Ten Geek Interests That Are Too Geeky, Even For You.

A few months back, I posted an article here on Geekscape declaring that the popular concept of Geek, as a collection of outsider interests, has been destroyed by their continuing mainstream approval. And while the people who have deep and unshaken passions (about, say, videogames, obscure superhero comics, and playing D&D) are still proudly geeks, and would likely continue on their roads of interests whether or not they were popular in the mainstream, it doesn’t take a very sophisticated mind to see that most interests once called “geek” have drifted into the center of popular interest. Most geeks, at least older ones like me (holy crap, I was born in the ’70s!), recall the halcyon days of the punk rock outsider status that geeks once carried. When openly talking about the details of a video game, and arguing which Enterprise captain was better, would get you shoved into a wall of lockers. These days, geeks get laid a lot more easily. Good on them.

But, through time immemorial, there have been certain geek interests that have always eluded approval, even from other geeks. While video games may be in the middle now, along with superhero comics, there are certain facets of the geek world that, I feel, will never, under any circumstances, break into the middle in the same way. Geeks easily accept their peers, and finding someone with a common interest can mean either the beginning of a respectful regard, or an entertaining rivalry. But some geeks, well, they’re just too geeky for the geek community.

In honor of our purist peers, who proudly and powerfully remain awkwardly on the outside, I have come up with the following list of the ULTRAGEEK interests. The ones that will distract the kids playing D&D so they can look up, snicker, and think to themselves “There, but for the grace of Cthulhu, go I.” Let’s look at the outsiders that are still outsiders in this world of geek acceptance.

Funny Animal Comics

I was honored to tag along to this year’s ComiCon in San Diego, thanks to the hardworking folks at Geekscape, and my favorite part of the convention was merely wandering the floor of the convention center, looking at costumes, and visiting the various studio booths that had been set up. And while the big-name comic book booths like Marvel and DC had enormous and elaborate setups where you could meet your favorite artists and compete in costume contests and the like, I felt that the real lifeblood of the con was the back corner that had remained unaltered since the event’s conception: The comics retailers. It was out where where older fat guys in stained t-shirts would haggle with you over the price of a rare, near-mint copy of a “Scrooge McDuck” comic.

Back in the ’40s and ’50s, you see, long before superheroes took the forefront of the comic book industry in earnest, many children would follow the Funny Animal Comics. Cutesy, anthropomorphic creatures, usually without pants, getting into typical sitcom scrapes, and making lame, childish jokes. These comic commanded the attention of an entire generation, and, to this day, there are youngsters (well, kids in their 30s) who passionately follow them. These Funny Animal Comics were a great influence on R. Crumb, and the people who follow them are not just reliving nostalgia; they are looking for the oddball, nightmarish edge to something that, on its surface, seems completely innocuous.

Many geeks these days, as is the wont of the average American teenager, prefer their geek interests to have an edge. There has to be a modicum of cool involved, or the interest will vanish. Funny Animal Comics, no matter how much irony you lump on them, will never be edgy or cool. And yet, people still love them.

Actually learning imaginary languages

A friend of mine has a tattoo around her bicep that is written in Elvish, transcribed directly from her copy of The Lord of the Rings. You yourself probably know one or two geek couples who actually bothered to have their wedding bands look like The One Ring. And, speaking of geek weddings, it’s also entirely likely that you’ve met one or two people who had a Klingon wedding. Geeky? Most certainly. But being able to identify Klingons costume, or Elvish script is now old hat. Anyone can do it.

How many geek out there, though, have actually bothered to learn Elvish or Klingon? Not so many. Thanks to the hard work of one Mark Okrand, there is an entire syntax and vocabulary for Klingon, and I believe Tolkien himself left instructions on how to speak the various Elvish dialects in his books (he was, after all, a linguist first and foremost; his fantasy stuff was always secondary in his mind). Some geeks bothered to find all the proper instructions, spend a good deal of their free time in freelance study, and actually managed to learn the entire language. Anyone can sit and watch every episode of “Star Trek,” and become a passive expert. It takes a real hardcore geek to actually speak Klingon fluently.

There was a time in my own history when my passion for “Star Trek” was such that I tried to teach myself Klingon. I did absorb a few phrases, but I think my mind retained more of my Latin classes. If you’re willing to learn an entire new language for your geek interests, that puts you way ahead.

The Radio Drama

This one is for me.

If you recall, I once wrote a list for Geekscape about the 10-best radio dramas. Who listens to radio dramas anymore? I hear you cry. Well, me for one. I feel that their form allows for an easier way to communicate fantasy ideas, scenarios and characters than anything visual. Radio drama is a medium you meet halfway with your imagination. Like books. They’re books you can hear. With actors, music and sound effects.

How many radio aficionados are there in the world? More than you’d think. A friend of mind regularly gathers together friends to put on an on-stage variety show, wherein he plays music and sings, and then punctuates the evening with a mock-up of old-timey radio shows, featuring a whole cast. Recently, the filmmaker Larry Fessenden out out a radio series called “Tales from beyond the Pale,” wherein recent horror directors wrote 30-minute audio stories. Here in L.A., some hot comedians regularly gather to record extraordinary tales for audio consumption. And then there’s my favorite, ZBS media in New York, who has been making weird-ass radio dramas since 1970. The form is so versatile, it’s a wonder more aren’t doing it.

In this age of increased audio download, podcasts, and song-by-song digital piecemealing, it seems to me that radio drama could be poised for a resurgence. However, if I go by the expressions on people’s faces when they hear me talk about radio drama, I’d say it still has some time left in the closet.

Vampire: The Masquerade

RPGs have always been one of the black sheep of the geek world. While all of us have the experience of playing “Dungeons & Dragons” at some point in our lives, there is still a odor of sub-culture geekiness wafting about the people who passionately play role-playing games with any kind of regularity. Like most geek things, such games have increased in popularity over the last 15 years or so, but I did notice that, at this last ComiCon, how few people actually spent the bulk of their time in the playrooms.

Of the RPGs in the world, I recall a single game, called “Vampire: The Masquerade,” that was scoffed at even by the hardcore RPG-players. I was invented in the early 1990s, and tapped into the coming surge of angsty vampires that Anne Rice would exploit in a few years’ time. It was melodramatic, it was angsty, and it was everything a sullen proto-Goth needed to grow into a proper Byronic hero. In addition to the role-playing elements, though (making up a character, giving them measurable personality attributes, finding the proper polyhedron dice), “Vampire: The Masquerade” seemed to encourage kids to actually dress up in costumes, and stalk about biting strangers in the neck. I remember going to an RPG convention when I was in Junior High, and seeing the Vampires biting people for points. Even the people playing “Shadowrun” were shaking their heads in pity.

These days, any instance whereupon you don a costume is called “cosplay.” Proper cosplay, though, means you are actually playing a game. If you put on a costume, and gallivant about as one of the children of the night, adopting an actual vampire persona, and pretending to suck the blood of strangers in a borderline criminal activity, well, you’ve passed into upper echelons of geekhood.

The Church of the SubGenius

Do ever get the feeling that you’re weird? That you’re different from other people? That they are normal, and you are somehow superior? THAT’S BECAUSE YOU ARE! If you’ve ever suspected that the rest of the world is allied in a vast and insidious conspiracy to keep you from being weird, it’s because SUCH A CONSPIRACY ACTUALLY EXISTS! But there is an answer! A beacon of hope in a pink world! You can get sex, money, power, and your slack back, by giving $35 to J.R. “Bob” Dobbs and his Church of the SubGenius! Don’t be left high and dry when, on July 5^th 1998, the Xists from Planet X come to destroy this measly little planet. If you have your SubGenius card in your wallet, you will be spared, and you will be welcomed onto the Xist crafts, where you can kill your hated enemies, steal Earth’s treasures, and have eternal sex with the alien sex goddesses. Its your right. You have the coveted yeti blood in your veins.

The Church of the SubGenius rose up in Texas to coincide with the growth of the punk movement. It was spearheaded by one Rev. Ivan Stang, who is still the head honcho of the church to this day. Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo was an early proponent. By sending them $35, you can be ordained as a SubGenius minister, and actually perform legal marriages, funerals, christenings, brises, and baptisms.

The Church has orchestrated a near-impenitrable wall of religious jargon around themselves (Stang says every good religion needs a good handful of jargon), which has kept all but the truest of true believers at bay. I myself am a SubGenius minister. If you’re enough of a kook, you can be too. Remember, The Church of the SubGenius is the only organized religion that offers you eternal salvation, OR TRIPLE YOUR MONEY BACK! You can’t afford NOT to!

Engineering

It’s one thing to admire The Enterprise. It’s another entirely to build one from scratch. It’s one thing to buy a plastic replica of a sonic screwdriver, it’s another entirely to build one from scratch. It’s one thing to buy a pre-made light saber, a Green Lantern ring, a suit of armor, a She-Ra tiara, a cat-o-nine-tales, a working Hitchhiker’s Guide, a Captain Pike wheelchair. But these things can – and have – been made by hardworking engineering nerds who are just as interested in hand-on crafts as they are in their object of pop culture affection. Engineers, in addition to the social awkwardness usually associated with them, are ultrageeks in their passion for the mechanical. These are the madman elder geeks who are constantly trying to turn sci-fi technology into the real thing.

Apart from some actual model-building I did as a teen (a hobby which I could likely take up again, if I ever had the free time and the nerdy motivation), I have never had the gumption or the wherewithal to buy the raw materials, the soldering irons, the paints, the pewter, the plastics, and the tools, to actually tinker a geek souvenir into existence. I admire a nice costume, but it’s all the more impressive if it was homemade. And what about those people who can actually decipher electrical diagrams, and build a screen-accurate, remote-control R2D2? The time, energy and finance that goes into such a project outstrips anything we may have spent getting to ComicCon.

These days, I have met plenty of geeks who bother to assemble their own costumes, and they are typically lionized in the Geek community for their attention to detail, and their willingness to put hot geek girls in Catwoman outfits. They are of the higher order to be sure. But the older guys who can actually build working engines and hovering Daleks? They are a class unto themselves.

Furries

Falling somewhere between a geek interest and legitimate fetish, the Furry community has, according to most geeks I’ve spoken to about it, baffled and confused most people. Furries are a geek subculture that extrapolated from cartoons and Funny Animal Comics an entire sexualized mode of fluffy animal worship. They come up with an animal identity for themselves (usually a fox, squirrel, cat, or wolf; hoof-free mammals only, please), and often dress as that animal. It’s a weird combination of fantasy elements (there are swords and cloaks often involved), love of stuffed animals (there are sometimes plush suits and animal noses involved), and outright sexual fetish (they boink like nobody’s business).

I have read several essays on the topic, some from insiders, and some from outsiders. Like Steampunk, I have yet to hear a convincing origin story for this particular aesthetic. It’s like various bits from geek culture all accidentally fell into the same Silly Putty egg and mixed irretrievably together. And while the fantasy animal elements may be easily accepted by some people in the geek community (how far away is an anthropomorphic fox wearing a cloak from some RPG or video game stuff?), it’s the intense sexualization – the Furries’ fetish status – that alienates most people.

Furries are visible, of course, and most geeks know about them. But, perhaps sadly for them, they have never achieved any kind of mainstream acceptance, even amongst geeks. Which may be all well and good; outsider interests take their power from their unpopularity. They will stay eternally geeky, and the fetish will be forever on the outside. Yiff.

College A Cappella

We’ve likely seen a few of these videos online. Some clever college a cappella choir will do an arrangement of some recent pop hit, a grunge classic, or a video game theme that will amuse, delight, and will take so small amount of talent and musical skill. But, if you do some digging, you’ll find dozens – nay, hundreds – of similar videos online. And those are just the ones being uploaded. Every college in the country (and perhaps in the world) likely has its own a cappella choir. Some may be sponsored by the school. Some may be independent entities of hastily assembled friends. But a cappella choirs are as ubiquitous as illegal booze, meal plans, and unwashed laundry.

And yes, just like marching bands, glee clubs and swing choirs, only the nerdiest of the nerds would bother joining. Geek interests these days seem to skew more toward pop culture, and less from high culture. There are still, however, geeks who are actually passionate about four-part harmony, rearranging music, and joining up with the school’s less popular organizations. Smart, talented, socially awkward, and eternally chaste, these are music nerds who won’t let the rambling of comic book fans stand in their way of learning the tenor part of the “Legend of Zelda” score.

Buy a college a cappella CD sometime. See who else is out there. Good god. They’re as common as stars. And they’re still on the outside. Not even looking in. Respect our ultrageek peers.

Extinct instruments

And speaking of music nerds, there’s an even more specialized field than college a cappella. There is a group of nerds in the world who regularly attends Renaissance Pleasure Faires. They dress in leather doublets, speak Elizabethan English, memorize 15^th century songs, and drink actual mead (which is, by all measures, a vile beverage). And while RenFaire nerds are still often scoffed at by the mainstream, they have achieved a kind of respect in the geek community for their passion, their abilities to make costumes, their mastery at swordplay, and – perhaps most importantly – seem to have sex on a rather regular basis. There’s more sex at a typical RenFaire day than there is at a dozen ComiCons. They’re a randy lot.

But then there are the acts at a RenFaire. The people who take to the stage to provide some period entertainment for the normals who have wandered in. And while there are the aforementioned music nerds, who can dissect ancient melodies with intelligence and aplomb, there is a further group of people who actually have a talent for instruments. A co-worker of mine is one of those incredible minds who can pick up just about anything, and pluck out a melody within a matter of minutes. It’s from this camp that we have the next group of ultrageeks: people who can play extinct instruments.

Being able to play the electric guitar makes you cooler. Acoustic guitar makes you more soulful. But the lute? That puts you in a new camp. Can you play the racket? The cittern? The fife? The virginal? The psaltery? How about the gamelan (provided you’re not from Indonesia)? The oud? Do you even know what some of those are? If you do, you may be on your way already.

Filking

I know. It sounds like an obtuse sexual practice. Let me explain.

The word “filk” is a portmanteau of “folk” (as in folk music) and “fi” (as in sci-fi, as in science fiction). The practice of filking involves gathering, sometimes in costume, sometimes around a campfire, and improvising folk songs based on science fiction properties. You can sing the ballad of Optimus Prime, or recite a Klingon death dirge, or croon quietly the brave story of Hal Jordan. You’re encouraged, from what I understand, to invent your own melody, provided it sounds like an actual old-school ballad.

It’s kind of a combination of theater nerds obsessed with the Bardic tradition, Sci-fi one-upmanship, and music geekery. Shakespeare meets improv theater meets pop culture savviness. The practice may have sprung from the song in Lord of the Rings, or perhaps the honorable myths of the Klingons. Either way, it’s on the outer ring of geek culture.

And on the outer ring it will likely remain. This is something that even most geeks haven’t heard of, and are embarrassed to learn about. Just like when I describe furries to people, I tend to get a glassy and disgusted expression from my listeners. That is has such a dirty-sounding name doesn’t help either. This is a practice reserved for those hardcore geeks who never had an interest in anything mainstream in the least. The true outsiders. The eternal geeks that will always be there to keep the spirit alive.

I say, God bless them.

Witney Seibold is a geek who is slowly aging out of all the pertinent demographics. He lives in Los Angeles with his awesome wife, and his ever-growing output of film reviews. He writes reviews for his ‘blog Three Cheers for Darkened Years! And gives spoken-word reviews as half of The B-Movies Podcast on Crave Online. He teaches you all about movies with his series of Free Film School articles, and even records a show called The Trailer Hitch, where he gives color commentary on movie previews.