Once upon a time, Dr. Merlin took her sprogs to the local playground. It being a warm day, she wore her favorite Planet of the Apes t-shirt. While the elder sprog played with a little boy of about the same age, the boy's parents asked of the good doctor's interest in PotA. Now, your garden variety Merlin tends to gorge herself on various fannish things when the opportunity presents itself (currently gorging on Fables for anyone who cares) and had in fact spent time inhaling all things PotA a while back. But scaring the parents of a potential new playmate is never a good idea, so she gave a short opinion rather than fangirling Dr. Zira (as you do). The boy's parents mentioned that they owned a great deal of PotA memorabilia. In days to come, Dr. Merlin discovered that they owned a great deal of memorabilia, and had turned their basement into half-shrine, half-Ten Forward replica. Dr. Merlin realized she not only lived around the corner from her people, but from people who were far beyond her league of fannish geekery, even with the time she tried to make the spare bedroom back home look like the Enterprise-D's bridge (and let us not forget the piles of Picard/Crusher fanfics from days of yore). Dr. Merlin's neighbors teach college classes, for credit, on all things Star Trek, "Star Wars," and comic books. In comparison, Dr. Merlin is practically, well, normal. It was a very disconcerting feeling.

Remember always, young fanthing, that you are someone else's mundane.

Geek hierarchy is a strange thing. Despite the handy flow chart, it's not as simple as what you like, or even what you do. It's how much you're willing to commit and how deeply you Believe. (See "You Might Be a Fan If") One fan's involvement might be reading the occasional fanfic. Another's is writing fanfics. A third's is reporting on the fanfics posted each day for the fandom newsletter. A fourth may maintain the main archive and physically edit submissions as needed. The fifth may make a constructed reality fanvid based on her favorite fan author's work. Number six Photoshops up neat cover illustrations for the best stories she reads, at least in her opinion. The seventh fan filks the plot to "The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald." The eighth parodies that filk to the tune of Weird Al's "Everything You Know Is Wrong." The ninth fan writes an essay about merging media sources to create new works on fiction, and cites several of the preceding fans in her argument. The tenth collects the necessary links when responses to the essay are ready to hit Fandom Wank.

Pop quiz: who's the geekiest person of the ten?

Answer: whoever wants to be.

Fandom is not a zero-sum game. There is no limit to the amount of sheer geekiness that any particular fan can choose to exhibit, nor does that geekiness decrease the geekiness of her/his fellows. Usually, it's the opposite. We feed on each other's squee. Sometimes, though, the amount of squee you encounter is greater than that which you share or care to share. What do you do when you meet someone whose geekery is greater than yours?

First, you must keep in mind the old "your squee is not my squee" mantra. No two people must love the exact same object of fannish desire with the exact same level of ardor. It's fun when you do. Most "marathoning the newbie" sessions are devised to create that situation, but they are considered successful if said newbie asks at the end, "Is there more?" Sometimes, you are that newbie. The people showing you the hot new series (or lukewarm but lovable old series) are probably going to love it more than you do. They're already evangelizing. You might someday. You don’t have to feel as though you must. No fan is obligated to promote a particular series, not the new fans, not the old fans who've been there and done that. (Greg.) You don't have to love the show your friends love. You don't have to like the character your best fannish friend cosplays as. You don't need an in-depth knowledge of the novelization or tie-in comics to be a fan of the movie. Your geek does not need to be as big as their geek.

Their geek is not intrinsically scary because it is greater than your geek. You might feel a little intimidated, and that might even be the point. Sometimes people like to whip out their geek credentials in order to win an argument. (This rarely works. See "In Space, No One Can Read Your Thesis") But you don't have to be. BNF status is in the eye of the beholder. Dr. Merlin strongly suggests not telling the person in question to get a life, etc., because it is rude. Also and again, their squee is not your squee, and as long as basic needs are being met and no one's being hurt, there's no harm in having an encyclopedic knowledge of the show's extended mythology (even the bits you only get from the Easter eggs on the DVD). We don't mock those who are geekier than we are; we came to this place because before we found it, we were each alone.

When you are on the other end of the geek scale, you would do well to remember the same thing. N00bs are everywhere, even in fandoms ostensibly dead for decades. Pulling out your geek ID card to prove you are mightier may make you feel cool, but unless you're Wil Wheaton, it is unlikely anyone will actually care. Instead, think of it as a teaching opportunity. "N00b," you may say, "this is how I screwed up when I was young. Learn from my example and spare yourself the scars of the self-taught lesson." Or don't. Just let the newbie pass you by and enjoy if you will the vicarious thrill of someone flush with the love of a new fandom. You were there too, once.

Sometimes, wonderful times, you'll meet someone whose geekery is equal to yours and who has the exact object of your own. Keep this person. S/he is your fannish soulmate, at least for this fandom. Usually, you'll meet fans somewhere on the continuum between casually interested and totally obsessive, and you'll find few of them are watching exactly the same show you are. Enjoy the ones who do, accept that the ones who don't aren't going away anytime soon, and employ filters to ignore the ones who drive you up the wall.

Regarding the fannish neighbors, Dr. Merlin began to relax her geek defenses around them after she saw the Basement Of Solitude, and soon, everyone was swapping stories of conventions, costumes, and where to find Supergirl merchandise in nearby stores. (Plz remember that I don't judge your choice in pajamas, 'k?) DVDs were swapped, YouTube videos were forwarded, and discount Justice League themed birthday party supplies were shared. Because that's what happens when fans get together. Everyone still disagrees on who made the best Captain, and whether or not Enterprise was a waste, and whether J.J. Abrams has a clue, and also on the nature of the male/female duality of Superman and Batman. (Skip it.) It's not the same conversations Dr. Merlin has with her more regular circle of fannish friends, which tend to revolve around Whoniverse and Sarah Connor, but it's fun. It's fandom. It's what we do.