We’ve all had our good days and our bad days, and while I write this column and attempt to be humorous, I am no stranger to the bad days. Indeed, when I was in high school I went through the worst of it.

In high school I was a geek. I know this may surprise you. In fact, it may even horrify you to think your beloved columnist — with his uncanny wisdom on comic books and science fiction — has hidden a dark past.

The truth of the matter is that many of my old geeky friends herald me as somewhat of a messiah: one of the few people to ever escape geekdom for the soft, warm embrace of popular culture. I no longer hide in the shadows wishing girls would see past my cowlick hair and thick glasses. Why? Because I’m in a band.

Let me assure you, I’m in no way a good musician. All I have is a willingness to cut my hair, a lot of black clothes and imagination. For many of you geeks out there, I’m certain you have these things too, maybe except for the hair.

The black clothing is no surprise, but I do suggest purchasing some new clothing so the three or four layers of fading are not as visible.

The imagination is there, without doubt. If you can imagine vast dungeons and giant dragons battling against you in more ways than the dice, paper and pencils provide, you shouldn’t have a problem coming up with songs.

Indeed, one of the best things about modern music is so very much of it comes from the concept of being an outcast and not being understood. This should be something I assume you can identify with as I did. I do indeed remember the strange stares I would receive while thinking about casting the ‘infinite boob spell’ on my girlfriend.

OK, I didn’t have a girlfriend. At least not when I was a geek. But since then, my band days have accelerated me into a higher class of desirability. That and this sweet writing gig at the paper.