Last night’s trivia was a wash, but I’m pleased that I have remembrance of certain obscure knowledge of like what brand of shoes the Heaven’s Gate suicide cult wore when they 86’d themselves, and that Pietro Maximoff, AKA Quicksilver, is the brother of the Scarlet Witch.
But anyway, the story for the day isn’t about trivia and its disturbing regulars that consists of lolitas, but simply a behavioral observation of dorks.
Now I like to consider myself both a jock and a nerd. I have a wealth of knowledge when it comes to sports, and I like to do shit like go to the gym and physical stuff. On the other token, I work with computers all day long, and I gripe and bitch about technical details when it comes to the failure that is Adobe products. So I can comfortably state that I’m both a jock and a nerd; but there is one larger umbrella that I fit snugly into as well – being a dork.
Dorks do not discriminate class based on interests. Because as far as I’m concerned, although the interests between a jock and a nerd might be night and day, if they’re both dorks, they pretty much act the same anyway.
Here’s my rationale: I’m a jock, and every now and then I like to go to the batting cages. Because I do it strictly for leisurely purposes, I tend to hang out in the softball cages, where I don’t have to wear a dorky helmet, and I can go to town and probably hit a vast majority of the pitches with relative ease. But inevitably a dork will show up, and feel that without any sign of agitation or motivation, that they still need to assert their dominance, and prove to everyone that could potentially watch, that they are better than them. The dork will go straight into the 70mph fast-pitch baseball cages with his $200 bat, carbon-fiber helmet, and eye black on, and wail away on baseballs. If and when a sudden slump or incapability show up, it’s immediately the fault of the facility, the pitching machine, or the bat they are using. No compromise. Even in the face of Armageddon.
But I’m also a nerd: after trivia, my collective group decided to hang around for a little bit and play Rock Band while some of us sobered up a little bit to drive. I play guitar or bass, because I am a lousy singer, and I suck at the drums. Furthermore, I tend to stick around on the Medium level, since I don’t want to have to worry about shifting my fingers to reach a fifth button to strum. Not to mention that I can pretty much pick up a video game guitar control and play with relative competence no matter what the circumstances.
Playing in front of a nerd bar full of nerds, it’s only a matter of time before the dork(s) decide to intrude on our leisure party, and since we’re nice people, we let the dork take the drums. Without paying attention to the song choice, he promptly puts his difficulty onto EXPERT, while the rest of us settle into our usual comfort zones.
Duran Duran’s Rio has never sounded so poorly in my entire life. Apparently on EXPERT, Rio’s drum part is insanely difficult, and requires some good dexterity to play, none of which the dork had. While the song proceeded to sound like garbage due to the fact that there were no drums, the dork took repeated breaks, and began flexing his arms, and shaking his wrists.
“Man, I should have warmed up.”
“Man, I think there’s something wrong with the drums.”
“Man, these aren’t the same kinds of sticks that I use.”
“Man, I can’t really hear my part.”
Of course it was, dork. Of course it was.
Unfortunately, I am also a dork. Because although I can’t think of a concise example right at the moment, I’m pretty sure that I’ve exhibited such chauvinistic and masochistic behavior to my fellow dorks at some point in my life. I’m sure anyone reading this who knows me could probably remind me of an instance.
