I spent a lovely, nerd-alicious evening with two of my favorite knitting buds earlier this week, getting our geek on while playing with string and amusing/annoying the other restaurant patrons. We discussed, among other things, the merits of Kenneth Branagh productions of Shakespeare, except for Hamlet, because for the love of yarn, four hours is way too freakin' long for a movie. I mean really. Also, the unbearable whininess of Annakin Skywalker and how even though it made sense that the evil overlord of the galaxy would start out as a whiny little creep, it was still pretty unbearable to watch. Kelly waxed eloquent about the unbelievable arrogance of George Lucas for assuming the fans would give a crap about The Clone Wars after the first three movies sucked so much. I ranted about the crappiness of the writing in the Lord of the Rings books and how vindicated I felt when all of my complaints were echoed by the screenwriters in the director's commentary of the movies. We rehashed the greatest moments of DM of the Ring ("Tell me your name, horsef***er!"). Kelly and Kerry roundly mocked TS Elliot. We also argued the merits of the Harry Potter movies (I still say they sucked), and agreed that Richard Harris' performance as Dumbledore was terrible (I don't care that he's dead. His performance was terrible.), that Ian McKellan would have been infinitely superior, seeing as Gandalf and Dumbledore are practically the same character, and how awesome it would be if Sir Ian were to play Aberforth in the last movie. (How awesome would it be? So awesome that my bladder control becomes questionable, that's how awesome.)
We don't have to practice to be this geeky; it just comes naturally.