Category Archives: Geek

Um. Hi.

BY bonnie

So I had that major breakthrough moment almost a month ago. And, while there is still some depression, and varying amounts of anxiety, and while I’m looking into meds to treat all that, I am still feeling worlds better. It’s profound how terrible I felt. I wholly believed that I’d never have a good year again and that everything would always be terrible for the rest of my life. All that shit has been lifted and I can think more clearly and see positive possibilities on the horizon after all. Thank god.

But I haven’t been writing here.

Because I’ve mostly been playing video games.

And video games are weird, you know. Cause, like, Hermione will be trying to save Harry’s life during that quidditch match where Quirrell was trying to, you know, kill him, but first Hermione’s got to stop and put up decorations along the way.

I feel like I should make some sort of joke about her priorities here. But I feel like that’s already been done.

(I AM HILARIOUS, YOU GUYS.)

And then I’ve been playing the Sims. Because I heard someone say it, and someone else said “Lost” and naturally my first thought was I SHALL GIVE SAWYER AND JULIET THE HAPPY LIFE TOGETHER THAT THEY DESERVED. Except then Sawyer drove somewhere in his car and walked home and I looked EVERYWHERE for that damn car and could NOT figure out where he parked it. Several Sim-years later I found the car. In his pocket. I mean. I know Sims have a really hard time, say, using the bathroom if there is, for instance, a plate on the floor in the way. But I do believe that forgetting you put your car in your pocket is a new low.

It helps me feel better about my problems. I mean. There’s still a ton of shit going on that I have to somehow deal with, but at least I don’t accidentally leave my car in my pocket.

Edumacation, Geek, The Zebra

Where I say the word “literary” too many times in one paragraph.

BY bonnie

I sometimes get frustrated with my daughter when I recommend a book to her knowing she’ll like it, but she brushes me off or otherwise ignores the suggestion. Have I mentioned my daughter is an ornery Taurus?

But then, if I’m being honest, I have to admit she gets this trait from me (and I’m not even a Taurus). It took me at least 25 years to finally read Anne of Green Gables even though I knew I’d love it. Instead I reread The Ghost at Dawn’s House 647 times.

The interesting thing about the internet is the impressive nerd community. We are in our element here. We can connect with other nerds and correct the grammar of non-nerds while bonding over our intense and sometimes life-destroying love of fictional characters. This is accomplished via various means such as Tumblr, or image posts on Facebook, or Tumblr posts made into image posts and then posted on Facebook. It was through these that I gradually became aware of the fact that normal people, apparently, don’t get overly attached to fictional characters. I assume this must be true based on these posts themselves loudly proclaiming they’re sorry-not-sorry about loving fictional characters. In my personal life most of the people I know have just been like, “Oh you have a crush on Ford Prefect? What? That’s normal.” But I assume that if an entire community online has to support each other in this sense, then we must be alone in this trait.

And so I started examining why I sometimes avoid reading new books and it finally hit me: I have enough fictional friends already. My heart can’t always take the vulnerability of meeting new people who might get hurt and will, at the very least, definitely leave me by the end of the book. And I know I can always reread the book, but that is a different experience which is wonderful in its own way. In any case, that is sort of the point, isn’t it? That I keep rereading the old ones rather than new ones. This isn’t to say I’ve been reading the same six books my whole life – I do read new ones, quite often even. This is just the reason that I find myself magnetically repelled from books I know I’ll love.

When I was in high school (during the 90’s when everyone was a shitty beat poet in Doc Martens and thrift store flannels) my favorite English teacher sort of crushed my soul a little by declaring that you can tell a literary person because they are always in the middle of a bunch of books at once. But I never was. I’m extremely monogamous with books. I think it’s due to my attention issues. And maybe loyalty. I can’t cheat on a book, you know. So I assumed I must not be literary and my occasional hesitancy to avoid good literature reinforced that opinion. Now that I’m an adult I know better (although my inner self needs constant reminders). Literary people can read however the fuck many books they want at once. And the reason I avoid new books sometimes is, I think, an incredibly literary reason. After all, who else by shitty beat poets in Doc Martens and thrift store flannels becomes so attached to fictional characters that they literally cry at the words “the end”?

I mean. Except I don’t write shitty poetry anymore. I mean my inner 90’s grunge hipster teen. And yours, too. You know you have one.

Edumacation, Geek, Onwards, The Zebra, This is a Woman

On Ravenclaw, Pottermore, and Self Esteem

BY bonnie

Ravenclaw manicure. I knew if I looked far enough back in my photostream I’d find a relevant picture for this entry.

I remember being probably about three years old, spending the afternoons laying on my grandma’s bed in her red bedroom, working through a learn-to-read series. I loved the books, but often I’d wind up daydreaming instead of paying attention (this was to be a theme in my life). But I do remember that when she spelled out “A-P-P-L-E” I just heard the phrase “pee-pee” and giggled at the bathroom humor (which was also to be a theme in my life).

When I was about to enter kindergarten I took a test, I guess it was basically so my teacher could see what things I already knew. This is just my assumption. Anyway, in this test, apparently, I was told to count as high as I could go and I had to be stopped somewhere after the 70’s.

In third grade, I was tested for my school’s GATE program (they called it CORE) and despite the fact that the only question I still remember today, I got embarrassingly wrong, I was entered into the program. Four days a week I’d leave my classroom and spend an hour doing cool language arts stuff (cause my school was a kickass language arts magnet).

While I loved being a part of CORE, and I’m so glad I had that opportunity (especially as school got harder for me), it also saddled me with certain self-esteem issues. Because being a CORE kid came with expectations. My teachers would regularly point out to the whole class (which. wtf were they thinking? WHO benefits from that?) that the CORE kids were super fast workers, while I was still only halfway done with the assignment. I often frustrated teachers with my daydreaming because they felt that if I just stayed focused I’d reach my potential. I never seemed to meet the expectations that the “smart” kids were supposed to.

Please understand that I am not – absolutely not – knocking teachers. Teachers are some of the most important people in our culture and I highly respect them. And nearly all of my elementary school teachers were not only good at their job, but I remember them as people who I loved very much, and I know they loved me back. Overall I was blessed with mostly good teachers.

Maybe it’s because things were just different back in the dark ages 30 years ago, or maybe it’s because we know so much more now, and I’m sure it’s because my attention issues are really mild and probably not diagnosable as anything even by today’s more comprehensive standards, but I was left alone to come to the conclusion that I wasn’t actually as smart as the other CORE kids, or as smart as everyone seemed to think I was. It was a sort of weird place to be. It was obviously considered a high honor in my world to be considered smart – to have been labeled “gifted” – and I was proud of that just as much as it made me feel like shit. I don’t think I ever talked about this as a kid. Maybe I was too ashamed of myself and afraid people would figure out they were wrong about me or maybe because I just couldn’t find the words to express it. I don’t know. But the seed was planted.

And then when I was in fourth grade my mom suffered her nervous breakdown and my life went to shit. I was absent more days than not and tardy on the days I showed up at all. The kids around me would ask why and I didn’t know what to tell them. Teachers would scold me for not going to bed earlier (not that easy to do when your mom keeps you out until midnight, you know?) and I felt ashamed of all the mistakes I was making. I began to hate school when I’d always loved it before. My grades started suffering and everything fed into those insecurities that had already been planted in me.

And that’s just how it was. I did OK in English classes, usually getting B’s, sometimes C’s. Math classes were nearly always D’s if I was lucky. I didn’t understand how to study, and I had no interest in grades at all, except to hate myself when they weren’t good. I feel like in many ways I slept through my education, wandering bewildered through where I was told to go, only vaguely aware of the goal at the end.

In ninth grade something happened where I was suddenly able to gain control of small parts of my life and I suddenly stopped having all those absences and tardies. I cannot tell you what changed in me that year, but it was not the only major change I made in my life. I suppose it was my Oak Tree calling me to the next step of growth.

Even after that, though, I was still only a mediocre student in high school. I didn’t take it seriously. In fact, in my first go at biology I wound up with a 17% in the class. That’s, like, not even an F. But it wasn’t because it was a hard subject for me. It was because I just never did any work. In fact the next year when I retook the class, they put me in an honors-level course (as is per the custom when someone flunks a class?) and I wound up with a B.

Senior year something clicked and I worked really hard all year and received my first (and so far only) 4.0. But when I entered college things started sliding back downhill quickly.

In high school I took all the AP courses, but never took the AP tests. I think I was too afraid. While I wasn’t consciously aware of it, I think I believed I’d fail them. And I couldn’t handle failing. So I just didn’t try. I think the college-choosing process went similarly. I wound up going to the community college for lack of aiming for anything else.

It’s a strange loop to be stuck in. Too afraid to fail, desperately wanting to be a smart as everyone acted like I was, and unwilling to try because I was too fragile to handle failing.

And being at the community college, instead of a four-year school, just confirmed for me that I wasn’t smart. High school counselors and teachers acted like community college was for the people too stupid to go directly to university (or maybe that was just my perception). So, basically, I failed before I ever began. And since I didn’t really have any actual goals in mind for transfer or career, I just sort of dropped out.

And I struggled with this for years. Well, to be honest, I still sort of do. I definitely have some insecurities that I am still working on.

But there came a time when Harry Potter came into my life. Don’t laugh. Harry Potter is real, man. Of the four houses, I’d wonder which one I’d get sorted into. I knew I wasn’t Gryffindor material. I’m not that brave and I certainly don’t want the glory. None of the glory. That’s my motto. (I’m OK with recognition. Just not glory.) (And by “recognition” I mean that I’d prefer it if it’s given discreetly and that no one looks at me all at once and we just move on with things quickly, please.) And I didn’t relate to any of the Slytherins at.all.ever. Which left Ravenclaw, renowned for their intellect, and Hufflepuff, described in the books as “for everyone else.” (I paraphrase because I am too lazy to go look it up right now. Don’t judge. Those books are all the way across the room. And I can’t even accio them. Stupid muggle genes.) Since I assumed I wasn’t smart enough for Ravenclaw, I figured I must belong in the catch-all house intended for people who are just leftovers, not good enough to be sorted anywhere else.

I KNOW BETTER NOW.

I don’t know why Hufflepuffs aren’t more celebrated in the books, but I think that’s why the house is so generally disrespected. It wasn’t until I got deeper into the lore of the Wizarding World that I began to really understand the complexities of the different houses, and to understand what Hufflepuffs actually are. They aren’t leftovers at all. They are characterized by being loving and loyal. By operating on feelings rather than glory or knowledge. And I began to see that Hufflepuff is, really, possibly the best house (aside from it’s unfortunate bumblebee colors, I mean). I mean. Helga Hufflepuff took everyone into her house because she saw that everyone is amazing. Because you don’t need to be brave or smart or driven to be important. That’s what Hufflepuff is. And I’d be proud if I were in Hufflepuff House.

And I do think I’m sort of on the cusp of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. A lot of my social anxieties are based in my intense desire to want to make people happy and know that they are loved (of course, one can also be loving and loyal without the anxiety part). But if there is one character who I most relate to in the Harry Potter stories it is by far Luna. She was flighty and dreamy, she was fiercely loyal, she believed in unbelievable things, and she was a Ravenclaw.

And then when I was sorted into my Pottermore house, I was sorted into Ravenclaw. And it might sound crazy, or fanatical, or childish, but that changed me. It gave me the confidence to begin to be able to see that I am not stupid. That I can get good grades and that I can finish college. That I had the ability all along, I was just missing the support, and the sane life, and the help to find my strengths among my weaknesses.

And so a few weeks ago I finished my first college course in something like 16 years and I got an A. And now I’m a week into a physiological psychology class which is challenging. Parts of it are fascinating to me (and therefore easier), but parts are more abstract (hello, molecular biology!) and things that are less tangible are sometimes harder for me to comprehend (when my son was born and my midwife handed him to me I said, “Oh! A baby!” cause I was legit a little surprised). But I’ve learned so much about myself, and I was given the confidence to believe that I can that now I’m able to see the parts that are challenging for me, and work harder at them. Because I know that I can understand this subject. I have the capacity and I will. It’s only taken me 30 years to get to this point.

This is the fascinating part of physiological psychology

Geek, This is a Woman

The Doctorette

BY bonnie

See what I did there? DO YOU SEE WHAT I DID THERE?

If you are a Whovian you probably know they’ve announced the actor who will play the next Doctor, after Matt Smith leaves the show later this year. If you are not a Whovian, you might want to keep reading anyway because this deals with more than just nerd stuff. If you don’t know what a Whovian is, get thee to Netflix right now and start watching Doctor Who. You’re welcome.

Brief summary for non-Whovians: The Doctor is a time-travelling alien (known as a Time Lord) from the planet Gallifrey. Instead of dying, the Time Lords have the ability to regenerate into a new body. This process happens with various levels of control involved – the Time Lady Romana chose her second incarnation, the Second Doctor was offered a choice of several images by the Time Lords as part of a forced regeneration (SPOILERS), and the Ninth Doctor calls it a “dodgy process” and states that me might wind up with two heads, or no head at all. My understanding, or feeling, is that the amount of control over the process is in proportion to how much one is injured at the time, or how rushed the process is. Since the Doctor is nearly always dying when he regenerates, he has very little control over how he winds up looking, and it is insinuated that he’s just lucky to have so far always had the usual number of limbs.

So the debate, then, is what happens if the Doctor regenerates as a woman?

He’s not going to just yet – the next actor to play the Doctor is also a man. While I’d love to see the Doctor played by a woman someday, I really am relieved it’s not happening right now because the current head writer of the show is fucking sexist as hell. I don’t want him having any control over a female Doctor, and I don’t want him in charge of setting the precedent. Luckily, he seems to be against the idea of the Doctor regenerating into a woman anyway; yesterday he gave this quote: “I like that Helen Mirren has been saying the next doctor should be a woman. I would like to go on record and say that the Queen should be played by a man.” WHAT EVEN THE FUCK, MOFFAT?

Here’s a great post listing all the reasons Moffat is a douchebag.

But that’s not what I wanted to write about today. There are plenty of posts about why we need a female Doctor (and probably just as many posts arguing that he should always be male). What I wanted to share was the process I went through before accepting the idea that he might someday switch genders.

I think we, as humans – actually, perhaps more correctly, within our collective society – are more strongly tied to gender than the Time Lords must be. I know the Doctor as a man. He has always been a man. We become tied to the identities of the people we know. I suspect this is mainly cultural – if a person wants to change their first name, they are met with resistance from the people around them, yet if a woman wants to change her last name when she gets married no one bats an eye. Changes to one’s identity are accepted so long as they fit within the norms we’ve been raised with. To have cultural norms is human and not necessarily always a bad thing, but we must keep in mind what is and is not cultural when we approach new experiences. So, culturally we feel the need for people to remain as they are; we feel safer in a world we know. Major life changes are upsetting, even if they wind up being okay in the end. That was the first aspect of things I needed to face. Just because I know the Doctor as a man doesn’t mean he won’t still be the Doctor as a woman. He is somewhat different in every incarnation – sassy, silly, dark, or light – but he is always the Doctor. He always loves humans, he always fights for good and peace and love, he always carries darkness with him, he’s never ginger, I’m always in love with him. Being a woman really won’t change any of those eternal aspects.

But, I reasoned, he calls himself a man. Therefore he must identify as a male. And then I began to think about this on a level that only the truly nerdy ever contemplate fiction with. Because English – or any human language – is not the Doctor’s native language. If the Time Lords have a biological ability to regenerate into other genders, I assume their language must deal with this in a uniquely Gallifreyan way. Sweden has recently adopted a gender-neutral pronoun into their language; it’s not an impossible concept. So the Doctor translates his language into what fits best with the people he’s surrounded by.

I think it boils down to the fact that we humans don’t have this biological ability built into us so it makes it hard for us to comprehend the idea that it might be a part of another species. Our discomfort with it is our issue, not the Doctor’s. Knowing that and embracing it – the idea that it IS hard to wrap my brain around – made it easier for me to wrap my brain around. Embracing my limits as a human enabled me to expand them. Which is some sort of inside-out catch-22 or something. It’s like a mobius strip of thinking (possible new tagline for this blog).

Besides, the subject has been broached before when Joanna Lumley played (one of) the Doctor(s) in this Red Nose day comedy bit that you need to watch right this second because it is awesome.

I have become completely comfortable with the idea of a female Doctor and I hope in the near future we get to meet her, just as I hope that in the near future we get to meet a Doctor of color. As long as Moffat is in charge I’m glad that he is not the one setting the precedent for what a female Doctor would be like, but someday I hope we get to see a woman drive the TARDIS.

Geek, Philosophy

Possible emo lyrics. Hang on. Just let me grab my eyeliner.

BY bonnie

“No one in the world ever gets what they want and that is beautiful. Everybody dies frustrated and sad and that is beautiful.” – They Might be Giants, Don’t Let’s Start

I love quote tattoos. But for a long time I could never think of a quote I’d get tattooed on me. Something that was general enough to speak for my life, without being cliché. Except for this one TMBG quote. But it is – on the surface anyway – so depressing that I’m not sure I am ready to commit to that, or actually to commit to always having to explain it to people.

I’m drawn to it, I think, because it takes things that we are frightened of – crushed dreams, death, depression – and tells you that these things are beautiful. It looks into the darkness of humanity and tells you that it’s OK, normal, part of life. It challenges you to take a second look at the hard things and find new ways to look at them. To try to see them as beautiful.

Also, I like the unusual cadence of the word “frustrated” in the song. Frust.RATE.ed. I’m kind of slutty for unusual cadence.

We all have darkness in our lives, and to pretend that we don’t isn’t going to make it go away. Rather we should face it, go through it, come out the other side. The quote speaks casually and openly about the worst aspects of life. No one gets what they want. Meh. Let’s go get pizza! Everyone dies frustrated and sad. So what? Don’t dwell on it, enjoy what you have here, instead! The casualness with which these terrible things are spoken of, gives me hope. It’s not flippant – these are the words of someone who’s been there and who can help you find your way.

Its theme of unity – that we’re all in this together – is encouraging, too. The hard parts of life are really shitty to have to face alone, but the idea that we’re all together, helping each other to get through it, encourages me. I feel less alone. And that is beautiful.

It’s OK to not get what you want. Sometimes that’s a big thing and you feel devastated. Sometimes it’a smaller thing that’s easier to move on from. Sometimes it’s a smaller thing, but you’re devastated anyway. It’s OK. You’re passionate. I am, too. But the devastation will go away and you’ll be able to see that it was a small thing after all. The point is that humans are amazing at adaptation. You will survive. And you’ll find beauty in it.

You’ll be frustrated and you’ll be sad. And you’ll face death. And you might have to do all three at once. But we all do. You are not alone. And that is beautiful.

Important life skills to know:
Cooking
Laundry
Interpersonal communication and “I feel” statements
Finding beauty in sadness, frustration, and not getting what you want
How to wax a car and how often it should be done

I’m pretty good at the first four. If anyone has any information about the last one, let me know, OK?

PS. Every time I read through this entry to edit it, I get the song stuck in my head again. So. I wonder if that would make for a terrible tattoo after all?

Geek, Recipes

The Best-Ever Gluten-Free Pumpkin Pasties

BY bonnie

I originally posted this a few months ago at my old blog after my daughter’s Hogwarts-themed birthday party, but I’m posting it here this week in honor of Harry Potter’s birthday. What do you mean you don’t celebrate the birthdays of fictional characters? It’s like I don’t know you at all.

I’ve finally found a kickass gluten-free pasty recipe. (That’s pass-tee, not paste-y. Just to be clear.) I’ve been trying to find one ever since we went gluten free and I’ve tried various ideas, but none have really worked very well. It’s the gluten that makes dough so flexible, so it’s hard to replicate in this sort of recipe where flexibility is so important. But these are not only workable, but they are strong and flaky. I’ve honestly never had any gluten-free pastry taste so gluteny. Everyone who has tried them has been really impressed with them – even the picky people. The original recipe for the crust is here, but I had to tweak it a little bit because my kids are sensitive to waaaay more things than just gluten. We’ve made this recipe with various meat fillings, too, and it’s delicious savory or sweet. I’m dying to try it with scrambled eggs and bacon or nut butter and jelly. For the pumpkin filling I used a modified version of the pumpkin pie recipe from the La Leche League cookbook. Here’s the whole recipe, put together.

For The Pastry
2 cups white rice flour
1 cup tapioca flour
1/2 cup quinoa flour
1/2 tsp salt
3 tsp xanthan gum
2 eggs
2 Tablespoons apple cider vinegar
1 cup icy water
1 cup palm shortening
1 egg, for glazing

In a large bowl mix together the rice flour, tapioca, quinoa flour, xanthan gum, and salt. Cut the palm shortening into the flour mixture using a pastry cutter. Continue mixing until the dough looks like small peas or a sand like texture.

In another bowl mix the apple cider vinegar, eggs, and cold water.
Slowly combine the liquid with the flour, kneading to incorporate all of the water.
Once all the liquid has been added knead for 1-2 minutes to ensure everything is combined well. The dough should be slightly sticky but not too wet.

UPDATE: Last time I made these I got lazy and mixed the dry ingredients and the fat in the stand mixer. I then slowly added the liquid and let the stand mixer do all that work, too. It was easy and worked just as well.

Cover the dough and refrigerate for 1 hour. (I didn’t really do this step because I am lazy.)

For The Filling

1/2 can butternut squash (I KNOW. Even the “pumpkin” is a lie. But you can totally use pumpkin.) (You can freeze the rest of the squash or double the pastry part of the recipe.)
1 egg
1/8 cup sugar
1 tablespoon molasses
1/2 teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon ground ginger
1/8 teaspoon nutmeg
1/4 teaspoon vanilla

Mix all that together.

Putting It All Together

Preheat the oven to 425. Line two cookie sheets with parchment paper.

Take a palm-sized ball of dough (that’s palm of your hand, not palm tree, to be clear) and roll it smooth before flattening it into a circle. Drop a small dollop of the pumpkin mixture in the center and carefully fold the pasty in half, pinching it closed into a half-circle.

Once all your pasties are ready to go, brush with beaten egg to give them that pretty, shiny glaze. Put them in the over for 15 minutes at 425, then lower the temperature to 350 until the pasties are beautifully golden.

Geek, Local, Places We Go and Things We Do

And the Nerds Descend Upon San Diego, Part the Second

BY bonnie

Comic Con is crazy-stupid to get tickets to these days. Back in the day we used to just show up that day and buy tickets and then something happened where it exploded in population and all the people on Earth show up to stand in line. Last year we wound up being gifted a free comp ticket that a friend of a friend didn’t need (and kids are free) and I was happy with that. I want to visit other cons now (I actually had plans for both Leaky Con and Gallifrey One this year, but The Universe was all NOPE). Even so, I went ahead and entered to win Comic Con tickets because if the process was free and easy I’d totally go. I never expected to win. BUT I TOTALLY DID. (And I fully realize that I’ve used up all my Comic Con luck for ever and ever now.)

I had two tickets to the Con and I wasn’t sure who to give the other one to because most of my friends hate crowds with a passion (I don’t – but the crowds at Comic Con last year did even me in) but when I heard that Rainbow was doing a panel I offered my other ticket to Bethany so she and her daughter could go. (And you know what’s stupid? I forgot to get a picture of all three kids together.)

I don’t know these people. I just know that they are awesome.

Last year we went to the Doctor Who panel. That required waiting in line all morning and we *just* made it in the panel (see? LUCK). So this year we decided that we’d rather do other stuff all day rather than just one thing for most of the day. Besides we’d done the Doctor Who Tumblr Meetup the day before and breathed the same air as Matt Smith and all so we were good there.

So we didn’t do… much. We walked the floor (and by “walked” I mean “elbowed our way through the masses”), we had lunch with our friends and laughed a lot, we saw awesome cosplay. The kids went to a panel with their dad and I joined Bethany in Rainbow’s panel. We hung out at the Lego booth and took a picture in the Ice King’s jail. We had fun, but at the end of the day I felt underwhelmed.

And here’s why: I’m not really all that into comics. I know, I know. I feel bad for going to Comic Con when I’m not really into comics, but it’s not my fault that’s where the BBC goes. Ideally they’d plan a second, perhaps linked, con that is for geeky entertainment in general. But unless that happens Comic Con is where I want to be. Only. Most of the panels – the ones that aren’t the huge ones, I mean – are comic book-based. (There were a few for kids we wanted to check out – like how to draw comics – but we missed them due to timing.) So as a con it’s not that interesting to me. I should clarify that I am not in any way anti-comic book. I know they are an intelligent and legitimate art form. I just don’t relate to them as well as I do to books or movies. Maybe someday I’ll find a comic that will change my mind.

The panels at Gallifrey and Leaky Con sounded really, really interesting to me, but it’s just the E-ticket panels I want to go to at Comic Con. And then I realized: I like Comic Con for it’s Disneyland aspects. I would rather wait in line all day (or night) and see one awesome panel than fight my way through the crowds on the floor for a few free buttons (disclaimer: my kids may or may not disagree with me on the value of free buttons). But other cons – ones that are built around the fandoms I am a part of – I think I’d like for the convention itself.

I’m sorry. I just can’t stop showing off my awesome shoes.

Someday perhaps I’ll buy tickets to Comic Con and sleep in line to see the Doctor again, but I think (unless I get free tickets again!) I will stick to the free outside-the-con events instead. Because, frankly, for one weekend a year, all of downtown is full of magic (and crowds. Don’t forget the crowds).