By:
That day started with me drinking a glass of Absinthe at 9:30 in the morning. Sure, it got me through the two hour long train ride that N.J. Transit was kind enough to provide for $18.25, but it wasn’t enough for what was to come.
Check-in was at 3:00, but seeing as how that at past H.O.P.E.s I had always gotten in early, it shouldn’t have been a problem. Notice how I mentioned “…shouldn’t have…?” The fun was about to begin.
The first time I stood in that line that reminded me of the Bataan Death March, and made it, finally, up to the counter, I was told that my room wasn’t ready yet, and I would have to wait until 1:00. The second time I went through the line, I was told that I would have to wait until 2:30. The third time I went through the line, the room finally was ready.
For those of you who were there to read about the room I had at the last H.O.P.E., you’ll be pleased to know that things were different this time. Room 1367 on the 13th floor of the Hotel Pennsylvania was home, even if the room was big enough for a family of Mexicans to live in. I had a great view, though. Nothing beats waking up in the morning, opening the window to let in the sun and the glory of the city, and have the other side of the building see you.
The odd thing was how I hadn’t even put my bags down yet, and the phone was ringing. On the other end was a woman, frantic, and threatening me to call cops on me through a heavy Jamaican accent.
Here’s what happened. When I came in earlier in the year to put the deposit down on the room, I was given a receipt to show I had a room. Cool. I didn’t bother looking at it because I trusted the hotel staff to know what they were doing. That was a mistake. The manager, the Jamaican woman, accused me of trying to pull a scam. On the receipt, you see, the dates were from THE LAST CONFERENCE. So, I went downstairs to have a little talk with Miss Cleo there, and get things straightened out. We did, and she apologized a lot for it. I should also mention the fact that the hotel didn’t do anything for me going through that. Quite a staff they have there. I was rattled by the mention of the cops, though. After all, I was holding, and the last thing I needed, after getting the room, was to spend the weekend in The Tombs.
Then I went over to go register as a speaker. I went over to the table, and got my speaker’s packet. We didn’t have badges this time. We had pins, and I was number 51, or, as I would later say “I am Area 51.” From there I headed to be a part of whatever strangeness was coming down the tracks, and it was.
The rest of the day was spent with friends, roaming around, getting not as much dinner as I should have, and getting into that bottle of Zombie I brought. I had a headache from the Cleo incident, I didn’t eat well, and it caught up to me. The Zombie didn’t help, and I fell into a well buzzed sleep, mind restless, thinking about tomorrow.
Ugh. That’s how I felt when I woke up that morning. My barely eating the day before, along with the alcohol caught up with me. I staggered around my room for a while, showered, and rested on the bed watching the news of the day.
Big things were happening. The people out in Astoria, Queens still didn’t have power back, and that piece of ass Rihanna was giving a free concert for those idiots over the Today show. There was also talk of severe thunderstorms coming through later in the day.
Breakfast was at McDonald’s, and it really did a lot to take that sick edge off. Feeling better, it was time to go and check out everything.
There were people selling Jolt, for $2.50 a can, and Bawls was going for $3.50. For a minute I had a flashback of Woodstock. Still, I was in need of caffeine, and a can of Jolt really hit the spot. With that, I was up the escalator.
Things were looking up. There was a lot going on. Vendors, a lot of them, had tables set up. The NOC was being set up. People were gathering in corners. This is was what I was waiting to see. The last time around it wasn’t anything like that. I think they were too busy with their over the top Bush bashing.
This day, however, was one that would find my stomach on edge. The panel that Leo, Dernyn, and I were on was to go on at 7:00 in Area B, but there were other panels that I wanted to see like Wireless Security Flaws, Mag Stripe Tech. and the MetroCard, as well as others. Not a lot got done. In fact, most of it was roaming the hotel, doing drugs, and wondering why it was that I couldn’t have any women in my room. It sucks to have to schlep around the corpse of Mojo.
After roaming around, it was time for a rest. In front of the big screen downstairs, there was a little hammock farm. I crawled into one, going between the screen, and what was going on around me. Next to me was a guy n-mapping something. Texts were being sent out. I was feeling oddly tranquil, but that would all change as it was closer to showtime.
We had to be there to check in 15 minutes before we were to go one, so our panel prep time was spent in someone’s room. The Usual Suspects were there, and it was just talking, laughing, and trying to keep my mind off of how nervous I was. Mind you, I geezed some really good Blast earlier in the day, and I was hoping that it would help me out, and it did.
About 10 minutes before we went on, Dernyn and I were running around hallways getting things, but Leo wasn’t ready yet. We were upstairs, and we were shown into a little side room, a hackers’ Green Room, if you will. We were nervously watching the clock, and I could tell that the other panelist was really nervous. My main concern was that this panel went off better than the last one did. I think his concern was that he just did well.
Zero hour hit, and we went up to from of the room, and up onto the stage. I was given my prompts about how when the yellow card was flashed it meant that I have 10 minutes left, and the red card meant stop. I looked up from the podium, and was concerned. A lot of people had poured in. In fact, it was a lot more than I had expected. We were on up against the Future of Wireless Pen Testing panel, and I though that for sure more people would’ve been in there. We had a NICE turnout, we were introduced, and with the words “Meet Gonzo.” I was up.
I’m on record as saying that I didn’t like how the last panel went, but we nailed it this time. Overall, the panel went really well. We had a laptop problem that held us up for a bit, but this was H.O.P.E. Things like this happened all the time here. I guess our number just came up in that lottery. Still, I’m really proud of how things turned out, and I thank all those who attended. I sincerely hope they enjoyed it.
Dernyn’s performance still stands out in my mind. He was really nervous about, and rightly so. After all, this was his first time out. That being said, I think he did a bang up job, as we all did that day. What really got me, as I was the first one up, was how packed the place was. I didn’t think that many people would show up, but they did. We must have had something to say that they wanted to hear. Speaking of hearing, I treated the audience to what the sonic pistol I built sounded like while the laptop was throwing a tantrum. A woman in the front row, a friend of mine, got up not too long after, and hauled ass out of there. At first, I thought it was because she was just bored with the panel, but, as I would later find out, she left because the effects of the pistol had really done a number on her. Sorry about that. I also noticed how much more relaxed and informal the audience seemed to be this time around. There was a lot of audience interaction, and I welcomed every bit of it. The tone for the rest of the conference was set. It really had a family vibe to it, and it felt like a reunion.
After the panel, we had gotten a lot of good feedback about how we did. We nailed it this time, and all I had hoped for was the audience was enlightened, and entertained. I had the whole night ahead of me, and no idea what to do with it. More drugs and alcohol seemed like a good idea. I went back to my room, and put on the t.v. for a while, and got caught up on the local news. The lights were still dark in Queens, and people were pissed. I broke out my anti-surveillance gear, and swept the room down, as I do at all H.O.P.E.s. The lights were fine, as were the smoke detector, and t.v., but the lamp on the desk set everything off. Fucking feds! What did they want? Damn people. I geezed some more Blast, loaded up a BIG cup of zombie, and headed off to roam the building.
I went downstairs, and checked out what was in the vendors’ area. There were books, T.v.-B-Gones, and a ton of other things that I wished I had more money for. At least I knew what I was coming back for. The rest of my time, that night, was spent waiting for the Blast/zombie combo to wear off, which it did at about 4:00 in the morning. I could feel the crash starting in my shoulders starting its way up into my head. I walked back to the elevator, watched C.N.N. on the way up, and went into my room for some much needed rest.
Saturday.
Morning.
Knock knock knock.
My head raised.
Knock knock knock.
Feds? Hotel Security?
Knock knock knock.
“What the hell is this shit?” I mumbled as I looked out my hotel room door’s peephole.
There, in the hall, was a mob of hackers, P.O.R. members specifically. I quickly dressed, opened the door, and let them in. I’m still at a loss at what hackers were doing up so early. It was just after 7:00. All over Manhattan, I.T. Dawn Patrols were getting out of work, and going home. This lot was just starting to wake up. Some other friends I was waiting for were there, and we enjoyed some small talk. After they left, I headed out for another McDonald’s breakfast.
This day was to be a day of fun. Sure, there were panels I wanted to see, but most of my day was spent in someone’s hotel. I had the misfortune to try some dirt weed, and was quickly reminded why it was I avoided weed at all costs. Blast is best, and there was PLENTY of geezing that day.
Between going from my room to that room, there were plenty of hi-jinks I made it a point to get into, like throwing bag bombs down hallways, into stairwells, and shooting party streamers out of windows. The panel was over, it was party time, and I made it a point to have some fun. H.O.P.E. comes every two years. Why not enjoy it?
There was a workshop the day before I wanted to attend on how to make Throwies, which are just magnets, batteries, and colored LEDs. I got there at the very end, and there wasn’t enough LEDs left for me. Fuck! There was supposed to be another workshop on Saturday afternoon, but it never happened, much to the chagrin of those of us who were there waiting. I waited, and decided that I had to take out my anger on something. Earlier in the day, I bought a T.v.-B-Gone, and I put it to good use turning off t.v.s in the Manhattan Mall, and on 7th Ave.
It rained pretty much all day, and as I was outside enjoying my Captain Black gold, a thunderstorm came through. Earlier in the day, I heard people talking about severe thunderstorms coming through, and I was looking forward to it. Ever since I was a kid, I’ve loved storms, and now I was getting to be in one in the city. When I was in my room before I went down, I heard what I thought was a bomb going off. It was a clap of thunder, and I heard it again outside. I didn’t think that the city’s acoustics would be that different because of the buildings.
Later that night, at 6:31, a text was sent to my cell that I received at 7:01. I was on the floor of the 18th floor, in the back of Area A, talking with a friend of mine. The text read “DVDs of our talk = SOLD OUT” Leo sent it. A professional A/V company was hired to record all the talks, and burn them to DVDs, which would be sold during the conference, and ours was sold out. Thank you to everyone who bought ours, and I hope you’re still enjoying them.
That night was another night where sleep didn’t come easily. As I’ve done at past H.O.P.E.s, I brought my binoculars along for looking into other building, and decided to head back up to 18, and just look into windows. I saw a lot of nothing, and I even saw where in someone’s apartment nine screens were stacked up, and test patterns were playing. I looked down into intersections, and wondered what those people were doing, and where they were going. It was quite in the back of the room where I was. All I could hear was the quiet click of keyboards, and hushed conversation. A conversation of my own started.
Scientist, a fellow P.O.R. member, was there, and we got to talking. The topic of my being in L.O.S. came up, and Sci told me how he had been reading L.O.S.’ old text files back in ’96. Wow. It was good to hear about how younger people were reading the text files. I ‘m sure he wasn’t the only one. For years I’ve lamented how I was never able to pass on what I know about hacking, phreaking, etc, and it turns out that I did so, indirectly, 10 years ago. When I got on the train that Thursday morning to come to conference, I had no idea that I would come full circle again. I slept better that night.
During the night, something awful had happened. People started leaving. Things were being taken down, and the breakfast I had was horrible. This was day to do nothing, and I all I really did was roam around for the day. I was still in the habit of sweeping down the room, and the bug had finally stopped going off. There was talk that the bug was left over from when the R.N.C. brought their circus to town two years earlier. Maybe so, but why was the bug still working? Why would there be times when it was working, and times it wasn’t? My guess is that random sampling was done, and I just happened to be random.
Most of that day was spent in my room, quietly reading, or starting to pack. That night, however, I had some friends ask me to come to dinner with them at some place around the corner. I declined because I just wanted quiet time, and I still wish that I had gone with them. Good company was probably what I needed most that night.
I can channel things, but not at the times I want to, and that night I was channeling empty rooms at the Chelsea. It wasn’t so much a Dark Night of the Soul. That’s every day for me. It was more like some weird despair climbed into bed with me. There’s just something about a quiet hotel room in Manhattan on a Sunday night that can really do a number on a person. I went outside for one last smoke, and when I later went to bed, my thoughts were how tomorrow might be better.
I woke, finished packing, and headed out for something to eat. Yep, McDonald’s again. That was a mistake, too. Not only for the fact that I wished that I had some company while I was eating, but when I got back to hotel, I puked my guts up something fierce. There was a lot of red in it, and for a brief moment I was reminded of Kerouac hemorrhaging in his bathroom, but my red was just the yogurt drink I had that morning.
The hotel lobby was quiet as I left it, but I did get to see someone I knew and say a quick good-bye to him. I turned and looked through the doors where so much of the conference was, and now it looked as if no one were ever there.
From there I made my way across the street to Penn Station, and N.J. Transit’s waiting area. Another two hour train ride was ahead of me, and I had to switch trains at Montclair State, and then it was on to Netcong. The ride was quiet. My head cleared, and I had time to think about the next H.O.P.E. Two years wasn’t that far away.