Lost? Find yourself with us!
On June 17 in the year 2000, the Eternal Angel list was born. Most members of the group have fan fic, fan art or other creations on this site. See Meet the Egroup for more details on members. KA was made president of our humble little group and she wrote this hysterical manifesto.
Yeah, I know it's a lot of words, but it's worth it. (She says modestly.)
"If in my administration we shall see the break of dawn of the better day, I
shall have done my part in the world. No president can have a greater honor
than that."
Twelve months and one day ago, our Webmistress, in whose symbolic shadow we
stand, brought forth upon this internet a new List, conceived in Buffydom,
and dedicated to the proposition that Angel is a hottie. This momentous
decree came as a great beacon light of hope to dozens of Angelholics who had
been seared in the flames of Riley Finn and The Initiative. It came as a
joyous daybreak to end the long night of Graduation Day Parts I & II.
But one year later, we must face the tragic fact that the List is not
peaceful. One year later, the life of the Angelholic is still sadly crippled
by the manacles of geek stereotypes and the chains of the written word. One
year later, the Angelholic lives on a lonely island of one-dimensional
messages in the midst of a vast ocean of vocal inflections and facial
expressions. One year later, the Angelholic is still languishing in the
corners of society, an exile in a land that thinks "Third Rock From The Sun"
is funny. We have come here today to dramatize this appalling condition.
We are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether this List, or any List
so conceived, and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great
battlefield of that war. We come to discuss those who left here, that the
List might live. The world will little note, nor long remember, what we say
here; even if we think we're really funny.
It is rather for us, the remaining, we here be to discuss the great task
before us -- that, from these who have left we take increased devotion to
this cause. That we here highly resolve they shall not have left in vain;
that the List shall have a new birth of understanding, and that List of the
Angelholics by the Angelholics for the Angelholics, shall not perish from the
Internet.
We have come to this list to cash a check. When the architects of such TV
shows as "The Jetsons" and "Lost In Space" wrote of the Future, they were
signing a promissory note to which every Angelholic was to fall heir. This
note was a promise that all Angelholics would be guaranteed the inalienable
rights of robots, rocket shoes, and flying cars.
It is obvious today that the Future has defaulted on this promissory note
insofar as her Internet nerds are concerned. Instead of honoring this sacred
obligation, the Internet has given the Angelholics a broken link, which has
taken us to a page that says "Error 404." But we refuse to believe that the
bank of technology is bankrupt. We refuse to believe that there are
insufficient funds in the great vaults of Microsoft. So we have come to cash
this check -- a check that will give us upon demand the riches of the
microprocessors and the security of anti-virus software. We have also come
to this hallowed spot to remind the Future of the fierce urgency of now. This
is no time to engage in the luxury of slacking off or to take the
tranquilizing drug of Windows 2000. Now is the time to rise from the dark and
desolate valley of modems to the sunlit path of high-speed subscriber lines.
Now is the time to open the doors of opportunity to all of God's shut-ins.
Now is the time to lift our nation from the quicksands of DOS to the solid
rock of the cordless mouse.
We must forever conduct our struggle on the high plane of courtesy and
restraint. We must not allow our offbeat sense of humor to degenerate into
crass annoyance. Again and again we must rise to the majestic heights of
meeting irritation with a gentle gutpunch. The marvelous new militancy which
has engulfed the Angelholic community must not lead us to spew forth whatever
comes to mind, heedless of the thoughts and feelings of others.
We must make the pledge that we shall march ahead. We cannot turn back. Let
us not wallow in the valley of misunderstanding. I say to you today, my
friends, that in spite of the difficulties and frustrations of the moment, I
still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. I
have a dream that one day this list will rise up and live out the true
meaning of its creed: "We want to see an all-naked Angel episode."
I have a dream that one day on the Internet the former users of American
Online, Hotmail and Yahoo will be able to sit down in their levitating chairs
and watch each other cut their toenails and eat liver & onions as they
discuss Cordy's latest fashion atrocity.
I have a dream that one day even the country of Argentina, a distant country
where they fling their underwear, a country sweltering with the frustrated
heat of delayed episodes, will be transformed into an oasis of timely Manwich
goodness.
I have a dream that Hoser's children will one day live in a nation where they
will not be forced to communicate by such archaic methods as the telephone,
but by full color videophone beamed directly into their digital televisions.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day the List will be transformed into a situation
where kosher Jews and spatula wielding fic writers will be able to lock
eyeballs with crazy French chicks and deputies with bad driving records and
talk together as Angelholics united.
I have a dream today.
This is our hope. This is the faith with which I return to Eternal Angel.
With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of annoyance a
stone of acceptance. With this faith we will be able to transform the
jangling discords of the written word into a beautiful symphony of stupid
facial expressions. With this faith we will be able to work together, to
type together, to squick together, to curse Joss Whedon together, to stand up
for our favorite characters together, knowing that we will be able to see
each other one day.
And if the List is to be a great list this must become true. So let sarcasm
ring from the tourist traps of Florida. Let sarcasm ring from the mighty
Oregon Trail. Let sarcasm ring from the courtrooms of Pennsylvania!
Let sarcasm ring from Lee's trumpet!
Let sarcasm ring from the sweltering heat of Minnesota in August!
Let sarcasm ring from America's Dairyland!
But not only that; let sarcasm ring from the underage mouths of the list
members Jones can't flirt with anymore!
Let sarcasm ring from every pub and every muck cart of the United Kingdom.
From eve
ry computer monitor, let sarcasm ring.
When we let voices ring, when we let them ring from every cubicle and every
spare bedroom/office, from every PC and every laptop, we will be able to
speed up that day when all of the Future's children-English doctors, tattooed
Texans, moms-to-be, aspiring spinsters, the unholy Satan and yes, even
attorneys, will be able to look each other in the eye and sing the words,
"See me at last! See me at last! Thank Bill Gates, they can see me at last!"
*sniff* Man, I choke myself up.
KA
