Turns out the boy’s visit is going rather nicely. (Well for me anyway. He’s been having some work headaches, but luckily nothing that’s run past about 5 p.m.)

If this is what life will be like when we’re together in Cali, life shouldn’t be bad at all. My only complaint is one of us should have the grown-up instinct to go to bed at a grown-up time, so the mornings wouldn’t hurt so much. Together, we’re not real “hey kids, time for bed,” kind of people. Maybe I should reconsider having a TV in the boudoir?

In the midst of his visit, I had my own little happy, proud moment. In the baby steps patheticness of my trying to be more writerly, I finally entered a writing contest in time for the deadline. 450 shitty words by me.

At least I did it. The funniest thing is I set out to write a humor piece, but because of a series of unrelated things bubbling in my skull pan it came out all poignant and boo hoo fucking hoo. I think the 450 word limit kept me from veering too far into sappy, maudlin territory, though.

It’s the kind of thing coming out of my brain that keeps me from committing 100 percent to the comedy thang. Life ain’t all jokey jokey fun time.

And, from the floor of LinuxWorld, here’s what I can report: White, soft, squishy-looking, soft boys of all heights and hirsutisms. Except for the sprinkling of Indians.

I did have my uber-nerd moment, which makes me consider that in a past life I must have been all pimply and re-enacting scifi adventures in my basement with my loser geek friends, completely unaware of anything below my waist or in the quote-unquote real world, since 12-sided dice don’t factor in there. While walking across the exhibitors hall, chock full of colorful booths giving away toys and pens and keychains and software samples, I spotted a guy with a stress ball in each hand, a furrowed brow and the clear look of awkward concentration that is sign of someone trying to teach himself to juggle.

I stopped and gave him a few tips on slowing down his throws so it wouldn’t feel so rushed, and I gave him a quick demo of a slowed down three-ball cascade that was an achievable goal in learning to juggle. In response, he gave me the three stress balls we were using.

There may not possibly be a sight quite so nerdy (or sad) as the completely unsexy act of juggling at a computer convention.