Subject: Re: The REAL Millenium Milloynium Madness From: mlk@klio.org (Mike Kozlowski) Organization: Millennium Hand and Shrimp Newsgroups: rec.arts.sf.written.robert-jordan In article , Kenneth G. Cavness wrote: >Yes, I am aware that there is a moratorium on social >reports because of a petty wish to keep others from knowing >what is going on. I am hereby breaking through the picket >lines. No picketing going on here, just pure raw laziness. About time someone not-me got around to writing up a narrative. [Saturday] Pam and I, arriving while everyone else was off at the mall, spent an entertaining half hour reading the Catholic version of the Watchtower. You'd think that real religions would be above that sort of thing, but you'd be wrong. At any rate, I know now what to say when asked if I've been saved... or I would remember, if I'd written it down. All I can remember now is the part about "fear and trembling." Oh well. >We all congregated in Paul Raj Khangure's room, where I took out >my digital camcorder and, with Madhu's help began chronicling what >will likely be a whole set of blackmailable offenses. This was where I first met... well, everyone that I'd never met in Chicago, really. Bill McCarthy was nothing like I'd expected; in fact, in one of several points of rasfwrj redundancy, he reminded me of Bill Garrett. Ken Gerrard was significantly less nerdy than I'd anticipated -- I guess the style points he got from being gay overcame the loss from being a Robert-Jordan-reading, Internet-posting geek. Paul had grown a goatee that made him look (appropriately, as it soon became clear) more satanic than the innocent youth that he appeared to be in other pictures I'd seen. Leah looked less Hawaiian than one would expect (although I'm not really sure how one goes about looking Hawaiian, come to think of it). Everyone else was as predicted. >After much handcuffing, foot-rubbing, general taunting, and >much arriving of persons, 6:30 rolled around and we all >piled into cars and headed off to St. Elmo's Steakhouse. And got to experience the withering disdain of the waiters as we waited for our table. 'Cause, see, this turned out to be a nice place, and our group was... well, you've probably got a good idea. Eventually, they managed to clear out a small room, and put us in there all by ourselves. Surprisingly, they didn't close and bar the doors to that room. I would have if, if I'd been them. >We ordered much food, had some good wines (including >a very sweet Riesling that I really did enjoy). Riesling with steak? My, you're quite the rebel... >We chatted deep into the night, until people started >peeling off into groups ready for some sleep. I think, >between Madhu and Ken Gerrard, who kept me up until the >wee hours of the morning trying to make me talk to them, >that I managed to fall asleep around 5:00am. You know, I can't for the life of me remember what I did after the steak place. I assume I joined in such general merriment as there was, but I don't remember staying up late or anything. Surely I didn't go to bed immediately after getting back? Man, I hope I didn't have one of those multiple personality bits where I turn into a mass murderer and kill someone, and then don't remember it at all later. >Now, this isn't your ordinary Greasy Spoon, no sir. It is, >in fact, Amazingly and Extremely Digestible. From Corn >Pancakes to Cottage Cheese Cheese Blintzes, you can get >whatever your heart desires in a menu that comes not so >far from resembling _War and Peace_ in thickness. Our food >wasn't *Bad*, mind you, in the way that our hotel rooms >were not *bad* in that they had four walls and a roof. Our >food was, indeed, Amazingly and Extremely Digestible. And >I felt every single moment of that digestion take place, >later. And why did we go there, when several other restaurants were in our immediate vicinity? Because the others were (gasp, horror) chains. Although I endured much ribbing at this breakfast for my eminently sensible positions, I considered this meal nothing so much as vindication. >At around 6:00 again, we all piled into our respective >cars and headed off to the Real Celebration: The Loys. >Now, Deb and Mark Loy have a gorgeous home. It's full of >beautiful things. And they invited us in. Go figure. I lend my voice to the chorus of praise for the extraordinarily gracious Loy family. I can assure all of you that while my apartment isn't nearly as nice as the Loys' house, if this group of ruffians had entered it, I'd have covered the living room with Saran Wrap to be hosed down later. And fuck that catering shit -- I'd have opened a bag of Coolest Ranch Doritos for the lot of you. >There was much food and much laughter, and much drinking, >and a hell of a lot more flirting among everyone than >I was prepared for, so I did spend quite a bit of time in my >Happy Place. I won't go into the flirting; you people knew >who you were trying to make horny, and if you want to make >it public, go ahead. I'm not going to be nearly as coy as Kenn. There were basically two nexuses of male sexual energy going on. The most visible was John Novak, who let down his hair, sat in a chair by the fire, and had his lap full for the rest of the night, thus removing the permanent scowl from his face. For some of us, this was a very disturbing turn of events that shocked our worldviews to the core -- No scowl? Novak even... smiling? The best explanation I can come up with for this is that Novak's chair is Loy's normal chair, and was covered with Loy pheromones, thereby granting Novak honorary Loy status for the night. On second thought, that's even more disturbing (let's not think about where those pheromones come from), so we'll just say that Novak's hair must have Samson-like properties, and that by keeping it tied up normally, he's only allowing those who come in contact with him in everyday life to escape his field of personal magnetism. Less visible was Bill McCarthy, who lured the various present females off into dark corners one by one for massages. Or so he claimed. Wink wink, nudge nudge. >Many other people, however, chose to get decidedly drunk. Particularly our Norwegian contingent, which I expect is still hung over. (There's very little more disturbing than having one's new year begin with a drunken Norwegian informing one that one is "really fucked up." Thanks, Roy!) And while Anne Willick didn't seem drunk, I assume she must have been, as she had the misfortune to be sitting next to me when my mental switch cut from "taciturn" to "logorrheic", and thus endured the longest nonsensical stream-of-consciousness verbiage this side of James Joyce -- all without her brains leaking out of her ears, as far as I could tell. (Astonishingly, she even managed to get witty comments in edgewise.) >I hope to within the next two weeks or so have at least a montage >to show all of you. A medley, as it were. Some of the parts will >be music-driven because one of the guests Who Shall Remain Unnamed >was *remarkably* bitchy during the night while ey was drunk, *snrk* Oh, also, Drew played on his guitar. It turns out that he really doesn't suck, as everyone I'd ever heard play the guitar in person during college did. Go, Drew. Damn, I'm sure a lot more happened that night, but I'm blanking on it. It was good to meet the lot of y'all who were present, and those of you who weren't there should have been, by gum and by golly. Anyway, after the party, I collapsed to my hotel room to sleep. I gather that most of the rest of you stayed up later; I envy you your youthful energy -- I'm getting too old for this shit. (On the plus side, I was so tired when I got home the next day that I went to bed at 9:30, and thus was actually awake for my first day of work after the holidays.) The next day dawned way too fucking early, and those of us who were awake (because we were leaving and had to check out, mostly) went to Perkin's for breakfast. Note: No corn pancakes there! We then split up into our respective conveyances to go home. I was with Pam and the Ken(n)s (another one of those rasfwrj redundancies). Kenn Cavness controlled the CD player; he started us off with Christmas music, which he professed to disdain in an urban, sophisticated sort of way -- but he was quickly singing along with selections from Andy Williams, so Scrooge got his comeuppance at last, albeit a week after Christmas. After that CD ended, we segued into Not-Quite-Hits of the '80s, which provided us with an amusing guessing game. ("I know this is Simply Red!" "Are you sure it's not the Thompson Twins?") And then everyone went home, and they all lived happily ever after. The end. -- Mike Kozlowski http://www.klio.org/mlk/