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The other night, whilst sitting alone on my couch, I found myself watching TV on a television (I’m a classicist) as an ad for a three day rock festival popped up. Bamboozlefest, just an hour long drive away from my door and boasting a lineup that featured The Foo Fighters, Bon Jovi, and a handful of other rock groups whose names I can’t remember, appealed to me, causing me to openly ponder exploring the possibility of maybe per chance getting tickets for exactly 38 seconds until a I heard a voice, a voice I hadn’t heard before. Well, that’s not entirely true — it was my voice, but older and creepily whispering in my ear — “You’d die” it said, “you’d be that guy, dead body airlifted out after the festival ends, a sharpie drawn dick on your forehead with used up rubbers and cups scattered all around you.”

Now, that’s a grim picture, but it is oh so true — I couldn’t survive a three day outdoor rock festival because I can’t subsist on bottles of 5 Hour Energy, shrooms, and the un-exasperatable energy that comes with youth. The point is, it seems like I’ve reached my expiration as a capably active fanboy because I’m very, very near 30 now and I am bewildered and sleepy. Call me when Blues Traveler comes to play the local amphitheater, see The Dark Knight Rises without me, I’ll wait 2 weeks and avoid the rush.

See, I can no longer run with the bulls at Comic Con — fuck waiting 17 hours for a panel, fuck spending thousands of dollars to go cross country in an effort to see 1 thing out of the 500 that appeals to me only to return home with only disappointment and a plague.

On the air since 1993.

I don’t want to sleep in a car to save on a hotel room, I want a fucking bed, a TV with Conan on it, and a nightstand for my C-PAP machine. I don’t want to go to a midnight screening, I mean I do, but I’m not going to because it is way past my bedtime and it’ll throw off my carefully constructed day and my iron clad sleep cycle.

I also don’t want to make new friends, no one can be in my life anymore if they do flashmobs and cosplay as obscure Anime characters — my friends are old, tired, and bitchy too, and while some of them still think the things I described above are romantic, and they speak with a want to run from the limitations of their evolving true preferences, they are lying to themselves as I was. This is Nerdom at 30, and I’m too old for this shit.

I know all of this now and suddenly I accept the suck of stifled adventures and I’m ready to hate everything that is new and everyone who champions those things, my eyes rolling more times than they blink when you talk to me about how Channing Tatum really unlocked the emotional complexity of Duke in GI Joe.

I’ll tell you another thing, you know those old assholes who wax poetic about how great shit used to be? I think I’ve been gradually arriving at that point, a point where I can organically loathe thanks to what I perceive to be the rancid downturn in the quality of nearly all things. I think I’m becoming one of them and I think you will too one day, because as much as we want to pretend that it’ll never happen to us, we all turn into these “let me tell you how good it used to be” people talking about the good old days because those things were our first nerd love and nothing can compare to them and that time.

This was the movie icon I grew up with, enjoy your Labeouf.

Back then we didn’t suffocate the celebrities and stars that we “love”, demanding an unceasing feed into their lives while suffocating them to the point that they expire or go mad from the lack of oxygen. Once upon a time movies were magical and not stymied by endless sequels and big plastic glasses that sit on our faces so we can see a hand come out at us to reach into our pockets.

Things could be smart and popular at the same time way back when, cartoons had soul, and action figures were cheap. Back then music was made by humans who played instruments, and comics were made with words, not endless splash pages and the sole purpose of leading readers to buy the next crappy tie-in book that links to 8 other un-related books.

You were required to have an imagination and technology didn’t enslave us. Books were printed, and everyone had an opinion and nobody had an outlet, so our atmosphere wasn’t clogged up by worthless bullshit like this article. I’ll tell you another thing, SNL didn’t suck, In Living Color, Kids in the Hall, and The State were all on there air and there was meriment to be had. We also didn’t need video game systems to serve as life replacements, simulating exercise and interactions — Sega Genesis was the motherfucking righteous truth and it was the only truth we needed.

Video game perfection. No hookers or rocket launchers required.

The funny thing is, the things that I loathe now, things like the Gaga, whatever Ke-Dollar Sign-Ha is and pop music, another Diablo sequel, reality TV, and nearly everything Marvel and DC have put out in the last 7 years — these are someone else’s future first loves, their soon-to-be good old days that they will one day cherish above everything current while my twatishness and the things I love fade from memory. Glee is someone else’s Kids Incorporated. Stewie is someone’s Bart Simpson. That’s amazing, the way that time just keeps ticking and dirt keeps getting put on the old idea of what amazing is.

It’s just too bad that those people will be fucking wrong, because OG Thundercats is the greatest thing of all time, no actor will ever touch Bill Murray in The Ghostbusters, Alan Moore’s pen will forever cause lesser writers to quiver and leak their shorts, The Beastie Boys are un-surpass-able*, and I still prefer Michael Keaton above all other Batmen. And do not even get me started on Star Wars trilogy preferences, because I’ve met people who prefer Revenge of the Sith to Return of the Jedi and I wish them tossed down into the clutches of a horny and hungry Rancor monster . This is my anti-social new lifestyle, my nerdom at 30, goodbye gentle fanboyishness, hello bitchy grown-assed-fanmandom.

*= This was written before the sad passing of Adam Yauch. RIP MCA

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