Holy Lionel Jefferson, Batman! We've been re-cast!

Last night VH1 premiered it's second season of The World Series of Pop Culture. If you missed the first outing of this particular juggernaut of geekdom--and I say that with all fondness--you should definitely watch this season. I would join you, but I can't see the screen through the film of my tears.

(I should point out that, through anguish-y, misty eyes, everyone looks even better on TV...it's like watching nothing but Xanadu).

[Since I force most of my family and friends to read this blog] you, gentle readers, know that I was a contestant on last year's show. I landed on the show after doing well on an online test, not failing a phone interview, and--were I betting woman--by living in fly-over country (my dazzling and talented teammates, Kim & Larry, had each coast covered). Ours was the wildcard team; whereas the other sixteen teams had auditioned and tested together across the country, our little trio met for the first time about 16 hours before competing together. Long story short: we bonded; my teammates performed like superstars (I really should NOT have gone up for the gameshow category); we made the final four; it was grand.

But it's not the fact that we didn't win it all last year that gave me pause as I flipped over to this year's premiere. Instead, I felt like I was waiting at a middle school crosswalk--WOW! that sounds creepy--and having mega-flashbacks to every stupid thing I did/wore/said in junior high. Walking into the green room on the first day of taping for last year's show I actually saw my junior high cafeteria unfurl before my eyes (minus the "Go, Falcons!" painted on the wall in melodramatic 8th grade cursive...the accompanying falcon looking less regal, more Sam the Eagle).

11-year-old Molly took over and the thoughts came, rapid-fire: everyone was huddled into their respective groups, cafeteria-style. Everyone was better looking than I. Everyone already had friends. But, I assured myself, certainly junior high/a gameshow green room is like a box full of spiders: more afraid of you than you are of them. Then I overheard someone--in response to a handful of teams holding a real-live Michael McDonald "YahMoBeThere-alike" contest--mention McDonald's cameo in that Toto ballad. Wait just a damned minute. That's what I know. That's my thing that I know.

Suddenly, my senses were overwhelmed with perfect hair, razor wit, and an encyclopedic barrage of movie quotes. Dude, I thought, I am seriously outclassed. Like many folks in that room, my bizarre interest in/grasp of song lyrics or random movies or bad TV has always been my calling card. It was my "thing" in any peer group, in any social setting, at any Star Wars convention (not that I went...but if I did, it was held three blocks away from my office so did I really have a choice? Two words: Warwick Davis). But these people WERE me, but better. I was Geek Lite.

I suddenly felt myself trying WAY to hard to fit in (I had a perm in my 6th grade class picture, case closed). I nodded sagely as they traded trivia. I shared knowing, pitying glances with other players if someone committed the cardinal kill-or-be-killed sin of blurting out, "I didn't know that!" I even tried to throw in:

"DidyouknowthatGeraldowasKurtVonnegut'ssoninlawforawhile? AndthatthoseareStevenSpeilberg'shandspeelingthatguy'sfaceoffin
Poltergeist? AndthatBillPaxton'sdadplaysthebutlerinSpiderman? AndthatCrystalGayleisLorettaLynn'ssister? DoyouremembertherulestoCardShark?Highnumberhighnumber! Hahahahahahahahahahaha!"

Ta-dah! *kneeling, arms splayed and flapping like a mad vaudevillian*

It was just like the day my moonlighting-archaeologist-of-a-dad brought a human skull for me to share for show & tell. I felt a wave of fascinated horror and pity wash over me. "Now, Jenny will show us her Teddy Ruxpin doll!"

In short, I was the least cool person in gameshow green room. An outcast in the garden of geekdom. And keep in mind that these are people who pride themselves on their geek tendencies (most likely because, on top of it, they are all impossibly cool, witty, wacky, and, frankly, incredibly nice). Somehow, I thought I could hang with the best kind of uber-geeks, but I began to fear that I was wrong.

As fate would have it, though, by the end of our 49-1/2 hours together in a tiny room that we shared with rapidly warming cold cuts and a diminishing Diet Coke supply, I felt at home (if not on par). We boasted a decidedly bizarre shared history now. Only we would know how it felt to the be the WSOPC Class of '06. Only we would be the first to cringe during the Season One re-runs on the Game Show Network in 2525. Only we would be the pilgrim geeks.

And, actually, in a convoluted way THAT'S what rattled me about Season Two. My fellow geeks/junior high comrades/box of spiders has been replaced. Looking at a picture of this year's wildcard team--currently contained in a candlelit, closet-bound shrine where I drink PBR, cry, and tell my rag doll that "I used to be somebody"--makes me feel like an actor in a TV pilot that didn't pass muster with test audiences. "I'm sorry, Molly...we've decided that people prefer redheads."

Cast-off feelings aside, this year's show is getting great press and I'm really excited for the Class of 2007 (especially for El Chupacabra, returning Season One champs). At this rate, the geek shall inherit the Earth.