Trippin'

My heart bleeds for the chappie next door, who like many not-so-young men of the region seems perpetually trapped in an identity crisis of enormous proportion. Is he gangsta or is he white trash?

1. His gleaming pickup truck, perched high on sparkling clean tractor tires, screams white trash.
2. His lowered black Escalade with spinny hubcaps, proclaims gangsta.
3. He and his weedy, pale homies sit on lawn chairs on his driveway, drinking Bud Light. With rap and reggae blasting out the garage.
4. He owns a golf cart. With spinny hubcaps.
5. He probably reads the CNN website via Gizoogle.

It's an open-and-shut case, it seems, of Drumstick (Cornetto) Syndrome: fake chocolate on the outside, Vanilla Ice on the inside.

After many years in the IT industry, I have sadly observed that it too is increasingly populated by those who suffer similar identity crises. Gone are the days of through-and-through geek-mania. Where are the ponytails? Where are the Birkenstocks with white sport socks? Where are the black t-shirts tucked into too-short trousers?

Now, there are so few left who truly embrace technology, whose first love was not another human but a small black console with magical powers, who aren't ashamed in the least.

Welcome the new breed, who became technologists for one of two reasons:

1. Easy money; or
2. Cool factor.

Slowly but surely, the cube farms fill with folks in matching clothes who have watched the Matrix ten too many times and honestly believe that the shallow gold-diggers sitting on their laps value them for their looks. Never mind that their code or analysis reads with the literary quality of "See Dick and Jane Run." Don't you know there's a skills shortage going on?

All puff and no stuff, as my Finnish chum puts it. I can't help but feel incredibly sad.

Occasionally, however, I read stories of nerd clusters roaming free and happy in other parts of the country. I am glad for them, and my myopic eyes mist over at the thought of once again being surrounded by so many people true to themselves, embodiments of the Granola Factor - crunchy on the outside, and crunchy on the inside.