1991 - 1992
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Dave Langford and Brian Stableford were guests for Picocon 10, which also featured a talk from Dr Dave Clements, panels Role-playing, and a quiz.
The year's films included Flatliners, Flash Gordon, Frankenstein, Mad Max, The Fly 2, Close Encounters of the 3rd Kind, 2001, Predator 2, Barbarella, Star Trek 6, Red October and Bladerunner
The fanzine was The Edge of Tomorrow and included articles and stories by Steve Brewster, Ginny Rose Cogman, Paul Davison, Matthew Hyde,
Alex McLintock, Steve Newhouse, Michael Spiller.
Blue Roses has written an account of her time at ICSF and the people she met.
An American Liberal Arts Geek in London
Memories of ICSF
Dramatus Geeksonas or Our Heroes
These are the nick names I, for the most part, came up with because there were so many names going around at the time that I could not handle it. Here is a run down on the names and their origins.
Michael Spilling was Chemist -b/c of major. He was treasurer, I think. They gave him the moneybox, and I paid him for Picocon tickets, so I hope he was treasurer. He helped me design wallpaper for the computer to replace his free hand drawn and rather lifelike Cerebus. I doubt it is still there, but it was nice of him to help tat much. I had never touched a mouse before and he had to put his hand over mine to draw the simple design.
Steve Brewster was Sagittarius-His birthday (11/22/71) is two days after mine, which I thought made him a Scorpio, but he is really a Sagittarius. He hater this name, being a logical maths major. So I had to torture him with it. I sometimes feel a mind is the best toy. Anyway, he had the Anorak as the original sad bastard. We still exchange letters and I still address him as Sagittarius and he still hates it. Comforting for some reason.
Nicholas Farrow was Majic Fingers - well that's personal. He had this great brown Fedora he always wore. Best described, by himself as, "A cad with morals". Also he told me about this character, some assassin, who had her tear ducts re-routed to her mouth, so she would spit instead of crying. "Spit instead of crying" is one of my favourite phrases today even. I think it would make a great sampler. I have plans for several samplers that would make your grandmother cry. It's one of my talents. Anyway I plan to do the Spit Instead of Crying one after my WWXD: What Would Xena Do sampler. (I think you have the popular Kiwi series there but if not Xena is the best warrior princess I've seen in a lifetime even if her choice in sidekicks may not be the best. As for the What Would ______ Do. If you've missed the reference you have been granted a gift from the gods. The What Would Jesus Do people are everywhere despite the many I have tried to kill using only my bare hands.)
Alex McClintock was Mr. Fuzzy Wuzzy-the only one of us with a beard, so we teased him about that. I guess I am just as guilty of a cruel streak as the next person. This name was Farrow's invention but it stuck among us even if it never got to you. Funny to see the Old man of the group be my generation.
JK had no nickname really. Our Heroes had from time to time referred to him as "Oh the Love of Your Life JK" but not all that often. He...we would argue so often. Nearly blinded him with a scarf once. He called me Slag. Of course I had to have the term explained to me by the rest of the group, much to their glee, before I set out to kill him. This was not hard in a small room so I let my scarf whip into his face. I know, it's all fun and games until someone loses an eye. Then it is just fun. I know this act of violence will never ever restore my pure as the driven snow reputation, but it was fun. The strange thing is, no one really believes the truth, I am as pure as the driven snow. The football team is lying.
Julie Gerrard Harris (the name I write under. It's my full name, not a hyphen last name) was Blue Roses. I have been Blue Roses since the age of sixteen, from a Tennessee Williams play, Glass Managerie. So I had no special group nickname, even if some of them know me by the nom de guerre.
Rick had no nickname but a most interesting life. His purity score results were better than the four of us combined. Bow down. He always wore cowboy boots but should be remembered for editing the fiction work.
Israeli was another character, an ex-ICSF student whose real name I can not remember. After graduation he went on to consulting all over the world in computers. Our Heroes claimed he was a genius in the subject even if I never got to talk to him very much. I best remember him for paying some fine off in Israeli money. The group did not look kindly on this but it was all he had at the time and he was leaving that night for Israel. Something is usually better than nothing so they took it. He also had a very nice speaking voice, mesmerising really. I don't think I ever heard what his natural accent was as he constantly changed his accent from minute to minute.
Our Story unfolds...
Back in Spring Term 1992, I was doing a semester in London with Diablo Valley College (DVC), my junior college in Pleasant Hill, California. It was my last semester so why not leave my country for it? AIFS, the company who handled all the details with visas and accommodations, and DVC were in some convoluted was affiliated with Imperial. No one ever quite knows how, but I learned little tricks to cope. In fact we had an orientation of OC facilities, held under cover of darkness so you would never know this small band of Americans could use your gym and join your clubs. I never did get to the gym, moral issues, but that I'm sure is a sight even today. Old computers turned into ingenious exercise machines...
The most memorable thing about that time was the people. These were the sweetest guys is the known universe. I am rather nostalgic for the time and place, even if our old space is gathering dust with climbing equipment. They told me where things were located, like theatres, museums and Sainsbury's. They could give me wonderful warnings about life in London, warning against E-Coli in Sandwich Shops and a resistant form of TB. I was rather lost when I first for to Kensington (31 Elvaston Road to be precise) with a rather nasty upper bronchial infection that persisted through three bouts of Amoxicillin. Basics, like why it got dark so early and how to put in a switch on an extension cord, needed to be covered; I proved my ignorance time and again. I didn't know IC was a science college at first, so I complained bitterly about your history section in the main library. The gang directed me to the Ken public library without ridicule to research early Celts. They were supportive and protective of me, but not in a bad way. Genevieve was the only other woman there, but she disappeared for a long time it seemed. They made getting used to an all male peer group easy be accommodating my weird ways: America, Feminine, Liberal Arts Student, Theatre Addict, Show Tune Aware and not Afraid to Prove it at Diner Parties.
They also had a rather sadistic side. I never did like the video game Lemmings, particularly hated the suicide feature. Those little numbers over their heads and lemming guts all over... I tried no to watch it - denial runs strong in my family, The guys knew this so they would distract me with conversation and then call out my name while standing by the computer just in time for me to catch. Hot Lemming Death. Later, Duke nuke'em came on the scene. Such nice people with violent tendencies.
The place itself was a hole in the wall, as much as I loved it. The floor was carpeted with brown squares of indoor/outdoor material that had unknown substances smashed in from the dawn of time. The ceiling had a strange blue hue, to mimic the outside world I was told. There was this orange ball on some sort of string. I was rather lightweight and matched the table the computer rested on. That provided hours of fun. We all sat on cushions on the floor as there was only one chair and Farrow got that if he was in house. I don't think the pillows had ever been washed. The chair disintegrated before my eyes, with bits missing more and more as the time progressed. The university claimed necessary work so they opened up a sidewall. This gash lasted forever, it seemed, and we did wonder a time or two about the visible asbestos floating inside. There was nothing more to do than put the clear tarp back over that part of the wall.
In winter, heating came from uncovering pipes, which also dried our coats. In summer air conditioning meant leaving the door open. Sometime during the summer, the cover of the light bulbs shattered and the floor was covered in tiny bits of glass that didn't go into your skin but which sliced you a fair bit, I didn't notice until later, in the bath when my back went on fire with little cuts. Then there were the stairs down to the door, which they convinced me, with impressive scientific data, were to fall at any moment. I'm not small so I knew it would happen with me on the top step - maximum falling distance. Lest I forget, my favourite story, the rumours of nuclear waste. Farrow said that the whole place was a series of tunnels that no one had fully documented, left over from some big fair ages ago. The university had records of producing hazardous waste and nothing on record to show its removal or storage. Ummm. So of course, being the idiot I am, I helped to open the back door and went in with a small, totally inadequate light source. Hey, I'm alive so I'm happy. We will never talk of that day again or how I glow in the dark. I'm not bitter.
My first memory of ICSF was coming into the library. I had read about the club in a little book that students get. That write up was enough to convince me this was the place to be. I noted the hours and went after a rather boring lecture at my school down the way in a convent. No, the Lavender Nuns did not teach us but we got to eat with them. Mo, the Librarian, was such a sweetheart. Anyway, I made my way down the stairs to the open door with Beware the Leopard sign. There were tons of people littering the floor inside and Farrow was giving some sort of test from THE chair. He acknowledged me while everyone was busy writing. It was my first experience of a purity test, the bestiality section. Ok, why do they need to know that to let you in? Do you submit proof? Ummm, this is the place. I peeked around the side of the bookcase to see what was going on, and there was Farrow looking right at me with those mischievous green eyes. We just had to laugh. Something about the place was like that, we had to laugh. It felt so safe there.
As for Pico-Con, the ICSF Social Event of the year, I was a gopher in 1992. Our Heroes informed me of other English Events, such as the Ton, but the one that caught my attention was Nano-Con, which occurred in someone's car as they drove a Pico-Con guest and several friends to London. Never did get to a Nano-Con but thought it would be interesting. I was part of security where I made sure various things like VCRs or the computer with the Hitchhiker's Guide didn't up and disappear. They also warned me never to see the light of day with the guy who has the computer. Don't go to the guy's car whatever you do. Yes, it's a cool car. They figured he wasn't dangerous and besides, I could probably take him in a fight, but they didn't want to find that out. Who knows who would come next year if I killed or maimed a guest? Besides, some of the guests have been attending Pico-cons for longer than any of us have been trying to plan them; we can't get rid of the valuable source of information just because I spook easily.
Besides security (with hopeful bouncer duties that never materialised as this was a mellow bunch) and book counting, I was on our trivia team and did fairly well - bonus points because I claimed the personal responsibility for that crater in Siberia. I also did the only role playing ever in my life. The carpet burns took a year to heal but the bruises healed much more quickly. Amazingly you served alcohol. Back in the states, well in California at least, alcohol is banned because of the interesting weapons at a con. The gang told me that English priorities were different and they would rather have the alcohol than a sword any day. Mind you they also said that any Red Blooded Englishman must dress up twice a year in women's clothes, publicly; once during Halloween and sometime during the Christmas season. Don't ask why, it's genetic, like the Cricket gene. You have to have a gene to understand the rules and fun of cricket, otherwise the sport does not work for you. I did not inherit this gene, but I like to picnic while talking with friends so I can cope if needs be. Anyway, I am hoping to do Picocon as a ten-year reunion type thing. I don't know who else will come, but it should be fun no matter.
The term was eventful in personal detail even if short. There are all sorts of things that stick in my head even now for some reason. In the beginning we would have Movie Wednesday. Lugging the TV and VCR back up to the main office after movie Wednesday proved too much so we gave up. I did get to see some interesting series on video, which had to be explained to me. OK, so why is Herne the Hunter training Robin Hood? Then there were little comments on my life. I am Wiccan and have been for a little over a decade now. Farrow said he could tell by just looking at me. On sight he knew I would be standing naked in a circle at Beltain with out-stretched hands and reverent eyes. Of course, all I could hear was my Mum call out, "What are you doing in there?" and me bellowing the traditional "Nothing". I mean, try a few new things, well, old things really, and parents never understand.
Another thing they mentioned was how being at IC was like becoming part of a religious order. There is no sex, only study and contemplation in stark quarters with other men. Then they mentioned the mining major exception. I had the luck to come across a gay mining major who didn't have sex with anyone anyway but who came out to me in private. He explained all sorts of things about the guy experience in London, which is nothing like the gay experience I grew up with in San Francisco. I still can't believe you don't have the Sister's of Perpetual Indulgence? Anyway, our heroes did attempt to remember there were women who were not related by blood. They claimed to sit on the stairs at Albert Hall to stare at girls on the street. Thank goodness the Music College has girls, or else our best and brightest would forget women existed.
As for trips, we went to see Star Trek: The Undiscovered Country on Feb 14th. There was also a book-buying trip at the end of the year I didn't go to. We were not trip mad. There were some movies, but I never got to them as I was taking a theatre course and had shows most evenings when I didn't do dance class. I know, poor me.
As for the proper use of the library, I only got a few books out during the semester as I was in school. The record will shoe I returned them all. I managed to sneak out a few books for use on a holiday in Skye. I had been given strict orders against this, but... well, Chemist checked them out. He could do that just fine. I neglected to mention that Farrow told me I couldn't do that anymore because I had no fixed address and would return to the states when my money ran out. Besides sneaking out a few books that were safely returned, I also read some Second Staged material while in the library. They kept the more valuable works in a locked cabinet which was called Second Stage for reasons that could never be explained to me as I was not high enough in the chain of command or even near any links in the chain officially. Only the two keys existed to the cabinet. I don't remember who got them but I don't think Chemist did because I remember him complaining about not being able to put money in the strong box, which we kept with the second stage books. I persevered with the limitations so that Maus and Doon: The Dessert Planet could become part of my world. They kept Second Stage books because I like them. I am not making this up. They would show me things from it to like Cerebus and Sandman. Oddly enough Death from Sandman looked rather like my little sister who had come into a Goth phase a few years earlier. I never really got into those, even if everyone else did.
As for my life, rather boring. I graduated the University of California at Berkeley with an Honours Bachelor's Degree in Women's Studies (1995). I graduated from the George Washington University with a Master's Degree in Women's Studies, subset Sociology, (1997). I have been working with a temporary employment agency at a variety of jobs involving finance, pagers, and reception. I take my time off travelling but will move back to DC to get a real job in Fall, in a women's rights organisation hopefully. I hope to go back to contributing to Off Our Backs: A Women's Newsjournal- where I was an intern goddess May 96-97. I can be contacted via giglets@hotmail.com or 31 Meek Place, Lafayette, CA 94549 USA (my parent's house). Any old timers that want to get in touch - love to hear from you all. Take care,
MYLY Blue Roses
Oh, MYLY is also a traditional ending for me. It stands for Miss You, Love You, which I put on all personal letters as I always miss and love my kith and kin. This was a short hand way to get that across.
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