Stupefy!

You all should have listened.

Some of us have known this was coming for decades. We tried to tell you. We tried to show you. We grasped desperately at your shirtfronts and called you at home. We waved complex charts, carried arcane volumes and tried to point out the world-changing ideas buried in four-color computer images. But you just laughed and went about your lives. Boy, are you sorry now.

Some of you thought it was pretty funny back in the fourth grade when I wrote book reports on stories about elves battling ancient horrors in abandoned platinum mines, or demigod swordsmen embarking on epic quests to recover enchanted talismans from centaur warlords. While you were reading "Super Fudge" or some other condescending large-print paperback you saw on the front page of the class book order, I was in the local independent bookstore cornering the manager, demanding to know when he was going to get book 17 in the Magnamund saga featuring the Kai journeyman Lone Wolf. While you were learning that, while little brothers can be a pain, you should still love them, I was learning that Agarosh and his Giaks bore a striking resemblance to Ronald Reagan and the CIA.

Alas, I was never one of the true believers. I grew out of the fantasy genre when I was a junior in high school. I understand that for many fans, the love just fades away. Not for me. It was a conscious lifestyle choice, brought on like most of them by a girl.

My buddy Casey and I had recently met a couple of pretty underclassmen, among the first who had spent an extended amount of time around us on purpose. It was nice. One fall afternoon, when the girls were busy doing whatever it is sophomore girls do when they aren't flouting the McQueen High School dress code, we decided to walk down to the hobby shop to check out the newest issues of "X-Men" and the latest Dungeons & Dragons modules. We were about halfway there when we both stopped and looked at each other, and rather than addressing the scarcity of Mithril mail in Midgard, as was our custom, we began making sexist comments about one of the girls.

We both knew it was a turning point, that one hobby had to die so that the other could live. He made the transformation faster and more convincingly than I did, and so was eventually able to fool around with each of the girls. I was shut out entirely as I struggled to leave childish things behind. The experience was instructive. By the time summer arrived, I had started wearing a lot of band t-shirts and avoided any mention of anything fictional, lest anyone remember my days as a Dungeon Master. I started occasionally getting girls in late August and haven't stopped for any longer than I could possibly manage since.

Imagine my surprise, then, when the 21st century turned out to be the era of the fantasy geek. Consummate comic book nerd Sam Raimi and shockingly fat Tolkienphile Peter Jackson wound up making the biggest movies in history based on two characters I'd sworn never to acknowledge again: Spider-man and Frodo Baggins. Pop music ditched leather-clad rebels in favor of shrill kids in painfully close contact with their feelings and their little sisters' jeans. Man, I used to have the socially awkward kid with an eating disorder routine down. If I'd only stuck with it, I'd be James dean today.

Which brings us to Harry Potter. While I think the series is very good, I don't think it nearly lives up to its own hype. But I'm in absolute awe of the job J.K. Rowling has done at getting people to accept high fantasy as a legitimate art form. Generations of brilliant authors have spent their lives failing to get the common reader to so much as pick up a book with a dragon on the cover. Then in the space of a decade, a single mother from England suddenly has a quarter of the world's population talking about invisibility cloaks and psychic duels.

Good lord, people! Over the weekend, 72 million copies were sold worldwide of a book about a young wizard's search for a magic sword he needs to help him avenge the death of his parents at the hands of a dark mage! It doesn't get any more Dungeons & Dragons than that! You're all a bunch of freaking nerds! Rambling on about wizarding wars and cursed amulets got me picked last for dodgeball for 16 long years, and now the New York Times is seriously discussing the classic literary themes inherent in the struggle between the Death Eaters and the Order of the Phoenix on the front page of the Arts section? I'm disgusted with the lot of you.

If you need me, I'll be sulking in my parents' basement while listening to My Chemical Romance, watching "Lord of the Rings," drinking soy milk and writing arhythmic poetry with suicidal overtones. None of you will ever truly understand my pain. But, ladies, you're welcome to come try.

Angora Fire photos

Hey guys,
I've beeen pretty busy lately, what with South Lake Tahoe almost burning down and the girl-related hillarity that has recently ensued, so I've been slow on the blogging. However, I'll be back soon. Meantime, check out my new photo album and, as always, search RGJ.com for my name if you're interested in the news stuff.

P.S. Yes, I'm listening to the new No Use disc before it's officially out. The band plays Saturday at Stoneys and my interview with Tony Sly will run in Calendar the day before. Buy the paper and your tickets now, slackers! Or, you know, read the story online and pirate the CD at your convenience. Whatever your conscience allows...