When you're a big nerd, with little money, and few other available options available despite the freakishly warm weather, activities like geocaching seem like a good idea. When I was a kid it used to be getting dressed up in full camouflage outfits and playing manhunt in the park behind my buddies house, now its aggrandized treasure hunting. For those too lazy to check the link, it basically amounts to using a handheld GPS unit to look for otherwise randomly hidden taped up peanut butter jars filled with trinkets and a notepad.
I don't infact own a GPS unit, but Steve scored one in his x-mas stash and has become fairly addicted. My girlfriend and I, on the other hand just use, him as an excuse to get out and do something without spending much beyond the cost of gas, and extra loads of laundry to wash out the inevitable caking of mud. Like I say, its really just an excuse, as I was just as engaged in scrambling up and down the muddy slopes of the trails next to the Grand River as anyone while twilight settled in last night. However, the line for me is drawn at logging in to an online community to document, with an obscure set of acronyms, my nerdly glory.
Instead, I take my pocket protector, with a dash of nostalgia, and embrace the online community that is become Facebook. Its really like a rolodex status symbol combined with a highschool reunion, with only a small side of catching up with people you lost touch with that you otherwise actually liked, or the networking with new acquaintances. Its more addictive than it really should be for what it is, a less annoying version of MySpace. A review of some awful home videos from the past last night affirms that sometimes things from the past are sequestered there for very good reason.