“So, you really want to get back into World of Warcraft?” I asked, somewhat taken aback by my friend’s regression into geekdom.
“Absolutely,” Dasad said in between sips of a chestnut praline latte – I swear Starbucks is taking advice from Yankee Candle in their choice of holiday blends. “Look you need something to occupy your free time outside of grading . . . mole tests or whatever the hell you teach in chemistry. MMOs are the perfect outlet.”
I nodded. The last week before my school closed for the Christmas break had proven . . . stressful, so much so that I considered stealing away around noon for a several pints of spiked nog. The mounting terror of children, emails, ungraded labs, January’s midterms, cloying principals, overbearing parents and those last-minute quizzes that you thought would provide an easy grade but . . . ah, the to-do list sought to smother my sanity. Only with three o’clock bell did the anxiety begin to drain away like poison from a wound leaving me exhausted and with a slight migraine.
I had met with Dasad hours later for drinks and coffee, confessing my near panic attack and utter thankfulness for the Christmas season.
Three accounts. Three computers. If I thought it would improve my chances to heft some of the house’s scattered PCs — outdated, abandoned, or consumed by spiderwebs — down to my room, I might have risked electric shock and wolf spider bites to heave the towers into my room. But I had three accounts, thus only three computers.
The other members of my party were working across the street at Katie’s new house, knocking down trees and feeding the sap-soaked limbs into the chipper, giving Mother Nature the ol’ Fargo-special (as I call it). Thus, the task of procuring tickets to the Comicon fell to me.
Now, we’ve attended comic book conventions in the past here in Baltimore and DC. These are typically low-key affairs, occupying a single floor at the Baltimore convention center, which — to quote the Hulk — is puny in comparison to its counterparts in DC and Boston. Still it manages to stock the panels with some pretty awesome writers and artists: Scott Snyder, Greg Capullo, Don Rosa, and Neil Adams to name a few that I’ve seen (Batman and Uncle Scrooge fanatic that I am).
“Am I some kind of condescending prick for feeling mildly embarrassed for these kids?”
“Well,” Kevin said after some consideration, “it’s a Sunday night in May and this IS a Walmart parking lot. You would think that there’d be some better way of spending your time . . .”
Kevin and I had parked our car and stared in wonder at the convocation of pick-ups and supped-up Hondas at the far end of the Walmart. Carroll County Maryland has never proven itself the most . . . urbane area in the state, but occasionally my neighbors go out of their way to check off every stereotype in the book.
Local teenagers leaned against the bumpers and sat on car roofs, watching some kid attempt to drop-kick a basketball at one of the parking lights. Occasionally, he’d routinely lose control, and their heads would turn with the syncopation of a Wimbledon crowd to gaze at kid and ball bouncing across the asphalt. Another weird feature: there was no music. Nothing audible at least. It seemed the kid and his basketball was the main event here.
Another snowstorm hit the northeast over the weekend, thus successfully closing schools and granting teachers and students a five-day weekend. Wahoo! Teachers are not known for laziness during their days off. No siree! I’ve built a kickass Paladin deck in the Hearthstone Beta, leveled my ranger to level 30 in Guild Wars, cleaned my room of excess clothes, filled my room with books, watched the excellent Lego Movie, and beat ‘Ganon’ in Link between Two Worlds. Many of my students’ papers still need . . . correcting, but considering that I’ve accomplished so much I can afford to give myself the day off. Oh, and I also managed to engage in some amateur photography as well. At night no less. ‘Cause let’s face it, I’m a badass. Continue reading
“Dude, I’m thinking about . . . kinda getting into Magic again.”
Dasad paused the game, his beefy in-game character frozen while carving the body of a subterranean orc-mercenary. High-res blood and brain-matter splattered the screen, proof of the game’s ‘M-rating’ and hundred-billion weekend sales. He stared at me, his eyes screaming silent chords of betrayal and disbelief as if I had confessed to operating a meth-lab in my spare time . . . and refusing to split the profits.
“Why . . ?” he stammered. “Why would you play again willingly? I thought you were going to register on eHarmony with me . . . well, not WITH with me, but . . . you know, figuratively cruise for potential female life-mates on a digital frontier?”
“Well, Magic doesn’t prevent any of that.”
“Unless you plan on lying on your questionnaire, it does. Face it, you’re mutant-bait.”
“Maybe, but role-playing strategy games cannot hurt my love-life any worse than ’33-years-old and still living with parents,'” I remind him. “Or my dream of owning my own house to solely to store my extensive comic book collection . . .”
“. . . and Japanese porn . . .”
To infinity and beyond!
The final frontier. As a kid, I’ve never acquired the obsession with space travel that so fascinated the prototypical ‘geeks’ of my generation. Before high school, my friends and I began to specialize: the road to anime, the way of the superhero, the path of fantasy, the . . . starport to sci-fi. Most of us would explore other genres as well, adopting one another’s obsessions in time. I introduced Dasad to Tolkien; he led me to comic shops, where I began collecting Batman; our friend, Lloyd, reveled in mecha anime, magical girls, Dragonball and Pokemon. We all loved video games so finding common ground proved easy.
Still amid all the late movie marathons and gaming sessions, their interest in space and future tech never really stuck. The nature of space and its prerequisite vacuum always seemed overwhelming and claustrophobic at the same time, like the paradox of a man trapped within infinity — or Marty always running out of time in Back to the Future.
Space is big. You just won’t believe how vastly, hugely, mind-bogglingly big it is. I mean, you may think it’s a long way down the road to the drug store, but that’s just peanuts to space. — Douglas Adams Continue reading
“Nerd. Nerd. Nerd,” Dasad muttered, pointing at the sundry collection of costumed moviegoers, the vast majority sporting Marvel-themed t-shirts. “God, we’ve landed in some antisocial geek convention. Again.”
“It’s just a movie, dude,” I sigh. “Try to enjoy the energy from the crowd. Everyone’s been waiting years for this moment.”
Dasad and I had decided see the Avengers a few Saturdays ago, a day after Disney had released it here stateside to glowing reviews both from fans and reviewers alike. Many of us, myself include, were simply happy the film was so well received as it guaranteed the superhero genre had not yet jumped the shark. However, not everyone was enjoying the growing anticipation — not vocally at any rate.
“You do realize that you’re a computer science major, right?” I argue. “You work all day long building databases and designing web sites. You’re not just a geek, man. You’re a prince.”
“Ha! And what does that make you?” he laughed. “You dabble in every nerd world there is: super-heroes, hobbits, anime, manga, and semi-clad bishoujo figurines. All tucked away in your parents’ basement. What does that make you?”
“A king. But don’t tell anyone,” I whisper. “I’m traveling incognito.” Continue reading