Welcome, Fellow Gnerds!

A gnerd [pronounced, "NER-dh"] is a noun.
It is used to name someone who both reads Asimov and can fix a computer virus.

We know every line from Dr. Horrible and the subplots
and backplots of Who.

We lurk around bookshelves.

We listen to Josh Groban and Chameleon Circuit.

We are every Judith, Max and Russell.

We congregate conventions.

We are the next generation.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010

The Selfish Lesson (Learned?)

    Last night, I cried because my TiVo erased the only recording I had left of The Mighty Boosh. Thats right, honest-to-goodness cried. I'd like to chalk it up to me being stressed out, overworked, exhausted and food-deprived. But that's not the real reason. The real reason those burning tears of frustration coursed their way down my ungrateful face was that I am a selfish child. I have a house, a warm bed with plenty of extra blankets [I think I have enough for them to finally be considered a collection], running water, electricity and, if I do say so myself, incredibly fashionable clothes.
    I have a job, a car, and a phone. I have an iPod, a phone and a camera [all broken in some way but still working] and many shelves brimming with well-thumbed books, and  heaps of movies. I have money in the bank, money in my iTunes account and money in my DragonBank [my version of a "piggybank"]. I have a brand new computer, enough money left over from cell phone bill, gas and car insurance payments that I can afford to see movies and buy organic clothes and eat healthy food and buy my friends presents. So why am I crying?
   Believe me when I say, I'm not usually like this at all. I used to have a pretty weak TV-watching-schedule, that mainly consisted of watching The Soup to see all the important parts of shows that I missed and listening to the daily "ohmygoddidyouseewhatHousedidlastnightandthenGreysAnatomywasonandIcouldnttearmyeyesaway" talk that my peers have. I occasionally watched talk shows, and then I limited myself to The Ellen Show and The Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson [I'm sorry, Oprah, but quite frankly I find you over-hyped. At least Ellen dances.]. Oh, and when Glee is on, I watch that. And of course, Supernatural-and How I Met Your Mother [<--god love you, NPH]. And all the BBC shows-okay fine. So I watch alot of shows! Judge me.
    But I don't get upset like this that often. I mean, sure, I get mad when someone erases one of my shows, but I dont cry about it. So what in the hell-o Kitty franchise-made me cry about a show that will probably be on again later this week, or at the very least will be on itunes to buy? I'll tell you what. I burned my toast yesterday morning.
    You're probably laughing right now, like toast doesn't matter: Im here right now to tell you that it does. A piece of bread represents the day ahead of you. Fresh, wholesome, healthy, and maleable. You cant mold it to your liking, make it how you want; you can put soy cheese on it, you can make grilled cheese, you can make a peanut butter sandwich, you can cut the crusts off and eat the bread whole, you can toast it, you can put soy butter on it, you can put an egg on it, you can use it as a Portkey (Amos, you can come out now, I know youre there...), you can scatter it for birds, you could put cinnamon sugar on it, you can feed woodland critters, you can put mayonaise on it and ruin it. Its your choice. But however you decorate/disfigure your bread, its your responsibility to make sure the outcome fits with how you want your day to turn out.
    And I apparently flushed my toast down the toilet. I mean I charred that sorry sucker up for all it was worth. Consequently, my day turned out as shit and I was reduced to a shivering pile of tears when I couldn't watch Boosh. This is my life.

Don't touch reindeer.

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