Articles in “Strange Conversations”

ME: Honey, why, when you took the dinner plates out of the living room, did you not take the sauce bottle, as well?

NICK: I probably didn’t have enough feet.

Nick and I have just had the nerdiest conversation I think we’ve ever had, just because I picked up a new Lois McMaster Bujold book for him yesterday:

ME: She’s not writing science fiction any more.
NICK: No, I know, and I find that very sad.
ME: I wonder why?
NICK: Well, I suppose fantasy is more profitable.
ME: But she can’t be short of money. I mean, she must sell the rights to everything she writes to the studios, although they’re never made into films, which I imagine she’s happy about.
NICK: I think she’s thrilled, given the draft to Warrior’s Apprentice that was floating around. All the Dendarii mercenaries had basically become space hillbillies by that point.
ME: Maybe that’s what happened to it: it became Firefly. Although you can’t imagine a much broader difference that between Captain Mal and Miles Vorkosigan. But he gets better, doesn’t he? Miles?
NICK: It takes quite a bit of brain damage and some nasty injuries.
ME: Well, it must be inconvenient, having such a damagable hero.
NICK: Oh, he doesn’t get less damagable.
ME: It’s brittle bones, isn’t it? From the gas exposure in utero?
NICK: Yep.
ME: And didn’t the gas make Cordelia infertile? I imagine that’s why Aral was persuaded into using the uterine . . . whatsits.
NICK: Replicators.
ME: Uterine replicators. Because they replicate a uterus?
NICK: Yep. Well, they’re not replicators in a Star Trek sense.
ME: Not in a Star Trek or a Stargate sense.
NICK: Well, that would be bad on both counts.
ME: I don’t know—imagine how easy having a baby would be via the Star Trek replicators: “Child. Male. Lukewarm.”

The lesson to be learned is this: there is no conversation among geeks that will not, if pursued long enough, end on a Star Trek joke.

Example One: You really shouldn’t keep computer hardware in your pants, sweetie.

A conversation emblematic of the difficulties in talking to a geek:

NICK: There’s about two megs of that still to download.
ME: What does that mean in minutes?
NICK: Well, it’s about 380 megs in total . . .
ME: Nick!
NICK: (hurt look).
ME: In minutes.
NICK: Well, it’s about 98% done.
ME: Minutes!
NICK: Anywhere from two to twenty five.

Well, that was helpful, honey: thank you.

A telephone conversation this morning:

MAM: Hello?
ME: Hi, Mam: it’s me!
MAM: Oh, god.
ME: Pardon?

Nick was fulminating after leaving the ATM about the irony inherent in the fact that “Please insert your card” was crushed down into the corner to make way for an enormous, flashing “We care about customer service!” sign.

ME: It’s like when we used to have those “Keep Left” signs in the stairwell in my building, remember? And the Socialist Alternative would always stick their rally posters over them. I thought that was hilarious.
NICK: Hmmm.
ME: “Keep Left”? “Socialist Alternative”? Get it?
NICK: Hmmm.
ME: You don’t get it, do you?
NICK: Oh, I get it.
ME: But you don’t think it’s funny?
NICK: I’d just be annoyed that a sign that was intended to assist people had been obliterated . . .
ME: You pompous twat!
NICK: I’m a UX guy, Treena.

I have no real idea what prompted this, except for Nick’s constant habit of strewing bits of his work clothing around the house when he gets home.

ME: Nick, is that your shirt you’ve left lying over the back of the sofa?
NICK (whisking his shirt away): I have no idea what you’re talking about. Have you been at the laudanum again?

To provide context, I am addicted to Wii Tennis, as result of which I think I have Wii-Tennis elbow.

NICK (freshly home from work): How are you?
ME: I think I’ve done myself an injury.
NICK: A ninja-ry? Is that like when you’re a ninja . . .
ME: Go away.
NICK: . . . . and you have an accident. Like, you drop a shuriken on your foot.
ME: What type of ninja would drop a shuriken on his foot?
NICK: Well, not a very good one.

During the preparations for dinner tonight, while Nick was frying some sausages:

ME: Honey?
NICK: Yes?
ME: Two things, really. One, I would like some more wine.
NICK: Okay.
ME: Two, why is my kitchen slowly filling up with smoke?
NICK: You can’t break an omelette without making some eggs.
ME: And the omelette in this metaphor would be . . .?
NICK: Freedom!

Sometimes, I wish I were making these up.

Nick finally began thinking about the new armchairs, while I was sitting in the left-hand one:

NICK: You know what this is like?
ME: What?
NICK (patting the right-hand chair): I’m Will Riker; you’re Counsellor Troi. We need another big chair to go behind them.
ME: I’m Will Riker! That’s my chair!
NICK: And the television is the viewscreen. And we can pull the sofas around . . .
(My stare of bemusement finally gets through to him.)
NICK: I’m a geek!

You’re telling me, honey.

UPDATE:
A couple of days after this conversation, I reclaimed the right-hand chair, Will Riker’s chair.

Nick looked at me for a couple of minutes, and then said, “You know, I had it the wrong way around before. Now you’re Deanna Troi.”

There’s no length to which that man will not go to stop me being Will Riker.

I said I wasn’t going to post much while I was marking, but this is too weird to pass up.

ME: Hello?

TELEMARKETER: Hi, ma’am. My name is Sam and I assume you’re the owner of this telephone number?

ME: Well, technically I rent it from Telstra. (I get a bit stroppy when I’m marking.)

TELEMARKETER: Well, that’s not important, ma’am, because I’m calling to tell you we’re giving you a brand-new mobile phone.

ME: Ah. Well, either there are fifteen companies making this kind of call, or I’ve received hundreds of calls from you despite asking for them to be discontinued. But I don’t have a mobile phone and I don’t want a mobile phone, thank you.

TELEMARKETER: You receive all those calls because you’re a big celebrity in Australia, ma’am.

ME: Right. Well, I’m still not interested in a mobile phone.

TELEMARKETER: You have a very lovely voice, ma’am.

ME: Sorry?

TELEMARKETER: What’s your name, ma’am?

ME: Why would you need to know my name when I’m not interested in your service?

TELEMARKETER: I’m just asking your name, ma’am.

ME: And I’m just asking why you want it.

TELEMARKETER: How old are you, ma’am?

ME: Why on earth would you need to know how old I am?

TELEMARKETER: You look to be maybe 24 or 22, ma’am.

ME: And how on earth do you know what I look like?

TELEMARKETER: I’m just imagining it, ma’am, because you have a lovely voice.

ME: I beg your pardon?

TELEMARKETER: What’s your name, ma’am?

ME: I’m not telling you my name.

TELEMARKETER: I just want to be friends, ma’am. Has anyone told you you have a really lovely smile?

ME: Okay, I’m either going to have to hang up now, or ask to speak to your supervisor.

TELEMARKETER: Okay, I’ll hang up now, ma’am. Bye!

Okay, maybe this is what I get for engaging with telemarketers in the first place.

But part of me really hopes that that call was recorded for training purposes.

While driving home, listening to what turned out to be “Bizarre Love Triangle” on the radio:

NICK: Ooh.
ME: What is it?
NICK: An extended mix, I think.
ME: Of?
NICK: This song.

Sometimes, it isn’t even worth trying to control the Fist of Death.

Example Two: If your girlfriend is also a geek, be aware of this trap.

Should your girlfriend ask you to do something, and you reply, “I’ll try,” chances are the response will be “Do or do not—there is no try!”

Scanning the magazines while in the queue at the supermarket:

ME: Famous is doing the traditional “Star without make-up.”
NICK: “Stars without make-up who haven’t been Photoshopped.”
ME: Yeah. I think it’s “Stars who have pissed us off recently,” myself.
NICK: Next thing you know it’ll be Robots Without 3D Rendering magazine. (Pause.) That would be awesome.

How to take things from bad to worse:

ME: Is it getting hotter?
NICK: I think so.
ME: Maybe it’s because we’re bathing in the light of the scary television.
NICK: Well, where’s the remote?
ME: (finds remote behind me and turns off the television)
NICK: Clever!
ME: Did you just call me clever because I managed to turn the television off with the remote control?
NICK: (nods sagely)
ME: Right, that’s going on the blog.
NICK: No.
ME: Yep, it’s going on the blog. You just called me clever for finding the off button on the television remote control!
NICK: Well, there are a lot of buttons on that thing, and you’ve never shown much facility with them before . . .