TFLN: Txts Frm Lst Nght…

Distill the Internet into a single site and you wind up at Txts Frm Lst Nght. Crude and sexual, the site shows our society’s true face. The concept is simple: An intoxicated friend texts you something embarrassing at 4 in the morning, you post the text to the Web site, the world laughs at his or her failure, and you go back to sleep happy. Scrolling through the shame of others, it’s hard not to glimpse yourself in their low points. Rock bottom may not look the same as you remember it, no one may have scolded you by saying “just because you dressed up as a brontosaurus doesn’t mean you can poop in my front yard and roar at the neighbors,” but we’ve all had to apologize the next morning for something. Alcohol isn’t the only instigator; pot plays a large part in many texts: “What if cement was really a rainbow color and they just secretly paint it grey so as not to distract drivers.” Acts of kindness and happiness (not relating to sexual conquests) are rare, sporadic enough only to provide bits of hope against the pooping dinosaurs of our lives.

Marvel Ultimate Alliance 2…

The Marvel universe has tens of thousands of comic characters, a diverse canon that successfully fueled the original Ultimate Alliance but is strangely missing from the sequel. The overhead multiplayer button masher (choose whether to crush wave after wave of enemies with the A, B or X button) features a wide range of heroes and villains, both familiar and obscure, but it has lost some of the depth. For example, each character only has two costume choices, down from four. That’s not simply an aesthetic loss because some costume changes essentially create new characters. Thor for instance could become Beta Ray Bill. It’s not a deal breaker, but the whole thing reeks of future downloadable content—which means shelling out more money. The story pits hero against hero in an arc that loosely follows the Civil War comics but you’ll probably skip past most of it to get to the best part of the game: killing your thumbs. Not every game can inspire caffeine-fueled marathons and this one feels like a middle-school nerd’s Friday night created from an adult perspective. If you’re not crying, “carpal tunnel!” after seven hours of joyfully destroying everything in sight, then you’re missing out.

Batman: Arkham Asylum…

For years, nerds have pieced together the ideal Batman, in a cape-and-cowl version of the “I’ll take the breasts of Marilyn Monroe and the legs of Betty Page” game. Now, their fantasies have come true. When Joker takes over Arkham Asylum, the criminal madhouse that houses all of Batman’s worst enemies, Batman realizes he has a long night ahead of him. Kevin Conroy and Mark Hamill, respectively, voice Batman and the Joker, the roles they once held in Batman: The Animated Series, and the pairing is perfect. The Batmobile from the 1989 Michael Keaton film makes a cameo, and the gritty, dirty, brutal images of the dilapidated and troubled villains are reminiscent of graphic novels such as Batman: The Killing Joke. All together, this mash-up makes for a wonderful ride. A variety of hidden items (240 Riddler trophies alone) will ensure a second time through the loony bin, but you’ll need to use a sort of night-vision technology to find them. It’s a shame because you’ll spend 90 percent of the time playing through a blue haze, missing the detailed and grim environments. When it comes to the Batman canon, consider this moreDark Knight and considerably less Batman Forever.

Adventures in Geekdom…

It’s 5:37 a.m. on a Friday, and I can barely shuffle forward through the airport-security line. That large Red Bull I downed for breakfast opens only one of my eyes, but some guys near the back of the line utter two words and I’m wide awake: “Resto Druid.”

Instantly, I know they’ll also be on my flight headed to Orange County for Blizzcon, an annual gaming convention put on by Blizzard Entertainment, best known for the hugely popular multiplayer online game World of Warcraft.

Blizzard fans are true geeks incarnate. Fanatically devoted to the brand, these gamers immerse themselves in fantasy worlds such as Diablo, Starcraft and, of course, World of Warcraft, which alone boasts 11 million players worldwide. Some 26,000 geeks will attend this year’s Blizzcon.

Accordingly, over the past decade, the general public has paid increasingly more attention to a budding geek culture. Fashion adopted nerd glasses and Hollywood’s highest-grossing films have been titles such as Star Trek, Harry Potter, Spider-Man and Transformers. Now, it’s not only cool to own an iPod, it’s also a status symbol.

Geek is chic.

But while some see this as a chance for the trampled-on meek to rise up, the geek revolution likely will not be televised—simply because there will be no revolution.

You see, the mainstream media only is interested in a facade of true geek culture—the equivalent of wearing a Darth Vader costume on Halloween. In reality, true geeks have distanced themselves even more from status quo.

Blizzcon speaks to this fringe-geek way of life: passionate and awkward men and women who demand something mainstream society can never provide—and if mainstream society offered it, they wouldn’t even want it.

Consider Manzi Deyoung, who’s at Blizzcon dressed as High Inquisitor Whitemane, a boss from the Scarlet Monastery dungeon in World of Warcraft. Her costume, which took roughly 120 hours to construct, is dead on in its accuracy. And her combination of red thigh-high boots, elbow-length gloves and large phallic staff isn’t lost on the fanboys, either. People snap her picture and compliment the costume’s attention to detail. Deyoung effortlessly shifts into the same poses that Whitemane would strike in the game.

“I definitely think that WoW has something unique to it,” Deyoung says while chilling outside the Anaheim Convention Center. “More so than even Star Trek, WoW has a distinct language. You can make a joke about Vulcans and people are going to get it.”

A new nerd language is a means for geeks to offset mainstream culture. While playing World of Warcraft, gamers forgo English in favor of a watered-down language of abbreviations. Specifically, most gamers talk in code, “1337” or “leetspeak,” a language of typographical shortcuts that uses deliberately incorrect spelling and grammar.

A typical chat message during World of Warcraft, for instance, might read, “LFM DPS 1Healz no shammy 4 H HOL.” In English, this means: “I’m in a group that is looking for more people. We need one person who does damage per second and one healer—but no Shamans—who want to do the Heroic version of Halls of Lightning.”

Geek speak also carries over into real life.

“Are you Horde?” someone at Blizzcon asks, sliding an arm around my shoulder. After loading up on overpriced beers from the bar, my friends and I made our way to a rooftop pool, where hundreds of people cram into lounge chairs and even flower beds. We also discover Sippy, said stranger with his arm on my back.

“Are you for the Horde?” he repeats, wanting to know which side I’m on.

“Alliance,” I reply, hesitantly.

“Dude. That. Doesn’t. Matter,” he says. “Whether you’re Horde or Alliance, we’re all here for the same reason: The World. The World, man.

“I still like you,” he reassures before stumbling off.

Inside the convention, which is filled with spiraling colored lights and huge banners, a Zealot on stilts, Night Elf Druids, Draenei, Boomkin and a Mistress of Pain—a spider-woman who would eventually win the convention’s costume contest—roam the halls along with people of all ages, and even families.

“What a lot of people looking in from the outside don’t understand is the social elements to these games,” says Todd Pawlowski, who is attending Blizzcon with his wife, Cheri, and his 10-year-old triplets: Jordan, Caitlin and Lukas.

“The kids brought me into [World of Warcraft]. I actually took a job with Blizzard because of what I saw in their game,” he explains. Pawlowski moved his family from the Bay Area to Irvine, in Orange County, where he now works as Blizzard’s vice president of customer service.

“I know grandparents who keep in touch with their grandchildren through Warcraft. Friends and families stay connected using these games.”

Some friends take things to the extreme.

Brandon Kunimura and his pals Jin Kim and Paul Hsu wear cow outfits and carry giant weapons—an homage to a secret level in the Diablo series—and women at the convention flock toward the herd. Jenny Harris, dressed as the Grand Widow Faerlina, even snuggles up to take a photo with the cows.

“It’s about the quality of the game,” explains one giant cow. “There is a depth to the stories that you’ve come to expect.” And it’s the depth that nurtures camaraderie.

“I started when I was unemployed. I had to kill things,” explains Arabella Benson, whose Warlock hood falls across her face as she bends to pick up a piece of weapon off the ground. “Then I started meeting people in the game, forming friendships. I got into the story and joined a guild. I’ve become friends in real life with some of these people.”

World of Warcraft is like Facebook on crack: Fans embrace it to a degree that the mainstream can never keep up with—or even accept. Rare game items sell for nearly $1,000 on eBay. And the penchant for dressing up in costume is like the Oakland Raiders’ black hole times 10. And the fans vary from young to old.

A boy who can’t be older than 14 steps in my path.

“This is my dad’s room. We’re Horde,” he informs.

“Good to know. For the Horde!” I masquerade, setting off repeated shouts.

“This is my dad’s room. We’re Horde,” he reminds as I walk off.

Inside the room, heated debate over weapons, dungeons and quests punctuates a cacophony of cheers and garbled 1337 speak. A beer-pong table grabs my attention, however, so an Alliance friend and I challenge two members of the Horde to a contest.

The room becomes silent and all eyes focus on our game. I suddenly wonder if Sippy’s love-to-all attitude perhaps is not universal. An odd sensation, perhaps Crips vs. Bloods mixed with Star Wars vs. Star Trek, permeates the room, but the important lesson to take away is that we, the Alliance, beat the Horde. And beat them bad.

One of the last things I remember at the convention is hearing Michael Morhaime, president and co-founder of Blizzard, say something while standing over us in the hotel bar while playing the World of Warcraft card game at 4 a.m.

“This is great. Can I get a picture?” he asks. For nongeeks, this is the equivalent of President Barack Obama wanting to shake your hand. We barely have time to strike a pose, let alone bow and chant “We’re not worthy” before he’s gone.

One thing I learned from Blizzcon is that this rich and unique world may seem trivial, even ridiculous, but geeks will protect it. And with every forward step mainstreamers take, geeks will retreat three steps back, continually building upon a culture that most don as a costume once a year.

The Beatles: Rock Band…

It’s taken many hard day’s nights to bring the Fab Four to the video-game realm, but Beatlemania has finally arrived. With 45 songs that trace the career of the greatest band of all time, the story mode is brilliant. The staging of the songs starts out rooted in realism, but recreated performances such as The Ed Sullivan Show appearace eventually give way to studio sessions that dissolve into “Yellow Submarine”-inspired trips. The blend of realism and psychedelic elements is refreshing in a genre that’s growing stale with every cookie-cutter installment. However, at the core, this is still the same game we’ve played for years: Grab an instrument, hit the notes. The iconic band is both the appeal and the Yoko Ono of the game. You can’t customize band members to make yourself the fifth Beatle and if you ever get the hankering for some Steve Miller or Ozzy, you’re out of luck. Some wonder why this wasn’t just released as downloadable content for any of the pre-existing Rock Band games, but then you’d have to take the time to download 45 tracks … and yet you know you would download them all: It’s the freakin’ Beatles.

Digital diamonds in the rough…

In the lull between the summer blockbusters and holiday must-haves, video games notoriously suffer the same fate as their silver screen cousins. However, there are always a few diamonds in the digital rough that are guaranteed to get you over the fall blues.

Batman: Arkham Asylum
Eidos Interactive; Multiple Platforms

For years, nerds have pieced together their ideal Batman; a cape and cowl version of the “I’ll take the breasts of Marilyn Monroe and the legs of Betty Page” game. Now, their fantasies have come true. When Joker is incarcerated in Arkham Asylum, the criminal madhouse that houses Batman’s worst enemies, his true plan is unveiled, and the inmates take over the asylum. The Caped Crusader must battle against his arch nemesis using only his wits, fists, Bat-gadgets and selections from the best of the Batman canon. Together again, Kevin Conroy and Mark Hamill respectively voice Batman and the Joker—the roles they once held in Batman: The Animated Series—and the pairing is perfect. The Batmobile from the 1989 Michael Keaton film makes a cameo, and the gritty, brutal images of the troubled villains are reminiscent of graphic novels like Batman: The Killing Joke. All together, this mash-up makes for a wonderful ride. There is no multiplayer mode but a variety of secret items and a series of single-player challenges ensures a second or third time through the game. To find all of the secret items you’ll need to use a sort of night vision technology, which is a shame because you’ll spend 90 percent of the time playing through a blue haze, missing out on the detailed and grim environments. When it comes to Batman, consider this more Dark Knight and considerably less Batman Forever.

The Beatles: Rock Band
Harmonix; Multiple Platforms

It’s been a hard day’s night bringing the Fab Four to the video game realm, but MTV and Harmonix have finally released the much-anticipated all-Beatles music game. There are two aspects of the game, one that everyone should buy and play and another that could easily have been downloadable content for any music game already on the market. On the plus side, the story mode is bloody brilliant. Forty-five songs trace the career of the greatest band of all time, with the staging of the songs starting out rooted in realism. Performances from The Ed Sullivan Show and Shea Stadium give way to studio sessions that dissolve into Yellow Submarine- and Sgt. Pepper-inspired trips. The variety and digital likenesses are much appreciated in a genre growing stale with cookie-cutter installments. However, aside from being the first Rock Band game with harmony vocals, this is still the same game we’ve played for years: Grab an instrument, hit the notes. The saving grace, the iconic music of The Beatles, forces the game to take a step backwards. For obvious reasons, you can’t customize your band mates. $60 for a new game that basically amounts to a collection of new songs for the same games you own may seem like a rip-off, but at the going rate of $2 per downloaded song, it’s worth it if you bought the entire playlist. And let’s be honest, you’d buy the whole playlist: They’re the freakin’ Beatles.

Professor Layton and the Diabolical Box
Nintendo; Nintendo DS

You have to credit Nintendo for knowing what they do well and sticking with it. This cute puzzle game relies on short-attention-span challenges that add up to an addictive experience. Professor Layton and his assistant Luke set off to discover the potentially deadly secrets behind the Elysian Box and along the way find 150 puzzles, riddles and brainteasers. Rest assured, if you talk to someone in the game, they’ll have a non sequitur excuse of posing a puzzle for you to solve. Like the child of Hayao Miyazaki and The Triplets of Belleville, the art fueling the mysteries is rooted in a slightly skewed reality that adds to the cryptic feel. Don’t expect any major deviations from this entry in the Professor Layton series or from any future entries. As with the system it’s played on, they’ve already unlocked the riddle to a great time.

Re: Geek Chic…

This is a letter the Reno News and Review received in regards to Geek Chic. I’m flattered…

Re “Geek chic” (Arts & Culture, Sept. 3):

This is quite simply one of the finest pages in the history of print. As of now, the efforts of Gutenberg, Senefelder, and Eastman-Kodak are vindicated. Excellent composition.

By the way, the story was also enjoyable. The author is commendable for attempting the task of making extreme geekery accessible. As an expository narrator, Matthew Craggs solidly delivered. The one exception to a smooth flow came with the apparition of Blizzard president Michael Morhaime.

For clarification, the reader is offered “for non-geeks, this is like Barry Bonds or Donald Trump wanting your autograph.” Obviously, offering Bonds and Trump as extrageekial counterparts to Morhaime calls into question just where one draws the line in defining geekdom.

I can definitely respect the level of competence that this author displays as a storyteller. The only advice I’m offering is that for drawing upon extrageekial counterparts, it may be wise to consult an actual non-geek. I don’t know that having Barry Bonds or Donald Trump would necessarily be less surprising than meeting the president of Blizzard, but from what I now know of the three, I would most likely grant the autograph to Morhaime.

Flombaye Krishnabob Ellison
Reno

TMNT: Turtles in Time Re-Shelled…

Every time there is a refresh of a popular ’80s franchise, nerds around the world cringe in unison. While this isn’t Michael Bay’s Transformers abomination (Bumblebee is a VW bug, OK?) not everything smells like roses in these sewers. This Xbox Live Arcade release is not a remake of the 1992 home 16-bit Super Nintendo Entertainment System’sTeenage Mutant Ninja Turtles game, but of the 1991 arcade version. As such, you’re going to notice a few of the extra levels are gone and a couple of popular bad guys (Beboop, Rocksteady and Rat King) are noticeably absent. However, the biggest difference is that the old 2-D beat-’em-up has received a face-lift with 3-D graphics and movement. After R-Type (released earlier this year) allowed players to switch between old-school graphics and new 3-D models, it’s hard to be satisfied with anything else, and it would be nice to have the option to play the game as we remember it. Online multiplayer goes a long way in keeping things interesting, but it’s hard to guarantee continual interest in a game that you played every day for three years of your childhood. The best compliment you can pay the game is that it works perfectly as nostalgia—and for $10 who can complain?

Dollhouse: Season One…

Joss Whedon excels at two things: making unique television shows and getting screwed over by Fox Television, and he delivers on both expectations with Dollhouse. In his latest series, a faceless corporation has created the technology to wipe and reprogram the human brain, turning average citizens into playthings for the insanely rich to use however they see fit. These “dolls,” specifically Echo (Eliza Dushku), allow Whedon to explore what it means to be human while sending the audience on Alias-inspired adventures. In the Buffyverse, Whedon showed that humans were often the last characters to act with any sort of humanity—a concept he joyfully revisits here. Unlike Whedon’s previous Fox endeavor, Firefly, Dollhouse will see a second season. Even so, Fox had to put its hands in the cookie jar, forcing Whedon to drastically re-shoot season one’s first episode and not airing the final episode in the U.S. Luckily, both the original pilot and the final episode, “Epitaph One,” are included in this set. “Epitaph One” takes us into the future where the corporation has lost control of the dolls. The intriguing episode ups the ante for the main characters and proves Fox still doesn’t know a damn thing about quality television.

Geek Chic…

At 5:37 a.m. on a Friday, I’m barely able to focus my attention on anything besides clumsily shuffling forward so that I don’t hold up the airport security line. The large can of Red Bull I downed for breakfast only managed to open one of my eyes, but two words coming from a group of guys at the back of the line snapped me awake: “Resto Druid.”

Instantly, I knew they would be boarding the same flight as me. I was headed south to Orange County, where the Blizzard Entertainment gaming convention, Blizzcon, takes place every year. Best known for the massive multiplayer online (MMO) game, World of Warcraft, Blizzard fans are the definition of true geeks. Fanatically devoted in their loyalty to the brand, Blizzard gamers immerse themselves in the fantasy worlds of Diablo, Starcraft, and World of Warcraft (WoW), which alone boasts 11 million players worldwide.

The Resto Druid is a type of playable WoW character. The one behind me was among 26,000 other players on their way to Blizzcon. Players who represented what it meant to be a geek: passionate but awkward men and women who demand something the mainstream could never give them—and if the mainstream offered it, they wouldn’t want it.

Within the last 10 years, geek culture has enjoyed an unprecedented level of interest from the general populace. Chic fashion has adopted nerd glasses; the highest grossing films have been titles such as Star Trek, Harry Potter, Spider-Man and Transformers; and not only has it become cool to own an iPod, it’s a status symbol. The New York Times has claimed that the geeks have inherited the Earth. Some see this as a chance for the stereotypically trampled-on meek to rise up and enjoy the spotlight. But the geek revolution will not be televised, simply because there will be no revolution. What the mainstream has adopted is a façade of true geek culture—the equivalent of wearing a Darth Vader costume to sell commercials. In reality, as the mainstream continues to yell that it’s geek at heart, it forces the true geeks to distance themselves even more from those who are proclaiming kinship.

Games people play

“I definitely think that WoW has something unique to it,” says Manzi Deyoung outside the Anaheim Convention Center. Deyoung is dressed as High Inquisitor Whitemane, a boss from the Scarlet Monastery dungeon in WoW. Her costume, which took her roughly 120 hours to make, is dead-on its accuracy. The combination of red thigh-high boots, elbow length gloves, and a large phallic staff isn’t lost on the fanboys. As people come up to snap a picture of her or compliment the detail of her costume, Deyoung effortlessly shifts into the same pose that the in-game character strikes. She knows exactly what she is doing.

“More so than even Star Trek, WoW has a distinct language to it,” says Deyoung. “You can make a joke about Vulcans, and people are going to get it.”

WoW players forego their native tongue when in game—and sometimes out of game—in favor of a language that relies on brevity, code, 1337 (leetspeak, a language full of typographical shortcuts that uses intentionally incorrect spelling and grammar), and game references. A typical chat message seen in the game may read, “LFM DPS 1Healz no shammy 4 H HOL.”

In proper English, the player is saying, “I’m in a group that is looking for more people. We need one person who does damage per second and one healer—but no Shamans—who want to do the Heroic version of Halls of Lightning.”

A unique language isn’t entirely an exclusive technique; it’s a defensive tactic to protect what the players have invested in with their time and money. When you break it down, WoW players are snobs—no different from wine, music, art or sports snobs. Wine snobs say tannins, WoW players say Tanaris.

And, oh, how they have invested. Inside the convention halls, darkened and filled with spiraling colored lights and huge banners, Deyoung isn’t the only attendee in full garb. A Zealot on stilts, Night Elf Druids, Draenei, Boomkin, and Mistress of Pain (a spider-woman who would go on to win the con’s costume contest) all roam the halls. Fans are drawing inspiration from a canon that goes further than any other medium could hope to accomplish. An MMO game allows players to control where they go and what they do in a world. As a result, fans demand extensive storylines not just for major characters but for minor characters, as well. When was the last time Law and Order gave you more than a three-minute back-story on the corpse that drives the episode? In WoW, you’d be able to explore the story of the deceased, his family, friends and his killer. As a result, people can spend countless hours exploring the fictitious world. It may seem isolationist, but these video games have more in common with Facebook and Dungeons & Dragons than Pong and Mario.

“What a lot of people looking in from the outside don’t understand is the social elements to these games,” says Todd Pawlowski, as he takes a break in the lobby. Pawlowski is attending Blizzcon with his wife, Cheri, and his 10-year-old triplets, Jordan, Caitlin and Lukas. “The kids brought me into the game. I actually took a job with Blizzard because of what I saw in their game.” Pawlowski moved his family from the San Francisco area to Irvine, right outside of Los Angeles, where he now works as the Vice President of Customer Service for the company. “The social aspect isn’t only in events like this. I know grandparents who keep in touch with their grandchildren through Warcraft. Friends and families stay connected using these games.”

“I play a Night Elf Hunter, a Night Elf Druid, and a Draenei Mage,” Caitlin chimes in.

“What about your mom, what does she play?” I ask.

“She doesn’t even like video games. She says they’ll hurt your eyes,” says Caitlin, as I feel glad I’m not wearing my glasses.

“I love the social element of the game,” Todd continues. “It’s like a sports organization. When I’m standing in line, I hear the emotional connection people have to these games. During the developer panels, you see how emotionally connected people are to their characters, and it’s understandable. People have a lot invested in their characters.”

That investment is not a one-way street. “It’s about the quality of the game,” a giant cow explains to me. “There is a depth to the stories that you’ve come to expect.” Brandon Kunimura and two of his friends, Jin Kim and Paul Hsu, are wearing cow outfits and carrying giant weapons—an homage to a secret level in the Diablo series—and the ladies are flocking to them. Jenny Harris, dressed as the Grand Widow Faerlina, snuggles up to take a photo with the cows.

“Cows are the new Night Elfs,” Kunimura laughs as the flash goes off.

“I started when I was unemployed. I had to kill things,” says Arabella Benson. She fumbles with a staff, her Warlock hood falling across her face as she bends to pick up another piece of the useless weapon. “Nothing was happening elsewhere. Then I started meeting people in the game, forming friendships. I got into the story and joined a guild. I’ve become friends in real life with some of these people.”

For many, like Benson, Facebook is social networking, but WoW is social networking with a better user interface and a much more addictive nature. Like a sporting event against the rival team, fans embrace their passions on a level that the mainstream could never keep up with. Even the economy within the game bleeds over to the real world—rare in-game items can sell for upwards of $800 on eBay. Fans of popular “geek” shows like Heroes, Chuck and even Battlestar Galactica are geek-lite next to WoW players. And someone was about to give these bastards alcohol.

Revenge of the …

“Are you Horde?” The arm suddenly slung around my shoulder demanded. After loading up on overpriced beers from the bar, my friends and I had made our way to the rooftop pool, where we found hundreds of people crammed in lounge chairs and flowerbeds. We also found Sippy, the stranger whose arm was currently wrapped around my shoulder.

“Are you for the Horde?” He repeats, wanting to know which side of the in-game war I represent.

“Alliance,” I proclaim hesitantly.

“Dude. That. Doesn’t. Matter. Whether you’re Horde or Alliance, we’re all here for the same reason. The World. The World, man. It doesn’t matter you’re not Horde. I still like you.”

“Thanks, man. I like you, too.”

Sippy stumbles off, and I head to the open patio doors of a hotel room with a friend trailing behind. A boy who can’t be older than 14 and is either extremely tired or drunk steps in our path as we try to enter the room.

“This is my dad’s room. We’re Horde,” he informs my chest.

“Good to know. For the Horde!” I masquerade, setting off repetitious shouts.

“This is my dad’s room. We’re Horde,” he reminds me before walking off. Inside the room is a cacophony of cheers and garbled 1337-speak, punctuated with heated debates over weapons, dungeons and quests. However, the beer pong table draws my attention. My friend and I walk over to the moderator and I proudly announce, “We, the Alliance, challenge two members of the Horde to a beer pong contest.”

As the room becomes silent and all eyes focus on me, I suddenly wonder if Sippy’s love-to-all attitude is universal for all members of the Horde.

“You’re on.” Those words, along with a lot of shouting, high-fives, and a definitive victory for the Alliance, are the last thing I remember before finding three friends and myself in the hotel lobby bar at 4 a.m. Now devoid of patrons, the tables are cleaned and free for us to lay out the World of Warcraft card game.

“This is great,” the voice from above says. In high school, these words would have preceded a beating by the school bully or at the least ridicule from the football team. However, Blizzcon is a geek’s domain, and the voice was coming from Michael Morhaime, president and co-founder of Blizzard. “In the hotel lobby bar playing the WoW card game at 4 a.m. Can I get a picture?”

For non-geeks, this is like Barry Bonds or Donald Trump wanting your autograph. We barely have time to strike a pose, let alone bow and chant, “We’re not worthy” before he’s gone.

Tired and full from a hangover-induced IHOP binge, I limp back to the Orange County airport. Pressing deadlines from the coming work week remind me it’s time to return to the real world. A world that doesn’t see a problem with Cameron Diaz and Guy Ritchie turning Comic-Con into a photo op. A world that claims to love geeks but still blocks our work computers from accessing G4, Engadget and IGN while the bosses surf for kitten videos on YouTube and update their Facebook status to “Call your mom.” The mainstream has scratched the surface of what it means to be a geek, but they’ll never be able to embrace the complete lifestyle. Every forward step they take, geeks will retreat three steps to keep their passions, full of rich stories and player interactions, safe from being watered down for the masses.