Anatomy of a Geek - Part 3

The main difference between going off to college and my last big move was that I was armed with better skills at making friends and I was determined to do so. But luck plays a role in these things and I happened to hit the jackpot. My very first friend was my freshman roommate, Gyuss Baaltar. The next day we met our immediate next door neighbor, Pokiman. These two as well as others mentioned on this blog such as Monkeywrench, Braveheart, Urban Cowboy, and Eagle Scout all became a tightly knit group of fast friends for four of the most fabulous years of my life. But no meeting would be more infamous in the annals of geek lore than that of Cyber D and Dagromm.


It was the fall of 1992 and Gyuss had just returned from dinner in the cafeteria and mentioned that he was about to go down and play this board game called Talisman with a bunch of the other freshman on the second floor. I hadn't heard of the game but when I learned it was fantasy based I was in. Dagromm and I met playing that game and we learned about of shared interest in Dungeons & Dragons. Following the holiday break Dagromm and I returned to campus and embarked upon, what I can only describe, as the most ambitious, creative, detailed, comprehensive, endeavor of a two year Dungeons & Dragons campaign. It started simply enough by recruiting players for the game. There were a few no-brainers like Gyuss and Pokiman, who had played before. But the vast majority of our friendship circle had no idea what an RPG was yet they condescended to give it a try. Because we were dealing with so many rookie players we realized we had an opportunity to do something very different. It was an opportunity to break the mold of traditional style gaming and bring something fresh to the experience. Our idea was to instill a gritty realism to a fantasy world that is typically lacking in fantasy games. So often game-masters focus solely on the mechanics of a game that the experience gets boiled down to a goal oriented arms race of who can accumulate more power faster than anyone else. This style leaves out so much of what makes RPG's great.


Consequently we identified three overarching aspects to bring to every adventure. The first was fear. We wanted the players to feel that the world around them was not this homogenous, friendly, by-the-book environment. In every adventure they would encounter prejudice, ignorance, betrayal, and an impoverished feudal society where trust was a more precious commodity than gold. The second was the school of hard knocks. Realistically the life of an adventurer would be a hard and thankless life. Most people would see you as nothing more than a mercenary and mercenaries are never to be trusted. We wanted to convey to the party that there was a reason why all the people in the world around them chose to be bartenders and blacksmiths… because adventuring was not always profitable but more importantly it was dangerous and deadly. This brings us to our third aspect that we wanted to instill into our mythology – Death. We made a conscious decision to make no allowances for the luck of the dice. If a character died based on the rules we did not change the outcome. Consequently many players started from scratch over and over and few players ever saw their characters advance.


Reading this you might wonder if our games were fun at all but I believe that our players shared an experience like no other. Because though the characters didn’t often reap the benefits of their adventures, we always tried to reward the players with something extra. From the beginning we provided a back story to the world around them, with a detailed mythology of original deities, information on how each race of creatures viewed the other, and ongoing information guides about new cities and cultures as they traveled the land. But the pinnacle of innovation was without a doubt our weekly newsletter. This precursor to every adventure was peppered with references from the characters recent encounters as well as littered with information that could help guide them on their upcoming task. Each newsletter built upon the last, rewarding loyal attendance and readership the same way a serialized television show might reward an astute and regular viewer with details only they can appreciate.


The Divine Messages as they were known became one of the most anticipated aspects of a two year campaign. But what was perhaps more amazing then anything related to the game itself was how the game brought different people together. To this day I doubt I will ever experience a more diverse cross section of individuals working together as a team towards a common goal. Of the nine regular players we had a theater major, a football jock, a Hispanic player, an African American player. We had mostly men, but the women represented too. We had straight A students and we had a player that eventually flunked out of school. We had business majors, English majors, psychology majors, economics majors and more. We had people who had grown up in small towns and those that grew up in the big city. We saw friendships develop that would have never exhisted prior to that shared experience. We spent hours of game time together but many have since spent infinitely more time outside the game. Some of my longest standing and dearest friends come from that experience and from a personal standpoint - I share a leadership experience with Dagromm that I am as proud of as any professional accomplishment.

We didn’t manage to play Dungeons & Dragons for all four years of school. Ultimately the multitude of other demands placed on any college student pulled us in different directions, but we all remained fast friends. Dagromm, Gyuss, Pokiman, and I continued to get together for a variety of different geek-fest activities but my last and best foray into Dungeons & Dragons will always hold a very special place in my memory. So for all you geeks out there in blog country… I salute you!

Long Time No See

In the fall of 1992 I was a young lad venturing forth into the great unknown. I was headed off to college and the only other person I had even spoken with was Gyuss. We were to be freshmen roommates so we had called each other to talk about color patterns for linens and the appropriate scent of potpourri as well as our preference for antiques versus modern furniture. But other than that, I knew not a single soul on campus. Shortly after our arrival on campus Gyuss and I began to make friends.

College is such a great time for friendship - with almost no limitations. I don't think I ever pondered how many people I would be able to keep up with in the long run. You lived in the moment. Looking back there have been some that I wonder about and regret not keeping in better touch. You know those people in your life, don't you? Let's see... like the girl next door that ended up becoming an exotic dancer, the crazy nerd that ended up inventing the ipod, or the whacky dude that always cracked you up with his bizarre yet side-splitting sense of humor.

It just so happens that I've run into that "funny guy" again and he has his own blog... 4 blogs in fact! So go check out Robert's stuff at Too Much Time On My Hands. I don't want to oversell his comedic genius but reading his work was an instant reminder of his off-beat funn-ac-ity... is that a word?

Look Out! It's an Origin Story!!

I know Blog Country has wondered for years now how my off-spring came by their inter-web monikers of Lil' Magnum and Lil' Higgins. Some may believe it was random choice. Others might assume some secret code for a specific personality trait. I stand before you today to reveal the awful truth. Like the name of CyberD, their web-names were born out of a Quad moment.

It was the spring of 2004 when Dagromm, the illustrious Q, and I gathered for lunch at our favorite little whole-in-the-wall Mexican restaurant. As usual I ordered enchiladas and a glass of ice (as I always bring my own soda to the table). Q and Dagromm rolled their eyes at my B.Y.O.B policy before ordering fajitas for two and a single milk shake and one curly straw.

As I finished my tasty plate of spicy enchiladas and the Q and Dags teased each other over the last strip of Mexican beef, the conversation turned to the upcoming birth of my fist son. At the time Mrs. Cyber and I hadn't decided on his name so Q and Dags pushed hard for something suitably manly for a Quad off-spring. Dags warned me about naming my son something like Ashley or Leonard, lest he be the object of bully-hatred his entire life. I then jokingly said that not all children can grow up to be bad ass like Tom Sellek. Q than asked if I was referring to Magnum P.I. Tom Selleck or Quigley Down Under Tom Selleck because the Quigley Sellek was a little gay.

Dags immediately chimed in with the bombastic opinion that I name my son Magnum. Specifically Magnum Philonious Ignatius or Magnum P.I. for short. I reminded them that if I insisted on such a name, my wife would likely shoot me in the face while I slept. But they decided that my decision didn't matter. My first born child would always be Lil' Magnum to them. As you can see in the photo, Dags was never more serious. He gave Lil' Mag this shirt the day he was born. My son has now fully embraced the persona and occasionally tests the quality and thickness of his ongoing mustache like in this picture.

The Quad tips our hat to you, Lil' Magnum!

Throw-Back Fun Times!

So I just finished watching Tenacious D and The Pick of Destiny. I put it off for several months because Q told me it sucked. I hated to hear that because I introduced the marvelous lyrical musings of JB and KG to The Quad a few years ago. The first album will always rock in infamy for us. It will be forever hard to dethrone that monster record. But I have to say The Pick of Destiny really wasn't terrible. And a couple of the new songs are pretty damn good. But here is a little golden nugget of knowledge for those that are open to enlightenment. The director is a man named Liam Lynch who also happens to be the genius behind the one-off hit: My United States of Whatever as well as a very brief but extremely genius TV show.

Back in the fall of 1998, when Dagromm and I were still living in the same small Texas town, we started getting together for a morning jog. You might call it the slim-down challenge that sparked a national trend. Around that same time we had both begun watching a new late-night comedy called Sifl & Olly. The wacky off-beat humor, performed masterfully by a cornucopia of creative and crazy sock puppet characters had us both laughing our asses off all threw our morning jog the next day. It was good times back then but unfortunately stupid-ass TV executives couldn't see genius even if it jumped up and bit them in the wrinkle stick! The show was canceled. Long live Sifl & Olly!

Manly Men doing Manly Things

While The Quad is many things, we aren't everything. I cannot deny the fact that we are strong, handsome, powerful, and potent... but we are NOT mechanics. This little trip down memory lane takes us all the way back to the turn of the millennium.

It was the summer of 2000 and it had been a few years since Gyuss had moved away. Dagromm and I had already begun our love affair with Q and the three of us were sitting around Ye Old Shop that Dagromm managed. This particular afternoon Dagromm was complaining about car trouble... a fairly common complaint for him in those days.

That day it was decided that an alternator for a 1995 Pontiac Grand Am should be easy to fix. So we later met at the Auto Zone, Dags purchased an alternator, and we struck out for the broken down vehicle. It was parked in a small town at a busy gas station of truckers and the like. Gyuss even called in to participate via cell phone. As we walked across the glistening asphalt in the scorching Texas heat you could have set our stride to the music of George Baker's Little Green Bag.

We arrived at the front of the Pontiac just as a wind whipped up and sent our flowing locks swirling across our face. I planted my foot on the front bumper, striking a pose, while Q thrust his fist down on the hood, popping it open. Dagromm, in turn brandished his wrench high over head as he slammed the new alternator down on top of the engine block. We were ready to commence with auto repair!

At first things rolled pretty damn well. We found the location of the old alternator in mere seconds and managed to unhook a belt that obstructed our access to it. It wasn't long before we removed the defunct part and replaced it with the new one. This was the home stretch and it looked as if we get out of there in under an hour. That's when we realized that we had no freaking clue how to put the belt back on. It had so much tension when attached that there was no way one could simply force it... but we tried. After another hour of massive grunting, muscle ache, and buckets of perspiration we were no closer to our objective.

Q took a frustrated step back, lifted his hands into the sky and cursed the gods of car-repair. Dagromm hung his head in shame as tears streamed down his face and I (in spite of my stoic appearance) feared all was lost. It was at this point that Gyuss' call conveniently dropped. Just then, in a moment of clarity my gaze landed upon a gangly trucker about to climb into his rig and leave the gas station for the open road. I quickly flagged down the salty highwayman and requested his assistance. This was our last chance of being able to say we achieved the impossible. He approached the car and pointed out what we already knew - that there was a tension rod underneath the manifold. It was the very thing we had been struggling to manipulate for the last hour. Little did we know, you needed to be a contortionist in order to do this successfully. Luckily this trucker had spent three years with The Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus. He cranked down on the rod and we were back in business.

Victory at last! Q did a celebratory dance that he learned from a Native American witch doctor during his peyote phase, while Dagromm and I tested out the new alternator. As the engine turned over and hummed with glee, a chorus of angels began singing the opening to Carl Orff's Carmina Burana! It was truly a magical moment and we drove off into the sunset.

Twas the Season...

Few opportunities of genius have presented themselves in my life. This one is a classic. Back in the fall of 1995 one of my roommates (Braveheart) insisted on holiday decorations. I'm not a big fan of this, simply because I am too lazy to put shit up around the apartment. However, I was always a big fan of pissing-off our other roommate (Urban Cowboy).

It just so happened that Cowboy hated this spider decoration that Braveheart had hung over the ceiling light in our living space. Any time you clapped your hands the thing would start humming this high-pitched squeal and it would shimmy and vibrate for a good sixty seconds, only to be awoken again by the next clapping of the hands. He complained about the damn thing for the entire month of October. Nothing pleased Braveheart and me more than to come into the apartment and greet the room with a hearty hand clap, prompting Cowboy to curse us while reminding everyone that Halloween doesn't last forever.

Late one night Braveheart and I bemoaned the fact that we would eventually have to part ways with the decoration and wished that there were versions of the same concept for Thanksgiving, Christmas, New-Years, and Valentines. It was in that moment of silence between us that an epiphany struck us simultaneously. This blessed love affair didn't have to end! Surely we could remove the motor and sound-activation system from the spider, and place it inside other plush toys!

A turkey, a Santa Claus, even a baby-new-year that could later be converted into Cupid! We had the entire year planned out. It was going to be beautiful.

Step One: Find a suitable host for transplant.

Step Two: Perform the surgery.

Step Three: Decorate for Thanksgiving.

Step Four: Wait for hilarity to ensue!

Unfortunately, step one didn't go as well as we had hoped. We went to every conceivable shop in our college town looking for a stuffed turkey doll. There were none. It looked as if our little plan was to die then and there before it ever got off the ground. Our final trip took us to the toy section of Wal-Mart. Lining one wall of the store were hundreds of stuffed animals and not a single turkey in sight. Braveheart was about to give up hope when I grabbed him by the arm and turned his attention to our salvation. At first he refused to think outside of the box. I pressed the issue. He objected on moral grounds. I insisted otherwise. Eventually he succumbed to the idea and we took our surgical candidate home to prepare.

The operation was performed beautifully by my pre-med roommate and I was proud to assist. Later that day we took down our Halloween decorations and put up the festive trappings of fall harvest, including our new addition to the ceiling light in our living space. That night Urban Cowboy was greeted by a sight that will live in infamy!

Say hello to squealing-vibrating-Indian-princess!

You should be paying ME to drink that!

Most college kids have no money. My senior year apartment wasn't any different. Well, it was slightly different. Because while Braveheart, Urban Cowboy, and I were scraping pennies together to take out our respective girlfriends, Monkeywrench was busy fretting over how he was going to score twenty individual gallon sized containers for his latest school biology project.

You see he had this speck of land outside of town that the local wildlife refuge had agreed to let him use as an "unspoiled" environment so he could collect algae samples or some other crap I don't understand. The only problem was that he was running out of time to finish his project and it required the previous mentioned containers. The world wide web was still just gathering momentum and he had searched the damn thing. He had made numerous phone calls and everything he could find was going to run him upwards of $5 to $10 per container.

That's when his professor offered to take him to Sam's Club and purchase twenty glass-jar gallons of apple juice for $2 a piece. Two dollars a piece? What kind of world do we live in where an empty glass jar is worth more than a full one. So in theory, could I get a job as a jar emptier? Apparently it's worth at least $3 per jar... if not more. That is messed up.

300's got nothing on the M.O.B.

From the Cyber-Files comes another fantastical tale of wonder, magic, and testosterone fueled antics way back from those old college days. Please insert massive amounts of yelling, cursing, and grunting when directed.

It had been nigh on a year since the men of 3rd Floor North had taken their little game of back-road dirt racing and turned it into a participative event so large that it could have qualified for college funding. Who would have thought that the simple combination of a car, a driver, a navigator, and a Texas road map could catch on like wild-fire? Of course there would always be a few rule breakers, but it was the honor system, and that meant you could go from point A to Z any way you wanted... you just had to keep to the dirt roads and the first one to the abandoned back-woods cemetery wins!

There wasn't a better team in the business than Eagle Scout behind the wheel and myself behind the map. Our first place ribbons were so copious that they could have wall-papered Donald Trump's penthouse. One might think we were an unbeatable team, but like many illustrious teams, a woman got in the way. That's when things got out of control. The future Mrs. Cyber an I were spending more time out and that meant the boys of 3rd Floor lost cyberman as their voice of reason. It ended one terrible night when Eagle Scout drove his suburban into a Sycamore tree and Gyuss landed his Landcruiser so deep in a muddy creek that his back axle was enveloped in the thick, heavy, North Texas clay.

It wasn't until the next day that I heard the news and that there was to be a journey out to retrieve said Landcruiser. It was an illustrious crew of eight men and a not so impressive Jeep. The owner of the Jeep truly believed his vehicle would be victorious against the entrenched behemoth, but it only proved to spin helplessly out of control on the slick grass along the bank. But the mob of men, thigh deep in muck, with shoulders thrust against the Landcruiser's steel bumper was another story.

From spinning tire to freedom, the entire process may have only taken a few minutes. However, as one member of the elbow grease behind the SUV, it felt more like an hour. I remember throwing all of my weight against the giant beast and feeling as if we were nothing more than an ocean wave crashing against an immovable cliff-face (insert sound effects). But over time, even the force of water can change the shape or rock. The second attempt yielded more of the same as mud and water splashed high into the air, covering everyone from head to toe in muck (insert sound effect). After the third attempt all appeared lost! Perhaps poor Gyuss would be forced to break the bank and spend his hard earned pennies on an industrial sized tow-truck. There was perhaps the hint (from one of us) that we give up the game, but a rallying cry was issued and we re-doubled our efforts! Later on Eagle Scout would say that he thought he felt the monster move during that fourth attempt but he feared it was only his mind playing tricks on him... that was until he heard the loudest cry of the F-word he had ever heard utter from my own lips. It was then that he knew we had achieved the impossible (insert sound effect). I remember that moment as if it were just yesterday as the strength of those eight men turned resolute mass into moving force. One could hear the suction of mire let loose from the axle as well as many a foot from their shoes as we pushed (not pulled) that son of a bitch from the creek bottom.

Cries of victory could be heard throughout the land and Gyuss emerged from the cabin with arms out-stretched, celebrating his freedom, and rejoicing in a moment that would live in infamy! If a football had been nearby a game of rugby would have surely broken out!

A Shout Out to my Blog-Brother!

In the spirit of friendship and celebration I would like to formally welcome Pokiman to Blog-Country. I've known Pokiman for nearly fifteen years. He's gone by many names during that time, one of my favorites being Thrud. I've spent the last year encouraging Poki to join his fellow brethren by starting his own blog and I am happy to say you can now check out his magnificent work at Tonight we have a REALLY BIG SHOW. In honor of this momentous occasion I would like to share some of my favorite Poki stories from our past.

The Origin Story:

It was 1992 and Gyuss and I were becoming notorious for how bad-ass were were as college freshmen. The line of friendship hopefuls went around the block two and a half times and we were swamped with resumes. Nothing impressed us and we wondered if there would ever come a day when someone else on campus could measure up to our greatness. It was a stormy Thursday night and all the wannabes had retired to their respective dorm rooms for the night. That is when there came a knock at our door. Poki stood out in the darkness of the hallway with pillow in hand and asked if he could crash in our room because it was raining in his room. G thought it was a scam to gain access to the inner-sanctum. I, on the other hand, felt that this was a desperate soul in trouble. Upon further inspection the roof had caved in and water was indeed pouring down into Poki's dorm room. As benevolent men we welcomed him in


The Pants Come Off:

Poki informs me that he can no longer spend any time in his room while his roommate is present since he accidentally caught his roommate abusing his privates while looking at a Victoria's Secret catalog. Apparently the roommate attempted to pretend to be at his desk typing a paper but his bare-ass but-cheeks shining through the crack in the chair gave him away. Later that week Gyuss and I rented The Deer Hunter and took it to Poki's room since he was the only one on the floor with a TV and VCR. With the lights down low we enjoyed the dark meanderings of Robert De Niro and Christopher Walken. After the movie, a fellow dorm dweller (we'll call him Eagle Scout) turned on the overhead lights and we noticed that Poki's pants were nowhere to be found. Gyuss screamed like a little girl and I asked Poki what the hell was going on. He said that he just feels more comfortable without the constriction of pants while watching movies. Eagle asked if Poki's roommate was "rubbing off" on him. I kindly asked Eagle to never use the words "rubbing" and "off" in this context ever again.


Just Add Water:

Poki and I decided to make a quick road-trip from our small college town into the big city. It was approximately 60 miles one way. Poki asked if I wanted to drive. For whatever reason I said no and we hopped into his little Nissan Sentra. I noticed two large one-gallon jugs of water and a dirty rag in his back seat but I failed to ask why he had them. After our jaunt into the metroplex we were making the trek back up to college when I noticed steam rising from underneath the hood of his vehicle. We were still a good twenty miles from campus and I began to worry. I suggested we pull over but Poki only shrugged and mumbled something about being good for another five miles. Eventually the smoke was more than even he could handle and we took the next available exit. We pulled into the parking lot of a cheap motel and he hopped out of his car while grabbing one of the gallon jugs. I asked him what the hell was going on and he told me not to worry as it happens all the time when one's car has no freon due to a giant hole in the radiator. With dirty rag in hand Poki screws off his water cap and boiling steam spews in all directions. He then dumps the entire jug into his water tank (half of which probably burned off in the pouring) and we continue back to campus. I suggested that next time someone asks if he wants to drive he says no.

Three is Company:

Following our years in school I would often check in with my dear friend and we would catch up on all our shenanigans including talk of women. I'll leave the rest to your imagination and Poki's discretion. Ask him about it sometime.

What was I thinking?

In preparation for the upcoming cyber-tot, Mrs. Cyber and I were going through old photos and attempting to organize, as new babies always bring with it a flood of pictures. We got sidetracked going through some old albums. My goodness how fads change over time. Do you remember ankle rolled blue-jeans? Here's a picture of some of my favorite "looks" from the past!



My god, what was I thinking doing my hair like that. Oh well, it was the eighties! And look at those pants. How embarrassing! But I know you guys still love me, if you can't share the soft underbelly of your past with blog-country, who can you share with?

Riding High

A recent article by the illustrious Q got me thinking about a now infamous experience he and I shared over the course of a lunch hour back in the year 2000 (please read the last phrase like that dude from the Conan O'Brien Show).

Q and I often went to grab a bite while he was working in my office. This particular time we took my Sa-Wank company car - a powder blue Ford Taurus, Ching! There is this little burger dive in an old part of town that we enjoyed visiting, only it had us roll through a moderately sketchy neighborhood.

This particular time we were headed back to campus and I slowly pulled up to a stop-sign next to a 7-eleven. As I did this I could see a young man riding a bicycle down the intersecting street. Instead of going through the intersection (where he would have had the right of way) he chose to cut across the 7-eleven lot, and in doing so slammed into the passenger side of my car! Q screamed like a six-year-old girl and dove his head into my lap as the man's body buckled in half, with arms and torso sprawling across the hood of my car and legs flailing against Q's window. His momentum (now displaced by the powder-blue sex-machine) rolled down the right side of the vehicle along with the bicycle, leaving a long scratches and a very unattractive streak from his tennis shoes.

I did what any mild mannered driver sitting at a dead freakin' stop would do. I pulled Q's head out of my crotch, yelled "son of a bitch!" and jumped out of my car. The guy had popped up from behind my back-right tire, his long blond mass of hair swishing from side to side in a disheveled mess. He was probably in his mid thirties, wore a sleeveless Iron Maiden t-shirt and cut-off blue jeans.

FYI - Cut off blue jeans are always a bad sign!

He rubbed his three day old stubble as he groaned and looked over at me. The following conversation ensued.

Me: What the hell do you think you're doing?

Blondie: Dude, I've never been hit by a car before.

Me: You mean you've never HIT a car before. I was at a dead stop, a-hole.

Blondie: Yeah, man... I'm sorry about that. You like came out of no-where.

Me: I was sitting at the stop sign. (By this time I've walked around the car and seen that he's knocked my side mirror completely off). Look at the damage to my car.

Blondie: Yeah, man.

Q: (to me) Do you think he's okay?

Me: Oh yeah, are you okay?

Blondie: Yeah, I think I'm okay. Thanks for asking (Keep in mind, he's bleeding all over the back of my car as he turns to pick up his busted bike and begins to walk away).

Me: Hold up, Tex. This is a company car. I've got to call the police and file a report.

Blondie: What?

Me: You need to stay here while I call the police.

Blondie: The cops?

Me: Yes.

Blondie: Yeah, I gotta go home and grab my wallet. I just live down the street but I'll be right back.

Me: Listen. You do what you want, but I'm calling the police. You say you're coming back... that's on you.

Blondie: Okay... see you in just a second.

I go into the 7-eleven and the clerk says, "Man, that guy is not coming back."

Me: Don't I know it.

Two weeks and $780 later I get the Taurus back as good as new. Message to the kids: Don't do drugs.

The Quartet of Quartetness

Recently my dear friend Q was asked about how the Gyuss, Q, Dagromm, Cyberman relationship began and if there was a blog-bio on the subject. This interested blogger must have searched high and low for such a story and was saddened to realize that one could not be found. For this reason, and for others (namely to apologize to all my tender-hearted family members who dare to read the comments section of my blog and are stunned by the R-rated comments) I have decided to chronicle the story of this illustrious quartet - of which I am a humble (and most important) member.

The year was 1992 and I was just a young cyber-lad heading off to college. Like many, I was nervous about new friendships. Little did I know that 14 years later I would still be in regular contact with my freshman roommate. Gyuss and I couldn't have been more opposite when we started out. Aside from the general guy stuff like video-games, girls, and action movies, we were completely different people. Gyuss is known for his amazing chameleon like personality so he put his best foot forward when dealing with me and I was just happy to room with a guy that wasn't going to get drunk and puke on my bed every weekend. What formed from this unlikely pairing was a friendship that has stood the test of time. There have been some lean years recently with four states separating us, but that tends to happen with friendships. But when you've seen another man naked, watched him get arrested, witnessed the courtship with his future wife, witness his defection from one political party to another, and taken him to the hospital (like Gyuss and I have with each other) geographical distance is just a minor obstacle.

That same year we met Dagromm. I can't remember if Gyuss or I met Dagromm first but the resulting run-in provided an opportunity for Dags and I to realize we shared a common creative streak. This creative streak turned into an incredibly honest and deep friendship. During our four years in college we embarked on a two year project, during that time we laughed until tears rolled down our cheeks, we argued until one might think a punch would be thrown, and we have celebrated an undertaking that we still reminisce to this day. It is also the part of the spark for Dagromm's blog "handle" and an inside joke to me Gyuss.

Finally there was Q. One year after school I got a job back at my old college. It was good times because I had just married my wife, and gotten back in touch with Dagromm who was living in the college town. Q was just a boy when Dagromm and I first met him. Dags met him first, since Q was a regular patron in the store that Dags managed. When Dags told me about this wide-eyed-lad, and said he would have fit in greatly with our friendship circle in college, I was skeptical. Gyuss, Dags, myself, and handful of other college friends had an incredible friendship and I found it hard to believe Dagromm's claim. Much to my surprise, Q proved to be all that and more. Smart and funny with a touch of the bizarre, Q shocked and amazed us at every turn. Over time, each of us developed our own favorite Q story. Mine is not fit for blogger-country. But needless to say, he fits in just fine. Eventually Gyuss had an opportunity to meet up with the infamous Q and not surprisingly that friendship has blossomed. Now Q has turned into a twisted and depraved human being and I am very glad I got to know him when I did.

With three of us living two hours or more away from each other and Gyuss living across the continent, we have discovered blogging as a way to keep in touch in the most typical guy fashion. We talk about stupid stuff that has absolutely no importance in our lives other than to get laughs from each other! One can only surmise how this illustrious quartet will transform over the years and what greatness will come from it. Only time and historians will be able to tell.