LambdaMOO Reunion
Posted on December 5, 2011 | posted by:
The following is based on “A Rape in Cyberspace,” written by Julian Dibble and published in The Village Voice in December, 1993. It is available to read here:
http://www.juliandibbell.com/texts/bungle_vv.html
For the first time in history, the legendary die-hards from LambdaMOO, the online platform dating from 1993, decided to meet in person. They were terrified, yet defiant. They were like radio stars facing the advent of television. They were like a hoard of Gloria Swansons about to come down the stairs, ready for their closeups, Mr. Deville.
The problem, though, was that there wasn’t a closeup to begin with.
These people, who had spent hours upon hours in the online chat room of LamdaMOO, lived their virtual existence any way those chose. But a strange human desire to meet the people behind the computer screens drove them to finally meet.
Everyone decided to convene in New York. Legba had suggested it, even though nobody lived in New York. Nobody actually knew where anyone lived. Years ago, that didn’t matter, but now it seemed — especially to Legba — that the group choose a place that was just as ambiguous, and certainly as non-existent, as LamdaMOO itself.
So they arrived. Some to Newark, some to JFK, some to La Guardia. Some by Chinatown bus. Somehow, now, all the details mattered. They needed to Foresquare themselves or Tweet or post on a blog. But nobody could do that; it was way too realistic.
At about two o’clock in the afternoon, taxis began to pull up to the Best Western Hotel and Convention Center on West 38th Street. A sign, written with a fat turquoise-blue Sharpie marker on white poster board, marked the spot. “Welcome LamdaMOO!!!!!!” There had been some crate paper hung around the sign at one point, but a sudden rainstorm an hour ago soaked it, causing the blue dye to run down the sign.
An hour later, the party was getting started. Starsinger and Crawfish sat at the entrance to the ballroom at a card table, greeting guests and handing out name tags that read “Hello, My Name is ________. You know me as ________. LamdaMOO, It Ain’t Gonna Leave You!”
It felt a lot like a high school reunion. Everyone just wanted to see who was fat. Before long, however, SamIam arrived and set up his DJ equipment.
Enya’s charismatic crooning soon began to fill the room.
Back to the 90s, finally.
After everyone had some sort of drink in their hands, the conversation seemed to go on just fine. That was, until everyone had already talked about the rainy weather, how many brothers and sisters they had, how many times they had been to New York, or how much they wanted to ride in a carriage in Central Park.
The magic, the suspense, the thrill of LamdaMOO could not exist in the real world.
“What was it,” Starsigner said to Crawfish at the entrance table, “that made me think you were a man — online?”
Crawfish raised her eyebrows, and took another sip of her beer.
Just at that moment, however, someone heard a gasp come from the welcome table.
Everyone knew what had happened — it was the moment everyone was secretly terrified about.
Had Mr. Bungle arrived?
Separating the welcome table from the rest of the ballroom was a large stand of plastic trees, which obstructed the view into the hallway outside. Consequently, nobody could see anything. They all stood there, petrified, waiting for the criminal to appear.
They waited, and they waited. Enya echoed in the background, and someone coughed.
Then, something appeared from behind the green shimmery leaves. A humming, motorized sound slowly got louder and louder.
Tennis shoes, grey slacks, a red cardigan sweater.
Around the corner he came. Too old to walk now, he entered the room on a bright red Hoveround.
“Mr. Rodgers?!” Legba said.
“Hello, Neighbor,” he replied.
“Mr. Bungle?” someone said.
“It’s not what you think,” said Mr. Rodgers.
“I knew it. My Mom always said you creeped her out. She wouldn’t let me watch your show.”
SamIam shouted.
As the conversation awkwardly continued, a feeling of incongruity that rested between reality and a hope for the fantastical set over the crowd. It was an empty, disappointed feeling.
They all wished they had never known.
They realized that today’s world was one of the real. Real Housewives, Real Simple, RealPlayer, Real Time. Was the age of the imaginary over? The scene before them — a man in a motorized wheelchair, known around the world for his puppets and friendly fish tank — had shocked everyone with a secret persona that had existed only in the world of LambdaMOO.
The low-carb wraps arrived. Enya continued to sail away. Outside, the rain continued.
It was the end of an era.