geek factor 4

Not quite top speed for a dilithium powered engine, but, it gets me where I need to go in the land of geekdom.
I find, after stopping by Wil's, that I am part of a large community. I wish there were a way to geographically corral us into an independent city state where we can do commerce and live at peace in the warm glow of our big ass tv's with the cool special effects. Alas, it is not to be.
I live in a community where different is feared and misunderstood and, in typical sci-fi fashion, attacked. Of course, no one would suspect that tolerant Traverse City, host of the second largest gay community in Michigan, haven to the arts and the socio-political insurgent Michael Moore, could be fearful and degrading to those who are statistically different. There is a significant New Age population that is not forced under ground but rather celebrated with holistic and alternative health clinics. Tolerant TC deals with the gay community by allowing them a bar and a blind eye and evangelising them into some spiritual practice... mostly among the Unitarians. But for us, the geeks and nerds, who haunt coffee shops and the last arcade, there is little tolerance.
Our families still try to make us into their bland and staid Stepford sibs or spouses. I don't live among people who get Monty Python, campy Trek, semi-serious Trek, or understand that there is truly a life and human lesson to be learned from Babylon 5. The city in which I live would never attempt to use a Venn diagram for anything but genetic forecasting. Most of the people I encounter on a regular basis live the Once and Forever Rule... what once was true of you is always true until we tell you it is not. I hated living with those limitations while attaining adulthood. I hate it even more now. I am constantly told that I can not allow others to dictate the terms of my existence, because I was created by G'd and he is the one who determined what I would desire to be in this life. No one else is qualified to tell me how to live that life. Oh... except for the people who keep telling me not to let any one tell me what to do with my life. And people wonder why I am fucked up? I wonder why I am fucked up?
Roddenberry may have coined the phrase Prime Directive and, within the directive, rewrote the preamble to the declaration of independence as more closely aligned with Locke's naturalism than Jefferson felt secure with, as a safe haven to teach us about ourselves. Science fiction is a self-directed course in human nature and ethics, about what we can and cannot accept as individuals and societies. It makes us better without first demanding confession, baptism and conformity to a model no one could live up to in reality. And that makes him a dangerous evil dead guy... almost as dangerous as John Locke. But because his philosophy is attached to a popular tv series (5 to be precise) with requisite marketing machine, his is the more insidious philosophy. And the easiest to deride by those who do not participate in or see value of the things that he teaches. Of course I could point out that Forbes recommends every CEO possess and read a book about management that uses Captain Picard's command style as THE example of what to do in your Fortune 500 company... that's how little influence and meaning the Star Trek franchise has in the world.
In my city, geeks are still seeking their inheritance. We don't know each other. Sure, I got a couple of kudos at the class reunion. But on a daily basis there is no unity to live in. I am part of a collective but I am stranded on a ship of fools. If I looked like 7of9 then I might not mind it so much. But I look like me: thick in the middle and bloody pimples because the rosacae decided it didn't like the medication anymore. I read Wil's blog and I've watched his presentations posted to you tube and I know I am not alone. Somewhere out there, beneath the pale blue stars, there is a community of people, of my kind. And I miss them. I don't know who half of those people are since we are related through Wil's blog, mostly.
But I miss them. They are people who would link arms and skip down the sidewalk while singing "We're off to see the Wizard" just because the impetus struck. Note to self... correlation between Imp and impetus. These are people who, upon hearing their favorite 80's pop tune in the middle of crowded aisle 5 on a Saturday morning will abandon their shopping carts to do a little dance with abandon. These people could, while dressed in suit and tie in a board meeting, threaten a belligerent co worker with a butt kicking from here to the Romulan Neutral Zone and back with the dignity of our favorite Vulcan and not feel stupid doing it. The belligerent one would know that the campy reference veils a threat thicker than the thin ice he/she skates upon. They are people who would not feel the slightest embarrassment over a night of gaming after a crappy work week. But here the only gaming that gets respect is at the casino. My how times have changed.

I'm not really feeling sorry for myself. I'm just missing people I have yet to meet. I feel like I always do when a great party ends. I'm tired in a refreshing way; my guts hurt from laughing. And I know we all have jobs to go to and can't stay at the party forever (see ST:TNG episode, the Royale, to understand a party that never ends is a jail sentence) but it would be nice to have that energy wave carry me further than the parking lot.