Smile.... DING!

That's what used to happen when I went to the dentist. I would smile and there would be a cartoon "DING!" sound and a flash of light would be reflected from my teeth. Metaphorically speaking at least. I've never minded going to the dentist. I have friends who are TERRIFIED. Me, I always wondered what the fuss was about. 

I have been going to the same dentist for nearly 25 years. I am only (only?!) 32 years old, so that is pretty much continual coverage. I have never had any real problems. I broke my front tooth when I was 6 and needed the nerve removed and then a decade of temporary caps and things on it. Once I was 17 it was properly capped. Apart from that, nothing much. I've had no fillings. No toothache. No problems with the dentist.

My dentist is Dr Lea. He is a really nice bloke. Every 6 months for nearly 25 years my appointments have typically gone like this.

Dr Lea: Hello Craig. That time again.

Me: Yep.

Dr Lea: Any problems?

Me: No, nothing.

Dr Lea: Good, good. Let's have a look then.

Me: Ahhhhhhhhhhh 

(2 mins later)

Dr Lea: Ok. Good. Those wisdom teeth are coming through at a bit of an angle, but they don't seem to be causing any problems. They are useless and if they are causing no discomfort then we can ignore them.

Me: Nope. They're fine.

Dr Lea: Great. See you in 6 months.

Me: Thank you. See you then.

We both had it down. We knew what to expect and what to say when. They was no pain and no issues. It was just a 5 minute chat with a friendly bloke who prodded about in my mouth for a short portion of the time. Great.

Until now...

I've just had my usual 6 monthly check up. I got there and was told that Dr Lea had been forced to take long term sick and had effectively retired. He has some sort of nerve problem with his hands. He's had it for years and it has been treatable. Recently the treatment has stopped working and other treatments aren't helping either. This means his hands, especially his right, shake. Not a good condition for a dentist. So he's had to stop being a dentist. Very sad. He was a great dentist. I was told that, after 25 years of the same dentist, I had a new dentist. Ok. Can't be helped. I walked in and a young woman introduced herself as my new dentist. I said hello and sat down for business as usual. I was sure she'd learn her part of the script quickly enough.

I opened my mouth and she prodded about. She finished and I waited for the "Good. See you in 6 months" line. 

New Dentist: Do you grind your teeth?

Me: No.

ND: Your lower teeth are very flat.

Me: Thank you.

ND: No. It's a sign of you grinding your teeth in your sleep. We'll have to keep an eye on that and maybe do something about it. You wake up with sore jaws yes?

Me: Nope never.

ND: Oh ok. We'll keep an eye on it.... Right, you need to brush much better too.

Me: Ok.

ND: And you have two teeth which will need fillings. Book in for a 40 minute appotinment and we will do them.

Me: Whoa. What?

ND: The back. They must give you issues. Open your mouth (I did) THIS one especially (As she said "THIS" she pressed really hard into one of my back teeth with the scrapy sharp prongy thing. No pain at all. But I could tell she was trying to prove a point with pain).

Me: No. Nothing.

ND: But they are sensitive to cold and hot foods though.

Me: No. I've never had tooth ache or pain.

ND: Ok. Book in for a 40 minute appointment to fill them. It's only £30. An extra £90 a tooth if you want a white filling. See you then.

Me (A bit shell shocked):  Ok. Bye.

I booked in for the appointment in April. I'm not sure I'm going to keep it. If it's not broke, don't fix it. I can't see how I can go from 25 years of good dental health to a bollocking and (MY FIRST) two fillings. You could say that Dr Lea was seeing how things went. But for 25 years? And to never mention anything? I don't think so. He's a good dentist. He's mentioned my wisdom teeth. And that my cap will need replacing as my gum has receded a bit. But only when/if it becomes an issue.

I don't like my new dentist. She has made me not like dentists in a 5 minute appointment. I got home and told Sharon. She pointed out that if I grinded my teeth she would know about it and would whack me one to shut up grinding my teeth. A very good point. On arriving home my opening words to Sharon actually were, "I don't like my new dentist. I hope she gets hit by a bus on the way home!" Harsh I know. I don't hope that. I don't wish anyone that. I have since downgraded it to "I hope she stubs her toe. Quite hard! But with no lasting damage." And I do. I really do.

I still haven't decided what I'm going to do about letting her hack away at my teeth though.

The Dollar Goes Home

I got this in a card from a friend for my wedding. One of the things we had asked for, presents wise, was Dollars to spend on our honeymoon in New York and Hawaii. I didn't have the heart to spend it and so took it on my honeymoon, but kept it separate and took pictures of it wherever we went. These are those pictures...

The story

NYC!

Arty with the skyline

Dreaming of a beverage

With Brooklyn Bridge

With Lady Liberty

On Wall Street

HOME!

RAGING BULL!

Enjoying a tasty meal

AIRCRAFT CARRIER!

Chilling in Central Park

Going underground...

ROOOOAARRRRR!!! T-REX!

In an Irish bar

HAWAII!!!

Enjoying the view from the balcony

A catamaran 

Getting lei'ed

Getting LOST!

Chilling with family

Always Wear Gloves... and other safety tips

A few weeks ago I got home from work and Sharon walked into the hall. How nice, my wife had come to greet me home. She usually sits watching a crap Australian soap and grunts. Sometimes she will greet me by sighing when I start talking, pause her programme and put on her best pretending to be listening face. Anyway, this time she had come to greet me. She pointed over my head to my left. Not a typical greeting. I looked at where she was indicating. A damp patch on the wall. Fuck! Not ANOTHER one! We've had lots of problems with damp in places we've lived. I did some investigation and it could have been one of a number of things. The list is long and varied:

• The flat roof of the extension could be leaking.
• The pointing on the gable end is FUCKING RUBBISH!
• The point where the flat roof meets the wall and the porch roof is a mishmash of flashing.
• The flue for the boiler through that wall.
• The gas pipe and water overflow pipe for the boiler through that wall.
• The electrical output for the garage through that wall.
• The boiler leaking.

Why did it have to be that wall? That wall has lots of things going in/out/on/along-side it. Sharon's Dad is a plumber. He checked out the boiler and all looked fine.  Besides, it only seemed to leak on a windy rainy day. The flat roof looked ok. The most obvious (and easiest to fix) thing was the gas/water/cable going through the wall. The sealing was rubbish and it looked a bit wet. I needed daylight and a dry day. Not easy in winter when you work. Fortunately my Dad was available on the following Monday and he put some bitumen mastic and some stick-on flashing over them and it was nicely sealed. Good job Dad.  The damp started to fade. Phew. We decided to see how it went.

Christmas Day came. We got home from visiting family and friends and, as was now becoming habit, as we walked in we glanced up at the wall. Damp again. BOLLOCKS! "Ah well, it's Christmas Day, we'll worry about it another day." Another day came and it was VERY WINDY AND RAINY. Sharon walked into the extension. On the way she splashed through a puddle. She shouted me and I came running and jabbed at the light switch to get a better look at what was going on. "Yep. That's a bloody big puddle on the floor and water is running down the wall and.... OH SHIT!!!" BUZZZZZ... FIZZZZZ.... The light switch I just turned on was pissing water everywhere. "How am I not a twitching dead man?!". I decided to go for a quick jog to the distribution board. DAMN IT! I still hadn't got round to labelling what switch turned off what power and where. That should have been done, BY LAW, by the people who fitted it for the last owners. I hit the master switch and turned all the power off. I got a screw driver and took the cover off the light switch. WATER EVERYWHERE!!! I did what any man would have done in this situation... I panicked and rang my Dad.  He came round and we watched the less than calming water fall for a bit. We decided the most obvious and easy next thing (deny the expensive pointing option) was the mish mash of crappy flashing in the corner where lots of things meet. We did a bodge with tarpaulin. I worked out which breaker turned off the lighting in the extension by using the age old practice of turning each one on in turn until I could hear the magical sound of water and electricity buzzing. I think that's how a professional does it too. I went one better and labelled everything by continuing this trial and error system of switching one off and working out what's not on. It looks highly professional now. Ok, so 2 of the breakers have ? written under them. I have absolutely NO IDEA what wasn't on when they were off. But I'm sure that's normal.

The next step was to buy some more stick on flashing and use that, along with the bitumen mastic, to make the mishmash of meeting bits of roof and walls a watertight masterpiece. I just needed a dry day that was not a work day. That day turned out to be TODAY! Ok, so it was windy as a bastard, but that was unlikely to be a problem really. I went to B&Q and got the flashing. On my return home Sharon noticed more water, this time upstairs in the bay window on the landing. That has a little flat roof over. "No problem wife. I have flashing and bitumen. I will seal that too." I am a man!  RAAAAAARRGGGHHHH!!! 

Sorry, where was I? Yes, about to climb on the flat roof. On a very windy day. Sharon went to watch a netball tournament and made me promise not to fall. A promise I intended to keep. I set about slapping bitumen all over the corner and did a very good (messy) job of it. I then cut up the flashing and, considering the wind direction and where the overlaps should be, stuck it all over the potential problem corner. A bit of extra bitumen slopped onto the seams and it was done. I also sealed around the boiler flue. Not a bad job and it only took me half an hour. Good blokey DIY skills Tonka. I looked at my hands and thought I probably should have worn gloves as I had bitumen on them. Ah well. I then figured I would cut a couple of decent pieces of the flashing and stick them across the mini flat roof over the bay. It's only about 3 foot wide and it's a triangle. I walked over to it. It's about 7 foot off the flat roof. I couldn't reach it. I found, if I opened the window, I could pull myself up and lean backwards holding myself up with one hand whilst doing the work with the other hand. It has 2 seams on it, so I figured a piece of flashing for each. I did the smaller piece first and it was not a problem. The second seam is against the wall and it required a little more of a struggle. I needed to bend the existing flashing up and put a long piece across and push it back down. EASY... with two hands.... stood on solid ground...... on a calm day. On a windy day, whilst hanging out of a window over a roof, it was more difficult. There were 2 moments that stick in my mind. Both involved gusts of wind. The first blew the sticky flashing out of my hand and sent it sailing off the roof and onto the drive. I shouted "NOOOOOOO!", just in time for my neighbour to be outside and see me hanging out of a window in the wind and watch this unfold. I considered just cutting a new piece, but climbed back in and retrieved the piece from the drive. It had (SOMEHOW) landed sticky side up. It's not toast see. I climbed back up and manoeuvred it into place. It was too short. I needed to cut a new piece anyway. Bollocks! It was now that the second moment occurred. A HUGE gust of wind blew, but this time it didn't catch the flashing. It. Caught. Me. There was a definite hour long half a second of me thinking, "I'm falling backwards onto the flat roof, please don't let me go through it... or off it". I managed to drop everything and grab on and pull myself back inside and had the pleasant experience of worrying about falling head first down the stairs instead. Fortunately I didn't do that either. With my heart racing I set about cutting a second piece of flashing. And this time I measured it. With a bit of manipulation and a lot of swearing whilst battling against the wind, with what was essentially a sticky metal and tar sail, I managed to get it in place. I touched up the seams with mastic and congratulated myself on a job, not well done, but done all the same.

I looked at my hands. They were completely black with bitumen. "Yeah, probably should have worn those gloves. I'm sure it'll wash off in the shower." I got in the shower and started washing my hands. It was slowly coming off. Nice one. I looked down. It was in the bath. And I was stepping on it. It was smearing. All. Over. The Bath. FUUUUUUCCCKKKK!!! I briefly pictured the bollocking Sharon would give me when she got home and saw I had destroyed the bath, and leapt out. I soakedly struggled back into my trousers and ran downstairs for the bucket with all the bathroom cleaning stuff in it. I sprayed and rubbed at the bath. It was kind of coming off, but I was also adding to it. "THINK GOD DAMN IT!... First things first. Spray some of that bath cleaner shit all over the bath. Go and wash my hands in the kitchen sink. THEN clean the bath." I did this and managed to get my hands clean. The bath was another matter. It mostly came off, but some places it just wouldn't. More mental images of my bollocking from the wife. "JIF!!!" I refuse to call it Cif. What the actual fuck?! "Of course. It will do it! It cleans anything!" I got the Jif and poured it liberally. It was mostly working with the sponge, but with the old toothbrush that Sharon uses for the tiles it REALLY worked. Only very slowly, as a toothbrush is quite small. It's meant for cleaning teeth, not baths. Teeth are small. Baths are big. Still, it was working. 20 minutes later it was still working. 30 minutes later the bath was clean. I breathed easy once more.

Today I learned 4 things.

1. I hate water getting into my house more than ever.

2. Going up on the roof on a windy day is FUCKING SCARY!

3. Wear gloves when doing messy shit.
4. If I don't wear gloves when doing messy shit, wash my hands in the kitchen sink.

The worst thing is that probably still won't fix the leak. I will need to start getting quotes for the whole gable end to be re-pointed. That will be a ball ache of a job. And will also be quite costly.

The saga continues...

Next Time On...

I really like watching TV programs and films. They are amongst my favourite moving pictures that there is. I especially like them when I don't know what is going to happen. The suspense is one of the best things about watching things. Not knowing what is going to happen; trying to work it out; being happy when you were right and being shocked when something happens that you didn't see coming at all. It's brilliantly entertaining.  So, why then, do they have to have "Next Time On..." at the end of programs? I will be watching it anyway. I don't want to see a clip of the best bit and then not be surprised by it. I want to enjoy that moment for the first time in the context of the program. Am I the only person who goes, "NOOOO!!! LA LAA LAAAAARRRR!!!" and switches off when I see an advert for the next episode of something I want to watch or when the "Next Time On..." comes on at the end of a program? They tend to give you way more information than is necessary to entice. They give away actual plot. Sharon watches Home & Away and their "Next Time On..." is pretty much a synopsis of the next episode. They might as well say, "If you're not going to be able to watch the next episode, but will watch the one after that, here is what you will need to know." Now, I'm not a Home & Away fan, so I really don't give a shit and just watch with mild interest how Sharon can let it tell her everything that is coming and then still watch it.

Then there are adverts for films. Adverts for films are a brilliant thing. You may not know a film is coming out. It's not like an advert for a TV series. You know that is on. It shouldn't have to give you an idea of what's coming. It should just tell you when it's on. End of. An advert at the pictures needs to give you a BRIEF idea of the concept of a film. Not the story, but just enough to make you go "Oooo. That looks interesting. I think I'll watch that". It should not contain the BEST jokes/action sequence/major plot twists. What is the fucking point? A good example of a bad advert is The Rise Of The Planet Of The Apes. The advert for that was a 2 minute summary of the film. It meant that I really didn't enjoy the film at all, because the film just filled in the holes with action sequences between the plot outline given in the advert. They could have just shown a scientist, a monkey, and said, "How it all began" and then showed the title of the film. THAT would have been much more enticing and would have made the film a lot more enjoyable for me. Imagine they used that idea when advertising The Matrix, or The Sixth Sense or fucking The Empire Strikes Back. (*EMPIRE SPOILER* Don't read the next quote if you are newly on Planet Earth. I will come on to people spoiling things next and so chose a very famous twist)  "Watch the next instalment in the Star Wars saga, where we find out that Darth Vader is Luke's father and then chops his hand off." That is the level of spoiler we get with adverts these days. Cinema people, put the intrigue back into the adverts!

Finally, as mentioned, we have people who spoil things for you. Accidentally is fine, occasionally. It's annoying, but some people just let things slip or don't realise you haven't seen something yet (I am reminded of a recent Doctor Who incident with a friend). It happens. But SOME PEOPLE relish in telling you things when you haven't seen something. They try to PRETEND they are being good about it and protecting the story, but they are not. They are being TWATS! They say, "I won't tell you anything significant. I'll just tell you this..." and then tell you something, which means you see something coming once you see things start to unfold when watching it. There are two people I know who are very good at this. The first is my Dad. He isn't too bad. He just tends to tell me jokes from something I am going to watch. It sometimes means I don't laugh at the joke, but not often as the joke is usually about the context and so is funny anyway. He sometimes tells me about something that happens in a film or TV program, but it's never a plot twist. It's usually about a good action sequence. Which again, doesn't detract too much from actually watching it. The second person, however, is someone at work. It's probably better if I tell you about a specific program (without using ANY specific examples... don't worry). The program is Fringe. I got into Fringe relatively late. The third series was just coming to an end. I didn't watch any of the third series first off, I just heard that much praise for it that I decided I wanted to watch it. My cousin bought me series 1 & 2 on DVD for my birthday and me and Sharon started to watch. Two people at work are really into Fringe. And one sits next to me. The other comes over to talk to him about it. That is fine. I just say, "DON'T TELL ME ANYTHING!" or I go and make a brew if they want to talk in depth about it. I'm not about to put a censor on what people can talk about. Just don't say it to me. The one who sits next to me respected my not wanting to know. Especially with something like Fringe, where you don't see a lot of things that are coming and they like to throw in twists and turns. The other LOVED giving me hints to things in a, claimed, not very hinty way. He would say things like, "I won't tell you anything I'll just say XXXX XXXX". BANG! I would start thinking about that phrase. I would try not to, but I would ultimately work it in before that thing happened. SPOILED! Bastard! It meant that I dragged Sharon through a quite gruelling regime of Fringe watching and we are now up to date with how far through series 4 they are. Partly because I wanted to know what happened, but MAINLY because I HAD to be up to the same point at this person so he couldn't ruin things for me any more. For the record he is a company director, so the option of telling him to "FUCK OFF AND SHUT THE FUCK UP!" was never really viable.

Next time on @mightytonka's blog...

Willkommen in der Schweiz

My cousin and his girlfriend recently moved to Zurich, where he has been sent on a 6 month secondment for work. Sharon and I had been talking about going to Switzerland, so we decided to combine going and seeing them with seeing Zurich. We booked a couple of flights and a hotel for a long weekend.

On Friday we got on an aeroplane and flew the short flight to Zurich. From there it was 15 minutes by train to the centre, and a short walk to the hotel.  All steps went without incident. We went into our hotel and, again, all went smoothly. They had our reservation and payment and gave us the key to our room.

We went up to our room and I set about putting the iPad and iPhones on the free wireless. As I was sat at the desk that looks out of the window Sharon walked over and looked out. "OH MY GOD!!! There are people having sex right across from us". I looked up and, indeed, there was a woman quite openly riding a bloke in the window directly opposite from ours. No curtains or blinds drawn. No sign of being bothered that they were on display to an entire hotel. I put it down to being one of those things and got back to work on the iPad. But, I am a human being and I couldn't help but glance up occasionally. About 5 minutes later I glanced up and they had finished. Thank fuck for that. But, "OH!". There she is. In the other window. Getting a drink. Naked. Walking around. Naked. With no clothes on. Naked. 

Thank you Switzerland. That was quite an interesting welcome.

We decided to go for a walk and call in on my cousin and his girlfriend. We had a quick brew, said hello,  and arranged to meet for food later. We then went to explore. We found the Christmas Market and had a couple of gluhwein. Very tasty they were too. Then we decided to go into a pub, where I would get a pint and Sharon a cocktail. There was an Australian pub next to the German Market, so that seemed an easy start. We walked in and sat down. Sharon got the cocktail menu and decided she wanted a "Sex on the Beach". I made some HILARIOUS jokes about it maybe being a little cold for that. And Sharon laughed appropriately (stared blankly until I had finished). I decided that, it being an Australian theme bar, I couldn't go far wrong with "Pint of Fosters, bitte". I walked up to the bar and waited. A man walked over and stood next to me also waiting. The barmaid asked who was next and he indicated me. In my best German (English with "bitte" on the end) I asked for a Sex on the Beach and a pint of Fosters. The barmaid understood and then asked the bloke next to me what he wanted. He ordered in German and all appeared to be going swimmingly. Our two orders were being done collectively by the barmaid and a barman. The barman pulled a pint of Fosters and put it in front of the bloke next to me. I had heard his order. It was all in German. I did not hear him say the word "Fosters" once. That would have stood out to me. So I gestured to the pint and asked if that was his. He answered in German but made a gesture that seemed to indicate a negative response. So I picked the pint up and took a large swig. He looked rather shocked. The barman then walked over with MY pint of Fosters and went to put it in front of me. On seeing I already had one he looked confused and then seeing the horror in my eyes, understood, laughed and put it in front of the other bloke. I turned to the bloke, "I am SOOO sorry." He THEN spoke English and said it was ok and not to worry. I willed the ground to swallow me up, but as it wouldn't I took another swig of my beer. The barmaid said the price of the round to me. In German. I can count up to 5 in German. And as Sharon's cocktail was 15CHF, it definitely cost more than 5. So I was stumped. I asked if she could say the price in English. She did. I didn't understand because of her accent. So I asked again. Nope. Still didn't get it. So I pulled a 50CHF note from my wallet and said, "I'm sure that will be enough". It was plenty.

Typical Brit abroad. Sorry Switzerland. I did make more effort to order in German and definitely didn't blatantly drink someone else's drink as the weekend progressed and seemed to do ok. 

Operation: Do Some Exercise Every Day Until I Lose A Stone

Recently I have been quite busy. Partly drinking; partly sitting; mainly getting fat. Not, "Oh my God, have you seen that bloke waddle towards Disney Land" fat, but definitely larger. I weigh the most I have ever done. It's ok, I am the most married I have ever been and I am currently the oldest I have ever been too, but I would like to not have to buy new clothes on the basis of size rather than wearing out.

I currently weigh 12 stone. See, not MASSIVE. I have usually hovered around the 10.5 stone mark. When me and Sharon first met 5 years ago I weighed 9.5 stone, but I was under weight. About 10.5 - 11 stone is perfectly good for me. 12 stone isn't terrible, but everything is a bit more uncomfortable and tight. I want to be 11 stone so I can be comfy again. Actually, I don't care about the weight, I'm not a girl, I just want to lose my belly and feel comfy again. I just happen to know about 11 stone will be about right for this.

So, what to do? Drink less? Yes. Eat less? Yes. Exercise more? Definitely! The drinking and eating less will be a minor adjustment. The exercising rather more so. Cos I do fuck all again. This has only been the case for 5 - 6 months, but combined with eating and drinking slightly more it has made a big difference.

The plan? Eat and drink slightly less and exercise, to a degree, every day. It doesn't have to be a marathon a day. Just something that I could consider getting off my arse for a period of at least 30 mins. It can be anything. Go for a run; ride my bike; go for a walk; do some press ups; do some DIY. Just something.

I started yesterday. As it was day 1 I pushed it. I have done fuck all in ages and I ran 4 miles. It hurt like a bitch. From nothing to running for 40+ mins is a fucking pain in the arse... and legs... and chest... and head... and everywhere else. Today has been a struggle to walk in a way that didn't invoke comedy stares or Sharon saying, "You do realise that you are walking like John Wayne?". Now, Sharon doesn't seem to know anything about cool old pop culture so I am just impressed that she has heard of John Wayne, but I would like to walk properly. Today was made worse by the fact that I visited my dad for dinner and Football Focus, as I do every week. Instead of driving I cycled the hilly hilly McBilly 7 mile round trip, then I walked the 30 minutes each way walk into town with Sharon this afternoon. The upshot is my legs are double fucked and lots of people got to witness my comedy walk. Still, it's a start and things can only get easier.

Now I have to continue exercising every day until I lose that stone. Hence the name "Operation: Do Some Exercise Every Day Until I Lose A Stone" (A cryptic name I know). 

I won't be doing lots of blogs on this. I have wrote about exercise and running early on in this blog and I moved away from that because it was quite serious and boring. I'm sure I'll let you know when I've lost half a stone/a stone though. 

Watch this (increasing) space (around my figure... I hope).

Geeks Are Cool

Yeah, you heard me. Geeks are COOL! Yes they ARE! And do you know why? Because we are ALL geeks. In our own way we are all interested in something, to a degree, in a way that could be considered geeky. Sure, I'm a geek geek. I'm geeky about computers and Star Trek and Quantum Leap and The Beatles and other geek "standards". But there are people out there who look down on me for being a "geek" and think it's a bad thing because they don't recognise that THEY too are a GEEK. They just don't realise because the things they are geeky about are considered acceptable and cool to them. Things such as shoes or X-Factor or clothes or handbags or etc. Things that to another person (me) are a waste of such intense interest.

Of course there are levels of geek. Let's take Star Trek as an example. You have your person who likes Star Trek and will watch it when flicking through the channels and come upon an episode. They are a level 1. You have me, a person who has EVERY episode and film of Star Trek (The Original Series; The Next Generation; Deep Space Nine; Voyager and Enterprise) on DVD. I am probably a level 5. Then you have the people that go to the conventions dressed as a Klingon and get married on the bridge of the Enterprise and stuff. Their level is THE FINAL FRONTIER (geek joke). Each level is cool. As being interested in and loving something is cool (as long as it's not hurtful, like poking puppies with a stick or something of course). 

My best mate, recently, spent an amount of time showing his wife engineering drawings on his phone. She in turn spent an amount of time trying not to look bored and humouring him and saying that they were very nice, when she didn't really have any idea what she was looking at. He is an engineering geek. She is a nice wife. She, in turn, is an awesome knitter. She carries her knitting wherever she goes and will quite often whip out some needles and wool to carry on with her latest creation. She is a wool geek. They are both very cool people, not despite these things, but BECAUSE of them. It is an amazing thing to find something in this world that engages and excites you to a degree that you pledge a devotion to it and want to share it with others. We all have big interests in our lives that we know lots about and spend lots of time showing an interest in. In whatever that thing may be, you are a geek. And you are very cool because of that thing. That thing helps define who you are as a person. And being defined by something you love is very cool.