July 16th, 2001 "You know Gary...," Marcus hesitated as my ears pricked up at the sound of my name, "with all the money we've made with misinformer.com, I've been thinking it's time we did something larger... something noble." My interest was piqued, a million questions formed in my mind, each in turn rolling over, sitting up, and begging to be scratched upon the belly. I immediately thought to myself "Wow, what on earth could we possibly do with our quarter-of-a-billion dollar nest-egg?" I think Marcus could sense my overwhelming interest, and so he continued... "I own an island, off the coast of Costa Rica..." The words echoed in my ears, a little less so in the left one, reminding me I still needed to pick up Q-tips on the way home. "...A sort of wildlife preserve," he continued. "What's this island for, Marc?"I quizzed. He looked at me with that sexy "I'm not really gay" look that only works for Marc. Anyone else trying that look would be instantly revealing their homosexuality. Then all at once my brain shifted gears, and I got it. My nerves were on fire as I blurted out"You've brought back the dinosaurs!!??" I was more excited than I realized, and finding myself in Marc's lap, passionately clutching the sides of his face, I heard him reply, almost inaudibly... "No, my little buttercup... I've brought back the 70's." That 70's Island By Gary Journey to Isla Nixon We look all tiny, like a model! The helicopter ride to the island was exciting. Marc kept throwing up, which was probably in part due to my fascination with jumping up and down the whole trip, yelling stuff like "WOW! You can really feel this son of bitch shake when I land, can't ya!?" I didn't realize what a jerk I was being until later when the copilot came back and I proudly told him that I bet the force of each impact was "puting a lot of stress on the blades," and then he punched me clean in the mouth and returned to the cockpit. Everyone was clapping so I felt as though I had done something important, which helped me not to notice the pain in my face and also on the back of my head from where I hit it on the bench when I fell. Gary: Hey Marc? Why is this place called Isla Nixon? Marc: You gonna stop jumping? Gary: Yeah, okay. Marc: Then I'll tell you... Nixon ushered in the '70's Gary: Carl Nixon!? Marc: What the...? President Richard Nixon, ass. Gary: Oooohhh... The president... I see... Hey Marc? Marc: Yeah? Gary: What's "ushered?" Marc: will you STOP JUMPING! <blAarg!> Welcome to Isla Nixon The sign on the Pavillion The Island's Microwave The island was gorgeous, straight out of a movie. This was going to be one hell of a place to recreate the 70's. At the Classic Rock Pavillion on Isla Nixon, at the top of the "Rocky Mountain High Mountain," we had some time to talk things over while we ate tv dinners that had been microwaved in what I considered a pretty huge microwave, apparently a size considered standard-issue for 1970(?). We were sitting in a large conference room, on white plastic bowl chairs with deep orange canvas cushions. I stared intently at Marc as he went on at length about something, but I couldn't hear because I'd accidentally put my false sideburns on right over my ears. He was pretty ticked off when he finally realized I wasn't answering any of his questions, nor was I emotionally responding to any of the ideas in his master plan. I hadn't realized the 'burns came in pairs and you had to tear them apart. I was actually wearing 4 of those suckers! Like I knew, right? Now that he finally had my full attention, and not just my pretend attention, he reiterated that this was to be an island of free love and earthy colors. This was to be a non-judgemental place where it was okay to pay for a haircut that made you look like you just got out of bed. 8-tracks would be back in style, and we'd all groove on underlit glass flooring beneath giant disco balls. Marc took me on a tour of the pavillion. Everything was horrendously, yet somehow wonderfully orange, green, paisley, and made of the coarsest fabrics available. As we entered one particularly long hallway, I noticed that we appeared to be walking down the back of a hallway-sized brown dog. "What is this flooring?" I pondered, and Marc filled in the blank: "Shag carpetting! This stuff is everywhere. It never ocurred to me that shag had a smell, but memories of my childhood were flooding back. Ah, those musty days of playing with little toy trucks in my footed pajamas... We couldn't resist the urge to just roll around in it for awhile before continuing the tour. Several of the island staff members joined in. Incident at Isla Nixon before and after islander makeovers Shortly after our tour, Marc got right down to business, calling all the senior staff and some of the crew into a boardroom with a giant carpetted table. It was here that he brought up the tribesman on the island, and how they were more than willing to learn about and grow into our "current" technologies, which of course meant record players and polaroid cameras. He even had a slideshow depicting how he had already transformed some of these veritable "bushmen" into icons of 70's fashion. Djimon Honsou As we all sat around the large conference table, Bee Gees music playing through flush-mount ceiling speakers, Marc spoke proudly to us: "We have a chance here to recreate the 70's, without all the shit that went along with it. We'll have 1975, but we won't have Microsoft forming. We'll have 1976, but we won't have Apple Computers forming. We'll have the vcr, and Atari, and Star Wars, and we won't have to freaking switch ALL our music over to CD's, 'cause they were invented in 1980! Timb was heard to utter "shit," but denied it when Marc jumped on him about it. Things were looking up. Then he got into more pressing issues... "We have a chance to create racial harmony here! No more will we look at a black man and think 'there's a black man.' We'll just think 'there's a man, like me.' At last, skin color will have no more meaning. We won't identify or crucify because of the color of someone's skin. We'll all be equal under the ideals of peace and love that were the best part of the 70's!" His words swelled in our chests and we were praising him and clapping when he introduced our first speaker. "Our first speaker is a delightful actor named Djimon Honsou. You might remember him as that black guy from Gladiator." Things degenerated from there as we asked an endless array of physiological difference questions, like whether or not he could outrun and outjump all white men, and if he felt hotter in the sun because his darker skin absorbed more light than fair skin. He did his best putting up with us, despite the fact we never really got to the heart and soul of this black man who was so dearly wasting his time on us "white racists with good intentions." I think it was about the time we all started talking about rap, and how cool The Fresh Prince was that he suddenly realized his boat was about to leave, politely thanked us for our time and quickly excused himself. Three hours later I swore the figure I saw standing out on the boatless dock was his, but I couldn't be sure with the sun in my eyes. I hoped he was okay, and that his boat would arrive soon, as it must be very hot for a black man in the sun. Darker skin colors absorb a lot more of the sun's heat, you know, in relation to fairer skin tones... I mean, I'm not prejudice or anything, that's just science. - Join us all week for more of this island 70's! - Read Part 2 of this Adventure