Word on that new-fangled Interweb Machine is that there’s some picture-shows in the movie houses about what you kids call the Scientific Fiction. Oh ho, didn’t think I knew about the Scientific Fiction, did you? That just shows how little your generation knows about my generation. For example, I know all about The Fights in the Stars, and also all about Hitchhiking Your Way Through the Universe, and I’ll have you know I do not approve of hitchhiking in any situation, space or otherwise, because it is very dangerous. I had a friend when I was your age, his name was Jean-Claude, and Jean-Claude thought it would be a good idea to thumb his way from New Mexico to Chattanooga for the Mulligan Stew cook-off, and you know what happened to him? They sold his organs on the black market. I know; I bought his kidney for seven dollars. That was a lot of money back then! Bah.
You should heed every word of my vaguely thematic rambling — note that I have dropped the oldie persona, because between paragraphs I jumped into a very science-fictional time machine, which did not actually move me back in time but made me realize that 28 is not actually old, despite what the bevy of asshole recent college graduates out there may believe: you know who you are, you little fuckers, and don’t think you won’t be just as bitter in five years! Gah! I’ve got wrinkles! Fuck you! Anyway, you should heed my vaguely thematic rambling (come on, keep up with me here: summer = bad movies; asshole recent college graduates), because as of today, I am the holder of two Master’s Degrees.
These degrees, which have the professional significance of a wish in one hand and a nickel in the other, have necessitated the reading of many books, and I don’t know if you know this, but books are for nerds. My highly trained mind has also deduced by the use of syllogistic logic that nerds enjoy the science fiction. Hence, my effort — as the summer begins and the geeks slather on the SPF 75 and line up to see what I really hope is George Lucas’s final cinematic effort ever in the history of the universe — to channel some of that inner nerd and get excited about passenger space rockets and swords made of laser beams and intergalactic senates and oh my God the ship has been to Hell and now we’re in Hell too!!!
Why am I doing this, you ask? Is it because I am single now and looking to pick up a guy who speaks Klingon and refers to sitting on his ass in a robe and masturbating to made-up wood nymphs as "gaming"? Well, of course, but I’m also looking to complete my nerdship destiny. In exactly 7,000 space years I will, after all, have a PhD, and be even older and nerdier than I am now. If I’m lucky I will get a job teaching German verb conjugations to Oklahoman frat boys and the only high point of my wrenchingly lonely existence will be that I get my summers off — and let’s face it, I’m going to need a hobby. Drinking an entire bottle of Becherovka while watching Freaks and Geeks and softly crying may be exactly what I enjoy doing in my spare time right now, but soon I’ll be old and Becherovka will give me heartburn. And I’ve read things about nerds. I’ve seen their conventions on the television and they seem happy — in all of their odd-costumed, fake-science-speak, parallel-universe weirdness, they seem happy. So starting this summer, I’m nerding up. Pass the 20-sided die, lend me your Romulan dictionary and save a spot in the Revenge of the Sith line for me — I’ll be the one dressed as Kafkolania, the Self-Loathing but Buxom Wood Nymph.
NOTHING TO SEE HERE is a regular column in ‹The L Magazine›. Ms. Schuman can be reached for comment and life coaching at firstname.lastname@example.org