627 lines
34 KiB
Plaintext
627 lines
34 KiB
Plaintext
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_____________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ _____________
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| ___________ _/_/ | | \ \ _/_/ ___________ |
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| | _/_/_____ | | > > _/_/_____ | |
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| | c o m m u n i c a t i o n s | |
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| |________________________________________________________________| |
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|____________________________________________________________________|
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...presents... HoHoCon 1994: Tremendous Damage
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by Count Zero
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01/01/1996-#304
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__///////\ -cDc- CULT OF THE DEAD COW -cDc- /\\\\\\\__
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\\\\\\\/ Everything You Need Since 1986 \///////
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___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___ _ _ ___
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|___heal_the_sick___raise_the_dead___cleanse_the_lepers___cast_out_demons___|
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Yep, grab hold of yer brainstem cuz here comes another mind-numbing,
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alcohol-soaked, synapse-shakin', reality-bendin' review of HOHOCON! W00z.
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Direct from the keyboard of Count "Funk-Master of L0\/3 and Mayhem" Zero/cDc.
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What follows is my subjective, self-centered, quasi-chronological tour of
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HoHo '94. If you're not mentioned in it, then you obviously didn't buy me a
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drink.
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
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Thursday 12/29/94, it starts:
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-----------------------------
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Logan Airport. Boston, Massachusetts. 6:29 AM.
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Our flight leaves in one hour. Decided to pull an all-niter from the day
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before. Rather than beating my body out of REM sleep at this unholy hour, I
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opt for the familiar slow death of sleep deprivation. No matter. The tablets
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of ephedrine pulled me through, and now I sit in an airport restaurant smoking
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Camels and waiting for something to happen.
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As usual, it does.
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Deth Veggie, Iskra, and Basil arrive, ready for action. We board the
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plane and jump into the sky. "I like this airline, Delta. It's not just an
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airline, it's a Greek letter, a symbol of change...." I remark.
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"Uh, yeah," comments Veggie. "I wonder if we'll finally discover the
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Meaning of Life at this con." He strains his massive legs against the seat in
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front of him, weak airline plastic buckling under the force.
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"Fuck metaphysics," I say, flipping through a wad of cash in my pocket.
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"I'll tell you, Veggie... the cDc t-shirts you made are fabulous. You will
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surely make heaps of cash. *That's* the most important thing!"
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Veggie grins widely. We give each other the sekrit cDc handshake and rub
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our silver cow-skull talismans.
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Always temper metaphysics with materialism.
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
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Thursday afternoon, arrival:
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----------------------------
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We belly-down in Austin and grab a cab to the wonderful Ramada. Outside,
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there is a major highway under construction. Huge vehicles of construction and
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destruction mull over piles of dirt and concrete. Signs of human life are
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minimal.
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"The Ramada at the End of the Universe... Drunkfux always chooses such
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scenic locations" I note. "We can witness the creation of a mass transit
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system *and* celebrate our hacker brotherhood simultaneously." The entire
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landscape appears desolate and hostile to organic life. Nervously biting my
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lip, I immediately spot a Dunkin Donuts over the horizon... as does Basil. We
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both have keen survival instincts.
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The nearby location of the 24-hour House of Caffeine and Baked Goods
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marked in our minds, we enter the hotel.
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"The room is $70 a nite," the woman behind the front desk offers.
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"We're with the HoHoCon," says Veggie. "Don't we get special rates?"
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"Heh... HoHoCon... yes, that means our rooms must cost twice as much," I
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joke. The woman behind the front desk looks blankly at me... unaware. "Like a
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deer in the headlights," I tell Veggie as we collect our keys and walk to our
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room. "And soon, Bambi will be eating a chrome grille."
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A "Suite of the El33tE" sign is hastily drawn up and hung outside our
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door. Veggie unpacks his 17-lb solid concrete Mr. T head and places it on a
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table. The concrete bust's rough base immediately gouges deep scratches in it
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with a low grating noise. "The 'T' approves," says Veggie. I have no reason
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to doubt him, so I remain silent in awe.
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We find that Joe630 and Novocain are also here early. They invite us into
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their room to read a large sample of "alternative zines." The eclectic
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magazines are fascinating, and I promptly spill a glass of water on their couch
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to show my appreciation. "Uh, just don't trash the place," Novocain tells me.
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"Of course not," I reply. "I'm just in a high entropy state right now."
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I immediately spill my ashtray to prove it. It always helps to follow up
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thermodynamic theory with physical proof... I am a true Scientist.
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At some point, we flee after Joe630 demands "hugs" from us... something he
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continues throughout the conference. "Touch me not, boy... I will not submit
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to your fondling," I tell him behind clenched teeth as I back out of the room.
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"I'll only hug a man if he's buying me drinks or I'm trying to lift his
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wallet."
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Later that night, we hook up with Ixom and Nicodaemus. We invite them
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into our room for drinks and a philosophical discussion. Ixom's new beard is
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long and flowing red like the fire of a Duraflame log. I proceed to take notes
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on our conversation as Ixom and Nic begin to debate. Soon, I begin to suspect
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they have been drinking a bit beforehand.
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"I like these lights when they're off."
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"Are we in the Information Age?"
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"Dude, shut up."
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"She was like 14, 15, you know, 11, 12..."
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"He's always in the bathroom... y'know, he has rabies... diabetes? You
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know."
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"I don't need Valium, I'm down on life," spouted Veggie.
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"Heady stuff," I think, jotting notes furiously. Nic begins a photo shoot
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of the Mr. T bust, and we are all fascinated at his skills in capturing the
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inanimate object's true nature. "His true calling is film," I think as Nic
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rolls painfully on the floor to capture Mr. T's pout from a novel angle. "I
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must see these prints." Nic promises to give us copies, as soon as he figures
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out how to remove the exposed film from the camera. I suddenly feel the need
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to drink more.
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
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Friday:
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-------
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We awake and plan to head into Austin proper. Basil finds an ad for a
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store in town called "The Corner Shoppe." "They'll give us a free pair of
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sunglasses with this coupon!" she exclaims.
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"They will give us sunglasses, and much much more... oh yes." I think.
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Rodney, our journalist companion from Canada, joins us in our trek to the city.
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"The Corner Shoppe" turns out to be a small shack-like store with a large tent
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structure in front. Animal skulls, exotic hides, trophy mounts, blankets,
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arrowheads, Indian mandellas, silver jewelry, rugs, pottery, and plaster
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sculptures abound. We wander over to the tent and begin to browse. "Look,
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they have plaster busts of Elvis and Beethoven on the same shelf," Basil
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remarks.
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"This is truly a Store of Symmetry," I reply, as I run my fingers over a
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large, bleached cow skull. The papery-smooth bone is cool and dry on my hands,
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and I wonder about the fate of the rest of the mighty beast. I imagine the
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live cow roaming fields, chewing cud. Powerful flanks driving it up and down
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verdant hills of grass. A skull is more than an object, it is a link to the
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once-living creature. "To this favor, she must come" I mumble to myself, lost
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in introspection.
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All the native creatures of Texas are inside the store... albeit, dead.
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Stuffed, desiccated, mounted, and all available for purchase. "Do you
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have a scorpion mounted in a bolo?" I ask the proprietor.
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"No, well, we did, but you know, Christmas... we were cleaned out," she
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sullenly replies.
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"No problem," I grin back at her. "I am disappointed, but not dejected.
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You have a fine establishment here." She smiles back and begins to show me an
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assortment of desiccated rattlesnakes. "Of all creatures, reptiles remain the
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most lifelike in death," I affirm. She smiles nervously and points me towards
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the stuffed frogs. "Silly woman, these are mere amphibians," I think to
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myself, but I follow her anyway.
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Veggie offers the other employee a sacred cDc silver cow skull talisman as
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a gift. "Say, this is nice... never seen anything like it. I rope steer, and
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was going to put a silver cross on my baseball cap. But I think I'll put this
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on it instead," he says excitedly.
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"Zero, this *proves* that cDc is more popular than Jesus!" Veggie whispers
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to me in private.
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"Undoubtedly. More popular than The Beatles," I respond. We bask in the
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moment.
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Iskra finds an elephant skull lurking on a cabinet. We are amazed at
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the cranial capacity. I purchase a fine cow skull (complete with hanging hook,
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which we later give to Swamp Ratte'). After a few hours, Basil finally selects
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a pair of sunglasses (free) and we begin to walk aimlessly around the fringes
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of the city. Entering a Salvation Army store, Rodney begins to film us as we
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pick through the remnants of other people's lives. "Are you guys in a rock
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band?" another customer asks me.
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"Yes, I play Extended Keyboards," I answer back, my attention lost in a
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milk crate full of used '80s cassette tapes. Memories for sale... wholesale.
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We buy some toy plastic guns and leave.
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Later, we stop for food at an Indian restaurant. "Inexpensive buffet...
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cool," I think. However, the curry chicken is full of bones. "I am not
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pleased... these bones anger me."
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"But the vegetables are pretty good," comments Veggie.
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"I need meat... I need to tear and rend," I snap back, on the verge of
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making an ugly scene. Leaving the restaurant, we immediately purchase hard
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liquor for the trip back to the hotel. Basil buys some Goldschlager. Veggie,
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some Everclear and V8 juice. Rodney and Iskra, a large assortment of beer.
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I buy a pint of Southern Comfort out of spite.
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Friday night, many people arrive. "Rambone! Crimson Death! Holistic
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Hacker!" I exclaim as I see my old, dear friends. Rambone's hair is much
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longer, Holistic is noticeably more hirsute, and Crimson Death looks remarkably
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the same as last year. We begin to drink heartily, and I promptly pass out on
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the foot of my bed. "Damn, Zero is *out*," says Veggie.
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"Let's cover his body and fill his arms with crap and film him,"
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someone suggests. Drunkfux captures my body on display for the video archives.
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An hour later, I awake refreshed and only mildly humiliated.
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"I was merely recharging," I tell everyone. "The mark of a professional
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alcoholic is the ability to *pace* oneself." Noticing that I have finished the
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Southern Comfort, I decide to forage for more liquor. My hunt is successful to
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the point that I cannot remember the rest of the evening.
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
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Saturday, the "official" conference:
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------------------------------------
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"Ugh," my brain tells me as I wake. "Stay out of this," I tell my
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malfunctioning organ. "We must attend the conference and discuss hacker
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things." Rolling down to the conference room, we find dozens of people waiting
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in line. Flashing our cow skull talismans, Veggie and I part the masses and
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proceed unhindered to the front row of the room. Iskra, Veggie, Basil and I
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seat ourselves directly behind a video projector.
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"Here, amuse yourselves," Drunkfux remarks and hands us a Super Nintendo.
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Several games of Mortal Kombat ][ later, I realize I have forgotten all the
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fatalities. "Damn, I need to rip out some spines," I think. We notice the
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long tables at the end of the room filled with people selling things.
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Fringeware has a large assortment of T-shirts, jewelry, and books. Other
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people are selling DTMF decoders and cable-box hacks. "Merchandising... cDc
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needs more merchandising," I tell Veggie. He responds by pulling out a large
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box of cDc T-shirts and hawking them to the conference attenders. Naturally,
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they sell like cold bottles of Evian in the middle of the Sahara.
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Feeling a need for nicotine, I head out to the lobby area for a quick
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smoke. "Rambone!" I yell as I spot him smoking in a corner. "How ya doin this
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morning?"
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"How do you think?" he replies from behind dark sunglasses.
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"Oh, yeah," I respond. We stand together in a post-alcoholic haze for a
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few minutes before saying anything. "Where's Crimson Death?" I ask.
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"Where do you think?" Rambone replies.
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"Oh, yeah," I answer numbly. Same as it ever was.
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Crimson Death pokes his head into the lobby sometime later... "Hey, hi,"
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then disappears back to his room for more sleep therapy.
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Erik Bloodaxe shows up and starts selling LoD shirts. "I'm staying outta
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there," he replies when I ask if he's going inside the main conference room. A
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man is fruitlessly trying to feed the Coke machine a dollar bill. The machine
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keeps spitting out his crumpled bill like a regurgitated leaf of soft lettuce.
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Feeling slightly ill, I re-enter the conference room.
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First speaker is the main guy from Fringeware, Inc. He apologizes for
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rambling, then proceeds to ramble for an hour or so. I cannot focus on his
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talk, and try to count the ceiling tiles. Joe630 approaches us and says,
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"You're in my seats... I reserved them!" We glare at him. He wanders off.
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Basil and I amuse ourselves by playing with the plugs in the back of the
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stacked VCRs and the video projector. Plug and play, all the way.
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Next speaker... some guys from the Prometheus Project. They are damn
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intelligent and have a lot to say, all presented very professionally (a bit
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*too* professional for this crowd... they could have mixed in some cartoons or
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something with their textual overheads). Most of the conference attenders seem
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to have the attention spans of gnats, and many appear to nod off. Too bad...
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the future of digital cash, encryption, and Underground Networks over
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conventional TCP/IP... very rad stuff (http://www.io.com/user/mccoy/unternet
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for more info). I plan to investigate more, definitely.
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Another speaker. Some guy talking about computer security. I don't catch
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his name, since I begin to have a slight nic fit and bolt for the lobby and my
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smokes. Isn't this moment-by-moment review fascinating and oh-so-true to life?
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Damien Thorn comes up and talks about his current cellular articles
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and projects. He's apparently releasing a video on "cellular hacking"
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(Cellular Hacking: A Training Video for Technical Investigators). He shows a
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clip of it, and it's damn hilarious. More like "MTV and _Cops_ meet Cellular
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Hackers." Tech info mixed with funky music and hands-on demos/skits. I gotta
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have it (mail to Phoenix Rising Communications, 3422 W. Hammer Lane, Suite
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C-110, Stockton, CA, 95219 for info). Although he says he is nervous about
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talking in front of everyone, he is very articulate. Good show, man. He demos
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some DDI hardware for snarfing reverse-channel data. Nothing really new, but
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nice to see. Veggie starts playing with his cow skull talisman on the overhead
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projector, while Basil begins to make twist-tie sculptures of cows and other
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animals. I attempt to make a twist-tie bird. "What is that, a dog?" she
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laughs.
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"My art is wasted on you," I growl, teeth bared.
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Veggie gets up and talks about Canadians blowing themselves up after
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reading an old file of his on how to make pipe bombs. After he sits down, I
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suggest he release a new file. "Veg, man, you can call it 'An Addendum on How
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to Make Gasoline Bombs'... tell everyone it is a supplemental file to something
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you released years ago... include in it the note, 'I forgot this safety circuit
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in my FIRST release of 'How to Make Gasoline Bombs' and you MUST include this
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crucial safety on the bomb or it just might go off prematurely in your LAP.
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Like, on a bumpy subway in New York.' It'll be a riot, dontcha think?"
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Veggie just glares at me and cracks his knuckles. It sounds like a heavy
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dog padding on thin, brittle plastic. "I don't think so," he mutters. Oh
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well, it was just an idea. I ponder my own dark, sick sense of humor. Perhaps
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I need therapy.
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Finally, Steve Ryan gets up and speaks about some new computer crime laws
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passed in Texas. A lawyer working with the Austin EFF, he's always got
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something funny and informative to say. The new laws define "approaching" a
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restricted computer system as being illegal, as well as defining a "biochemical
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computational device" as a computer system. In other words, if someone comes
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up to you and talks to you, they have "approached" your personal "biochemical
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computational device" (read: brain), and are technically prosecutable for
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"hacking" under Texas law. Hoo yeah! Steve's whole speech is very cool, and I
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am only disappointed in the fact that he is the last person to speak. It's
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running very late and I have the attention span of a *hyperactive* gnat at this
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point. But had it been anyone else up there, most of the conference attenders
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probably would have nodded off or wandered out of the room.
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After Steve, the conference fragments as people leave or buy last minute
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items from the "vendor tables." I buy a neat piece of jewelry, a little
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plastic doll arm tightly wrapped in twisted wire and metal. I pin it to the
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lapel of my jacket. We leave in search of alcohol and assorted
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mind-enhancements.
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In the hotel restaurant, we gather to plan our New Year's Eve excursion.
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All of our synapses are jammin' to various biochemical beats, and I order a
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chicken-fried steak to fuel the fire in my skull. "Veggie, your pupils are the
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size of dinner plates," I tell him from behind a mouthful of steak and gravy.
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"Let me touch your jacket... is it blue or green?" he replies.
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"It is both... yet neither," I respond, pulling my arm out of his
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clutches. Later, we secure a ride with Ixom and Nicadaemos into Austin...
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destination: Sixth Street. "Say Nic, you know in that movie _Heavy Metal_...
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y'know, when the aliens are trying to land their spacecraft in the huge space
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station?" I yell above the whine of the engine, digging my nails into the
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passenger seat.
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"Nope," he replies, and we suddenly veer across 4 lanes of traffic.
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"Perhaps it is better this way," I think. Life imitates art, then you
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die.
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Holistic and I find Ohms. We queue up and wait to enter the house of
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techno-funk. "I know this place... I feel at peace," I tell a middle-age
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drunken woman in front of me. She stares back with glassy eyes and feebly
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blows on her party horn. "Yes, I know," I reply and look at my watch.
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11:55PM. Five minutes later, I walk into Ohms. A flyer on the wall has a
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graphic depiction of a man screwing a woman with a CRT for her head, the title
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"Dance to the Sounds of Machines Fucking." Everyone begins to cheer and yell
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as I step through the inner doorway. "Either it is now 1995, or I appear to
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have fans," I think. Ya, right.
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I order Holistic and I some screwdrivers. As the waitress is pouring the
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vodka, she suddenly look distracted and our glasses overflow with booze.
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Grinning at me meekly, she squirts just a dash of orange juice in each glass
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and hands them to me. "Sorry, they're a bit strong," she apologizes.
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"No burden," I reply warmly.
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"Wow, that was weird... but bonus for us!" Holistic says as he sips his
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drink with a wince.
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"No, that was a sign of the cow," I smirk, fingering my silver cow skull
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talisman on my neck. "You'll get used to it."
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Ohms is filled with smoke, sweat, flashing lights, and the funkiest
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techno music I have ever heard. There are several robotic arms on the stage
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clutching strobe lights, occasionally twisting around and pointing into the
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crowd. Holistic, Basil, Crimson Death, and I begin to dance with insane
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purpose. Four hours later, we are still dancing. Holistic eventually leaves
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for the hotel. The remaining three of us dance until we have no more body
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fluids to exude. "I love you guys," Crimson Death smiles as he grabs both me
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and Basil in a bearhug and kisses us on the forehead. Suddenly we see Rambone
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at the bar... he is wide-eyed and sweating more than a human should be. He
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leaves the club. Later, we find Bill and ride safely back to the hotel. It is
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6:00AM.
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We find Veggie and Iskra in our room. They have been staring at Veggie's
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"Hello Kitty" blinky lights and writing stories all night long. "Read this,
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it's good! Read it NOW!" Veggie exclaims.
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|
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"If it's good now, it will still be good in the morning... I'm going to
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sleep now," I answer through a haze of exhaustion. Several minutes later, my
|
|
remaining higher cortical functions shut down and I am enveloped in sleep.
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_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
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Sunday, early afternoon:
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------------------------
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|
Crimson Death stops by our room to say goodbye. "Here is my new address
|
|
and such... I've written it on this paper and folded it into an origami bird
|
|
for you," he tells me.
|
|
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|
"Functional art... I dig it, man," I reply and shake his hand. Swamp
|
|
Ratte' arrives in the suite soon thereafter, having had to attend a wedding in
|
|
Lubbock, TX last night. The rest of the day passes lazily, until that evening
|
|
when we pile into Drunkfux's van and head for Chuck-E-Cheeze for dinner. "God
|
|
in Heaven, they serve BEER here!" I exclaim, quickly ordering a pint. Several
|
|
slices of pizza and glasses of beer later, we are all playing skee-ball, video
|
|
games, and air hockey. Basil is deftly beating everyone at air hockey,
|
|
including myself.
|
|
|
|
"I'm into more intellectual games," I grumble. "Say Ratte', let us play a
|
|
stimulating game of 'Whack-a-Mole.'" A real thinkin' man's game, by gum... He
|
|
whips my ass. "Damn moles," I grumble again.
|
|
|
|
Many "spring echo" plastic microphones are purchased... when yelled into,
|
|
one's voice is given an echo effect, and Drunkfux begins to announce the
|
|
play-by-play of the air hockey games in his best Howard Cosell voice. I see
|
|
Damien Thorn, Carol (the journalist), and a dozen other HoHo attenders
|
|
cavorting around Chuck-E-Cheeze... yet the restaurant has technically closed 30
|
|
minutes ago. No one is attempting to make us leave. Deciding it's a good time
|
|
to cash in my tickets won from skee-ball, I walk over to the ticket cash-in
|
|
counter. I notice the man behind the counter is counting them by weighing them
|
|
on a scale. "Hrmmm... I wonder if I dipped them in beer, the increased weight
|
|
would increase my..." but my thoughts are stopped short. Too late, the
|
|
restaurant is surely closing now, and everyone is leaving. "Next time,
|
|
muahahahaha." I plot and scheme. The giant plastic monkey (costing 500
|
|
tickets) will surely be mine... next time.
|
|
|
|
Back at the hotel, we all parade through the lobby heralding our entrance
|
|
with a rousing octet peformance on the Chuck-E-Cheese Microphones of Doom. The
|
|
hotel desk workers are not amused and tell us, in no uncertain terms, to shut
|
|
the hell up. Oops. Our merriment throttled, I glance at a local newspaper in
|
|
the lobby. On the front page is a story of 2 people shot and killed in Planned
|
|
Parenthood clinics in Brookline by some sick "right-to-lifer." "Goddamn,
|
|
that's in my home city... Boston!" I think. Quickly reading the story, I feel
|
|
sickened that someone could kill like that. I entertain a brief fantasy. Me
|
|
sitting in the clinic in the waiting room... me seeing the sicko pull a rifle
|
|
out of a bag and pointing it at the defenseless receptionist... me swinging my
|
|
shotgun out from under my long coat... and me walking six rifled deer slugs up
|
|
the scumbag's spine. Doom on you, sucker. Violence is nasty, but it is a
|
|
final resort sometimes. If all those clinic workers could pack heat, people
|
|
would think twice about trying to threaten them. People have the right to
|
|
choose how they live their own fucking lives and control their own damn
|
|
bodies... they shouldn't have to die for it. I read how the police are
|
|
planning to increase "officer visibility" around the clinics. "Ya sure, us
|
|
poor citizens are too meek to defend ourselves... let's let big bro' handle
|
|
it," I think. I file the entire incident in my mind under "yet another reason
|
|
to watch your ass and carry a big stick."
|
|
|
|
I go back to the room and drown my reality-dosed anger by reading the
|
|
ultra-violent comic book _Milk and Cheese_ (most highly recommended Buy it,
|
|
now!). I ponder one of Cheese's most memorable quotes: "I wish I had a
|
|
baseball bat the size of Rhode Island, so I could beat the shit out of this
|
|
stupid-ass planet."
|
|
|
|
Later that night, Rika (the Japanese correspondent) gives us a private
|
|
viewing of Torquie's video on hacking. We all agree it is very good It has a
|
|
great deal of coverage of the international scene... Germany, the Netherlands,
|
|
even a clip of someone boxing in Malaysia. I fall asleep feeling content.
|
|
|
|
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
|
|
|
|
Monday, *TREMENDOUS DAMAGE*:
|
|
----------------------------
|
|
Monday arrives like a lamb... we wake late and hang around our room.
|
|
Swamp Ratte' decides to take a shower. "I'm just trying this concept out...
|
|
if I like it, I might do it again!" he says. After the shower, he gives the
|
|
process a big "thumbs up" and tells us of his plans to incorporate it into his
|
|
regular personal hygiene routine. "This shower deal could be The Next Big
|
|
Thing," he says ominously.
|
|
|
|
"Change is good... and so is conditioner," I comment, combing the snarls
|
|
out of my own hair. We call downstairs to check on the jacuzzi suite we had
|
|
reserved for tonight. We are curtly informed that they are all booked. "What,
|
|
you promised us," I gasp. "Damn you, then we shall check out of this
|
|
pit....siyonara!" Two hours later, we receive notice that all HoHo attenders
|
|
still in the hotel are being kicked out "due to the *tremendous damage*
|
|
incurred on the hotel this past weekend."
|
|
|
|
"What 'tremendous damage'?! I'll show them 'tremendous damage'!" Veggie
|
|
vows, leaping for the door. The rest of us manage to convince Veggie that his
|
|
plans to drive to the closest hardware store and buy a box of crowbars and
|
|
sledgehammers is probably not the best thing to do.
|
|
|
|
"Don't worry, Veg, " I say, comforting him. "We shall find another
|
|
jacuzzi, no doubt."
|
|
|
|
We pile into Drunkfux's van and search for a new hotel in the center of
|
|
the city. On the way, we swing back into The Corner Shoppe, where Rodney films
|
|
some more of our antics amongst the dead critters. Rambone buys a long
|
|
bullwhip (it's a hobby, he says), and Swamp Ratte' gives an impassioned speech
|
|
for the camera on the joys of electronic publishing and cDc. We finally drop
|
|
off Rodney at the airport and bid him farewell on his voyage back to the Great
|
|
White North.
|
|
|
|
The downtown Marriott ends up being our final destination. After visually
|
|
checking out the jacuzzi and pool facilities (no jacuzzi in the room, sigh, but
|
|
a very nice public one open until 11:00PM), Drunkfux, Basil, and I head out in
|
|
search of swimwear. Veggie, Iskra, Swamp Ratte', and Rambone remain in the
|
|
room and eventually head for the bar. We return ready for aquatics. The three
|
|
of us soak in the jacuzzi and swim in the pool, and finally we all retire to
|
|
our hotel room. "Damn, everyone looks like beached squid... let's go out to
|
|
Emo's tonight!" I exclaim, trying to win them over. Veggie, Iskra, Basil, and
|
|
Rambone appear dead to the world. "Here, I have some ephedrine left over from
|
|
the other night... it's over-the-counter and will make your toes tap."
|
|
Reluctantly, they agree to partake. A few minutes later, Rambone and Veggie
|
|
are wrestling on the bed, and I am experimenting on Drunkfux with Rambone's
|
|
bullwhip.
|
|
|
|
"Gosh, I think these pills are stimulating," remarks Rambone.
|
|
|
|
"Yes, and let us not waste it... to Emo's!" I cry. We arrive at Emo's and
|
|
spend the evening playing pinball and listening to the jukebox.
|
|
|
|
Returning to the Marriott, we are all still wired. "Let's watch 'The
|
|
Crow' on the TV," I suggest. "Mayhem and love at its best!" Most agree, and I
|
|
sit riveted for the entire film. "I am morphine for a wooden leg," I quote
|
|
mentally from the original graphic novel. That line never got into the movie,
|
|
but I think it is one of O'Barr's best.
|
|
|
|
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
|
|
|
|
Tuesday:
|
|
--------
|
|
Not much happens. We wander the city, bid farewell to Rambone at the
|
|
airport, check out the Fringeware store at 5015 1/2 Duval Street in Austin, and
|
|
generally chill. Erik Bloodaxe shows up, and Drunkfux wires the hotel room for
|
|
a video interview with him and the rest of us as we all lounge on the two twin
|
|
beds. At one point, Drunkfux, Basil, and I are alone in the room when I call
|
|
downstairs for room service (I sometimes have a need for funked-up potato
|
|
skins, pronto). A knock at the door... Drunkfux answers it wearing nothing but
|
|
a towel around his waist and a towel on his head (having just showered).
|
|
Ushering in the room service guy, I tell him "just put the tray on the table,
|
|
please." I absentmindedly push aside Rambone's coiled bullwhip. Suddenly
|
|
realizing the potential misinterpretation of my situation, I glance behind me
|
|
to see the video camera on tripod pointed at the beds, video equipment,
|
|
monitors, and Basil wearing her leather pants, curled up on one of the many
|
|
tousled blankets, dead asleep. "Uh, huh... thanks," I stammer as I slip the
|
|
guy a fiver. I try to think of something funny to say like, "Oh, we're making
|
|
a DOCUMENTARY," but the glazed look in his eyes tells me we are beyond the
|
|
point of no return. "Well, these are the rumors that legends are made of," I
|
|
think as I close the door behind him and wolf down my skins. They are teeming
|
|
with toppings.
|
|
|
|
That evening, I take a late-nite swim by myself in the pool. The water is
|
|
heated, and by swimming under a small ledge, one is able to actually swim to
|
|
the outside section of the pool under the open sky. Steam rises in thick curls
|
|
into the crisp night air, and as I float on my back I am able to see the stars.
|
|
Never have I felt so relaxed. "Like an amoeba in the primordial soup, I live
|
|
in the gutter yet strive for the stars," I paraphrase softly to myself. Only
|
|
the stars hear me.
|
|
|
|
_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/_/
|
|
|
|
Wednesday (last day, YES, we EVENTUALLY go back home):
|
|
------------------------------------------------------
|
|
Waking at the ungodly hour of 5 AM so we can make our early flight back to
|
|
Boston. Swamp Ratte' and I sit in the hotel lobby, blurry-eyed, waiting for
|
|
the shuttle to the airport.
|
|
|
|
"I'm going to write about this HoHoCon again... you can put it out through
|
|
cDc," I tell him.
|
|
|
|
"Rad," he replies. "What's it gonna be like?"
|
|
|
|
"I dunno... the same as last time, maybe I'll mix in some weird dream
|
|
sequences."
|
|
|
|
"How 'bout cDc wrasslin' the Power Rangers and beatin' their sissy-soft-
|
|
sorry asses?" Ratte' drawls.
|
|
|
|
"Yeah, that sounds surreal enough!"
|
|
|
|
We make our goodbyes, leaving Drunkfux and Swamp Ratte' in Texas. On the
|
|
way to the airport, the shuttle bus driver from the hotel asks us, "So are you
|
|
with the team?"
|
|
|
|
"Uh, what team?"
|
|
|
|
"You know... the Power Rangers team... the ones putting on the show.
|
|
They're staying in our hotel. I thought you were with them. They're actors
|
|
putting on a live Power Rangers show across the country."
|
|
|
|
"No, no, we're not with them."
|
|
|
|
My mind is pulled apart by this lattice of coincidence. I decide to leave
|
|
the dream sequence out of my phile. This, THIS... is a sign.
|
|
|
|
I don't talk to the others much during the flight home. Perhaps it is
|
|
because I know the adventure is over and I am saddened slightly. Perhaps I am
|
|
merely tired. Most probably, it is a combination of the two. I quickly depart
|
|
from the airport and, without goodbyes, grab a cab for the L0pht. I spend that
|
|
evening alone at the L0pht, surrounded by Machines of Loving Grace and the
|
|
solitude of blinking electronic devices. I am a bit happier.
|
|
|
|
Woop de doe, dat's the show.
|
|
.-. _ _ .-.
|
|
/ \ .-. ((___)) .-. / \
|
|
/ \ / \ .-. [ x x ] .-. / \ / \
|
|
-/-------\-------/-----\-----/---\--\ /--/---\-----/-----\-------/-------\-
|
|
/ \ / \ / `-(' ')-' \ / \ / \
|
|
WORLDWIDE \ / `-' (U) `-' \ / WORLDWIDE
|
|
`-' .ooM `-' _
|
|
Oooo / ) __
|
|
/)(\ ( \ Copyright (c)1996 cDc communications. / ( / \
|
|
\__/ ) / All rights reserved. Award-winning CULT OF THE DEAD COW \ ) \)(/
|
|
(_/ is published by cDc communications, P.O. Box 53011, oooO _
|
|
oooO Lubbock, TX, 79453, US of A. Edited by Swamp Ratte'. __ ( \
|
|
/ ) /)(\ / \ ) \
|
|
\ ( \__/ Save yourself! Go outside! Do something! \)(/ ( /
|
|
\_) "THE COW WALKS AMONGST US" Oooo
|
|
|