Gem Geeks

Admittedly, it's a little geeky (A person who is single-minded or accomplished in scientific or technical pursuits but feels socially inept), wandering around Tucson, Arizona, pawing gingerly through boxes of terminated quartz crystals, looking for that remarkable specimen . . . or was it Tiger Iron?

Indeed, when Gemologists converge on Tucson, the socially inept are unreservedly transformed!

Lori Tucson 2013

In February 2013, gemstone and mineral aficionados converged once again in Tucson, Arizona, to play in the desert. Cold mornings, warm afternoons, the glow of sunrise on the mountains, magnificent golden, green, and orange hues, the fresh smell of the dry desert air, and, of course, the majestic Carnegiea gigantea (Saguaro) Cactus.

In years past, during economic prosperity, finding a room in Tucson during this show would not have been possible. Fortunately, we found a comfortable room. Granted, it was seven miles from downtown. Yes, we waited until the very last minute to reserve our room.

“It's been a long time since we’ve had to scrape ice from our car windows,” said Lori. Since 1987, Tucson has had an annual trip for work. My renewed joy was an opportunity to spend quality time with good friends after a three-year sabbatical.

We made a three-day weekend out of it. The relaxing drive from Southern California took about seven hours. For the gem dealers, it's all about business; for the gem geeks, it's about socializing. In the world of gems, there is no single show on earth where so many people from around the world converge to share stories, show samples, lick agates, dance the night away, and simply throw caution to the wind.

It is amazing what gem connoisseurs will spend money on, present company included. This year's big purchase was a slab of Tiger Iron (geeky stuff) from the Pilbara region in Western Australia. After seeing many beautiful species of gems, including my favorite, a stunning 23-carat Cats-Eye Chrysoberyl ($83,000.00), for some strange reason, this material would not let me pass it by. That piece now inhabits the fireplace mantel in our home.

Maybe that’s what the Tucson Gem Show is really about. Gemologists who secretly love to pull baubles from their pockets and engage in conversation about the clandestine world of gems and minerals . . . just ask anyone,

“What special piece did you find?”

Comments

Anonymous said…

Ha! I finally had to have some Ethiopian opal. :)

Blaire, aka Gemgeek!

March 18, 2013 at 9:10 PM

Patrick B. Ball said…

Good for you Blaire, it's all about the unusual gems anyway!

March 20, 2013 at 5:37 AM

Confidently Wrong: The Art of the AI Tall Tale

In this episode, A chat with Adamas the Chef on hidden recipes causing digital hallucinations. Pull up a chair and pour yourself a fresh cup of coffee—and please, for your own sake, taste it first. We need to have a quiet chat about why your computer sometimes decides to reinvent reality with the confidence of a five-star chef who has clearly lost his mind. In the world of technology, we call it a hallucination . It sounds pretty dramatic, doesn’t it? As if the computer decided to ignore your instructions altogether in favor of a vivid, technicolor imagination that simply hasn’t met reality yet. But in truth, an AI hallucination isn’t a breakdown; it’s just a very confident, very polite mistake. Think of it like our friend Adamas , the Chef. Adamas is a master of the kitchen, but he is also a bit of a romantic who refuses to say “I don’t know.” When you ask him for a classic recipe he hasn’t made in years, he doesn’t stop to consult a cookbook—that’s far too pedestrian. Instead, ...

Ode To Gemology

For over 80 years, students of gemology have struggled with spectrums, bewildered by birefringence, and simply plagued by pleochroism. The following sonnet is guaranteed to bring a smile to your face, a glow to your heart, and a simple reminder that students of life and gemology rediscover nature's gifts every day. Ode to Gemology , by a GIA on-campus student. Dispersion, fire, adventurescence. Orient, sheen, or iridescence. Refractive index, high or low. The luster should indicate that, you know. Polarization, double or single. What to do now, they intermingle. Pleochroic colors you really should see. Was that only two, or actually three? Birefringence should help you a lot. Use your polarizer and watch the spot. Now, did it jump most on low or high? Sure, you can get it if you really try! Your liquids should be an aid, I think. Does it float, suspend, or slowly sink? Just use your imagination now. (He doesn't see me wiping my brow.) Solid inclusions or only bubbles? Huh, th...

The Cowardice of Corporate Jargon

Picture this: an email lands in your inbox. A colleague—maybe even a friend—needs a favor, a second set of eyes, a moment of your time. You sigh, stare at the glow of your monitor, and type: “I’d love to help, but I just don’t have the bandwidth right now.” Hit send. Problem solved. Conscience clear. Except it shouldn’t be. Most of us have said or sent that line at least once, hoping it would land gently. On the surface, it’s perfect—efficient, polite, even self-aware. And that’s exactly the problem. It lets you decline without ever quite telling the truth. You didn’t just say no; you softened the discomfort of being human until it barely felt like a feeling at all. Instead of admitting, I’m overwhelmed , or I don’t have the energy , you reach for the sterile vocabulary of a server room. You turn a feeling into a metric. A boundary into a system limitation. Apologies, my data transfer rate is capped. Please submit a ticket to my emotional help desk. It’s a clever little trick—and an un...

Opening Day Magic 2026 . . .

It’s back. Baseball—yes, baseball ! If you’re someone who finds themselves inexplicably drawn to this peculiar ritual, let’s be honest with each other: it’s a bit odd, right? I mean, 162 games. That’s a lot of hot dogs, a lot of standing around, and a lot of grown men in oddly tailored trousers spitting with remarkable precision. And yet, here we are, poised on the precipice of another season. Thursday, March 26, 2026, to be precise—Opening Day. It’s a curious thing, this Opening Day. You walk into a stadium, or turn on the TV, and suddenly, everyone is infected with a highly contagious strain of . . . Optimism . It’s a spectacular form of collective amnesia. All of last year’s fumbles, the endless losing streaks, the existential dread of watching your bullpen implode in the eighth inning—poof. Gone. It’s entirely replaced by a wide-eyed, childlike belief that this year, finally, the baseball gods will smile upon us. The Cycle of Hope and Despair As a Cubs fan, I know this cycle intim...

On The Fly

Search This Blog