There can be no doubt that I "protest too much" on matters of geekery outside the boundaries of good discretion. It is only raw will that keeps me from spilling over into the dark appetites of the full-on dork - the wearing of capes, the leading of other lives, and so forth. That I perceive a distinction between my own level of nerdity relative to others is probably itself illusory, but the notion must be maintained if I am to continue behaving with a smug superiority.
The oddest thing happens, though, the moment I express revulsion with something: I immediately begin to deify it. I don't know what this process is, exactly. Let me suggest that my resolve is so weak as to be virtually insubstantial. To give an example from recent history, let us suppose that I decried (at some point) a generation of wildly experimental cartoonists. That I have gone on to really "get it, man" and maintain a portfolio of these daring sites, expressing gratitude and encouragement via anonymous means is just weird and I recognize it.
A similar thing happened once we wrote today's strip. The wizard thing, I mean, give me another ten years or so and I'll be stocking a glass display case with "ancient" artifacts. I will have a painstaking reproduction of Glamdring that I will try to wear on the bus. I just accept this. In the meantime, my resistance and perhaps even disgust is (somewhat) genuine.
As I said, the moment the .jpeg was complete, I began to seek out fantasy figurines with an animal hunger. I found a site (which I hope you won't destroy before my order goes through) where the operator felt compelled to create a kind of fiction to accompany his baubles, powerful tales that cement our miniscule sorcerer in a truly original universe. Observe:
Wizard Dies For Pretty Crystal Bauble
Poor Mr. Wizard. He saw the grand beauty of this faceted crystal ball but failed to wonder why it had not been found before. In truth, it had been found thousands of times. Each time the traveler had touched it and been absorbed by this Pancireen Crystalline Terror from the Island of Arcopecus. As you can see, the wizard joins their fate. No amount of magic is going to free the wizard today. Quickly losing mass, this hapless wizard will add his name to a growing list of missing persons, lost forever in this enchanted place. Measuring three inches high, and in perfect condition, this fine treasure will be carefully wrapped before being shipped. Unconditional thirty day money back guarantee. Enjoy.
Oh, I will.
George R. R. Martin can go fuck himself - that paragraph sundered my mind. Most of the wizard figures include fiction of this quality. Glitterings.com also includes a selection of fine wands, and a wand stand, which I was very excited about until I saw that some were only three or four inches in length. One does wonder what kind of magick you could yoke with such a diminutive instrument, though it seems more than sufficient to conduct a tiny eldritch symphony.
A sidenote: something that has helped me survive the pronounced drought of new electronic experiences are those PomPom shooters I mentioned a while back. They refer to arcade classics but it would be unfair to call them clones. As Nix once said, "They reconfigure the elementary particles of beingness."
(CW)TB out.
