Today and tomorrow is the 106th Annual Maryland German Festival, held at the Timonium Fairgrounds. American Geisha and I were planning on going — and spent quite a bit of time arguing about who was going to drive, because apparently we’re an old married couple, even though we aren’t dating or having sex (come to think of it, the not having sex really doesn’t work because I don’t think many married couples have sex) — but when we were talking earlier during the day, the point of conversation came back to:

1. It’s really fucking hot outside.
2. German Fest is being held outside.
3. A/C is wonderful.
4. It’s really really motherfuckin’ hot outside.

So instead of standing out in the heat eating bratwurst, debating the best strategy for victory in world war, and drinking thick heavy Deutsch beer, we schlepped out to Ballbuster Video for a copy of Memoirs of a Geisha, then over to the Ugly Muffin for sandwiches, then back to her place for movie and food in air conditioned wonderfulness.

Germany isn’t a warm state. If my geography classes are remembered correctly, Germany is actually kinda far to the north, providing a usually cool environment. Doesn’t make sense to hold one during the hottest period of the year, and besides, there’s something about October that really goes well with German festivals … after all, they don’t call it Julyfest, do they? (And, apparently, AG and I were debating this, Oktoberfest is actually held in September, so shouldn’t it be Septemberfest?). And you know, honestly, if you’re going to hold your Julyfest in July, why not stick it some place with A/C? The Fairgrounds has air conditioned buildings, don’t they?

And now I’m off to work. Ciao, bitches.

I decided to start a blog early in August of 2004. I knew I didn’t want to use blogger, and I wasn’t in a massive rush to get started. Blogging tools — at the time, Moveable Type — and a hosting company were easy decisions to make, particularly with such a knowledgeable friend providing the technical expertise to make this blog possible.

But it was taking me forever to determine a name for my blog. I didn’t want to write “Jeff’s Blog”, or “Hunt Valley Blogging”, or, “Why I’m Write and Everyone Else Is Always Wrong.” And then it just sort of clicked.

Malnurtured Snay.

I didn’t pull the name out of thin air, I’d been using it for quite some time on assorted forums and discussion boards. Why’d it take me so long to decide to use it? Couldn’t tell you. But it did, and so here we go — the backstory of where the name came from.

Many years ago, I worked at the PJ in Cockeysville, and I was friends with the night manager, a guy named Mike F. He lived in White Marsh with his buddy Steve, an IT guy at JHU and a former Marine. Both Mike and Steve were big into the online first person shooter game Counter-Strike, and I was quickly hooked on the game as well. Counter-Strike was what led me to get broadband internet, and eventually to play on a server called Evil Geniuses for a Better Tomorrow, where I did so as Malnurtured Snay, and eventually as [EGBT] Malnurtured Snay, which is, incidentally, how I met both Tim and Mikuru.

Several nights a week, after work, I would follow Mike back to his place where he, me, and Steve would play Counter-Strike on the three computers in his house, LAN-hacking (so sue me!) as members of the fictional clan -=FaIL=-. Tossing grenades, jumping around corners and spraying with AK-47s, it was a fun way to pass many hours of the night. I noticed that Steve had his “player” hot-keyed for certain weapons, to bypass the long buy-menu at the beginning of each round. In addition, he had quick-keyed certain chat functions. Whenever he threw a grenade, he would trigger the phrase: “Snay Snay!” to alert us that a grenade was “in the hole.”

When I asked him, “What the fuck does snay mean?” he told me a story about Marine Boot Camp, where some hick redneck hillbilly got up in his face after finding out Steve was from Baltimore, with some nonsensical story about how Baltimoreans were retarded for pronouncing “snow” as “snay.” After Steve straightened it out — by which I assumed he meant pounded his face into the dirt, knocking out his last remaining tooth — he kept it in the back of his mind, bringing out for Counter-Strike.

Snay, Snay, Fire in the Hole! (I made sure to pay particular attention to this message after he threw a nade, called out “Snay Snay!” in team-chat, and then blew me up with it — friendly fire blows!)

One night we decided not to play as a clan, and were trying to come up the most unique and bizzare player names we could. Mike F. suggested I use “Malnurtured Sow” — I wish I could remember the names they both used, they were pretty funny, as I recall — and later that night, back at home, fraggin’ on my own computer, I changed the name again — from “Malnurtured Sow” to “Malnurtured Snay.”

A long story for a silly name.

And now you know the rest of the story.