If You Belonged Here

Nerdy-Geek Club

There is no secret handshake in the Nerdy-Geek Club. Not that I haven't considered initiating one. But in the end, I had to rule against it. Because I am not a dork, just a nerdy-geek girl.

Nerdy-Geeks are a hybrid. We aren't complete nerds: we sometimes lie about doing the required reading and we know what makes a joke funny. But we aren't geeks either; mostly because we have human-on-human sex and we use soap on a daily basis.

We are in a league of our own, often undetected, or perceived as normal, in mainstream society. But we are always obvious in a game of Trivial Pursuit. You want us on your team. Because we know all the answers. So much so, that you'll begin to suspect that we study the cards when we're sitting home alone on a Friday night.

Let me reassure you: we do not study the cards and we are not sitting at home alone. We watch Battlestar Galactica with our nerdy-geek partners every Sci Fi Friday at 10/9 C. Only kidding. The season just ended and even if it were still going, we TiVo. Commercials are for dorks.

Back to Trivial Pursuit. Nerdy-geeks don't have to study the cards. While other kids were busy sleeping, we were actually paying attention in school. We couldn't help it. We are hardwired to glean information because someday, potentially, it might be relevent. Plus we sat out of gym class a lot. We used that time to catch up on our enrichment reading. We watched Masterpiece Theatre and Mystery Science Theater; NOVA and MTV; National Geographic and the X-Files; This Old House and House Party. We thought Murder She Wrote was a hoot. And we never, ever missed an episode of Mr. Wizard. Until we discovered necking.

But back to Trivial Pursuit. You might stump us on the Sports questions, but you'll never beat us in Science & Nature. And the truth is, you might not stump us on the sports questions, especially if they are rules or equipment related. Because nerdy-geeks know that a discus has nothing to do with skeet and that skeet is actually slang for a lot of naughty things that have nothing to do with shooting clay.

We don't always know why we know these things. We just do.

We absorb information like sponges. Maybe we were waiting for an oil change and there was nothing to read but Sports Illustrated and Maxim. Maybe we were at the dentist office and there was nothing to read but the latest study on gingivitas and heart disease. Maybe we were sitting on the throne at our Nana's and there was nothing to read but Yankee Magazine. Or maybe it was the tabloid covers at the grocery store check out. Whatever it was, we read it, and for some reason we cannot explain, every single factoid we came across got a permanent file in our brains, right next to the words of "It's the End of the World as We Know It."

But we also know what the new black is: black (anyone who says otherwise is making a terrible mistake). And that no one looks good in skinny jeans, not even Kate Moss. And Grey Goose is for suckas with more money than common sense.

And while we've been to geek heaven E3 and Comicon, we didn't wear costumes. We saved the costumes for Mardi Gras and Burning Man.

I don't have a definitive list of types that tend toward nerdy-geekness but if I were to guess, and that's what I'm doing right now, I'd have to say: INTJ, INTP, INFJ, INFP, ENTJ, ENTP. Other than that, you'll have to petition to get into my club. I'll review pledges on a case-by-case basis. Be prepared to defend your argument, and remember that just because you're smart, you have a sparkling personality, and I maybe like you doesn't mean you are a nerdy-geek. Although that sure does help.

P.S. We nerdy-geeks are also very good at Balderdash, Taboo, and Cranium. You should choose us first. But not all the time. For instance, being a nerdy-geek in no way enhances dodgeball performance; however, some nerdy-geeks have crazy dodgeball skills. Just not me.

P.P.S. You knew there had to be something I'm not good at.

MirrorMask

I recently, courtesy of Netflix, saw the movie "MirrorMask," which seems to be the modern take on "Labyrinth." Only no David Bowie, no teenage Jennifer Connelly, no baby, and no plot that I could discern. Otherwise, the movie was perfect. Except for when it was creepy.

Now maybe you don't know how much I love surrealism, especially when it incorporates creepy musical numbers, but apparently I do, because while I cannot say that I enjoyed this movie, I sure as heck appreciated it. I say appreciated because I'm pretty sure "MirrorMask" qualifies as art. The main criteria being that I didn't understand it. At least not well enough to explain it.

Which probably makes you wonder why I'm writing a review. Well, let me enlighten you. I'm not writing a review. Go ahead, check the category. This post falls squarely in the "What the Heck?" department. Right along with "Lost in Translation" (what did he say to her?) and "Schindler's List" (so Liam Neeson was Schindler, right? and you're sure he was a good guy?).

I watch these movies with the description sleeve in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. I keep my eyes on the clock. If the movie is 120 minutes long and I'm still waiting for something to happen at 76 minutes, I relax because I have my answer. Nothing is going to happen. We are watching a film, not a movie, and we are not meant to understand or enjoy it. We are in it for the experience.

Which is how Mr. Poppins got me to sit through "The English Patient" without falling asleep. And "THX 1138." Coincidently, Mr. Poppins and I have had many a rousing debate because I, quite unintentionally, pronounce the title "The English Patient" as "The English, Patient" because clearly, in my mind, the movie is about English people being patient. Very patient.

More patient, even, than Mr. Poppins. And there are a number of people who think he is so patient that he must be a cyborg.

Now I got most of the movies on this amazon reviewer's "movies people don't get list", including "Being John Malkovich," "Snatch," "Memento," and "Gattaca." I found "Fight Club" and "Edward Scissorhands" so entirely get-able that the only thing I don't get is how they made this list. And if I think about it really hard, I can get "MirrorMask," "Lost in Translation," and even "Schinder's List." What I don't get is why these movies were so long. Well, I get "Lost in Translation" being long; that tied directly into the theme, but the other two? Come on. They were long, long, long. For no reason. And they didn't just feel long. Look at the time stamps. They really were long. Not that it posed much of a problem, since at any given moment I could get up to get a snack or go to the bathroom without hitting pause and be sure I wouldn't miss a plot point.

"MirrorMask" is visually stunning. The new Connelly, aka Stephanie Leonidas, who plays the questing teenage Helena, is an extraordinarly talented young actress. I got her, even when I didn't get anything else. And, I cannot believe I am saying this, she is at least as pretty as Connelly was in "Labyrinth." But that is not the point.

There is no point. Unless the point is that the movies I find the most memorable, are the ones that I don't necessarily get at the time. For some reason, days-weeks-months-even years can pass, and I remember those movies and how I felt when I watched them:

Being John Malkovitch=cheeky sweet
Fight Club=disillisionment
Gattaca=paranoia
Lost in Translation=ennui, then hope
Memento=confusion
MirrorMask=wonder
Schindler's List=dread
Snatch=rollercoaster
The English Patient=longing
THX 1138=alienation

Which probably means something. It'll just take a few years to figure it out. Kind of like "Schindler's List."

Put on the Bad Guy Hat

Most people prefer to be the good guy. I got over it.

I'm not advocating being a jerk. Far from it. Just don't be nice. Sometimes the kindest, most decent thing you can do for someone you never want to see again is to give them a justifiable reason to hate you. Consider it a parting gift.

Do something daring: accept the blame. Give up the moral high ground.

Repeat after me: it is finished.

It will hurt. But the reality is, it won't hurt you. Sticking around out of pity on the other hand, that's not just bad for your soul, it could murder your self-respect, and be about as pretty as a cat in a blender. News Flash: the injured party will still hate you in the morning. Or even worse still, you'll still be there in the morning.

Ack.

Let's face it, if matter can neither be created nor destroyed, neither can grief, and someone has to be the one to cry. No matter what, when you're the one who wants to call it quits, that someone isn't going to be you.

So put on the bad guy hat. You might be surprised to find that it fits. Try it. Just tell yourself, "okay, I'm the jerk, whatever, but this Band Aid is coming off" and take that mighty tug, armhair be damned.

In other words: get it over with.

When all is said and done, your overwhelming feeling will not be guilt. I promise. You will feel relief. Especially if you end the "it's not me, it's you" conversation with stern instructions about no further contact and explain the legal definition of stalking.

I can hear what you're thinking: But, Polly, someone out there in the world will hate me.

Really? My heart beats peanut butter for you.

You're the bad guy, remember? You don't care. Someone still hates you because of something you did in junior high. And if no one hates you from junior high, then you probably owe the universe a wedgy or two. You're all paid up, take your freebie now. [On the other hand, if you got through junior high on a wave of unconditional love, well, consider that wave crested because the rest of us not only hate you, but we resent you, too.]

What's one more enemy?

Everyone looks good in a black hat. Even chinless hicks. And don't give me a bunch of hoot-n-holler about not owning a black cowboy hat. It's a metaphor. There is no need for a literal hat. Just gird your loins and resolve that you will break a heart. Don't get weepy. That heart will mend. Probably with your best friend.

Seriously.

The bad guy hat isn't something you need to wear every day. As a matter of fact, you can keep it on a shelf in the darkest corner of your closet, right next to the Kangol you thought was a good idea in 1985. Because, like the Kangol, you never know when it will be a good look again.

Just don't let it get too dusty. I recommend storing it in sterilite. And, remember, the bad guy hat is not a bride's maid dress, you really can wear it for more than just the one occasion. Try it at work, with your family, or in church. You might be surprised at its versatility.

Some might say that I'm a cold-hearted bitch woman. I choose to believe that by putting on the bad guy hat, I'm just being the change I want to see in the world.