Post Scriptum: Digi-fans

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As I perused through some unlabelled CDs in my room the other night, I discovered gold.

You see, I’m the kind of TV fan that becomes completely immersed in a fan-base of a show, if I happen to feel a bout of lovey-dovey coming on while I watch it. This means paraphernalia becomes synonymous with my existence, while searching, collecting and shrine-building become dominant activities in my life. What I’ve found about the last few years of my fandom participation, however, is a noticeable change in from the collection of tangible objects, to digital paraphernalia. The TV junk I collect has stopped being collector cards or framed autographs, but more fan-made internet artifacts that I’ve taken the time to download, save and burn on to my precious CDs.

The first of my mysterious discs revealed a host of video files, all named after songs that were released in the late-nineties. One particular file that caught my attention was entitled ‘You Oughta Know’, by the once-notoriously angry Alanis Morrisette. The video was a surprisingly well-crafted clip montage of Buffy-Angel moments from years ago. A fan-made venture, it catalogued the eponymous characters’ troubled relationship.

I was, similar to many years ago, thoroughly impressed with the editing, quality and match-up of the lyrics to the images from both shows. It was hokey, and slightly bop-of-teen for me to indulge in, but the fan-vid succeeding in getting its point across and was quite enjoyable. And, I had two other CDs filled with videos just like it. Some proved light-hearted montages, others more somber, relaying the sadder events of the series’ through the power of song.

Nowadays, with shows abusing mainstream pop music as a segue into nearly ever scene, it was nice to see music appropriately placed, while dipping me into a brimming canister of nostalgia. Finding those fan-videos was like finding a time-capsule. As I went through every one of them, I recalled where I was in life when I downloaded them, the music reminding me of the of the various crises I thought would end my life that week, the characters on the screen helping me reminisce over what I used to love or hate with a passion.

I suppose TV paraphernalia of the traditional sort could entice the same sort of memories, but there was something about hearing the music of my youth applied to the TV that moved me then, that moved me now. In that way, the CDs evolved into more of a personal recollection of my favourite television than a generic rerun could ever be. The shows and their happenings became, as they probably did for many of these wondrous fan-film-makers, truly my own.

After going through the digi-shrine I built so many years ago, I popped out the unmarked CD and stared at it. Instead of labeling it something logical, so I could re-identify it again sometime soon, I left its shiny silver surface blank. Mixing it in with the other blank discs lying around, I had only one thought running through my head.

I can’t wait until I get to discover it again.