http://blogcritics.org/ A sinister cabal of superior bloggers on music, books, film, popular culture, politics, and technology - updated continuously. en Copyright 2005 by the authors Fri, 12 Mar 2004 00:36:32 EST http://backend.userland.com/rss Blogcritics.org custom software http://blogcritics.org/archives/2004/03/11/200248.php#comment-50514 When I was a kid, I always thought I was the only one who liked to play "office". All my brother's friends (I claimed them as my friends because I had none of my own) were either playing ball or playing doctor, but because I didn't dare risk a "hostile work environment", I couldn't even play "office" and "doctor" at the same time. I set up a desk with every important-looking piece of gear I could find (an abacus, some papayrus, and an antique rolodex). I sat behind my bed...I mean desk making deals, checking on shipments, and charting my profits. See CW, you weren't the only weirdo on the block. I have gotten some measure of revenge I suppose on all of those who always chose "the fat kid" last for anything related to sports (which would include anything not associated with spelling or scientific factoids). I have two sons and I coach little league (that would be baseball Curt). I always find the cocky jocky and force him to play right-field (that's a position on the ballfield Curt) and put the nerd on first base (that would be somewhere you "get to" on a date Curt). Of course the nerd always ends up getting hit in the nose with a ball and the self-proclaimed EMT in the group of parents yells "Everyone stand back, we've got a bleeder here!" So I have probably queued the kid up for another round of wedgies and swirlies, but it's the circle of life I suppose. The really scary part is that one of my sons seems to have this gene mutation as well. He is nine years old and always spends his allowances on anything that "looks important". He bought a label maker, a laser tape measure, any number of calculators, calculators that look like PDA's, watches, watches that look like PDA's, and an endless variety of cell phones. Of course the cell phones were filled with candy, but they made some important sounding sounds. I shove a bat in is hands and he looks at it as if he were trying to calculate the weight of the thing by using the atomic weight of Aluminum. I want to protect him from being....well, from being me. From having to suffer the ridicule of others. To keep him from growing up to be a "freak". But, I know it is like spitting in the wind, I will only end up wet and sticky, and nobody will want to touch me. Of course, in the final analysis, I suppose it takes a geek to actually do the final analysis. 50514@blogcritics.org Fri, 12 Mar 2004 00:36:32 EST