My Least Favorite Time of the Year

It's coming upon us like the plague came upon the Hebrews in Egypt. I feel this impending dread and doom, and once again I'm starting to wonder,

"Can I make it through the summer this year?"

Sure, no more school and no more going to Church on Christmas and Easter. Sure, summer is the time where first kisses and unplanned pregnancies happen. Much magic occurs in summer.

But you know what they don't tell you about in High School Music 2 and National Lampoon's Vacation is about all of the TERRIBLE AND DEADLY HORRORS THAT HAPPEN IN THE SUMMER!

Bumblebees as big as small rocks! A scorching sun that would give nerds horrible sunburn if they weren't all inside playing Call of Duty. Snakes that may be more afraid of you than you are of them, but still make scary hissing noises and stare at you funny. Relatives who you've avoided seeing all summer but manage to keep coming back at you like like the twenty two year-old who should be going to college but instead is hanging around in his parents' basement, insisting that playing lead guitar in a garage band counts as employment. Campouts! Crowded swimming pools! Summer jobs!

SUMMER CAMP!!!



I have had three encounters with summer camp in all of my life. All three mentally scarred me. Some celebrities write autobiographies about how their relatives molested them, or their fathers beat them, or how they got mixed up in drugs in high school. Not me. I'm going to write about how horrible summer camp is, and how everyone is brainwashed to think it's fun when it's really terrible.

Here's the thing, you would think Christian summer camps would be better than normal summer camps, right? A bunch of gentle little angels that sport Bibles in their backpacks at all hours of the day, tell scary stories about their dangerous encounters with non-Christians, and write letters home every Tuesday? Not so. I was scared before I went to summer camp the first year, and my Mom said ,

"They won't be mean. They're Episcopalians!"

Since then, the word "Episcopalians" to me has meant "noisy demon children experimenting with homosexuality after dark." The truth is, there is no difference between Christian summer camp and secular summer camp except that everyone is white at Christian summer camp.

Fun games. Laughing children. Singing Christian camp songs. Swimming pools. Happy people. It just sounds like hell, doesn't it? Who would actually pay to go there?!? I don't know. I'll stop talking about summer camp, though. Whenever I'm about to start talking about the evils of summer camp with friends, the only response I get is, "Ah, yes. I remember summer camp. That was fun."

Usually by the time they get to the word "fun," I'm running away with my hands over my ears screaming bloody murder. The concept of fun to me is like a crucifix to a vampire. It's the only thing that can end me.

If you really want me to be truthful, I love summer. I've just been saying these things because I wanted you guys to think I was cool. I just needed a friend.

But, very honestly, there are some things about summer I don't like. For instance, every summer my family meets in Texas in a family reunion. We stay in a bunch of cabins by a river for a week or so, and unfortunately there are other families there as well. One consists of mostly adults and toddlers. Another has grandparents, parents, and college girls, (yeah--now I have a two-year-old son in Child Services after the 2007 retreat.) The last family besides ours is a small one with a bunch of, basically, hicks from a tiny town around Austin. They're a nice group, but one of them is a seventeen-year-old emo-wannabe. He wears black jeans and t-shirts every day. Piercings. Long black hair, which he admits to using curlers on when necessary.

He's a country goth, which is nearly an oxymoron. He listens to screamo, but also pronounces "nice" as a two-syllable word. He texts all the time, but also likes feeding the goats and horses by the river. He tells me about when he cuts himself, has sex, and gets in trouble at school, yet his Texan banter is just as painfully corny as any grandparent around.

Bad memories.

Anyway, I better wrap this up. I think you all get the point.

Have a good summer!

Sister and Brother Bear

I had a Berenstain Bears thing going on. Did you honestly expect me to just drop it all of a sudden like a man without hands might drop an expensive vase? No! I promised to tell you all about my family, and I will live up to that promise.

But first of all--the poll! "What's your favorite type of nerd?" was the question. Options included:

1) the straight-A students who don't talk to anyone except themselves
2) the Anime fanatics
3) the Trekkies
4) the George McFly type nerds
5) the artistic nerds
6) the video game junkies
7) other

You can check out the results on the closed poll to the right, but I'll have you know in case you're too sleepy to slide your eyes six inches to the right that "the artistic nerds" won with seven votes. I'm not surprised, but I am very glad, because seven is a magic number, after all.

I'm also happy with the outcome of the poll because the truth is, I'm an artistic nerd myself. There. I've come out of the closet. I'm an artistic nerd! I said it! I'm not afraid of your judgements.

Now, how about I tell you about those "triplet siblings" of mine?

MY BROTHER

Having a twin is like sharing a life with someone. I'm barely exaggerating. Have you ever wondered what it must be like to be a twin? Fred and George from Harry Potter probably came to mind. (I shudder to think that any of your minds might have flashed to Dillon and Cole Sprouse. If you did think of them, don't tell me.) You probably think it's tons of fun to be a twin. You might even ENVY twins.

I would say "be careful what you wish for, because it might end up happening," but I don't think that's a huge danger in this situation. But it sounds like a bad Disney movie, doesn't it? Some everyday preteen is frustrated with his life and wants to be a twin. Then some vague magician character drops in and makes him a twin somehow or another. By the end of the movie, he decides that he wants his old life back and he learns all his lessons. You love the movie as a kid, and then five years later the actor is busted for steroids and gets Miley Cyrus pregnant. That's the way Disney works.

Erase all preconceptions you've ever had of being a twin. Yes, there are pros. Help with homework. I have similar humor as him. Yeah, it ends there. Cons? Need I name them all?

Even our closest friends and family members get our names mixed up. We're not seen as individuals. We're seen as twins. You never hear someone say "Oh, I know Christopher! He's nice." You hear "Oh, I know the blond twins! They're nice." We rarely get the opportunity to go places by ourselves. When I go to a friend's house, guess who was invited with me? Have you guessed yet? No? The answer is: my twin.

We're different people, but no one is willing to recognize that. That's my issue. Help me, Dr. Phil. Help me.

Onto the actual subject of my brother: he's an okay fellow. I'll admit--he is a lot like me. On the other hand, there are many differences between us. Main one being: he's a hippie. Actually, he's both a hippie and anti-technology. He's a vegetarian. He doesn't have a computer, a phone, e-mail, any accounts online, or an iPod. He listens primarily to jazz and country.

Oh God, I'm rambling. Sorry, guys. Onto the female member of our adorable trio.

MY SISTER


To the left is a photo of my sister. Some notable things about her: her favorite things to wear are her pink overalls, purple backpack, and pink ribbon, (from Target.) She is a bear, but we're okay with that, you know?

I don't think there are triplets in the world more different than me and my sister. Except maybe the hypothetical ones in the workbooks in Spanish class.

"Pedro y su hermano son gemelos, pero tienen muchas caracteristicas diferentes. Las escribe en el espacio de abajo."

I, personally, am an introvert. I'm also a nerd. I have a dry sense of humor. I have hair so blond that's it almost white. I'm tall. I'm usually rather quiet. My sister, usually referred to as Sister Bear, is an extrovert. She's pretty popular. Her sense of humor is the furthest thing in the world from dry. She's blond, but her hair is a dark blond, (if that's not an oxymoron.) She's very short. And very, very loud.

Are you getting the point?

Even though I go to private school, my school is pretty big. Nearly anyone who knows me knows that I'm a twin. But barely anyone knows that I'm the brother of my sister. And...she's guarding that secret with her life. But when someone does find out, they are stunned to say the least. It was as surprising to them as the revelation that Luke is Leia's brother, (which, I might add, probably made things really awkward between them after that passionate kiss in the fifth movie.)

And I'm suspicious of what my sister tells her friends about me, because they talk to my brother and me like we have mental illnesses. I'm not even joking. On second thought, everyone talks to me like that, but you get my point.

The life of a triplet is a bleak one indeed. Most disturbing experience of my life? The Triplet Convention of 2005 in D.C. So many dependent triplets doomed to spend the rest of their lives in the same house. That's why I hyperventilate and then run away when someone suggests that I start up a business with my brother after college.

But the most annoying thing about being a triplet? When people tell me how much I'm like my brother, I always say "We're not the same people. We're not clones or anything!" But then I remember that, scientifically, we are.

Thanks for listenin'. I'll talk to you another time.

My Kin

Yesterday I was struck with a violent realization: I haven't told the readers of The Nerd Archives anything about my family yet! Well, that simply isn't acceptable.

You know how special my family is to me? I live in their house. I eat similar food, but not exactly the same. I share their cats and TVs, and I sit on some of the same furniture. I go on road trips with most of them, but sometimes one person doesn't go. I share some memories with them, and other memories I keep to myself. We don't read a lot of the same books, but we all have the same last name.
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I could make that into a poem.

Well, I better open up to you about my kin sooner or later. Why not now?

MY FATHER:

My dad is old. I'll just go out and say it. He's in his late 70s. He doesn't know his own name, and he's in a nursing home for American citizens who are too old to be allowed.

Okay, fine. I'm messing with you. But I will say this: he's older than the average dad of a teenager. But you know what? I think that's a good thing. It means he's wiser than he would be otherwise, calmer, smarter, and considerably richer.

I have never regretted the fact that my dad is at an advanced age. I rejoice in it!

My father is the headmaster of my old elementary school. That used to have weight, because it meant that other elementary schoolers gave me a certain amount of respect that I didn't deserve. It doesn't anymore, though. How could it? If some kids were about to beat me up, would I just say, "Stop! My Dad is the headmaster of a private elementary school!" "Okay, man. We don't want any trouble."

He's a good headmaster, if I can say so myself. He's also very artistic, a wonderful writer, and very funny.
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One moderately important side note: He doesn't have any legs.

MY MOTHER:

Yeah, the Episcopal Priest. That's the one. It's not at all like what you might think it would be to have a priest as a parent--an Episcopal priest, at least. When a woman is a priest like my Mom, you can hardly tell the difference. She's in book club. She used to be a soccer mom. She still does the dishes. There's very little strangeness because of it.

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She actually started out as a pharmacist, which I've always thought was weird. Priests nowadays seem to come from unexpected places. A priest at a Methodist church in Atlanta used to be a comedian. Comedians, pharmacists, lawyers, prison guards, television show hosts, bounty hunters, assassins, etc. You get the point.

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She's very friendly. Almost too friendly. That's about it.

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And...................I've already managed to make this post rather long. Check back in a day or two for a post about my

TRIPLET SIBLINGS.

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Thanks for reading.

A Grade School Opera and My Intimate Relations With a Married Woman

A grade school opera? In the words of my socially awkward Indian-American friend, "That's, um, like, an oxymoron or something."

It is almost um like an oxymoron or something, as a matter of fact. Opera is a sector of drama designated for 300 pound men with little beards and, well, 300 pound women with little beards.

But, in any case, last Thursday I attended the opera HMS Pinafore, presented by the sixth grader's of my old elementary school.

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Remember my prior references to that school? Wonderful school. But also the one where we all held hands and sang Kum Ba Yah in our final year, but then when we all left to go to different schools, half of the grade went on to become total haters. In any case, it's a wonderful school. I was delighted to go back.

An hour before the actual performance, there was a pizza party for alums. That was fun, although everyone kind of wanted to hug everyone. I was assaulted by hugs as though I were attending the Peace at a black Gospel Church. Why do girls even want to hug unattractive nerds?

I remember I was standing next to this one kind of quiet fellow who I never knew very well. I felt like I should say something to him, so I said

"Hey, I saw your school's tent flip over at that track meet."

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He responds, "Yeah, I know that kid who does the flips. He's pretty crazy, right?"

I'm so amused, I just nod and say, "Yeah, he's pretty epic."

Not everyone is blessed with good hearing.

Anyway, the entire event was fun, but the performance was really surprisingly good for a sixth grade play. Arguably, it was better than my grade's play this year. Like I said, they performed HMS Pinafore. The music was dangerously catchy. The set was impressive (and expensive). The choreography was pretty cute. It was all very well, although I couldn't quite keep up with the plot because 1) it was very confusing and 2) one of my friends kept touching my leg and leaning on me.

It's better if you don't ask.
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Now let me abruptly interrupt my story with my

MOST FAVORITEST MOMENT OF TODAY

My art teacher was giving my Advanced Art class a pep talk about how hard it is to be an artist in general, but also how hard we have to work to keep up with our teachers. He phrased it,
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"You sometimes have to work 24/7. You need to be ready to work after hours. You need to be ready to work with me past closing time. You need to be ready to sleep with me. Whoops--I'm sorry. I made that sound inappropriate."

It was hilarious, but actually I was slightly worried for him. He's slightly eccentric, (which is one of the reasons he's my favorite teacher, by the way,) but his weirdness/genius isn't interpreted properly by teenagers. Because the general population doesn't deal well with those who are different--especially teenagers--he's been labelled with the position of the faculty pedophile. So this comment kind of put him on the line with students.

My favorite teachers tend to be the ones that kid like the least. This is a big example. I won't bother you with a ramble about my art teacher today, but I think he's brilliant. The guy looks like a cross between Tim Burton and Gene Wilder.

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I think he's great. I may be all alone on that team.

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I'll talk to all later.

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Keep posted!

My Kryptonite: The Six-Legged

We all have fatal flaws. Harry Potter's was his total selflessness. Superman's was Kryptonite. James Bond's was his tendency to sleep with every beautiful woman he met. Achilles' fatal flaw was a tendon on the lower half of his leg. (Whoever dreamed up that myth was totally running out of ideas for interesting stories.)


I actually have multiple fatal flaws, like social awkwardness and bad looks, and innumerable phobias. Topping my list of phobias are:

• Award-winning Japanese horror films
• Clowns
• Mojo-Jojo from the Powerpuff Girls
• Pretty girls
• Happy people
  

But I'd have to say there is one of my phobias that totally dominates over all the rest. And that would have to be:

BUGS

Don't you dare laugh. Don't giggle, snort, chuckle, chortle, snicker, snore, or sneeze. If there's anything you should be doing right now, that would be nodding in solemn agreement.

In the beginning, God made the world, and it was good. And there was much rejoicing. All the creatures of the world lived in perfect harmony. Then God made dinosaurs. Then God made space aliens. They both died out after a while because of meteor impacts and failing economies.

But he had something twice as horrid to replace them. Something three times as horrid. Something almost--just almost--four times as horrid to replace dinosaurs and space aliens.

He made bugs.

I am more afraid of some bugs than I am of anything else.

Even death.

Fine--maybe not death. Unless it's a death because of bugs. Double threat.

I don't know why I hate bugs so much. You'd think I would have come to terms with them considering they make up someting like three fifths of the animal population on the planet. But I just haven't. Maybe it's because of a sheltered environment. Does it really matter? No! What matters is that all bugs deserve to be burned at the stake and then fed to hungry baby whales.

Bugs bring out the worst in me. They bring out the violent murderer in me. Any bug I find outside is subject to an epic shriek and intense self-consciousness. Any bug I find inside my house is sentenced to a high-pitched yelp and death by the tissue. Any bug I find in my bedroom...

I don't talk about what happens to those bugs.

A MESSAGE TO ALL THE BUGS OUT THERE READING THIS BLOG:

Please don't take this post personally. I don't go out of my way to kill bugs. I really don't. I just wish bugs and humans would acknowledge their differences and keep apart from each other. Why are you bugs getting so up-close and personal with us all the time? It's really rather inconsiderate.

Hey, you know what's even more inconsiderate?

The idiotic Discovery Channel and National Geographic television episodes that advertise facts about bugs that NO ONE WANTS TO KNOW. Even worse are the idiotic creeps who watch those shows and then run to school and tell their friends all the facts. Those are the only nerds you have the right to bully. I know I bully them. You know what I did to this one kid on my soccer team who had a pet tarantula? I gave him a really long, mean stare. But believe me--he deserved it.

Believe me--I think it's great all the things bugs do for the ecosystem. They pollinate. They decompose. Some of them are even courteous enough to eat other bugs. But would it really hurt if God made bugs look like this instead of like they are in real life?

I know I wouldn't mind. I could hug some of the bugs in that movie.

This post hasn't been very eloquent, but hang in there.

I'll talk to you another time.

I Met a Goddess Today: She Had Braces

Welcome, my beloved nerdlings. You've decided to embark on a journey with me today, a journey of not only sight and sound but of mind. You have entered...The Twilight Zone.

Surprised I didn't make a nerd spin-off on that? So am I. Nothing clever came to mind. Sorry.

Now I thought I might mention to you some notable events of the last few days to you. That okay? Sure it is.

First of all, when I say "notable," I mean notable to me. I'm a nerd, you have to remember. Anything and everything is notable to me. Literally. That's barely a joke. My social skills are so limited, I get confused about what's okay for conversation and ehwat's not. Sometimes I might really slip up. For example, say I'm at school and some friends of mine are talking about a party they had last weekend:

Friend of Mine #1: Ha, remember when you chugged three cans of Coke Zero and then ran like twenty laps around the house wearing a that chick's bikini?"

Friend of Mine #2: That was hilarious. And remember when that other kid started up a game of underwater strip poker in the swimming pool?

Me: Yeah, and remember when your uncle drove you there in a silver minivan, dropped you off and said "Be back by ten." You were wearing a Gap hoodie, jeans, and Nike tennis shoes. Remember that? And remember how you walked up to the door, knocked three times and rang the doorbell once? And how they answered the door and you said "Hello" and they said "Welcome"? That was funny. Remember all that?

Maybe I'm exaggerating just a little bit, but I'm sure you get the point.

SOME NOTABLE EVENTS FROM THE LAST FEW DAYS:

1. On Sunday, I sat next to a family at Church who had a two-year-old son with Down Syndrome. The kid is totally adorable. Almost too adorable. He is also endlessly energetic. He yells all the time during the service. During Communion, he ran away from his parents and came to our pew. After examining me (close-up) for about five minutes, he then proceeded to dive behind my parents to take a short nap on our pew. It was pretty funny.

2. Also on Sunday, my brother had a genius idea. If he ever does get a cell phone, (believe me, though--he won't), he's going to keep his phone in a really big black bag. And then he's going to set his ring tone so that it's the recording of a baby crying. What do you think will happen when someone calls him? Do the math.

3. While driving to school today, one of the kids in our carpool boards the car with a shoe box in his hands. Somebody asks, "What's in the shoe box?" He tells them. It's a live lobster.

4. I saw a bunny rabbit in our backyard during dinner tonight!!! I only glimpsed it before it bounced off, but it was a surreal experience. I love our backyard.

5. I went to a cook-out last Saturday. I'm friends with nerds, so this was a get-together mostly for nerds, I'll have you know. Yeah, we played basketball and video games--(bleh), but we also watched The Matrix and played ping pong. But believe me when I say this--nerds can get pretty crazy too when they're around good friends. I took my shoes off at the beginning of the cook-out and left them on the basement floor. When I came back, one was behind the TV and the other was in a popcorn-making machine.

6. Today I saw an impossibly beautiful girl. I would say "The most beautiful girl in the world" but I'm not one for hyperboles. Believe me when I say this: she was stunning. I saw her in the halls about two hours after school. Just me and her. I literally--literally sighed when I saw her. My male instincts almost sprung into play, but then I hit a speed bump: how do you impress a girl who you just met in the halls? If I was a girl, I would drop my books and see if she would help me pick them up. (If I was a girl and I did that, I would also be a lesbian.) But I honestly couldn't do anything at all. Nothing. It was infuriating. I would have liked to extend a hand for her to shake and then say "Excuse me, but I think you're beautiful." Yeah, that kind of stuff only works in your head.

So, alas, I couldn't do anything. I saw her for about fifteen seconds and then she was gone. Gone. All gone. As I said before, I sighed. Then she left. So I sighed, gasped, and then groaned. God, she was so beautiful. Don't tell me why I think so. She had braces. Short. Brunette. Wow.

I think she was a year younger than me, because I didn't recognize her from my grade. But she was just so striking, I couldn't help but mention her.

Video Games Ruined My Life: Good Thing I Have Two Left

Stolen from Threadless.com. It's a hilarious site, but funny t-shirts are a dangerous product. You get people who just grab you by the shoulders and hold you steady so they can read the t-shirt. Awkward. I feel so violated.

I don't know about everyone else, but I'm getting sick and tired of these idiotic, melodramatic, self-centered posts about romance in my life. I've had strong feelings for three girls in the past few years. The first: Broke up with me and did unforgivable things at her school afterward. The second: She is both moving to San Fransisco and my sister's friend. Like that was ever going anywhere. The third: Well, the third is Ginny Weasley. She's taken.

In other words, there's nothing left to talk about! That stage is dead and gone for me! I'm turning over a new leaf! Ew, nevermind. There's a caterpillar on that leaf.

But seriously--why did I ever talk about my girlfriend? Nerds don't have girlfriends until after college when they get really rich! Until then, nerds assemble at lunch to complain about how unfair it is that no girls like them. Nerds go over to each other's houses to look at Asian internet porn on each other's macs. Nerds mope around near the punch bowl at school dances. The only girls nerds ever talk about are either from Star Wars or Lord of the Rings.

So before I launch into my post unrelated to my romance life, I think I have something you'd like to see: my new YouTube video!

A Moderately Relaxing Video

And now onto the subject of my post today: video games.

A few things separate me from the average nerd. The most prominent one is the fact that I'm technologically impaired. I don't have a Facebook, a phone, and I have no idea how to program anything that runs on electricity. Most importantly: I NEVER PLAY VIDEO GAMES.



Let me go all old-fashioned on you for a moment and just say this:

I despise violent video games. I hate them. I totally hate them. Can't stand them. I almost hate violent video games over violence.

I watch over my friends' shoulders as they play video games that involve gunning down Iraqis, slaughtering enemy soldiers, and often killing civilians. Games like Grand Theft Auto where you get extra points by running over civilians and beating hookers totally disgust me. And there's only one explanation for why teens play them: they have these urges stored up in them all day to murder innocent people but they know they can't. So they get home...and they murder some innocent (though fake) video game characters!

It's not just the violent video games I have a problem with either. Video games in general. They're okay when used in moderation, but let's be honest--when are video games ever used in moderation?

They're destroying social skills. The leftover brain cells that weren't vaporized by hours of texting, Facebook, and web surfing are feasted upon by video games. Modern Warfare...Wii...Halo...Grand Theft Auto...Game Boy...Nintendo...They're going to bring the downfall of the human race, I tell ya!

Think about this: what do you do when you go over to a friend's house? If you don't text side-by-side, or visit Facebook together, or go to the movies/an amusement park, you probably play video games. I don't know about girls, but I know that's certainly true for guys. How many of your friends' names do you remember?

In conclusion, all video games should be disposed of by three methods: burned at the stake, broken on the great wheel, or given to the lepers.

Join the Revolution! Destroy the consoles! Burn their churches and claim their women!!!

That is all.