What is in a Geek: A rave-lation
I’ve always had a warm-feeling for geeks; despite my on-going attempt to boycott Facebook [8 months and counting], despite hating Ira Glass’s “gum-chewing” voice and not being able to tell the difference between a “geek”, a “nerd” and a “dork” – however much I goggled and read on the terms. In movies, geeks are made fun of, picked on and finally dumped for good-looking dumb men who happen to be the Captains of their high school football teams [Originality, again, thou shalt be missed]. Geeks are adorable in their goofiness. Geeks make devoted friends. And they scare easily. So, in the camaraderie-spirit of all those pushed, you root for them to get the girl. And how can you not? Not rooting for a geek is the equivalent to not stopping after hitting a deer, or not ooh-ing and ahh-ing at a video of an infant when his/her mother proudly shoves the smart-phone under your nose.
So I indiscriminately liked geeks, or thought I did.
He was a tall white guy, mid to late 20s, with large “Capote” style silver-rimmed glasses and a sandy hair. He was wearing the type of jacket young interviewees trying to look old, or teachers from the 70’s wear, with the strap of his computer bag held tightly by a finger across his chest. A sharply dressed dull gray ghost that is a common phenomenon to downtown Seattle. [As are gay men to Capitol Hill; and East-Indian men, carrying backpacks, to 6th Avenue].
I was walking down a side street, after having pushed through 20 more pages of “Quiet: The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking” [a book that is not only explaining why I burst into tears when hearing how a bunch of hooligans not just gave back the wallet but fist-bumped and thanked him for his services after learning the guy they were about to mug was a Veteran; but helping me embrace – nay declare – my highly-reactive nature]; with the help of a Venti Latte and an oatmeal raisin cookie at the Barnes & Noble of my choosing [forking $6:30 with tax for 4 days now; book only costs about 20 bucks]. He, preceded by two girls who were in deep conversation, was walking up my way. This was around 5:30 pm near west-lake union station. Peak hour, that is! Cars were honking. Traffic lights were blinking at the speed of their “disco club” brethren. And buses were laboring under their weight as well as the tight schedule they gotta meet.
There were men on bicycles, with their tight jerseyed-bottom impatiently in midair; and women on bicycles, fidgeting with the strap on their helmet, or the hair inside it. Valets infront of building doors, clad in their warm jackets, were chatting up smokers who are taking a leisurely break by a trash can. And manikins, lifeless and ammicably-dressed, were striking impressive poses from shop windows. Seattleites were comfortably spread out outside cafe-umbrellas, either tapping at their phones or talking about their boyfriends [“my boyfriend” is at the top on the list of most commonly-used phrases in Downtown Seattle. It almost always comes from two young women, 24-38, on or from their way to lunch. It’s said in a shrill-voice that would scald the back of your ears if it was able to occupy space and would chase you mercilessly down the street unless you dodged into the next street or slowed down and let it pass]. Bums were trying to do what bums always do, bum cigarettes off of strangers who are more likely to give it for free. The occasional street singer was drumming/plucking/blowing at some instrument with a sharp eye at his collection bag. And cackling Asian tourists were busy snapping a photo at everything standing – and moving.
The world was at peace in its rhythmic chaos , tired yet exhilarated at having accomplished something, and heading towards something else more rewarding.. with the brave smile of a mother looking proudly at a party she slaved over for days, patiently waiting for the moment she can retire to her bed/her home/her creator. Life was a melancholic .. melodious buzz, a buzz only interrupted by the rude sirens from parking lots alerting pedestrians to the advent of a car; and a monotone “Warning.Vehicle.Approaching”.
Everybody, even those strolling with their hands in their pockets, was trying to get out of the bustle and get to where they were going except — for — this geek. He was in a hurry, sure. In an extreme rush. Weaving in and out of groups of walkers like his body was made of something elastic. As if here was the fire, and there the man fleeing it. A ticking landmine under his feet. So blind was his determination to get ahead that I jumped out of his way when he almost slammed into me. I looked back, to give him a well-deserved dirty look. That is when I realized the subject of his rush wasn’t fire, or someone who has been ditching his calls after borrowing his money or even a bus-pulling out of the station. It was one of the girls that was heading my way earlier, the one with a jet black hair and yellow dress. All that energy, all that hunger, all that perked-up attention of a dog’s when sensing danger; all that body-slamming, ducking trash cans and endangering my front teeth was to confirm if she was as hot as she appeared from behind.
A healthy man, upon making this observation, would have laughed uproarisoly while hitting the side of his thighs. A healthy woman would have done a double-take on the girl, to see if she was somebody whose back should be viewed with hostility. Not to moi. This guy looked so disgusting and stupid, a revolting reminder of America’s image-based culture, that I almost throw up in my mouth every time I remember his leery face. The situation also made me think, and ponder. That, perhaps, despite its connotation of smart-ass and individuality; a geek may be like every other dog (just one who spends more of his time with his tail between his legs). They dream of the same girls the air-headed basketball Captain fucks. Only in a geek’s case, he masturbates to her because he isn’t man enough to stick it in her [BURN!!]. There are, ofcourse, exceptions to this rule [of where a geek can stick it into a hot girl].
1. Movies [an industry entirely peopled with geeks]
2. Superbowl Commericals [commercials that try to stand out by being as gross as they can]
3. Asian girls.
In the case of Asian girls, all a geek has gotta do [to stick it into a hot girl] is ask. Again, looking at you Zuckerberg!
So next time we are standing around a school-yard fight between a geek and the big dude who has locked the geek’s neck in his arms, and you are tallying who was cheering for who, you just might find me rooting for the jock, the handsome.unpretentious.dummy.
Entry filed under: Latest Posts.