In the afternoon after I awoke, I was at UVA's Cocke Hall, and I was doing my usual Monday morning "detach from the real world and enter cyberspace" thing. It causes concern in my friends (Elizabeth and Monster Boy, for example), but for me it is a highly rewarding sabbatical from the wear and tear of real world interactions. I wrap myself in my own muic (via high-bandwidth connection to a CD player) while visualizing the creative output of the wired world (via mid-bandwidth connection to the Internet). Some of this creative output is more rational than others. What follows is some email I've received over the past two days. The scary thing is that I think this Rev. James Charleston is for real. The middle email is from my co-worker Robert. It seems that Sunday evening the Webmaster actually received a long distance phone call from the Reverend, who lives and works on Whidbey Island in Washington State. Coincidentally, that's where Jessika spent the summer of 1995 taking a painting course with a bunch of crazy Scientologists.
prepare for the craziness
Subject: looking for problems
Date: Sun, 06 Apr 1997 15:13:28 -0700
From: Silvermoon [firstname.lastname@example.org]
Your ISP has been notified of the legal aspects of your witchcraft page. You are seriously lacking in the education on religion, satiracle or not. Your main concern is that you provided phone number that is suppost to be for a witchcraft hotline with the ability to contact the FBI. The phone number is for a Pregnancy Center in your local area. A link has been sent to the FBI, the Pregnancy center, and other Witchcraft legal groups. A call has been made to your ISP also about the legal matters of this page.
Education is the key to life, Your lack of education is the key to problems.
Rev. James Charleston
Subject: Which Witch?!
Date: Mon, 7 Apr 1997 01:21:16 +0100
From: email@example.com (Robert)
I guess Senor Hoff has forwarded you the bit 'o hate mail that came in from some rube in Seattle tonight. He also called (amazing!) but i did not talk to him.
I really enjoyed your SATIRE page (especially the Far Right Wing letters and the part about sleeping while the sun is still up). I'm amazed that Rev. Rube did not understand the meaning of the word satire. i think he must be a witch himself and as such deserves the cleansing flames of retribu... eer... nevermind.
One minor point that came up had a nugget of value though. unless the 804 phone number is actually the voice mail of a friend (who is helping complete the humor value of the piece), they will eventually get swamped with a parcel of crank callers, which is why all radio and T-Wee phone numbers sart with the robotic- 555 exchange.
You could consider altering the number to the C'Ville film-line or some the 700 club telethon line, something less likely to cause a real grievance... Unless the Clinic number is actually Althea Hurt's in which case you got it right the first time!
I near coughed up a lung tonight, thanks to this irate bozo and your warped talent.
Subject: Law suet waiting to happen
Date: Sun, 06 Apr 1997 14:58:00 -0700
From: Silvermoon [firstname.lastname@example.org]
I am Rev. James Charleston. O a writing you about a user on your server. It appears the individual is disgruntled with a vertain pregnancy center and is under educated in world religion. The site information is http://atlas.comet.net/%7Egus/satire/witchcraft.html
I have sent the link to the pregnacy center as well as called them at the phone number on the web site, which by the way is suppost to be a victums of witchcraft hotline with the ability to contact the FBI. I know the FBI would love to connected with this so I sent them a copy also. I think you should think about the problems this individual is bringing to your business.
I have also sent the link to several wiccan/witchcraft legal groups. Thank you for your swift responce to this matter. I would like a responce to this please.
Rev. James Charleston
as always, spelling mistakes have been preserved!
Back at the Dynashack, I found the boy Jesse, Leticia and Cecelia the Brazilian Girls and Karen the German Girl hanging out on my front porch. They were as bored as usual. My arrival was thus a wonderful thing. If they were baby birds and I was their mother than the worm I would bring them would be entertainment. Mother birds work hard. Too hard, I'm discovering. But I suppose my life could instead be filled with loneliness. Loneliness was never too bad though. What sucked was feeling that I was missing out. On what?
The idea soon became one of "let's get some alcohol." I figured that the alcohol to get would be vodka, since it is probably the best bang for the buck available. Off we set in the Dodge Dart. It was already after six so we had to go down to Barrack's Road Shopping Center's ABC store. Contributions were combined and I fetched a litre of cheap vodka while Jesse got a gallon of "citrus beverage drink" or some such fake concoction. In the parking lot Cecelia was going through my hair and finding lots of grey she hadn't known was there. The day before Sara Poiron had been plucking grey strands out of my head and running around with a big grin on her face showing people. I have decided that I am not troubled by grey hair. Cecelia said she thought the grey was beautiful, but then again, she says the same thing about the dead.
On the way back, I saw Eric the Huffanator Huffman crossing 14th Street at the C&O bridge. Cecelia urged me to hit him, that to hit a nazi skinhead would be "5000 points." I declined the opportunity. Maybe some other day.
While the others went off to find LSD, Jesse and I sat on the Dynashack porch drinking out beverages. Jesse doesn't talk all that much, just short little phrases said quickly. When more than one person is in his company, he passes much time silently.
The girls returned from serveral fruitless LSD pursuits and then Bn arrived. According to Leticia, Bn almost hit a cat (which would have been negative 1000 points, says Cecelia). But Bn was apparently suffering from some kind of bad day, and he didn't want to hear shit like that.
Suddenly I noticed the comet Hale-Bopp high in the sky to the west. It was a bright star with a short faint tail sitting prominently above the glare of the street lights. Since we weren't doing anything else, I suggested we go climb the 14th Street Parking Garage to see it better. So we poured the last of the vodka and took our glasses with us. The comet was a beautiful vision over Fratville. It was brighter than I had ever seen it. I think it was the brightest object in the whole sky. To the south some 20 degrees, the bright copper penny we call Mars was rendered more elegant by his companion in white. Leaving the Corner, on the way east down Wertland, I carried Cecelia on my back almost all the way to Dead Man's Curve. We were in a ridiculous mood.
We stopped by the Horrid Crash Pad to giggle and socialize with the mostly-boy-crowd that hangs out there. They were playing Led Zepplin. It could have been worse. Meanwhile, Cecelia passed out on the couch while a card game went on around her.
Suddenly Jessika, Sara, Joanna and Monster Boy turned up below the Horrid Crash Pad balcony. They were as drunk and silly as me. Meanwhile Johhny Boom Boom was staying back at Raphæl's, apparently suffering from homesickness. Joanna said his face had turned quite grey.
Bn took off to get someone to buy him a drink at Michæl's Bistro. The rest of us went walking around to various places on a "Mullet hunt." We were utterly unsuccessful in our quest, though we went to places as diverse as the Espresso Corner and Michæl's Bistro (where Phatness, one of the dozens of Charlottesville funk bands, was playing to a lively crowd of Wahoos). We also stopped by Goth Central for a moment. Theresa was there with a few friends including the Aquarian Heroin Addict (AHA) and some blond haired boy who actually had the stomach to kiss the AHA on the lips. The place was way too crowded with all of us there, so we did the right thing and departed.
Only after the redneck turned and went his own way did we realize he'd been sporting a mullet.
On the way back to the Dynashack, some scruffy looking redneck made a rude remark, so Sara called him a "faggot" (her insult of choice these days). He came after us, indignant and angry. We feared he was going to kill us. He asked if we "go to school [UVA] here" and we all insisted we did. I started shouting the UVA fight song, "Wahoo-wa! Wahoo-wa!" which Elizabeth sings in mock-school-pride every now and then. Only after the redneck turned and went his own way did we realize he'd been sporting a mullet, the only one seen tonight.
We sat around in an excessive state of sobriety, chatting in the Dynashack living room. As usual, Joanna was complaining a lot. This time she feared she'd been fired from her job as a waitress. At 1am, I went off to work. Bn came by briefly in the company of Karen and Cecelia.
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