HOT FOR NERDS

I have always had a weakness for the guys who have thick black glasses, and I never minded if they were held together with tape. I never scorned the prominent noses, the crooked teeth, or the shoulder-slumped postures. Too much extra weight was not sexy, but I could forgive a tiny bit of softness in the abdomen, and too skinny was even better. A guy who looked like he might trip clumsily on a crack in the sidewalk made me weak in the knees. As a child, I was struck by the image of Joey Ramone with his dreadful frizzy hair, odd face and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. “That’s my kind of man,” I said to my friends, who laughed hysterically.

While M. and N. were obsessed with the sporty blonde, tanned alpha males who went on to surfing and rugby, I pined over the guys who were in the chess club and who excelled at mathematics. In high school, it was the guys who had all the music badges sewed onto their jean jackets, white skin betraying the fact that they just didn’t like to go outside much.

I adore nerds, but the kind of nerds who are secretly cooler than anyone else. The kind of guys who read so many books that they are half blind. The kind of guys who recite the song lyrics of Tom Waits, impromptu. Guys with heart problems in young bodies scant of muscle in that way that makes you wonder whether they will even live very long. Guys who collect comic books.

I had to go to Atlanta on business, which meant attending the DragonCon convention which is held at the Hyatt and Marriot hotels every year. It is an overwhelming event which mixes comic books, look-a-like-contests, role-playing gamers, underground bands and merchants who sell leather corsets and medieval face masks.

It is the kind of place where, when you walk down the autograph alley, you see such B-level TV stars as Lorenzo Lamas, or the blonde girl who played the daughter in “Too Close for Comfort.” They clutch their outdated 8x10 black and white headshots desperately, scanning the crowd in hopes of finding fans that will give them the approval they’ve been missing after obscurity predominated. Yes, at the comic book conventions has-beens are stars again.

But the comic book nerds I like would not be caught dead in the signing area (unless maybe a Star Wars actor was appearing.) My boys are right there in the frontlines, flipping through the crisp pages of the latest graphic novels. They are quietly conversing with their heroes, the writers and artists, and sometimes they are commissioning a sketch for $20. “I’d like you to draw Mary Jane from Spiderman but make her sexy” or “How about drawing me standing beside Catwoman with her claws are out like she’s about to attack me?”

And then I saw the world’s sexiest nerd. He was tall with longish wavy black hair, a pale complexion, and dark eyes. He had the requisite thick black glasses. He had the nonchalance of someone who does not know he is good-looking. He was wearing a Led Zeppelin t-shirt, which could have been taken for retro and black jeans. I was in LOVE.

I looked around to see whether he had one of those comic book girlfriends who are dressed in black goth attire with several tattoos and piercings. I have noted that a lot of comic book nerds prefer girls with dark hair, leaving me oftentimes wondering whether I should dye mine to catch their notice. Sometimes the indie rock guys liked blondes, but it wasn’t so common. The sexy nerd looked at me, then, and I felt oddly nervous.

True to cool anti-social form, he walked away without saying anything.

For the rest of the afternoon, as I made my rounds and conversed with artists I know in the scene, I kept seeing him. He regarded me with a disinterested expression that I knew was not entirely disinterested. But I knew it was up to me to make a move.

I casually strode up closer to him, and started examining a rare first edition of Sin City.

“Have you read that?” the sexy nerd asked casually.

“I’ve read A Dame To Kill For,” I said. “And The Hard Goodbye.”

“Did you like the film?”

“I loved it. It’s the best adaptation of a comic book I have ever seen.”

“Yeah it’s cool.”

Silence.

I noted that he did not have a Southern accent, which gave me the hope that he might live in New York.

“You from here?” I asked.

“No, I live in Chicago. I work at a comic book store, and I just like to come to these things to see what’s going on. DragonCon is weird though, all these Storm Troopers running through the lobby.”

“Yes, I can’t believe how many people are dressed up. And they walk so slow here, like they are anaesthetized by all the stimuli.”

“It’s the biggest event in Atlanta,” he said sarcastically. “Now there’s something for the locals to do besides eat.”

I liked his biting tone, which indicated he was probably cynical because he was too smart for his own good. I liked the self-conscious flush that was burning across his pale cheeks.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Tom,” he said.

When he shook my hand I had that familiar weak-in-the-knees sensation that indicated I was done for.

But he was quiet, as though we’d exhausted all possible topics.

“How long are you in town?” I asked.

“Tuesday.”

“Well I’m here until Monday night,” I said brightly. “I want to check out a few events but my schedule is quite flexible.”

I was hinting that I had three days to hang out with this sexy comic book nerd and see what might come of it. But I needed to see whether he was extroverted enough to make a move.

Tom smiled, revealing a crooked bicuspid. “I’m enrolled in games all day Saturday and Sunday though, so I’m pretty booked.”

Gaming? He was a gamer?

Hell, I loved comic book nerds but the guys who spent hours role playing with other anti-social guys, pretending they were wizards or warriors were beyond bizarre. I knew enough to quit while I was ahead, that he probably still lived in his parent’s basement, and he just wasn’t the right type of nerd for me.

“Have fun with that,” I said with finality, walking away into a sea of storm troopers.