Recently, I used this forum as my own personal confessional to reveal a deep, dark secret that I’ve been harboring for some time. Now, given that new updates to this site adhere less to a strict daily schedule and arrive more or less on time to herald the new equinox–I thought the rest of this missive would be best served if I offered up a bit of a primer.

So what is the true nature of this ‘tricksy’ skeleton that’s been dogging my every step? Well, if you have to pry it out of me–it’s no less than the grand revelation that Jesus of Nazareth married Mary Magdalene, fathered a child who fled to France and… oh hell, while I’m deconstructing dogma and spoiling flicks I might as well dive deep–Johnny Noxville provides the greatest portrayal of a developmentally challenged individual in The Ringer since Giovanni Ribisi in… well, just about everything, Denzel discovers ‘this ain’t no bank robbery’ while investigating Clive Owen’s pursuit of Christopher Plummer’s Nazi gold in Inside Man, and that dude in She’s The Man is really a chick.

So at this point, you’re all wondering, what chimp-ruled faux-Earth have we set foot on anyway?

Damn you! Damn you all to hell!!!

I apologize for the tangent–got slightly derailed there. So where was I? Oh yes, I was bringing you up to speed on my big revelation. Well–for those that follow this cyber confessional–I recently revealed my recurring affliction with seasonal affective disorder. Unfortunately, it’s the price I pay for remaining rooted in the New England area. I’ve written in the past of my love for a region with four discernable seasons–and in particular, I heart Autumn.

Unfortunately, the cold outlasts the warmth. Still I take heart in the notion that mankind is steadily chipping away at that pesky ozone layer. News of an extended El Nino just brings a smile to my lips. Hey–I spent the better part of the nineties bringing order to my slacker do by shellacking it four times daily with a healthy sheen of Aqua-Net. To further my equal parts selfish and wickedly nefarious desire for perpetual daylight, I ripped a page from Biggie Smalls book–one spray for me and one spray for my homies–pointing the can skyward and launching an arch of ass-kicking aerosol straight towards the heavens. I’d rip that ozone a new one. ‘Course, I’m not straight outta’ Compton, I’m straight outta’ Cranberry Country.

But, the pleasant surprise is Springtime, and warm weather, finally appears to be on fast approach after a slightly delayed arrival. That punkass Punxsutawney is the biggest sham ever perpetrated on mankind… What’s that? Oh yeah, that Da Vinci thing again! O.K. So Phil and Pontius are neck and neck.

With the arrival of spring, my creative juices have recharged–leading me to revisit my rant against the forces that conspire against me to embrace Battlestar Galactica like it was the next Red Dwarf.

I just don’t get this Geek Mythology.

The Geeks spend every waking moment of their high school existence decimating the concept of cliques–deriding their peers for banding together around shared interests–and keeping them on the outside looking in. The Beautiful People are labeled shallow, self-centered and narcissists. I guess when you’re knee deep in the muck, it’s difficult to discern the real lay of the land.

Then college arrives and everyone reboots–you move to a different city, you mingle with different people, you loosen your baggage and come into your own. Rolls reverse. Jocks date geeks. Nerds mack on preps. Dogs marry cats. Up is down. Black is white. Paula Abdul is stable.

Then you go to work and you find yourself in the IT department and a quick scan across the shanty town of cubicles known as Corporate America provides you with an inventory of every superhero that has ever graduated the JLA. That’s short-hand for Justice League of America but if you avoid the acronym, the Geek Chorus propels you to the top of their ‘watch list’. Years ago, it was rumored that the NSA used to monitor library databases in a bid to red flag all those checking out The Catcher in the Rye in order to nab the next great anarchist. I did them a solid and sent them a detailed inventory of every action figure and it’s owner in my office. You have Orco getting it on with Steve Nelson on your desk–you’re now officially on their ‘watch list’.

And the geeks will ostracize anyone that doesn’t share in their nerdgasm. In the late 90’s, it was the Matrix. Then it was the Lord of the Rings trilogy. Then we were all forced to welcome back Potter and the rest of our Hogwarts heroes. Now, we’ve gone all retro and if you aren’t down with Battlestar Galactica or Dr. Who, you’re frakked. Where’s the love for Surface?

I remember high school well enough. Most people are lying if they say they had a swell time–hormones prohibit that–but when looking back at the cliques that assembled there and the segregation that rocks most suburban office parks–it becomes far too apparent how quickly the Geeks have become Those They Chose Not To Speak Of. Being a fanatic is great–having a passion for a pastime is wonderfully therapeutic–sharing our interests with others helps to pass the time and prevent monotonous clockwatching–but this strong arm approach, the threat that ‘Order 66’ will be declared on your ass if you skip one episode of Trading Maces–it’s a bit too much.

This proud fanboy offers up the following challenge to my brethren. Can’t we all just get along? Let’s sample the buffet and enjoy a wide variety of interests (well, except Nightwatch. Why is it that a cribbed cocktail of Star Wars, The Matrix and X-Men is declared the greatest science fiction work of all time simply because a Russki directed it?)

Bottom line. Enough with the big fat geek meddling. I liked you guys a lot better when you stayed in on Friday nights downing Mountain Dew and noshing on Bugles while beating your +5 Mystical Bishop (an act lovingly referred to as Draggin’ the Dungeon.)

Well, I’ve said enough. I gotta’ get working on my next post. See ya ’round Arbor Day.

Comments are closed.