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Geek Love: Brief Elegy for Gary Gygax

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Dr. Ding’s almost brother-in-law, Nater, requested that I discuss my first experience with Dungeons&Dragons, thereby repping my set, aka Gamer Nerd Brethren and Sistren. Nate knows a closeted gamer when he sees one, and he’s right, I need to let that phreak phlag phly¹.

Picture it: Shampoo-Banana, Illinois. One languid summer, 1981. Polyester plum-smugglers had just come into vogue, and there I was, playing D&D in our basement with a family friend, and a buddy of his he’d invited over. I don’t remember said buddy’s name, but I think it was something exotic like “Wesley” or perhaps “Todd.” He had a peachfuzz moustache and was wearing (non-ironically you see, for it was 1981) a tight ringer tee-shirt and the aforementioned plum-smugglers, with dark, feathered hair. I also recall that he was barefoot, with feet so dirty they were absolutely black on the bottom. And that he also smelled like feet. Or an old gym locker.

But no mind.

I didn’t care. Utterly and completely beguiled by my character’s ability to gain Hit Points by a mere roll of a polyhedral die, plus WesleyTodd’s rather fetching way of belching into his armpit after he’d swigged his grape Crush soda too quickly, I ended up buying the whole game from the family friend for the enormous sum of $9, envisioning many a sequel to our glorious evening, during which I don’t think WesleyTodd actually looked me in the eye one single time, so intent upon his DM-ing duties was he.

I attempted several more times to play D&D with my brother and other friends, but was never again able to recapture the heady glow of that first swoony, dirty-feet-smelling, snug polyester-shorted evening. I never saw WesleyTodd again, and only resumed gaming in graduate school, once I’d safely learned to separate the intoxicating glow of the peachfuzz/plumsmuggler dialectic from the serious business of gaming, and RPGs in particular.

It’s a well-known fact that young male nerdlings do not respect a female if she doesn’t at least match him in terms of intellectual ability; if you can’t creatively get your Chaotic Good Fighter Dwarf Cleric try at least eleven different subtypes of attacking the Evil Sorcerer, you’re just not very interesting. Trying to keep track of the action in an RPG is hard enough to do without being blinded by one’s affections, and for the young Dr. Dingenstein, the mixture thereof was like gasoline and a lit match: KABLAM, baby! No dice², romantically speaking.

Until Dr. Ding met her beloved beyoncé, and he bought her her very own set of hot pink, beglittered polyhedral dice. It’s now True Geek Love +∞.

In honor of Nater’s request and also of the recent death of D&D founder Gary Gygax, I’m also linking to this NY Post article.

¹You know, phone phreaking.

²I know. I shouldn’t have gone there, but I did. Deal. Throw. Whateva.

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