Another Failed Apocalypse
So it's a rainy Saturday afternoon in February of 1999, and I'm in Sacramento keeping the family dog company. So what better way to entertain myself for an afternoon than a little jaunt over to the 1999 "Y2K Preparedness Expo" at the California State Fair? Eight bucks at the door is a little steep, but what the hell? The millenium doesn't roll around all that often and it'd be nice to meet some hard core freaks up close and personal instead of just listening to them on AM radio.
So I roll into the parking lot, curse the rat-bastards who didn't bother to mention the $5 parking fee that accompanies the admission ticket, and proudly announce to the box-office man "No, I'm not interested in the Collectable Doll show in building C, I wanna prepare myself for the End of the World."
Most of what I was interested in, really, was the available literature. You know-- the kind of stuff you can't pick up at Barnes and Noble. Perhaps the odd night-vision gadget or "WWII Collectable" would be fun, but I was really interested in a bit of hyper-paranoia.
Most of the booths were focused on the basics: food and water. Dehydrated foods designed for long term storage and maximum nutrition, and water tank sizes from bathtub to swimming pool. One particularly savvy booth sported four buxom young women in tight fitting camouflage pants and clingy white t-shirts, each extolling the virtues of an enzyme-rich vegetable juice extract, two teaspoons of which was equal to a large serving of deep green leafy vegetables fresh from an organic farm. For the record: God DAMN I love this country.
I maneuvered past the food exhibits and on to the religious propaganda. The Truth Radio Network gave me a schedule for their satellite broadcast as well as some fascinating literature on how it costs the Federal Reserve (a privately owned organization that openly collaborates with "international bankers") one cent to print $100 bills, which it sells to us at face value. A nice young man explained how these days it's easier than ever not to have a bank account and convert your paycheck directly into silver. Sure, there's a service charge for the transaction, but then you have *real* money instead of the false idol of baseless paper currency. Paper, you see, has no utilitarian value, but you can really USE silver.
The crowd was only about 60% men, about a quarter of whom were in camouflage. One booth owner snickered that these guys in camo were wearing the "uniform of the enemy", and that the way they could really tell who was on their side was by worn blue jeans. "I'd like to see some federal agent try to prove he was one of us in a pair of brand new starched jeans!" The women were mostly wearing dresses they'd clearly made themselves, and as often as not dragging 3-4 kids behind them. A fair number of teenage boys, wearing the same 2nd Amendment buttons as their fathers, but, unfortunately, teenage girls (and unmarried females past puberty in general) were conspicuously absent. Except for the vegetable extract pinup gals, of course.
The literature tables were, as I'd hoped, extensive, but also a tad expensive. Sure, a Paladin Press book on "How to be a Hitman" would be a nice addition to my personal library, but $20 for small paperback? Military guidebooks on booby traps and instructions on how to create a new, untraceable identity for $15-$25 each? I realize that little Johnny needs a new crate of ammo, but that's just unreasonable. I almost ponied up $2 for a Black Helicopter Identification Chart (to tell you which unmarked US/UN Military Chopper was buzzing your compound), but the liberal turncoat in me didn't want to give money to a guy in a "Straight Pride" t-Shirt (a rainbow flag, in the center of a red circle with a slash through it).
I'd listened to a couple speakers: mostly talking about water filtration and the importance of beekeeping when trying to rebuild a destroyed agricultural infrastructure. It was about 12:45, and I was about to leave but a quick glimpse at my schedule let me know who was speaking next: Randy Weaver.
Randy was a bit smaller than life: your basic common-sense codger stereotype, albeit with a well-deserved chip on his shoulder. His portrayal of the federal marshals who killed his dog and son met with my personal interpretation of the events from reading about them since then: a really fucked up situation with confused and inexperienced federal agents jumping to their triggers more quickly than circumstances called for. The more I listened to questions from the audience, the more I wondered how many of them would be out to listen to a black man illegally rooted out of a city apartment by an overzealous police force. All in all, it's probably a good thing when a fatal fuck-up gets so much publicity, but I would have felt a little better if there weren't so many "shoot first, it's better to be judged by twelve then carried by six" bumper stickers for sale.
Anyhow, I learned some important things at the Expo. That Israel is just a red herring. That the Y2K bug was created on purpose, not by poor planning. That the True Sabbath is on Saturday, not on Sunday like those lying papist communists in the White House would have you believe. But most of all, I learned that hyper-paranoia just doesn't attract the really cute chicks.