Spreaker of the House: introducing The Cryptosphere on AnonUKRadio

The Cryptosphere

The Cryptosphere

I’m a bit behind on my publicity stunting for my new news site TheCryptosphere, but here’s some! I know!!! Aren’t you excited?

Last week, which is to say July 6, 2014, I appeared as a guest on Topman‘s AnonUK radio show, which (particularly since Lorax got v&) is one of the most popular Anonymous podcasts in the world. Here’s their YouTube introduction to the concept of Anonymous itself:

And here is the podcast, featuring moi, Sue Crabtree of FreeAnonsd00minator, and more:

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Just. Fine. Thank. You.

Audible punctuation in my sentences is always a bad sign. If I also narrow my eyes while. enunciating. clearly. , adopt a defensive posture IMMEDIATELY: Stop, drop and roll and if you’re lucky you won’t be hit by the fallout. If you’re really clever, you’ll keep on rolling to the liquor cabinet and roll back with a very large, very cold stirred Botanist Martini for me.

and how was yours, motherfucker?

and how was yours, motherfucker?

“It’s not a done deal.”

There are many points in life when you don’t want to hear those words, but I’d venture to say that among the very mostest so is the seventeenth of the month when you are expecting to move into the house on the first of the next month. From your landlord.

Or maybe not-landlord.

Particularly having packed up everything you own and thrown it in storage at a cost, thanks to enthusiastic but amateur labour, of about $300 more than one had budgeted for labour.

THIS is my fortune?

THIS is my fortune? From lunch Saturday.

I. God. Damn. Well. Better. Be.

The possibility exists that he’s hoping to leverage my desperation against the price of the rent and pop it up by a hundred or so a month, which would frankly make this a non-possibility for me; I took that off the table immediately by being upfront about how much I do and do not earn in a month. As it is, the place would take slightly more than 50% of my income, but the lifestyle rewards would more than make up for that in my book.

It is indeed a lovely house in a lovely pocket valley with lovely vineyards, a spectacular view, a half-hour walk from my friend’s barn with her two horses, and a couple of blocks away from the covered riding arena. When I asked what the facilities fee was for the riding arena, I was told there is no fee.

Also, plenty of room in the house for Julian, should he wish to take refuge on a Canadian Indian Band reservation, with a very aggressive attitude towards independence from whitey’s Big Sweatervest in Ottawa. If the RCMP or, god forbid, the Yanks, set foot on the Rez for the purposes of nabbing Jules, there would be an international armed uprising the like if which hasn’t been seen since we Canucks looted and burned the White House. So, either way this is a win for a revolutionary, right? AMIRITE?

He's all like, I dunno, whatever you say, raincoaster

He’s all like, I dunno, whatever you say, raincoaster

GPOY Mildew Manor Maintenance Edition

Mildew Manor and me

Mildew Manor and me

So, this has basically been my position every day for the past, say, TEN YEARS, ever since I moved into Mildew Manor. Within a week, I noticed black mildew in my bedroom, where a concrete structural column comes up quite near the bed. The building manager told me to keep the bedroom warm and it would eventually go away, which it did after I coated the entire column in bleach, only later finding out that causes the mold to release spores or weaponize or some godforsaken thing.

About four years ago, I started to notice greyish stripes in my living room walls, coming down from the ceiling. I didn’t know then it was black mold on the uprights, but I do now. For some reason, I assumed the stripes were my fault, maybe from burning something on the stove, or the candles, or maybe incense, and the “extra gravity” of the uprights attracted the microscopic particles. Yeah, I was drinking a bit at the time.

By the time I found the mushrooms growing in my carpet and the hole eaten in the wall behind the tv, however, the jig was up and I knew it was not my fault. It’s ZEUS’s fault, damn him. Eventually the co-op fixed the eavestroughing, so the water no longer cascaded down the wall outside, right where the tv is. And eventually the carpet became so wet it would no longer support any fungus this side of blue-green algae. And eventually the mildew decided it was being too geostationary, and started spreading across the walls everywhere, giving the place sort of a greyed chicken pox look. It’s very Derelicte!

Not to mention the incessant soundtrack. We’ve had two years of construction at the co-op, and it has finally reached my apartment (they’ve been trying to work out their courage, I guess) and so every day I have been waking up to a symphony of sledgehammers and jackhammers and smash, crash, boom, to the point where the entire bed shakes, not to mention the two I call the Fuckery Twins with their vocabulary. Seriously, nobody should start with that vocabulary until I’ve had my coffee. Bring back the nice supervisor who did bird calls and sang to himself; he was nice. I bet he was cute, too.

Anyway, for the curious, here is the soundtrack to which I awaken each day at 8, which is awkward since I work each night till 4.

Anyway, 300 words to say that in ONE MORE WEEK I will never have to deal with this place again (other than sending in my tax assessments for the last three years so they don’t sue me, welcome to co-op living). And I’m telling you, I cannot wait.

Since the power’s off, because I DO NOT WANT TO BE ELECTROCUTED BY MY BASEBOARD HEATERS, I sleep with three empty whiskey bottles full of hot water (yay for central hot water) and one actual hot water bottle, and it works very well under my eiderdown, Hudson’s Bay Blanket, and down-filled full length parka. For lights, I use a railway lantern from Army & Navy which would work well if it weren’t made in China and thus leaks as soon as you set it on a hard surface. And that, when it works, works well.

And that, my friends, is how I’m going to be packing up my apartment over the next five days, God help me.

Return to Mildew Manor

MOMMY'S HOME!!!

MOMMY’S HOME!!!

Yes, after many a dallying and a wandering, the ego has finally, wearily, at last, landed. I’m home.

While I’ve been gone the patches of mildew have spread, stippling the interior walls of my living room with greyish patterns like poorly printed, ancient maps of archipelagos. And instead of wallpaper, I have vertical stripes of black threatening to break through the drywall every couple of feet, the mark of something moisture-based and imminent on the other side of that gyprock. When I walked through the place, spiders scattered like confetti in a backdraft. Something left small mammalian footprints on my chair.

And then there’s the mess.

The mess is such that it took me fully five minutes to realize I’d been broken into. It wasn’t till I walked into the living room and saw the suitcase that I most assuredly hadn’t left empty (it was nice of them to unpack me, even if they only put it on the sofa; hell, that’s all I ever do, myself) lying, as I said, empty, in the middle of the floor, patiently waiting to be filled with booty.

Oh, speaking of boots.Do you want to know what they took? Yes, you do; of course you do. Don’t be too proud to admit it now. We all want to know what losses other people have suffered, if only to reassure ourselves that we, at least, haven’t lost our hammered copper vase.

I lost my hammered copper vase. Shit, y’all know how I love me some hammered copper. They took my mercury glass Gazing Ball out of it, and then stuffed it and some assorted other stuff I don’t specifically remember from my bookcases because you know what? I have a lot of stuff in my bookcases although somewhat less than before, into a bag or something but not the suitcase because HEY the suitcase was still there. Aren’t you paying attention?

They lifted up about $700 worth of solid silver engraved cuffs, threw them on the floor, and grabbed all my junk jewelry that was underneath them. Unfortunately, they also got two of my actual silver bracelets: one made by a friend and the other my charm bracelet that I’d had since I was 10 or so. They may or may not have gotten the very fancy silver lace bracelet with a different monument on each panel that my mother got in Paris on her honeymoon.

They got every. single. pair. of. my. high. heeled. shoes.

WTF???

WTF???

Sheldon can't believe it either

Sheldon can’t believe it either

Not my patent leather cut-out open toed booties with the ribbon ties. No. Not them.

Dr Please

Dr Please

But yes. Yes. They got them.

I WANT TO DIE okay no I WANT TO KILL SOMEONE

I WANT TO DIE okay no I WANT TO KILL SOMEONE

AND my leopard print stilettos. Yes. REALLY. The leopard print stilettos.

Once I’d recovered (as if anyone ever could fully recover from that) and taken a quick spin around the rest of the place, I saw they’d grabbed pretty much every DVD I own, my late mother’s jewelry box, and, of all the perverse, bastardly things to steal, my Harry Potter books.

In hardcover.

Bad enough, but could be worse. Could have been a lot worse. I could have been home, for instance, which would have ended badly.

GPOY

GPOY

Well, I got myself calmed down, picked the suitcase up, and left to spend the night at a friend’s house. A few days later, I returned.

No-one had cleaned up in the meantime. Damn.

I did get one ego stroke, when a few very clued-in Anons suggested it was law enforcement or similar, grabbing the DVDs and leaving the good jewelry to make it look like a junkie. Unlikely, but if that is, in fact, the case, someone tell Officer Friendly I would like my charm bracelet back.

And the family silver.

Actually, it’s silver plate, not valuable, and about six mismatched patterns: Art Deco geometry, swirly flowers on curvy stems, all kinds of things. Two pearl-handled butter knives with curly, engraved blades that fascinated me when I was little. A long, serrated, ivory-handled knife, always warm to the touch. Four sets of sugar tongs and pincers. A couple of tea strainers. An absinthe spoon. Two pickle forks. Three baby spoons, one mine, and a baby fork with Little Red Ridinghood on one side and “Marguerite” on the other.

Marguerite was my Great-Uncle Ernie’s daughter, who died before she turned 25 of diabetes. That was before the Second World War. I always thought if I had a little girl I’d call her Marguerite, and now I almost feel as if I can’t.

Uncle Ernie used to come and take us to the zoo every Sunday. He was the kind of old man who is never not described as “kindly,” and had been the last person to drive a team of horses for Weston’s bakery, the foundation of the Weston billions. They retired him and the horses at the same time, but none of them wanted to be put out to pasture, and the customers raised such a stink that the company brought them all back to clop down the streets of Winnipeg for another ten years, until the horses really were beat and he was ready to settle into his shabby-genteel apartment downtown. It was where my parents kept the wedding presents that were too delicate to have in a house with two rambunctious little girls. After he died, his sisters got in there and we never saw those again either.

So. The silver.

Dear B&E Artiste: I would like it back.

And if you knew what I was capable of, you would want me to have it.

Barrett Brown’s girlfriend speaks out: the transcript

Save Barrett Brown. For what, we're not sure.

Save Barrett Brown. For what, we’re not sure.

You can go to my Daily Dot article for background or just skip this post and go on to the Unicorn Chaser tag if you’re already bored of this particular rabbit hole.

When the FBI raided controversial Anonymous member Barrett Brown’s apartment last week, they weren’t planning on being taped; audio of the raid went out live to participants in a TinyChat Barrett and his girlfriend had going. Now Brown’s girlfriend, @Elvira_ebooks, Evie Paradise, has taken to YouTube to respond to charges the entire thing was a fraud.

Video:

Now, here is the transcript. Slightly off-topic, you would not BELIEVE how long it takes to accurately transcribe a five minute video.

Hi my name is Barrett Brown, father of Project PM and miscellaneous other activities on the internet. Speaking of the internet, I was just having one of my friends say on Facebook, and they were telling me that there are a bunch of pastebins and whatnot and rumors flying around that the events of the past week in my apartment were staged. You fools. Is this…is it a setup?

Is it you, Chen?

Is it you, McCain?

Let’s find out. Because I! Made a chart!

This is the setup of my apartment. Oh my god. This is the setup of my apartment. I’m Barrett Brown. This star right here is my beautiful but very tired right now so she probably doesn’t look attractive and like, feel good, okay, my beautiful girlfriend. Evie. Elvira. Whatever.

This rectangle here is the door to my apartment. This slightly longer rectangle is the hallway. And this…scribbly thing… is A KITCHEN WALL.

There’s a wall there. Are you bored yet? TOO BAD because I’m gonna keep talking.

Here’s the wall. Here’s the Kitchen. Girlfriend. K? Computer. Should we review this one more time? Door to the apartment, hallway, kiiiiitchen wall, kitchen, where I make my shake…my “pizza”…and my girlfriend on the computer.

So if one of you prosec dingleberries is gonna come into my apartment, this is how it’s gonna go down. Okay? And this is how it went down.

People came in here. Like, this is a joke video, but this is actually the setup of the apartment. They came in here hooting and hollering, saying what did they say, they said, hi mister brown, can we take a look at your plants? They came in hooting and hollering. Girlfriend down here thinks its one of my deadbeat friends, deadbeat friends, people deadbeat friends that don’t call after you’ve been raided. They don’t even bother to respond to your girlfriend’s facebook messages.

She thinks it’s one of your geek friends, hooting and hollering in a fake raid bit, or something. You know? It’s not.

They say excuse me mister brown can we come in and he’s okay you’re friends of mine. They come in and a melee ensues, going down the hall like this, down the hall, okay? Girlfriend’s still here, thinking what the heck is, what now, what now is going on in this apartment?

But she finds out, doesn’t she? She finds out really soon when they exit the hallway and they turn around the corner. They turn around the corner. Okay, this circle here represents the corner. Okay? You see now? Do you see now? I mean does anyone have any questions?

And then she thinks to herself this is weird. There’s no right way to react like this, I’m gonna just reflexively shut the laptop, and she does. Sometimes she wishes she hadn’t, if she was gonna know all you all these deadbeats would do this.

I mean, come on. By now, by now, don’t you think…yeah, I don’t have time to talk to you people. I just do’ i just don’t have time. I’m Barrett Brown.

You see this? Okay, and then, you know, there’s this, going on like this. And this. And this.

This isn’t even funny. This is just an idea. Thanks a lot [Shane?]. Thanks for having an idea. I’m gonna ask someone else.