My wife is obsessed with the BCC Sherlock series. She posts on boards just like this.
Some nights she rambles for a half hour at me about how Benedict Cumberbatch has twittered about the change of wallpaper on the Baker Street flat.
But then I get to discuss the merits of the Robin Lopez acquisition and how it relates to Portland's likely improvement in interior defense. We each have completely fake nerdgasms in response to each others' completely pathetic passions.
"Wow! Paisley wallpaper--you don't say! Is it still going to have that spray painted smiley face on it? Which episode was that painted on anyway!?"
Her eyes light up that I've remembered such an Important Detail. I then smile eagerly while she yammers for 10 minutes about whatever the fuck.
The whole time I'm smiling I'm thinking about how our bigs are no longer going to jump out on the pick and roll, and how that benefits Lopez, but also may work really well for Freeland. When she starts tapering off, I start planning on the segue, such as, "Speaking of outstanding British men, Joel Freeland has really had a great preseason. In fact..." About 10 minutes in she'll throw me a bone. "It's really nice to hear Joel has turned it around." That keeps me going for another 10. If I bothered to look, I'm sure I'd see the wheels turn in her head about how there's an excellent segue between the pick and roll and how Watson's friend picked Sherlock of all people to roll into the same flat together in that pivotal first episode.
My wife and I are soul mates not because we are remotely interested in the same things, but because we are so interested in each other that we are willing to completely cater to the loser side of our personalities. I'm pretty ok with that.