My husband teases me by saying, “yeah, but you don’t like science fiction”. Which, I said to him more than once in our earlier years together. Usually he says this when I’m in the fifth minute of flapping, hyperventilating, squeaking monologue about Billie Piper playing Rose playing Bad Wolf.

Or that most things I think about writing are prefaced with the phrase, “I like what John Scalzi says about this …”

Or that I listen to Welcome To Night Vale at all.

Readers here know of my twitching about Glee, and Amanda F*cking Palmer (new release today with her husband —TWIRL)

Paul McCann mentions [redacted] and brings a 20 year body of work into cannon in an instant. And breaks the internet. I complain about cannon and head-cannon [because head cannon is NOT A THING].

What does all of this do for a 40 year-old woman?

It makes me feel excited — excited like Santa Claus is REAL.
It focuses me outside of my immediate world.
It helps me remember that all of this is real – but it ain’t all serious all the time.
Doctor Who shows chivalry and goodness.
Glee flirts.
AFP is power and determination
WTNV actually turns words the way my mind does, and keys into the absurdist part of me that doesn’t get aired out much.

I like Slate’s Political Gabfest because it tunes me into the political world in a way that is comfortable.
I like Adam Savage’s Still Untitled podcast because DANG he is clever, creative, and friendly sounding.
I like Wil Wheaton because he is the voice of my part of my generation.

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