The One Where John Finnemore Won't Lick My Autograph

Sorry for the break in posting, the blobfish ate my brain.

So guys, my awesome friend Ali - whose blog is kinda superior to mine seeing as she has adventures and posts pictures and says clever things, whereas I just watch tv and then BLOG ABOUT MY FEELINGS  - just happened to inspire my incredible envy last weekend* by going to a recording of John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme.

Just in case you're not quite sure who John Finnemore is, LET ME TELL YOU. He is a comedian, writer and actor, who is hilarious and charming and intelligent and silly and sarcastic and wonderful. 

• Go read his adorable blog.
• Go get obsessed with Cabin Pressure, the best radio sitcom ever, which he writes and acts in.
• Go learn the first season of John Finnemore's Souvenir Programme off by heart, which is a sketch show he writes and performs.

For the record, I introduced Ali to John Finnemore, which is the only way I could repay her for introducing me to Benedict Cumberbatch. Well, obviously not LITERALLY introduced. But you know, in that weird we-live-in-the-future way that makes you feel like you know celebrities by being constantly exposed to their work, so that you get so familiar with the concept of that person that you find yourself casually typing "Where EXACTLY does Benedict Cumberbatch live?" into google and not even feeling bad about it**. 

I'd wanted to ask Ali to get me an autograph since I heard she'd got tickets to the show, but obviously I have all this awkwardness and self-loathing so I didn't say anything because I didn't want to inconvenience her or be disappointed or be a person who exists or whatever. PAIN IS REAL. Luckily alcohol came to the rescue, and after a Long Island ice tea roughly the size of my arm, Ali updated facebook saying she was off to the show, and I promptly commented: 

I'm thankful to Ali for not only coming through, but actually risking a restraining order to get me a one-of-a-kind autograph! Starting what I hope will be a long and noble tradition of making celebrities uncomfortable, Ali promptly got a normal autograph for herself and a GLORIOUSLY INAPPROPRIATE ONE FOR ME: 

To Dasia

All the best

No, of course I won't lick it!

But still, all the best.

John Finnemore

JOHN FINNEMORE.

WROTE MY NAME.

AND SPELT IT RIGHT.

AND REFUSED TO LICK IT. 

THEY DON'T MAKE CAPS BIG ENOUGH TO EXPRESS THE ALLCAPINESS OF MY FEELINGS.

Doesn't he have lovely handwriting? He's the complete package.I've never been an autograph person but I really see the appeal of it now. Maybe I'll start collecting written  refusals to silly / inappropriate requests and could eventually build a gallery out of it: "The Hall Of Celebrity No, Of Course I Won'ts!" or something similarly cheesy and awesome.

Anyway, I really love that this actually happened because I'd gone out the night I found out about all this, and woke up on Sunday morning thoroughly believing that the autograph was just an awesome booze dream. So yay for good things that aren't booze dreams! Ali's posting me the original, and I'm more nervous about this autograph being in the post than any certificate or degree I've ever gotten. 

Which is normal and healthy, right?*** 

*It was actually the weekend before last  - it took me a surprisingly long time to finish this post.

**I felt a little bad about it.

*** They don't make rehab for fangirls, apparently.

Here's The Thing About Benedict Cumberbatch...

Disclaimer: I'm just a girl with a crush on an actor. I'm not crazy, my mother had me tested.

But here's the thing about Benedict Cumberbatch. 

He’s flawless in his strangeness.

Above: beautiful alien.

Oh, it's so hard to keep my squee in check when we're talking about him. But I’ll try to explain my love using words rather than just mashing my boobs on the keyboAEFEZANJL.OHNJSDFVGJHYDSFGVA

Ahem. 

Right, we're going to use words. Here are some words:

THAT VOICE THOSE CURLS THAT TALENT THOSE PIERCING BLUE EYES THAT BRITISHNESS ALL THAT CHEMISTRY WITH MARTIN FREEMAN THAT UPPER LIP HIS GENERAL SWEETNESS AND GENUINE INTELLIGENCE AND PASSION FOR HIS JOB AND HUMBLE SELF-DEPRECATING BEAUTY  OH AND THAT EFFORTLESS GRACE THAT PERMEATES EVERY PART OF HIM WHEN HE ACTS.

You might have guessed that I'm serious about Benedict Cumberbatch. I don’t mind being called a cumberbitch. I don’t mind being called a leperous prostitute with an enthusiasm for the b’cumz.  Any label that shows my devotion to this man I’ve never met is FINE with me.

The thing I love about cumberbitches (or cumberladies, cumbermuffins, cumberpuffs, what have you) is that it takes a certain sensitivity to understand why Benedict Cumberbatch is so awesome. That sensitivity usually comes with cleverness and an almost manic loyalty which makes Cumberbatch fangirls just the funniest, craziest, most entertaining fanbase I've ever come across. 

See, Ben* is not just a Hollywood hunk with fake teeth and a six-pack. He's one of those serious actors that does plays and movies about war and the past and shit. Despite his mesmerizing performance as Sherlock, he's played Stephen Hawking, Vincent Van Gogh, Victor Frankenstein, and of course, plenty of important old guys from the past. He's not famous because he's hot - 

Doesn't hurt either... *smolder smolder smolder*

He's famous because he's a fucking amazing actor. And that's exactly why I'm totally spectacularly ridiculously obsessed with him. Do you know how short my attention span is? Do you know how superficial I am? I get BORED, you guys. I get over most crushes in the time it takes me to tweet about it. But since I saw the first season of Sherlock six bloody months ago, I can't get Benedict Cumberbatch out of my head.

He defies logic. He has an unfortunate name and he's one of those cursed people who has a double-chin even when they're really skinny. Anyone that posh is usually crippled by his own privilege. He's not supposed to be a star - he's not even supposed to have the self-assurance to be an actor. But he's got this confidence, this charisma, this endless talent-tinged energy that gives you a glimpse of something far deeper than ordinary life when he performs. 

And once you get that glimpse, it's a little addictive. You end up watching really depressing period dramas and poorly written Hugh Laurie shows just to get your fix. If you're really lucky, you'll even discover a hilarious and perfect radio sitcom** that takes Benedict Cumberbatch's voice to new levels of endearing sweetness (did I mention he has great comedic timing? Because HE TOTALLY DOES.)

But it's not all perfect. So he's cheating on me and THAT'S OKAY. Apparently he's still with "designer Anna Jones" (the obnoxious air quotes will never die) whom he began dating a few months ago. I loved how on twitter all the girls were all like "ooh we're so happy for him" and I was all WHO IS THIS BITCH  and taking my earrings off. 

It's one of the perils of him being so extraordinary -  it's easy to forget that he's an actual person who lives in the world, as is his girlfriend. He wants babies, she has lovely childbearing hips. I'm sure they're very happy together (she typed as blood poured from her slit wrists onto the keyboard.) 

That neck will be the death of me.

He's lovely, and I want him to be happy of course. It's just that a big part of me wishes he'd realize that "designer Anna Jones" has a boring name, break up with her, and then one lonely night he'll be drinking red wine and on a whim decide to google his own name. And then he'll come across this blog and see what a lovely convoluted name I have (my middle name is Shamilevna, bitches, I'm fascinating) and then he'll smile and send me an adorable email and we'll chat and get married and stuff.

IT COULD HAPPEN.

 *Of course we're on a first-name basis. We're dating, remember?

**Pretty please click on this link, because Cabin Pressure is the source of almost all my sitcom references nobody will get tags!

IMAGES USED DON'T BELONG TO ME. FIRST AND LAST ARE © BBC (SHERLOCK SCREENCAPS), I'M AN IDIOT AND CAN'T FIND CREDIT FOR THE SECOND PIC. IF YOU KNOW WHERE IT'S FROM, PLEASE TELL ME SO I CAN CREDIT! THANKS FOR READING ♥