers I’ve mentioned above are lovely people with lots of interesting things to say, but if seeing them in real life in any way endangers my impression of the imaginary people they animate, thanks, but I’ll stay in my corner. I know actors can’t be the people they play on TV 24-7, and that’s cool, but I don’t want to run into them and ruin the illusion. If I want to meet anyone, it’s not Leonard Nimoy, it’s Mr. Spock, and the only place that encounter can happen is in my head.

Most jerk-y of all, I sometimes succumb to the temptation to feel that there’s something better about me because of this — like I prefer to see past the mundane artists to their Platonic ideal creations. I dunno. It’s stupid, and it’s wrong, and I don’t like that I feel that way, but, if I’m being honest, it always feels good to find something stupid that distinguishes oneself from others, and, hey, I guess that’s another thing that feeds into my not caring about meeting writers, performers, or other artists.

Anyway, apart from that tiny petty bit that hasn’t managed to grow up, the majority of me thinks it’s awesome that people have fun meeting or Facebook friending or Twitter following their favourite celebrities (nerdy or non) and that celebrities have fun meeting the people who like them and their work (one hopes). It’s just not for me, at least not right now. Who knows? Maybe by next ComicCon, I’ll have a change of heart.**

* Well, maybe they do, depending on how you see life and stories and back to the point I’ll shut up now.

** Or maybe it’ll just feed into my growing feeling of, “You guys, I may be what the cool kids call a nerd, but I don’t think I’m what the nerds call a nerd, and I’m OK with that.” Full story at eleven.***

*** Where “eleven” is some blog entry in the unspecified future.