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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate August 1999 |
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WEB FED NEWS YEARBOOKS Earthdate August 1999 |
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INSIDE SCOOP |
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RANDOM RANTING, RAVING AND RAMBLING Well, I've been playing a lot of Fed lately and frankly, I'm fed up. Every day, I see more and more of Federation's fun-filled fabulous features completely wasted. I've been around since the AOL days (although back then I went under a different name), and it makes me sad to see some of Fed's best features go to waste. Specifically, I'm talking about those commands in Fed that have to do with death. What's a game like Fed without killing? And it's getting serious - I've been on Fed and typed wanted... and seen no one on the list. This is disgusting! So come on, citizens! If there's someone you don't like, type "reward 2000". In fact, I strongly encourage you to type help reward on your next visit to Fed. Additionally, I think a Federation Mafia should be established. These should be much like the guilds of AOL, except coded into the game. The joining process resembles that of duchies, however, it costs more, and if they don't want you in, they don't just kick you out! They kill you! I hope you'll all heed my apocalyptic (more or less) words and bring the killing back into Federation before it's too late. Random ranting, raving, and rambling that no one wants to listen to.
SAVE
THE FED CHRONICLE! The Federation Chronicle is a fine publication from which all Fedders can become informed of the latest news, events, planet happenings, and funny stuff, as well as read well-written, witty articles by Fedders such as myself. The Chronicle is a quality piece of reading every week, well established and widely read, and has a bright future. This does not change the fact that the Fed Chronicle is in desperate need of our help. In the golden years of Fed, articles were always new and interesting. One breed of articles were funny, smart, and completely worthwhile, and you just don't see them anymore. The Top Ten lists. In the old news archives, you can find top tens written by such fine authors as Tickenest and Frog674. However, since all of them have seemingly retired, I, Mrzef, have decided to pick up where they left off and become the first top ten writer of the new millenium. After all, I am Mrzef. To start the ball rolling, I've included my first top ten ever, entitled: TOP TEN REASONS TO BRING BACK THE TOP TEN 10. They're funny. Pretty good, huh? Well, I try. The top ten lists were a great addition to Fed, and I hope to see many, many messages in my box demanding more of these great lists. That is all. Quit laughing at me,
P.S. I don't have any more ideas for top tens, so don't ask me please... P.P.S. To Tickenest, Frog674 and others: please don't beat me up and take my lunch money! Note from the editor: Please
help the Chronicle… from having to print anymore
horrible top ten lists like this one by sending in your
own.
THE BAR
BOARDS: BATHROOM WALL OF DATASPACE As you may or may not remember, depending on the strength of your medication, I wrote an article for this very publication that criticized nearly every aspect of channel nine. I got many comments about this article, most of them agreeing with me. But, this happens when you find fault in anything, several people were not happy. They mostly stated that 1) that was a horrible stereotype that of course didn't fit them (ha!) and 2) I am an idiot. So, as a response to these irate people, I'm writing about their posts on the bar boards. The bar boards, this may sound shocking but is true, are worse than nine. Yes. They contain more brackets and have even fewer subjects. There are only five general categories which posts fall into: 1. Messages about the love between
two people nobody really knows. Try to think of another category! I dare you! So, like last time, here I recreate a section of the bar board for your entertainment, or possibly for material to use in angry letters:
Of course this is nothing like the actual boards. The actual boards are much longer. And of course Dez is only up there on alternating Monday nights around 10:00 Eastern when she's advertising the wonderful and fun game of Scramble which is on channel 10 and which I scorekeep for (shameless plug). By now you've seen the pattern and are saying "Ok, next comes...the actual statistics from an actual log!" And you're right! In a log taken by yours truly on August 9, 1999 these actual statistics were tabulated:
Yes I know the percentages don't add up to 100, but that's because many posts include affection AND an ad. AND brackets. And yes I know this is very similar to my comms story if you look at the structure, this is because the comms and the boards both have the same structure; the structure of something that's annoying. I'd like to finish up this article with a list of suggestions to make the boards more bearable: 1. Just because you love someone
doesn't mean everybody else cares. Use email. Use TBs.
Get in the same room and just say it. But don't post it,
we don't care. So there you have it. Stop whining and be responsible with the boards, and nobody will have to take down your junk. And when someone does take down your junk, don't whine about it with MORE junk. Take the hint. If you have something annoying in Fed that I didn't think of and you would like to see in a column like this, or if you have any comments (angry or otherwise), email DannyW860@newmail.net.
BRACKET TAX PROPOSED FOR DATASPACE SOL - In a controversial statement that has upset many people and threatened to put many more in debt, a Bracket Tax was proposed to Ming the Merciless and several members of the Senate recently by outspoken anti-bracket activist Danny. The proposed Tax, an acquired copy of which is published below, basically states that for each bracket there is a varying tax, with the total amount doubling after a certain point. Despite the outcry against such a tax, Danny said in an interview, "If this tax passes it's guaranteed that brackets will eventually stop. And as a side effect I'll become the richest person alive! Ha ha ha! Ha!" The following is a reproduction of the proposal, acquired from an unnamed source inside Ming's palace. Keep in mind it is currently still a proposal, but Ming is greatly considering it, because it's an opportunity to make more money and brackets tend to annoy Ming.
BRACKET
TAX REACTIONS It seems that everyone has a comment about the Bracket Tax looming over DataSpace. So, like in any time of potential crisis (ha!), it's up to the Chronicle to let people all over Fed voice their opinions. Several people are in favor of the idea of a tax of brackets. This side was best given by Fireimp who said, 'I think a bracket tax is long overdue' and Crocuta who is quoted as saying, '[It's] not harsh enough. Anyone who uses that kind of wiggly bracket should be instantly killed and never again allowed to insure.' Also on the side of truth, justice, and anti-bracketness (yes that's a word) was Moria:
Moria has given you 40,000 IG. Additionally, against brackets is Barb, who in an interview in the exclusive CDs said, 'The number of brackets is inversely proportional to IQ.' Even people in high places are in support of the tax. Canadian passed on an unconfirmed rumor to me which states that, in an interview, Ming was heard to say 'This tax will make me rich! I owe so much to the person who thought it up! {{{Danny}}}' Although, as with every good idea, there are the people who don't agree. This was illustrated my many, many posts. One of the better posts representative of the general pro-bracket idea was from Megan who posted 'To HECK with bracket censorship: (((((mooooowat))))) (((((((Wingy my duke))))))) (((((((Barnabas - ILY))))))))) ((((((((GemandI))))))))'. As a side note, that post alone would cost 703,687,441,776,640,000,000 IG under the bracket tax. Noteworthy quotes even came from intergalactically-known people such as Andy who, when asked for his wise and Dukely opinion on this issue, an issue which threatens to change the face of DataSpace forever, was quoted as saying 'Huh?' Some other quotes came from Arrogant who said, 'Is Elin here? Oh... no, poetry tax is next week, right?', Wrkincaid who stated, 'Oh get a life Danny :)', Unomee who '...thinks its hilarious, and that Taxman is kinda sexy;)', Pathologicaliar who would only say 'I charge for interviews Danny.', and Galinfenner who points out that 'I'm tax exempt.' But even with all this the breaking news is in the safety hazard of brackets. Just consider this quote from Hazed, 'I am all in favor of the tax; something has got to stop this outbreak of brackets. People don't realize that brackets are heavier than many of the other characters and the sheer weight of them all on the bar board is very likely to bring the electronic screens crashing off the walls and onto the drinkers in bars.' Beware drinkers of DataSpace, that next bracket you post could be your end! So the Bracket Tax has an overwhelming group of supporters, and this reporter can tell the winds of change are shifting and bringing the storm cloud of tax over the farm of DataSpace, ready to release the rain of control to rid us all of the vermin of annoyance. But if you're on the other side of the issue, if you think brackets are good, if you're a masochist who loves things that are annoying, my email box is always open at DannyW860@newmail.net, ments and reactions I'll write another article so all DataSpace can read your views (No, that's a good thing, it wasn't a threat, really!) Finally, a news flash, the bracket tax proposal has been changed. The definition of the word 'bracket' is now any number of { } symbols, as well as the following symbols used in excess (defined as more than two in a row): [ ] ( ) / \ ~ : < > | * And an instant death amendment is in the works.
SCRUMPTIOUS
SCANDAL Having lived through college cafeteria food, I thought I'd seen every possible food-related scandal. In a cafeteria where, if parents weren't around, they served Grade-I (probably once organic) meat, the identity of your dinner was always open to question. So, when I got word that there was a scandal afoot in Fed, my interest was less than piqued. Alright, so it's another scandal in Fed... give me a break. However, having heard about this scandal from a reputable source, I decided to follow up on it. I heard about this particular scandal from someone I met in a chance encounter, who would prefer for the purposes of this article to be called a certain 'Norse Goddess Who Shall Remain Nameless'. The following is the semi-retouched-but-totally-accurate- in-that-it-contains-no-self-promotional-plugs transcript of the conversation. Well, some of it, at least. 'Well amusing topic, there's always the old faithful scandal about the vanishing marsrats. You see, everyone knows CDs is infested - the back room here is usually full of them. But there's an odd coincidence: every now and then, Chez Diesel is suddenly vermin free.' I asked if there were any specials on unidentifiable meats around those times. She nods ominously at the kitchen. 'She has guards at the door. Won't even let the Galactic Administration Inspector in. There are locks on the rubbish bins in the back. Now, who puts locks on rubbish bins? One might go back there with a droid or two...' One just might and one just did. Actually, first I tried to talk to Diesel herself. She just snuffed at me and swung her bat at the newsdroid. So, opting for a slightly better odds scenario, I flashed my press pass at the guards she had posted at the doors to the kitchen. After waking up in the Earth hospital and tracking down who stole my wallet and where my newsdroid went (the Cantina for an SAE-40 cocktail), I headed back out to Mars. Deciding discretion is the better part of valor; I cut through one of the locks on the trash bins out back of Chez Diesel's. Inside I found the following: three wads of pocket lint, one package of TDX (sans detonator), one photo, rather racy (if this is yours, contact the Scandal Department to arrange a blackmail payment schedule), and one lime-green sport coat (if this is yours, obtain better fashion sense). Disheartened, I cut through the other lock. In there I found quite a lot of discarded vegetables (moms of the universe, call your kids and start yelling). I also found some bits of fur, but it's questionable as to what it belonged to. So, unfortunately, there was no concrete proof that Diesel is running a rat-pizza scam. However, I will remain vigilant for any further developments in this story, and will keep my reading audience (both of you) abreast of any changes. Oh, is a pizza done cooking when it squeaks?
SURF,
SAND, SUN… TOTAL VACUUM… As I was laying on the beaches of Cape Hatteras N.C. a few days ago, a thought struck me: nobody ever goes on vacation in Fed. That's really a shame when you sit down and think about it. It also helps if you've had a few drinks that include umbrellas. During the course of the last five days, I think I've drunk an entire patio set, but I digress. Nobody ever goes on vacation in Fed. We're talking about a universe that is approximately 20% beach planets and where can you find the bulk of the population? In ships! And not even luxury liners where they feed you even in the lifeboats! In crunky, cramped more-often-than-not badly painted ships! Where is the logic in this? Do we somehow lose the capacity to have fun on vacation in the future? More importantly, have we lost the blueprints to all convertibles in the future? Something this last week has taught me is this: interstates and convertibles were made for each other. There are downsides to convertibles, of course. First and foremost is sunburn. Then comes sand, bugs, and birds. Nothing will screw up your day faster than a seagull with good aim. I can hear what you're all saying: why go on vacation? We have everything we need wherever we usually stay. That's true, but how about a change of scenery? When was the last time you visited Selena City on the moon? Or walked around the Grizzle caves? Or went to Fedruckers? Get some friends together, go to a beach or somewhere else equally nice (bars do not count!) and just relax. Surf… and if you can't surf, get pounded around in the waves and stagger out of the water with a mouthful of sand and a lobster clinging to your nose and wander around looking for your towel. Or get in that ship of yours and fly through the vacuum of space looking for fun and adventure! Just don't put the top down.
FEATHERWEIGHT
PAYCHECK At the place where I work, security is a real issue. Since many of us work late shifts, we're often being sent out into semi-dark parking lots in the dead of night. So, we wear our ID badges all the way to our cars to guard ourselves against the possibility of a mugging. This doesn't protect us because we perform a vital service to humanity. It's because anyone who sees a badge from there would immediately think, "Oh, he's broke." And it's the truth. I work there all week and after the various and sundry bites taken out of my pay by various agencies, funds, companies, individuals, mythical heroes, etc., I go home with significantly less. That's a fact of life: money's hard to come by. However, just last night, a friend of mine forked over 850,000 in cash as a loan to a friend. No paperwork, no lawyers, not even a violin-case-carrying bodyguard or two. No, just him, his friend, and a pile of cash. He gets essentially the same paycheck I do. As you may have already guessed, this was not done in the parking lot. No, this transaction happened on a sleepy little planet out in deep space. In Fed, it's not uncommon to go from nearly nothing in the bank and a heavy loan to multi-millionaire in less than two days. Wouldn't it be nice if RL played by the same rules? Also in Fed, money is never stagnant. True, it never lands in anything vaguely productive, but that doesn't mean that it's wasted. Sometimes the best investment you can make is a round of drinks among friends. Let's face it, a penny saved... is in a holding pattern, just waiting for you to get some spare time to waste it. In Fed, we just cut out the middleman and waste it more or less directly. But like I said, we don't waste money in Fed, we just put it directly into use. Not the most productive use, but in a dead race between productive and fun, fun always wins. I'd like to go on about this, but I need to go deposit my paycheck in my savings account.
We are such ridiculous creatures, aren't we? All prickly pride and hurt feelings at times. At other times as insular as bears at hibernation, not interested in anything but our planet, our duchy, our lover, quickly annoyed by the cloying sweetness of the bar posts but all too willing to tell our loved ones and anyone else who will listen how truly wonderful the object of our passions is, and in how many ways. My love is smart and funny and passionate, warm and bright as sun on a cornfield and as silky sweet comfortable as fur brushed against bare skin. It makes my day to see him, and... you don't care a bit. See how it goes? The English may have something with their excessive fear of seeming ridiculous. Although confining, shedding one's fear of seeming ridiculous all too often leads, well, to seeming ridiculous. Look what happened to John Cleese in A Fish Called Wanda. First he meets an American girl, next thing you know he is stripping in Russian, and worse, getting caught stripping in Russian. On the other hand he was having so much fun, maybe in the end it was worth it. This is the big question when you see someone making a fool of themselves. OK, so your former best friend is losing friends right and left over some brainless bimbo that is bound to break his heart in the end, because this is his pattern; it is the not caring about him that is attractive. Is he having fun? Hard to say in this case, I know. If someone falls in love three times a week, engages in serial monogamy with great protestations of eternal devotion at each and every wedding, is there cause to try to talk to them? Maybe they just like weddings, and as the saying goes, this is a game after all. I suppose it depends on how much you care about them, whether you would even think of trying. Otherwise, you simply add to your list of people who enjoy soap-opera drama too much for your peace of Fed.
If it is true as some say that people's fears determine their work, I wonder whether their fears also determine their play. For instance, it is said that a doctor fears death, and a psychiatrist fears insanity. Taken to its ultimate conclusion, perhaps this means we fear poverty, since we so enjoy being rich here. I for one have to remind myself that my Baroness attitude that money is no object cannot apply to real life, where unfortunately there are bills to pay. But do we act out deeper fears, I wonder. Perhaps the players who prowl from partner to partner are secretly convinced of their unattractiveness, and want to assure themselves of their desirability, and of how popular they would be if they weren't surrounded by dweebs. I am not being sarcastic, although there are possibly grounds for sarcasm in that conviction. Some people genuinely find themselves in circumstances where they are not appreciated, and Fed, like the internet at large, allows those whose convictions or lifestyles are at odds with their surroundings to find validation. Think of all those male players with female alts. Where else would this be found so utterly normal? So the role-play becomes a sort of inverse extension of the self. People play themselves as they wish they were, popular, sexy, good-looking, rich or aristocratic. It is tempting to induce from this that a given person is therefore in reality the opposite, but that would be too easy. People's personas may simply be witty or stupid or friendly because they can't conceive of another way to be, or they don't want to be any other way. But generally there is a reason for the persona we choose I think. We play the people we wish we were, not what we are now. I don't mean to disturb anyone's insecurities. If you are terminally shy or unattractive in real life, nobody needs to know this unless you confide in them. But the next time someone is telling you that they are somebody and you are not, just remember to ask them whether they don't protest too much.
A
CLOSER LOOK: UNDER SCRUTINY It is difficult at times to be incisive without giving the impression of meanness, and just as difficult to be introspective without seeming self-centered. Talking about my inner self seems pretentious, as though I and I alone have anything to contribute. Using "we" generally seems condescending. Talking about "people who" makes it look as though I want to distance myself from anyone who would do something like that, and as though I of course would not. "Don't try to figure me out," demanded a player, who also wanted me to promise not to think or to talk about her. I had to smile a little. Although certain sentences may have seemed to refer to her persona, it had in fact not crossed my mind in writing the column. Of course, a comment about whether the shoe fit would have infuriated her beyond all hope of reaching an understanding, to which we did eventually come. You have to feel a little sorry for people who are so afraid of people thinking about them. What are they afraid of? That people will see them for what they are? Or for what they are afraid they are? Seems to me that people who are so worried about being examined have lost track of what is good about themselves. What about the wonderful person they have (had?) every intention of becoming? Granted, not all insights are pretty, but on the other hand some are, and to want someone to cease to think about you implies that you think there are no good thoughts to be thought about you. The player in question is intelligent and resilient, well liked and no doubt kind to animals and small children. Even if I rather mercilessly point out her insecurity here, only she in fact knows whom I am talking about, so I do no harm to her persona. Perhaps I even cause that player and, I hope, others to think, and this in the end is the only purpose of an essay such as this, to lay out a course of ideas in hopes it makes sense, and causes a few people to think. For the record, I believe that everyone has some level of insecurity. Even those who claim no loneliness and no jealousy afflicts them are prey to these very basic human emotions I think; maybe they simply don't want to confront them lest they have to wonder about their meaning. And who am I to jibe at another human's means of coping after all, although of course I do anyway, simply because it is fun to talk about other people whether or not we think that they are handling their lives better - or worse-than we are ourselves. So in the end the controversy over role-play is in my opinion a muddied confusion over poorly defined terms. Some people come here to hide from a real-life they dislike and that they see no hope of changing, while others come here to be what their real-life does not at the moment allow them to be, like Whimsy, my male friend from the Oklahoma ranch who wanted to be a pretty girl. Personally, I see role-play as an extension of the self, but I think most people are much bigger than they realize. Those who see role-play for the opportunity to be what they are not fail to account for their ability to be that person here. I once saw someone despondent, who had been cruelly convinced by another (in my opinion probably even more insecure) player that he would never amount to anything in life. While the first player's real-life did little to use his brain, in Fed the player had put together a well-known and efficient group, and kept it running a very long time. There is no question that if I was to mention his name, each of you would know it, but I can't do so because I have not been able to reach him to obtain his permission to do so. And this was the player another player had convinced to think about himself as a nobody. You cannot help but have compassion for them both, for there, at some point in our lives, go all of us. You, me, and the player that didn't want me to think about her.
'I dunno,' my boss said dubiously. She, the most beauteous and generous Uniquette, was rather of the opinion that the planet review droids should be written off as a bad business. Naturally, since it is she who is sometimes put into the spine-chilling position of having to explain to a demi-goddess exactly why she has to go herself to examine several dozen minis in the hope of finding the odd shining original exception, I did see her point, but being an enterprising and ambitious droid I am never one to agree to let well enough alone. 'It'll be a cinch, boss,' I assured her. 'We already told Mario we might need him to talk to the hospital administrator, right? Well, so, we just demand all the parts of Scaramouche back and build ourselves a backup to Askhellion… Let's face it, he is sorta malfunctioning these days, right?' 'Well...' she said, still not convinced. I waived the announcement of the upcoming robot design at her. 'Just think of the publicity for the DataSpace,' I suggested, 'Free publicity. We teach a droid to not only review planets but review them reliably, and we will have academic acclaim oozing out our ears and people flocking into the DataSpace to see what all the hoopla is about.' Uniquette twirled a red editcorder between her fingers and smoothly crossed her legs. 'All right,' she said, 'You can go. But remember, I want total deniability on this. Anything goes haywire, I can't have the demi-goddess besmirched by an association with the Mafia. You will be totally on your own.' 'Got it under control, Boss,' I assured her, 'And Mario says he has a contact on a biotechnology team who will come in for a cut. We will take academia by storm, and you will be the most famous editor since Del Ray and MacDonald.' 'Not the most beautiful?' she enquired, raising an eyebrow. 'Go, Seven, before I have second thoughts about trusting your judgement.' I scooted hastily out the door, promising as I left to send regular reports. 'Regular reports!' she hooted. 'That's what they all say, kid, that and on time. Now get outta here!'
IN
SEARCH OF SPOCK… ERR SCARAMOUCHE 'You want what?' The hospital administrator exclaimed, staring at me in disbelief. I nodded with perhaps a touch more assurance than I felt. 'Scaramouche,' I told him again, 'We don't think it's right to leave him here unclaimed.' 'Well now,' the little man said with a greasy smile, shuffling through the papers on his desk. 'There was a little matter of a rather large unpaid bill. No tickee no washee, told you that at the time. As I recall, you were going to call your lawyer, I believe? Some such threat.' 'May I introduce my associate Mario,' I said smoothly, 'Say hello to the man, Mario.' The big guy looked up from cleaning his nails with his knife and nodded curtly after giving the administrator a long slow once-over. The administrator swallowed hard, just once. I will give him this - he conceded gracefully. 'I see, ' said he with a small tense smile, 'Pleased to meet you, Mario, I am sure.' He looked at me again. 'Now you' he said, 'wanted the body parts?' 'Parts?' I asked innocently, 'I want Scaramouche, so we can give him proper burial, and put his aged mum's mind at rest. Most upset she's been about her boy being left here.' The administrator smiled soothingly as his hand crept across his desk to his telephone. 'Don't even think it!' I snapped, 'Mario here would not want you to make any sudden moves.' The administrator froze, and stuttered something about having the lab assemble the parts. 'Speak slowly and clearly,' I told him, ' and explain to me about the parts.' The administrator swallowed again. 'Well, the patient arrived disassembled, of course, ' he murmured. 'When no-one paid his bill or claimed the pieces, we err, donated them to the lab.' 'No phone,' I told him. 'We go there. Now.' Mario and I stepped aside to allow the administrator to open the door to the hall, and Mario fell in behind him. The little man suddenly dived to the floor on the right, there was a flurry of movement, and Mario and I found ourselves looking up the business end of several rather serious-looking firearms. 'Freeze!' ordered a red-faced man, who looked like he was in a bad mood. I tried to decide if I felt lucky. To Be Continued...
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