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"If those aren't tears of happiness, please stop crying."
(Spoiler alert: They were tears of happiness.)
I dissolved into tears today as I was talking to Ms. Cavadini. It happened in the middle of me trying to communicate how much I love the nuance she gave Blossom. I couldn't find the right way to tell her (especially with the women who voiced her sisters at the tables right next to us) that I thought she was the most talented actress of the three, that I could tell she took her craft seriously, that the depth she gave the little bug-eyed redhead with the twin-peaked bow in a 15-year-old cartoon was surreal, uncalled for, and wholeheartedly appreciated. And it wasn't because I was struggling for the words—I'd anticipated that, so not being able to articulate my thoughts wasn't what hit me with the crying stick. What did—the thing that not only hit me, but struck me, battered me to the ground, overwhelmed my senses and my physical person, the thing that did all that? Was the realization that the woman I was standing there and trying to talk to played such a role in a program that played an even bigger role in my life.
And this isn't illustrated just by the merch I own, or the fic I write, or even the fact that I'm in this fandom. This show... so much of this show is responsible for who I became as a human being. I know that sounds stupid because it's just a fucking cartoon, for God's sake, and I don't fucking care. That's the impact it's had on me. This show is why I moved, why I chose the path I did, why I love the art I love, why I bother seeing films on the big screen, why I care so much about seeing girls on TV, why I became a feminist. This show taught me how to be one. And my love for it—this show, this stupid, fucking wonderful 15-year-old cartoon—is also what has kept me writing for the past ten years.
It has been instrumental in shaping who I am as a person. And this knowledge is always tucked in the back of my mind, and I don't actually ever pay that much attention to it. I've taught it to be quiet, because, well, it's just a cartoon, you know.
So I went to the panel. I grinned the whole time and blew off the eardrums of the guys in front of me with my cheering. I waited in line for the opportunity to have my own personal teen idols sign their pvc likenesses for me. And then—when I was managing to string words together to form actual sentences as I spoke to the woman who voiced Blossom, it hit me. Like a fucking freight train. Like the wrath of God bearing down on me in one fell swoop. I stood there and suddenly I was crying at that poor woman and she just took my hand and held it.
I managed to pull my shit together and got in line to see Ms. Daily and fucking did it again. She's my favorite; of course it was bound to happen. She pulled me behind the table and hugged me, twice. I then inflicted my blubbering mess upon Mrs. Strong and she spared me a hug, too. And then I turned and graced several strangers with my tear-streaked face as I left the Con.
Happy tears, mind you. Because I couldn't have communicated the impact of their work on my life with any words in such a short amount of time. Seeing as how I couldn't stop crying as I spoke to them, they probably have some idea. That's a comfort. And being able to exchange a few friendly (and tear-sodden) words with them was more than enough. I want for nothing more from them. Except maybe another special or two, but that's not really their call anyway.
In short, I met the lovely women who voiced the Powerpuff Girls today. And then I cried. A bit. (A lot.)
I dissolved into tears today as I was talking to Ms. Cavadini. It happened in the middle of me trying to communicate how much I love the nuance she gave Blossom. I couldn't find the right way to tell her (especially with the women who voiced her sisters at the tables right next to us) that I thought she was the most talented actress of the three, that I could tell she took her craft seriously, that the depth she gave the little bug-eyed redhead with the twin-peaked bow in a 15-year-old cartoon was surreal, uncalled for, and wholeheartedly appreciated. And it wasn't because I was struggling for the words—I'd anticipated that, so not being able to articulate my thoughts wasn't what hit me with the crying stick. What did—the thing that not only hit me, but struck me, battered me to the ground, overwhelmed my senses and my physical person, the thing that did all that? Was the realization that the woman I was standing there and trying to talk to played such a role in a program that played an even bigger role in my life.
And this isn't illustrated just by the merch I own, or the fic I write, or even the fact that I'm in this fandom. This show... so much of this show is responsible for who I became as a human being. I know that sounds stupid because it's just a fucking cartoon, for God's sake, and I don't fucking care. That's the impact it's had on me. This show is why I moved, why I chose the path I did, why I love the art I love, why I bother seeing films on the big screen, why I care so much about seeing girls on TV, why I became a feminist. This show taught me how to be one. And my love for it—this show, this stupid, fucking wonderful 15-year-old cartoon—is also what has kept me writing for the past ten years.
It has been instrumental in shaping who I am as a person. And this knowledge is always tucked in the back of my mind, and I don't actually ever pay that much attention to it. I've taught it to be quiet, because, well, it's just a cartoon, you know.
So I went to the panel. I grinned the whole time and blew off the eardrums of the guys in front of me with my cheering. I waited in line for the opportunity to have my own personal teen idols sign their pvc likenesses for me. And then—when I was managing to string words together to form actual sentences as I spoke to the woman who voiced Blossom, it hit me. Like a fucking freight train. Like the wrath of God bearing down on me in one fell swoop. I stood there and suddenly I was crying at that poor woman and she just took my hand and held it.
I managed to pull my shit together and got in line to see Ms. Daily and fucking did it again. She's my favorite; of course it was bound to happen. She pulled me behind the table and hugged me, twice. I then inflicted my blubbering mess upon Mrs. Strong and she spared me a hug, too. And then I turned and graced several strangers with my tear-streaked face as I left the Con.
Happy tears, mind you. Because I couldn't have communicated the impact of their work on my life with any words in such a short amount of time. Seeing as how I couldn't stop crying as I spoke to them, they probably have some idea. That's a comfort. And being able to exchange a few friendly (and tear-sodden) words with them was more than enough. I want for nothing more from them. Except maybe another special or two, but that's not really their call anyway.
In short, I met the lovely women who voiced the Powerpuff Girls today. And then I cried. A bit. (A lot.)