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==Phrack Magazine== Volume Four, Issue Forty-Three, File 8 of 27 CONFERENCE NEWS PART II **************************************************************************** Fear & Loathing in San Francisco By Some Guy (The names have been changed to protect the guilty.) 1. The Arrival I had been up for about 48 hours by the time America West dropped me off at San Francisco's airport. The only thing I could think about was sleep. Everything took on strange dreamlike properties as I staggered through the airport looking for the baggage claim area. Somehow, I found myself on an airport shuttle headed towards the Burlingame Marriott. Suddenly I was standing in front of an Iranian in a red suit asking me for a major credit card. After a quick shuffle of forms at the checkin counter I finally had the cardkey to my room and was staggering toward a nice warm bed. Once in the room I fell down on the bed, exhausted. Within the space of a few minutes I was well on my way to Dreamland. Within the space of a few more minutes I was slammed back into reality as someone came barreling into the room. Mr. Blast had arrived from Chitown with a bag full of corporate goodies. I accepted a shirt and told him to get lost. No sooner had he left than Fitzgerald burst in with enough manuals to stock a small college's technical library. After griping for nearly 30 minutes at the fact that I had neglected to likewise bring 500 pounds of 5ess manuals for him, Fitzgerald took off. Sleep. 2. Mindvodxka After several needed hours rest, I took off downstairs to scope out the spread. I ran into Bruce Sterling who relayed some of the mornings events, the highlight of which was Don Delaney's "Finger Hackers" the inner city folks who sequentially dial, by hand, every possible combination of pbx code to then sell on street corners. Out of the corner of my eye I spotted two young turks dressed like mafioso: RBOC & Voxman. I wandered over and complimented them on their wardrobe and told them to buy me drinks. Beer. Beer. More beer. Screwdrivers. Screwdrivers. Last call. Last screwdriver. RBOC and I decided that it was our calling to get more drinks. We took off to find a bar. Upon exiting the hotel we realized that we were in the middle of fucking nowhere. We walked up and down the street, rapidly getting nowhere. In our quest for booze, we managed to terrorize a small oriental woman at a neighboring hotel who, after 10 minutes of our screaming and pounding, finally opened up the door to her office wide enough to tell us there were no bars within a 15 mile radius. We went back to the hotel very distraught. We went back to RBOC's room where Voxman was sampling a non-tobacco smoke. We bitched about the lack of watering holes in the vicinity, but he was rather unsympathetic. After he finished his smoke and left the room, we decided to order a bottle of vodka through room service and charge it to Voxman since it was roughly 50 dollars. RBOC called up room service and started to barter with the clerk about the bottle. "Look, tell you what," he said, "I've got twenty bucks. You meet me out back with two bottles. I give you the twenty and you keep one of the bottles for yourself." "Look man, I know you have about a thousand cases of liquor down there, right? Who's going to miss two bottles? Don't you want to make a few extra bucks? I mean, twenty dollars, that's got to be about what you make in a day, right? I mean, you aren't exactly going to own this hotel any time soon, am I right? So, I'll be down in a few minutes to meet you with the vodka. What do you mean? Look man, I'm just trying to help out another human being. I know how it is, I'm not made out of money either, you know? Listen, I'm from NYC...if someone offers me twenty dollars for nothing, I take it, you know? So, do we have a deal?" This went on for nearly an hour. Finally RBOC told the guy to just bring up the damn bottle. When it arrived, the food services manager, acting as courier, demanded proof of age, and then refused to credit it to the room. This sparked a new battle, as we then had to track down Voxman to sign for our booze. After that was settled, a new crisis arose: We had no mixer. The soda machine proved our saviour. Orange Slice for only a dollar a can. We decided to mix drinks half and half. Gathering our fluids, we adjourned to the lobby to join Voxman and a few conventioneers. The vodka went over well with the crew, and many a glass was quaffed over inane conversation about something or other. Soon the vodka informed me it was bed time. 3. It Begins. I woke late, feeling like a used condom. I noticed more bags in the room and deduced that X-con had made it to the hotel. After dressing, I staggered down to the convention area for a panel. "Censorship and Free Speech on the Networks" was the first one I got to see. The main focus of the panel seemed to be complaints of alt.sex newsgroups and dirty gifs. As these two are among my favorite things about the net, I took a quick disliking of the forum. Nothing was resolved and nothing was stated. There was a small break during which I found X-con. We saw a few feds. It was neat. The head of the FBI's computer crime division called me by name. That was not terribly neat. The next session was called "Portrait of the Artist on the Net." X-con and I didn't get it. We felt like it was "portrait of the artist on drugs on the net." Weird videos, odd projects, and stream of consciousness rants. Wasn't this a privacy conference? We were confused. The session gave way to a reception. This would have been uneventful had it not been for two things: 1) an open bar 2) the arrival of the Unknown Hacker. U.H. was probably the most mysterious and heralded hacker on the net. The fact that he showed up in public was monumental. The reception gave way to dinner, which was uneventful. 4. Let the Beatings Begin A few days before the con, Mr. Blast had scoured the net looking for dens of inequity at my behest. In alt.sex.bondage he had run across a message referring to "Bondage A Go-Go." This was a weekly event at a club in the industrial district called "The Bridge." The description on the net described it as a dance club where people liked to dress up in leather and spikes, and women handcuffed to the bar from 9-11 drank free! This was my kind of place. On that Wednesday night, I could think of nothing but going out and getting to Bondage A Go-Go. I pestered X-con, Mr. Blast and U.H. into going. We tried to get Fender to go too, but he totally lamed out. (This would be remembered as the biggest mistake of his life.) We eventually found ourselves driving around a very seedy part of San Francisco. On one exceedingly dark avenue we noticed a row of Harleys and their burly owners hanging outside a major dive. We had found our destination. Cover was five bucks. Once inside we were assaulted by pounding industrial and women in leather. RAD! Beer was a buck fifty. Grabbing a Coors and sparking a Camel, I wandered out to the main dance floor where some kind of event was taking place. Upon a raised stage several girlies were undulating in their dominatrix get-ups, slowly removing them piece by piece. A smile began to form. X-con and U.H. found me and likewise denoted their approval. The strip revue continued for a few songs, with the girlies removing everything but their attitudes. The lights went up, and a new girl came out. She was followed by a friend carrying several items. The first girl began to read rather obscure poetry as the second undressed her. Once girl1 was free of restrictive undergarments girl2 donned surgical gloves and began pouring generous amounts of lubricant over her hands. As the poetry reached a frantic peak, girl2 slowly inserted her entire hand into girl1. A woman in the crowd screamed. My smile was so wide, it hurt. The fisting continued for an eternity, with girl1 moving around the stage complaining in her poetic rant about how no man could ever satisfy her. (This was of no surprise to me since she had an entire forearm up her twat.) Girl2 scampered around underneath, happily pumping away for what seemed like an hour. When the performance ended, a very tall woman in hard dominatrix gear sauntered out on the stage. From her Nazi SS cap to her stiletto heels to her riding crop, she was the top of my dreams. Two accomplices tied a seemingly unwilling bottom to the stage and she began striking her repeatedly with the crop, to the beat of something that sounded like KMFDM. The screams filled the club, and drool filled the corners of my mouth. As the song ended, the girls all came back out on stage and took a bow to deafening applause. Then the disco ball lit up, and Ministry began thundering, and people began to dance like nothing had ever happened. We were a bit stunned. We all wandered up to the second level where we were greeted by a guy and two girls going at it full on. I staggered dazed to the second story on the opposite side. There was a skinhead getting a huge tattoo and a girl getting a smaller one. I was not brave enough to risk the needle in San Francisco, so I wandered back downstairs. That's where I fell in love. She was about 5'2", clad in a leather teddy, bobbed blood red hair, carrying a cat o'nine tails. Huge, uh, eyes. Alas, 'twas not to be. She was leading around a couple of boy toys on studded leashes. Although the guys seemed to be more interested in each other than her, I kept away, knowing I would get the hell beaten out of me if I intervened. As it approached 3:00 am, we decided it was time to go. We bid a fond farewell to the Bridge and took leave. We all wanted to see Golden Gate, so U.H. directed us towards downtown to the bridge. Passing down Market, we noticed a man lying in a pool of blood before a shattered plate glass window, surrounded by cops. We eventually reached the Golden Gate Bridge. We drove across to the scenic overlook. Even in the darkness it was rather cool. We took off through the hills and nearly smashed into a few deer with the car. It was almost time for the conference by then, so we decided to get back. 5. Thursday I made it downstairs for the "Medical Information and Privacy" that morning. As I was walking towards the room, I got a sudden flash of an airlines advertisement. The Pilot had arrived. I was shocked. Here was this guy who used to be one of the evil legionnaires, and he looked like an actor from a delta commercial...blue suit, aviator sunglasses, nappy hat with the little wings. Appalling. I drug him into the meeting hall where we sat and made MST3K-like commentary during the panel. I began to get mad that no one had even mentioned the lack of legislation regarding medical records privacy, nor the human genome project. I was formulating my rude commentary for the question period when the last speaker thankfully brought up all these points, and chastised everyone else for not having done so previously. Good job. I snaked The Pilot a lunch pass, and we grabbed a bite. It was pretty good. I noticed that it was paid for by Equifax or Mead Data Central or some other data-gathering puppet agency of The Man. No doubt a pathetic ploy to sway our feelings. I ate it anyway. After lunch, John Perry Barlow got up to bs a bit. The thing that stuck me about Barlow was his rant about the legalization of drugs. Yet another stray from computers & privacy. It must be nice to be rich enough to stand in front of the FBI and say that you like to take acid and think it ought to be legal. I debated whether or not to ask him if he knew where to score any in San Francisco, but decided on silence, since I'm not rich. I lost all concept of time and space after Barlow's talk, and have no idea what happened between that time and that evening. 6. Birds of a Feather BOF together That night we went to the Hacker BOF, sponsored by John McMullen. Lots of oldies siting around being superior since it wasn't illegal when they swiped cpu access, and lots of newbies sitting around feeling superior since they had access to far better things than the oldies ever dreamed of. A certain New York State Policeman had been given the remainder of the bottle of vodka from the previous night. It was gone in record time. Later he was heard remarking about how hackers should get the death penalty. When Emmanuel Goldstein demonstrated his Demon Dialer from the Netherlands, he sat in the corner slamming his fist into his hand muttering, "wait till we get home, you'll get yours." I went outside and hid. Also hiding outside was Phiber. We exchanged a few glares. He and I had been exchanging glares since our respective arrivals. But neither of us said anything directly to the other. I had heard from several people that Phiber had remarked, "on the third day, I'm gonna get that guy. Just you wait." I was waiting. I decided that Thursday should be the night we would all go to a strip club. After telling everyone within a 15 mile radius about Bondage A Go-Go, it was rather easy to work up an interest in this adventure. Me, X-con, Mr. Blast, U.H. and Fender would be the valiant warriors. Before making preparations to leave, X-con and Fitzgerald decided to check out the hotel's PBX. Setting up Tone-Loc, X-con's notebook set out banging away at the available block of internals. We decided that the hotel had a 75, and yes, it would be ours, oh yes, it would be ours. It was a Herculean task to gather the crew. Despite their desire to go, everyone farted around and rounding them up was akin to a cattle drive. Fender cried about having to attend this BOF and that BOF and Mr. Blast cried about being tired, Fitzgerald cried about not being old enough to go, and I just cried. Eventually we gathered our crew and launched. 8. Market Street Madness We initially went out to locate the Mitchell Brothers club. I had heard that it was quite rad. Totally nude. Lap dancing. Total degradation and objectification. Wowzers. U.H. said he knew where it was. He was mistaken. The address in the phone book was wrong. It was nowhere to be found. We ended back up on Market surrounded by junkies and would-be muggers. Thankfully, there were no fresh corpses. I saw a marquee with the banner Traci Topps. Forcing Mr. Blast to pull over, we made a beeline to the entrance. Cover was ten dollars, and we had missed Traci's last performance. We paid it anyway, since we had bothered to pull over. Big mistake. Now, when I think of strip clubs, I think of places like Houston's Men's Club, or Atlanta's Gold Club, or Dallas' Fantasy Ranch. Very nice. Hot women. Good music. Booze. Tables. We entered a room that used to be a theater. Sloping aisles along theater seats side by side. Up on the stage, was a tired, unattractive, heavy set brunette slumping along to some cheesy pop number. I was instantly disgusted. I felt compelled to tell X-con that strip clubs were not like this normally, since he had never been to one, and it was my bright idea to be here. We noticed some old perv at the far end of our row in a trench. It was like out of a bad movie. He was not at all shy about his self-satisfaction and in fact seemed quite proud of it. He kept trying to get the girls to bend down so he could fondle them. Gross beyond belief. We debated whether or not to point and laugh at him, but decided he might have something more deadly concealed under the trench and tried to ignore it. Some more furniture passed across the stage. One sauntered over to me and asked if I'd like any company. I asked her what the hell this place was all about. She said that this was the way most places were downtown. I told her that I expected tables, beer, and a happy upbeat tempo. She shrugged and said she didn't know of anything really like that. On the stage a really cute girl popped up. A shroom on this turd of a club. Fender and I both decided she was ours. Fender said there was no way that I would get the only good looking girl in the place. I said he needed to get real, that it would be no contest. As soon as she left the stage, Fender disappeared. Later he returned smirking. Moments afterward, the girl appeared and plopped down in his lap. (We found out later he paid her.) He continued his dialogue for about 20 minutes discussing philosophy or something equally stupid to talk to a nude dancer about, and then we got up to leave. She gave him her phone number. (It was the number to the Special Olympics.) We left, and I apologized to everyone. We took off to Lombard street and fantasized about letting the rental car loose to plummet down the hill, destroying everything in its path. Next time we decided we would. Then it was decided that it would be a good idea to look for some food. We ended up somewhere where there was some kind of dance club. Everything was closed and there was no food to be seen. Walking down a few side streets looking for food, U.H. decided to tell Fender that he had broken into his machine. Fender turned about 20 shades of green. We then went back to the Golden Gate Bridge since it never closed and stared out at the bay. Fender began to talk incoherently so it became urgent that we get back to the hotel and put him to bed to dream happy dreams of his stripper Edie. Back at the hotel X-con and I could not sleep. The notebook had found a number of carriers. One was for a System V unix. We decided that this was the hotel's registration computer. We knew most used some kind of package like encore, so we...well. :) We also found several odd systems, probably some kind of elevator/ac/power controllers or whatnot. At 5am or so, X-con and I took off to explore the hotel. Down in the lobby we found RBOC busily typing away to a TTD operator on the AT&T payphone 2000. He was engrossed in conversation, so we left him to his typing. X-con started to look around the Hertz counter for anything exciting and set off the alarm. Within seconds security arrived to find me perched on the shoeshine stand and X-con rapping on the payphone to another hotel. We told him we hadn't seen anyone go behind the counter. He didn't believe us but left anyway. As we burst into fits of laughter, Mitch Kapor, in shorts and t-shirt came cruising by and exited through a glass door. We weren't quite sure if he were real so we snuck through the door after him. The door led to the gym. Mitch was busily pedaling away on an exercycle. X-con and I decided to explore the hotel since we never even knew there was a gym, and who could tell what other wild and wacky places remained unseen. We took off to find the roof, since that was the most obvious place to go that we should not be. Finding the stairwell with roof access, we charged up to the top landing. The roof was unlocked, but right before opening the hatch, we noticed that there was a small magnetic contact connected to a lead. Not feeling up to disabling alarm systems so late in the evening (or early in the morning), we took off. On another level, we found the offices. Simplex locks. Amazing. Evil grins began to form, but we wimped out, besides it was damn near convention time. 9. Coffee, Coffee and More Coffee Outside the convention room the caterers had set up the coffee urns. X-con and I dove into the java like Mexican cliff jumpers. It got to be really really stupid. We were slamming coffee like there was no tomorrow. Fuck tomorrow, we slammed it like there was no today. I put about eight packets of sugar in each of my cups. Ahh, nothing like a steamin' cup o' joe. By the time we were done we had each drank nearly 20 cups. The world was alive with an electric hum. We were ready to take on the entire convention. Yep. After another cup. The first panel of the day was "Gender Issues in Computing and Telecommunications." As the talk began, the pig in me grew restless. "What's all this crap?" it said. "Bunch of feminazis bitching about gifs. They should all go to the bridge next Wednesday, that will give them a new perspective. Where's Shit Kickin' Jim when you need him?" Then I got more idealistic in my thinking. "Ok, fine, if women demand equal treatment on the net, then what about equal treatment for homosexuals? What about equal treatment for hermaphrodites? What about equal treatment for one-legged retired American Indian Proctologists on the net? And let us not forget the plight of the Hairless. Geez. What a load of hooey. I wanted to jump up and yell, "THE NET IS NOT REAL! WORRY ABOUT THE REAL WORLD AND THE NET WILL CHANGE! YOU CANNOT CHANGE REALITY BY CHANGING THE NET!" If only I'd had another cup of coffee, I might have done it. The women got nothing done. After the panel X-con and I took off to the room, after getting a few cups of coffee for the elevator ride. We sat in the hotel room and made rude noises until Mr. Blast and Fitzgerald got up. We all fought for the shower and by noon we were ready to venture outward for lunch. 10. Cliffie! The lunch that day had a few pleasant surprises. The first came in the form of a waitress with HUGE, uh, eyes. Having something of an fetish for big, ahem, eyes, I practiced my patented Manson-like gaze for her benefit. The second surprise came when a the CFP staffers cornered a couple of people at our table. KCrow and Xaen had photocopied lunch tickets and forged badges to hang out at the conference. Finally, on the last day, the staffers suddenly decided that these two might not be paying attendees. Whether it was the names on their badges that did not check out, or the fact that Xaen had been walking around in a red and white dress-like robe the entire day. They let them stay, but told them next time to either make better forgeries or send in their scholarship applications like everyone else. As lunch drew to a close, the crowd grew restless. A cry rang out, "CLIFFIE!" The crowd took up the cry, and executives began throwing conference papers in the air, stomping their feet and holding up their lit cigarette lighters. "We want Cliffie, we want Cliffie!" The house lights dimmed and a silhouette of frazzled hair appeared at the head of the room. Well, maybe it wasn't quite like that. Cliff Stoll took the stand and began a stream of consciousness rant that would make someone with a bipolar disorder look lucid. Contorting himself and leaping on tables, Cliff definitely got my attention. It was kind of like watching Emo Philips on crank while tripping. I dug it. If you have the opportunity to catch Cliff on his next tour, make sure to do so. Lorne Michaels could do worse than make some kind of sitcom around this guy. It was probably the most amazing thing I had seen at the official conference. 11. A Little Bit O' History Fitzgerald heard that there was a Pac Bell museum downtown. This news evoked a Pavlovian response almost as pronounced as me at The Bridge. Me and The Pilot wanted to check it out too so we decided to go. It was like the Warner Bros. cartoon of the big dog and the little dog "huh Spike, we gonna get us a cat, aren't we Spike, yep, we are gonna get that cat, boy, aren't we Spike, yep, yep, boy I can't wait, boy is that darn cat gonna be sorry, isn't he Spike, huh, Spike, huh?" Fitzgerald was psyched. Driving through downtown San Francisco was kind of like some kind of deranged Nientendo game. The streets were obviously layed out by farm animals. Traffic was disgusting. Of course, 3:30 on Friday afternoon is official road construction time in downtown San Francisco. That was not in my "Welcome To SF" guide, so I penciled it in. About 4:00 we found an open lot, amazingly enough across from the Pac Bell building. We paid roughly 37 thousand dollars for the spot and took off to the museum. Fitzgerald was in heaven. He had called the museum from the hotel before we left and told them we were on our way. Upon walking in the building we were stopped by a guard. He asked us what we wanted. Fitzgerald said, "We're here for to see the museum!" The guard gave us the once over and said, "Museum's closed." Fitzgerald almost fainted. Sure enough, the museum guy had bailed early. Probably immediately after receiving our phone call. Typical telco nazi antics. We took to the streets. (The streets of San Francisco...haha) Wandering up and down the hills checking people out proved quite fun. We checked out Chinatown where we all decided that the little Oriental schoolgirls in their uniforms were quite amazing. We tried to spot the opium dens, and pointed out suspect organized crime figures. Suddenly, we realized we were lost, and if we didn't get back to the lot we would lose our car. (Thirty-seven thousand dollars only buys you a spot for a few hours.) We managed to find our car minutes before the tow trucks rolled in and spent a few more hours looking for buildings with good dumpsters for that night's planned trashing spree. We found a few spots and took off towards the hotel and dinner. 12. Zen & The Art of Trashing That night everyone decided to move into our room. Somehow Fitzgerald stole a bed and wheeled it into our room to allow for more sleep space. So, it was X-con, Fitzgerald, me, Fender and Mr. Blast all smashed into the little room. As we were sitting in the room discussing what to do that evening, the door burst open and a large man in basketball sweats walked in. After he saw us in the room he turned around and quickly exited. Fitzgerald ran out in the hall after him and discovered that the whole hall was full of basketball players. We called down to the front desk to complain that our room had been given out. The desk apologized and told us that the mistake had been noticed and they would correct the problem with the basketball team. This did not exactly sit well with me, as I envisioned shitloads of jocks rooting through our stuff, taking my camera and various and sundry electronics gear. Temporarily forgetting about the impending robberies, we took off to do a little recon of our own. The five of us and The Pilot piled into two cars and took off towards downtown looking for garbage. We found several Pac Bell offices but the only one with any type of dumpster had nothing to offer save old yellow pages and pizza boxes. We were totally bummed. We decided to wander around aimlessly to see what we could stumble across. After making about a dozen turns and walking a mile or two we came across a huge black beast of a building. It looked like the Borg Cube. It was vast and foreboding. It was an AT&T building. Fitzgerald took off towards the door to ask for a tour. It was only 11:00 in the evening, so we were certain that we would be given a hearty welcoming and guided journey through the bowels of the cube. Yeah, right. Alas, we were not to be assimilated. The guard told us to get lost. We decided to see the Borg used dumpsters. Around the back end of the building by the loading docks we saw several stair landings starting about three floors up. We debated scaling the building, but noticed about 500 security cameras. This place was possibly the most secure telco installation we had ever seen. We decided that this place must be the point of presence for the West Coast since it was just so damn impenetrable. As we turned to leave I noticed a small piece of white cord on the ground. As I picked it up, we noticed it led from a small construction shack behind the POP. It ran all the way from the shack to a heavy steel door in the side of the cube where it snaked its way under the door into the building and probably into the frame. We all had a great laugh at the exposed line, and wished we would have had a test-set to make a few choice overseas calls. We wandered back to the cars and ended up driving around downtown some more for a few hours before ending up back at the hotel. 13. Mr. Blast Can't Drive. We all regrouped the next morning to go shopping downtown. Fender was kind enough to dish out vast quantities of chocolate-covered espresso beans and we all got completely wired. X-con and I decided that we should have had a bag of these the previous morning. We drove straight down to Chinatown and began looking for a place to park. Mr. Blast, Fender, X-con were in one car, me, Fitzgerald and The Pilot in another. Mr. Blast, for being from a huge city, had absolutely no concept of driving in traffic in a downtown setting. He missed lots, made weird turns, ran lights and generally seemed like he was trying to lose us. He achieved his desired goal. We cursed his name for fifteen minutes and then gave up our search. Fitzgerald had swiped Fender's scanner and was busily entertaining himself listening to cellular phone calls. He had the window rolled down in the back seat and took great joy in holding up the scanner so people walking down the street could join in on the voyeuristic fun. Suddenly Fitzgerald shouted, "HOLY SHIT! I can't believe it!" The Pilot and I nearly had matching strokes, "WHAT?" I said. "It's ENCRYPTED! I can't believe it man, encrypted speech on the phone!" I began to laugh, and The Pilot soon joined in. It was Mandarin. "Where the hell are we, Fitz?" I asked him. "San Francisco, " he replied. "No," I said, "Specifically, where in San Francisco?" Fitzgerald thought for a minute and said, "Uh, Chinatown?" Suddenly, his eyes lit up, "OHHHHHHH. Hehe.. it's not encrypted is it?" We laughed at him for about ten minutes. We came to a stop light where a very confused Chinese lady was looking at us. Fitzgerald held up the scanner and I yelled, "Herro!" We went hysterical as we drove off, leaving the woman even more bewildered. We found a place to park and decided to explore on our own. The plethora of little Chinese hotties blew my mind. We staggered around Chinatown trying to get bargains on electronics gear. It struck us all as odd that every electronics store in the downtown area was owned and operated by Iranians. Needless to say, no bargains were found. We had lunch at a restaurant called Red Dragon. The majority of the lunch was spent talking telco. Watching Fitz and The Pilot get totally wrapped up in the talk, both trying to tell the best story about the neatest hack proved incredibly interesting. We took off into the crowds to try to find cheap watches, since The Pilot's watch was ready to retire. He soon made a totally sweet deal on a watch from an oriental merchant and we took off for the car. On the way we noticed a small shop in a back alley with throwing stars in the window. Inside was ninja heaven. They had daggers, cloaks, stars, nunchaca, swords, masks and tons and tons of violence inducing paraphanalia. I saw a telescoping steel whip behind a case. I knew I must possess this item, and when I found out that it was only $22.00 the money was already in my hands. Fitz also got a whip and five stars. We were now armed...Phiber beware. We took off down to the port to look out at the bay. While we were there we watched a bunch of skaters doing totally insane street style in a small cement fountain area. One kid waxed the street with his face and we all had a serious laugh, much to the chagrin of the injured and his posse. As soon as they scraped up the hapless skatepunk off the ground, they resumed their thrashing, avoiding the wet spot. We decided that these kids were totally insane. We took off back to the hotel to meet up with the idiots. Once we arrived we found that we were locked out of our room. In fact, not only had they cut off our keys, but they had checked us out. We got a security guard to let us in the room. Shortly thereafter X-con et.al. returned loaded with gear they had picked up on their trip. They exclaimed that they rushed back to the hotel at top speed, since when they tried to call the room, the hotel had said that our room was not in use. I got furious and went downstairs to yell. Eventually, we got our phone service back and the manager went upstairs to give us a live body to verbally abuse, which we took full advantage of. He shucked and jived his way through an apology but we did not get a free night as we had hoped for. 14. Castro-Bound X-Con wanted shoes. We all sorted out the card key mess and piled back in The Pilot's car and headed out to find NaNa's. As we drove towards the store we noticed something change about the city. The fog lifted. The colors got more pastel. The men walking down the street seemed to have more spring in their step. We had entered the Castro. I really wanted to hit a record store in the Castro because homos always seem to have cool dance music. I convinced everyone that we should pull over and risk a quick walk down the main drag. The stroll was a complete farce. Our crew seemed to be extremely apprehensive. To make them more edgy I took great glee in talking real nelly and batting my eyes at anything that moved. No one was amused. In fact, Fitzgerald and the Pilot looked like they wanted to cry and run back to the car and hide. None of the record stores had anything good. There were lots of old Judy Garland and Ethyl Merman but nothing more modern than the Village People. (And I was expecting techno. But noooooo...) On our way back to the car we passed by a leather goods store. Not exactly Tandycraft, if you get my drift. X-con was the only one brave enough to go in. He came out looking drained of all color holding a catalog. "There were these three guys in there," he stammered. "One of them was being fitted for a cock sheath. The two other guys kept showing him different ones, but he said they were too big." We all shuddered and hastened our return to the car. We drove a few miles more down the street and ended up at the NaNa's shop. The store was your typical alternative grunge-wear shop. Stompin' boots, nifty caps, shirts by Blunt. X-con got his shoes. We all got nifty caps. Leaving for the hotel, I grabbed a handful of flyers from the front window. Most were rave flyers for the next weekend. One however was announcing a bondage party for 'women only' two days later. I felt a tear begin to form as I reminisced about the Bridge. 15. Hating It In The Height. We regrouped back at the hotel and took off again for the Height to go check out Rough Trade records and see what could be seen. And X-con and I needed a few tabs. (YEEE!) We needed these rather badly since Mr. Blast had found out about a rave that evening from the SF-RAVES mailing list. There was no way X-con and I could sit through a rave sober, and dancing was WAY out of the question. Rough Trade was closed. We decided to grab a quick bite to eat while waiting for information on the rave. We decided to try something really odd, since we weren't in for the typical corporate burger scene. A bit down the street from Rough Trade we happened upon a Ethopian restaurant. Since this was about as obscure as any of us had ever dreamed, we decided to check it out. I personally didn't think Ethopians ever had any food, and made a few jokes about wanting something light, so this would definitely be the place. Ethopian food was odd. Looking over the menu, Mr. Blast decided that he didn't want much of anything they had to offer. We decided that we should buy a lot of everything and just pick and choose. I made the comment that I would only eat chicken, and Mr. Blast didn't like the idea of eating much of anything everyone wanted to try. We ordered separately. The food came out in a rather odd fashion. Everything was piled on top of everything else. It was all splattered on top of a weird pancake-like sponge bread. There were all manner of sauces to smother, dip, or otherwise destroy the entrees with, so we all took great bravado in our sampling of each. It was quite a fantastic spread, and I wholeheartedly urge everyone to check out this particular cuisine. After the meal we took off to find a phone to call the raveline. On our way to the phone X-con and I stumbled across a few transients who offered us acid at a remarkable price. This was almost too good to be true. We slunk down a side street and bs'ed with the homeless couple as we decided how many to buy. We settled on 20 hits for 45 dollars. X-con and I were psyched. The rave would indeed be tolerable. We hooked up with the crew, smiling like Cheshire cats. Mr. Blast had the directions to the rave so we took off ready to overindulge. By the time we reached the rave, we were one of what seemed like a hundred or two hanging outside of a warehouse. This might be pretty damn cool. X-con and I began our dosing. Now, usually I love the first contact of the blotter with my tongue. It evokes a certain tangy taste, akin to touching a battery to the tip of your tongue. It always gets the adrenaline flowing, and brings back memories of what will soon be repeated. Nothing. I looked at X-con. "Dude," he said, "I can't taste shit. I better take more." He dropped about 3 more. Still no taste. I ate a few more myself in a futile hope that some lysergine substance may have once resided in the fibers of the blotter. Nope. This was the beginning. As we waited to be let in to the warehouse, cursing the transients, the sirens begin to wail. Fucking great. Five police cars swept into the cul-de-sac that led to the warehouse. The rave would not be in this location. Everyone bailed like rats from a sinking ship, yelling that the rave would be moved to a soon to be announced location. Now X-con and I were really pissed. I whipped out my steel whip and said, "Let's go pay a quick visit to the Height and visit our friends." We piled back into the cars and set out to do some serious damage. Arriving in the Height we noticed that cops were everywhere. This was not going to be easy. X-con and I set out like men possessed. The transients were gone. We wandered up and down the street for about 30 minutes looking for our prey. Finally we saw them. They saw us. One ran like a marathon sprinter. The other stayed, but was soon flanked by a gang of eight other transients. X-con walked right up and said "You fucking ripped us off!" As we tried to get either our money back or working drugs, more and more transients gathered. It was time to write it off as a loss. We cursed and backed away from the crowd. Our group had congregated at a grocery store at the end of the street. Mr. Blast was speed dialing the raveline in a desperate attempt to find a venue to spin wildly in and blow his day-glo rave whistle. Across the street, a homeless black man screamed painfully at each and every passing car, "HELP! You gotta take me and my girlfriend to the hospital now! She's gonna DIE!" He staggered over to us and begged for a ride, we respectfully declined. As this was going on, the grocery store erupted with violence as a drunken frat type was ejected forcibly. He started swinging wildly at the rent-a-cop, and was greeted with the business end of a police baton. The Pilot decided this was a good time to make his exit. He waved goodbye and was gone. RBOC, Voxman and a nameless waif arrived in the parking lot. We told them the status of the rave and they decided to wait to see if there may be any type of decadence forthcoming. About that time Mr. Blast came screaming across the lot with the directions. We no longer had room for everyone, so Voxman & the nameless waif were offered a ride from a flaming pedophile who overheard their plight. The took him up on his offer before we could stop them. We said a quick prayer for them and piled into the car. 16. Stark Raving Mad Late Into The Night The new location was out at a marina in Berkeley on the beach. It took damn near an enternity to get there and when we arrived it was raining. X-con and I made it our mission to find acid at this location. The music could be heard for several hundred yards from the street, so we took off in a sprint towards the source. There were roughly 40 or so people. Thirty-nine guys, one ugly girl. X-con immediately disappeared in the crowd looking for someone with a beeper...anyone. Fender disappeared. Fitz disappeared. RBOC and I sat and made rude comments. X-con arrived back with a big smile. Our saviour was in the form of a teenage Hispanic dude. He had red blotter with elephant, and yellow blotter with some other kind of design. The yellow was "three-way." We bought several of each, and there was much rejoicing. X-con had already eaten one three-way and one regular, before I could split one in half for RBOC. The taste was overwhelming. Freshly squeezed. The three of us perched up on a hill staring out over the undulating mass waiting for the effect. It came quickly. As it hit, Fitz wandered up and said, "Let's hack the raveline!" This idea went over VERY WELL, so we all set out towards the car, leaving little sparky streamers behind us as we moved. From a nearby hotel lobby, Fitz and X-con busily hacked at the VMB while RBOC and I sat in the car totally wigging. About 30 minutes later they ran out screaming. It had been done and the code was now 902100. We drove back to the rave and noticed the red and blues flashing and the ravers bailing en masse. We picked up Mr. Blast and Fender and took off back to our hotel. Fender had done a bit of networking at the rave and exchanged a few business cards. We were totally appalled. Once back at the hotel X-con took even more. He said he wanted to see static. Within an hour he achieved his goal. He spent a large portion of the night walking in and out of the room muttering, "Man...you guys are totally fucking with me." We then decided to spice up the raveline. RBOC changed the outgoing message a few times and then finally decided on, "HAR HAR HAR, Y'all been boarded by the pirate! No more techno! No more homosexuals grinding away at 120 beats per minute! No more Rave! HAR HAR HAR!" We laughed like schoolgirls. Everyone passed out. Everyone but us tripsters of course. We stayed up the majority of the night telling really odd pharmaceutical war stories. At about 6 am RBOC decided that he was hungry and called for room service. He ordered linguini. The room service clerk told him that the kitchen was not ready for dinner, and would only be serving breakfast. RBOC replied, "Look, do you have noodles? Yes? Do you have water? Well, what's the fucking problem. What exactly do you need to boil water? Turn on the stove, and I'll be down in a few minutes to make it myself." With this logic, the room service clerk replied his linguini would be up in about half an hour. We then decided to get escorts, or at least order up a few, and listen to them on their cell phones calling their pimps. (Fender had listened to about five different such conversations a few nights prior.) RBOC ordered up a couple of buxom blondes to go and we waited for their return phone call to barter on the price. The call never came in. The hotel had turned off our phone for incoming calls. This sparked even more fun, as RBOC called up the front desk to complain, "Look ma'am, my hookers can't fucking call into my room! Turn my phone back on NOW! I've had a rough night up for 24 hours on drugs, and I need a woman." The operator was not amused. The sun rose. We all remarked about the typical morning after layer of filth that seems to congeal after a good fry. The static was no longer visible to X-con and he became almost lucid again, interjecting bits of wisdom like "Uh" and "Yeah" into the conversation. His flight was in two hours. The linguini arrived and everyone had a small taste as the smell of the white sauce permeated the room. As we smacked away, the inexperienced of the crowd arose to greet a new morning. RBOC suddenly realized that NYC was probably snowed under, so he took off to find a phone to check on the status of his flight home. X-con gathered his bags and mumbled "Later," and disappeared. I fell on the bed and disappeared into darkness. 17. Laterz The alarm clock blared out a sickening beep, to which it was rewarded with a small flight across the hotel room. I gathered up my gear and made a beeline towards the elevator. Still confused, I wandered down to the lobby where I was greeted by Fitzgerald and Fender. I bid them both a fond farewell and boarded the airport shuttle. This was one hell of a good time. I wonder if CFP4 in Chicago will be as good? One can only hope. See you there. *************************************************************************** D E F C O N I C O N V E N T I O N D E F C O N I C O N V E N T I O N DEF CON I CONVENTION D E F C O N I C O N V E N T I O N >> READ AND DISTRIBUTE AND READ AND DISTRIBUTE AND READ AND DISTRIBUTE << Finalized Announcement: 5/08/1993 We are proud to announce the 1st annual Def Con. If you are at all familiar with any of the previous Con's, then you will have a good idea of what DEF CON I will be like. If you don't have any experience with Con's, they are an event on the order of a pilgrimage to Mecca for the underground. They are a mind-blowing orgy of information exchange, viewpoints, speeches, education, enlightenment... And most of all sheer, unchecked PARTYING. It is an event that you must experience at least once in your lifetime. The partying aside, it is a wonderful opportunity to met some of the celebrities of the underground computer scene. And those that shape its destiny - the lawyers, libertarians, and most of all the other There will be plenty of open-ended discussion on security, telephones and other topics. As well as what TIME magazine calls the "Cyberpunk Movement". Las Vegas, is as you might have guessed a great choice for the Con. Gambling, loads of hotels and facilities, cheap air fare and room rates. It's also in the West Coast making it more available to a different crowd than the former Cons have been. Your foray into the scene and your life will be forever incomplete if by some chance you miss out on DEF CON I. Plan to be there! WHO: You know who you are. WHAT: Super Blowout Party Fest, with Speakers and Activities. WHERE: Las Vegas, Nevada WHEN: July 9th, 10th and 11th (Fri, Sat, Sun) 1993 WHY: To meet all the other people out there you've been talking to for months and months, and get some solid information instead of rumors. DESCRIPTION: So your bored, and have never gone to a convention? You want to meet all the other members of the so called 'computer underground'? You've been calling BBS systems for a long time now, and you definitely have been interacting on the national networks. You've bullshitted with the best, and now it's time to meet them in Vegas! For me I've been networking for years, and now I'll get a chance to meet everyone in the flesh. Get together with a group of your friends and make the journey. We cordially invite all hackers/phreaks, techno-rats, programmers, writers, activists, lawyers, philosophers, politicians, security officials, cyberpunks and all network sysops and users to attend. DEF CON I will be over the weekend in the middle of down town Las Vegas at the Sands Hotel. Why Las Vegas? Well the West Coast hasn't had a good Convention that I can remember, and Las Vegas is the place to do it. Cheap food, alcohol, lots of entertainment and, like us, it never sleeps. We will have a convention room open 24 hours so everyone can meet and plan and scheme till they pass out. Events and speakers will be there to provide distraction and some actual information and experiences from this loosely knit community. This is an initial announcement. It is meant only to alert you to the time, dates and location of the convention. Future announcements will inform you about specific speakers and events. An information pack is FTPable off of the internet at nwnexus.wa.com, in the cd/pub/dtangent directory. The IP# is 192.135.191.1 Information updates will be posted there in the future as well as scanned map images and updated speaker lists. FINAL NOTES: COST: How you get there is up to you, but United Airlines will be the official carrier (meaning if you fly you get a 5% to 10% price reduction off the cheapest available fare at the time of ticket purchase) When buying airline tickets, call 1-800-521-4041 and reference meeting ID# 540ii. Hotel Rooms will cost $62 per night for a double occupancy room. Get your friends together and split the cost to $31. Food is inexpensive. The entertainment is free inside the hotel. Reference the DEF CON I convention when registering, as we have a block of rooms locked out, but once they go it will be first come, fist serve. Call 1-800-634-6901 for the reservations desk. The convention itself will cost $30 at the door, or $15 in advance. It pays to register in advance! Also it helps us plan and cover expenses! Mail checks/money orders/cashiers checks to: DEF CON I, 2709 East Madison Street, #102, Seattle, WA, 98112. Make them payable to: "DEF CON" we're not trying to make money, we will be trying to cover costs of the conference room and hotel plus air fair for the speakers who require it. Don't bother mailing it a week in advance, that just won't happen. Advanced registration gets you a groovy 24 bit color pre-generated name tag. Include with your payment the name you want listed, your association/group affiliation/bbs/whatever, email address, and/or bbs number for syops. Last day for the registrations to reach me will be July 1st. SPEAKERS: We have solicited speakers from all aspects of the computer underground and associated culture (Law, Media, Software Companies, Cracking Groups, Hacking Groups, Magazine Editors, Etc.) If you know of someone interested in speaking on a self selected topic, please contact The Dark Tangent to discuss it. FOR MORE INFORMATION: For initial comments, requests for more information, information about speaking at the event, or maps to the section where prostitution is legal outside Las Vegas (Just Kidding) Contact The Dark Tangent by leaving me mail at: dtangent@dtangent.wa.com on the InterNet. Or call: 0-700-TANGENT for conference information/updates and to leave questions or comments. Or Snail Mail (U.S. Postal Service) it to DEF CON, 2709 East Madison Street, #102, Seattle, WA, 98112. Future information updates will pertain to the speaking agenda. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Updates since the last announcement: >> The Secret Service is too busy to attend. >> New Media Magazine, Unix World and Robert X. Cringly have stated they will attend. >> We got a voice mail system working (I think) for comments and questions. >> We don't have enough $$$ to fly out the EFF or Phillip Zimmerman (Author of PGP) or Loyd Blankenship. >> Judy Clark will be representing the CPSR and a few other organizations Don't forget to bring a poster / banner representing any of the groups you belong to. I want to cover the conference room walls with a display of all the various groups / people attending. (Break out the crayons and markers) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ DEF CON I CONVENTION [PROPOSED SPEAKING SCHEDULE UPDATED 5.31.1993] Saturday the 10th of July 10am, Sands Hotel, Las Vegas INTRODUCTION Welcome to the convention *The Dark Tangent (CON Organizer) Keynote speaker Cyberspace, Society, crime and the future. To hack or not to hack, that is not the question *Ray Kaplan Civil Libertarians -CPSR Computer Privacy/1st Amendment/Encryption Gender Rolls and Discrimination *Judi Clark -USC Comp. Law Legalities of BBS Operation, message content laws and network concerns. *Allen Grogan, Editor of Computer Lawyer 'The Underworld' -Networking Concerns of National Networking of CCi (Cyber Crime International) Network. *Midnight Sorrow. Corporations -Packet Switching SPRINT Concerns/security and the future MCI of packet switching. (*Jim Black, MCI Systems Integrity) Misc Common misbeliefs and rumors of the underground *Scott Simpson -Virtual Reality The law, and it's intersection with VR *Karnow -Unix Security Future developments in unix security software, General Q&A on unix security *Dan Farmer -System Administrator Security Concerns of an Administrator *Terminus The 'Underworld' -Internet The security problems with Internet/Networks Overview of hacking *Dark Druid -Getting Busted The process of getting "busted" *Count Zero -How to be a nobody Hiding your identity in the high-tech future, or The payphone is your friend. *TBA-nonymous -The Prosecutors Their concerns/problems and Hacker Hunters suggestions for the 'underworld'/Q&A CONCLUSION General Q&A This itinerary is proposed, and topics and speakers will be marked as permanent once a confirmation is received. This is by no means the exact format of DEF CON I. Any Questions / Comments Contact: dtangent@dtangent.wa.com Voice Mail 0-700-TANGENT ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ [> DEF CON I and United Airlines Travel Arrangements <] United Airlines has been chosen as the official carrier for DEF CON I and is pleased to offer a 10% discount off the unrestricted BUA coach fare or a 5% discount off the lowest applicable fares, including first class. This special offer is available only to attendees of this meeting, and applies to travel on domestic segments of all United Airlines and United Express flights. A 5% discount off any fare is also available for attendees traveling to or from Canada in conjunction with your meeting. These fares are available through United's Meeting Desk with all fare rules and restrictions applying. Help support the DEF CON I Conference by securing your reservations with United Airlines. To obtain the best fares or schedule information, please call United's Specialized Meeting Reservations Center at 1-800-521-4041. Dedicated reservationists are on duty 7 days a week from 7:00 a.m. to 1:00 a.m. ET. Please be sure to reference ID number 540II. You or your travel agent should call today as seats may be limited. As a United Meeting attendee you qualify for special discount rates on Hertz rental cars. Mileage Plus members receive full credit for all miles flown to this meeting. Tickets will be mailed by United or you can pick them up at your local travel agency or United Airlines ticket office. Generic update #1--- My system exploded, so it's been hard to keep in touch with everyone, but my mail response should be better now. Yep the conference is still on. A blown hard drive won't kill me. You can reach me for information or questions at 0-700-TANGENT (the DEF CON I hot line) ----- -- Sorry for the huge signature, but I like privacy on sensitive matters. -----BEGIN PGP PUBLIC KEY BLOCK----- Version: 2.2 mQCNAiviMB8AAAEEANO4XmnggG8h8XWtfxShMvRUarlpj2OBSPMrzUNRAKEjupUj f/FfszMk0G60GSiCfiosw/m2JcKPQ6OZgQCxfElFUcYkKx/rYjgU3viEmNasjAwN jR/9l0WSXlv4CjCUtH/t4rm1C1bs8i6iznmu/dCeuUEZQoRm0Lrdt/10TGt3AAUT tCtUaGUgRGFyayBUYW5nZW50IDxkdGFuZ2VudEBkdGFuZ2VudC53YS5jb20+ =DxKN -----END PGP PUBLIC KEY BLOCK-----