strix alba (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
strix_alba) wrote2016-10-02 09:16 pm
strix_alba) wrote2016-10-02 09:16 pm
Entry tags:
wrangletangle: jinlinli: every time i hear “tag
via http://ift.tt/2dCb330:
wrangletangle:
jinlinli:
every time i hear “tag wrangling”, im imagining a herd of unruly cattle with things like “voyeurism” and “slow burn” and “fuck canon” branded into their haunches stampeding while a couple of harried farm hands attempt to lasso them in
Accurate.
Sometimes a herd comes up out of a canyon, no warning at all, and there’s only one wrangler on the scene. Their panicked yodels bring other wranglers racing out to the new edge of fandom, a fandom that didn’t even exist last week, in an effort to steer the tags into their proper pens.
Sometimes, though, no one hears anything at all.
Tumbleweeds roll by. There is silence, a great stretch of sky. A soft rumbling. The closest wrangler left the area last month, looking for greener pastures. There have been no tags here for long years. Then suddenly….
~ lion king music, followed by wildebeests ~
“Can’t keep hands on this one,” explains a lead for a popular fandom, tilting her hat to block the sun. “greenhorns come in, get their first shock of a stampede, and refuse to leave the barn. Scares ‘em right off. You got to have solid, experienced hands on a fandom this big, but experienced hands take one look at this place and laugh. They know right away how much work it’s going to be.”
~ the camera pans over milling tags, no apparent order to them ~
“We’ve got over a hundred thousand of these, with a hundred or so coming in every day. And that’s just on this side of the creek.” She waves at a distant speck, who seems to wave back. “Megafandoms,” she says, as if that explains everything. To other wranglers, it probably does.
(There’s also a collaborative steampunk version, which is much more exciting)
wrangletangle:
jinlinli:
every time i hear “tag wrangling”, im imagining a herd of unruly cattle with things like “voyeurism” and “slow burn” and “fuck canon” branded into their haunches stampeding while a couple of harried farm hands attempt to lasso them in
Accurate.
Sometimes a herd comes up out of a canyon, no warning at all, and there’s only one wrangler on the scene. Their panicked yodels bring other wranglers racing out to the new edge of fandom, a fandom that didn’t even exist last week, in an effort to steer the tags into their proper pens.
Sometimes, though, no one hears anything at all.
Tumbleweeds roll by. There is silence, a great stretch of sky. A soft rumbling. The closest wrangler left the area last month, looking for greener pastures. There have been no tags here for long years. Then suddenly….
~ lion king music, followed by wildebeests ~
“Can’t keep hands on this one,” explains a lead for a popular fandom, tilting her hat to block the sun. “greenhorns come in, get their first shock of a stampede, and refuse to leave the barn. Scares ‘em right off. You got to have solid, experienced hands on a fandom this big, but experienced hands take one look at this place and laugh. They know right away how much work it’s going to be.”
~ the camera pans over milling tags, no apparent order to them ~
“We’ve got over a hundred thousand of these, with a hundred or so coming in every day. And that’s just on this side of the creek.” She waves at a distant speck, who seems to wave back. “Megafandoms,” she says, as if that explains everything. To other wranglers, it probably does.
(There’s also a collaborative steampunk version, which is much more exciting)