It’s that time of year again, another pre-printed entry on every calendar we own.  We note it, we look forward to some time off of work/school/whatever.  We start shopping so we can fill ourselves to critical mass on traditional family meals that are lovingly made with blood (“I’ll kill you if you don’t get the hell out of my kitchen!”), sweat (“Jeebus, it’s hot in here… and they’re all gonna die if they don’t get out of my kitchen!“) and tears (*sob* “I can’t take it any more!  Can you blame me for hamstringing little Timmy… that little bastard wouldn’t get out of my kitchen!).  We feebly fight over the remote control as we communally bloat on every horizontal surface available — sofas, floors, sidewalks, the dog — eventually ending in a slow motion slap fight as our insulin levels peak and shut us down one critical subsystem after another (life support being the last).

Oh, how I love Kwanzaa.

No, wait… Thanksgiving.

I wanna thank the universe for causing my path to cross — and sometimes run parallel with — the paths of so many spectacular people.  I may not always say it, show it, or express it in interpretative dance, but I do love and appreciate the family I was born into, and the Family I chose along my travels.

I am thankful for the shoulders to cry on in pain, the livers to destroy in celebration, the late nights shooting the shit about any and everything, the long days silently enjoying movies.  The memories… good and bad, the influences… good and bad, the ever-lasting opportunities to learn and grow,a the fights, the laughs, the sex.  The ho-hum times, the exiting times, the frightening times too.  The jokes at each others (and our own) expense, the conspiratory evils perpetrated, the impromptu angelic deeds performed.  The passion, compassion, indifference, love and hate.

We’re all a rotten mess.  We have not only ourselves to blame, but those who have drifted in and out of our lives to blame too, and I’m thankful for that almost more than anything else.  I’m a mutt… a conglomeration of my own thoughts and opinions stirred together into a gumbo with everything I have experienced from those who have besmirched my brain by sharing my world.  I like who I am — as much as anyone who isn’t born with a rabbit’s foot up their ass, and has been blessed with super-genius intelligence, wealth, looks, and not a callus on their hands from a hard day’s work, can.  I could certainly use more of the afore mentioned blessings, hell everyone could, but otherwise I make do well enough.

If you’re reading this, it’s more than likely you’re one of my cosmic crossroads, and you’ll know precisely what I mean by this:

Y’know, sometimes being a bona fide geek has its rewards. Well, actually, MOST of the time it has its rewards if you are enough of one. I’m not just referring to geek-ness in a strictly computer related sense, but in the aspect that a geek is someone who is so into something, that they not only enjoy and are very good at this something, but they also have a tendency to be consumed by it. Computer geeks, math geeks, science geeks, sport geeks, A/V geeks, bookworms (reading geeks), rennies (renaissance fair geeks), gearheads (car geeks) and so many more.

A long while back I was given the nickname "Stuff" by a group of folks who not only appreciated my many-faceted geek abilities, they depended on it. I was master of all things computer, A/V, electrical, construction, destruction, repair, effects and prop related to name a few. You could lay money on the fact that I had a tool or device on hand to do anything you needed done – if there was a need for a solar-powered chainsaw, the chances were good that I had one in my back pocket. These days I still retain the old skills, dusty as a few of them are, but have acquired a few new ones along the way.

Amongst my geek merit badges is a Rennie one. I am one of those folks who not only likes going to the occasional renaissance fair, but believes that the only true way to enjoy them is while in costume. See if you can keep up with me here… I get to wear a wonderfully comfortable outfit, don a certain amount of anonymity, and strap on medieval weapons of personal destruction, i.e. a sword and daggers, all the while looking down my nose at the scant few people who have shown up in their street clothes because they, THEY are the weirdos who look out of place. Heh. I love that.

Being a Rennie has other side benefits as well. Friends of mine are co-organizers of a Mardi Gras organization – The Krewe Of Excalibur – which is Arthurian and medieval themed. The last few years they have asked my wife, a few of our other Rennie friends and me to help out with their Ball. We’re to dress in our renaissance fair finery and contribute to the general medieval atmosphere while members of the organization arrive and await the beginning of the event. In exchange we can remain in costume, and after the event begins we have reserved seating where we can enjoy the ball, a full meal and all the benefits of an open bar – a $90 value for each of us. Now, if you’re not familiar with Mardi Gras balls, let’s just say that it’s a strictly formal event (tuxedos and gowns) and is a fancy la-de-da evening of entertainment that precedes an actual Mardi Gras parade that the organization will have a few weeks after. Now, let me point something out to you that you might have missed. We, the Rennies, get to arrive and stay in costume, which I have already described as a "wonderfully comfortable outfit" complete with "medieval weapons of personal destruction" while those around us are stuck in penguin suits and sequined gowns laced up so tight that a barely perceptible amount of air actually makes it into the lungs. Oh, and after an initial bout of looking medieval and menacing, we get to enjoy the remainder of the evening seated amongst the suits and gowns… for free. Did I mention the open bar?

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Here we are in all our glory at the ball…

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I may be a geek, but I sure do have a lot of fun.

Now, computer geekdom has its own set of side benefits as well. There is a tremendous amount of power a computer savvy person wields, especially when dealing with the technologically de-evolved. When I was a site-technician, I could walk into the office of a company’s C.E.O. during a high level meeting, and he would gladly cut the meeting short, surrender his big comfy chair to me and fetch me a soft drink if I so desired – and thank me for the privilege of doing so. The trick was to not abuse that power… I always operated on the light-side of that force. Computer geeks also usually take care of their own. If one is having problems, others will always swoop in to help, rallying other troops as necessary. It’s a brotherhood of sorts, except without all the silly secret handshakes.

Let’s not forget some of the other benefits – the gaming, the music and other multimedia entertainment. Navigating the internet like Long John Silver en route to Treasure Island. Gathering information on anything and everything with a few quick flicks of my fingers. It’s a good thing.

These days, when someone says the word "GEEK", it’s usually with an air of reverence rather than hostility. It’s a badge of honor, a symbol of respected proficiency that is sometimes envied by those who do not posses it. Geekdom also knows few boundaries of sex, race, creed, color, religion or appearance. You are judged by your merits as a capable person – knowledge and skill above all else.

If this day and age should teach us something, it’s the proper care and feeding of your household geek. Treat them well, and you’ll reap the rewards that go with it. We certainly do.

Ok class, time to learn a little DmentiA driving terminology today:

• L.A.C. = Law Abiding Citizen. These are the folks who will cruise in front of you doing exactly the speed limit. Inevitably you are behind them on a two lane highway when there is bumper-to-bumber traffic in the other lane so you can’t pass. Ok, I know that I should be doing the speed limit too, but that’s my problem, not thiers.
• ROLLING OBSTRUCTION = This category includes the old, the infirm, the mentally ustable, the mentally incapable and anyone who is a driver’s license holder in Topeka. These people are the ones who will do well below the speed limit for any barely conceivable reason. The most frequent version of the Rolling Obstruction (henceforth known as the R.O.) is the Cadillac in front of you that is driven, apparently, by a sentient pair of knuckles – that’s all you can see operating the vehicle… no human, monkey, alien or otherwise (usually it turns out to be a 148 year old lady whose cartilage has compressed so much that she’s actually only 23 inches tall, but still retains the arm length of her youth gone by – and she drives using her Jedi "other sight" powers because she clearly can’t see over the dashboard). R.O.s are usually doing 27 MPH on a 45 MPH road, with their right side blinker on for 15 miles, and clearly, there is no place to turn right except into the heavily wooded forest populated by 1,000,000 angry rabid squirrels (and the whole time you are wishing she would turn right just so that image of the old lady being swarmed by piranha like rodents would come true – it ends with her walking out of the forest bristling with furry creatures, each of which is latched onto her body with their foaming little bucked teeth – ala Gary Larson).
• Junior Lawman = The guy in front of you who will, upon seeing you approach at a faster rate of speed, slow down in an attempt to slow you down too. It is also the fellah who will switch lanes in front of you when you switch lanes to keep you from speeding then too. He wants to "teach you a lesson" and punish you for your evil, evil speeding ways. I have a little lesson in return for these people… it’s the one about how to pull yourself from a burning car that has been run off the road and flipped 7½ times only to strike a tree and rupture the gas tank, dislocating both of your shoulders and shattering a kneecap in the process. I hate these fuckers the worst. Look, if you don’t like my driving, don’t take the law into your own hands. According to popular law enforcement theroy I’ll eventually get busted by a cop and he’ll teach me the error of my ways. Sooooo, piss off and leave me the hell alone.

Look, I do drive a little faster than the posted speed limit, but I do so in a safe and controlled manner. It’s not like I weave in and out of traffic while I’m driving – I leave that to the Camaro drivers with the 3 inch penises. I don’t drink much, and I don’t endanger others. All I ask is a little common courtesy. Drive at least as fast as the limit, or clear a space for the faster vehicles. I swear, I won’t flash my high-beams at you, and I’ll go around you if I can, otherwise… get the FUCK out of my way!

Bastards.

Well, after too much time of doing two things with this site… "jack" and "shit"… I’ve decided to update it a bit – it is, after all, my namesake.  I’ve "growed it up" some by eliminating all the annoying background graphics, took out the fugly graphic navigation buttons and made the site overall a little more pleasant to visit.  So for the two of you who visit here regularly, enjoy.

I’ve also added this little WebLog thingy here so I have a spot to regurgitate all the lovely things that come to my mind and need saying to the world in general.  I guarantee nothing.  There will not necessarily be regular postings here, as it’s strictly based on my whim.  I also don’t promise a rose garden… it is very likely that I will not only step on someone’s toes with what I might say around here, I might just turn those toes to ground round.  If you don’t enjoy what you read here, don’t read.  On the other hand, not everything I post will be offensive.  It’s a gamble.  Oh, and if your delicate nature is offended by off color language or concepts, you might take the non-reading path as well.  My stream-of-consciousness contains a lot of nastiness, and I don’t intend to censor a whole lot, so tough shit (see, wasn’t THAT fun).

So strap in, take your Dramamine and get ready for the anti-climax.