When in Doubt: Nerd Out!

I am a nerd.

I’ve come to the point in my life where I no longer apologize or am embarrassed by the fact that I carry emotional attachments to fictional worlds, whether by the page or the screen. I find it aggravating and condescending that others take my enjoyment in my fandoms as either an insult or unimportant.

And those that are fans of sports, athletic teams, or music artists, are able to proudly able to wear the symbols and emblems of their particular interest without derision or detriment. And yet those like myself, who connect with a book, characters, a fictional existence are assumed to be some sort of basement dwelling, dysfunctional,socially inept creatures to be patted on the head like a errant child that’s covered in something gross.

Let me tell you something about the modern member of a fandom. Some of the pilots, engineers, astronauts that cruise the skies and explore the stars grew up watching “Star Trek” and wanted to make that a world a reality. The tech, the ideals. Science fiction made fact.

Presidents, politicians, athletes growing up, running down to the corner store to pick up the newest copy of their favorite comic book. The Supermen of yesterday’s Halloween are the quarterbacks, drivers, runners of tomorrow.

The “morphin time” mascots become the martial artists of today.

That nerd you made fun of as a child that played with computers could probably rewrite your identity into the biggest criminal in history, or themselves into a digital god. The action figure carrying child becomes the Armed Forces member that fights for your existence.

A fan is a fan is a fan, whether it’s NASCAR, anime, or the Aquabats. So if you are a nerd, a geek, or a dork, flaunt it. So is everyone else: all those people rocking Bulls jerseys, NWA hats, or Monster Truck models, their fandom is not more important than yours, nor yours theirs. Fandom is universal, and historical and enduring.

Instead of focusing on the differences between them, find the common ground. It’s there. All of us are trying to find a unique truth in this world, about the world within ourselves, and the sooner we come together as fans, the faster we can make the changes that make the differences obsolete.



Freshman Finale: Year’s End


As the wind up begins, getting ready for final exams, I thought I’d take some time out to reflect on the past year.  I have to do an essay doing the same thing for English anyway.

Coming to the end of my freshman year, I look back with no small amount of amazement that I’ve come this far.  In the beginning, the time seems so long, and yet at the end, the opposite is true.  Am I a different person from the beginning of the year?  I’ve never been good at gauging the changes within myself, so an outside opinion would be necessary.

I’m not always good with change, even if it is for my benefit,  but then again, who is?  Every new step is met with trepidation, and the realization that what once was will never be again, and what is coming isn’t approaching at the speed I think it is.

I look back on the year with a sense of accomplishment, acknowledging that I’ve come farther than imagined, and yet I know I still have much farther to go.  The question of will I make is one that I’m ignoring, because the real question becomes: do I want to?  Do I have what it takes to reach some ambiguous goal that won’t seem real until I’m there?  Can I push myself to keep going, and not quit, trying to take the easy way out, because the only one I can depend on to keep me on track is me?

Going back to where I was is not an option.  As much as I might think I’ve grown, I’m not sure I’ve grown enough, that I’m in the place I’m supposed to be.  But then again, as the saying goes, “You can’t go home again.”


Do you believe in fate?


This was a plinky prompt last week pertaining to this, but I felt this is one better suited here.  I think Plinky is good for quick answers, but I needed to expand on this.

I think that most people are of two minds as to whether or not they believe in it.

On the one hand, there is the hope of a grand plan ofr us, that we aren’t arbitrary and our existence isn’t an accident or fluke.  That we are meant to be more than what we are.  The ancient Greeks believe that their fate was in the hands of three sisters, the Fates who controlled the destiny of all, gods and mortals alike.  There are some that believe in the existence in the Akashic Records, where the history of the world and humanity is stored, and souls write out the journey of their own lives before descend to earth for their births. There is also the possibility that when our lives go horribly wrong at certain turns, we have someone outside of ourselves for which to blame.  It leaves us with a lessened responsibility as to our mistakes and issues.

On the other hand, the thought that someone other than us is in charge of our lives is abhorrent, something that we would refuse to accept, and go out of our way to oppose and rebel against an authority that we cannot contact or reason with.  It has long been in our history to reject those with power over us, dictating our lives for us without our consent or input.  We will not be made slaves of others’ whims, whether or not we know they are there.

So the question remains: do I believe in fate?

As with most things, I’m on the fence.  Control of my own life has long been in issue with me, and now is no different.  But the possibility of being more, of being extraordinary in some way, is something dreams are made of.  Then most of the television and movie entertainment that enraptures us is built on the premise of an old Chinese cure: “May you live interesting lives.”

Into the Doldrums: Early semester blues

I’ve officially hit the plateau in the semester where I’m raring for some kind of break.  That fact that I’m not doing as well as I want to on some of my course just compounds this feeling.

I keeping asking myself the same question, “Is it worth it?  Do I really want this?”  Going for a computer science bachelor’s degree is no joke, and some of my gen eds are kicking my ass.  Like Pre-calculus.  I haven’t this bad in a math class since my freshman year of high school.

Working with computers was so easy in high school, but then again, I was only messing around with the physical components, and less with the programming interface.  I could use programs, now I’m working through the building blocks of making programs.

So is it worth it?  The hours of feeling like beating my head against the wall because I don’t really feel like I’m accomplishing anything in my current state.  But the end result is worth it.  And I’m tired of feeling like a failure, or a quitter.  The two things that I accomplished, graduating high school, and being discharged from the army with full benefits, I managed by the skin of my teeth, emotionally, mentally, and in the army’s case, physically.

I’m tired.  Tired of taking the easy way out, of accomplishing nothing.  I want to do so much, but feel I can do so little.  So I stay on the hard path, through the sweat and tears, the frustration and pain, to accomplish what I want.

I’m going to hold on, and try my damnedest not to let go.

It’s worth it.

My Favorite Music


I tend to have a very eclectic mix of music that I listen to on my mp3 player, and have multiple playlists on various internet radio stations.

Sometimes during the day, I’ll have a music craving, and there might be a specific genre or artist or song that I want to listen to, or if I’ve found something new that I want to explore.

My varying taste tend to run towards where I am, who I am around, or what my mood is.

Powered by Plinky

In a rut: Posting Writer’s block

I’m pretty much at the point where I feel I should start posting  stories and poems from my other profiles cause I don’t know what I want to write on a day to day basis.  After I get home from school, I barely have the energy and attention span to get my homework done,  much less blog.  For the most part, I don’t feel like I have much to talk about, unless there’s a holiday or event or I’m going somewhere new.  Mostly I feel that most of my conversations with people consist of me bitching about something.

That thing, the little suggestion box that you get AFTER you post should be put before, or have as a standard part of the dashboard.  I don’t want to rehash reviews of stuff  like movies and tv shows that are wicked popular, and my reviews are kind of weak because I’m not willing to write spoilers.  Anything really relevant to my everyday family life is discussed face to face with the relevant people.  As much I want to share, I’m still a paranoid, private person.  I need a kick in the ass, a jump start, otherwise my lazy habits automatically click into place.

I have an almost insatiable thirst for knowledge, but have a tendency to overwhelm myself with information that I seem to think is necessary in order to verify opinions one way or the other.  I probably have close to a hundred books on magick, Wicca, the occult, and paganism.  Have I head even half of them?  Not even close, I don’t think I’ve made it even a tenth of the way through all the reference books I just HAD to have.  This writer’s and reader’s block I have just seems emphasize my lack of effort on stories that I’ve been working on for years, both fanfiction and original.  I just can’t seem to win.


Living Single: Deal with It!

I apologize for not posting sooner, but between going four days without power and the first week of school, at most all I’ve felt like doing is crawling into bed and sleeping.  Being stressed and being bored don’t go together well for me.  I actually started to clean up my room, and rearranged my furniture!  If you know me, you know I hate cleaning, especially after four years in the Army.

Anyways, onto my rant for the day.

I’m sick and tired of people asking me when I’m going to get a boyfriend, especially since it’s none of their damn business.  I’ll get one if and when I feel like it!  Why is it your issue?  It’s my life!  And for the record, I don’t need well meaning friends and family trying to set me up.  I love you guys dearly, but quit it!  I’m starting school, let me focus on that.  I don’t need the extra stress of dating right now.

Would I like to be with someone? Yes.  I would absolutely love to fall in love, but can’t I do it on my own time?  I have things I need to work through before I can even come close to being in that head space.  Those that know, I hope, understand.  I’m not looking for a boyfriend right now.  But how about a friend.  I can use a friend.  Not a FWB.  Just a friend.  I want to get settled in school, get into the swing of things.  I have enough upheaval in my life.  What can I say; I’m Murphy’s bitch.

So for now, I’m living the single life, not looking for trouble.  But it does seem to find me.  Unfortunately, it’s got my home address.

The Waiting Game: Countdown to Destruction

When it comes to bad weather, the worst part of it isn’t always the aftermath, it’s the lead-up. When you enough forewarning, the time it takes for the event to arrive can be nerve-racking. It isn’t like the movies, where the people get a warning only five minutes out, when it’s too late to do anything but run and hide. In reality, you have every TV channel that has a weather team, ready to be the first to report some sort of impending disaster. The further out the warning, the longer the the hysteria has to build. Waiting for the other shoe to drop is exhausting. I have no experience with hurricanes, so I am undecided as to whether or not I should panic. Then again, I have enough people doing that for me. Usually, when I panic, nothing happens, and vice versa. On the other hand, I seem to be Murphy’s puppet, so I think for now, I’ll just go with the flow.

Feeling Hooah: Independence Day Thoughts

For those of you that don’t know, “HOOAH” is an exclamation used by soldiers.  It has multiple meanings, depending on tone and volume.  The other branches  of the Armed Forces have variations of this phrase.

Feeling Hooah is being intrinsically attuned to the spirit of the Army.  It’s an overwhelming dedication to our country, our family, both within and out of the service, and our struggle for freedom.  At least that’s how I’ve always understood it.  The days that I felt this was Memorial Day and Independence Day.

It still comes as a surprise for me whenever I get that “Thank you for serving.”  The first time I got it, I was sitting in the Bradley Airport, waiting for my flight back to Basic Training.  I was coming off of Emergency Leave, and was in uniform, as was required by the Army for basic trainees.  I got at least three thank you’s, and I sat there baffled.  I hadn’t done anything important yet, at least not in my mind.  I hadn’t deployed, gone to some special post, gotten awarded by some high ranking officer.  I was just a lowly private that had just left her father’s funeral, counting the days till graduation.  Even now, a year out since I left active duty, and I get that thanks, and I still wonder what I did.  I was doing a job, staring at a computer screen, typing.  My impact was minimal.

Only not so much.  Here’s an interesting fact: Only 19% of population of our country joins the military.  That’s all five branches, Army, Marines, Air Force, Navy and Coast Guard.  That’s not 19% for each branch.  That’s TOTAL!  So barely 1/5 of the population is willing to do what the rest can’t or won’t do.  That kind seems like a shame.

Which brings me to support of the military.  These are normal people doing their job, doing something you aren’t willing to do.

Things like this pisses me off.

For those unaware, this is one the photos from an anti-gay protest at fallen soldiers’ funerals in 2006.  This is a level of disrespect that is unconscionable and indecent.  Doing this at a funeral is abhorrent and despicable.  These people have lost a loved one, and you’re trying to turn their grief into a farcical circus.

I don’t do politics.  I’m neither Republican, Democratic, or any other Party.  I pick whatever person that I feel is best for the job. I don’t care if you’re left, right, upside down, whatever.  You have your opinions.  That is your right.  A right that you have thanks to the soldiers, marines, airmen, and seamen that have died in defense of our country from the beginning of our government to now.  And guess what people, there are people you know that you know or knew that are or have served.  Friends, family, teachers, mentors, colleagues, pilots, doctors, police, firemen, mechanics, drivers, bosses, there’s a veteran near you that you might not know about.

These demonstrations are a fundamental disrespect for everything this nation was created for.  If you’re going to do this, you might as well start burning flags, rip to shreds the Constitution, take a piss in Arlington, use the Declaration as toilet paper, melt down the Liberty Bell, sink the Statue, and reinstate the monarchy.  Our founders fled to this land to escape persecution.  I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them drove stick.  I fully support gays serving openly in the military.  They’re willing to fight and die for your country and and you not, so get your head out of your ass and support them.  You may not respect them, but respect their job, their sacrifice, their patriotism.  They’re not going away, so deal with it.

The Living Years: Father’s Day Thoughts

Every generation

Blames the one before

And all of their frustrations

Come beating on your door


This is the song that goes through my head when I think about my father, before, and especially after he passed away almost 5 years ago.   He was never one to recognize holidays, whether personal or societal.  There just seemed to be a chasm of misunderstanding, with no hope of reconciling where the other is coming from.  Not that I was allowed to have an opinion that conflicted with his.  For so many years, I couldn’t wrap my head around his thought process, the conclusions that he’d come to, or his responses to the world around him.


I know that I’m a prisoner

To all my Father held so dear

I know that I’m a hostage

To all his hopes and fears

I just wish I could have told him in the living years


I look back at my adolescence, and can’t help but wonder where I dodged a bullet, even though at the time I felt like I was in front of a firing squad.  My father grew up in a radically different age than I did, and tried to prepare me for the world he grew up in, except that the existence that he knew had changed.  Reaching adulthood in the height of the Civil Rights conflict, and entering the Armed Services, he was buffeted by forces he had no control over, judged by his skin color, and battling his own inner demons that he denied the existence of, he struggled in a world where your color determined not only your future, but your children’s future as well.


Crumpled bits of paper

Filled with imperfect thoughts

Stilted conversations

I’m afraid that’s all we’ve got


I avoided conversation with him, not as a denial of his experiences, but rather as a way to deflect the bitterness they had left in him along with his own self-hatred.  I’d listen to his stories of places he’d been, and people he’d known.  I’m not talking ordinary people that you might meet at the gas station in your local town.  Famous people he’d said he’d met.  But that makes no difference, I didn’t want to know why he was the way he was.  Not until later.  Not until later.


You say you just don’t see it

He says it’s perfect sense

You just can’t get agreement

In this present tense

We all talk a different language

Talkin’ in defense


He was unable to understand how I could automatically seem to trust someone I was friends with, and I was unable to comprehend not seeing anything good in those I surround myself with, including my family.  I heard many diatribes against relatives, groups, individuals for mistakes they’ve made, negative actions, or just general malevolence.  I’ve never been able to understand that level of hatred with no recourse to back it up.  My experiences are not his, and neither are my expectations, despite his better efforts.


Say it loud, say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It’s too late when we die

To admit we don’t see eye to eye

So we open up a quarrel

Between the present and the past

We only sacrifice the future

It’s the bitterness that lasts

So don’t yield to the fortunes

You sometimes see as fate

It may have a new perspective

On a different date

And if you don’t give up, and don’t give in

You may just be O.K.

Say it loud, say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It’s too late when we die

To admit we don’t see eye to eye

I wasn’t there that morning

When my Father passed away

I didn’t get to tell him

All the things I had to say

I think I caught his spirit

Later that same year

I’m sure I heard his echo

In my baby’s new born tears

I just wish I could have told him in the living years


I was in Basic Training, counting down the days to graduation, when my dad would drive down to see me, when I got the phone call.  I’d had a lot of conflicting emotions over the years about my father, but in the end I loved him, and I miss having a father, even if my father didn’t always do what was best for me as I would see it, he did what he thought was bet to protect me.

A month or two later, my brother tells me he’s going to be a father.  We joked about which gender would determine which side of karma this would fall on.  I wasn’t worried for a second about him as a father.  There was no doubt in my mind that what ever child he had would be raised well, and completely opposite of the head space that my father generated with us.  This was a consensus among siblings and in-laws that shared similar experiences.

I can only be thankful for the fathers in my family, and those that aren’t, who won’t let any detriments that have placed in their lives prevent them from raising children free of the burdens and pain that they were subjected to, and take their responsibilities well in hand.

Happy Father’s Day.


Say it loud, say it clear

You can listen as well as you hear

It’s too late when we die

To admit we don’t see eye to eye

Say it loud, say it clear

Say it loud

Don’t give up

Don’t give in

And don’t know what you can do next