Found: Interesting

"Whether it's games, alcohol, painted figurines, film continuity, or conversations where we're convinced someone doesn't like us because of something we said, nerds obsess. We zealously deconstruct. We have that very active internal monologue. I think many of the things we undertake are, in part, attempts to drown out that monologue. We are hyper-self-aware. We have difficulty "chilling out." We tend to suffer from depression and anxiety. Sometimes it can get really bad. If you've never had a panic attack, for example, I'll describe it thusly: Imagine being fucked in the heart. In most of these cases, barring severe chemical imbalances, the raw material here is obsession, and with practice, obsession is harnessable for good."
-- Chris Hardwick, author of The Nerdist Way: How to Reach the Next Level (In Real Life)

[just added that book into the amazon wishlist; to be bought after finding a way to replace the Kindle]

The writing has been ... sporadic. Fits and starts. Half-formed paragraphs and scribbled notes in one of my many moleskines. Christ. Suck less, right?

So maybe a month ago, there was a really damn awesome deal for three years of Wired for like $18. Always liked that magazine, and in this age where the printed word seems destined for history, I thought I might ride out the last few years with an actual subscription. Plus, I mean, hell, I got rid of cable, right? Brother's gotta take in something. Besides, I've gotten some of my best "ideas" from reading Wired. Always wanted to be a sci-fi writer even if I trended toward the fantastic.

First issue of the subscription showed up last week. Had an LED lightbulb on the cover. I flipped through the magazine, but didn't really read it. These days, it takes special circumstances for me to sink into something not escapism. LED lightbulbs? Call me when I can get one for $3 instead of $34 (I don't give a shit if that's the last lightbulb I'll ever need buy, I'm not paying $34 for it).

Second issue showed up about a week later, this time with the muppets on the cover. Well, Beaker, anyway, and he was always one of my favorites. Tonight, Steph granted me clemency from the bedtime proceedings, and I gamed a little with Taxi. As he's an east coaster, he knocked off early, and they girls were already asleep. Not being in the middle of the book, I grabbed up the muppetted Wired and started reading.

First article I read was about a Russian venture capitalist. Jesus. I should've been an economist. Dude just bought a $100m home in California. Probably stays there about as much as Boone Pickens stays out at his ranch.

Then I read one about a guy who makes submarines that look like airplanes, and an interview with Stephen King about writing about time travel. And then there was "Self-help for Nerds," by Chris Hardwick. Apparently he used to be the co-host of Mtv's Singled Out. I don't remember the guy. Or the show, for that matter. But the article... good stuff.

Long way to explain to you why I read an article, eh? That quoted paragraph up there at the top of this? That's from the article. The description of the panic attack made me laugh out loud, so I thought I'd share, and since I was here already...

Homework for the three of you reading. Think about a retail/store front small business idea that caters to nerds that wouldn't have to beat out a big-box type store to stay solvent. I'm thinking something like a nerd version of The Gadget Store. Like a comic shop for 30-somethings (the analog, not an actual comic shop).

Steph and I had this conversation at dinner wherein I mentioned that had we the money, I would quit my job and go back to school. I'm tired of feeling hopeless, and there's no future in this career. The 15 years I've spent plying my trade for causes unimportant to me has done me in as a journalist. I can no longer see the possibilities of it. I do not think it is viable, at least not in this place.

She told me that if I actually knew what I wanted to do, she'd tell me to quit my job and go back to school. Well, I don't have a specific thing. I either want to run something or learn to make things that people would want to buy. By run, I mean a business. I don't mind work. I just need it to be personally relevant to me. I want my efforts to have a direct impact on the bottom line; if I work hard, I want it to pay off. No more of this busting my ass to hit deadlines and not getting any sort of raises for four years. No more of this sitting in a place waiting to be rewarded for my efforts when the people who dole out the rewards have no intention of actually doing so.

Were my career a sparring partner, I'd straight punch that fucker in the mouth, smash in its nose with my forehead, and crack its skull with my elbow, then toss it off the bridge.

Going to bed.