Tag Archive: Fake Geek


It’s been a few weeks since my last post on the Hugo Awards. I haven’t had much to say, because my only concern in this matter is on the subject of writing. I’m not interested in responding to every little thing that pops up, such as news articles that repeat lies, Big Five editors who make up new lies, fans who leave one-star, one-word Amazon reviews on Hugo-nominated works . . . I’ll leave that up to others. Sure, it gets me great traffic, but I’m interested in writing, reviews, and fun stuff to share. The Hugo Awards are too serious, yet too inconsequential in the long run, to just keep harping on the same points over and over and over and . . . you get the idea.

Joker Hugo Awards

(Actually, if you want over-the-top Hugo humor, check out my friend Declan’s parody of the Sad Puppies people encountering SWATing and Worldcon. I make my own appearance in the latest installment. Apparently my house is made of Lego. I don’t find this repugnant.)

bullshit-asymmety-principleAnyway, long story short, I’m writing another Hugo post. This is because someone decided to leave a long comment on a previous post that requires a few more counterpoints than is easy to do in an answering comment. As such, I’m doing a full-on fisk, and invoking Brandolini’s Bullshit Asymmetry Principle.

The commenter’s name is pocketnaomi. As such, I’m assuming this person is a woman named Naomi, and will be addressing her that way. Continue reading

EDIT: My apologies to anyone who got double emails and double trackbacks, or has had trouble with a broken link. The original version of this essay disappeared due to an infestation of drunk gremlins causing glitches. I had to rebuild it from the Google cache. If you are someone I linked to and have double trackbacks, I’m sorry for the minor bout of spam. One of those links won’t work now. 

I have an extremely pretty friend. Okay, that’s not unusual — a very high number of my female friends are good-looking, ranging from cute to gorgeous. This particular friend is drop-dead, traffic-stopping kind of gorgeous, with a smile that can stop hearts and a body that can cause accidents in the street. She’s a model, a singer, a dancer, a teacher, amazingly athletic, and huge fun to hang out with. Some of you know exactly who I’m talking about. A few times, it’s been suggested that we date. We both laugh.

Now, I don’t take offense at her laughter, not like I would from someone else. I mean, I’m a geek with a wheelchair; the only thing attractive about me is my brain and my paycheck. The latter is just big enough to be noticed and lacks at least two zeros as far as golddiggers are concerned; and the former, well, face it. It’s not enough. But I don’t find it offensive from my friend, because while we’re very close, we don’t fit well enough to even attempt a relationship, much less have a happy marriage. She’d have to go to her happy place if I start talking about anything other than where our interests coincide, which are actually in very few areas.

If you know me, you know I can’t possibly shut up about my interests. When I get invited to speak at conventions, I quite literally tell the panel coordinator to put me in however many slots he or she wants, because odds are I’m going to be talking to people all day anyway. I get a contact high from geekdom. The idea of even one date with someone who can’t stand to listen to me be enthusiastic about something is horrifying. I care for my friend like she’s family, and I’m there for her anytime she needs help, but we both know it wouldn’t be good for our friendship. So we both laugh.

Of course, the last time this happened, she threatened to punch me if I didn’t stop laughing. Sorry! But I couldn’t help it, considering the exact situation. But that’s beside the point. We’d both bore each other — even though we both deeply care about each other. Neither of us can be something we’re not.

This is why I hate it when people rail about “fake geek girls.” It’s also why I’m finding myself utterly perplexed to be called a fake geek girl.

Yes, I’m male. Bear with me. If it doesn’t already make sense, it will.  Continue reading

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