Why nerd is punk

Wheeled, roving outreach elescopes in Xi'an, China, by Ryry9379 on Flickr (Creative Commons)

I was thinking recently that perhaps my readers might be wondering about that “nerd is punk” tagline. I thought I’d explain myself, which sounded great until I went to the wordpress dashboard, opened up a new post, and was actually confronted with the ambiguity I have unleashed on the world, all because punk sounded like a cool way to mask inherently geeky tendencies with an aura of anti-establishment “Take That!”

So why is nerd punk? Are either of these good things that any public blog about astronomy should stake reputation and readership by holding up as something to be aspired to? Did I lose you on that last sentence?

Let’s start with nerd. Here’s a Venn Diagram of the brainy misfits strata of modern society, from Buzzfeed

Personally I could quibble with this. It all seems pretty arbitrary. Are geeks really obsessed but not intelligent? Are nerds really socially indept? While Dorks are definitely socially inept, I’m not so sure they are not intelligent as well. I think this diagram really isn’t very helpful, and I apologize for having propagated it. Ah, well, what’s done is done.

Let’s dip into the lovely Macbook dictionary authority and look up nerd:

nerd |nərd| noun informal

a foolish or contemptible person who lacks social skills or is boringly studious : one of those nerds who never asked a girl to dance. (Oh, it’s like they knew me in 7th grade!)

• an intelligent, single-minded expert in a particular technical discipline or profession : he single-handedly changed the Zero image of the computer nerd into one of savvy Hero. (Why are both examples men? Feminist nerds, stand up and be counted!)

ORIGIN 1950s: of unknown origin. (I love this…so mysterious. Like maybe it had to do with Nazi rocket scientists and the roots of 1960s rebellion or something).

What about Punk? Can we nail that down any more than nerd. Let me move the cursor the little magnifying glass at top right.

punk |pə ng k| noun

1 informal a worthless person (often used as a general term of abuse). • a criminal or hoodlum. • derogatory (in prison slang) a passive male homosexual. • an inexperienced young person; a novice.

2 (also punk rock) a loud, fast-moving, and aggressive form of rock music, popular in the late 1970s and early 1980s. • (also punk rocker) an admirer or player of such music, typically characterized by colored spiked hair and clothing decorated with safety pins or zippers.

3 soft, crumbly wood that has been attacked by fungus, sometimes used as tinder.

adjective

1 informal in poor or bad condition : I felt too punk to eat. 2 of or relating to punk rock and its associated subculture : a punk band | a punk haircut.

ORIGIN late 17th cent. (sense 3) : perhaps, in some senses, related to archaic punk [prostitute,] also to spunk .

(Interestingly, one of the usages I remember from growing up isn’t represented here. We used the word “punk” to mean citronella-laced incense sticks used to keep mosquitos away. Those punks were punk!)

That Macbook dictionary isn’t very helpful. Matter of fact, it seems rather square and reactionary. So, seeking wisdom as Nerds always do, I asked my friend K-D, who does the Kpunk podcast, just what punk was. It’s a bit like trying to define Gravlax. So instead he gave me a list:

  • Punk is:
  • dead
  • a commodity
  • a marketing term
  • a fashion
  • the soundtrack to a revolution on hold
  • an aesthetic
  • an ethos
  • a dedication to a do-it-yourself lifestyle in order to transform individuals from passive consumers to active cultural producers
  • a category of social identification that can draw from all of the above
  • an empty vessel waiting for the brave and/or foolish to fill it

He followed up with: “I  suggest you focus on the idea of a ‘punk ethos’ which some discuss as an anti-status quo disposition coupled with DIY practice in order to  engage in the process of ‘disalienation’ (resisting the forces of  alienation of today’s consumer capitalist society). Dismissing the notion of experts and hierarchies towards self-empowerment and  accessibility.”

Okay, that was a lot of stuff. Punk is about as complex as nerd, that’s for sure. Let me draw some parallels here. Why is nerd punk, and in this case I’m mostly talking about astronomy nerdiness? Because punk is about direct experience and first-hand knowledge. It’s about collecting the actual photon messengers sent to us from various far-flung locales in the universe rather than having them be predigested by the Hubbell Space Telescope or Photoshop. It’s about sharing knowledge with people that don’t have access to it because nobody else cares enough to share, to think it’s of any importance, or think those bereft of these experiences as worthy of them. Nerd is punk because knowledge of the universe, and the way it works, is not part of the consumerist plan. If you knew too much about how things really worked, for example, you wouldn’t be eating food coloring, for example. Or factory raised meat. If you knew how massive the universe was, how tiny and finite our existence is,  you wouldn’t be watching Stories of True Celebrity Flatulence on cable. You’d be in the streets in Yemen or Syria. You’d be trying to stave off complete environmental collapse before it’s too late. You’d be living.

I’ll stick by some old guns here and say that democracy (the real deal) requires an educated, thoughtful and reflective populace or it…will rather look like what we have today, with Wall Street wives bilking the Fed of millions of bailout money while the rest of us struggle to shift balances around on zero APR credit cards. Nerd is about being educated when nobody wants or cares you to be, and that, my friends, is totally punk.

Nerd is punk because it’s not afraid of shocking other people. I’ve seen lots of people get shocked by Saturn, or the mountains of the moon, or a distant greenish smudge made up of 500 billion stars. Astronomy documentaries usually have some soft, ethereal electronica soundtracks. That’s cool, but the universe might go better with loud, fast-moving and agressive music. Like when Theia pummeled the early earth and the moon was created. Brian Eno would have reached for an electric guitar if he witnessed that, and probably screamed.

Here’s another affinity: punks and nerds love the dark. Punks plot and invent subcultures and make great things happen largely in secret, because the co-opting machine is ever watchful. Nerds love the dark because there are meteor showers to watch, and grand vistas of the cosmos on display. Which might just make them want to plot and invent subculture and make great things happen. You see my point.

And lastly, Nerd and Punk are both about DIY. That’s Do-It-Yourself. Nerds build radios in their basements. Or telescopes in their garage. Sometimes they make zines about building radios, or telescopes, or modified radio shack robots that dance every time they hear the word “perambulate”. They are Punks.

Some Punks wire up their own amplifiers out of stuff they fished out a dumpster. Some learn organic farming and others take over abandoned buildings and wire together their own communities, rebuilding social relationships by subverting established hierarchies They are Nerds.

If you remain unconvinced about my comparison, or about the value of Nerds and Punks and their inherent affinity, let me ask you this: Why is it not cool in our society to know stuff?

I come in peace, Hippy.

I don’t often travel without a plan of some sort. In the past, I always felt constricted by my premeditated itinerary, but too wimpy to wrap it up in caution and throw it out the window. But, when I travelled last week to New Mexico, I tried to grow; I had a firm destination—Chaco Canyon National Park—but was unsure of exactly when I would arrive and where I would find myself along the way.

I was going to Chaco Canyon to teach astronomy, part of the park’s volunteer corps, assigned to the Astronomy in Parks program. Being a good nerd, I left my tent at home to free up enough suitcase weight to allow me to bring a telescope, mount, eyepieces, red flashlight and star atlas. I found a camping store in Albuequerque and bought a one-man tent, threw it into the back of the rental car—from the company with the name that would warm any nerd’s heart—and headed up route 550 towards the four corners.

I should back up a little bit. I took a taxi from the airport to the rental car agency downtown. My cabbie was clean cut, middle-aged, a self-professed amateur astrophysicist, and very chatty. He knew my whole plan, including the fuzzy parts, by the time we pulled in front of the agency. He suddenly took out a card—he’s a musician—and said: “You know, you’re going right by Cuba. There’s a gathering of people there starting this weekend, hippies.” He drew me a little map on the back of the card. I hadn’t accepted it quite yet, but I had my layover destination, just off the main road in the Sante Fe National Forest.

The Rainbow Family is an annual gathering of thousands of hippies. Each year they choose another natural spot, descend from all directions in all forms of vehicle from rubber soles and thumbs to VW campers to the oddly incongruous Beamers, hike into the forest, and live for a week in total freedom. I remembered hearing about the after Katrina sacked New Orleans, how the hippies emerged from the forest and set up kitchens to feed people. It was anarchism in praxis, people actively trying to create the kind of community they wished to see. So what if they smelled like patchouli? I had to check it out.

I went as an ambassador, my telescope on my back as I hiked in the last 2 miles. Hippies, I come from a different family—the nerds. I come in peace. Take me to your drum circle.

The first thing anybody said to me wasn’t “Welcome Home,” though I would hear that about hundred times that day. (It’s the Rainbow Family greeting.) No, a particularly scraggly looking guy with a scraggly looking dog snickered at me and my telescope: “Weirdo.”

I raged inside. Weirdo? Are you kidding me? Here I have to profess something that has bothered me about the “counterculture” since it turned me off from going to art school when I was in high school. My problem is that all the folks busy being different start to look the same once you’re among them; personal expression starts to becomes another mindless uniform. Not just appearance, but patterns of speech and patterns of thought. I ran through this old argument silently in my head, and then got over it. I wasn’t being fair. People should be affiliating with them that share their values. They’re called affinity groups. I belong to one called an Astronomy Club, and yes, they probably would call a Hippy with a giant rain stick a “Weirdo,” too. I had come to bring peace, at least, a little bit of it.

I walked on into the unknown. I got some chai and an introduction on how to poop in the forest from a Bahai follower named Wind, and walked to the Meadow. There were the drummers and dancers and little campfires and of course, plumes of pot smoke pretty much everywhere. I pitched a tent somewhere near Camp Love, founded by an ex-soldier named Kane, asked a guy for help bringing my telescope down to the Meadow, and set up not too far from the big wooden map where people attempted to get their bearings. “Dude, have you seen ‘Shut Up and Eat? They have the best soy milk and wheat grass curry…”

The night was mostly clear with a waxing moon, and my scope and I had a lot of attention. People were great. I’ve never done outreach to stoners before. They see more than most people do. “Dude, I see craters on Saturn’s moon!” (That’s not possible, though I didn’t contradict the person.) Everyone, however, who looked through the scope was genuinely moved, effusive in their praise (of my presence there and of the heavens), and almost everyone gave me a hug. I probably showed 50 people something (Saturn, Albireo, M13—the usuals) and about half of them have never looked through a telescope.  I felt like I had already started to fulfill my mission of bringing a view of the universe to those that need seeing it.

The Rainbow Family were warm and cheerful, and very appreciative. The loose but highly functional organization of the place was impressive. They somehow managed to hike in enough soy milk and wheat grass, set up enough free kitchens, to feed everyone. They take care about hygiene, well, at least about where they poop. And they are subjected to suspicion and low-level intimidation from law enforcement from miles around, all secretly grateful that they have such a large and scrawny audience in front of which they can strut their manly lawfulness.

It was nice to see so many folks enjoying each other’s company in relative peace. When’s the last time you went camping with 8,000 other people simply because you simply liked their company? They are on to something, and if the country collapses when oil runs out or the oceans swamp all the coasts, and we all become refuges from modernity (like what happened after Katrina), well, there might just be a smiling Bahai in a tent waiting for you with a warm cup of Soy Chai.

The next morning I woke up to rain on my little tent, quickly packed up and continued on my way, out of the comparatively lush forest of Ponderosa Pine and Aspen, back into the semidesert, and down the long dirt road to Chaco Canyon, which is another story.

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