Nitwit, blubber, oddment and tweak

It started with a bang.

It wasn’t like a BANG! bang, mind, all loud and cochlea-hurting, it was a more a well-fuck-me-and-my-woollen-knitted-stockings-I-don’t-believe-it kind of a bang. You know, lots of OMGing and stuff.

It started when, on Sunday 28^th March 2010 at approximately 2:25pm, I was lining up on the steps of the Trades Hall building in Melbourne and saw, strolling past on the (rather enviable) footpath below, one Joss Whedon (with what was possibly a little Whedon child in tow). He blessed my humble sight for a good 4 seconds, I think, before he was obscured from view. Unfortunately, however, as I was at the time suffering from a nasty bout of complete idiocy, I assumed that I would see him at the event that I was currently in line for, and refrained from approaching him (/jumping his bones) there and then. So, you ask, was he going to the event that I was currently in line for? I think, folks, that when I tell you about the periodic face-palming, woe-is-me-ing, and general feelings of self-inadequacy that ensued for the remainder of the day(/week/month), the answer to that question need not be voiced.

But, wait-wait-wait-wait-wait, you say. Hold on. Now, I’m sure you know your Whedonverse as well as the rest of us, Geet, but a four second gaze – in profile – at a man you’ve never met, who lives on a different continent, and all from a few metres away? I’m not convinced – How can you be sure that the man you saw was, in fact, His Whedonliness?

Now let me tell you, I was sure. I was beyond sure. I was so completely and utterly suresuresure. And when I got home that night I was still sure.

Well, sort of.

Ok, so let’s just say I was pretty sure, then. Yeah, no, that’s it, I was most definitely pretty sure. Like 98.3% sure. And the day after, I was still 98.3% sure. Well, almost. Maybe it was more like 97.6%. Yeah, that’s right, I was sure it was him – definitely 97.6% sure.

So I was sure – pretty much – but I thought I should have a looksee on the internets, you know, just in case. And after trawling and trawling and trawling and getting increasingly frustrated, I found some mentions of his being in Melbourne on Twitter. Something about his being seen with Angie Hart at a pub or something. Anyway, point is, that was totally enough evidence to make up for the 2.4% or so of maybe-not-so-sureness. So it was him. It really really really was, and I had missed my one chance to tell him that he was the awesomest man (well, maybe aside from Albus Dumbledore, whom, I suspect, it may be even more difficult to meet in this lifetime) in the history of the universe.

And so, when my parents announced that we were taking a family trip to America a short while later, I decided that it would be as better time than any to find and stalk the man. Seventeen days (slightly impeded by a three-day stay in New Zealand), starting July 9^th. San Francisco, New York, Connecticut, Memphis and, last but most Whedon-centric, Los Angeles. It shouldn’t be difficult at all.

This blog, my very first ever, will, I guess, be a gallimaufrey of my exploits. (It was Steph’s idea, go give her shit for it.) I hope you like it.

(Though I suspect it may end with a whimper.)

Yours, Geet

Melbourne, Australia