Breaking the Silence

It brings me great pleasure to announce that I'm still alive, literate, and connected to the intertubes. Let's get to it, then.

I just got back from my first visit to the big-boy doctor. I have to admit, I kind of miss the Lion King pastel drawings and stuffing my pockets full of lollypops, but from what I understand there are benefits to seeing an internist as opposed to a pediatrician; for one, I can live with marginally less shame. For another, my new doctor doesn't look uncomfortable asking if I'm sexually active; having that conversation with your pediatrician when you're 24 is... well, it's awkward for everyone. So overall, the changeover has definitely been a positive one. It helps that I genuinely like my new doctor. This is really important since he'll occasionally be handling my balls. It's still awkward, but I just want to feel, ya know, safe.

Anyways, the bottom line of the visit was this: I am the pinnacle of good health. I think his exact words were "a burbling font of vitality." I kid, of course. Those are my words, as is my assertion that I can focus healing energies through my fingertips or that I can radiate my Life Force to spur the growth of trees and flowering plants. Then again, he didn't deny that I could perform those feats.

At Lauren's suggestion, I asked the doctor about ADD medication. I was hesitant to even ask him and, in so doing, clinicalize something that, to me, is a mere foible. Unfortunately, it's become hard to deny the growing mass of people frustrated by my inability to ignore blinking lights and shiny objects. Also, I have what seem to be "blackouts" in my short-term memory; conversations I can't remember having, forgetting where I've put something or what I'm doing two or three times within a one-minute timespan, etc. So the doc and I ran through a questionnaire from the DSM IV and... well, I have attention issues (not so much with the hyperactivity - I'm a lazy sack, after all).

The question is, does it affect life to the point where you want to be on meds? No. I don't think my work has suffered particularly because of it, and my life is definitely in working order. I do kind of daydream about giving a one-week trial a whirl, though; in these fantasies, taking Ritalin turns me into the Sherlock Holmes of Somerville, a liquid-cooling system for my overclocked brain. Seriously, though, how many super-detectives do you know on Ritalin? None. The kids you know on Ritalin are out chasing birds with sticks.


And to prove I have ADD, let's change the conversation. Look at this!

Seriously, he's ridiculous. He thinks "aw, I wanna bite that toy!" but then he realizes "urrrrr, I'm trapped in this box!" Beer can breastwork FTW.

The Blog Goes Pop

The editorial staff here at "Here's the Thing..." have received some constructive criticism from our girlfriend, Lauren Kearney (no, not THAT one); specifically, that we speak too often and at too great a length regarding our digimal interfoozits and our obscure, nerdly obsessions. Apparently, the blog has been a little too "niche," a little too edgy thus far. We are told that the blog could benefit from greater mass appeal, that, in fact, Lauren does not like to read the blog in its current format. A suggestion was put forth that we could, I dunno, write about how our day went.

We have been advised that Emily Conrad's blog is more palatable.

The editorial staff, while appreciating this considered and honest feedback, counter-proposed that perhaps Lauren could support us in something for once, rather than always working to tear us down and make us feel low. Also, it was discussed that Emily Conrad's blog, while being an artfully crafted column both pithy and profitable to all readers, might also be pedestrian claptrap barely deserving of our contempt.

The editorial staff, of course, have issued a correction as they were speaking from a place of deep hurt and did not mean what they said.

So, having accepted that perhaps change might be a good thing, here begins your more palatable, radio-friendly, blog experience (henceforth referred to as "blogsperience"). We hope you enjoy the show.


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The Flogging Molly show last Tuesday at the House of Blues was great, as expected. Dave King brought considerable stage presence and no small bit of charisma to the hall, though inevitably a few of his folksy zingers were recycled from previous performances (that I even care to point this out might just be evidence of how few bands I've seen repeatedly). I do wish, though, that for all their songs concerning alcohol they could bring some of that beer-soaked Darkbuster vibe to their shows. But what can ya do.
I couldn't help but feel a bit sorry for the opening band, The Aggrolites. They seemed like a good bunch of guys and, hell, how can you be mad at a raggae/ska band, especially one that's recorded with Tim Armstrong? Well, this is New England, and that night it was like 30°; they may as well have been selling beach balls to grizzly bears (Jackpot! Another top-notch analogy!). To Boston's credit, though, the crowd was very polite while making it obvious that we weren't picking up what they were dropping down.

On Saturday Lauren, Douglas, Eric W, and I visited at Tanya's apt. Tanya, who is a most charming and humorous drunk, and who earned her reputation as a terrific hostess one New Year's Eve by offering to sleep in the bathtub so we could use her bed, once again proved to be a great drinking buddy, as did her boyfriend and various cohorts. Later on we visited upon White Horse and it wasn't terrible at all (nor was it a heroin den!), despite widely-held views to the contrary; there was pool, Bad Religion, and 5.50 Jack & cokes—pretty much all I could ask for. Maybe it helped that I was tanked? Otherwise the guys fighting over who puked on whom in the bathroom and then aggressively questioning me on where I'd purchased my jacket might've detracted from the overall experience.

When I returned home, do you know what glittering treasure awaited me? I'll give you a hint: It was Resident Evil 5! Wait, can I not talk about that? Shit, I'd been doing so well, too.

9

I can't stop watching the trailer for 9. It probably feeds into that epic-fantasy-as-response-to-crisis-of-maturation thing I was talking about 2 posts ago, but there it is. Sack people! Post-apocalypse! Will you see it with me?

If you're as intrigued as I am, it may interest you to know that the film is based on this award-winning short.

Watchmen

In honor of the imminent theatrical release of Watchmen, I give you two reasons to be glum:

Watchmen Failed
Watchmen: The Demo is Nigh

The former is a really great article that gives some insight into why Moore's comic series was so powerfully different, and why it's been lauded for all the wrong reasons. The latter is proof of that concept: a videogame beat-em-up based on... well, clearly not Watchmen.

Ya know, a couple of movies ago I heard Alan Moore was pissed about how his work had been treated... truth be told, today I'd be spitting venom, too.

Dubious Conclusions

I don't intend to insult your intelligence (because I'm sure you've pieced the puzzle together at this point), but I want to be absolutely clear on this point: I am a geek. Always have been. Never shrank from the label, never apologized. I suppose I did make some effort to prove I was "one of the good ones," though. You know, the sort with a pinch of humor, a dash of social skills, perhaps even a sprinkle of boyish charm — certainly not the type who would maintain a level 44 druid in World of Warcraft. Certainly not! Why, it would be absurd to think that, even now, I can hear the wind whisper the name "Willowthorpe."
Utter nonsense!

These days, obviously, geek is in. Frat boys play Halo. Liz Lemon charms in her thick-framed glasses while cracking Star Wars jokes. Comic book adaptations dominate the box office. The dam has broken; a subculture has gone viral.

I'm thrilled, I suppose. Finally, the gilded Age of the Nerd has come! And yet, I find myself ruminating on my youth, wondering... did I do enough? I wonder, were there Dungeons I was meant to scour, Dragons I could have battled? Missed opportunities. These were depths that went unplumbed due in part to the social stigma, I'm sure, but also because I frankly didn't need to immerse myself in that kind of fantasy, becoming unglued from reality and spiraling down into a solipsistic realm of imagined heroism and idealized identity. Again, missed opportunities.

The world may have accepted geek into its heart, but not that kind of geek, so I have to admit that the illicit nerdiness of D&D is tantalizing; there's a slightly gluttonous urge to throw caution and, indeed, reputation to the wind, and throw myself full-force into the creation of alternate worlds and epic histories. My sword arm aches.

Perhaps we should ease into it, though. Dust has settled across my Magic: The Gathering cards, but they retain the Old Power. We'll start there, and see where it takes us. I'll let you know if this flight of fancy evolves into a yet greater embarrassment.