March 24th, 2005


Alias, a rec, and slash meta.

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I'm often behind the curve on discovering stories, so I have to thank sherrold for reccing Yahtzee's Christmas Wishlist Jack/Will story, "The Backup," found in three parts here: pt 1, pt 2, and pt 3.

I think this came at just the right time, though--I mean, I haven't been primed for Alias slash. As with BtVS for a long time, I saw no slash potential (and didn't care, because both shows are amazing even without that factor). But this reinforces something that occurs to me from time to time, which I'd call "What Slash Means to Me: An Essay by Anna S., Age 12."

The deal is, to me, slash isn't always about the porniness of putting pretty men together. The erotic is one fundamental element, but another just as important one is an idea that any two human beings can interact in new and surprising ways. They can combine and separate and recombine, and this idea we have of "canon" is worth discarding when predictability becomes a hobgoblin of our restricted minds.

This is why and how people write stories about Dawn and Clark Kent--or Dawn/Clark--or Lilah and Cordy--or Lilah/Cordy. Or Lindsey/Xander, etc. etc. Recombinant fan-fiction brings people together by way of their common human elements--I mean, it's often a significant factor in crossovers that two characters or sets of characters have something distinctive in common. With Dawn and Clark, it's superhero issues and the existential Wall of Weird that they share, which is what makes Runaway Trains at 3 AM work.

The erotic pushes our buttons, but the human element is what pulls slash out of the gutter that the uninformed think it uniformly resides in.

So anyway, what I love about the above story--"The Backup"--is that it takes canon and reroutes it, showing the possibilities of Will and the uncharted facets of Jack, and how the two of them could come to relate in a different scenario. And seriously: is this *any* more implausible than canon itself? Because, come on. Like few other shows, Alias already pushes the envelope on wacky, jaw-dropping, head-scratching insanity. And irrationality. And ludicrousness. In a way that makes "The Backup" look remarkably sane and reasonable to me. Plus it's hot. I love Will's emotional urgency--that just trips all my triggers.

And now I go, because I have a 90-minute meeting and only two small pieces of chocolate to get me through it. Eep.

I'd rather be not working

Hmm. That's ambiguous. But I told kassrachel that after her inspiring post, we should have an "I Don't Want to Work" meme today.

I don't want to work, I want to:
  • Work out
  • Go home and put my new duvet on my bed and admire it
  • Watch Alias
  • Sit in the Crumpet Shop and have lunch, and read my novel for about three hours
Meanwhile, there is giraffe hair in my keyboard. No, really.

kid memories

I've been having a lot of memories come to me lately, of childhood stuff. Things I did, but also things I associate with childhood that aren't necessarily particular to it--like the smell of freshly-cut grass, which I could experience as an adult, but haven't much, because since I've been on my own I've lived in apartments, and not in suburbs where you find lawns.

What's great about being a kid, if you're lucky, is that good stuff doesn't have all sorts of cynical associations--you can enjoy the beach without worrying about pollution and the destruction of ocean life, hunt for Easter eggs without worrying if you're cheapening the meaning of the day, capture fireflies in a jar without wondering if you have sociopathic tendencies.

A partial childhood memory list:

making silty mud dams in gutters after a rain
the overripe pears littering the ground on the side of our Maine house
decorating real Easter eggs; Easter morning baskets; hunting for jellybeans and wrapped candy around the house
winter snowball fights and fort building
drawing turkeys using a tracing of my hand
making "stained-glass" designs with wax paper, crayon chips, and an iron
blazing trails through the bamboo-like brush of the nearby swamp
flattening pennies on railroad tracks
the smell of grilling meat at cookouts
playing tag and hide-and-seek
the evening hour just before dinner as dusk is setting, kids lingering outside around the neighborhood
helping my mother make lasagna
the smell of freshly cut grass; lying on the grass
picking yellow dandelions; blowing the puffy seed-heads apart
collecting gumballs from around the trees of my grandparents' lawn
catching frogs in the summer
watching fireflies come out and flicker at dusk
swimming in my grandparents' pool
the cool dimness and smell of my grandparents' garage
helping my father saw and nail planks of wood
feeding ducks
running up hills
making things with construction paper and glitter
buying penny candy
riding my bike around the neighborhood
going to buy school supplies at the beginning of the school year; notebooks, binders, rulers, pencil boxes, pens, erasers
making and exchanging Valentines
decorating the Christmas tree; stockings; Christmas morning
Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners
The Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday nights
Mutual of Omaha's Wild Kingdom
opening milkweed pods
cats having kittens
shooting hoops in the driveway
dreams of flying
raking leaves in the fall and jumping in the piles
going to the beach, body-surfing the little waves, playing in the wet sand, gathering shells, walking on hot dry sand, the salty smell
riding in speedboats
the smell of life preservers
climbing around the inlet rocks in my relatives' cottage place in Maine; picking seaweed; plucking up snails at low tide; watching the fish in tidal pools
starting fires in fireplaces in winter; watching the flames; sprinkling powder to make colored smoke
slumber parties
kneeling in the garden; smell of warm tomato vines and dirt; picking tomatoes and cucumbers