Classical Geek Theatre: Convention season ends; geeks retreat to gaming

As the droves of beer-consuming students return to campus and poster vendors are found selling their wares in front of the hollow shell that was once a student center, we are once again reminded that summer has come to a close.

And, so ends the convention season. Be it the Star Wars Celebration or the San Diego Comic-Con, geeks alike associate summer most with conventions.

This summer I made my first ever trip to GenCon, the greatest gathering of role-playing gamers in the world.

Held in Milwaukee for the last year, GenCon is an experience like no other. Masses of people of all shapes and sizes converge to one central location where they make fools of themselves at round tables with polyhedron dice.

The less fortunate wear bad imitation costumes from Sailor Moon, Lord of the Rings and Disney animated features. Let it be said that grown men should never wear fuzzy ears and a tail.

Of course, there is the convention smell to deal with. It is the smell of thousands of 20-somethings in Star Wars t-shirts who, by some work of Gruumsch the Orc God himself, neglected to learn how to operate a shower properly.

The smell hath tainted my nostrils; I now know its mighty power.

It was at this four-day Mecca known as "the con" when I came to a very sad realization: despite my shared interest in paper-and-dice roleplaying games, I just don't like the majority of gamers. There, I said it. So put me on a breakfast platter and call me Benedict Arnold. Or something like that.

I know, I know. The socially obscure need to stick together. I should respect my comic book reading, Buffy watching brethren and withhold judgment on their lonely souls. But so many of them are munchkin gamers.

You've met the munchkin gamer. He's the guy who scours new rule-books for loopholes that allow his characters supreme cosmic power. He is the guy with a dark-elf ranger who is "Kinda like Drizzt, but with a +10 vorpal blade!" He's the guy who wears fuzzy ears and a tail.

I usually save my holier-than-thou attitude for anime porn collectors, but my attendance at GenCon overcame my open-minded nature. The fact that I could be put in the same category as these lamers made my skin crawl. I mean, my first-level gnome cleric was so much cooler than theirs.

Then, a plush Domo-kun doll fell on my head and knocked some sense into me.

The truth is, my elitist way of thinking had no place at GenCon. Besides, I could pretend all I wanted that I was somehow too cool for gamers, but I'd still have a Ninja Turtles poster in my room.

I realized on the last night of the convention that the real reason people like me gather at conventions in the summer is the very reason I detested most of us that were there: we all have something in common.

Geeks don't flock to conventions for the costume contests or the dealer's room. We do it because we want to be around people (somewhat) like ourselves. The Internet made obscure sub-cultures realize they weren't alone anymore, but it didn't make them closer, geographically.

Summer convention season is a chance, if just for a little while, to gather with "family" and have a BBQ sandwich at Major Goulsby's. (Best. Sandwich. Ever.) It's about togetherness.

But you'll never catch me wearing fuzzy ears and a tail.