What upset him the most, however, was the fact that I didn’t let everyone know that he did, indeed, pull up his manties and attend the concert with me.  I am here to set the record straight:  Dave attended a social event without a gun to his head or an electronic device in hand.  Sadly, the Reverend Peyton and the entire Big Damn Band broke down in Jerome, depriving us of his music, his wife and her washboard, and leaving us with only the opening band.

Upon returning from Las Vegas, my geek announced that he had made a decision.  This sort of announcement is almost never a good thing.  It usually culminates with things like the geek eating everything with chopsticks, walking around in his underwear, or napping in his motorcycle helmet. 

The big decision?

Response will no longer be elicited when references are made to the office, the Dave Cave or the man cave.

Yep.  The man cave has officially jumped the shark.

But, take heart all you men with special places that belong only to you.  This is the dawning of a new golden age; it is now the era of the Man Bunker.

Unlike Dave, I like getting out.  I like crowds.  I like loud music.  AND I like Guinness on tap.  All this led me to purchase tickets to see the Reverend Peyton and his Big Damn Band at the Neurolux last week.  Normally, I never invite Dave to go to concerts with me because he doesn’t like crowds, doesn’t really like loud music, couldn’t name 98% of the bands I listen to, and he doesn’t like Guinness.  But this time, I invited him because I just knew he would put up with all the things he didn’t really like to be able to watch the Reverend’s wife play her washboard.  I promise you, it is a sight to behold.

The following conversation ensued when I issued my invite:

Me:  Want to come see the Reverend Peyton and his Big Damn Band with me tonight?

Dave:  Well.  Sort of.  But I have a lot to do.

Me:  If you have too much work, I understand.  (‘cause I try to be understanding about that stuff…)

Dave:  But…..well, maybe I can go.

Me:  It’s OK if you can’t go.

Dave:  No, I’ll go.  I’ll just bring my laptop.

Me:  No.

Dave:  Yeah, I’ll come and just bring the Dell.

Me:  No.

Dave:  What do you mean, “no”?  It’ll be fine.

Me:  No.

Dave:  Well, what am I supposed to do while we’re there?

Me:  It’s a concert.  Seriously?  We’re going to sit there, have a beer, and listen to the music.

Dave:  That’s it? 

Me:  It’s a CONCERT.

Dave:  Well, that’s a poor use of time.

At this point rescind my invitation.  He back pedals a bit, and then offers to come without the Dell.  Then I totally bust him by telling him he wouldn’t be allowed to work on his iPhone either.  He wandered off muttering about poor time allocation and the comfort of his Dave Cave.

Yesterday afternoon I walked into the living room to adjust the blinds.  While I was leaning over the couch, I just happened to look behind it.  Behind the couch was the 13 year old uber-geek boy.  He was wedged into the corner with a pillow and a blanket.  When I asked him what he was doing he said he was “reading in the boy cave”.

Really, at 13, he needs a cave? 

I don’t fully understand the man cave phenomenon.  It mystifies me, and leaves me feeling vaguely unsettled.  I wonder if needing a cave when you’re 13 increases or lessens your need for an elaborate man cave in adulthood.  I don’t believe I’ve ever met a woman who has uttered the words “I need” and “cave” in the same sentence.

Dave is in Vegas this week.  I talked with his last night,  and he told me about his fabulous accommodations and the great sushi he had for dinner; he followed that up with a rather lengthy, wistful yearning for being home in the Dave Cave.

My geeks aren’t really fond of pop culture; their brain space is being utilized in other ways.  But everyone else in the house?  They’re now getting old enough to realize that they just might actually die if they miss the next episode of whatever everyone else is talking about.

When the 5th grader was lamenting not knowing the ins and outs of Dancing With The Stars, the 6th grade geek gave the following response:

“My pop culture data store is deliberately small.”

Dave was so proud.

I have not had the heart to tell him that that assumption could not be farther from the truth when you’re in the 6th grade.

For days I’ve been listening to my geek laugh about messing with young geek’s cube.  He decided it would be pure awesome if he pulled one of the pieces off, turned it, and put it back.  This plan came to fruition last night, and I was regaled with giddy descriptions of how much fun it was going to be to watch young geek fret over a cube he couldn’t solve.

This morning young geek sits down with his cereal, starts his stopwatch (did I mention that he times himself?) and turns the cube for about 10 seconds.  He then announces he sees that "someone has been tampering with the cube", gives his dad a hard stare, resets the offending piece, and completes the puzzle.

The young geek definitely got the last laugh.  "All that", he told his dad, "and I still finished in under 2 minutes."

I once said to my geek, "You’re not wearing that to work, are you?"  To which he replied, "Well, yeah, what’s wrong with it?  The stripes on the shorts are going the same direction as the stripes on the shirt, so that means it matches."

Yesterday morning I said to uber-nerd boy, "You’re not wearing that to school, are you?" To which he replied, "What’s wrong with it?  It’s all the same color, so that means it matches."

And then, right then, it hit me.  He’s a young geek now.

And he only needed eight.  One for each day of the week, and one extra.

The geek’s heart swells.

Because, as uber nerd boy said, "if he’s going to be a developer, he needs to look the part."

“Oh, that’d be cool!  Make sure I come off like a body building Richard Feynman.”

What. A. Geek.

Here are the new bags:

The geek thinks they’re sexy.  He uses that word.  Sexy. 

I’d just like to interject here that it would never in a bazillion years occur to me to call a lap to carrier, or a suitcase for that matter, sexy.

So the bag on the right is my geek’s new suitcase.  It hails from eBags, and is called The Motherload Mini.  It fits into an overhead bin,holds a week’s worth of clothes (thanks to NASA and their Space Bags) and has all sorts of cool features.  One of Dave’s favorite features is this little pocket that holds his gels and liquids.  He meticulously puts his gels and liquids together in a little container, and then puts this into the special pocket:

And then he almost always forgets to take it out when he goes through security.  Which means he then has to have the entire bag riffled through.  On the last trip he was verbally patted on the head by the baggage screener when she said, “ Good job sir, you almost had it this time.” 

Did you note that the bags match?  The geek thinks this makes him look “like a seasoned executive traveler” and “metro”.  In his estimation, these are good things. 

Moving onto the laptop carrier.  Also by eBags, The Macroloader.  (As an aside, I think eBags needs to fire whomever they’ve got naming their products and hire me and a few of my friends.  A round or two of martinis, and we’d come up with something WAY better than The Macroloader.) This bag was purchased after HOURS of research and with great expectations.

This bag needed to hold 2 laptops and fit comfortably when loaded with all the cables, drives and wires the geek carries around with him just in case his client asks him to build a plasma atom smasher while he’s teaching them Scrum techniques.

And, to my relief, the bag lived up to expectation:

Look how happy he is.  Look at all the stuff he fits into that sexy bag.

And look at his atrocious leg lamp…

The handiness of the phone on the belt was proven to me today.  It all became clear to me when I received a call from my geek.  From the 3rd floor bathroom.  Requesting T.P.  He was gloating about being prepared and having the phone with him.

As to not let him win all the way, I sent up a 4-pack of TP and a to-go cup of coffee with one of the kids.

He ended up ordering a back pack from Ebags.

Ebags is currently his very most favoritest store.

The package finally arrives, and my geek disappears into his office to privately enjoy his OOBE.  He then shows up in the kitchen looking deliriously happy, and asks the following question:

“Want a tour of my new bag?”

In earnest.  A bag tour.

And then, a few hours later, the geek gave ubernerd boy his old TechFest back pack.  Ubernerd boy shrieks with joy, runs into the kitchen and asks the following question:

“Want to see all the features of my new bag?”

In earnest.

The apple clearly fell very very close to the tree.