Geek Love

There’s no such thing as a fake nerd, or geek, or even just a fan. You know why? Because you can’t fake love.

There are few photos in my archive I love more than this one. It’s not because I think I look great or because it was taken by one of my favorite photographers; it’s because these kids were so excited to merely be in my presence. And instead of instantly seeing the 20 extra pounds and adult acne of days past, I see the joy in their eyes and remember how enthusiastic they were to meet a complete stranger who simply wanted to dress like someone both she and they admired.

I was Lara Croft that day. The costume wasn’t anything special, just a simple riff off Angie’s movie stills. I knew some of the hardcore VG fans would glare a hole right through me, but I didn’t care. I was there to have fun with my friend for her birthday and to get a chance to wander around as a pretend badass all day.

As I suspected, there was a group of “real nerds” who scoffed at my get-up, but there were always many more accommodating folks to jump into a group photo with or give a knowing glance toward. These welcoming people are the ones I call my own, the geeks and nerds and oddballs who just want to have fun doing what they do and loving what they love. I was mostly content, enjoying the frenzy of energy around me.

So as I passed by a delightful version of VG Lara and smiled at her, I was pretty caught off guard when she made what I imagine is her “vomiting violently into a dirty toilet” face before turning her eyes elsewhere. I was about 10 seconds away from getting angry, cursing this small but pointed group of people for ruining my day! For ruining a fun time, for ruining so many others’ day, for RUINING EVERYTHING! ...

… When the cutest little boys (they’re probably 30 – I have no age-o-meter) I’ve ever seen came barreling towards me, their eyes filled with a fire I can still recall three years later. The first to reach me squealed a little and sputtered out “CAN I HUG YOU?!”

I laughed.

“Of course!”

He gingerly put his arms around me before going full nerd-hug and squeezing ‘til his con sweat had thoroughly drenched me. His friends all asked the same question before also asking if they could have photos taken with me. I tried to pose in character, but it was impossible to wipe the smile from my face. They were so undeniably happy, and I had brought them that joy in way no one else could. That feeling is one I haven’t had often since, but one I’ve never forgotten.

What I felt that day is what I’ve come to realize is what I want my life to be all the time. I want to be among my people, whoever they are, and give them that feeling again. I want to make a living making other people happy, arriving in a room, and just hugging them until they feel like they’re okay to let go again. And I don’t want those precious people or myself or anyone I’ve yet to meet feel alienation ever again from a group they thought they were safe with.

I don’t know how I’m going to do it, but I do know I’m gonna… and I’m gonna soon.

(All photos by the fabulous Dawen Huang)

An Open Letter to J.J. Abrams

J.J.,

Dude. Dude. Seriously, dude. DUDE! You're directing the next movie in the Star Wars saga!!!! YOU, one of about only three auteurs I can imagine doing justice to this saga, are the chosen one. You will bring balance to the film force.... or something equally punny like that.

I'm gonna be honest: The (rather large) section of my brain dedicated to this epic story has been all kinds of imbalanced since the most shocking transfer of hands occurred. But when I heard word that the directing baton had been passed to you, I finally stopped holding my breath and even did a little bit of a leap-scream kind of thing.

circa 2010, bangs no longer included

See, not only do I love you thanks to an endless list of things, including but not limited to Lost and your most epic revival of Star Trek, but I adore the O.G. Star Wars trilogy. This marriage is a perfect one, at least for this J.J./SW fangirl.

That being said, hear me out: hire me. I mean, really... hire the shit out of me. I've been trying to write you this ridiculous open letter for almost two weeks, scrambling to come up with the most dazzling of traits I behold, but I am too flustered to even begin to illustrate my encyclopedic knowledge of pop culture or my penchant for hamming it up.

Look, bro. You seem like a man who can take a lady at her word. In the essence of saving us time, and sparing you having to listen to some cookie-cutter song and dance about my "acting experience" and my "writing abilities," let's just work on making Episode VII the masterpiece we both know it can be. I'm contract ready.

Don't worry about having something for me to do. I'm up for whatever task, even flying the (hopefully not defunct at this point in the storyline) Millenium Falcon for twelve parsecs. I'm also willing to take a google or a gaggle of acting classes, whichever you deem most suitable for me. I'll hold a boom or 50. Hell, I'll even bring every last cast and crew member coffee or blue milk. JUST DON'T LEAVE A JEDI KNIGHT BEHIND, BROTHER! Together, we can bring balance to the force.

And maybe, just maybe, I'll let you take a little peek at my Star Wars themed screenplay in process. But hey, we'll get to that.

With all my love and Jedi mind tricks,

Rachel "This IS the droid you're looking for" Noel

Happy Birthday, Baby!

John Clayton Mayer, love of my life, you are the ripe age of 35 today. Well, yesterday, but I wrote this in my brain well before the clock struck midnight.

Not only are you a fox, like a "I'd let my head hit the bed withOUT your hand behind it" fox, but you have gotten me through every break-up in my entire 25 years. Without fail, you have released an album that exactly coincides with the particular brand of heartbreak I'm sipping at that precise moment. You saved me from a lot of dark nights.

A lot of people don't appreciate you, but you know I always will, baby. You're not too poppy like a lot of folks tend to say, despite that really fucking weird "Say" song you put out, but we all make mistakes. You're not the bad guy people make you out to be, because if anyone actually listened to songs like "I Don't Trust Myself (With Loving You)," "My Stupid Mouth," or hell, even "Daughters," they would say "Oh, yeah, maybe that guy has some issues like we all do, but at least he's honest about them." Th'fuck's wrong with honesty?

Oh, and did I mention you play a mean guitar? CAN WE TALK ABOUT THE SHIT THAT GOES ON IN "OUT OF MY MIND?" IT IS UNPARALLELED, BABE. UNPARALLELED!

So thanks. Thanks for the mean pickin', the soulful singing. Thanks for "Room for Squares," then "Where the Light Is," then "Battle Studies," now "Born & Raised," and all the others in between. They all did, and still do, get me through the worst and the best moments of my life.

Oh, and how could I ever wish you the happiest of 35ths without mentioning the fateful night I climbed my way to your platform as you were playing "Why, Georgia?" I somehow eluded security and used the heads of two strange men as my stabilizers. I probably made sure the girls were lookin' mighty fine, and then I looked up, right into your eyes, BEGGING you to look at me. You scanned the crowd, looked into my eyes, kept moving, MY HEART WAS BROKEN, but then... then you did a damn DOUBLE-TAKE and stared at me as you sang "Everybody is just a stranger, but that's the danger in going my own way." And then you held that gaze until some floozy threw her bra at you, and we all laughed, me out of psychotic anger that my MOMENT, my time with you was gone.

That bitch. Still love you anyway, boo. THANKS FOR THE MUSIC!

Unapologetic Fangirl

“I don’t believe in guilty pleasures, I believe you should be able to like what you like. If you a like a fucking Ke$ha song, listen to fucking Ke$ha.” -- Dave Grohl

As I grow older, I find it harder to hide the things I love. I also find it harder to justify those things to other people. Yes, I like to watch Keeping Up with the Kardashians when no one's around. Why, of course I read Tori Spelling's books and weep over them. Yeah, I probably do have an unhealthy obsession and identification with Girls. WHAT'S IT TO YOU, WHOREBISCUIT?

Yesterday I probably would have said, "Well, it's really just a guilty pleasure and I know it's bad and blah, blah, fucking BLAH." Today I say, to hell with that. I am who I am, and that's a fangirl who fangirls about a lot of shit. Like shit that doesn't even make sense for one entity to be equally obsessive over.

This brings on this whole other level of justification. "I mean yeah, I do love Star Wars, but I also really love crafting, and I mean I totally enjoy fashion, but I am like crazy in lust with outdoor adventuring!!!!~*"

I'm throwing that bi-polar rationalization out the window, too. I don't have to explain why I like what I like, and I certainly don't have to explain the complexities of the human mind, and maybe, JUST MAYBE, that's why I like things that are on completely different ends of the Kinsey scale of fandom. I'm just tired of that judgmental, bulgy side-eye thing. Don't judge me for what I like, bro, at least not enough to make you a dick. Be polite judge-y Southern about it.

You don't have to love what I love. God knows I don't love everything in your trunk o' stuff n' things. Let me listen to my Carly Rae Jepsen in peace while I drink warm tea out of my Simon Pegg mug.

Fandom collage anyone? No? Too late...

I'm just a Simon Pegg lovin', Angie worshipping, comedy slave who loves fashion, the South, Star Wars, New York City, decorating, crafting, a little reality TV, and drinking my mimosas heavy on the champagne side.

It's okay that I am a clusterfuck of different compulsions... you are too.

What are your biggest fandoms? I haven't even scratched the surface of mine!

P.S. My fonts are really awesome now. If you're getting a weird combo like Curlz and Times New Roman, I haven't lost my mind. Your browser just needs a life upgrade.