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here's an interesting interview in Hotwired with V. Vale, the creative force behind the RE/Search book series (of which Monster Boy has a substantial collection). Vale likes to spelunk the obscure nooks and crannies of subversive culture, occasionally (at least in the case of body piercing) inadvertantly introducing them into the mainstream. Interestingly, Vale believes that any subculture documented on the Web is already destroyed. That's certainly true of Big Fun, I would have to agree. But the fame of net presence had nothing to do with it; Big Fun destroyed itself.

At work so far, Nathan VanHooser has visted me and dropped off surplus PS/2 memory boards (SIMMs). And Monster Boy and Matthew Hart just arrived to surf the web and congratulate me on "getting laid." I'm terribly embarrassed.

I've said before that hangover is conducive to feeling of regret. But you know; why should I regret anything? I'm a young(ish) man with an unflagging libido. I can't subsist simply on a diet of ramen and feeble kisses, you know.

********

We'd heard some dogs and people living it up down the street and that had reminded us that the potential still existed to add excitement to our lives.

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he evening had the promise of being a dull one. Matthew Hart was off at work and it was just Leah, Deya and myself at the house drinking the last of yesterday's substantial excess of vino and beer. In an effort to find excitement, Deya left on her bike. And soon thereafter Leah and I set out on a little expedition by foot. We'd heard some dogs and people living it up down the street and that had reminded us that the potential still existed to add excitement to our lives.

We headed down Observatory to Jefferson Park Avenue (JPA) and continued towards the University. We saw one party on the corner of Shamrock and JPA, but the people weren't exactly our type:

The boys were the generic Wahoo types with their khaki shorts, V-lettered baseball caps and identical buzzed-on-the-sides, short-on-the-top-haircuts. And the girls all had ponytails, miniskirts, and looks of "oh my gawd, I think I'm drunk this time!" on their faces.

We climbed into one of the bulldozers that is instrumental in replacing a strip of trees and honeysuckle with a modern concrete sidewalk on the west side of JPA. We had hopes of starting it and going on a rampage, but of course that was impossible. About this time Deya came riding up. She had news of a possibly crashable party a block away.

The party was at a place Leah referred to as the "dork fraternity." Dorks they may have been, but they were somehow having a fairly successful party. Leah noted that Natalie, Shonan and their loony mother live in a little house around back and she suggested we go visit them first.

The mother of Shonan and Natalie was there, as was Natalie's sidekick Sarah (the girl of last night's indisgression), smoking cigarettes and reading Newsweek out back with the mosquitoes. Sarah suggested we drink some of her Wild Turkey bourbon.

The founder of "NordicTrack" is allegedly a right-wing extremist and his use of the term "Nordic" carries all the baggage with which the Nazis saddled it.

What a strange little society: Natalie/Shonan (and their somewhat loony but completely adorable mother), Sarah, who comes by to hang out, and a number of extremely fat cats with dignified 19th Century names that I've already forgotten. But that's not all. There's also a scrawny little guy named Toby; he's an especially dorky friend of Shonan's who attends Oberlin College and is a computer science major. Shonan and Toby arrived while we were hanging out in the living room around the "Nordi Rider."
The founder of "NordicTrack" is allegedly a right-wing extremist and his use of the term "Nordic" carries all the baggage with which the Nazis saddled it. This household wanted no part in any of that so Shonan obscured the "c" with black magic marker.

I


  went with Leah, Deya, Shonan and Toby on a mission to crash the party at the dork fraternity. This didn't prove difficult. It's summer time and frats like to develop their reputations as being able to attract sizeable crowds to their parties even in the lean times.

So we had a little of their cheap beer at the keg and watched them. One girl with white shorts and a lacey see-through blouse was surrounded by a group of horny guys, one of whom almost grabbed her ass but then thought better of it. Then there was this couple almost humping each other against the porch rail. Inside, up-tempo hip-hoppy/poppy techno was playing as a mixed-gender group of wildebeasts fratkids danced half-heartedly. They dwindled away, then suddenly a bunch of girls rushed in and began dancing energetically, soon to be joined by the boys. One didn't have to listen carefully to make out the words, which were repeated nonpoetic references to cunnilingus.

How does one plan a date rape party when a bunch of girls are sitting there knitting their socks?

What a weird fraternity! They had the usual overemphasized framed collections of various member photos posted, and to look at them you soon learned the place is a coed household! That's right: boys and girls. I'd never heard of such a thing. Those boys must feel awfully comfortable with their gender roles. I wonder what the guys in the other frats think of them. The presence of female residents would seem to neuter the place of all its fun. How does one plan a date rape party when a bunch of girls are sitting there knitting their socks?

When the beer ran out, we drank some of the frat's unique alcoholic cocktail, a beverage imaginatively referred to as "The Purple Drink." It contained grape juice and a variety of distilled spirits as well as whole grapes floating like dislodged eyeballs. It could have used better presentation; it was contained in a big black garbage bag.

Deya and Leah scoped the place out for additional alcohol resources and soon had secured a nearly-full box of vino and about a litre of ultra-cheap Bowman's Tequila. They put these in the stairway up from the basement and went around back to snag them. As these things were done, Toby the dork had to be silenced occasionally. He was worked up and excited by how BAD we were being and couldn't refrain from offerring encouraging commentary in his loud (if cracking) voice.

Matthew and I sang a few Jimmy Buffet songs together and talked about how much meaning Jimmy Buffet has brought to our lives.

We hung out again briefly at Shonan's house, then Deya, Leah and I left. We came across Matthew Hart and Rory (the British waiter at the C&O) on JPA. Theyd assumed the night was going to be a sober one until they saw the loot we were bearing.

B


ack at Kappa Mutha Fucka, Theresa had a large amount of marijuana, some of which she gave me in payment for letting her scrape resin from my parapharnalia. This we smoked, and then some more. Then some more. Matthew smoked a lot of pot as well, even though he likes to say he doesn't smoke pot anymore. I was in rare form, talking aggressively and initiating sing-alongs. Matthew and I sang a few Jimmy Buffet songs together and talked about how much meaning Jimmy Buffet has brought to our lives.

Meanwhile Rory talked about how very much he wants to get laid. Such things left Leah disgusted with "our friend from across the pond." Not that she hasn't said similar things in similar situtations.

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