Millennium’1901 - A look from the inside. Day one.

"There will be no carnival..."

(c) Mumiy Troll 

Abstract fabrications

I'm sitting and trying to start composing something. (First line 
appeared as a result of three minutes of thought.) I have to 
I have to admit that it’s much easier to describe a party from the viewer’s perspective.

At least last year I riveted a two-day report 
in a maximum of an hour, in hot pursuit, now, having been in the shoes of 
organizer, I am writing after almost two days, without much 
zeal, but not because it’s disgusting, but because I don’t know, with 
which side to approach. The second day I feel exhausted 
lemon (By the way, not because of the hidden party - I did not participate in it). 
Okay, I’ll try to move on to the description of the events “before, during 
and after”...


“Why are you so upset, Heaven? 
Party you have already failed..."

(c) Kaz/Psycho

Day one

To be honest, I didn’t even know where the day would begin. 
The day before, DJ Psych was barely alive and had difficulty speaking, and his phrase 
“I didn’t do pre-select” completely confused me. 

Fifteen minutes late, the crew had X horsepower under 
Beard's leadership (by the way, he didn't have a beard) with a roar and 
arrived in my virtual wilderness with a grinding sound. Abandoning the computer, printer 
and various other rubbish in the trunk, we went to partyplace 
(Tunnel Club).

After unloading, we discovered that the club's DJ was missing. This 
meant only one thing: the main switch was locked and 
there is no electricity. Hoursone and a half were lost. The only thing 
what we were able to do was unpack the computers and arrange the chairs 
(there were fewer of them than promised, and much fewer than we 
asked). There was no projector either; it arrived later.

Closer to ten the lights came on and we tried to start our 
dinosaurs. A glitch immediately occurred: the firewood from the network drive did not work 
on my computer. Windows began to swear and lost some system 
files, but I found an infrared receiver (!!!) that I have, 
in fact, it was always forcibly disabled in the BIOS. Died 
95 and on the brought laptop. Moreover, we were left without 
telephone line (“grateful” nod to the administration 
club), that is, without Internet access. 

After ten, a real nightmare began, which can be remembered differently, 
than with a shudder, I cannot. First things first, I had to 
“to shed blood for the demoscene.” It looked like a big cut 
through the entire finger about the inside of the computer case. Then they brought it to us 
brooms, floppy disks, CD-R/RW “records”... All this was connected, 
turned off, plugged in and pulled out. (This helped a lot 
Mr. B-Reeze/FishBone – low bow to him, otherwise all this would have happened 
took twice as long). 

A big thumbs up to some of the irresponsible elements who gave the files 
the works have such “crazy” titles that Windows was stupefied 
(how do you like a combination like “’h@llo’”?). What happiness 
what about Linus Torvaldsat one time the idea came to mind to create 
Linux. With his help, we managed to copy all these fantasies and 
rename them. 

Some comrades, having inattentively read the rules, carried the wrong 
two, and ten works each from the author. I had to immediately arrange a pre-
select (thanks to Hans/Psycho for help with this grim matter). About 
what was said was “only large sizes are accepted 
work" and "file_id.diz must be attached", I will remain silent at all. 
They carried everything - fashions, intros, seven-kilobyte Speck pictures, 
often without identification marks... 

Around 12:00 four-channel music started playing, then PC/Ammy-
graphics (with which there was a lot of confusion plus SEA glitches). Neither 
one work didn’t really linger in my memory - I felt 
like C.C. Capwell on an IV for two hundred episodes of Santa
Barbara" - everything was done fully automatically. Multichannel music 
passed in one continuous gloomy stream - the DJs were clearly 
turned up the bass. They fucked everyone up with the Verkhovskaya “kiss” 
me everywhere” during breaks. During one of these short smoke breaks Kaz 
and said his epoch-making phrase, included in the epigraph. One more 
his pearl that day: “Yes 
What is this Psych doing... he only knows how to spam in guestbooks!”

People at the door were signing autographs on a sheet of paper taped to it. 
Snake/PHD, of course, left advertising for his www.fenzin.ru, to 
to which Mentat attributed "pirates". Ibid.read "Imperio - 
schmuck", "DJ Psych must die", redirected to "DJ Psych already die" and 
many other things, not so provocative.

I was able to talk a little with people like Specter, Snake, 
Equator and even say “hello” to Freeman/FreeArt, who 
I recently broke both my legs, but I was able to come to the party (more precisely, 
limp) yourself.

Animation compo, in fact, broke off - for some reason in the clips 
The sound was glitchy, although everyone was able to see the image.

In the end, we had to postpone some of the competitions (namely - 
the entire ZX Spectrum) for tomorrow. DJ Psych took everyone to the forest, and we 
(hand twisters and button pushers – Cooler, me, Igor 
Lobanchikov and Hammer) on a Snake/PHD car with iron in the trunk 
drove home to Cooler - to lick moral and physical 
wounds and try to somehow prepare for the second day.

Upon arrival we chewed a little (I remember Cooler’s joke about 
that he simply has nowhere to go 
last year's porridge) and went to set up the computers. Windows on mine 
the box was completely bent and a decision was made to 
rearrange. But that was not the case: Win98SE Setup had a problem 
jumped in and he suggested waiting 104 minutes for it to complete 
installation, instead of the usual 30-40. In the end with this 
We dealt with the problem, but there was another problem left – the network. She never did 
It worked, I had to organize a link through com ports.

In parallel with tinkering with Windows, we listened to partmultichannel works and were convinced of the pathological love of DJs for 
excessive bass. By eleven-thirty in the evening everyone 
it was more or less over, and we crawled home.