Feeding the Nerdish Soul

Hark. It is on the horizon. The time has come again for the feeding of my nerdish soul.

So comes the advent of the Motor City Comic Con with the sweet smell of spring, and with it comes the sweet smell of ancient papers covered with ink so fair. But must I convince you of the joys of this occasion? Is your heart far from it?

O, hear ye, faint of heart: The millions of expressions of cultural joys, innocence, angst and confusion that have been manifested through the arts with simple line drawings, colors and captions.

Will Chewbacca be there?

We knowest not. But the man beneath the fur is a fine gentleman we do hope to meet again.

Will Mary-Ann be there?

Yea, verily, she shall. But Ginger abstains. (Would you believe that Ginger’s real name was not Tina Louis? It was actually Tatiana Josivovna Chernova Blacker. Seriously.)

Will the most unique of the Batmans be there?

Yea. Adam West will grace us with his presence and humor. And yet of Robin we knoweth not.

In days of yore we have met with Lou Ferrigno, Louis Gossett Jr., the Ghoul (who is, in truth, a kind and gentle soul), the mysterious, yet kind, Doug Jones, as well as those who have trekked the stars and fought the wars of the star. We have met with great artists such as Bernie Wrightson and lived to tell the tale. Humbled. We have seen on display first editions of our popular cultural history – men of superness, spiderness, hulkiness, and women of wonder and catishness – worth much gold and silver. I myself have gathered the withered pages of famous monsters and enjoyed them forthwith.

If you do not understand the attraction of these sundry pleasantries, you will not be judged by me. I will only hold out hope that someday you will understand this language of the heart which is driven by imagination.

Until that day, I weep for you. With pity.





Peace to you.

© LW Publishing 2010

Nerd

So. I go to get my haircut and I get a talkative haircutter person. Which I prefer, usually. Having someone silently snip things off your body is a little creepy to me. But this haircutter person was really nice and talkative. She seemed like a kind person.

I have no idea what we talked about, for the most part, because I wasn’t really paying attention. It was small talk. Which I’m not very good at. But then she noticed I was wearing this shirt that had a spoof of Star Trek’s Mr. Spock on it. I got it at woot.com. It was Mr. Spork instead of Mr. Spock. A spork in Spock’s shirt with the live longer and prosper hand signal.

Well. I think it’s funny. So sue me.

But she asks me if I’m “into” Star Trek, which, to me, seemed like a loaded question. There are lots of different levels of “into” Star Trek. So I grudgingly admit that I like Star Trek, and for some strange reason I mention that I’ve gone to a Star Trek convention.

Just one. Honest.

But for some people, that’s all it takes to consign you to the ignore column. Still, I confessed. I told her about going to the Star Trek convention.

Haircutter person: And did you wear a costume?
Me: A costume?
Haircutter person: Yeah. You know, did you dress up like a Star Trek character?
Me: (Laughing) No! No. I don’t take it quite that seriously. It was just a day out with a friend. It was mostly just people selling Star Trek stuff.

I sensed the insecurity dripping from my voice.

Me: So. Does this make me a nerd?
Haircutter person: Oh yeah. But nerds are cool. It’s just that if you wear a costume, it moves you into the realm of dork. And dork is not cool.
Me: Oh. Well that’s good to know.
Haircutter person: Yeah. Nerds are good. Nerds rule the world.

She finished cutting my hair. I gave her a big tip. Nerds are big tippers. Dorks aren’t.



Peace to you.
© LW Publishing 2010