Proof that fandom is everywhere.

[icarus]

The writing center at our fine univeristy, where (if I get my act together) I am going to be working in a few short weeks, has a webpage.

Our fearless leader wants us to give little bios and a photo for said webpage.

Hmm. Anyone who knows me is well aware that I am paranoid of a RL/internet mix. I regularly google my own last name to be sure that I'm not out there.

I do have some sane reasons for this, but mostly it's my latent tendency to want to live in a mountain shack surrounded by barbed wire. And chickens. Chickens definitely figure in that picture.

Let's say I didn't greet the idea of "Gee, let's put your name and photo on the internet!" with a great deal of enthusiasm.

I wondered how bad the security really was. I picked up one of the tutor's names -- someone I'll be meeting with on Monday -- and dropped it into Google. I instantly found, yes, her page on the tutoring website. It was the first link in fact. Then I found her Livejournal.

Irony of ironies, she's in fandom. Reads fanfic. Mostly anime now, but she's been in the HP fandom. Knows copperbadge and mctabby and musesfool. Has a post by an old friend Cordelia bookmarked.

Also, she sounds really fun.

Think she'll be freaked out that I know all this?

How does one broach this? Because my first thought is "Whoo-hoo, whee! Yes, I realize I found you in a highly successful stalking test but, yay! You're in fandom, too!" *twirl* *dance*


ETA: In other news, wildernessguru is out in the wilderness, backpacking. The house is quiet and I will probably get my tons of Sanskrit homework done.

*sigh*

Sure is quiet around here without him.

Comments

[rike-tikki-tavi.livejournal.com]

The chicken line cracked me up so hard. I was watching Boston Legal and one of the plot lines was about a guy on trial for organizing cock fights.

[icarusancalion.livejournal.com]

Someone told me this story about a friend's trip to Italy.

Most people know that Italian men are a bit, hmm, forward with women.

This friend of a friend visited Italy, and while she was aware of that Italian aggressiveness, she got pretty frustrated with a guy who kept following her around.

So she stopped him and said, "I'm not interested. Quit following me around." I wasn't told if she said it in Italian or not, but it didn't stand a chance of working either way.

At long last, she was so fed up, she got in his face and just gave him a piece of her mind. He persisted. Out of sheer frustration she switched from yelling at him to squawking and flapping her arms around like a chicken.

He looked at her like she was crazy -- and left. Guess it spoiled the romance.

The moral of the story is clear.

When in Rome, act like a chicken.