Midget Mayhem
The Swamp Stomp,
Scottsdale, AZ
January 24th, 2004

Our ongoing role as unofficial patrons of pro-wrestling in Arizona has taken us to some unusual places: skating-rinks in Tucson, high-school gyms, and downtown Mexican dives where you ask if they have any aspirin, and are told, “The person that sells the pills isn’t here at the moment.” This is why Saturday night saw us at the Swamp Stomp, a bar on Scottsdale Road, for an evening of, and I quote, Midget Mayhem.

Immediately we heard of the event, we were all systems go, though our attempts to buy tickets in advance were prevented by the vampiric presence of another pimp-bastard-ticket-agency, with their “convenience fees”, “service charges” and rules preventing even the venue from selling direct. But I have ranted about this elsewhere, and anyway, nothing could spoil our anticipation at the prospect of watching little people hit each other over the head with trash-cans.

To enhance the experience, alcohol is essential, of course. We’ve seen this kind of thing sober – the “minis” are a staple of the Mexican lucha libre TV shows we watch, Chris frantically trying to provide a running translation for me – and it’s amusing. But those who say, “I don’t need to drink to enjoy myself,” clearly haven’t been to midget wrestling. So our teenage son ‘offered’ to drive us there and back – quotes used advisedly, since initially we had to use the “You do remember who’s paying for that car?” gambit as leverage.

We rolled up half-an-hour before the scheduled start, ready for the heaviest session since our post-wedding party in London. The first thing we discovered, to our (and particularly Chris’s) delight, was that the venue was non-smoking. A personal “Well done” to the management for this, which almost guarantees we’ll be back there, in preference to places which leave you feeling like Hurricane Higgins’ ashtray [the whizzing sound you hear is that metaphor hurtling above non-UK readers’ heads. Higgins was a professional snooker player, almost always seen with a cigarette in one hand – and often, another in his mouth…]

Almost immediately, we discovered a fellow midget aficionado, though in deference to his status as one of the veterans in Arizona’s best-known pro-wrestling federation, we’ll withhold his name here. We agreed that said federation needed to expand and include midgets, forthwith.

The Swamp Stomp is the kind of place where customers get up and dance on the bars, usually encouraged by the MC. Potentially, this could be enormously irritating and/or tacky (see Coyote Ugly – or rather, don’t), but there was such a good-humoured spirit present that you couldn’t avoid getting swept up in the carnival atmosphere. I even got bought a beer by a complete stranger, in apology for his having to squeeze past me to get to the bar. After a decade of London pubs, where surly aggressiveness is part of the culture (and that’s just the staff), this was a shock.

They were also handing out raffle-tickets for various challenges – first person to show them their belly-button piercing, or wearing brown shoes – and Chris acquired one, somehow managing to convince the MC she had some grey hairs. Well, we were probably a decade plus older than the average attendee, and had fewer tattoos and piercings. Chris got all motherly in the ladies’, helping one over-indulged customer sober up – with miraculous results, we spotted her five minutes later, squirting another syringe full of alcoholic jelly into her mouth. Like I say, it’s that kind of place.

 

The warm up was some Midget Limbo outside on the patio, in which they acted as the stands for the poles. We had, by this time, firmly established ourselves at the bar, and felt disinclined to lose our spot, so opted to sit that one out, and wait for the hardcore wrestling. It was hardly a chore, between the bartop dancing, the people-watching, and the steady consumption of alcohol. Chris seemed to think the vodka was watered down, but without going into details, it’s safe to say her position on that had changed by the end of the night. By about 90 degrees. 🙂

Finally, the moment we had all been waiting for arrived: Puppet and Mad Mex stepped onto the bar-top and began to brawl. Fortunately, it was wider than average, but even so, it wasn’t the kind of surface onto which I would like to be thrown. From there, they eventually headed off into the crowd, the fight continuing, and were lost from view – when you’re four feet tall, this tends to happen quite easily. We went back to our drinks, imagining the entertainment over.

But, lo! What was this? A good 20 minutes later – though concepts like “time” were becoming steadily hazier by now – back came the deadly duo back through the place, still going at it hammer-and-tongs. Up onto the bar in front of us once more, Puppet caught Mex across the head with a garbage can lid, then tossed him inside the bin itself and pounded away some more. Finally, Puppet got the three-count for the win, to the cheers of the crowd. We left soon after, having seen all we needed to see, despite the victor’s inquiry, “Who wants to get drunk with midgets?”

Let’s be clear about this: even in our (by now, fairly drunken) condition, we felt nothing but enormous admiration for Puppet and Mex. They have what society perceives as a “disability”, and could easily sit around, waiting for government handouts, demanding concessions like the Americans with Disabilities Act, which requires cubicles for shower-dancers in strip-clubs to be wheelchair accessible. Some may call it demeaning, but their life lets them tour the country, brawl, get drunk, dance with women on bar-tops, and get paid for it.

What single man wouldn’t want to trade places with them?

[For more info, check out the Midget Mayhem website]

Big Fish Pub,
Tempe, AZ
January 13th, 2004

Yes, America may be the land of the free, but that information didn’t appear to have percolated down to the local licensing board, who apparently threatened to close the venue down if the show went ahead. Phoenix has a strange schizophrenia in this area. Nudity is okay, alcohol is okay: the two combined are An Evil Which Must Be Stopped At All Costs. But nothing gets me more stoked than censorship: no-one has the right to tell me what I can and cannot watch. So when we found out the show had been moved to a smoke-free venue in the (allegedly, more liberal) neighbouring city of Tempe, attendance became mandatory.

Yes, America may be the land of the free, but that information didn’t appear to have percolated down to the local licensing board, who apparently threatened to close the venue down if the show went ahead. Phoenix has a strange schizophrenia in this area. Nudity is okay, alcohol is okay: the two combined are An Evil Which Must Be Stopped At All Costs. But nothing gets me more stoked than censorship: no-one has the right to tell me what I can and cannot watch. So when we found out the show had been moved to a smoke-free venue in the (allegedly, more liberal) neighbouring city of Tempe, attendance became mandatory.

A few thoughts on Suicide Girls in general. It’s a website, founded in 2001 out of Portland, which has more strip-clubs per capita than any other US city. The basic concept is the same as any other pay-per-view site: nekkid chicks. But the models here are tattooed, pierced, goth, punk, indie chicks, and the initial concept has exploded to something which claims to be as much about the community of like-minded individuals, as getting the viewer hard/wet. [One wonders how long the site would remain a going concern without the skin, however…]

I have mixed feelings about this. The idea of politically-correct pornography (“sex positive”) is contradictory; eroticism is inextricably linked to a sense of taboo-breaking, which is why we can enjoy smut and animals can’t. [Ironically, burlesque illustrates the central concept nicely.] Half the fun is that it’s not squeaky-clean and socially acceptable. Besides, what’s better than porn for pissing off religious fundamentalists? There’s also a smug sense of superiority to SG, as if its approach is somehow intrinsically “better” than everywhere else on the Internet that sells skin. In truth, while I’m all in favour of diversity, it is just another fetish: some like nurses, some nuns, and others gloomy girls dressed in black, with ripped fishnets.

The women on the site simply fit a different set of stereotypes – you’d find more coloured women at a KKK cookout than on the Suicide Girls press page – and the fact that they write poetry about themselves doesn’t make any significant difference. The illusion of accessibility is hardly anything new in porn, going back at least to the “Readers’ Wives” section in the magazines of my tender youth. [I sense I’ll be quizzed on this revelation by Chris!] Of course, after a decade of surfing, the only web content I’ve ever paid for is my fantasy baseball – unless you have very specific wants, there’s so much free ‘Net nudity, you’d be a fool to pay for it. But no matter how pretentious it may be, it’s mostly harmless fun, despite the claims to be “a contemporary lifestyle brand” on their website.

Unfortunately, “fun” is probably about the last word we can use to describe their burlesque show, which sucked on almost every conceivable level. We could start with the organisational; if you’re going to put on a public striptease show, it makes sense to check, well in advance, that all potential authorities are okay with the concept. Instead, just four days before the performance, the New Times wrote about the show without a hint of trouble – it’s very possible that this article caused the furore, and so we discovered it had been abruptly moved only on the day of the show, while trying to find out the start time. How many less-informed attendees turned up at the original location? As for the new venue, I appreciate it was late notice, but who decided to move to one half the size, with a a stage about two feet high?

Next, let’s discuss the support bands. Yes: support bands. I guess it’s part of the community thing previously mentioned, but it was clear from the audience reaction – “polite disinterest” at best – that they weren’t there to listen to crap guitar-rock like Bloom, who replaced skill with volume. Local band Peachcake opened, and were kinda amusing with song titles like I Hope We Don’t Get Exploded, and had the good sense not to stick around for long.

Then there’s the audience. While I appreciate Suicide Girls have no control over this, those measuring 6’4″ and more should have better grace than to push their way to the front; especially in a venue like this one, they acted like the moon during a solar eclipse. I was immensely pleased to see the bald, bespectacled jerk who’d crammed his way directly in front of me get reamed out by security for taking pics with his digital camera – personally, I’d like to have seen it used to give him an impromptu colonoscopy.

Finally, at around 11:15pm, after seven false starts on the music – more evidence of the level of professionalism here – the girls themselves appeared. But hang on, where was the “punk-rock soundtrack” promised in New Times? Instead, we got Shirley Bassey’s Hey Big Spender, which is about as clichd and predictable as you can imagine. Back in London, I’d seen strippers use Nine Inch Nails and the Revolting Cocks, which was far more imaginative than what we heard here. I mean, Jessica Rabbit’s song from Who Framed Roger Rabbit? Please…

Making things worse, it looked like the evil repressive hand of the licensing board had reared its ugly head, even in Tempe. We’d wondered why there had been so much cutting of duct-tape going on, but when the tops came off, a sense of disappointment rippled back from the lucky few at the front who could actually see. Eventually, we realised why. Just as at the Rockbitch concert, their nipples had been concealed with tape. The show was now reduced to an MPAA rating equal to that for Pirates of the Caribbean.

Most damningly of all, what we saw (admittedly, significantly less than everything, since we were peering through the rows of heads in front – a criticism also levelled at other SG appearances on this tour) was about as erotic as watching your daughter play dress-up. Newsflash to the Suicide Girls: taking your clothes off for a web-site in no way qualifies you to be an exotic dancer. There is an art involved, and it’s entirely separate from looking morosely cute in still pictures.

The crushing banality of the performances, particularly when coupled with the crushing crowd, left us with only one alternative. Now, we don’t run away. Call it touching optimism, but be it music, sports or theatre, we have never departed before the end of any form of live entertainment, no matter how terrible it might be…

At least until that night.

I turned to Chris, and said, “You know, I really wouldn’t mind if we left.” She didn’t need to be asked twice. We squeezed our way through the maddening crowd, popped out the door like a cork leaving a bottle and headed home. Now, I suppose the show might suddenly have improved. The duct-tape might have come off. The choice of songs might have become less banal. The Biblical Rapture might have taken place, and thinned the crowd out a bit. But on the whole, it was a chance we were willing to take.

About the only plus-point I can find to the whole evening – and believe me, I’m trying – is that, at $8, it was a cheap night out. It’s possible that, at another venue, in a city with a more liberal code, and with a better audience, this could have been entertaining. As is, it was a miserable failure that has succeeded in ending any TC interest in burlesque for the foreseeable future.

There is a valuable moral to be learned here, albeit one I probably should have picked up and taken to heart, from my encounters with the forces of darkness (a.k.a. state and national censors), which have been an ongoing battle since the 1980’s. We can now add the Suicide Girls Burlesque to the list of things – Italian cannibal movies, the 2 Live Crew, and Fanny Hill – which all help prove that just because something is banned, does not necessarily mean it is actually any good…

[Subsequent information from the New Times suggests the liquor board were not responsible, and that claim may have been a fabrication by the promoters. Needless to say, if true, this pisses me off even more… Though at least the NT writer also bailed early because of the utter lack of visibility.]

We are currently feeling rather smug about our neighbour to the West. While we in Arizona may have made some rather bad choices for our Governor (Fyfe Symington, forced to resign after being convicted of fraud – though eventually pardoned by Bill Clinton on his way out), we’ve never actually got rid of one mid-term. We were going to have a vote whether or not to dump Evan Meacham in 1988, for his misuse of state money and for cancelling Martin Luther King Day. But he was impeached before the election, avoiding the entertaining circus seen over the past couple of months in California.

You already know that Arnie won. You might also know about some of the other high-profile fringe candidates, such as Larry Flynt or Gary Coleman (probably the first time in decades Coleman and “high-profile” have appeared in the same sentence). But what about the fringe-of-the-fringe, citizens who gathered the requisite 65 signatures and $3,500 filing fee, but didn’t have so much fame or infamy already backing their campaign?

In the interests of a well-informed electorate (and a well-amused one), we at Trash City filtered our way through them, and bring you our favourites. Because of space, and an unwillingness to spend the rest of October working on this, we’ve discounted the Republican and Democratic candidates. Though not without some regret, given quotes such as “single adults are the Rodney Dangerfields of our society” (Rich Gosse), a voter statement that reads, in full, “I breathe” (Kevin Richter), or “former party girl turned Republican” candidate Reva Renee Renz, whose blog has some of the most entertaining pieces on the election I’ve read.

Equally, not every candidate running outside an established party, on an Independent ticket, was entertaining, amusing, or even interesting:

Jerry Kunzman	Bob McClain	Jack Grisham
Sara Ann Hanlon	Brian Tracy

Enough said, despite Mr. Grisham’s resemblance to Michael Madsen.

However, while some chose to decry the election – “a media circus with 135 clowns” – I found it a case-study of true democracy in action. Lack of finance should never be a bar to achieving representation, and the sheer number of alternative voices shows a deep dissatisfaction with the established system. Discounting the ‘official’ Democrat and two Republicans, the other 132 candidates totalled almost half a million votes. In these days of ever more homogenized news, I find this comforting – and to every one of those 132, I tip my hat.

#9 (10,949 votes) – George Schwartzman
“Although some attribute my success in part to my ballot position and somewhat similar name association with Arnold Schwarzenegger, be assured this was not the case.” Yeah, whatever. Perhaps part of his surprisingly good showing was because one of the main planks of his campaign was “the need to prohibit handheld cel phone usage when driving”. He’d certainly get my support there.

#10 (10,114) – Mary Carey
Following in the wake of Cicciolina, while Arnie’s sexual hijinks hampered his campaign, you know exactly what you’re getting with the star of New Wave Hookers 7. Contribute $5,000 and you can have a date with Mary, who supports legalizing ferrets. What they should be legal for, she doesn’t say. She would also create a ‘Porn for Pistols’ scheme to get handguns off the street, and tax breast implants.

#13 (5,915) – John Christopher Burton
Yes, they have Socialists in America. Just not very many of them. Featuring a bilingual website which is the Internet equivalent of horse tranquilizer, Burton is a civil-rights attorney, who “has specialized in defending victims of police abuse and discrimination”. Clearly going for the law and order vote then. His worthiness is probably exceeded solely by his dullness, which is so exceptional as to be interesting in itself…

#16 (4,864) – Gallagher
Only in America would celebrity status be granted to a man whose act consists, in the main, of smashing watermelons with a sledgehammer. Undaunted by his failure to make Governor, Gallagher – who like Sting, Prince and Satan, prefers to be known by only one name – is now preparing to run for President in 2004. Is probably more credible than most Democratic candidates.

#28 (2,262) – Angelyne
Also in the one-name group, is this Hollywood billboard queen, famous for…er, being famous. Perhaps the most imaginative proposal for dealing with the $38 billion deficit: “A room will be decorated in the Capitol building, for anyone who wishes to spend the night and get a personal tour of the building hosted by Angelyne, for the amount of $10,000.” Which would also get you two dates with Mary Carey. [18 years later, Angelyne also took part in the 2021 recall election, and did rather better, getting 26,444 votes, to finish 18th, as the top independent candidate!]

#33, #41, and #47 (2,007, 1,703 and 1,494) – Ned Roscoe, Ken Hamidi and John J. Hickey
One pleasing thing about the US system is you don’t need approval from a party to run as their candidate. Hence, there are no less than three Libertarians – they’re the group I’m probably most aligned with, whose basic concept is summed up in the quote, “the government that governs least, governs best.” Together, they’d have passed Gallagher for #16, though Roscoe seems mostly concerned about the rights of smokers to kill themselves (and anyone else within breathing room) – I’m sure this is in no way connected to his day job as a cigarette retailer…

#49 (1,454) – C.T.Weber
The candidate of the Peace and Freedom Party which is one of those ‘only in California’ organizations: “a multi-tendency socialist and feminist political party”. Doesn’t sound like the sort of party I’d want to go to. Also describes itself as “the only Socialist alternative”; John Christopher Burton (see above) might want to argue with them about that. Albeit in a peaceful and free way, of course.

#54 (1,288) – B.E.Smith
You’ll notice the lack of a link for this one. That’s because he was one of the very few candidates without an Internet site. Thrown into the 48-page voter’s information guide, we find Smith’s voter statement beginning, “I spent two years in federal prison because I grew medical marijuana for myself and others” – which probably explains both his lack of a website, and his photo (right). He promised to pardon everyone in prison for similar crimes, and if elected, would have refused a salary. But would probably accept compensation in Snickers bars.

#60 and #63 (1,121 and 1,029) – Iris Adam and Darin Price
Like the Libertarians, for some reason, there was more than one candidate from the Natural Law Party, thereby splitting the votes of those who like the idea of “yogic flying” [Somewhere at TC Towers, I still have a videotape of a most amusing Natural Law Party Political Broadcast] I think Adam was the official candidate, and if their votes were combined, they’d have placed in the top thirty. Guess even meditation can’t save a political party from discontented splinter groups.

#62 (1,080) – Trek Thunder Kelly
Voter statement in full: “Please vote for me, thus breaking the Seventh Seal and incurring Armageddon. I will legalize drugs, gambling and prostitution so they may be taxed and regulated; the funds derived would subsidize the deficit, education and the environment. I believe in peaceful resolution backed by a strong military; I don’t care who you marry or have sex with.” Wears only blue. Claims to sleep with socks on his hands, and only eat steaks and tacos. Candidature largely appears to be some kind of bizarre performance art.

#68 (927) – Diane Templin
No election would be complete without a religious fruitcake, and with comments like “May the Lord give you the wisdom of Solomon as you vote”, Diane is well qualified. Standing on behalf of the Independent Party (which seems like a contradiction to me, right up there with an Anarchist Party), who regard the census as an invasion of privacy. And probably a tool of Satan, as well.

#74 (734) – Kurt E. (Tachikaze) Rightmyer
A 39-year old who lists his profession as “Middleweight Sumo Wrestler.” Therefore, you will find no snide remarks, sarcastic comments or jokey asides about his candidature here. At least, not until the San Andreas Fault shifts, California is no longer connected to us here in Arizona, and we own Pacific beachfront property.

#115 (374) – Jeff Rainforth
The Reform Party was once viewed as the great hope for a third party in America, after Ross Perot ran for President in 1992, and got 19% of the vote. Ah, how the once-mighty have fallen – going on Jeff’s performance, by approximately 18.99%. Do like the ‘Politicians Suck’ shirt available through his site, though the message is somewhat muted by having ‘Rainforth for Governor’ emblazoned on the other side.

#135 (172) – Todd Richard Lewis
Lewis was one of the players in Bumfights, Vol. 1, where he ran around tying up the homeless while commentating in a fake Aussie accent. “The people of California will rise up in a grass roots campaign supporting The Bumhunter’s run for Governor and take back what’s owed to them – their dreams.” Dream on, Bumhunter: you finished last. Not just among independent candidates, but dead last. And deservedly so.

Marquee Theatre,
Tempe, AZ
June 23rd, 2003

Women taking their clothes off is, in my opinion, a fine thing, which provided hours of happy entertainment during my days in London. Now, of course, I’m a very content married man, and Chris is the only woman I really want to see divest herself – but the concept still holds nostalgic interest. Enter Burlesquefest, a travelling show which promised to put the “tease” back into striptease, with performers such as Catherine D’Lish (her real name, allegedly!) and Kitty Crimson.

There certainly seems to be a demand; the Marquee was crammed to capacity, with all seats occupied, and lines of standees down both walls. Some members of the audience were also extremely enthusiastic, to the point where we wondered if they’d perhaps just been released after fifteen years in San Quentin. Acting as MC was Kitten on the Keys, a singing, dancing compere who describes herself as a, “firkeytoodlin’ frisky feline,” not averse to taking her own clothes off. The support acts were Oracle Dance, a trio out of Denver, Colorado, plus Crimson (pic, above) and D’lish.

Musical accompaniment was provided by Devotchka, a group who musical influences range from the Gypsy Kings to Quentin Tarantino, via the Russian steppes, with instruments including violin, tuba, and that thing shaped a bit like a mandolin whose name escapes me at the moment. They were initially amusing: hey, this one sounds like Hava Nagila! Unfortunately, we eventually realised all their songs sounded like Hava Nagila [save the odd-yet-cool version of Venus in Furs by the Velvet Underground], and their entertainment value went into a sharp decline. There was just so much Devotchka, at times we wondered if we had accidentally gone to one of their concerts which happened to have dancing girls, rather than a striptease show.

As for the striptease, no question that this was Performance Art, particularly when D’Lish was on stage – her props included a gigantic spider’s web, as well as an oversized champagne glass filled with soapy water (hopefully warm!), and her costumes were no less extravagant. The latter applied to all the performers; think Chris came away with an entire shopping list of wants. Crimson’s inspiration is clearly early Marilyn Monroe, and I found her acts convincing but largely derivative, without much hint of any of her own personality. Perhaps this was just in contrast to Kitten on the Keys, who refused to take anything the slightest bit seriously, least of all herself, and was the most engaging character in the show as a result.

Comedy has always been an essential ingredient of burlesque: W.C.Fields, Lennie Bruce and Bob Hope all worked in clubs. If the rest of the cast seemed to be a little po-faced at times, perhaps revelling in the post-modern irony of it all, Kitten made up for it with sheer good humour. The highlight, personally, was her tinkly lounge version of the Sex Pistol’s Anarchy in the UK, which became a sweet little ditty. [Insert obvious joke here]

I happily admit it all made for two and half entertaining hours. However, I was surprised by how unerotic I found the vast majority of the spectacle; a slight twinge when D’Lish was pouring champagne down over her body, and that was it. There are several reasons for this, even discounting my happily-married status. Firstly, but probably less importantly, it was really pretty tame – if this were a movie, it’d probably be PG-13, since the panties and pasties remained on.

Now, there’s no reason why gynaecology should have to come into play. But in the modern world, where an average hour of late-night cable contains much more nudity and sexuality than this whole show, and most of the Burlesquefest acts could trade costumes with Christina Aguislutta, a certain amount of desensitization is inevitable. What the performers seem to have forgotten is that burlesque operated on the edge of what was acceptable in society, and that society has changed, and continues to do so – perhaps in 50 years they’ll be having nostalgic lap-dancing tours.

Retro is cool, but there’s a good reason we don’t drive Model T’s any more, and Burlesquefest came off as possessing about as much “edge” as a low-rent Las Vegas casino show. The closest it came to subverting community norms were a few nods towards paedophilia (“I was 8 before I was 7”) – and while some may find Shirley Temple impersonations sexy, it’s a niche market. [Chris also pointed out that the performers were 100% white. Read into that what you want.]

Secondly, there seems to be an inverse-cube law at work here. No matter how elegantly you dress it up, sexuality works best when it’s up-close, personal, in your face, and moist – not thirty rows back in an auditorium seating nine hundred people. In that kind of location, no matter how enthusiastic you are, even the wildest of abandon is gonna end up spread pretty thin. By removing the intimate element, presumably as part of taking out the “sleaze”, they’ve also sanitised it, to the point where most of the acts were closer to modern dance than anything else.

Whether we attend future Burlesquefests is uncertain. It will likely be influenced by the potential Devotchka quotient, as much as anything else (a little goes quite some way!). If it was the same people performing the same acts, I’d probably be less inclined to go, since variety is the spice of, er, variety. A different selection of artistes would probably see us there though – on the other hand, I’d definitely miss that version of Anarchy in the UK…

Santa Clara, CA
24th-25th May, 2003

Every year, it seems, more and more conspiratorial cracks appear in the landscape. This year, the war against Iraq, looking for those pesky – and apparently, non-existent – weapons of mass destruction, showed once again that politicians have absolutely no problem deceiving the electorate when they feel the need. Bringing this to the attention of the public is where events like Conspiracy Con come in, though the topics covered were far broader – and, being honest, covered the entire range of plausibility too.

Despite the Gulf War, the most frequently-referenced topic was the events of 9/11. That our government should have known about it in advance seems certain, but the question now being probed is whether they did. There is certainly evidence, such as the remarkable delay in sending up interceptors, which suggests the possibility. And if you’ve seen photos of the moment when George Bush was supposedly told of the attacks, his reaction seems closer to “tell me something I don’t know already” than the shock and horror you might expect.

We preceded the event with a couple of days in San Francisco. If you go there, do yourselves a favour and leave your car at home. Driving is a nightmare, and parking is worse: our hotel charged us $25/day for the use of their garage. There is plenty of transport around the city, but they’re rather more vague about how you get into the centre. It was a relief to leave (albeit at a snail’s pace, onto the Bay Bridge) for the wide-open spaces of Santa Clara – even if we’d spend the majority of the next two days in the hotel, save the odd hunter/gatherer trip to the local curry house [And can I just say in passing that putting cloves into keema naans is an idea we hope does not catch on…]

Stan Monteith – There was something old-fashioned about the opening speaker, who traced the New World Order back to Cecil Rhodes, tying him to various occult-influenced secret societies. This kind of thing seems more than slightly antiquated these days, enhanced by Monteith’s fondness for quoting poetry (Tennyson’s Locksley Hall being a favourite). He did have some interesting points, in particular a plausible idea that Jewish involvement in the Bolshevik Revolution was a reaction to the Tsar’s anti-Semitism, as shown by his support for The Protocols of Zion. Monteith also suggested the recent extension of copyright law was partly an attempt to suppress information, but he was probably just worried about lawsuits, since his book seemed largely to be a collection of photocopies lifted from other publications. C-

Arizona Wilder – I took more notes during Arizona Wilder’s presentation than any other speaker. I was also less convinced of the veracity of what she said, than by any other speaker. This contradiction in terms really requires explanation at length, so here’s a separate article, all about Ms. Wilder. Here, we’ll just cut to the chase, and give the grade for a presentation whose only real value was as entertainment. D-

Jerry Smith – Smith replaced the hospitalised Vance Davis, and while a lack of preparation was obvious (Smith had only been called the day before), this was still a fascinating talk on HAARP, the High Altitude Active Auroral Project. Last year, Dr. Nick Begich covered the same topic to good effect, but Davis concentrated here on the potential uses, both benign and malign, of the technology, which include everything from mind control to deflecting ICBMs. He covered its origins in the work of Nicholas Tesla (and his obsession with pigeons!), and looked at whose agendas it might further. I’ve had his book, HAARP: Ultimate Weapon of the Conspiracy, sitting on the shelf since last year’s event: I think it’s now on the fast track to being read. Double plaudits for providing such an engrossing presentation at very short notice. B+

Jordan Maxwell – He spoke at 2001’s convention, and his theme this time was similar, probing into words to find their hidden meaning. Refreshingly, while many conspiracists see ominous iconography on a dollar bill, Maxwell finds it less disturbing, using historically sacred symbols worthy of respect. He looked into the origins of Christianity and its hijacking of earlier religions; for example, “Solomon” being a compound of Sol-Om-On, three words related to sun-worship. His weakness was a tendency to make a point, then pound it home by giving far too many examples; this got repetitive, but he also delivered the best quote of the convention. “Always trust the seeker of truth. Never trust the one who claims to have found it.” B-

There was another workshop, but you had to pay $40 to see Richard Hoagland, of “Face on Mars” fame – a feature now revealed (right) as no more than coincidental shadows. If I were in Hoagland’s shoes, I’d be more concerned about trying to regain some degree of credibility, and less about getting cash out of the public. We, needless to say, did not pony up to see him. Inevitably, this conference attracted some odd individuals, who had perhaps got out on day release. A couple of these showed up at the Q&A session, but others, unfortunately, chose to sit near us (attracted by Chris’s “psycho magnetism” – hey, she married me!). There was Ilsa, She-wolf of the Auditorium, to whom the slightest sound seemed to cause immeasurable pain. There was the Bag Lady, who demanded we clear off chair space…so she could put her possessions there. And there was the individual who, on hearing my British accent, demanded to know who’d killed Princess Diana. There was some disappointment at my response – know little, care less – and I wish I’d fabricated some (in)credible plot instead.

Jim Marrs – Is there anyone out there who really believes that Kennedy was killed by Lee Harvey Oswald, acting alone? If so, they should have been present for Jim Marrs’ informative and enjoyable ‘J.F.K. Assassination 1.0.1’ talk. Beginning with a slide showing a dubious character at Jack Ruby’s Carousel Club, a month before the shooting – who turned out to be the young Marrs! – he performed an efficient demolition job on the findings of the Warren Commission. This is, admittedly, like shooting fish in a barrel, but it’s always good to be reminded of the wild implausibilities in the “magic bullet theory”. Who arranged it, is harder to say. As Marrs pointed out, Kennedy had angered virtually every violent faction operating in America: Mafia, CIA, miltary-industrial complex. Perhaps, like Murder on the Orient Express, they all did it. Regardless, the effect was a coup d’etat that to this day remains unacknowledged. A

Carol Brouillet & Ken Jenkins – Although most speakers referred to the events of 9/11, this pair were the only ones to make it a focus. One can’t doubt their commitment as activists, but as speakers, Carol in particular seemed way out of her depth with lengthy moments of uncomfortable silence. The best part of the presentation was a lengthy chunk of video asking some pointed questions about the events of that day, which need answering, but beyond this, they seemed to have little to offer but shallow sloganeering and edited highlights from Oliver Stone’s JFK. In terms of raising awareness, tools such as their ‘deception dollar’ (below) are potentially excellent, but we attend the convention for more than sound-bites. Anthony Hilder’s demands for a standing ovation beforehand were wise, since they didn’t deserve one afterwards. D

Kenn Thomas – Thomas, as editor of Steamshovel Press has been one of the leading lights in conspiracy research for years. With his friend, the late Jim Keith, he has been investigating “The Octopus”, a cabal that supposedly killed journalist Danny Casolaro when he got too close to them. This was a little too self-publicising for our tastes, with a bunch of plugs for Steamshovel publications and footage of Thomas appearing on TV. He talked about mysterious clusters of deaths, such as the one that plagued Marconi scientists in Britain a year ago. But the truth is, if you’re a conspiracist, no matter how you died, it’s suspicious. Just put the cause of death in quotes – “cancer”, a “heart attack”, in a “car crash”, “suicide” – and there you are, instant conspiracy! C-

Michael Tsarion – Freud said, “Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar”, and Tsarion would do well to listen. It’s conceivable the media uses sacred symbols, for example in advertising; I’ve always wondered about Bacardi’s bat. But Tsarion takes the concept to ludicrous extremes, interpreting everything this way. For example, Kraft, as in Foods, refers to Masonic craft – not James L. Kraft, who started a Chicago wholesale cheese business in 1903? Glad we sat at the back, as our sniggers (Volvo = Vulva!) would’ve disrupted proceedings. Factually wrong – Spica is not the brightest star in the sky – he also claimed the Arc de Triomphe was a phallic symbol. Now, I don’t know what his penis looks like, but there are better candidates in Paris, not least at the other end of the Champs Elysees. I think we finally lost it when he claimed “Sears” was an anagram of “Aries”. Guess he can’t spell either. However, it is an anagram of “ARSES”. Now that’s symbolism… E+

After the second part of Hoagland’s workshop (see above), it was time for the Q&A. This is always entertaining, for the wide range of topics covered and views aired, both by the panellists and the audience – at one point, I thought a fight was going to break out over whether it was the limo-driver who shot JFK. Perhaps the most interesting question asked for predictions of what to expect: Monteith reckoned a major biological attack was possible, but Hoaglund and Tsarion (who came over much better as a panellist than as an individual speaker) predicted the assassination of George W. Bush. Hoaglund pointed out that both The West Wing and 24 have had storylines depicting the vice-president taking over…

We remain amazed at the breadth and depth of the program Brian Hall and his team put on, and with commendable efficiency, everything running to schedule. While not every speaker was convincing (to say the least!), it was nice to learn our bullshit detectors are still fully functioning. We left, refreshed in our belief that whatever appears to be going on in society, is not necessarily what actually is happening. That alone makes our attendance at Conspiracy Con 2004, a foregone conclusion.

More information

• The Conspiracy Con website – audio- and video-tapes of this year’s presentations
• Stan Monteith
• Arizona Wilder
• Jerry Smith
• Jordan Maxwell (under construction at time of writing)
• Jim Marrs
• Carol Brouillet & Ken Jenkins
• Kenn Thomas
• Michael Tsarion
• Our reports on Conspiracy Con 2001 and Conspiracy Con 2002.