\input zine

\section{Welcome}

Well maybe not, where did you get this zine anyways?

I find myself between worlds (of my own making), and so this is�
documentation somewhat like a post card written while waiting for�
a bus, and therefore kind of a letter to my friends; probably�
some of the material will be alien, since I've never included all�
the things that I do in one place, outside of our house. Some of�
the things in here I've been saving for a long time waiting for�
the appropriate moment that never came. Many have already been�
used already. Some is brand new. And one or two were written by�
other people and I just liked them. It's also a way to {\it get�
rid of} stuff -- once published, I can throw them out in favor of�
this more compact storage device.

\midgraphic{215pt}{Our present house, the kitchen with Maria�
messin' about. The darkroom now occupies the back dark corner.�
Furnishings by Dumpster.}

\smallsection{Our house}

Our house is going about as perfectly as these things can go.�
There are six of us: me, Valerie, Greta, David, Donna, Shawn,�
Bill. Oops that's seven. Then there's the people who don't live�
here but have keys and walk in anytime to hang out or work or�
whatever, who we'd trust with our lives: Duke, Michael, Deke,�
Matt, Ria come to mind immediately, there's lot's more. Probably�
another dozen. 

We are in flux. Donna is in DC visiting her girlfriend Maria.�
Valerie is on tour playing music and hawking her records in�
Bruce's van. Greta went with her, and Bill hopped trains to meet�
her in STL, they rode trains to TX then came back. Phil is�
subletting Donna's room. She will return next week. We are trying�
to figure out how to make room so he can stay if he wants. Shawn�
is in Hawaii, will be back next week but is planning on moving�
there in a month. His friend Mark is subletting, but it seems�
like he's always lived here. 

\midgraphic{220pt}{Our previous house: Duke, Jeff, me, Greta,�
David and Valerie sitting. (Photo copyright Alain�
McLaughlin/Reaction! Images 1990)}

It's a busy place here. Shred of Dignity hangs in there. It pops�
back to life in a moment and puts on shows, etc. Shawn's Shred of�
Dignity Records is selling lots of 7" EPs, zines. Valerie's music�
is very successful. Greta's films are in distribution all over�
and in festivals. Bill's movie is opening for a major release.�
David is building/selling motorcycles with Chuck. HOMOCORE�
carries on filling orders. Phil is making music on his 8-track.�
Christian is putting together his zine on the house computer.�
Deke and everyone else uses it and The Office also for generating�
text. The darkroom is complete and developing film. The house�
Tr\"uk is hanging in there. We will do a vid/film show to benefit�
us.

\midgraphic{177pt}{Our next home. (Photo: NASA)}

I am restless. There is nothing I want to do in this city�
anymore. New Mexico is next. Greta is interested. A road trip is�
planned for July. Who knows what that will bring. We are always�
in flux.


\smallsection{FidoNet}

At this point in my life, FidoNet is more or less complete. My�
involvement is limited to sysoping a backwater node in a�
comfortable backwater net, a member of the FTSC (FidoNet�
Technical Standards Committee), possible FidoNews (FidoSnewz)�
columnist if all works well, and holder of the trademarks, no�
small matter that.

Fido/FidoNet the program isn't selling for shit anymore; I miss�
the money, but I'm no longer willing to do the work. Fido is�
still an OK bulletin board, but FidoNet is not a hot network�
interface by today's standards. It has some powerful features,�
but no one cares, because the emphasis is now totally echomail,�
and rightly so. 

But -- It paid my way for four years, got me the Fluegelman Award�
and \$5000 cash, two trips to Holland (HobbyComputerClub, thanks�
Henk!), ten zillion writeups in ten zillion magazines, (my�
picture on the cover of the HCC magazine), a fluff article in�
OMNI, and got me laid exactly zero times. Regrets? None (except I�
wish I used ``extent'' instead of ``region'' in the nomenclature�
-- it would have saved us from all those assholes).

It was tempting at a couple of points to want it to last�
``forever'' and I even got a bit uptight about it. But all good�
things end, or they become undead.

The nodelist (the list of FidoNet network member computers) is�
now solidly over 10,000 entries. That's a lot by anyone's�
standards. I'm sure my involvement is not totally over; the�
trademarks at least require vigilance, and there will always be�
assholes out there requiring legal action to make them desist.

The FidoNet's history needs to be written; amazing things have�
happened that almost noone knows about. Very few people have a�
good Big Picture. Artifacts are few because of its electronic�
nature, but documents do exist.


\smallsection{Employment}

Things are downright {\it oppressive} these days, never mind this�
recession-that-isn't-really-happening-really. To get to the�
point, I am no longer employable. There is no room for me in the�
new corporate state. And I'm not sure I mind.

I am now a computer industry drop out. I can't take all the�
suits. I don't like the ``team player'' crapola, a code phrase�
for corporate conformity. I won't piss in a jar, nor swear not to�
think impure thoughts. The Feds are squeezing corps to hire, not�
use consultants. Computer graphics bore me to tears. I am not�
thrilled by Windows or Macintoshes. LANs are frequently employee�
control mechanisms. I go to Fry's Electronics, and get followed�
around by a security guard; swarms of unhealthy, unhappy looking�
geeks buy american-flag T-shirts from a big bin near the�
diskette-supplies isle, eating sickly pink hot dogs sold out in�
the parking lot. And there's no sidewalks there.

Between the early CP/M and PC worlds, and the Fido and FidoNet�
saga, I learned more than most people do in a lifetime. I have no�
regrets, and I really don't have any interest in that stuff any�
more. 

\goodbreak\bigskip%
\lline{\hl Senseless murder}%
\lline{\hl of innocant paper targets}%
\hbox to\bigcol{\hrulefill}%

Guns. Whee! I'm sure I must have some murderous urges in there�
somewhere, just waiting to get out and kill a school bus full o'�
kids or something. I mean, all gun owners are nigger-killin'�
rednecks, or furrin-lookin' mass murderers, right? Oh well.

I wish I had saved the letters I got back from our so-called�
``representatives'' when I wrote urging opposition to some�
oppressive gun law (``assault-weapon'' registration I believe).�
Burton or Cranston or one of those idiots responded with, I�
swear, `people who want to own those things are psychologically�
sick, and just haven't been caught yet', words to that effect. I�
swear. Oh well.

I bought my first gun in 1986, a S\&W model 686 revolver, .357�
Magnum, 6" barrel. After getting over the culture shock, I found�
that lo! not all shooters are pigs. After shooting at Chabot Gun�
Club for a few years, I was still interested, and started�
shooting PPC, a somewhat regimented sport allegedly designed as�
FBI training. Many people shoot simultaneously with holstered�
guns at a series of targets at fixed ranges, fixed time limits�
and required number of shots. Pretty friendly, and great safe�
introduction to practical gun handling, sight picture, trigger�
control, holstering, etc.

Somehow I ran into the three-gun crowd (shotgun, rifle and�
handgun). You have to have shot PPC and be a very safe shooter.�
Each month a different scenario to shoot in; fake hostage setups,�
shooting clinics, weak-hand shooting, run, duck, shoot behind�
cover, shoot at bad guys don't hit good guys (cardboard),�
adrenalin, time pressure and actually friendly competition.�
Safety is utmost. The top 1\% type experts are friendly and�
helpful.

I'm a totally out punk fag. I have the only studded holster and�
belt in the club. It is a constant effort to balance 
look-I'm-just-there-to-shoot with refusing to be closety or�
tolerate ``fag'' jokes and the like. I joined them and so to a�
certain extent it's their world. Balance is required. I think my�
leather jacket makes some of the cops think ``bad guy'', and my�
occasional blue mohawk freaks out the rest of them, but to their�
absolute credit they are to a person friendly, tolerant, open�
minded and sometimes curious.

One incident bears repeating. A long time and respected club�
member referred to some over-specialized sport shooters (PPC with�
kilobuck guns, plumb bobs and levels) as ``a bunch of fags''.�
Now, he meant wimps, ie.~not very sporting. But that's not what�
he said. I was working that event, scoring. I heard the remark,�
made to a small group of veteran shooters, and I\dots let it�
pass, avoiding confrontation. That day I went home pissed, at�
myself, why do I go there, everything you might imagine. 

Three days later I get a phone call and apology. He said as soon�
as he made the remark he regretted it; it was not something he�
intended, but one of those words you grew up using, that�
occasionally still slip out. I told him I was relieved, and how I�
felt about not pointing it out at the time. 

The next monthly shoot was also the end of the year party, and�
planning for the next year. At the prize giveaway, I picked a�
Colt 45 T-shirt, and said something to the effect of, ``Cool,�
I'll wear it to an ACT-UP or Queer Nation meeting and piss people�
off''; some giggled and some almost choked on their Cokes. 

By the following month, it was out in the open. A bunch of us�
talked about it on and off throughout the day, about various�
forms of oppression, but most stood a safe distance away�
listening, which is fine too. The club prez told me how he gets�
funny references to his ethnic origins, and could imagine what it�
was like. He said he always wondered how it was for the two of us�
(me and Wendy) who simply showed up because we wanted to shoot,�
and fit in the hard way; most are friends-of-friends and got�
there word of mouth. He was rather proud of the club, and I had�
to agree. He also asked ``well, what do you think of us NRA�
rednecks now?''.

The national NRA are a bunch of dinosaurian jerks who will�
unfortunately probably do themselves in. Their connections to�
some of the most reactionary and hateful pigs in the country�
doesn't help one bit. The fact is -- hunting and sporting use of�
firearms is extraneous. The real issue is protection of liberty�
-- an armed countryside helps prevent government from attempting�
a violent takeover. Nothing to do with murdering bunny rabbits in�
the woods. It's not like we're about to rise up and overthrow the�
government (gimme a break), more likely it's the reverse.�
Governments always round up citizens' weaponry when they want to�
impose ``order'' on them. It's the {\it Second} Amendment, for�
shit's sake, right after the First one everyone loves to parrot. 

The only rational mass-market article on gun control I've ever�
seen was by Robert Santiago and Walter Lowe Jr., in {\smc�
Emerge}, a black cultural magazine, Vol.~1, \#10, September 1990.�
(Send SASE for a copy.) ``While white Americans debate the gun�
issue, it is African Americans who are killing each other in�
record numbers. But there are laws we can support that will keep�
guns out of the hands of irresponsible individuals without�
compromising the rights of gun owners.'' The article is quite�
sane, is not necessarily ``pro-gun'', and even has one of those�
``Do you need a gun?'' questionnaires in a little box, with�
sensible questions.


\smallsection{HOMOCORE}

Within it's own context, HOMOCORE is amazingly like FidoNet.�
Which, in hindsight, isn't surprising, because they were both�
mechanisms for communication, and I used the same process to make�
them work. Both ended up as worlds of their own. Or was it�
coincidental timing, and it was all about to happen anyways?�
We'll never know.

Homocore the movement (lower case) was inevitable. Once again,�
for the record, Bruce LaBruce and G.B. Jones of JD's fame coined�
the word. I do acknowledge that HOMOCORE the zine (upper case)�
spread the concept like wildfire. It wasn't shit luck, it was�
simply work. It's so obvious to me that so many things fail for�
simply not stating in plain language what it is they are trying�
to do. JDs clearly stated their goal. I did in HOMOCORE too, the�
``You don't have to be gay\dots'' mini-manifesto. Sometimes�
things are so simple.

\#7 is the final issue. It's gotten too much out of hand. You can�
read about my personal reasons why in the editorial, but also,�
it's a financial drain, and I want my life back. 

And for all I know, it could get me busted. Violence? Skinheads?�
Muggings? War? Financial disaster? Mass pollution? Medical�
disaster? Noooo problem. I can take care of myself. The only�
thing I fear in life is getting spuriously hassled or worse by�
the Feds. 

I don't know how many people are really aware of the truly�
foreboding systematic suppression of speech and communications�
going on now. Frankly, it's terrifying. And seeing how it's all I�
do, really, set up communications mechanisms, I'm scared�
shitless. 

Money-wise, each issue of HOMOCORE ran real close to break even.�
For previous issues, I ran it close (my readership is extremely�
poor), and on paper ``made'' about 5\cents/copy, including only�
printing, postage and envelopes. That 5\cents\ covered paper,�
phone calls, gluesticks, etc, and of course meant it was really a�
slight loss, but that's OK, it wasn't meant to make money, only�
support itself, and close was close enough.

But \#7 is a total loss. Printing cost was \$1100 (2500 copies,�
64 pages; \#6 was 1500 copies, 32 pages), postage on each \$1.21.�
Not only did I underestimate the postal increase (to�
29\cents/oz), I did not take into account the word-of-mouth sales�
would still be thinking that it was \$1 per copy, instead of \$2.�
On top of that, it had been almost a year since the previous�
issue; I had a lot of orders for \#7 pre-paid at \$1 each. It was�
impossible to get those missing \$1's, and the point was to get�
the zine out, and so I just ate it. Even after I sell the 1200 or�
so copies remaining, I'll still be about \$800 in the hole. Oh�
well.

Great timing -- right when my consulting job was ending, I dumped�
my free money into the propane Rambler, with no further income in�
sight. I had a backlog of 400? 500? orders total during the�
period February -- April, some dating back to August 1990. I was�
getting third letters from people ``where is my zine, I mailed�
you a dollar in\dots''.

Diet Popstitute, the sweetheart, did a benefit for HOMOCORE at�
the new Klubstitute May Day '91, and netted me \$200, which got�
rid of {\it all} the backlog! Up to date, only a year later!

So I still have over 1000 copies to move. They are \$1.20 each in�
quantity, cover price \$2, if you're interested\dots

\smallsection{Typography}

It was probably inevitable that I'd pick up Donald Knuth's 
\TeX\ system. It has all I hate to love and love to hate --�
machine independence, procedural/programmable instead of�
graphical paradigm, completely public domain, obscure, hard to�
operate, impossible to debug, monstrously complex and difficult�
to learn. (After over two years, I still consider myself barely�
more than a novice \TeX nician, though I have written output�
routines, and hacked fonts with METAFONT.)

I did all eight HOMOCOREs in \TeX. And oh my, do the early ones�
look {\it awful}. \TeX\ purists would shit bluebirds if they saw�
it. I used it to simply {\it jam} text on a page. With \#7 I�
opened it up a bit, went to 11 point typeface, and bigger�
leading, though there is still 20 continuous pages of monolithic�
text without a single graphic. (Not even dictionaries do this.)�
My only defense is that HOMOCORE had to be bottom line zip zero�
cost, hence the density. The readers didn't mind, or at least�
they put up with it to get what they wanted.

But \TeX\ is capable of incredible beauty, which I'm slowly�
noticing, having abused it for years. Too bad there's no money in�
it. The usual story -- nobody cares except us perfectionist�
assholes. In this age of prefab TV foregone conclusions, it's�
nice to have some thing that you'll never quite master.

\smallsection{Road Trips}

A road trip is planned for this July. It was originally going to�
be to the Rainbow Gathering in Vermont first week July, with�
stops in Boulder Colorado to visit Richard Lowrider, and the�
Radical F\ae rie sanctuary in Short Mountain Tennessee, and then�
on to New Mexico, the last as a visit and a future-home scouting�
trip.

Eventually we realized we were looking forward to New Mexico the�
most, and dreading the drive through the Midwest and Northeast,�
myself especially. It's a dreadful drive after the wide open�
West. So we decided to skip the Gathering and go directly to New�
Mexico instead. Details to follow.

There seems to be a wave of people fleeing the City to parts�
Otherwise. And lots of energy in the direction of New Mexico. Is�
it the Law of Fives (once you start looking for a thing you start�
seeing it), or is it really a pattern? Both, but emphasis on the�
latter. New Mexico has a long weirdo tradition. 


\smallsection{Automobilia}

My current car is the 1963 Rambler Classic 550 Cross Country�
Station Wagon (whew!) you see pictured here. If you got the�
complete package, you can read all the grubby details about it's�
LPG conversion.

I bought it from Len's AMC Auto Wreckers in San Jose, two months�
before he scrapped the whole yard and sold out. I bought it�
without an engine, and towed it home with my 1970 AMC Hornet,�
also picture here. 

The Rambler was an intentional project. I wanted a car I could�
travel and sleep in, and still use in a city. I disassembled my�
1970 Hornet to build it (and I disassembled my 1979 AMC V-8�
Spirit to build that; I used to autocross (SCCA SOLO II) the�
Spirit, so it was pretty high-performance). The Rambler has the�
infamous fold-down seats (after 27 years, the original upholstery�
is still in great shape), and all folded down, the inside�
dimensions are 8 feet long by 42 inches wide -- enough room for a�
twin size futon plus 3 feet of length. All in a 3150 pound, 108�
inch wheelbase car.

Valerie made it curtains (not completed at photo time) and it's�
got the Hornet's rugged 232 ci.~6 cylinder motor with a custom�
grind propane camshaft, AMC 4WD V-8 cooling system, 60 amp�
alternator, gigantic truck battery, the largest 14-inch tires�
available, aluminum hi-tech wheels, '79 V-8 disk brake system,�
brand new custom-ratio gearbox with manual Borg-Warner Overdrive,�
a custom box for the roof rack to keep camping junk off the�
seats, stereo, CB, scanner, fluorescent lighting, a real LP�
stove, a photovoltaic panel to charge the lead-acid if I drain�
it, 10 gallons of extra LPG, for a worst-case range of 400 miles�
(at 16MPG). It's safe to say the whole thing is hand assembled.�
The only subassemblies I did not assemble was the transmission�
(by Ed Stack), the differential cluster, basic wiring, glass, and�
chassis parts. Everything else I had apart. And it doesn't make�
any smog (well, CO$_2$), and my insurance is \$320 a year, in San�
Francisco -- hell I know people who pay that {\it per month}.

This is definitely my most fun toy.\endblob

\bye
