(Ed. Note: The following was posted on typicallydia's blog today. We're reposting it with her gracious permission here, because I think it speaks to what Ottawa Horror is all about. You don't have to be an "expert" to be here, you just have to enjoy Horror in any of its forms. - Sonsey)
The Zen of horror-fanaticism
Unlike so many of my friends, I take my love of horror films and books very lightly.
I cringe when anyone refers to me as an expert, as I know dozens of actual experts (like Howard!) as they are the ones I turn to for information. I wither verily when expected to adore or follow this and that bit of news or recent horror-happening, as I have an eclectic taste in horror and only so many hours in a day. I grow weary of re-hashed opinion on many horror personalities as it sounds to me trite, base, automatic and hollow.
This is me, now dodging rotten tomatoes.
The wonders brought to the screen are not lost on me. Though I cannot recite a list of crew members, special effect companies, score composers and yes, lead actors. Names get washed through the sieve in my mind and the ones that stick are those I have met, written about, or really made an impact on me. Just me. Not the masses. Me. Is that selfish? I don’t think so. I tend to think it says a lot about the few writers, directors, actors and general horror-minded humans that I hold so few in high regard.
Music and sports are similar. I watch football/soccer. Can I name a team? Barely. Do I recognize their insignia? Rarely. Do I have a favorite player? No. Do I even know the fucking rules of soccer. Sorry, no. I have read them a few times and watched hundreds of games and no, I do not know the rules. I don’t care about the rules, names, teams, money, bling, swag, fuck, I would not care if the world suddenly stopped playing soccer and it became ungood and vaporized.
BUT – it is a truly beautiful game. I love watching football. I love the players dedication. I love the emotion, the physicality, the world of nations aspect and the hooliganism. I love every single aspect of football that plays out before my eyes. It is the only sport I like, and I like it a lot. Do I know anything about it? No.
I listen to a lot of music. When I was a kid with nothing to do I used to read the backs of album covers. Having a photogenic, now called flashbulb, memory (different from photographic) I would be able to recite mass amounts of information from a reading of an album sleeve. My parents entertained many audiophile friends with this side-show ability. Eventually, I would only read about bands that really impacted me. Later still, I decided there was no point in really remembering any of the information I read about musicians as it could be easily found again when needed. This was likely around the same time I discovered Einstein, at about 8 years old.
These days, I listen to music and can name only a handful of performers. I love music. I surround myself with it. I do care who makes it and I follow bands like anyone does. Maybe I follow too many since I just don’t have room in my brain for their biographies.
Back to fanaticism, two things play heavily on my ‘meh’ attitude toward things I love. One: I have a generally flat effect when it comes to anything that triggers emotion unless experiencing what could classify as a manic episode. Two: Having been able to interview great people for all sorts of reasons, I have yet to be starstruck. Let me tell you, I am excited for the day that I am.
Perhaps it sounds like I am defending myself against imagined foes here (but it’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to) and I do admit it is a vent. For two decades I have had to defend my lack of knowledge on things I love and attempt to explain that I simply love ‘this movie’ or ‘that band’ or ‘that artwork’ and no amount of grilling me will make me love it any less. Someone else knowing all the facts, figures, history, connections, news and possible future on a topic or human means little: I probably love it more in my own simple way.
Feel free to sling arrows or diagnose me anytime.
(As always, we welcome your thoughts, comments and suggestions)
The Zen of horror-fanaticism
Unlike so many of my friends, I take my love of horror films and books very lightly.
I cringe when anyone refers to me as an expert, as I know dozens of actual experts (like Howard!) as they are the ones I turn to for information. I wither verily when expected to adore or follow this and that bit of news or recent horror-happening, as I have an eclectic taste in horror and only so many hours in a day. I grow weary of re-hashed opinion on many horror personalities as it sounds to me trite, base, automatic and hollow.
This is me, now dodging rotten tomatoes.
The wonders brought to the screen are not lost on me. Though I cannot recite a list of crew members, special effect companies, score composers and yes, lead actors. Names get washed through the sieve in my mind and the ones that stick are those I have met, written about, or really made an impact on me. Just me. Not the masses. Me. Is that selfish? I don’t think so. I tend to think it says a lot about the few writers, directors, actors and general horror-minded humans that I hold so few in high regard.
Music and sports are similar. I watch football/soccer. Can I name a team? Barely. Do I recognize their insignia? Rarely. Do I have a favorite player? No. Do I even know the fucking rules of soccer. Sorry, no. I have read them a few times and watched hundreds of games and no, I do not know the rules. I don’t care about the rules, names, teams, money, bling, swag, fuck, I would not care if the world suddenly stopped playing soccer and it became ungood and vaporized.
BUT – it is a truly beautiful game. I love watching football. I love the players dedication. I love the emotion, the physicality, the world of nations aspect and the hooliganism. I love every single aspect of football that plays out before my eyes. It is the only sport I like, and I like it a lot. Do I know anything about it? No.
I listen to a lot of music. When I was a kid with nothing to do I used to read the backs of album covers. Having a photogenic, now called flashbulb, memory (different from photographic) I would be able to recite mass amounts of information from a reading of an album sleeve. My parents entertained many audiophile friends with this side-show ability. Eventually, I would only read about bands that really impacted me. Later still, I decided there was no point in really remembering any of the information I read about musicians as it could be easily found again when needed. This was likely around the same time I discovered Einstein, at about 8 years old.
These days, I listen to music and can name only a handful of performers. I love music. I surround myself with it. I do care who makes it and I follow bands like anyone does. Maybe I follow too many since I just don’t have room in my brain for their biographies.
Back to fanaticism, two things play heavily on my ‘meh’ attitude toward things I love. One: I have a generally flat effect when it comes to anything that triggers emotion unless experiencing what could classify as a manic episode. Two: Having been able to interview great people for all sorts of reasons, I have yet to be starstruck. Let me tell you, I am excited for the day that I am.
Perhaps it sounds like I am defending myself against imagined foes here (but it’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to) and I do admit it is a vent. For two decades I have had to defend my lack of knowledge on things I love and attempt to explain that I simply love ‘this movie’ or ‘that band’ or ‘that artwork’ and no amount of grilling me will make me love it any less. Someone else knowing all the facts, figures, history, connections, news and possible future on a topic or human means little: I probably love it more in my own simple way.
 |
| I have no clue who these guys are |
Now, when someone raises an eyebrow in the very obvious and wide-open gaps in my pop-culture encyclopedia I will have somewhere to send them. When they say “But I thought you liked _____?!” I can send them here. This stands to increase my traffic by about four people a week since that is how often I find myself under the gun in one regard or another. See why I am venting?
(As always, we welcome your thoughts, comments and suggestions)
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