I have no clue what M will stand for, so I’m just going to start writing and see what emerges.
I’m surrounded by geeks. Comic geeks, for the most part. I’m at Stumptown Comics Fest, at the Oregon Convention Center. I’m not really a comics geek, although I have enjoyed comics in the past. Distant past. Well, that’s not entirely true: i have a full slate of webcomics I read daily: Sluggy Freelance, PvP, Starslip, Culturepulp, Subnormality, many others (check my blogroll for the list of my mainstays). But I still only scratch the surface. There are sub-genres that I have only a vague awareness about: anime, for example. Or what’s happening in the major publishers, Marvel or DC. I couldn’t tell you what Dark Horse publishes these days even though their headquarters are a mile from my home, and I’ve interviewed for a job there.
But I like geeks. I am a geek, even though my meekness tends more towards paper-and-dice role playing games, or computers, I still recognize a kindred spirit in the people I see around me.
The stereotype is that geeks are overweight and socially maladapted, and almost always male. I see all sorts of body types around me: thin, average, large. Male and female, young and old. It still seems majority white, though; is that just because it’s Portland? That’s not to say that there aren’t people of color around, but they are in the minority. I hope that’s OK for me to point out.
But I couldn’t tell you why I’m still uncomfortable here. I knew that Scott Kurtz, the artist behind PvP, was exhibiting here, and I knew that I wanted to tell him I loved his work. That’s what any artist wants to hear, at the most basic. I didn’t really have any idea of what to say beyond that. So… that’s what I said. Just that. “I love your work.” He looked uncomfortable but I have no idea why; it’s unlikely in the extreme that it was me, but I still wanted to put him at ease. Sadly, I’m not normally able to put people at ease, since I am usually nervous and unfitting-in myself.
Maybe it’s ironic that I want so badly to fit in, but find myself generally unable to achieve that. I know quite a few of the exhibitors. I get recognized by co-workers and old friends. I could name several of the artists and speak about their major works. But it seems some of them know of me, but they don’t know me, and that’s my fault.
When I get asked “How are you?” I don’t usually answer, because, especially lately, I am not doing so well. I feel depressed, like I always do, which is to say I feel the same lack of energy and confidence that I often feel. My exterior calm hides an interior full of fear and doubt. I know that’s common; it’s the human experience, isn’t it? I let it consume me, though.
Clearly, M stands for Me.
