[Fwd: Speakers at PorcFest 2005!]
The Free State Project’s
Second Annual Porcupine Freedom Festival
is happening on
Saturday, July 23, 2005, thru Sunday, July 31, 2005
Rogers Campground & Motel, Lancaster, New Hampshire
4/3/05: PORCFEST SPAM #3
SO NO BS: WE GOTTA TALK!
First things first: This week’s PFS is going out to a LOT of new email lists and a LOT of new people. The First Commandment is PorcFest Spam is...send it along to other people you know who love liberty. The reason the PFS job is commissioned is because the Free State Project doesn’t have any money. So guerrilla marketing is the order of the day. Spead it around. And for those of you who haven't seen the first two PorcFest Spams (or the first two chapters of Supercharged Solitons, a novel of the future about America and the Free State), you can catch them all online at http://www.freestateproject.org/news/festival/publicity/.
And of course for those of you who don’t want to be on the PFS list, just reply and save “remove,” and I’ll take you off (but you’ll be missing to good stuff about the upcoming PorcFest!).
SPEAKERS? We have several confirmed:
2004 National Libertarian Party Presidential candidate Michael Badnarik (himself a committed Porcupine) will be speaking, no doubt about his experiences running for President, the Constitution (sorely under attack), and other matters for which he is eminently qualified.
Also speaking will be the founder and president of the Coalition of New Hampshire Taxpayers (CNHT), Ed Naile (who also gave a great talk to the assembled Porcupines at the 2004 PorcFest). Take a look at the excellent CNHT web site at http://www.cnht.org/. Ed said he’ll be talking about the CNHT, “insider politics,” handling the press, and taxpayer movements all over the Free State. Ed, by the way, led a protest on April 1st at Dartmouth University: If the students want to vote in New Hampshire elections, he reasoned, then New Hampshirites should have the right to vote in the Dartmouth Trustees elections!
Then there’s Dr. Jason Sorens, the founder of the Free State Project and ne plus ultra of Porcupinedom. Caught at home, I asked him what he wanted to talk about. After hemming and hawing a little, he said the FSP leadership would probably be conferring on the subject collectively (please! not to mention that word!). But he did allow as how “we really need to talk about where we’ve been as a movement, where we are now, and where we’re going.” Sounds like something every Porcupine is going to want to hear about.
Amanda Phillips, the FSP President and tireless agitator for migrating Porcupines, will also speak. But I couldn’t catch her before this PFS went out. She’ll doubtless get back to me by next week. I’ll keep you all in the loop.
Next week I want to talk about a specific happening at the PorcFest, the Mock Town Meeting. Have you ever wondered how a New England town meeting really works? Mary Gere, a member of the town of Unity’s Board of Selectmen for 8 years, is setting up just that. I understand that already some of the selectmen in Unity are lining up to be spectators, so they can heckle the “stand-in selectmen.” I’ll be talking to Mary this week, and will clue everyone in to exactly what kind of learning process you can expect on Thursday afternoon, July 28th, in the town of Unity. This is a must-not-miss opportunity to figure out exactly how town-level democracy really works!
1. You need to be a part of it! For all information about the PorcFest 2005, plus to find out how you and your family can take part, see www.freestateproject.org/festival. Join with us—every one of you—in both attending and helping to publicize the 2nd Annual Free State Project Porcupine Freedom Festival...aka the “PorcFest 2005.”
2. Forward this email to your own email lists. We all have lists of friends, family, and freedom-lovers we know, and they should all have the opportunity to plan on attending PorcFest 2005. So when you receive this “PorcFest spam,” pass it on!
3. In 2004 the We’ll Be There List topped out at about 177, and over 300 people attended over the course of the 2004 PorcFest. Today there are already 183 on the 2005 List, and we’re still months away!) Check out who’s already signed up at http://freestateproject.org/news/festival/bethere2005.php...and then add yourself to the list.
4. Lodging and accommodations at the Porc Fest: Here’s everything you need to know about the Lancaster, NH campground and motel where the PorcFest will be held, as well as other local lodging: http://www.freestateproject.org/news/festival/lodging.php.
5. PorcFest 2005 is going to be extraordinary. How do we know? Because PorcFest 2004 was a stupendous success. Don’t believe me? Check it out! http://freestateproject.org/news/festival/festival04/
6. If you have any questions, email Varrin Swearingen, the “PFC” this year (“Porc Fest Czar”) at varrin@..., or me, Tim Condon, at tim@... (813-251-2626). Many people are helping put this incredible gathering together, but we need you too. You canhelp out by joining our “planning email list” at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/porcfest2005.
(See You At The Porc Fest!)
SUPERCHARGED SOLITONS, Chapter 3, By Tim Condon
Frank Bennett heard the voice of the woman he loved, his wife Linda, on the phone. "Hi Baby. Wake you up?"
He could hear her shifting in the bed, and visualized her smooth perfect body as she rolled over to peer at the low-light LCD clock by their bed. "Hmm-m-m." She yawned into the telephone. "Hell no," she murmured sarcastically. "You know I stay up till 3:00 a.m. every morning. I just love it."
Bennett laughed, a low private chuckle. "Sorry. I just wanted you to know I'm was leaving now; I'll be home in about a half hour."
She was waking up now. "Do be careful, honey. It’s late. The gangs....”
"Not to worry,” he responded. “When I get there I'll going to kiss you right on the lips."
A low chuckle issued from her, slightly distorted by the telephone receiver. "Which lips?”
It was Bennett's turn to laugh. "Naughty, naughty, you have a dirty little mind,” he said with a lewd overtone. “In the meantime, watch your back; never can tell when the block committee might be monitoring the phones."
"It's not my back I'm worried about," she replied with a soft emphasis on the word. "I want you to come home and kiss me all over." She chuckled her low, throaty laugh again, the way he so loved. "In fact, come home right now and make love to me, my love.”
"Don't move, don't move," he replied in mock agitation, “I’m coming...I mean I’m on my way!”
“Be careful,” she murmured. “I love you.”
“I will. I do. Love you,” he said back.
Frank Bennett leaned back in the chair again and watched the computer spew the last of the information onto the folded paper; he smiled at his mind's picture of the wife he loved...and loved to love. They had met four years before, when he had taught an undergrad physics seminar at the university. "Dancing with dunces" the course had been nicknamed by the physics professors; it was designed for non-science majors, to round out undergraduate knowledge with a smattering of science. She had approached him after the very first class. "Why the hole in the jacket?" she had boldly asked.
"My first lesson in applied physics," he'd answered.
Her perfectly straight strawberry blond hair---just the opposite of the variegated and frizzed hairstyles that had become so common---had fallen across her shoulders and blown into her eyes the first time they went out. He liked the fact that she was unconcerned with the fashions of the time. It had surprised him that she was such a free-thinker, yet a journalism major. It was well known that the professors of journalism at UM—like most professors everywhere—frowned on independent thinking. "Stick with the government experts," they always urged, with the unspoken warning that the national licensing board could snatch your journalism license at any time they wanted.
The Journalistic Excellence Resource for Knowledge, Oversight, Fairness, and Factuality (JERKOFF) had been put in place with the 26th revision of the McCain-Feingold campaign finance reform act. Not content to restrict the First Amendment rights of non-journalists, Congress had eventually passed licensing requirements for all journalists. The U.S. Supreme Court had upheld the law, noting that “reasonable restrictions on heretofore unreasonably sacrosanct activities can only be characterized as a response to new realities not contemplated by the Founders. By upholding the Journalistic Excellence Resource for Knowledge, Oversight, Fairness, and Factuality (JERKOFF), we pay tribute not only to those same Founders, but also to the evolving standards of informational responsibility necessary to maintain democratic processes as recognized by the World Information Court and United Nations, as well as in our sister regimes such as Cuba, France, Sudan, and Saudi Arabia. In so doing we also celebrate the ongoing evolution of the words in the living document that our Constitution must be in order to meet modern international realities.”
Almost every state had enthusiastically signed on to monitor and enforce the new licensing statutes for journalists, and accommodations were quickly made by most mainstream media outlets, who themselves celebrated the special restrictions aimed at muzzling the non-mainstream media.
As usual, only the crackpots and fanatics (as the mainstream media referred to them) in New Hampshire had refused to cooperate. At one point Governor Nappen had called out the state militia to back up the state police, when Massachusetts had threatened to send its state police, highway patrol, office of terrorist security, and state income tax police north into the Free State to force compliance with JERKOFF. In addition, Congress saw that billions in federal monies were withheld from New Hampshire, but the famously resistant New Hampshirites had told the federal government to keep its money and JERKOFF itself.
So at the university Linda Bennett had stifled her natural curiosity and fitted quietly into the journalism curriculum. In the end her unusual good looks, with dark eyebrows framing striking green eyes had quickly landed her a broadcasting job at a local Miami TV station.
But career ambition was not Linda's objective. The work was a means to an end: It defeated boredom which she hated. So she was pleased and surprised when she discovered she was never bored in Frank Bennett's presence. His sharp-edged intellect entranced her. She would sit on the beach, arms wrapped tightly around him, listening as he tried to explain one or another scientific enigma he might be struggling with. And she was shocked when she realized she had fallen in love with the man. It had happened so quickly. She loved him for his mind, she laughingly told her friends, but the sex, like their ability to sense and communicate with each other without words, was extraordinary.
One evening early in their courtship they had sat together on the beach watching the sun sink into Biscayne Bay. As the huge red-orange orb sank slowly into the water, they had slipped naked together into the warm bay waters. She had clung to him, wrapping her legs around his muscular midsection.
"Will you love me?" she had murmured into his ear. A simple question, simply asked. He had instinctively known what she spoke of; it wasn’t the act she meant, but rather something else, something that had been unspoken between them. She was seeking spiritual intent. He responded simply, nodding his head against hers, murmuring yes into her ear, for he had fallen in love with her also. They had already instinctively known. They were soulmates, of the same spiritual kin.
No one seemed surprised when they married within a year. Their love broadened and deepened, further enriching their lives with each passing day, and they often talked at night of their careers and hopes for the future, the children they would have and adventures they would seek. But they waited. The time would yet be right, after he had won his doctorate and established a permanent presence on a university faculty.
Frank Bennett stood in the darkness of the lab, reflecting on his incredible luck that a woman like Linda would actually love him. He knew that when he arrived home she would undress him and massage his temples and forehead. Then she would slip into bed beside him, and they would savor the warmth and texture and touch of each other. He shivered momentarily, then turned back to gaze out the dark window at the lights streaming along the nearby Interstate.
Presently the whisper of the printer ceased, and he tore off the computer paper, folding and thrusting it into a large inside pocket of his military jacket. He initiated the shutdown sequence for his workstation on the big Biolex
"Is that it for the day?" the machine asked him in its mellifluous voice. He punched a "y" on the keyboard, and the screen blanked immediately. He knew that no one other than himself could activate the internal workstation he had been utilizing. Not without knowing the complex sequence of passwords and sign-on protocols he had built into the computer under his identification code. He had also built in several more redundant layers of security beyond those provided by the DIA specialists. He wanted his own data to remain sacrosanct. And for good reason. If he could make a breakthrough in the area he was researching, superpumped solitons utilizing biologic factors, the implications would be massive, and would reverberate throughout several scientific disciplines.
He looked again out the window. He could feel the adrenaline building. He would travel through the unkept, violent anarchy of Miami at 3:00 a.m. to get home. He savored the feel of it, then strode down the hallway past the waiting elevator, entered the stairwell and bounded down the stairs several steps at a time. He burst out of the stairwell across from the front security station, alarming the security guard at the monitor desk. The guard jumped when Bennett hurtled out of the stairwell door.
"Shit!" he yelled. It was Bennett's friend, Bill Tidwell, who had a Louisville slugger raised halfway behind his head. “Would you knock that crap off Frank!?!"
Bennett grinned. “Whatsamatter, Bill? You jumpy tonight?”
“Plenty of reason to be,” said Tidwell. “You know what’s outside those doors, well as I do.” They looked at each other in silence, then turned and peered out the bulletproof glass doors.
Bennett sniggered. “You know what, Bill?”
(to be continued)