Joss Whedon

It started innocently enough.

I, like many of you, recently watched Mr. Whedon’s made-for-the-web musical dramedy (wait — scratch that — what’s tragedy+comedy? Tramedy?) in three acts, Dr. Horrible’s Sing-Along Blog. Also like many of you, I enjoyed it enormously. And like a few of you — people I’d lovingly call My Fellow Weirdos — it became, oh, something of a crazed obsession, something I felt compelled to watch again and again. And again. And? AGAIN.

In my case, I’d had a stupendously rough week, and Dr. Horrible served as a kind of tonic for my soul, its songs and its characters becoming somehow emblematic of my own troubles and sorrows. Dr. Horrible, as corny and cheesy as it sounds, somehow made me feel less alone during a dark and lonely hour of my life.

And then it got a little weird.

I can’t explain it really, but at some point last week I decided I NEEDED to interview Joss Whedon, and since then that one thought has become a singular internal driving mechanism. I mean, I haven’t started thinking about how I need to impress him by shooting world leaders or anything, don’t get me wrong. After all, I HATE firearms. But I have caught myself thinking things along the lines of "If only Joss knew the real me, why OF COURSE he’d jump at the chance to let me interview him." Not quite at the level of true creepiness, but perhaps a bit too, errm, personally involved?

But it’s hard to not feel personally, emotionally invested, when I’ve spent a broad televisual swath of my adult life marinating in Whedon’s work. I was an old skool Buffy fan (holla!) starting back in the 90s, and to this day I’m annoyingly evangelical about that show, forcing anyone who crosses my path to view it that hasn’t. It’s a show that naturally turns viewers into zealots with it’s rich narrative, the depth and endearing goofy-sweetness of its characters, and just how perceptive and smart the writing is about life generally and the period of life that is growing up and into adulthood specifically. God damn, I love that show.

This probably isn’t helping to dispel the aura of burgeoning creepiness, is it?

Anyway, back to the narrative at hand: yada yada, I fell in love with Dr. Horrible. But being a blogger of independent, non-corporate means (throws fist in the air) with no press contacts to speak of (sheepishly retracts thrown fist), how would I even go about reaching our dear Joss?

Good question. Anyone here have any connections? Because honestly I could really use...

Ahem. Right. So, first I contacted Fox, using a general email address for press found on their corporate site. Which, you know, IRONIC, because wasn’t it just a few months back that they stole a photo of my dog and broadcast it on national television? OH YEAH. HA. I initially thought perhaps I should contact the folks at Fox I dealt with during that debacle, but they were all Fox Sports division, not Fox Television. AND SO USELESS TO ME. And they probably hate me anyway. Oh yeah, that too.

My email requesting the interview got bounced along an email chain until it finally reached the Director of Publicity at Fox (oooh! FANCY!), who promptly put me in touch with the underside of his boot:

Hi:

We are preparing for the series to go back into production now that the big push at Comic-Con is over. Since the show doesn’t premiere until January – we are going to hold off on additional interviews for the moment. I will keep you updated when there will an opportunity to be on a conference call with him closer to the show’s premiere.

Thanks for your interest and support.

He’s of course talking about Whedon’s forthcoming series Dollhouse here when he mentions "series." And fine — that’s where Fox’s interest and investment lies, and I get that. But I wasn’t deterred.

Next I managed to finagle the email address of Whedon’s agent. Please don’t ask how. If I told you I’d have to kill you. (Or at least give you a really bad wedgie or something.) I then proceeded to write said agent a very personal (but not at all creepy! I swear!) email about how I was a long-time fan and public supporter of Joss’s work, and see, I have this here pop culture blog that’s got a pretty big audience with the ladies, and would you consider... could I just... would he... what about groveling? Would abject supplication help? OH PRETTY PLEASE?

I have no shame. For the record.

I got this back from the agent:

I am copying Joss’ assistant on this. She will ask him but I can tell you he is very busy at the moment.

Thank you very much for your interest.

Which, okay, not much return there on the dollar-amount’s worth of self-degradation I’d invested, but at least we were getting somewhere, right? PROGRESS, PEOPLE.

So I’ll admit it: at this point, I started to get my hopes up. This assistant person? Why, surely he or she would be able to see my sincerity, my earnest and heartfelt connection to her boss’s work, and so would speed my request to Joss, presenting it to him during his leisure hours on a sterling platter beside a sifter of brandy and a cuban cigar, so that he could linger over my lovingly rendered words while lounging in front of his ornately carved marble fireplace, the light of the fire’s flames lapping gently over his face as he drank in the linquistic fruit of my hope and adoration.

Okay, now I’m just making shit up. I haven’t heard anything back.

But I’m not giving up. Because that? THAT would be what a sane person would do.

PS: Joss? CALL ME!

...Stay tuned for future installments of Stalking Joss Whedon, which may or may not include a spiraling descent into madness and addiction. Fingers crossed!