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Capital of Nasty Vol. 02 Issue 30
Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine
Volume II, Issue 30, Year AD MCMXCVII
Monday, July 28th, 1997
ISSN 1482-0471
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"There's going to be a heat wave in Ireland. Unfortunately, I brought
only one sweater."
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"Geez, you keep on changing your mind!"
"Of course, I'm a woman"
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1. Montreal and back: my little adventure
2. NOSMOKE.EXE
3. POEM: Hope
4. The CoN Movie Review: Contact
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This week's Golden Testicle Web Award goes to:
Proof that Elvis is alive!!!!
http://hiwaay.net/~crispen/etc/pathfinder1.jpg
http://www.widgetmagic.com/mars.htm
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1. Montreal and back: my little adventure
by Leandro+
If you have never fallen in love with a city, Montréal is the
city which will steal your heart. Gard and I looked at this city with
eyes so full of admiration, that coming back to a dirty, ruined,
unfriendly Toronto was not what we were looking forward to. Montréal
is a North American city with a touch of European that makes it stand
out from the "Americanization" of the world we live in. I guess
Minnie's comment is very appropriate: "The seaweed is always greener,
in somebody else's lake." Perhaps by living there my opinions would've
changed.
In Montréal I had the chance to meet two of the original Capital
of Nasty readers: the beautiful Pina Virelli and the amazing biologist
Sirine Hijal, with which I share the same passion of horror "literature".
They took their time to introduce me to the city, show me points of
highlight, and basically made me feel welcome. Although I did not see
nor hear anyone discuss about the separatism wave that is going through
the province, I have to admit that I was treated fairly well by just
about everyone. As Hugh said, we should all migrate to Montréal and
make it the Capital of Canada.
Angels
My trip was a little different from what Gard and Hugh
experienced. First of all I did not ride all the way back as they did
but had to basically struggle back.
My bike is a piece of shyte. It certainly looks good but it
is as good as a FIAT. For those that don't know, FIATs are Italian
cars which look good and break fast. I heard various variations of
the meaning of the word FIAT which means Fabbrica Italiana Automobili
Torino, although I like the "fix it again Tony" better. In my case it
was "fix it again Hugh", since poor Hugh had to stop every 15 minutes
to retune my spokes or do some touching up before the bike fell apart
completely (a la Blues Brothers).
My back tire was acting funny after we left Montreal, and Hugh
kindly kept on fixing the spokes, and helping me re-align the wheel.
Unfortunately in the middle of the beautiful Quebec countryside I had
a flat. Then another shortly after repairing the first. Then my
tire gave up completely cracking nicely on the side. We were a good
90km from Montreal at that point. Although Gard did not want us to
split, I suggested it would've been better if they had gone ahead
while I worked my way back. We bid farewell and as I walked with
bike on one side (I kicked it for a bit) and backsack on my shoulder,
I watched Gard and Hugh peddle away in the distance.
I walked hoping while sticking my thumb out hoping for a ride.
I walked for a good four hours under the burning sun, but no one
stopped. Taking my shirt off was not a good idea, since now my chest
tan includes a white line around my neck from my necklace, and two
white stripes going down my chest. My girlfriend has yet to stop
laughing.
I stopped in every little town to see if anyone could give me
a hand fixing the tire, or if I could buy a tire anywhere. Everyone
just looked at me and felt sorry since Toronto was indeed far away,
especially by bike. And I was walking. I kept on hearing "Bonne
chance" which means "good luck" and like Gard put it "good luck in
finding a bike store". I stopped at several of the flea markets in
the various towns hoping to find any parts good enough for my bike, but
faith wanted it so that none of the wheels would fit into mine.
Everyone that I talked to gave me an understanding look and said "Bonne
chance".
I kept on walking. I had left my friends at 1PM, and it was now
6PM and I was still walking in the middle of nowhere under the scorching
sun. It was so hot that the when I reached the only lonely tree by
the side of the road, I sat there and enjoyed the shadow. This also
allowed my brain to cool down and me to reason.
I saw this woman working outside of her house. The only house
I had encountered after a while. I asked her for help, and since I
speak a very poor french, we both had a hard time communicating. She
brought me in her house, gave me a big glass of icy water and called
the train station so that I could speak with someone in english. The
man at the station said there was a train that I could get, only
problem was that the next train was in half an hour, the station 17 miles
away. The woman in the mean time had pulled out her car and offered
to drive me there. I thanked her and accepted.
At the train station of Couteau, the train conductor refused to
accept my bikes because it was not in a box and therefore against
government regulations. He suggested that I'd go either to Cornwall
or Dorval and get the train there. The man at the station tried to make
the conductor reason, but it was no use. Him, the woman that gave me the
ride and myself watched the train leave and I felt a little helpless.
The man at the train station said he was sorry and said "Bonne chance"
Since Highway 20 was not too far away, the woman drove me to a
truck stop, and I asked several truckers if I could get a ride to
Kingston or Cornwall, explaining my situation. Unfortunately everyone
was going to Montréal.
The woman had to go back home at this point, so I thanked her
very much, and she said to me "Bonne chance" (I wanted to strangle her
but I decided against it). I pulled out my black pen, and on some
cardboard that I found on the side of the road wrote "Cornwall, OUEST,
WEST" and sat by the Highway.
A strange Quebecer stopped and said he was going to Lancaster,
which was relatively close to Cornwell and he would've given me a ride
there. I accepted. As we are driving he asked me if I liked hash and
wanted to spend the night in a motel with him. I kindly declined
explaining that I was on medication because I was sick. Fortunately
he left me at the exit where he was going and I found myself in
Lancaster: one gas station, one Dairy Queen, one motel, four houses.
I asked the man at the gas station where I could fix my bike
around there.
"There is old mister Bullion in that white and gray house over there
that fixes bikes as an hobby. I'm sure he'll be glad to help you out".
I thanked him and went there.
Ol' Mr. Bullion had had an heart attack a few hours earlier and
had died, his son told me.
I kept on walking.
I was on the old Highway 2, with the St. Lawrence river on one
side, beautiful scenery on the other and 21 Kilomters to go, according
to the sign. I estimated four hours of walking and decided to go for
it. As cars flew by I kept on hitching a ride with no luck. A car
flew by and a bunch of kids spat at me. Fortunately the wind threw it
back in their faces. Another car threw garbage at me.
Since the sun was setting, I decided to stop and enjoy it. It
was the most beautiful sunset I had ever seen, and if this whole
adventure had a purpose, I thought at the time that that was it.
An unfortunate effect of the sun going down was that it went
pitch black. I couldn't even see my hands, nor where I was going.
Mosquitoes on the other hand saw me perfectly and I had a few squadrons
flying around me as I walked past their airport: a swamp.
Tired of walking, unable to see anything, a desire to grab my
bike and make it a permament part of the swamp, and my backpack
getting heavier and heavier. I thought that was it, I'm going to die
here on the side of Highway 2, and tomorrow they'll find my body
full of mosquito bites. Not a way to go.
In the darkness ahead of me I made out the blue glow of a
television emitting from the only house there. I quickly went there
and knocked. A man came out with a worried look on his face. I
apologized for the time and asked him if he could call me a cab so
that I could reach Cornwall. The man looked at me, looked at my bike,
then invited me inside. I was greeted by his wife and two hunting
dogs who decided I tasted as good as dog food.
The woman offered me something to drink, and the man said that a
cab would've been to expensive. I explained my situation, and the man
after thinking a bit told me to hold on. He came back dressed and
said he would grab his truck and drive me to Cornwall. I thanked
everyone and apologized again for the intrusion.
We talked for a while on the truck while driving. The ride took
a good half hour, and I was just thinking how long it would've taken
me to walk. The man laughed when I told him this and said he was glad
I had stopped at his house.
He took me to the station, pointed out a good restaurant where to
eat. I asked him if I could buy him a coffee or something or if I could
repay him in some way.
"Don't worry about. I think it was God that made our path cross, and
doing a good deed comes back to you one way or another".
I decided it was probably wise to keep my mouth shut regarding my
beliefs about God and science.
At the station I was told I had missed the 8 o'clock train. It
was 10:32 PM at that point. The man allowed me to lock the bike in
their storage room so that I did not have to carry it around. Apparentely
the man at the train station of Couteau had told him that I might
arrive there. I thanked him and went to the restaurant.
I must've really looked terrible, because the waitress asked me
what happened since "you look terrible!". I explained what happened.
"Oh you poor thing, well, you better get some rest tonight."
"Are there any motels close by?" I dared to ask.
"Oh yes" she said "on the other side of town. But the cabs are all
out of service by this time, you know, Cornwall is not exactly a
big city".
"Oh no, I've been walking all day.."
"Well, just eat for now, we'll worry about it later".
As I finished eating, a man walked in the restaurant, by this
time empty, me the only customer, and the cook in the back cursing
about someone leaving the Ginger Ale open.
"This is my ex-husband" the waitress informed me.
"I told him your story and he is going to take you over the rest-home
he runs, since he has an empty room".
I was very surprised, and I thanked them both. The waitress got a good
tip =)
The man brought me over to the rest-home, and gave me a beautiful
room. I washed up, trying to get the grease off my hands and legs with
no luck. My body hacking, I quickly fell asleep, a sleep with no dreams.
The next morning he asked me how I was feeling and gave me a good
breakfast. I wanted to decline, feeling a little embarassed, but he
insisted since I was his "guest". After breakfast and some chit
chatting, he brought me to the station.
I thanked him, and asked if I could repay him in some way, he
answered: "God is watching over us, and you must've a good guarding
angel protecting you". If God was trying to point out that he existed,
I think that I got the idea at that point.
I walked into the station, my body not responding too well, my
muscles screaming in pain. I took my bike apart and pack it in the
box provided by the station attendant, and bought a ticket for
Toronto. I wanted to go to Kingston and meet Gard and Hugh, but I
felt as if a steam roller had parked itself on my body.
I usually am never able to sleep on trains. This time I slept
like a rock all the way to my destination. Once home, my bed never
felt so soft and confortable. It's true when they say that "there is
no place like home".
You could say I've learned many things: If you are nice and polite,
everyone (or almost) you encounter will try to help you, especially if
you have a nice looking bike that can get you nowhere fast and breaks
down even faster. It's not a jungle out there if you know how to avoid
the tigers.
You can travel quite a distance if you have a broken bicycle, faster
than if you have one that works.
Most of all God is watching over me, or at least one of his angels.
I think I'll have to do a little revision on my beliefs, and as Bob
Allisat pointed out "maybe God and science can stand side by side at
times".
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2. NOSMOKE.EXE
courtesy of Arbi Arzoumani
I used to work in a computer store and one day we had a gentleman call
in with a smoking power supply. The service representative was having
a bit of trouble convincing this guy that he had a hardware problem.
Service Rep: Sir, something has burned within your power supply.
Customer: I bet that there is some command that I can put into the
AUTOEXEC.BAT file that will take care of this.
Service Rep: There is nothing that software can do to help you with
this problem.
Customer: I know that there is something I can put in... some command...
maybe it should go into the CONFIG.SYS or the WIN.INI
[After a few minutes of going round and round]
Service Rep: Okay, I am not supposed to tell anyone this but there is a
hidden command in some versions of DOS that you can use. I want you to
edit your AUTOEXEC.BAT and add the last line as C:\DOS\NOSMOKE and reboot
your computer.
[Customer does this]
Customer: It is still smoking.
Service Rep: I guess you'll need to call Microsoft and ask them for a
patch for the NOSMOKE.EXE
[The customer then hung up. We thought that we had heard the last of this
guy. But NO; he calls back four hours later!]
Service Rep: Hello, Sir, how is your computer?
Customer: I called Microsoft and they said that my power supply is
incompatible with their NOSMOKE.EXE and that I need to get a new one. I
was wondering when I can have that done and how much it will cost...
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3. POEM: Hope
by The Poet Man
HOLD ON TO THE HOPE
Hold on to the hope
That wants to slip through
Keep dreaming your dreams
For they make everything new
The weak and the weary will stand
On the hope they continue to hold
When the wild wind blows
They will never feel the cold
Hold on to the hope
As the echoes light the flame
Change the pace in things you do
So that nothing seems the same
Bring back the desire of yesterday
While the children laugh in delight
Delegate your memories told
So everything stays in the light
Hold on to the hope
While your heart swells within
Accept what you know can change
As any virgin can sin
Remember that darkness sees no color
Because it has no eyes
But now is the time to take notice
Of every single thing that cries
Hold on to the hope
For the silence asks you to follow
Now you feel the clouds strain
As you try to eat your pride and swallow
Now the forces of the past refrain
From telling you how to live life
Take a hand in each and squeeze
Because alone we are left in strife
Hold on to the hope
So we can take in the scenery
The seasons change often
Which keeps hope for spring's greenery
All the while, the rich get richer
While the poor keep dreams to confess
So tell the old man he can smile
Because money doesn't equal happiness
Now the glory can finally be told
The needs of humanity will grow
But if you suppress all your hopes
Then no one will ever know
In time, all things will settle into place
We'll have the answers as to how to cope
But we will never know what we can achieve
If we let go of our hold on hope
"They should have sent a poet." - Jodie Foster, in Carl Sagan's "Contact"
Christopher Stolle's Home Page at: http://copper.ucs.indiana.edu/~cstolle
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4. The CoN Movie Review: Contact
von Peter Fung, ja.
Contact is definitely a refreshing change from the current "evil
aliens" movies, Hollywood has been churning out recently. This time the
focus is on what we would do if we made contact with aliens, and the
ideological and spiritual ramifications from this "first contact." The
story is based on a novel by the Pulitzer Prize-winning author and noted
astronomer Carl Sagan, the man who brought us that old PBS series,
"Cosmos". Contact was originally published about twelve years ago and
was seen as movie material after the book was written, but was never set
to be produced until director Robert Zemeckis, of "Forrest Gump" fame
chose to do it. In fact, Carl Sagan actually helped co-write the story
with wife, Ann Druyan, for the film subsequent to his death in 1996.
The film follows Jody Foster's character, Eleanor "Ellie"
Arroway, an astronomer who's obsession with finding evidence of
extra-terrestrial life comes true with a mysterious transmission from
the constellation Vega. Kind of like Arthur C. Clarke's 20XX series,
but minus the monoliths and the symphony orchestra. The story unfolds
as "Ellie" tries to maintain her claim to the discovery that may in fact
change human history. Her mission leads her on a fantastic journey to
the source of the message.
The special effects were few but well done; being quite
appropriate for some of the sequences for the movie. The design for
the "machine," which appeared to represent the model of the atom, with
the flight pod as the nucleus was neat. As well as the travel sequence
from Earth to the constellation Vega which felt like a roller coaster
ride at Wonderland. The only sfx sequence from the movie I felt was
done to death, was the beginning. It was the part that showed the
distance; radio waves traveled from earth, as the radio signals
traveled further, passing planets and galaxies, it felt so much like
the opening from Star Trek: The Next Generation. I almost expected
Patrick Stewart's voice to break the silence with, "Space, the final
frontier..." (Well, you get the idea.)
Anyway, "Contact" is one of the few movies I have seen this
summer, that can be described as a "real" movie, that was good, not
entertaining. It's quite the change from the bang-bang shoot'em up,
man eating dino, bat & bird flicks, playing these days.
"The surest sign that intelligent life exists elsewhere in the universe
is that it has never tried to contact us."
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Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine "media you can abuse"
In memory of Father Ross "Padre" Legere.
Published every monday (or Tuesday)
Disclaimer: unintentionally offensive.
Comments and Queries welcomed.
http://www.capnasty.org/capnasty - ISSN 1482-0471
CoN is a weekly electronic journal/newsletter. Subscriptions are
available at no cost electronically.
CoN is available on Usenet newsgroups: alt.zines, alt.ezines
Or, to subscribe, send a message to join@capnasty.org
Brought to you by C.C.C.P. (Collective Communist Computing Proletariat)
Leandro Asnaghi-Nicastro Colin Barrett
<leandro@capnasty.org> <tyrannis@capnasty.org>
ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D
