In 1998, I flew to Las Vegas for a conference on the societal impact of human bonds formed over a series of one-way sociohumanistic interfacings transmitted through a diginetwork between individuals who might be situated tens or even dozens of miles away from each other, and who might never meet in person.1
I gave the keynote address on the first day of the conference2 and afterwards I was exhausted. I used to get so nervous at these things! In 2001 I discovered that eating a Denny’s Moons Over My Hammy in as few bites as possible3 right before going on stage almost completely cured me of my stage fright and therefore I have not since had any problems except for that one time I had to do some impromptu extemporaneous speaking at a flash mob in Hoboken.4
Anyway: Las Vegas. Exhausted. Dehydrated. Feverish. (I had picked something up from Kip’s preschool-aged jerkburger of a kid a few days beforehand when Kip brought her into our office and let her lick the space bar on my fancy Danish keyboard.) I went to my hotel room and collapsed on my bed, spinning into a wild, sweaty fever dream, like the ones people have in television westerns when they hallucinate all sorts of horrible beasts of foreshadowing.5
In that dream I saw a vision of the very social networking toolplications we have today. I saw them explode out before me, making connections between people our primitive PornoCon ‘98 could never have imagined, and did not imagine until at least PornoCon ‘99. Millions of people, barking out short statements that turned into winged ponies that split apart and alighted into many other peoples’ ponihuts. Porn ponies that shook uncontrollably. Joke ponies that laughed and pooped and laughed again. SEO ponies that furtively scratched at each other’s genitals. Other ponies that did other humorously exaggerated things.
I awoke and drew a picture of what I’d seen in my head, but unfortunately that picture was destroyed later by an overzealous hotel housekeeper.
Anyway, Scott Simpson’s “tweet” reminded me of that story because I found a big wad of hair under the bed the next morning. I guess his hotel room is pretty hairy, too, which (believe me) is really pretty gross.
1IntrospectionCon ‘98 was a small section of a much larger convention called PornoCon ‘98 and was funded by public radio pornographers who were required by the FCC to support communobeneficial programming. This was groundbreaking in 1998.6
2 “Sordid Antisocial Reputation Analysis Via Shortest-Chain Klaus-Lyman Counting of Adjacent Boner Matrices” and yes it was a HIT.
3 My research suggests that 3 is optimal.
4 That speech was entitled “Whuffie: Why You Want It And How You Aren’t Going To Get It By Taking My Television.” I speak better from notes.
5 For example, when Half-Pint had a fever in the first season of Little House on the Prarie and imagined she saw, hovering over the very fever-bed in which she thrashed with an oily rag on her forehead, a berzerker Merlin Olsen knocking down the set pieces in a bout of late onset ‘roid rage, it eerily presaged that very event in season five.
6 AOL Keyword PORNOCON