Once upon a time, I founded a very exclusive (read: miniscule) LiveJournal (member since 2002!) community that was comprised entirely of real-person fan fiction (RPF). This was between 2005 and 2009--the peak years of my youthful inner world. Now that inner world is elderly and more cranky, but that's another story.
For my part, I posted short episodic essays detailing the eccentric saga of my enormous and opulent "manse" in the sky, populated by my five husbands, even more children and extraneous random "mancubines." Boy, was there drama.
My "Convent of Hollywood" was my blogging sandbox du jour for nearly five years. It was definitely where I honed my skills for writing witty dialogue. And what better place to strengthen dialogue prowess than in a veritable literary holodeck overflowing with colorful and contrasting characters?
I recently revisited my old digital haunt, expecting to get a guilty chuckle out of reading such fantastic delusions. Fan fiction, on a good day, is infamous for its infinite potential to SUCK, but anyone who has ever spent any significant time trudging through fan fiction online knows that diamonds are out there. The barometer of any fan fiction is how true to character the author can remain while exploring the mary-sue contexts that it naturally behooves fanfolk to write. Returning to my own contribution to the worldwide oeuvre, I expected to cringe at amateurish compositions.
But you know what? After ferreting around all the tags and archives, I decided that it's a rich treasure trove of entertainment. I'm not ashamed of it. Sure it's all written in present tense format, but you get used to it. And because it was a shared space with close friends who were just as creative and insane as I was, it now has the handsome historical patina of a friendship that still stands strong today. This LiveJournal is a plaque affixed on an ivy-covered stone in a near-forgotten corner of our mental monument to our amity.
Thus begins my weekly (or at least bi-monthly) selection of fun fan fiction of my choice. It could come from this old LJ, or elsewhere on the intertubes, or I could write some shiny new shit.
So now, I will dust off a gem and hold it up to the light for you, while whispering, "Que lindo es."
It's from way back while I was married to both Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. I followed them to Denver for the Republican National Convention. Special guest star: John Oliver. Voila!
"Run DNC" August 28, 2008
With ears still popping from the descent on the plane, Stephen and I at first hardly notice the atmospheric issues of the Mile-High city when John Oliver meets us at the airport. “How honored we are to be greeted with such a high-ranking correspondent,” I say with a huge grin as John shakes Stephen’s hand. “I was expecting one of Jon’s interns.” “Jon wanted to give me a few hours off,” John says. “May I?” he adds, pointing at my carry-on. “Oh sure,” I say, still not expecting such wonderful manservice. “Thank you so much.” “There he goes, always trying to show me up,” Stephen says with a smile, his voice having regained its strength after battling his cold. “Rubbing it in my face that I didn’t even invite my wife to Philadelphia when my show went on the road because we don’t have the resources for frills like extra accommodations and fancy foreign correspondents who run off to China and Baghdad. Well, might as well make the best of it.” Stephen then swings his carry-on in John’s general direction and John catches it just before it hits the ground. “Nice job,” he says, adjusting his glasses, then he leans in and kisses my cheek. “I’m going to the little boys’ room, darling, why don’t you and the butler go ahead of me to the baggage claim? I’ll meet you in a few.” As Stephen walks away, John looks at me and asks in a sincerely concerned tone, “What’s eating him?” I roll my eyes. “He misses the days when he used to be the leading senior correspondent for Indecision coverage.” John nods. “Ohhhh, I see. I know I’d much rather be staying up nights scampering around the conference floor of the DNC in an oxygen-deprived metropolis than kickin’ it back behind the shiny desk of my own critically acclaimed talk show.” I smile and link my arm with his. “Don’t be mean now,” I say. John winks. “Right, ma’am. Yes, ma’am. Shall we go retrieve your luggage, then?” “Let’s.” * * * * * * * * After dropping our stuff at the hotel, John leads us to TDS’ temporary offices at the University of Denver. As we round the corner of one hallway, we’re allowed a quick glance at Jon pacing the floor before John yanks us both back behind the corner. He puts his finger to his lips and says, “Shhh! The alpha male managing editor is debating with himself. Best we stay downwind lest we interrupt his dangerous thought processes.” Stephen shakes his head. “Pfft, I’ve seen Jon’s wrath a million times in the past. I can handle it better than anybody.” With this, he stomps around the corner and injects a self-appreciating arrogance into his stride as he walks up to Jon. A few seconds before Jon realizes Stephen has arrived, I yank at John’s sleeve and cover his eyes. “You don’t want to see this,” I say just as a pathetic squeal rolls down the hallway. “Oh, Jon we missed you!” Stephen whines as he embraces his buddy and starts to dramatically sob all over Jon’s gray behind-the-scenes t-shirt. Jon pats and rubs Stephen’s back as a dark tear stain begins to form on his shoulder. “I missed you too, Stephen. I’m sure the three days you’ve spent without me legitimately warrant this level of grief.” “That should’ve been me dancing awkwardly on the DNC floor the other day! We had it good four years ago, Jon!” “We sure did, my friend, but I believe someone, anyone, could argue that we have things even better now.” “Sure, take our wife’s side in this thing,” Stephen sobs, feigning a moment of animosity, then quickly resumes his bear hug. “But nothing will diminish our friendship, Jon. Not even that fact that after almost three years of the Colbert era, you still have way more scratch than I do for just such pop cultural televisual treats as on-location political convention coverage by the best fucking news team ever in an immensely historical election year.” Jon glances up at me and John as we sneak up behind Stephen. “Jon, please let me do something, anything... let me cover something out there so we can combine ratings power and make the best TDS segment ever!” “Oh please, can we, can we Mr. Stewart?” John Oliver pleads, clapping his hands together. Stephen instantly straightens and wipes his eyes, adjusts his tie and sweeps a hand over his hair. He clears his throat and says to Jon, “Your whipping boy here almost dropped all our luggage while we were hailing a cab. You really should think about threatening him by using his work visa as kindling to make s'mores.” He turns and regards me with a grin. “Here, take care of Caity. I’m going to go give the crew a pep talk to help them soldier on during this baffling two-week quest on which you've embarked.” He wipes at the tear stain on Jon’s shirt. “You got something on your shoulder, there, buddy. Better have Oliver here dry-clean it for you.” As Stephen walks away, Jon looks at me with sincere concern. “What’s eating him?” I hug Jon and kiss his lips. “He missed you.” I reach up and rub his grizzled chin. “Hmm, no time to rid yourself of stubble? Have Oliver here give you a shave.” John bows to us. “I’ll warm up the lather, sir,” he says, then turns on his heel and heads down the hall. Jon finally allows himself a little giggle and a sigh that tells me he’s ready to fall asleep standing up. “Pacing yourself, I trust?” I say, studying his tired but ever-bright blue-gray eyes. Jon takes a deep breath and grimaces. “Theoretically. But no, please, let us enjoy this short moment of togetherness. I missed you too!” He kisses me back. “How was the trip?” “Oh, I tried to nap, but after staying up late the past few nights to nurse Stephen's cold and then sitting on the plane next to him as he kept reminding me every five minutes how his iPhone could so accurately track the plane’s route across the country... I'm beat.” “Oh, boy,” he says, “I don’t know why I’m surprised.” He wraps an arm around my shoulders and walks me toward the edit room. He points at the door. “That room happens to be empty right now, bubbe. Care to join me for an initiation into the mile-high club?” “Don’t you have to be on a plane to do that?” I say with a laugh. Jon shrugs as he unlocks the door. “Denver is as close to the sky as you’ll get my schvanz, baby.”