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Holy Temple of Mass Consumption 20
From: aiken@unity.ncsu.edu (Wayne NMI Aiken)
Date: 22 Jul 93 05:31:04 GMT
Newsgroups: alt.slack,alt.discordia,talk.bizarre,alt.zines
Subject: HToMC #20
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the best things in life are F R E E
Holy Temple of Mass Consumption F R E E
PO Box 30904 SLACK@ncsu.edu
Raleigh, NC 27622 StarFleet BBS (919) 782-3095
DragonCon '93 SPECIAL COLLECTOR'S ISSUE
One of the biggest attractions of this year's con is Bob Camp and Bill Wray,
current producers of the Ren & Stimpy show. Yet, this may turn out to be one
of the most controversial of all of the events. I'm sure that by now, everyone
is aware of the sleazy, underhanded way that Nickelodeon has handled the whole
affair. For one of the best accounts of this, see the recent Wild Cartoon
Kingdom magazine, or ask Chris Gore yourself. The whole point is: why wait
until now to begin promoting R&S? The general concensus on the streets is
going straight downhill; even the best opinion is that the show "has definitely
lost its edge." LOTS of people, who once faithfully watched re-run after
re-run, now no longer bother to watch the new episodes. The hundreds of campus
R&S clubs which instantly sprang up have since disbanded, and the show that
once gained instant cult status now appears headed to the living-death nether-
world of bland corporate cartoons.
As for Bob Camp, there are some who would brand him a traitor, or worse, for
aiding and abetting the coporate goons who wrecked the most inspired cartoon
in recent memory. On the other hand, I can certainly understand the need to
pay the rent, as well as advance in one's career. And I can also understand
-and admire- the desire to keep a good thing going, by whatever means. If
anything, perhaps the only thing that Camp should be blamed for is bad
judgement; the venom should be reserved for the real villains: Nickelodeon.
True Ren & Stimpy fans have been betrayed. What made the show great was John
Kricfalusi and Spumco as a whole; take it apart and you lose the show. Like
article said, R&S without John K. is like wanting to see The Little Tramp, but
without Charlie Chaplin. Despite a valiant effort by Camp, the show is slowly
disintegrating. THE MORAL: This is PRECISELY the end result to be expected
when the corporate censors are in charge of dictating stories.
Nickelodeon Corporate Censor-Approved R&S Script
------------------------------------------------
"Porch Pals"
[The scene opens with Ren and Stimpy in rocking chairs on a porch...]
Stimpy: "Lemonade?"
Ren: "Please."
Stimpy: "I made it just for you."
Ren: "You are my best friend." [Drinks.] "Mmmm... This really
hits the spot."
Stimpy: "Mm, doesn't it though?"
Ren: "You make really good lemonade, Steempy."
Stimpy: "Ha, ha, ha. Thank you, Ren."
*End of cartoon. Everybody watching turns off the tv and goes outside
to play.
[thanks to Boeky Whaley]
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Ignore these COMIX at your own risk
**** Cherry's Jubilee #3 - Other artists do their interpretations of Cherry
Poptart. Includes strips by Leslie Sternbergh, Grass Green, Dan Fogel &
Duke Roosevelt, plus one by Larry Welz. Cherry Comics/Kitchen Sink Press
320 Riverside, Northampton MA 01060
*** Hacker Files - Showdown 2.0 - Hacker and his gang invade the central AI
operations of the Digitronix conspiracy. The AI has gotten completely out
of control, and even the bad guys want it shut down. Hacker, using a virtual
reality interface, lures the evil program into a Wild West simulation and traps
it there forever. Nice graphics, although the story is a bit too much like the
story in "Tron". And, since this is a DC comic, there are also gratuitous
super heroes, which are COMPLETELY unnecessary to this entire series.
*** The Worlds of H.P. Lovecraft: Dagon part 1 of 2 - A quite good,
suspenseful adaptation of one of Lovecraft's early stories. By far the best
comic of this Lovecraft series so far, this one has that obvious, "eerie feel"
to it. Caliber Press 621-B S. Main St. Plymouth MI 48170
*** Savage Henry #27 - Henry is captured by a rich music collector who traps
him in a "zoo" for space musicians along with Klaus Schulze, the German
composer. They escape, and get the perfect revenge on the audiophile.
Rip Off Press PO Box 4686 Auburn, CA 95604
**** Dork #1 - Collection of great, miscellanous cartoons by Evan Dorkin,
including The Murder Family, Fisher-Price Theatre (great!), Milk and Cheese
Slave Labor Graphics, 983 S Bacom Ave. 95128
***** Tank Girl 2 - part 1 of 4 - The return of Tank Girl! After escaping
from the insane asylum, she returns to her beer-drinking, anarchistic ways.
Plus Jet Girl, and a take-off on Starsky & Hutch. Don't miss this 2nd series
if you missed the first. Dark Horse Comics, 10956 SE Main St. Milwaukie OR
**** Weirdo #15 - the outrageous comic collection is back, edited by Peter
Bagge. This one has comix by J.D. King, S. Clay Wilson, Richard Crumb, Kim
Deitch, and others. Plus results of the Ugly Art Contest. Last Gasp comics
**** Weirdo #16 - more comics by Mark A. Zingarelli, Drew Friedman, Richard
Crumb, D.P. Eichhorn, Dianne Noomin, David Collier, Kim Deitch, and more.
Also a great article on Punk Magazine, produced from 76-79. Last Gasp.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Zines [sent to the Sacred PO Box]
Prometheus Books - Spring/Summer 1993 catalog, with hundreds of books on
skepticism, freethought, philosophy, health, science and more. Plus, it
is a source for "The Mask of Nostradamus", James Randi's new book exploring
the alleged prophecies of Nostradamus. (like the recent non-earthquake in LA)
Prometheus Books, 59 John Glen Dr. Buffalo, NY 14228-2197 800-421-0351
Trigger Cut #4 - feature BBS listings, "Jade Statue" story about the sad state
of the music scene, new Jello formulas, music reviews, and other ramblings.
PO Box 891 N. Olmsted, OH 44070 - #5 should be out in late Aug/early Sept.
&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&*&
MR. AND MRS. P. H.
==================
by James "Kibo" Parry
"I'm melting! I'm melting!" screamed Mr. Potato Head right after the
first blast. The mushroom cloud was already looming orange on the
horizon as Mrs. P. H. threw a bucket of water on him. It was too late.
His body had distorted and his facial features were fused to the brown
mass. His arms were white puddles on the floor. He sobbed into his
beloved wife's plastic '60s hairdo.
"None of the kids will love me now! I'm all El Greco-esque! Worse,
I'm Dalified! I'm gross, I'm hideous!"
"Honey, don't think of it that way. Look at the bright side. Now you
glow in the dark!"
He tried to put on a happy face, but the frown was welded to his skin.
"Why, gosh, you're right! I suppose I just might be even more appealing
to children of all ages now! Thank you, dear--that made me feel swell!
But--uh oh!"
"What is it, snookums?"
"My big blue sneakerfeet are permanently fused to our avocado-green
linoleum! How will the kidlets play with me if I can't leave home?"
"Gee, sweetheart, I don't know. Maybe I could borrow a plastic knife
from the Play-Doh Fun Factory next door and amputate."
"Wow! That would be super of you, dear!"
She ran off to get the precision instrument, returning in a few
seconds. Mr. P. H. could hardly wait.
"What was it like outside, snuggles? Was the Earth all devastated and
icky?"
"I'm afraid so, dear. It looks like our army lost the nuclear
war--G.I. Joe, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, the Transformers, even
Bazooka Joe seem to have been reduced to pools of glowing slag."
Mr. P. H. burst into tears. She began to saw off his feet.
Outside, the real potatoes opened their eyes.
(THE END)
[Really cool graphic picture here]
VvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvVvV
Jim Morrison: Space Ranger part 2
by T. Rev <hin9@midway.uchicago.edu>
At 0300 they were going to hit the domes.
At 3100 they hit the stage. They hit it late. Very late. A
thirty-two hour day will do that to you.
Cornelius came out first. He strapped on the six-string bass
with a contemptuous flourish and laid down a blues riff he'd
originally written for `You can't do that', twelve years ago and
half the Milky Way away.
Moon walked out then, picked up the rhythm, pushing it forward
with a stuttering, impatient point-counterpoint on snare and
cymbals.
Hendrix came in on guitar, which was strange, for no one had seen
him take the stage; they expected some dramatic entrance, perhaps.
But Hendrix had given that up. All he wanted to do was play, and
play well.
But the music was not alive until Morrison went to the
microphone, and then it was as if he had filled the club with dark
radiance, his eyes burning with a controlled madness.
A sideways glance, a feral sneer, a wave of his hand, and the
others took his energy and carried it along. Meanwhile, Morrison
cradled the microphone like a lover, his eyes heavy-lidded, his body
swaying gently. He began to speak:
"Green eyed lady
Taste of copper
Crawl on the sand
Shed our skin..."
A burst of enthusiastic chattering splashed from the audience.
Something about the local life form had given the words an
unexpected significance. Morrison looked up, curious; he realized
what had happened, smiled, and sang again. Words blended into
music, music into passion, passion into madness, and Morrison led
the savage parade.
They performed old Doors songs; old Hendrix, Dylan, and Deep Fix;
and finally an extended blues Jam, with Morrison's improvised lyrics
a Dionysian centerpiece. The audience howled and rocked and slapped
their limbs against their backs. They hadn't had this much fun
since Bonham, Rhoads and Scott had visited their outpost.
And then, it was over. The lights went up, the curtain fell, and
the magic fled. Hoots of approval came from the packed club, and
Morrison walked, dreamily, toward the curtain and the audience
beyond, until Moon grasped him firmly by the shoulder.
"Jim," he said gently, "we have work to do."
Morrison looked at Moon, stunned--then doubled up and vomited
violently onto the stage.
At 0330 they hit the domes. They hit them late.
Moon peered over the edge of the dune towards the domes. He
paused a few times to transfer information from the nightscope to
his computer deck. The others sat in the darkness with their backs
to the dune, gripping their weapons.
Morrison stared at his rifle, turning it this way and that in the
moonlight, watching the light filter through the crystal. Once
again, he was caught up in something he didn't understand. Was he
responsible? He had been around the world, he had killed men, all
in trying to understand what that word meant. Now he was here, on
another world, ready to kill again, and he still didn't know. It
wasn't right action he was concerned with, but whether action was
right at all. He had had a long discussion with a holy man in Tibet
on that count. The man taught him a few interesting card tricks,
but they never had come to any real conclusions. A few weeks after
Morrison left Tibet, he heard that the Chinese had had the old man
shot for 'subversive activities'. Morrison found the incident an
interesting counterpoint to the romanticism he was sometimes prone
to. Art did not, apparently, cover such things.
Defining the problem seemed as difficult as solving it; he
couldn't even prove to himself that it needed solving. He hated
the idea of following orders, though. So what was he doing here?
Why was he taking orders from this Bob person?
Maybe it was just something to do, to keep from getting lost in
his own mind. He'd done that for a few months, rotting from the
inside in a bathtub in Paris. That was why he'd faked his death,
and become a soldier. There was no time to contemplate suicide in
the face of murder. But that was fading, and he found himself
facing the familiar horrors once more. As above, so below.
"I've got the final projections," said Moon. "Let's move."
Snapshots from Hell:
Frame 1:
A man wearing a black uniform, white piping, silhouetted against
the night, chest slightly distorted by a crystal-slivered spray of
yellow light where the bullets are hitting his force-screen.
Slightly puzzled expression.
Frame 2: The guard's chest explodes inward in an oily black
shower. Expression unchanged.
Hendrix ran from the back gate across the brightly lit courtyard
toward a small black building. Stopping in its shadow for a moment,
he scanned the area quickly, then motioned toward Morrison and Moon.
>From the other end of the compound came the boom of Cornelius's
shaped charges and the crackle of gunfire. The security would be
occupied for at least a few minutes. Moon dashed across the
courtyard, terminal case clutched tightly under one arm; Morrison
covered him, then ran across himself.
"Hey, Moonboy," panted Hendrix. "What are these crazy humans
doing on this planet, anyway? They're not the home-grown four-armed
music lovers we just left."
Moon glanced at him with a tight smile. "Where else would
CabalCo put a research project like this? This is a backwards
planet. No electronics more sophisticated than the Marshall amp.
Offworld spies would give themselves away. Easy to maintain
security. Why do you think we're taking a goddamned computer
program by force?"
There was a rumble of thunder above the gunfire. A wall of rain
swept over the compound, the patter undercutting the crackle of
bullets.
"Good. More distractions," said Hendrix. He cut from the cover
of the building deeper into the compound. Moon and Morrison
followed.
"This is the building," announced Moon. "Getting in shouldn't be
a problem." He pulled out a small metal drill and started removing
a plate in the wall. "Getting to our objective may be. I don't
actually know where the computers are. I'll know when I see them."
He removed the panel, exposing an anonymous jumble of cables and
fibers. He opened up the terminal case and pulled out some oblong
pieces of wire mesh attached to red metal lines. He attached one
with gold alligator clips to a grayish box tucked behind the tangle,
and the other to a similar black box.
"Watch the door," he said.
Three low musical tones and the doors slid apart, the whisper
drowned out by the sounds of rainfall and gunplay. Another second
and they were through the door, Morrison, Hendrix, and Moon, and it
shut behind them, leaving them in a darkened corridor. The noise
outside was muffled here, competing with the efficient hum of hidden
cooling units.
Hendrix stepped away from the doorway into the open, pivoting
smoothly and quickly in a full circle before stopping in the center
of the floor. Dim blue light from the fiberoptic lines at his
temples traced jittering lines on the walls.
He gave a quick, sharp nod toward one end of the hall, and dashed
to the first junction. Moon followed. Morrison, rear guard, took
Hendrix's position in the hall near the door, until Hendrix had
moved again. They continued in this way for fifteen minutes--run-
stop-look-run--down halls and stairs and tunnels, until they stood
outside a thick door.
Moon nodded, produced a dull-gray sphere with two prongs covered
in red plastic. He pulled off the plastic sleeves and pressed the
prongs near the electronic lock. The door opened inward with a hum.
"Seems they discovered solid state before the wheel," he
remarked.
Beyond the door lay a huge room, lit with a rich, diffuse golden
glow. Glittering banks of lights lay at the edges of the room.
Moon smirked.
"Contact."
As Moon boldly entered the room, though, the light changed, going
from gold to silver, then fading almost to nothing. Then Hendrix
spoke.
"Hey, uh..." Hendrix looked confused. "What the hell am I
doing here?" he suddenly shouted, tearing the lines from his
forehead and throwing them and the rifle into a corner. "See you
later, man." And he stalked away into the dark.
"Jimi!" shouted Morrison in shock. He turned back to Moon.
"What..." Then Morrison saw the disappointed but unsurprised look
in Moon's eyes.
"He has a point, you know," said Moon with a sigh. "None of this
makes any sense." And with a shrug, Moon exploded upwards in a
spray of light.
Morrison's hand flew reflexively to his eyes as Moon's image
burned into his retinas. Blinded, in shock, Morrison sank to his
knees, then sat heavily on the concrete floor, blinking. But his
training asserted itself, even though he hadn't practiced the mental
exercises since Tibet, and his mind cleared before his vision did.
"Goddamn sonofaFUCK A PIG!" Not the incantation for banishing
spirits of fear, but good enough to focus his ki. He rolled to the
closest spot of cover--a box near the door which was slightly bigger
than he was. Then, his vision returned, he surveyed the room again.
The lights at the other side of the room were gone, as was the
unearthly glow. In fact, the room resembled nothing more than a
run-down warehouse.
He looked back through the door. Beyond lay a rain-slick street,
a Seven-Eleven sign cutting through the gloom.
He was in a run-down warehouse.
He stood, stiffly bringing himself to his full height. He walked
across the street and entered the store. In the garish florescent
light, the slurpee machine, the cheap beer, the cans of Dinty Moore
stew all seemed far more real than the ordeal he'd just been
through. He picked up a newspaper. THE PHILADELPHIA ENQUIRER.
JULY 19, 1987. It wasn't over, then. To Morrison, it was late
1974. And Philadelphia wasn't a city he cared to be in. Out in the
street, five cop cars came screaming by. Morrison counted. None of
them stopped.
He paid for the newspaper, and left the store. With only the
vaguest of plans, he walked around the warehouse, surveying it,
hoping to find Jimi, or some clue about what had just happened. It
began to rain again. Morrison didn't notice.
On the other side of the warehouse, he found Jerry Cornelius. He
was sprawled crazily in the alleyway, half his face blown off.
Rainwater was collecting in the hollow around the other eye, running
down the side of his face like tears.
Morrison was surprised at the depth of his sorrow for the dead
man. In his own way, Jerry was just looking for a good time.
Morrison had been like that, once. Or maybe not. Maybe Jerry had
been trying to get killed all along. Then he and Morrison had that
in common, instead.
Morrison looked up, and for the first time noticed the rain. He
needed someplace to go. He checked his pockets. The knife he'd
picked up during the Doors's last tour. Some fake ID, that was ten
years out of date, and said he was a combat medic for the US 10th
Army. Keys to his apartment in Paris. He thought about his wife.
Would she recognize him? Would she speak to him if she did? With a
jerk, he pulled himself back to the present. One gun, which looked
like a piece of avant-garde sculpture--and might be. He'd never
fired it. He didn't know if it could be fired. No money.
He looked down at Cornelius. "Sorry, Jerry." He squatted down
and started searching through Jerry's clothes. He found ten gold
coins sewn in the lining of Jerry's car coat. His wallet contained
ten thousand British pounds, a bit less in US dollars. In an ankle
holster, an air pistol. Under his shirt, half a kilogram of plastic
explosive. Around his neck, a two-gram vial of cocaine.
Morrison took the coins and the wallet. He got up to leave,
rethought it, squatted back down, took the gun. He then walked into
the night, in search of a hotel where he could make a few phone
calls.
<><><><><> TO BE CONTINUED..... <><><><><>
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
A Superfortress is our "Bob"!
"And yet then did they come to him awash in the spirits, falling
and stumbling and calling out his name. But he walked on from them
until he came in unto Norton, and did spurt in her awhile, biding
his time unto the return of his disciplinarians, who were of goodly
number thereto." (Conniptions 1:23)
NOw let me make this perfectly clear, there can be no escape. They
have installed doors by the stairwells. All lavatories have been
locked for your convenience. Thus, all forms must henceforth be filled
out in triplicate. The forms used heretofore will not be used nor will
they be accepted. The new forms are not available. You must get the
new forms from the secretariate in charge of forms. The secretariate
is closed until further notice. You will play by these rules or be
thrown into a CONDITION OF DOUBT from which you can only excape by
filling in the proper forms and having them signed by the lavatory
captain, who is now on leave.
All those who do not comply with these new TRs will be put on the RPF
and declared a Surpressive person. Do not let yourself be fooled.
Pick up the cans now or be sentenced to watch the ashes of the DEAD
ELRON!
Take that one, Meester Beeg!
Quickly, Mosley, the safe!
****************************************************************************
There are no such things as "things". Objects are ghostly, with no
definite properties. A new, endogenously created regional security
system -- aimed at regional cooperation and the nurturing of long-run
common interests in fields of defense -- has become a must. Picture a
football game without goals. Dying is a period of categorical
ambiguity in which a person is still among the mundane living, but
babbles of the past, a sign that he or she is also in the process of
becoming one with the ancestral shades. The transition between these
two is often referred to as the wetting--non-wetting transition. They
can experience this loss as a break in the continuity of the life
cycle. On the other hand, the left rotations of each gyroscope yield
zero weight change for all frequencies of rotation and both attitudes.
Couples also need help "in deciding when enough is enough," she said.
Further progress means eroding.
Angular derviatives are zero. The great clustered eyes breaking and
remaking the spontaneous repertoire of the infant. Aesthetic practice
toward a science of ultimates. Imitative responses title the
enlightenment, the legacy of principal curvatures. The way of symbols.
The two psychotherapies were selected because they were brief,
well-defined and easily distinguished from other psychotherapies. We
had no chamber pots in the room for the boys, but the girls had one.
It's at this juncture that more than a few falter, wondering if they
picked the wrong goal. A tangle of nameless limbs, whiplike
filaments, claws, wings...
Moustache. Imipramine. Nadzornika.
------doom@portia.Stanford.EDU (Joseph Brenner)
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
[Full-page "POLICE - Whoever you vote for, we're always here"
poster on this page. Too bad you're stuck with the ASCII version.]
=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=
U P C O M I N G C O N V E N T I O N S
[from gandalf.rutgers.edu, /sfl/cons.txt]
July 23-25, 1993 (New Jersey)
PHROLICON 9. Clarion Hotel, Rt. 73 at I-295, Mt. Laurel, NJ;
(609)234-7300; rms $68, $78 with jacuzzi. GoH: Craig Shaw Gardner.
Relaxacon featuring art show, dealer's room, filking, videos, gaming,
more. Memb: $20 until 7/10/93, $25 after. Info: Phrolicon 9, P.O. Box
42195, Philadelphia, PA 19101-2195.
July 23-25, 1993 (New Jersey)
DEXCON 2. Holiday Inn Jetport, 1000 Spring St., Elizabeth, NJ;
(908)355-1700; rms $75. Gaming convention featuring live role-playing
games. Memb: $28 until 7/5/93, $35 after; additional fees for live
role-playing. Info: Dexcon, P.O. Box 3594, Grand Central Station, New
York, NY 10163; (718)881-4575.
July 23-25, 1993 (Wisconsin)
CONGENIAL V. Quality Inn South, Madison WI; rms $51. GoHs: Phyllis
Eisenstein, Fred Levy-Haskell, Steven Brust. Relaxacon. Memb: $20
until 7/4/93, $25 after. Info: Congenial V, Box 44146, Madison WI
53744-4146.
July 23-25, 1993 (Canada, Ontario)
TORONTO TREK VII. Regal Constellation Hotel, Toronto, Canada. Guests:
George Takei, Barbara Hambly, Marina Sirtis, Julia Ecklar, more. Memb:
C$35 until 6/30/93, C$40 after. Info: TORONTO TREK, Suite 0116, Box
187, 65 Front Street West, Toronto, Ontario M5J 1E6 Canada; (416)699-4666.
July 30-August 2, 1993 (Minnesota)
MYTHCON XXIV. Minneapolis East Bank campus of the University of
Minnesota - Twin Cities, Minneapolis, MN. GoHs: Jane Yolen, Carol
Kendall; Keynote Speaker: Jack Zipes. Theme: Children's fantasy. Memb:
$45 until 5/31/93, $50 after. Info: The Mythcon XXIV Committee, Attn:
Joan Verba, Corresponding Entity, PO Box 1363, Minnetonka, MN 55345;
(612) 292-8887 (David or Jo Ann); email: d-lene@vm1.spcs.umn.edu or
d-lena@uminn1.bitnet or 70451.2545@compuserve.com.
July 31-August 1, 1993 (Michigan)
BACCHANAL 2. Lake Orion, MI. Relaxacon. Info: Bacchanal '93, Box 414,
Lake Orion MI 48361; (313)693-5543.
July 30-August 1, 1993 (Rhode Island)
NECON 13. Bryant College, Smithfield RI. GoHs: Ellen Datlow, Gahan
Wilson; AGoH: Rick Lieder; SGoH: Kathe Koja; TM: Matthew Costello; Memb:
$160 sngl/ $142 per person dbl (includes room and meals), $35 commuters.
Info: NECon, Box 528. E. Greenwich RI 02818; (401)823-3242.
August 6-8, 1993 (Kentucky)
RIVERCON XVIII. Hurstbourne Hotel & Conference Center, Louisville, KY;
$58 sngl/dbl, $62 tpl, $65 quad. GoH: Joe Haldeman; AGoH; Vincent DiFate;
FGoHs: Jane & Scott Dennis; TM: Bob Tucker. Memb: $20 until 7/20/93, $30
after. Info: RiverCon XVIII, Box 58009, Louisville, KY 40268-0009.
August 7-8, 1993 (Finland)
FINNCON '93. Old Student House, Helsinki, Finland. GoHs: Terry Pratchett,
Bryan Talbot. Memb: NO FEE. Info: email: veintie@cc.helsinki.fi.
August 13-15, 1993 (Kansas)
MACABRECON. Family Inn, Wichita, KS; rms $29.77. FGoH: Crispin Burnham.
Relaxacon. Memb: $13. Info: Macabrecon, Box 47036, Wichita KS 67201.
August 13-15, 1993 (Sweden)
CONSCIENCE '93. Stockholm, Sweden. Foreign GoH: Jerry Pournelle; Other
guests: TBA. Memb: TBA. Info: Conscience '93,c/o Segerdahl, Prastgardsgatan
19B, S-752 30 Uppsala, Sweden; email: cons93@bugend.edvina.se.
August 14-15, 1993 (California, Southern)
FandCon I. Nipomo CA. SG: Melisa C. Michaels. Info: Marji Holt
466 Concepcion Ave, Nipomo, CA 93444-9131.
August 19-22, 1993 (California, Southern)
SAN DIEGO COMIC-CON. San Diego Convention Center, San Diego, CA.
Guests: Roger Zelazny, Michael Whelan, Robert Williams, Murphy Anderson,
Jerry Scott, Rick Kirkman, Charles Vess, more. Hundreds of writers,
artists, and others from comics, sf/fantasy, animation, films, tv; art
show; dealer's room; gaming; masquerade; Robert A. Heinlein Blood Drive;
filking; more. Memb: $40 (children and seniors $20) until 7/10/93, $50
($25 for children and seniors) after. Info: Comic-Con, P.O. Box 128458,
San Diego, CA 92112; (619)685-8118.
August 20-22, 1993 (Massachusetts)
NECRONOMICON: THE CTHULHU MYTHOS CON. Sheraton Tara & Resort, Danvers
MA; $80 sngl/dbl + $15 per additional person. GoH: Robert Bloch; AGoH:
Gahan Wilson. Memb: $30 until 5/31/93, $40 after. Info: Necronomicon,
Box 1320, Back Bay Annex, Boston MA 02117.
August 20-22, 1993 (Minnesota)
REINCONATION 3. Radisson South, Bloomington MN; rms $63. GoH: Debbie
Notkin; guests: TBA. Memb: $18 until 7/20/93, $25 after (children $7
until 7/20/93, $10 after). Info: Reinconation 3, P.O. Box 8297, Lake
Street Station, Minneapolis, MN 55408.
August 20-22, 1993 (New Mexico)
BUBONICON 25. Howard Johnson East, Albuquerque, NM; $42 sngl/dbl.
GoHs: Kevin J. Anderson, Robert C. Cornett; AGoH: Ann Marie Eastburn;
TMs: Jennifer Roberson, Mark O'Green. Memb: $18 until 5/31/93, $21
until 7/31/93, $24 after. Info: NMSF Conference, Box 37257,
Albuquerque, NM 87176; (505)266-8905.
August 22, 1993 (Wisconsin)
FANTASTICON 10. Sheraton-Mayfair Hotel, Milwaukee WI. Emph: Star Trek.
Memb: $3. Info: Fantasticon SHows, 3368 N. 51st Blvd., Milwaukee WI
53216; (414)871-1502.
August 28-29, 1993 (France)
FRANCE NATIONAL CON 20. PTT Centre Culturel de la Source, Orleans,
France. GoHs: TBA (all female). Info: France National Con 20, c/o
Danielle Martignol, 1 rue Gabrielle-Jaillard, Bondoufle F-91070, France.
August 29-30, 1993 (California, Northern)
COMEX '93. Civic Auditorium, San Jose, CA. Guests: John Skipp, Craig
Spector, other media guests. Memb: $9/day, $15/weekend, at door. Info:
Comex, Box 20392, El Sobrante CA 94820-0392; (510)222-8663.
*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@----------------------------------------
@@@@@@@^^~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~^^@@@@@@@@ ************ R A V E S ****************
@@@@@@^ ~^ @ @@ @ @ @ I ~^@@@@@@----------------------------------------
@@@@@ ~ ~~ ~I @@@@@ Sat July 17 Atlanta, Ga. 404-936-9497
@@@@' ' _,w@< @@@@ tix: $15 UTOPIA 10pm - 10am
@@@@ @@@@@@@@w___,w@@@@@@@@ @ @@@
@@@@ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ I @@@ DJs: Adam - X, Frankie Bones, Wink,
@@@@ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@*@[ i @@@ Leven Degeyndt, Scott Henry, MHZ
@@@@ @@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@[][ | ]@@@ MR SCAREY, D.J. Koolayd, FACTOR-E
@@@@ ~_,,_ ~@@@@@@@~ ____~ @ @@@
@@@@ _~ , , `@@@~ _ _`@ ]L J@@@ Massive Intelligent Lighting
@@@@ , @@w@ww+ @@@ww``,,@w@ ][ @@@@ Intellibeams, Emulators &
@@@@, @@@@www@@@ @@@@@@@ww@@@@@[ @@@@ Optic Eruptions.
@@@@@_|| @@@@@@P' @@P@@@@@@@@@@@[|c@@@@ Orbitrons, 17 & up - Smart Beverages
@@@@@@w| '@@P~ P]@@@-~, ~Y@@^'],@@@@@@
@@@@@@@[ _ _J@@Tk ]]@@@@@@ INTERNATIONAL BALLROOM
@@@@@@@@,@ @@, c,,,,,,,y ,w@@[ ,@@@@@@@ 6615 NEW PEACHTREE RD
@@@@@@@@@ i @w ====--_@@@@@ @@@@@@@@ ATLANTA, GA
@@@@@@@@@@`,P~ _ ~^^^^Y@@@@@ @@@@@@@@@----------------------------------------
@@@@^^=^@@^ ^' ,ww,w@@@@@ _@@@@@@@@@@ Sat July 17 MIAMI BEACH, FL TIME
@@@_xJ~ ~ , @@@@@@@P~_@@@@@@@@@@@@ (800) 889-TIME Tix: $13, $17 door
@@ @, ,@@@,_____ _,J@@@@@@@@@@@@@
@@L `' ,@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ AN ALL NIGHT OUTDOOR BEACH PARTY.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@ LIVE PERFORMANCE>> VINYL JUNKIES
| ----------------
For hardcopy w/graphics, send SASE to:| DJs>> D.J. HELL, PAUL WITCHER, KIMBALL
| ----- COLLINS, SHARKEY, LUIS DIAZ
Holy Temple of Mass Consumption | SUGARDIKK (NY) & Guests
PO Box 30904 |----------------------------------------
Raleigh, NC 27622 | Sat July 17 cocoa beach, fl
| (407)799-0600 Suburban Bass
For ezine version, mail: |
| DJs Chris Fortier, D Xtreme, John O'Neil
Slack@ncsu.edu to get on list | Andy Hughes, DJ Three
quartz.rutgers.edu - back | event is at marz in cocoa beach-3 miles
issues (128.6.60.6) | S of Ron's Liquor A1A behind ABC Liquor
| Gainsville (904)378-1524
--------------------------------------| Orlando (407)422-1705
Saturday, July 24 Winston-Salem (NC) | Cocoa/ Miami (407)799-0600
METAMORPHOSIS III (919) 691-1407 |----------------------------------------
| Sunday, July 18 WASHINGTON, DC
DJs: mickey, g-boy,rick phifer,graflin| (202) 331-4463 DAYBREAK
++live performance by "soundshock" |
| FREE PARTY! July 18 9 AM - Sunset
Winston-Salem (NC) Colliseum Annex |----------------------------------------
11pm until 7am. This is Dry. Tix:$10 | Saturday, July 24 Gainsville, Fl.
University Parkway North, Right on | (407)872-1844 *****Day One*******
DEACON Blvd. Gate #5. |
--------------------------------------| DJ's:CHANG,CHRIS GALLEGER,HOUSE JUNKIE,
Sat July 24 South Beach, Miami | RICH ROSISAO,AK-1200,Todd Barron,
(407)331-3252 Xtension | Bruce Wilcox, DEBBIE-D, GYRA, VOYD
House Music against racism | SPECIAL GUEST PA: SHOCKWAVE
Deckmasters: Bob Day,Jorge Acosta,Andy| open at 10:00pm JULY 24
Hughes,Carlos Espinosa,Chris Harshman|----------------------------------------
| Sat August 7 WASHINGTON, DC
B-GROoV-e Doors open 11pm | * r a v e l a n d *
Club Nu $14 at door - ID |
245 - 22nd St. |an 18 hour gathering of epic proportions
South Beach, Miami | Performing LIVE: ALTERN-8, Eon, Dag,
--------------------------------------| ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ XCrash, Prototype 909
Sat August 17 Atlanta, Ga. | DJs: Bones, AdamX, Hyperactive, Wink,
FANTAZIA PART 2 the PLEASURE ZONE | Jimmy Crash, Lee, Jethro X, Finger,
( 404) 662-6609 | dieselBoy, Hal X, Messiah, & MORE
A Taste of the Flyers to Come | * 80K sq' dance floor * 3 sound stages
Ticketmaster Outlets Nationwide | (202) 466-1692 (202) 296-9760
--
Holy Temple of Mass $ >>> slack@ncsu.edu <<< $ "My used underwear
Consumption! $ $ is legal tender in
PO Box 30904 $ BBS: (919) 782-3095 $ 28 countries!"
Raleigh, NC 27622 $ Warning: I hoard pennies. $ --"Bob"
