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Update! You think your gathering is so cool, but ours has a theme song.
http://www.deadgeek.com/index.phtml?punch

The date: April 13, 2002
The place: off 580 in the Oakland hills...

Update: the party's moved from Friday to the industry standard past. Hope this doesn't bother you - mgmt.

I tried telling them, man, we're Californians, we don't
do it like that. But, by popular demand: AGENDA


FRIDAY
1pm:
House is open, although there is nobody in it because we are still trying to find musical instruments.
3pm-ish?:
Three Packages of Beef at Albertsons. Also some cheese and vegetables.
10pm-ish:
Possible trip to Fruitvale BART to walk around and fail to find Templeton until a stranger intervenes. It is possible that this cannot be confirmed.

SATURDAY
11am:
Someone gets Roninspoon from SFO.
12:30-2:30pm:
misuba has to work. Can you fucking believe that?
1pm:
Someone gets fuzzy_and_blue and Jonglueuueaur from OAK.
3pm:
Grilling of turkey begins in earnest, as does, presumably, drinking of beer.
5pm-5:02pm:
Turkey available.
8:30pm:
9pm.
9pm:
Musical set by The Punch Thyself.
9pm:
9:30.
9:30pm:
Burning of automaus.

SUNDAY
9am-12pm:
Breakfast as people awaken. I mean, hopefully they'll awaken before we have to drive there, if they're driving, or at least they don't fall asleep while we're waiting for someone to take our damned order or from lack of oxygen.
1pm:
We'll probably see who wants to go on what kind of day trip thing and go there. I DON'T LEARN AND EXPLORE WITH ALL AGES.
7pm:
fish.

For the past two years in early April, I've held variations on a party I first had back in college. It is called a Destroy-Yourself-An-Effigy Party. That's "An," not "In." Very important distinction.

Guests are asked to bring an effigy that's safe to destroy in a small backyard fire pit. It may be an effigy of a person, place, thing, or abstract concept. It can even be an effigy of something you like. We're easy. You are also asked to reveal what you have effigized and why. Speeches are fun, but you are under no obligation to make a big production of it.

For these past two years, the party (happening, as it has, on or around my birthday) has also featured food, cake and a brief basement musical event. But this year marks the big if-you-do-it-three-times-it's-tradition threshold, so I felt the need to bring in an unknown, chaotic X factor.

That would be you. And alcohol. Yeah. You and your alcohol.

Now, I know what you're thinking: dammit, Ouroboros got the baby Jesus, so he's supposed to have the next party. Well, the Wurm will be on the scene in force and no doubt has a couple of his own tricks up his sleeve.

Cleverly hidden in the old part of the writeup are the evening's top 5 nodeshells. Templeton: "I can't tell if that feels good or not, because it hurts." Jongleur: "Fuck you! Peace, love and kumbaya!" Conform: "Go to work hung over, or don't go to work AT ALL." Me: "In the grim darkness of the far future, there is only my mother." Accepting submissions for number 5.

The usual drill applies. /msg me or ouro if you're interested in attending. There will be some crash space if you bring sleeping bags and stuff. We can get people here from Oakland International if you call ahead and stuff. If you fly into SFO, someone like conform might be able to help you, although I don't want to explicitly volunteer him just yet; we'll see who pipes up here.

There will be a lot of non-noders present as well. Be not afraid. There will also be several non-drinkers; there are ways to enjoy the party besides drinking alcohol, we'll see to that. Further bulletins as events warrant.

Bulletin! See, I told you. m_turner says he can help bring folks from SFO or the San Jose airport.

But wait, there's more! Why should you drag your ass to the overpriced Bay Area for a perfectly good weekend afternoon? conform has helpfully pointed out that some of the best sushi in the damned country is right here. We will partake, possibly at 2 AM. Possibilities for Saturday events include the Exploratorium, which is the closest thing we have to a Museum of Jurassic Technology except it isn't very close at all; possibly an evening show at the Audium if it's still there; entertainment options in Oakland include Fenton's Creamery (addendum oh crap, they had a fire. Maybe things will be better by the appointed time) and touring the hills for post-fire wacky architecture. /msg with more options, please.

Who was there:

(marked for destruction): National Drunk Noding Awareness Month marches on. Aftermath unknown.
Welcome to role playing game. For purposes of this game you will be a noder.

The noder is good at talking thanks to his big mouth, and is often used in a quest of drunking.

Start of the scenario, forty noders run into one another, jumping and drunking. But! The drink is actually a turkey.

Elf religion respects all things, so instead of wild clash over Templeton with noder dropballs crafted from the finest singing silver, noders must instead join hands and prance in circle around the fire. Cast Spell of Theme Song to punch thyself!


For purposes of this game you are playing the very drunk noder.

After the (relative) success of Budweiser Tapper video game, Bally/Midway produced Budweiser Geyser as a second entry for the bar and nightclub venue.

Gameplay
In Budweiser Geyser, you control a bartender attempting to open bottles of beer and fill steins. The complication is the bartender's assistant, who shakes each bottle before handing it to the bartender. Once the bottle has been opened, there is a brief pause, then, the beer blows out of the top, like a geyser. At this point, moving the joystick back and forth changes the parabola described by the stream of beer, allowing you to direct it to fill a row of beer mugs. You earn points for full mugs, but lose points for slop (i.e. beer that misses the mugs).
Unlike Budweiser Tapper, there are no "lives", the deposit of one quarter yields one play. The bartender's assistant will shake and pass each of twelve bottles to the bartender. At the completion, the total score is announced on a screen that includes a characterization of a beer drinker for each mug filled. They all cheer, and a sufficiently high score allows another play.

Graphics
The graphics in this game were of rather poor quality and the animation was rather stylized, but rhythmic. It seems that the designers were responding to a criticism of Budweiser Tapper that the graphics were to small to see clearly after drinking a couple of rounds of beers.

Hardware Information
A cabinet similar to that of Budweiser Tapper was used, complete with the brass rail for one foot and a flat space just large enough for a beer mug on the control panel. The control panel uses an analog joystick and a single button.

Unlike Budweiser Tapper, this game was never marketed to younger players. The researchers in marketing found that the youth were more interested in playing Kick Their Fucking Heads In 2.

Directions to Mike's

You are going to need a car and a computer. The computer can split the driving with you.

Start out by an ocean. If you can understand what people are saying and the sun rises over the ocean in the morning, then this is the place to start. Now get in the car and start driving away from the sun. Use the computer to help you.

At first, there are a number of canals and factories. Keep going. If you hit a large body of fresh water you have gone too far north and should try bearing to the left. Honestly, take my advice here, because if you drive into the lake, you're never going to get to Mike's.

You will cross a large river. The river is as clear as glass, at least where I crossed it. Deep down at the bottom are catfish, they glow from the lights of the office complexes developed inside them. DO NOT GET A JOB IN A CATFISH OFFICE OR YOU WILL NEVER GET TO MIKE'S!

In Iowa there are a series of buildings constructed from salvaged windshields, clustered around a smaller river. Cross the river. There are beautiful girls on swift boats sculling along the river. DO NOT GET ON THE GIRLBOATS OR YOU WILL NEVER GET TO MIKE'S!

The next part is very long. Mostly grass, snow, and sand, or some combination of all three. Your main problem there is going to be the hornets. The hornets out there are really a lot bigger than the ones I grew up with. Most are about forty feet long, and are attracted by both computers and the smell of burning plastic. DRIVE AS FAST AS YOU POSSIBLY CAN TO AVOID HORNETS.

Two more rivers and a slip-strike fault system. You'll pass an unusually large pile of salt. Keep going and don't take any right hand turns.

Mike's house is on the left, and believe me, it's haunted.

Photo data available at http://jedi.nevada.edu/e2/oak/

The inhabitants of the Mid California Highlands are a secluded and cautious tribe of loquacious and garrulous word smiths. Much of the previous research collected on this tribe of nere-do-wellers is inaccurate due to the researcher’s incapacity to be welcomed among the tribe and immerse themselves in the customs and rituals of what I have come to call the NoSocalNocal Phrenologists .

I assumed the garb and appearance that I believed matched the locals, hoping that there were no idiosyncrasies or social ranking that I had not missed in my initial, long range, evaluation. I made close acquaintance with one individual, whom I’ve taken to calling Bright Eyes, engaging him in an action of reciprocity that would link myself to him through the bonds of social interaction. He wasn’t the alpha, but a local sub-chieftain, and was close enough to the top of their hierarchy to gain my entrance without attracting too much attention.

Bright Eyes proudly displayed his abode, mate and some pack brothers before taking me on a tour of his domain. From atop one close hill he gestured and grunted in his own primitive language. His message was clear and his resolve was intent. This was his land, he controlled all who lived within the boundaries of our vision. I was honored to have shared this small token respect of from him.

Bright Eyes led me to the rest of his tribe mates. We exited his domain and entered into the realm of one he frequently referred to as Paq-nak. Upon entering Paq-nak’s fortification I was immediately assaulted. Many of the males made threatening calls from across the hall. One of the obvious leaders, a male I named Curly, began bellowing as soon as I entered his sight. They were clearly threatened by my masculinity. Strangely, my appearance had much the opposite reaction on the females, many of them seemed drawn either to some subtle hint of my sophistication, or to the power that so many of the males feared.

Curly approached me, and with much throwing of leaves and arm gesticulation, finally made it clear that he wished to share food with me. This was an important step in earning their trust and I quickly agreed. One of Bright Eyes' companions joined us and I began to fear that I was going to be involved in some political intrigue against Paq-nak, whom I had yet to meet. My fears were for not however, as their intent was innocent, and we shared a simple meal of grubs and berries.

I finally got to meet Paq-nak upon our return. He was an impressive specimen that towered over his minions. My fear must have been apparent, as they swiftly crowded around me. A brief but largely unintelligible interaction amongst all of the tribe members occurred then and I was led to a lower garden level. One of the females, Tulip, began grooming me as others forced me to consume a beverage that appeared to have a tremendous amount of spiritual value. The liquid was brown with a strong, but not unpleasant flavor. I was cautious not to anger my hosts and consumed as much of the “be-are” as they would provide, letting none go to waste, lest I appear ungrateful.

As the night pressed on I was forced into the duties of food preparation. It would seem that the tribe had no clear gender barriers, although I did witness several engage in mutual grooming. Late in the evening we all gathered around a roaring blaze attended by Curly and one of his apprentice fire makers, Bongles. Many of the tribesmen approached the fire and made grand whooping noises accompanied by elaborate dances before hurling an apparently random object into the heart of the flames. Some simply threw rocks, or tightly wrapped bundles of twigs and leaves, others had elaborate constructions of palm fronds and delicately carved wooden images. I was clearly witnessing a ritual of grand proportion.

A nest was prepared for me in the dungeon and I slept a few fitful hours, fearful that I was being held prisoner. The companionship of Tulip alleviated that fear a small amount. Upon awaking early the next morn I was treated to a collaborative hunt and finally a review of the noder’s technological accomplishments.

It was a satisfying two days of research, and I believe I have collected enough data to refute the conclusions of other noder researchers. My unique perspective and the noder’s acceptance of me as one of their own has allowed me to break through the barrier of cultural contamination that so hinders our science when viewing these more primitive, cloistered communities.

end of transmission

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