Raggorama Part 3

After the Ragg rocked and rolled we, same said buddy and I, hung out with the band and I made sure they were all “taken care of” if ya know what I mean. After their set I helped them load their truck with their equipment and got to see the “backstage” area of the bar we were at. Kinda cool when you help out and then are considered a part of the band. I always seem to be able to do that, at least if I know them and they know me. While we were lifting and loading there was a situation for the guitarist of Ragg and a set of keys. While trying to find them the bouncer door duder and I went back over to the booth where we, the band and my buddy and I, were at and he whipped out a 200 dollar flashlight. After the shock faded slightly I was able to form the cohesive question on the mind of anyone involved with a person that has spent 200 dollars on a flashlight. “dude…what?” I have to admit that the flashlight was incredibly bitchin, but not 200 dollars worth of bitchin.

The band parked the truck over near the backstage area and as I loaded a bowl, the guy in the car next to us started talking to us. Found out he was the canvas for a show called battle of the tattoo artists or something, a show on lifetime I think he said, and he had what looked like an iron on patch on his lower left back. It was a tiger shark and the art was incredible. Then he took off his shirt and the whole underwater theme came to the forefront. He had manta ray, the tiger shark had the moray fish skimming along on it, and some other fish as well. Truly amazing art and needless to say the artist that worked on his back won the contest.

The other lead guitarist had lost her leather jacket and I helped in recovery of said item, a bizarre trait I’ve had for years, and kinda tripped her mind out a bit. The trait for some reason simply allows me to find things, usually that people had been missing for some time. I’ve been led to hats on hillsaides that have sat there for a week’s time, bowl lids off of friends’ pipes that are on the floors of friends’ houses, little things that are sought, but evasive. Afterwards we headed back over to the bar front door where the bassist of Ragg was hangin out. This guy looked like a young Bill Nighy to the T. it was a wonder that no one else had ever told him he looked like the actor, I was his first and was proud of it. So I made sure his head had lifted slightly off his shoulders, and me and my friend left to head back to his house. After dropping him off at his house I headed back to my home, to while the night away playing with my website and grooving on the net. Till next time ….Adieu

Raggorama Part 2

They were playing with two other bands for a cover charge of two dollars only, so not only a good time but affordable as well. I had a fifteen dollar certificate for the specific bar we were going to so I laid it on them and got three rum and cokes for my troubles. I gave one to my compadre and I inhaled the two others and the party was officially started.

The first groups name was machine and they were actually pretty good. When doing the bar band circuit as a spectator you never know what your going to get unless you know the band already. All things considered I was pleasantly surprised by machine. The songs were rockin and the lead singers’ pipes were nice and limber. Since my brain refuses , unless repeatedly abused, to remember names of people I have no clue whose in the band called machine, but they was good. Then Ragg hit the stage. The guy and girl that basically are the driving force behind the band and its music greeted us warmly and so we hung out with them during machines stint. Then me and my buddy hung out and watched Ragg shred the stage from their little booth they had staked as their own.

Now the last time we, same buddy and I, saw Ragg they were in a different incarnation called Catharsis and they shredded. They had a girl singer, as they did in Ragg as well, and she looked like she was twelve. Both my buddy and I looked at each other and in unison asked the same question wondering if she was old enough to actually get into the bar or not. Then she opened her mouth and the demon she was hiding inside of her came out. It was a mind blowing experience to feel the music crashing over you as you witness a force of nature unleashed. It was a truly awesome show. And like all their shows, Ragg was not a disappointment in any way shape or form. The singer they had this night was not too impressive until she started to sing, and then like always (why I question them at all is truly beyond me) I was blown away. So blown away I actually bought 4 shirts, got TONS of stickers (which I have a tradition of sticking, if the band rocks, to the outside of my computer case and they are there of course. I’m installing it now!) and their EP type thing with a few songs on it. So, shirt for son, daughter, wifeykins, and I done I left to go to the car to drop off the shirts and things and to get a little more change in my head and then we were back into the mix. There was the 3 or 4 college kids rockin out in a 4 person mosh pit of their own designing and others huddled back from the lights of the stage in the darkness, nursing their respective alcohol libations. As the waves of sound began people would leave, but not as many as this small town should have leave, maybe they knew what was in store and were here to rock as well. There was never more then 30 to 40 people in the bar, counting the bands I might add, at one time which is sad judging the music that more people were not able to get into and onto it.

Raggorama Part 1

I’ve got the Hawaiian shirt on and I’m in the bathroom when I hear the wife say “take this to your father please” to the little monkey girl of my world. She troops up the stairs, not unlike a ..er..trooper, and she hands the phone to me. It’s my buddy calling from a payphone to tell me that the bus split without him. Fairly cheesy is my auto response and he agrees. I’m thinking that this will be a short night out fer me if we never get started so I tell him ill come pick him up and we’re on the way.

So after massive kisses to all the family and my love is known and acknowledged I’m off once again to see a band that I’ve had shoulder brushings with for about 10 years or more. Ragg. The only band I’ve ever heard that did a punk style rendition of somewhere over the rainbow. And I tell ya readerlings..it was a tasty angle on that tune.

On the road I went to an outlet mall center near where my buddy was ditched by the bus system in our area. For some reason, at least according to said buddy, the bus systems drivers had all left for their real jobs within the public school systems driving the big yellow busses and the public transportation system in the area needed to get some folks in fast for driving. Since that has yet to happen, buddy at a payphone at 7pm at night. I cruised by the store where he was at, talking to a friend he hadn’t seen in a long time, and he hopped in the car and we were off. I had one of those bizzarro malt liquor energy things and we shared it on the way with massive bowls smoked to the herb gods.

We hit the parking garage, the self same parking garage where the last time we saw a band at the same place we were going to to see Ragg we were not only hassled but also chastised for smoking some herb by a parking attendant that was I think MUCH younger then I. He said things like ”I expect it from these young kids (tried not to laugh at that one) but I figured you guys were smarter.” Now I don’t know about you but when I get lectured by people about the intelligence of smoking herb versus drinking and destroying my liver I want to ask them if they thought George Washington was stupid. Or Thomas Jefferson, or Benjamin Franklin, or any of the founding fathers not to mention all the music and art and literature that was and is a direct result of heavy drug use and debauchery. The one thing that supremely irks me out is an uneducated public that believes the propaganda that their own government uses to dumb them down. So, we parked there again, and when the heights where climbed in our minds, off we set for the bar and Raggs performance.

A NATION OF MAN Part 2

As a free people we founded this country on the melting pot theory, yet where did it go? Have we, in our conquest for genocide like behavior, actually gone forward with that thought beyond the paper it’s printed on? If the educational institutions can influx their curriculum with more factual histories instead of the histories written by the conquers, the truth would become a benefit and a resource for the education of a more thoughtful nation. Can you imagine going into a class room for a history lesson on pre-white America taught by a Native American? The students, through the teacher and his knowledge, might come to understand the history of a people that believed in the power of the self and the world around them. Can you imagine a bible literature class taught by a Buddhist monk? Talk about a different interpretation. What would he say of Jesus Christ? Possibly that he was a good story teller.
The important thing to think about and to remember is that we as a race of man need to be able to move past our petty squabbling and look towards the future for our children and their children. We need to break free of the barriers of racial and even religious animosity and move towards the love that we as a people can feel towards one another if we only allow ourselves the chance. As a race of man and woman and in one voice we need to stand up against the hate mongers and love killers and say to them, and to each other, that we want to believe in our common man and trust him with our love. We need to break down the walls of cold war animosity and look to each other for help in recapturing this beautiful planet, and in recapturing ourselves. We need more institutions of enlightenment and education, not hate and fear.
Why is it that when we send an individual to jail, an institution of hate and fear, and then he/she comes out after serving their sentence and are better criminals? Look at what we do to them. We as a society send them to a walled and segregated arena of hate and fear. A place where there are hunters and prey, a place where we can put them behind bars, out of eyesight and earshot, and forget they exist. Years go by, and when we feel that they have served their time for their crime we thrust them back into a world that doesn’t want them and a society that has no use for them. We need to break the cycle of shame, abuse, and terror. We as a race must become enlightened and educated so we can instill the correct ethics and moral standing within each individual on Earth.
The main point is that love and understanding can only come from true education from the people involved in the persecution and oppression in our society. Would Rodney King have been beaten so brutally if the cops in question had been all black men? As posed in the question for this essay, it’s a matter of demographics. We, the white’s , came to this country and persecuted everyone of other color and ethnic distinctions because of fear. When we had that under control we imported people to become prejudice against. Yet are white people somehow exempt from prejudice? No. The man that was beaten so brutally with a brick when dragged from his truck by the black youths in the LA riots was a kind person. After the trials he was seen embracing the mother of the boy that had beaten him. He and the mother were enlightened by love and not historical stories of hate and fear. Love is what needs to be addressed, not the majority in power at this or any future time. We need love for ourselves, for each other, and love for our planet. When we can achieve that end we have moved beyond the need for racial discussions, and are vaulted into the realms of the unknown.
Yet that distant horizon is not unknown to me. It is a horizon that stretches toward a future of understanding between colors. It is a horizon that seems to beckon even now to me with a song, an echo of future possibilities. Listen carefully. You can hear it if you want to, if your able. It’s the echo of that song, a minuscule and barely audible portion that sings of love and understanding.
In the immortal words of John Lennon “All we need is love”. You know what? John was right all along. All we need is love, that and nothing else.

A NATION OF MAN Part 1

As a child growing up in suburban Arroyo Grande I never hated another person. Well, that’s not entirely true. I had my share of dislikes. That guy that punched me, the girl that laughed at me when I threw up in sixth grade class. It was less of a hating or maliciousness and more of a crash course in the aspect of a social pecking order. In fact, when being told a racial or slanderous joke, I wouldn’t even get it. After being on the planet for an indeterminent amount of time I came to realize that the human race as a whole would benefit from a non racially biased community.
Now does that mean that white must go, or is it more believable to see the influx of other genetic races and beliefs as a more profitable way to go about it. As a white heterosexual male from a middle class family, the parents taught us, the children, to love one another and to love our common man. Not to readily go out and persecute the “other races” purely because of the color of their skin. It is vitally important to look at the problem of racism as a disease that should be on the world vaccination lists as a number one priority. Can you imagine what would happen if people in general couldn’t blame “ the white man” for all the countries ills?
Imagine if you will that there is no longer a white majority. Immediately following the downfall of the Caucasian man there ensues a power struggle to fill the void. The liberated Asian front moves to block the power of the African American Coalition. What makes you think that because the whites are no longer in control and able to tell people what to do, that someone else won’t seize the reigns of power and pick up the slack? People of another skin color or ethnicity are in control of the majority vote. It’s amazing that people think that once the whites are no longer in power that all the hatred would simply disappear. They are wrong. The power struggle would spread throughout our cities, our towns, even within the fragile borders of the family unit. There would still be pockets of white controlled areas, towns and counties, that would breed even more of the racial hatred and uneducated slanders that make enlightened whites that love their fellow man hang their head in shame. The real power is proper education and love for our fellow man, not who’s in charge of what. The hate and fear of histories bloody nostalgia will always influence our actions and our beliefs.
The true mark of the evolution of the race of man as a species would be to throw off the fear we still carry from our genetic ancestors and educate and enlighten ourselves. Experience the joy of the birth of man as a peaceful creature and not as the animal he is, barely above the food chain he prey’s on hoping the fire won’t go out. If you look closely you can see that that is what we as a race are still doing. A few million years go by and we’re so busy patting ourselves on the back for building a bigger computer that no one can really use efficiently that we don’t realize that we’ve corrupted ourselves, our children, and our world. We let our lives go bye thinking we’re going somewhere or being someone that we lose sight of our right for happiness and in turn we lose the ability to break free of the circle of material gain.

Fan Faire Part 7

The next day we woke, somewhat groggily, and made our way down to the fan faire. We wandered around a bit, checking out the stuff they were selling and all, talked to a few of the reps from the online games like burning seas and had lunch with the live event crew. The day being Saturday we, my bruthah and I, spent most of the day playing penny slots and rum and cokes (though bruthah man had switched to Newcastle by now and was doing quite nicely) and jumping between the fan faire and the Rio’s shows. The real festivities started at the “banquet” later on. Now when I think of a banquet I think of food , good food, prepared by guys and gals in semi funny hats kinda perched on their heads with the main funny hat guy, probably foreign and holding onto the accent for all he/she’s worth, putting little strange designs in chocolate and saying things like “now she is DONE!”. But not SoE. Our banquet, our great feast from a mega company like them was hotdogs and hamburgers. Now I will admit the hotdogs were John Holmes specials in length and the hamburgers were quite tall, I was there for a banquet not a bar-be-que. Yet the greatest part of that whole night was the wedding of two people at the actual fan faire dressed in period renaissance faire kinda garb. They did their vows in front of everyone and then got married in game with their toons. Now the cat calls and jibes at anything and everything that were flying around the pace before this was, at least in my mind, deserved and somewhat expected. The entire fan faire had a tongue and cheek kinda way of running and so after drinking, the costume contest, and their version of a “banquet” I was surprised at the wedding. The hushed reverence while they got married in RL(real life) there was not a jibe or cat call from anyone. There was actually complete and utter silence. Now utter silence in a room filled with a few thousand people is an awesome thing, and when its for such a beautiful thing as well it means so much more. Personally I and my beautiful wife were married in a justice of the peace 15 minute special, our time with family and friends was a few months later when we had the reception. But each time, the actual wedding and the actual party, there was a love that was felt, id think by all, for us and for the aspects of true marriage vows and bonds. That same feeling was there at the fan faire. When they were pronounced man and wife in RL the cheers were deafening and then when their toons got hitched it actually got louder. I shook hands with the proud couple and told them how happy I was to be able to be there and they were graciously kind, not only to me but to everybody.
So after we went out for a quick carcinogen break we went back into the building to check out the dancing and fun. After the pool parties insanity and fun we all figured there would be some intense fun to be had for the rest of the night. We were wrong. Walking back to the banquet hall it felt like we were the confused salmon on the annual spawning run. We were definitely going against the flood of people exiting the hall. We arrived to Roy Orbison and about 50 drunks shuffling and clinging on the “dance floor” was all that there was left to this gig. It was dead yet no one had had the common decency to tell them about it. So we left and headed out into the Rio and where our feet would take us.
Now there was a strange love triangle thing happening between a few of the live event crew and that seemed to come to a head this evening. At the craps table some intermediate fondling turned into a stomp off and the rest of the night, intermixed with serious amounts of alcohol, was centered around the he and her side and then the he left out side of the triangle, and the he left out side was mostly trying to keep Mr. intense from damaging anyone and/or spending the night in a nice quiet Vegas holding tank. So I drank, and pronounced, and fed the he section some semi cliché yet heartfelt vibes to try to make him feel better, and drank some more.
So by three in the AM it was time to boogey to get at least a modicum of sleep before the long drive back to get the bruthas kids and the life we left behind. So he and I once again cruised back to the room, passed out, and rose again the next day. We went out to get the car from the valet guys, got in, and cruised out to the west, running from the eastern sun and back to the lives we had left for the short time at the SOE fan faire where we could let go and totally geek out.

Fan Faire Part 6

Now after that many rum and cokes it was difficult to remember the room number. It was either 1831 or 1381 and so I decided, after asking the desk staff to call the room and realizing after I asked that it was after 1 am in the morning, to start at the top and work my way down. Now if I ever meet the poor people that were staying in room 1831 I would, after apologizing profusely, declare that in my inebriated state it was an honest drunken mistake. And yet, if it had been me, I would find it hard to forgive a nights lack of sleep in the midnight lights of Vegas. So, after bangin on the door for a short 15 to 20 minutes and realizing that I didn’t have my bruthahs cell phone number, nowr the number of any in the group, I was hosed and would be walking with a chilled bottle of Captain Morgan’s private stock rum. Good rum and all, but that was a poor salve for the blisters that would form on the feet of your fearless narrator. But then the light that usually forms over the heads of the none too bright in cinema formed over my bleary head and I thought, was it 1831or was it 1381? Since this seemed like a decent quandary to investigate I went down 5 floors and wandered the building.
The door to 1381 was shut but there was the blessed sounds of partying behind it so I knocked on the door and was invited into the room. The pungent odor of cannabis and the blaring sounds of 300 welcomed me into the cacophony. So there was 300 going and then every person other then the only girl there was talking at high volume about , of course, EQ2. the ins, the outs, the everythings. For the next 2 hours there was nothing else discussed. Though being at the fan faire, and meeting everyone in the room at the fan faire, it was not hard to believe that when you throw all us geeks together you get geek talk. So I had a few hits, though the guilt for it was not worth it when later I laid on the fold out sofa blazed and awake in the dark in Vegas, and talked with the others about this and that. The benefits for the scout class and their need for a brutal overkill in agility. (a common thing for me to tell the truth as I am a total agility freak.) So as the crowd began to fade I caught a ride with a pair of my new found friends back to the time share, but being as how I didn’t drive into Vegas, I couldn’t find the damnable place I was staying at. So we drove around Vegas while I tried to find the damnable place when, after I gave directions dependent on the amount of construction cranes in the area I was around, I looked back down the street at a red light and saw the small driveway area leading to the room. I had them park at the road and with assurances of tomorrows meeting at the fan faire I staggered slightly down the drive and up to the room and sought unconsciousness.

Fan Faire Part 5

So we realized that as our buzz subsided somewhat it was time to head back to the time share we were at, thanks to my bruthah, and get into our swim suits and head back down to the Rio and hit the pool party. Being the frugal bastard that I am I was not going to get financially screwed for a buzz, especially since I had bought approximately 50 bucks worth of good rum for this trip. So I made a wickedly powerful concoction, also incased in Nalgene, and we went for party time.
Now out of the entire weekend, sans the side trips and all with the bruthah, the Rio knows how to throw a great pool party. Now short of parties by a friend’s pool growing up, I had not had a chance to attend a pool party especially in Vegas, so I was quite excited. And it was nothing like what I was expecting. I kept looking at the crowd thinking, “wow. Lotta drunk geeks here huh? Better get started on my buzz and better get my bruthah to come along as well”. So I, we, us did get started on a good buzz that lasted quite through the night. There was karaoke going as we entered the party area and someone was doing a rendition of “pour some sugar on me” from def leopard. But it wasn’t any suck assed karaoke, they had an actual band playing instruments behind you as you sang. The only drawback was that they didn’t pay for long enough in my mind, but they were excellent musicians and quite a part of the whole pool party experience. The song I remember from the party were Ramones-I wanna be sedated/iron maidens-the trooper/ NIN-head like a hole/ GnR-sweet child of mine and Mr. brownstone. All with the band sweating and jamming behind the geek of the moment, spinning and freaking out on stage to the rapture and joy of the rest of us. But the real fun happened when, half an hour after we finished the drink and my bruthah was feelin like crap (too quick with the booze was the dual consensus later) and we were sitting by the side of the pool the rest of our live event group showed up and one of em, the guy I affectionately dubbed “Mr. Intense” offered to buy me a drink. Not being a guy to turn down a libation in pretty much any form, I acquiesced and he returned with a gut wrenching painful looking shot of Jack Daniels. I unshackled my Nalgene of water and began to prepare for the burn when he said, “wow..free bar man”. To which I replied (after quaffing the shot in one gulpo) “Well I better get started then!” And I did. I began, as at the penny slots, to two fist the rinks down as much as possible, as my bruthah caught a good buzz off of the Newcastle vibe (I believe this is where it started and remained for the rest of the trip) and we hobnobbed with our new found comrades. You all that were there, let me know if you want me to include your names (EQ names only of course) in this blog and I will where applicable. There were two women dressed up as EQ/EQ2 toons that had begun to party before we even arrived and were actually walking behind me and my bruthah while we were on our way to the pool party. They were a saucy pair of flirts that truly brought an excellent and vibrant feel to the party. The sad thing is that we didn’t see them again after that night and I hope they were not reprimanded for anything they did or said.
So there we were, drinkin by the pool, and as the booze began to flow, the geeks began to submerge, I termed the affectionate term “geek soup” which the pool began to become. And then the “lets throw(blank) in!” began and my bruthah was quick to doff his shorts down to the suit for swimming and submerge his bulk. What a trend setter I tell ya, because as I followed suit and got in the pool it was deliciously cool and satisfying against the skin. Even at night the heat in Vegas is blistering. The heat is actually blistering at all moments and never seems to lighten up at least as far as the times I’ve been there.
The karaoke ended and the geek herding began. The old adage “you don’t have to go home but you cant stay here” was in full force and the security was literally doing the hands outstretched duck/goose/chicken herding arms outstretched angle and the geeks were blearily working their way out the doors and into the Vegas midnight. I was invited to come up to the room of our live event friends so my awesome bruthah took us back to the time share where we doffed our wet shorts and donned our dry ones. Then he drove me back to the Rio where one of the live guys was staying and I went in.

Fan Faire Part 4

When you first walk into the place you realize that you have to stop walking forward to acclimate correctly to the sub artic temperature that most casinos in Vegas have. They actually build strange turbines and buildings to be able to combat the heat of the Vegas desert. Then you look up, and to the side, and you realize that you have walked into a strange world. There are people walking around you, beautiful women, chiseled men, and then there’s that Borg over there. No. over there by the Ferrengi. That’s the strangeness.
We walked up to the counter to get our tickets and of course, it being Vegas, we’re asked if we need help. We both run the “how much for what “thing and the guy gives us the greatest help I’ve ever had in a casino or anywhere else except for Disneyland. I’ll try to remember it for ya here…
Us..”what kind of discounts do you have?AAA?”
Him..”sure. AAA is good, but there are better ones.”
Us..”ok..And where does one get these said discounts of greater discountyness?”
The live event helped to get us prepared I tell ya.
Him…”Well. I’m not supposed to tell you that if you walk out to the monorail, and look for a kiosk, and look in one of the magazines out there, I’m not supposed to tell you that you’ll find greater discounts in there.”
Us…”Well thank you for not telling us these things and therefore jeopardizing your job.” As we tried not to giggle like freaky late 30’s early 40’s school children and followed his explicit non directions to said non kiosk and found said non discounts. After acquisition of said non discounts we went up to the counter and realized we had got ourselves 16 dollars off of the main price tag. So with tickets in our pockets and lightness in our steps we headed into the experience.
Now from the roof are suspended a gigantic model of the Enterprise, the Voyager, and a Klingon bird of prey. There is a walkway that winds up into the area that the “ride” takes place at that has the entire time line from the beginning of the star trek universe to the end of it. For the record that’s from Copernicus to I think the data jump across the two ships in Nemesis. So now, as we walk up further into the bowels of the experience, the perma grins on our faces are starting to hurt. We’re seeing the suits, on quite provocative plastic mannequins, of the two Klingon sisters from Generations. We’re seeing the actual suit that the shape shifter dude wore in deep space nine. It’s a complete and utter geek festival for me and my bruthah. So we’re standing in the enterprise experience line and the guy in front of us starts in on the “if you have a Borg experience ticket come forward. There’s only a few seats available and we’re leaving soon.” Which he repeats about 8 times and yet we deviate not a jot from our intended task and we remain in line for the star trek experience.
Now at this point will I actually tell you what happens? No, of course I won’t. Let’s just say the smile of total and complete geek satisfaction on each of our faces is huge and uncompromising. As we head out the exit to the ride we enter, after the star trek shops where single episodes on DVD are 20 bucks a pop, we went to Quarks bar. Now for those of you that are not in the “know” Quark was a Ferrengi character on Deep Space Nine that was, as his race decrees, a shiftless horse trader of the lowest degree. And I mean that as a compliment. Within this bar of bars we, my bruthah and I, were savy enough to split the 30 dollar cost of a “Warp Core Breach”. Now this drink comes with 5 different kinds of rum and is served in a 10 gallon goldfish bowl with its own little holder for said bowl. It was worth EVERY PENNY. The taste was exquisite and the fact that they serve it with dry ice so it bubbles like a witch’s brew from hell was just the sort of perk that we wanted, needed, and deserved. After we shot the incriminating photo and got to downin this thing the buzz was pleasant and not too overwhelming. Kinda one a those were ya know ya feel buzzed, but it takes about 7 steps to truly know the extent of the buzz and that it’ll take at least three hours and some water from the ever present Nalgene bottle at my side to be at least remotely able to drive again. So why not do the Borg?
We did the Borg and we did them well. And yes, it’s another ride I refuse to tell you all about. It was awesome and a requirement to any trekker to ensure that at some point they get to Vegas and do the gambit. And don’t forget to hit the Bar and have a drink.

Fan Faire Part 3

And then we went drinking. There was a big room, “booths” were set up along the sides, yet it was reminiscent of an almost senior prom thing, kinda. All the people milling around the center of the room, getting into lines for raffle ticket turn ins, doing surveys, pictures for a SOE thing if you have an interesting story thing to post or something. Took about a half an hour to cruise around and then we were done. At least for the moment, and it was time for drinking. They had multiple bars set up around the fan faire, probably to enhance the buying power of their players that were attending, and the prices were astonishing. For a small tumbler of rum and coke, and it was clear Bacardi only at most of the places, was $8.50. Now being a struggling student and not a high dollar kinda guy with two kids I couldn’t afford the prices for consecutive drinking incursions, so what to do? Well, here’s the trick, when yer in Vegas and yer low on cashola, sit yerself down at the penny slots in whatever casino you happen to be in. Place a 5 dollar bill into the receptacle, bet every line you can on the screen, at the lowest bet per line possible, and begin to look thirsty. And really, ya wanna look REAL thirsty. As soon as the drink guy or girl comes by, ya ask for 2 of whatever ya want, because who knows how long it will be till they return to fill your thirsty order again. That’s the key for pretty much any casino, but at the RIO I definitely take my hat off to them. They know not only how to do a decent fan faire pool party (I promise ill get to that) they make sure that no matter how much money yer losing, I mean playing, they make damn sure you have a drink while your doing it. So after many rum and cokes, and I think my bruthah was goin the rum and cokes as well, but later on the next day he switched over to Newcastle brown ales for stomach reasons, we returned to the fan faire for a live event.
The entire fan faire had a slightly hectic feeling to me of almost but not quite falling completely into disarray and dissolution. There were almost a 4 to one ratio in “event staff” to attendees, though I suspect that the event staffers where not all SOE employees. Yet when asked questions you sometimes had to go to two or three people before you got a sufficient answer.
So, there we are, feeling pretty good, and we have to go around the area where the fan faire was and try to find people with feathers above their heads. That’s right all you EQers and EQ2ers, we were looking for NPC’s to hail. Now, when yer feeling slightly toasty and you say hail to like 8 people about 20 times each, one becomes much more inventive. “Hard precipitation!” was one of my favorites, and as my bruthah was is and always shall be Sleet, his was a name that was called not only for recognition, but also for NPC attention.
So the live event for EQ2 was fun, had to solve word search puzzles, had to talk to an ogre (who had a severe hatred of bandana’s) a slightly effeminate high elf, and a militant erudite (who was actually a long hair in this tortuous world of reality), among others. After the quest detritus was collected we headed back into the room where we originally got our group of ten and the instructions for the quest. I think we were trying to get into Nerriak. The group we (my bruthah and I) had was a good group a folks. A couple guys, one younger then the other but both fairly boisterous, and a girl and two other guys that knew each other, along with two other guys one tall one middling height. The two we met from blackburrow and the three from oasis were the ones that we (my bruthah and I) eventually hung out with for the rest of the fan faire, when we weren’t checkin the pulse of Vegas outside of the realm of SOE and the fan faire. So after the live event we decided, what the hell, lets go check out the star trek experience at the Hilton. Now for a couple of super freak geeks like us, there was no place so like a pilgrimage through the heat and toil of the Vegas afternoon and the congestion of traffic to be able to walk into the cool and technical beauty of that place. It was our Mecca, our Shangri-La, our pleasure dome.

Fan Faire Part 2

The next morning at 8:30 in the AM we got some cereal and some juice at the little store in the time share my sis and bro had acquired a few years ago which was where we were staying, and had breakfast. Knock-off frosted wheat squares and I had a rum and juice mixed drink. Now I’m not necessarily a heavy drinker, I’m much more of the hemp kinda guy, but after reading a forum on the fan faire and the posts indicating the amount of booze that seemed to flow through these things I was takin it to the limit. In retrospect, I was a light weight compared to some and a little more intense in comparison to others. So with a slight gurgle in my gullet, a pack a cigars in the pocket (which since I was on a slight hiatus from my imbibitions of choice there was no other smokable) we drove over to the Rio where the faire was held. And to be honest I take my hat off to the people of Las Vegas that can stand the heat that they have to live in out there in that weird desert adult play land. But I don’t take it off for long, my head would burn.
So now for those of you out there that have never been to Las Vegas, it’s a bizarre place. The heat would kill if it wasn’t for the gigantic turbine like coolant towers that feed these casinos allow for an artic cool within the opaque glass of their doors. So being a total complete and utter Californian (I packed nothing but tie-dyes, yes that was me) it took a few minutes to acclimate from the outside temperatures to the inside temperatures. And then the stench of barely hidden and cleansed from the air of stale smoke, even with a cigar in hand, is almost too much to bear. But we made it to where the line began for the check in and since we had already both paid way early, it was an uneventful wait. The guy behind us had been at the start, of all things, of the cannonball run. Now being sports retarded, self imposed of course, I was amazed that the run was an actual race let alone an allowed in the US. He told us that it had been many years since the race had been held in the US and it had just got back from Europe where the laws on speed in a car, and most all else, was less stringent. We saw pictures and some cell phone mini videos of some of the cars taking off, rolling over the asphalt “donuts” left there by the arrivals the night before. One of the SOE event staff (as the faire progressed I would find there was many of them) came over and asked what our character names were, took them down, and others were busily behind the counter getting the badges ready for the faire participants. Everyone in line was courteous and not at all pushy or obnoxious so it was a gentle wait. The people in front of us were talking, quite animatedly I might add, about SWG and the ways for space combat and what the PVP and PVE states were and how they worked them to their advantage. Was interesting for me being a primarily fantasy RPGer and being there for EQ2, but not enough to actually play it. So after the SWG fest-o-info we moved along in the line, not unlike cattle to a slaughter house, and got our badges. Yes. We needed stinking badges. Then off to the swag (I still feel it should be pronounced shwag, yet my bruthah said nonononono..swag is swag. And to truly give him credit, he let me know what the hell swag means…Stuff We All Get. At least that was his angle and it seemed a good one) counter for a shirt and some stuff. As we were waiting at the swag counter, one guy was trying to get us to grab the paper bags with the Station logo on it while the other guy was trying to figure out whether we had all the swag(shwag) or not. Needless to say, I waited till the crisis was abated. So with all our stuff in tow, in bag, and swagged up, we unleashed ourselves into the official 2007 SOE fan faire.

Fan Faire Part 1

SOE Fan Faire

Or, How I Got To Hang Out With My Bruthah From Anothah Muthah at the Geek Fest of Geek Fests


So there I was. Anticipating a great time yet nervous about it at the same moment. My brother and I were heading to the SOE fan faire in Las Vegas, and his ultimatums (no drugs {cannabis} and no strippers {it’s been at least 18 years since my libido, in connection with my body, entered a strip club}) were kind of a hassle since I entered into no dire ultimatums with him. Yet I had agreed to the terms and was packed and ready to go. After calling my mom and letting her know about the website and how to get there, a needed thing as anyone with computer illiterate parents knows, I grabbed the back pack and the flight bag and went outside. The plan was my sister was to arrive any moment, she was at least a half hour late, and I was to get a ride with her down to the broskie-in-law’s place of employment, then from there we would motor down to his mothers house where his children would be cared for by her, therefore giving his wifey, my sis, a break for a few days. So I went out the door of the apartment I share with my beautiful wife and children, locking it behind me, and headed out to meet the sister so she wouldn’t have to come to the front door to get me.
I sat by the back end of the car and whipped out the notebook I’ve been carrying for about a month so far and as Murphy’s Law states she shows up. I load it all back in to the pack, and climbed in the van. The niece and nephew were spazzin pretty much as always, the sister and I vary on our views on children and caffeine, and so I tried to let it all wash over me as we sped down the road to the bro-in-law.
We got to his job, loaded up the car with kids uncle’s bro-in-law’s and packs, suitcases, and we went on our way. The ride was not too painful to the bro-in-laws mothers’ casa, though there was in my mind a slightly perverse amount of the Christian tune thing goin on. Since I hadn’t done the “ultimatum” thing and hadn’t brought any of the serious thrash metal “devil” music as my unenlightened family puts it, I begged repeatedly for other music(I would have accepted jazz at this point), but then we arrived and hugs were handed out and lunch was grinded down, whence his father arrived. Lunch imbibed, hugs once again were handed out and we, as they say, got on down got on down, down the road.
The ride from the central coast area of California is sort of pleasant and painful all at once. As a traveler you’re leaving the great Pacific Ocean for the desert, yet in the desert is Vegas, the ultimate in freaky adult entertainment. The true saving grace was that we entered the desert in the evening, so it was relatively cooler (98billion degrees versus 110billion degrees) and the desert in the night is a truly beautiful yet strange and disturbing place. It seems as if as you cross the mountains and you climb through them you find Joshua trees and other types of cacti and it seems as if you’ve entered an alien landscape. Another world stretches before you, the landscape sere and scorched yet beautiful and stark. In the winter it snows here in the high desert, the weird gates across the freeway attest to that, and yet in the summer the temperature climbs into the triple digits. We talked of different things like religion and the amount of drinking I was thinking I would do, listened to a little coast to coast AM I had on CD along with some other music ( the Christian stuff had been shelved ) that I had brought with me. Most of it was synthesizer stuff Jean Michel Jarre, some Orb I had gotten my hands onto, nice smooth catchy stuff, and the desert flowed by. Some traffic slowed us a bit out there before Baker which then smoothed back out again and we rolled into Vegas around 230 in the AM.

For The Invisibles

“Are you going to wear your boots? If you’re dressing up, you shouldn't wear your boots.”
“Do you think I don't know that homeless people are dirty?”
“Wow dude. You look scary.”
While doing my research project I found very different and strange views on my work for my sociology class. Some from my family, others from individuals not only in this class, but in my other class as well. Varying views, varying positions, but all alike in one way. The lack of knowledge of these same people on the subject of the homeless.
We all know that homelessness exists. They are on street corners; they stand in the exits from shopping centers with hand made signs scrawling messages. Will work for food, homeless vet, trying to get home and out of gas. They say very little unless approached, and then because of varying degrees of mental or societal deficiencies, you could get a “normal” response to the enquiry or a string of profanity or even nonsense words strung together.
I started this research paper with a decent hypothesis. In my lack of knowledge I tried to set up my hypothesis by ensuring that a response would be had by the populous I was examining. I would dress as a typical transient, and then as an upper scale resident and as both I would scream out “monkey!” in an attempt to use ethno methodological tactics to get a desired response. I was trying to see if people actually didn't see the homeless population, or if indeed we refuse to see them. What I found was both disturbing and fascinating.
I started out in my transient garb and choose San Luis Obispo's farmer's market. Not only are the people packed into the street of Higuera, where the farmers market is held, but it allowed me to be able to get a decent cross section of the populous of San Luis Obispo so as to have a decent data collection point.
As I rubbed a collection of engine grease and tire rubbings and dirt from a flower bed on my face and hands I felt nervous. It wasn't until I had made it to Higuera that I realized I would not be able to scream “monkey” in the street, especially with the police presence, and escape with un-corrupted data. But as these thoughts ran through my head I began to notice people noticing me, and realized that I didn't need to call attention to myself at all. All I needed to do was walk the street, from one end to the other, and collect the data that was occurring around me. Without having to do anything to draw attention to myself I was getting the same reaction, I surmised, that I would have gotten if I had actually been homeless.
While in my transient garb, I quickly realized that the hypothesis I had was naive. Thinking that the homeless community needs to draw attention to itself, or even that anyone would care if they did, was the wrong direction to go. But I didn't realize this until I was in the middle of it. So I began to collect the data, for the pure sake of data collection, and I felt that I could come to some conclusion or statement that would capsulate the data I was collecting.
I was wrong.
Within my data as the transient I realized that its not that people refuse to see the homeless, or even that they don't see the homeless. It was that people noticed everything around them, even when no visual contact is made, and they choose not to acknowledge the presence of a proposed homeless person.
As a transient I was noticed, mostly by young (20-30 year old) women, and then I was shunned. They would look at me, and then look away. The major differences was that when they looked away, the look on their faces was either disgust or pity. And the looks of pity were few and far between. Approximately 10% or less of the women that looked at me, looked away with pity. The other 90% were disgusted.
The other interesting aspect of my transient data was that men were the only ones to acknowledge me. Either with the inevitable machismo head nod, or a slight smile. Not one women smiled when looking at me in my transient garb. And the only two people that started up a conversation with me as a transient were people manning the booths. As I was concentrating on the eye contact of most of the people around me, I failed to notice the booths these individuals worked at.
During my transient data collection I also noticed the lack of contact that people usually encounter in farmers market, at least in this area. It's difficult to walk through this gathering of individuals without the obligatory bump by the other people there. Because of the size of the street, and the mass of people, I’ve never been able to walk through farmers market without being bumped. When I began to collect data as a transient I was not touched once, either by accident or by purposeful jostling. It seemed to me that people's proxemic bubbles somehow grow or become more in-tuned to the passing financial status of the people they are around. When I walked by one woman handing out pamphlets, she didn't even offer me one.
I was lucky, I realized, that I had a home, a beautiful wife, and a beautiful daughter to go to. I had a decent, yet due to the public school system of California inadequate, education. I read at least two to three books a week for recreation and have gleaned quite allot of information from the experiences in my life. Yet none of that, beneath a thin veneer of dirt and grime, was evident to the populous at large, nor were they interested in me as a person. I was merely a filthy vagrant, to be shunned primarily because of my repugnance in dress and dirt.
After my data collection had completed I felt horrible. So in most times of need, or sadness, I resort to feeding my anguish with food. As I waited in Taco Bell, first to order, then to acquire my meal, I was stared at by a man at a booth. He was a patron of the establishment, yet his food went unnoticed because of my presence. He was, by broadcasting through his body language, disgusted by my very presence. He looked at me with such distaste I would have felt abused if not for the fact that I have a solid sense of self, and realizing my own self worth, refused his obvious attempt to intimidate me to leave. After I got home, and had my wife take a picture of me, I took a shower. I washed at least twice over my body, the first to remove the dirt, the second to remove the feeling of filth from the populous of the city I dwell in.
The next week was the week I dressed as a somewhat financially respectable person. I shaved my beard to a more restrained growth, dressed in a button up shirt and a pair of dress slacks, and did the walk yet again. I realized that as soon as I had crossed the 10 feet from one side of the street to the other and was bumped. The individual turned to me, apologized and walked on. In that moment I was amazed that the two things I ended up craving after forty minutes in my transient garb had happened in the first moments that I had entered my data collection area. In fact, before I had even gotten to my car from the class I attended that evening I had been smiled at by an older women (40-50 years of age). While dressed up I was jostled at least once, avoided being jostled another four times, and was smiled at three times, by women.
What amazed me the most, within the confines of my data collection, was that as a transient I was seen and avoided. As a “normal” middle class individual I was acknowledged more by women, yet not as much by either sex. It was as if in being like the rest of the “norms” I was almost invisible. I was accepted within their scope of understanding, primarily because of my wardrobe, yet was unnoticed by most. Whereas within my “transient” garb I was noticed by most of the people, yet I was outside the group or collective of that section of the population because of my clothing or my showering schedule.
I feel incredibly lucky being able to not only attend this class, but also in being able to become involved in this research paper. In doing this paper, and primarily the data collection, I’ve realized that the homeless population is not “invisible” as some reports state, nor are they hiding or even moving out of areas as others state (upi news track/ San Francisco homeless head west/May 23, 2005). The homeless population is within our communities and are actively ignored by non homeless people, not because they aren't there (Planning/ June 2005/ City Life/Harold Henderson), not because we as a nation don't see them. We actively pursue our own ignorance with abandon and an almost pathological need because of fear. That fear, of living pay check to pay check, of renting from a landlord that might not be the most affable individual, or because of our own fears started from an early age within those confines of a possible financially stressed situation. We are the reasons that there is a homeless community. We continue to allow it every time we walk by a person sitting on a street corner with a sign. Homeless people will work for food, they are veterans of foreign wars, they are our sons, and our daughters. They are not an invisible nation. They are a nation ignored, except in hushed whispers of disgust as we walk by them and realize our precarious position within our own lives. We harbor that fear, and release it when we see them huddled together for warmth and shelter. We release it when we refuse to acknowledge them except in pity and disgust. We use them as receptacles for that fear and fill them up with our lack of compassion and our lack of acknowledgment. Within the confines of the homelessness in our nation, as the old adage says, we have nothing to fear but fear itself. And that fear is within ourselves.

ALL THAT'S LEFT

A ship.
Flying through space,
With the most special of cargoes.
Human life, animal life, plant life.
All in wait (stasis) for the end,
Of their cosmic journey.
The journey to rebuild,
To rebuild all that was lost.

After we destroyed,
All but 7% of the world,
We built the ship,
In the remnants of humanity,
And launched her, with crew,
Into the outer vaccuum,
In hopes that she, ship and crew,
Would find a way to restart,
Us, and not our mistakes.

She's in the cold and waiting.
She can wait forever.

A DATE WITH D

When I entered the diner, the decor suprized me. The room was about 400 to 600 feet square. The walls were covered by a maroon velvet shag carpet in a bizarre paisley pattern. Along the wall to my left and right were interspersed light fixtures that were metallic silver gray arms extending out to end in hands cradling lit bulbs. I think that they were about thirty watts. Most of the light came from these fixtures within the walls. There were absolutely no forms of lighting on the ceiling. The rest of the dim light came from the tables scattered throughout the place. On them, or more to the point, imbedded in them were the same as on the walls. But in this case the fingers were not cradling the bulbs but grasping them with alternating fist, woman's tender grip, and the very rare child's inquisitive first touch with the bulb suspended by wires to the child’s finger. The actual table sizes ranged from small kidney like shapes to a huge amorphous blob that took up a good side corner of the establishment.
As I passed by the lights, they would flicker, ever so slightly, and I paused to see if any human had seen it. Some tables I passed while I followed the gentle but insistent pull in my stomach were occupied. Said occupants would shiver and complain of some air conditioning glich and shrug on a coat. One man, a slim goatee, dark intense eyes and an air of mystique looked at the space of my wake and was puzzled. That was all. On my way to a date with someone I didn't know I passed the true entrance to the establishment. Without even looking behind me I knew that the wall I had come through was an unbroken line of metallic silver arms reaching out with their gifts of light.
I saw him and knew. Knew that he was the one I had come to collect so I waited. I watched him begin to choke and then it happened. His head kind of did that slow crazy lift with both his fat meaty hands around his own throat. His face began to turn blue when the first concerned citizen showed up on the scene. With that slapping on the back of the aforementioned citizen I realize with amusement that the aforementioned citizen has no medical background or training whatsoever. After the four or fifth pound on the back of my collection, the boy was on the ground. I moved over to the table and saw that it had been a chunk of lobster. All that butter and the poor sod couldn't even get it down. He had never learned the thirty chews your food method of healthy eating.
Someone else appears and begins to clear the throat way, but it's useless. He's on his last oxygen molecule. I reach down and take his crown chackra first. That way he feels no more pain. It's hard enough for me to watch, sometimes the collections are kids, so I learn little ways within the confines of my job description that eases the sufferings of those I meet. It's the least I can do. So after the crown chakra I go down the line and collect all seven and place them carefully in my bag. They are taken for processing later. All that's left is the shell of the chakra. This one appears as an overweight man wearing a red Hawaiian shirt, Birkenstock sandals with socks, ands Bermuda shorts. I don't tarry long. I have others to meet so I leave immediately through the roof and into the night sky over the city in search of that insistent pull that leads me toward the next one. The next one to have a date with D.

NEWBORNS

What is it about newborns,
That makes almost everybody,
Flip their collective lids?

Let's be honest.

They can't cook banquets in your honor.
They can't write contemporary novels about our times.
They can't drive a car, they can't even reach the pedals.
They can't fly mercy missions over hostile areas for relief purposes.
They can't free political prisoners of oppressive regimes.
They can't clean the house, or even build one for that matter.
They can't be airborne rangers or combat ready veterans.

So why is it that their so damn cute?

I love newborns.

On the Subject of Berries

We start above a city. Any city will do, but its gotta be near the woods. Big woods. Woods that stretch for days and days.
The kids come over the ridge. They've been tryin to reach it for over an hour, and the rest is taken with total abandon. Packs are dropped to the ground, with a grown from some quarters, and they sit. The four have been friends for ever to them, bout 4 years to the rest of us of any seasoning. They bask in the sun, filtered through the large pines that dot the landscape, and close their eyes.
Thoughts begin to drift.
The first one to truly start the epidemic begins to see the patterns. He's slightly surprised, but allows himself to succumb to the quartered glyphs and basic geometric shapes.
At this point in our story, dear reader, the game is lost, the towel has been thrown in. The children are lost.
The first, eldest by 22 minutes, opens his eyes. He sees before them, on the trail to where they are, a bush of berries. They look somewhat like holly berries, but larger. The leaf structure is more succulent, as if in times of need the plant can survive on limited water and percevire.
He sits staring at the plant for quite some time, the others are still daydreaming. They rock to the patterns behind their eyes. Some hum while they rock.
The eldest, Mr. 22, stands up and stretches, in constant view to the plant. He watches it with a singular intensity, an intensity that is all consuming.
As he watches, the berries begin to scintalate. They through off sparks like a strange ornament lit from behind on a christmas tree. It begins to rotate slowly, first left, then right. It does'nt seem to follow the arc of the sun, doesn't respond to the wind. Its stock still.
He's now in front of the plant. If he had wanted to confront the lapse of time felt while gazing at the plant he would find he has no recollection of the time between rising and the walk to the plant, a mere ten to fifteen feet away. But he doesn't. The plant is his all.
A couple of others have began to come around to his movement and the source of it. They become enthralled.
The first is one again first in things of the mountain this day. He bends over and ever so tenderly, plucks a berry. In his hand it shines like a light, but in broad daylight. This is in no way unusual to the youth, and the others are now there. Bending. Picking. He, the first, the eldest, is barely ahead of the others as they eat the singular berry that they each have now in their hand.


After they got home, trying to suspend the monumentous thing they had done, they fell asleep. The sleep was deep and total. As their breathing slowed, and the changes began, they felt no pain as the bones shifted, and the change overcame them.
As one, almost with an instinctual need they arise. As their heightened senses take in their surroundings they sense others with those environments. The others are perceived, to those poor youths, as older, frailer, weaker.
It doesn't start as a hunter prey scenario, thats not the driving force of these feral creatures. They need no sustenance. Their only drive, the drive given to them not mere hours before, is the drive to mark, maim, and immerse themselves in the older blood. To impregnate them.
Hours later the paramedics called to the first scene that will soon become a well known facet of a crumbling society, the precursor of the epidemic, are the strange succulents growing from the victims. The children of these people are never found, but at all the sites other children from the neighborhoods, where the original mountain walkers lived, where all found roaming about the site.
And every single other child was eating some sort of berries.

Road

The regrets of doom ladened ladies,
Brings trepedation to ghostly boys,
Adieu.

And when, heavy brows dangling,
Ghosty boys retire,subduued and chaste,
Rising, things and stuff continue to diddy-mao.