Still Just a Geek, page 36
And that eureka moment brings me to the fact that you don’t need to look very far to see that the A in STEAM is already present within the very core of STEM—there is so much art and beauty inside science.* We don’t get people excited about astrophysics by showing them equations. The easiest way to get another human excited about space is to point a telescope at the sky and let them look through it. Math can be complex and confusing, and quite frankly boring and dry . . . until you start seeing the way mathematics expresses itself in the world around us.* The Golden Ratio may be the perfect marriage of art, design, and math. It is everywhere in nature, and once you see it, like the arrow in the FedEx logo, you can’t unsee it in buildings, sculptures, monuments, trees, sand dunes, and ripples in ponds. Not bad for an irrational number!
Oh, and speaking of the Golden Ratio, it’s present in music, too, and music is, at its most fundamental level, a mathematical language.*
This doesn’t mean that someone who excels at doing arithmetic in their head is going to be a great musician, or that a great guitar player will magically solve equations with ease. But there’s overlap in the ART and the SCIENCE and when someone is interested in one, they may not even know that the other is right there, waiting for them to do something cool with it, and we have to make sure that they can see it.
And that brings me to something I care deeply and passionately about: general purpose computing and the Internet of Things.
When I was ten or eleven, my parents bought our family a personal computer. It was an Atari 400. It connected to our television, used a membrane keyboard, and was outfitted with four kilobytes of RAM. As a simple point of comparison, the document I ended up with when I finished writing this talk was thirty-five kilobytes. Yes, a single word processing document was nearly nine times larger than the RAM that made our entire computer come to life.
But the thing about that computer is it would do whatever I told it to do. It was limited only by its memory and how clever I was as a young programmer. There wasn’t a marketing department locking down features so they could sell them to me as in-app purchases. There wasn’t a deliberate crippling of the computer’s inherent capabilities so the manufacturer could sell me additional features once I paid to have them unlocked. There wasn’t even an Internet to connect to, so the manufacturer couldn’t demand I connect to a server somewhere to authenticate some DRM scheme.
In other words, we owned that computer, in every sense of the word, and whether I wanted to copy a game program out of a magazine, create my own from scratch, or even play a cartridge-based game like Pac-Man (which was so much better on the 400 than the 2600), it did what I wanted it to do. My imagination was the only thing that limited me, because in those days it was a real challenge for a ten-year-old to max out 4K of RAM.
When ten-year-old me read a book about UFOs and other mysteries (I was a big fan of a show called In Search Of . . .), he decided to write a program that would let anyone fill out a sighting report that the computer would store, to be searchable by anyone else. It was all in my imagination—I knew that UFOs were not flying saucers—but it was still an incredibly fun fantasy to imagine. So I turned on my computer, went straight into BASIC, and spent an afternoon writing my version of a database. I saved it to a cassette tape drive, which lasted until KMET was playing all of Zeppelin IV and I decided that I needed to record it.*
But while it lasted, I had created something that combined my imagination and fledgling technical skills, and it was pretty great. I was able to create it, because I did not have a device that was strictly locked down to just be one thing, but a tool I could use however I wanted.
It was the difference between being able to take a set of LEGO and build what my imagination wanted, versus a set of LEGO that could only be assembled one way, according to the instruction manual.*
And this is even more prevalent in hardware than it is in software. While nearly any computer can run multiple programming languages, including Python (which is just as easy to understand as BASIC, but easier to use by several orders of magnitude),* and open source programs and entire operating systems are freely available, much of the hardware we use to run them, especially tablets and smartphones, isn’t really owned by us. You would expect that when you purchase an iPhone or an iPad, that it’s yours to use how you see fit, right? Sure, that makes logical sense, but it doesn’t survive first contact with the DMCA.* It wasn’t even until 2015 that Congress affirmed the public’s right to unlock an iPhone, but it’s still illegal to unlock an iPad.* And, once unlocked, Apple is legally allowed to turn your device into a fancy paperweight if it wants to. Not that it really matters, but this is one of many reasons that I choose to use Android devices. I like to tinker with my toys, because the curiosity and love of technological exploration and the quest for knowledge that was sparked in me thirty-five years ago is just as strong today as it was then. If there is even one kid today who wants to unlock her tablet or smartphone so she can learn her way around its OS and do whatever she wants, dev-kit or not, but can’t do it because the laws haven’t caught up to the technology, I have a real big problem with that. Because the worst thing you can tell a curious kid is “No, you aren’t allowed to investigate that part of technology because rights holders have a powerful lobby.”*
Now, don’t get me wrong: I love the technology we all take for granted today. I love being able to read books, get online, play games, take and share pictures, and even make the occasional phone call all on the same device. But we have to make sure that we don’t trade away the freedom of general purpose computing for the convenience of an Internet of Things. We have to make sure that the opportunities afforded to me thirty years ago are preserved and afforded to children today, and children in the future.
Which brings me to funding.
You’re never too young for science—getting children interested in the world around them, and asking them to try and figure out how things work is a fundamentally good idea. Curious children* will naturally gravitate toward STEAM subjects. Let’s encourage that and make sure that a child who wants to explore that particular part of our world has everything she needs to get there, and keep learning about and making awesome things when she leaves. This is and will continue to be a challenge. Despite the clear and undeniable benefits of a comprehensive education, including science education—not only to individuals but to our entire society—we have allowed the funding of our schools to become part of the culture wars. This is as disgraceful as it is predictable. When so many of our poorly named “leaders” deny scientific consensus on everything from climate change to vaccines,* a scientifically literate and well-informed populace can be tremendously inconvenient to them and their corporate owners.* Well . . . good. Let’s be inconvenient to them. Let’s educate and empower a generation who will be real leaders, and carry our nation into the future.
We all know that it’s possible to fund STEAM education. The money is there, it’s just being spent on other things. Making enough noise and applying enough sustained pressure to change this will not be easy. It will actually be quite hard. But when has America ever shied away from doing things that are hard? Everything worth doing is hard, and President Kennedy said as much when he challenged our nation to go to the moon. Right now, decades later, every single one of us has benefited in some way from that commitment. Right now, a generation of future scientists can look to Mars and beyond, because nearly fifty years ago, we did whatever it took to go to the moon.*
Why aren’t we doing that today? Because it’s hard?
A generation ago, it was inconceivable to think that we would be able to make a phone call from a thing we carried in our pockets, or that making phone calls would be the least interesting thing about it! So when I hear the people who control the funding for public education tell us that it’s just too hard and that as a nation we can’t afford the investment, I have to seriously question their competence and qualifications. There is absolutely no excuse for any teacher or child in America to walk into a classroom and not have the tools and resources they need to create the next generation of scientists, engineers, and makers.
And we don’t have to put particle accelerators or fission reactors into elementary schools (though that would be pretty cool). We can start on a smaller, more basic, but just as inspiring scale. For example, if we make sure that our schools have the money to buy a ton of vinegar and baking soda, I guarantee you we’ll have a bunch of chemical engineers in twenty years who never get tired of the beauty of a fizzy reaction.* If we make sure that kids have the computers they need to write software and the Internet connections they need to share it, I don’t know what to guarantee you, because I can’t even imagine what they will be doing twenty years from now. I just know that it’s going to be great!*
Just last week, President Obama* spoke on Equal Pay Day,* and he said, “I want young girls and boys to come here, ten, twenty, one hundred years from now, to know that women fought for equality, it was not just given to them. I want them to come here and be astonished that there was ever a time when women could not vote. I want them to be astonished that there was ever a time when women earned less than men for doing the same work.” I would add to that, that I want them to also be astonished that women were ever discouraged from pursuing careers in science, technology, engineering, or math. I want them to be astonished that there was ever a time when fully funding public education and providing full and equal access to education—especially science education—was not a national priority.*
And we have a responsibility, as the parents, scientists, teachers, engineers, artists, and mathematicians of this moment, to make that world, which may seem like speculative fiction now, a reality that future generations takes for granted.
We are going to grow old in that world, you guys, and I for one would like very much for it to be a little less dystopian than Judge Dredd.*
One last thing, before I finish. I want to speak directly to any young people who are here, again: This is your world, we’re just borrowing it for a little bit while you decide what to do with it. We’ve left you a real big mess to clean up, and I’m sorry about that. Believe me, a lot of us tried—and are trying—to make it easier for you, but we haven’t done enough.
So as you get older, and as your knowledge grows, don’t ever stop learning.
Stay curious.
Ask all the questions you can think of, and when the answers confuse or inspire you, ask more questions. If your questions make adults uncomfortable . . . good.* Ask them, and then ask more.
Take things apart and put them back together. Or take things apart and make new things out of them. Don’t ever let someone tell you that you can’t do something because it’s too hard. A lot of things we all think are easy were “too hard” until a clever, brave person said, “You know what? I’m going to do it, anyway.”
Kind of like Jordan and his Minecraft traps, right?
You are growing up at a time when technology is advancing so fast, just about anything you can imagine will likely exist in your lifetime, because you’ll be able to create it . . . so be careful, and don’t forget to be awesome.*
Why It Is Awesome to Be a Nerd:
Some Thoughts on Having Empathy for Bullies
When I was a boy I was called a nerd all the time—because I didn’t like sports, I loved to read, I liked math and science, I thought school was really cool—and it hurt a lot. Because it’s never okay when a person makes fun of you for something you didn’t choose. You know, we don’t choose to be nerds. We can’t help it that we like these things—and we shouldn’t apologize for liking these things.*
I wish that I could tell you that there is a really easy way to just not care, but the truth is there isn’t. But here’s the thing that you might be able to understand—as a matter of fact I’m confident you will be able to understand this because you asked this question . . .*
When a person makes fun of you, when a person is cruel to you, it has nothing to do with you. It’s not about what you said. It’s not about what you did. It’s not about what you love. It’s about them feeling bad about themselves. They feel sad.
They don’t get positive attention from their parents. They don’t feel as smart as you. They don’t understand the things that you understand. Maybe one of their parents is pushing them to be a cheerleader or a baseball player or an engineer or something they just don’t want to do. So they take that out on you because they can’t go and be mean to the person who’s actually hurting them.
So, when a person is cruel to you like that—and I know that this is hard—but honestly the kind and best reaction is to pity them.* And don’t let them make you feel bad because you love a thing.
Maybe find out what they love and talk about how they love it. I bet you find out that a person who loves tetherball loves tetherball in exactly the same way that you love Doctor Who, but you just love different things.
And I will tell you this—it absolutely gets better as you get older.*
I know it’s really hard in school when you’re surrounded by the same four hundred people a day that pick on you and make you feel bad about yourself. But there’s fifty thousand people here this weekend who went through the exact same thing—and we’re all doing really well.*
So don’t you ever let a person make you feel bad because you love something they decided is only for nerds.
You’re loving a thing that’s for you.*
Afterword
How do you wrap up a project that started almost twenty years ago? How do you distill all of that down to a few pithy words?
If you’re me, you don’t. I feel like I’ve said everything I needed to say already, which I guess leaves me with . . . an update on where I am at this moment in my life?
Sure. Let’s go with that.
I’m forty-eight, nearly forty-nine, as I write this. It’s late May, so it takes the sun most of the morning to burn off the marine layer, and by noon it’s too hot for the hoodie you wore to start your day.
I’m listening to “Bela Lugosi’s Dead,” which by now you know I can’t quote. I’m still mad about it.
When I wrote Just a Geek, I was trying so hard to be a lot of things, and none of them was fully me. And yet, some of it was (I’m thinking of the try-hard who went for the easy gay joke or the misogyny or ableist humor that could be excused by the times, but really shouldn’t). It was not easy to revisit that time in my life, and it was even harder to revisit my childhood. I’m gonna be honest: I was hopeful this whole thing would be cathartic, but all I got was a lot of retraumatizing and sadness. I said in the beginning—and pretty much all throughout this book you just read—that when I did Just a Geek, I had a lot of trauma to work out. I still have a ways to go. If nothing else, writing Still Just a Geek made that clear to me. Maybe the catharsis will happen when this is truly out of my hands, and in yours. I don’t know. But that’s what I’m hanging on to this time around.*
Sorry to be kind of a bummer. That’s kinda where I am in this moment.
I honestly feel good about being able to own that, though. It’s true and it’s real and it’s valid. I don’t feel like I have to buff out all the edges and flaws to make myself into a shiny thing that is indistinguishable from all the other shiny things.
I am not a shiny thing that exists solely to impress other people, and I really love that.
I guess that’s the update, maybe? I love my life. I have the best life. I finally stopped needing to prove anything to anyone, and it’s made all the difference. I get to write books, I get to narrate audiobooks (I’ve won a bunch of awards, and when the New York Times debuted its audiobook bestseller list, I was at number one with Ready Player One! Holy shit!), I played a “delightfully evil” then “wonderfully sincere” version of myself (at least, that’s how I remember it), on the most popular television series in the world on and off for almost a decade. During that time, I also cocreated an online tabletop gaming series that fundamentally changed the industry. Since then, I’ve hosted a groundbreaking Facebook series that was watched by over twelve million people a week, for ten straight weeks. I currently host The Ready Room, an aftershow for all things Star Trek—the most satisfying job I’ve ever had—for Paramount Plus. I’m incredibly busy, and—at this point—almost none of it has to do with acting.
So the career I have looks nothing like the career I thought I needed when I wrote Just a Geek. It’s the career I love because this career is mine, and it’s amazing to think my working life is just getting started.
But with each beginning comes the ending of something else, and it wasn’t just my life as an auditioning actor. The other really huge thing that’s happened since Just a Geek is I made the painful and difficult choice to end all contact with my parents, after several unsuccessful attempts to address . . . well, everything, and their refusal to accept any responsibility for their role in my trauma, or even that my memories are real. It hurt so much.
It still hurts, but the pain of not having parents isn’t nearly as bad as the pain of having my parents.
My Star Trek family really stepped up when I shared with them the reality of the childhood I’d kept hidden from everyone. These days, when I do something cool, or feel sad and scared, or any time I need a mom and dad, really, I can text our group chat and they are all there for me, every single time. We get together publicly and privately a couple times a year (when the world allows), and we talk all the time. It took forty-six years, but I finally know what it’s like to be an unconditionally loved and valued son. I have the best Space Family in the ’verse, y’all.
