Capital of Nasty Electronic Magazine Volume II, Issue 30, Year AD MCMXCVII Monday, July 28th, 1997 ISSN 1482-0471 ------------------------------------------- "There's going to be a heat wave in Ireland. Unfortunately, I brought only one sweater." ------------------------------------------- "Geez, you keep on changing your mind!" "Of course, I'm a woman" ------------------------------------------- 1. Montreal and back: my little adventure 2. NOSMOKE.EXE 3. POEM: Hope 4. The CoN Movie Review: Contact ------------------------------------------- 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 ------------------------------------------- 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". ------------------------------------------- 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... ------------------------------------------- 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 ------------------------------------------- 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." ------------------------------------------- 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 ZimID 708EC8D1 1994/09/14 EC B0 97 59 1D FE 7C 32 7E 04 2C 66 47 41 FB 7D