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My Boyfriend is a Ginormous Geek
Thursday nights. God, I hate Thursday nights. Thursday night is "video game night", wherein the BF and his friends all get together and act like retarded 12-year-olds on Xbox. More importantly, I'm not supposed to "waste bandwidth" because the BF, being the only homo and thus married to a man, was the only one able to talk his partner into getting the "turbo" internet package (wherein your cable company charges you an extra $10/month for speeds you used to get for free three years ago before they started throttling your connection), and thus is the designated host.

I would feel bad, incidentally, about falling for this shameless bid for more money for less service except that it drastically decreases the amount of time I spend downloading porn, freeing up time for other things—like watching porn.

In any case, I hate Thursday nights. The BF becomes loud and stupid and occasionally barks requests at me (which I generally ignore), and otherwise largely ignores me.

So last night, I'm walking from the office to the bedroom, feeling sorry for myself and cut off from my electronic lifeblood. The BF is being loud and obnoxious as always… except… well, it sounds like he's directing traffic or something. What the hell? thinks I.

"No, more to the left. A bit more. OK, now crouch down. Great. Jeremy, you go behind him—a little to the right. Perfect. Okay, both of you look this way. Great."

Oh please god, I'm thinking. Don't let it be true. But alas, it was true: the Legion of Super Nerds was taking a group picture in Halo.

What"s blue and green and orange and grey and purple and has no social skills?Collapse )

I am embarrassed for them.

And yet… occasionally, even when I am in the foulest mood, and jonesing for the digital caress of you, my electronic friends, and otherwise unfit to be around humans, the BF will do something like this—something so mindbogglingly awful—that I am at once reminded of why exactly I love him, the big dork.

ETA: Bonus idiocy: Synchronized grenade ballet!

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Like hollow curls of outside baked dry
and stiff with age still bearing the
semblance of what once was like the
randomly discarded carapace of some insect
seeming more cicada perhaps than the
shellless cicada that emerged and fled
leaving behind its self-shaped relic like
a dental mold defining a former presence
in absence like all of these I sit here
taking up negative space, instantly
recognisable it is true but nevertheless
not the same, hollowed out and left
to mock the past until the future sees
fit to end the charade and grind
this crust to dust.

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Introduction of Sorts
Well, it's official ... I've finally given in and started a 'blog. Hooray me. Unfortunately, this now means that Pope John Paul II is the last holdout. John, baby, c'mon--give into the Dark Side, it's fun! (and while you're at it, start a weblog, too...)

I really don't understand why I hadn't done this earlier ... it seems I occassionally need to pick one piece of technology to violently rail against for a time in a Rifkinite/Luddite fashion until I eventually slip away into happy consumerism. It used to be cell phones (I still wouldn't have one if it wasn't forcibly provided to me); recently it's been blogging. Which is quite a shame as I genuinely have enjoyed reading other people's.

In any case, since I've finally given in to The Demon Vice, I suppose a bit of an intro to the cast of characters, etc., is only appropriate. That way everyone (or let's face it--both of you) can be rapidly brought up to speed.

Let's start with the handle, haRDvice. I get a lot of very strange email etc. based on this, and some rather odd looks over the shoulder whilst computing in public as I tend to use it all over the place. Thing is, minute you start calling yourself 'hardvice' people at once assume you're available for every manner of deviant sexual depravity. Which is of course true, but beside the point. Wait, wait, I mean not true. Alas, gentle reader, I regret to inform you that 'hardvice' is less of a job description or philosophy and more in the way of being an anagram for my brick n' mortar world sobriquet. You, too can have one made of your name by visiting any of the excellent anagram engines on the web; I recommend this one as a starting place, although they're pretty ad-intense these days.

Now that I've spoiled all the fun, here's a little bit about me: I'm a 28 year old law student in Austin, Texas. I live with my boyfriend of two years and a cat I currently am firmly convinced is possessed by the Devil. I have two brothers, the elder of whom is married with two kids, while the younger is recently engaged. My folks are currently in San Antonio, Texas, but as I grew up an Air Force brat, this was apt to change from time to time until I was in High School. This leads to the second point of major confusion between me and newly met people, as the second question is inevitably 'where are you from?' for which I can offer no easy answer. (The first is obviously "What are you doing in my closet wearing lederhosen with tuna fish smeared all over yourself?" I tell you, people just never appreciate ART these days...especially the judges at those restraining order hearings.) I generally tend to use London, England as my answer for three reasons: 1) it's the last place I lived before Texas, thereby letting me fail to succumb to the lulling seduction of Texanhood; 2) while it's technically a lie, nobody in this country knows what, let alone where, Hertfordshire is; 3)it explains my spelling a bit. You grow up reading the Times and then tell me if 'valor' doesn't look like an abomination.

For many of the more interesting mundane details, you might want to click on my profile link, above. It's pretty decent for the most part.

Other recent developments which might be necessary to catch folks up: my dad's been kind of sick lately, so no doubt I'll be mentioning that a bit. I also recently came out to the last little contingency of my law school friends (an absolute absurdity, since I never made any effort to go back in as best as I am aware. I didn't particularly enjoy this whole drama ten years ago, and certainly hoped never to repeat it. I'm considering having 'FAG' tattooed on my forehead in three-inch high letters to prevent further confusion since, to quote one of my law school mates, I "seem so normal". Ouch.) I just bought the BF his Valentine's day crap--he wanted an XBox, and as I've learned, I can either give in or listen to him whine about not wanting to spend money for months on end. This despite the fact that he has a sizable income and I have financial aid. He wants me to go with him to purchase a reciprocal gift tomorrow--romantic to the core, this one. We'll probably have dinner at Chuck E. Cheese to top off the evening. Which is, in fact, quite nice--I rather enjoyed hating Valentine's day in my serially single days; no reason to spoil all that fun.

In any event, kids, I suppose I'd better attempt to cram another few hours' sleep in before trotting off to school for the day. Lucky for you, I have a research class this semester which I enjoy about as much as having ground glass rubbed on my exposed gums, so chances are good I'll be available to update this frequently. Until then, love and infection to you all this happy St. Valentine's.

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