Craphound - Cory Doctorow (reading list .TXT) 📗

copyrighted
works by means of digital file-sharing or otherwise shall not be
considered to be intended for or directed toward commercial
advantage or private monetary compensation, provided there is no
payment of any monetary compensation in connection with the
exchange of copyrighted works.

c. If you distribute, publicly display, publicly perform, or
publicly digitally perform the Work or any Collective Works, You
must keep intact all copyright notices for the Work and give the
Original Author credit reasonable to the medium or means You are
utilizing by conveying the name (or pseudonym if applicable) of
the Original Author if supplied; the title of the Work if
supplied. Such credit may be implemented in any reasonable
manner; provided, however, that in the case of a Collective Work,
at a minimum such credit will appear where any other comparable
authorship credit appears and in a manner at least as prominent
as such other comparable authorship credit.

5. Representations, Warranties and Disclaimer

a. By offering the Work for public release under this License,
Licensor represents and warrants that, to the best of Licensor's
knowledge after reasonable inquiry:

i. Licensor has secured all rights in the Work necessary to grant
the license rights hereunder and to permit the lawful exercise of
the rights granted hereunder without You having any obligation to
pay any royalties, compulsory license fees, residuals or any
other payments;

ii. The Work does not infringe the copyright, trademark,
publicity rights, common law rights or any other right of any
third party or constitute defamation, invasion of privacy or
other tortious injury to any third party.

b. EXCEPT AS EXPRESSLY STATED IN THIS LICENSE OR OTHERWISE AGREED
IN WRITING OR REQUIRED BY APPLICABLE LAW, THE WORK IS LICENSED ON
AN "AS IS" BASIS, WITHOUT WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EITHER EXPRESS
OR IMPLIED INCLUDING, WITHOUT LIMITATION, ANY WARRANTIES
REGARDING THE CONTENTS OR ACCURACY OF THE WORK.

6. Limitation on Liability. EXCEPT TO THE EXTENT REQUIRED BY
APPLICABLE LAW, AND EXCEPT FOR DAMAGES ARISING FROM LIABILITY TO
A THIRD PARTY RESULTING FROM BREACH OF THE WARRANTIES IN SECTION
5, IN NO EVENT WILL LICENSOR BE LIABLE TO YOU ON ANY LEGAL THEORY
FOR ANY SPECIAL, INCIDENTAL, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR EXEMPLARY
DAMAGES ARISING OUT OF THIS LICENSE OR THE USE OF THE WORK, EVEN
IF LICENSOR HAS BEEN ADVISED OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES.

7. Termination

a. This License and the rights granted hereunder will terminate
automatically upon any breach by You of the terms of this
License. Individuals or entities who have received Collective
Works from You under this License, however, will not have their
licenses terminated provided such individuals or entities remain
in full compliance with those licenses. Sections 1, 2, 5, 6, 7,
and 8 will survive any termination of this License.

b. Subject to the above terms and conditions, the license granted
here is perpetual (for the duration of the applicable copyright
in the Work). Notwithstanding the above, Licensor reserves the
right to release the Work under different license terms or to
stop distributing the Work at any time; provided, however that
any such election will not serve to withdraw this License (or any
other license that has been, or is required to be, granted under
the terms of this License), and this License will continue in
full force and effect unless terminated as stated above.

8. Miscellaneous

a. Each time You distribute or publicly digitally perform the
Work or a Collective Work, the Licensor offers to the recipient a
license to the Work on the same terms and conditions as the
license granted to You under this License.

b. If any provision of this License is invalid or unenforceable
under applicable law, it shall not affect the validity or
enforceability of the remainder of the terms of this License, and
without further action by the parties to this agreement, such
provision shall be reformed to the minimum extent necessary to
make such provision valid and enforceable.

c. No term or provision of this License shall be deemed waived
and no breach consented to unless such waiver or consent shall be
in writing and signed by the party to be charged with such waiver
or consent.

d. This License constitutes the entire agreement between the
parties with respect to the Work licensed here. There are no
understandings, agreements or representations with respect to the
Work not specified here. Licensor shall not be bound by any
additional provisions that may appear in any communication from
You. This License may not be modified without the mutual written
agreement of the Licensor and You.

###


Craphound
=========

Craphound had wicked yard-sale karma, for a rotten, filthy alien bastard. He was
too good at panning out the single grain of gold in a raging river of
uselessness for me not to like him -- respect him, anyway. But then he found the
cowboy trunk. It was two months' rent to me and nothing but some squirrelly
alien kitsch-fetish to Craphound.

So I did the unthinkable. I violated the Code. I got into a bidding war with a
buddy. Never let them tell you that women poison friendships: in my experience,
wounds from women-fights heal quickly; fights over garbage leave nothing behind
but scorched earth.

Craphound spotted the sign -- his karma, plus the goggles in his exoskeleton,
gave him the advantage when we were doing 80 kmh on some stretch of back-highway
in cottage country. He was riding shotgun while I drove, and we had the radio on
to the CBC's summer-Saturday programming: eight weekends with eight hours of old
radio dramas: "The Shadow," "Quiet Please," "Tom Mix," "The Crypt-Keeper" with
Bela Lugosi. It was hour three, and Bogey was phoning in his performance on a
radio adaptation of _The African Queen_. I had the windows of the old truck
rolled down so that I could smoke without fouling Craphound's breather. My arm
was hanging out the window, the radio was booming, and Craphound said "Turn
around! Turn around, now, Jerry, now, turn around!"

When Craphound gets that excited, it's a sign that he's spotted a rich vein. I
checked the side-mirror quickly, pounded the brakes and spun around. The
transmission creaked, the wheels squealed, and then we were creeping along the
way we'd come.

"There," Craphound said, gesturing with his long, skinny arm. I saw it. A wooden
A-frame real-estate sign, a piece of hand-lettered cardboard stuck overtop of
the realtor's name:

EAST MUSKOKA VOLUNTEER FIRE-DEPT

LADIES AUXILIARY RUMMAGE SALE

SAT 25 JUNE

"Hoo-eee!" I hollered, and spun the truck onto the dirt road. I gunned the
engine as we cruised along the tree-lined road, trusting Craphound to spot any
deer, signs, or hikers in time to avert disaster. The sky was a perfect blue and
the smells of summer were all around us. I snapped off the radio and listened to
the wind rushing through the truck. Ontario is _beautiful_ in the summer.

"There!" Craphound shouted. I hit the turn-off and down-shifted and then we were
back on a paved road. Soon, we were rolling into a country fire-station, an ugly
brick barn. The hall was lined with long, folding tables, stacked high. The
mother lode!

Craphound beat me out the door, as usual. His exoskeleton is programmable, so he
can record little scripts for it like: move left arm to door handle, pop it,
swing legs out to running-board, jump to ground, close door, move forward.
Meanwhile, I'm still making sure I've switched off the headlights and that I've
got my wallet.

Two blue-haired grannies had a card-table set up out front of the hall, with a
big tin pitcher of lemonade and three boxes of Tim Horton assorted donuts. That
stopped us both, since we share the superstition that you _always_ buy food from
old ladies and little kids, as a sacrifice to the crap-gods. One of the old
ladies poured out the lemonade while the other smiled and greeted us.

"Welcome, welcome! My, you've come a long way for us!"

"Just up from Toronto, ma'am," I said. It's an old joke, but it's also part of
the ritual, and it's got to be done.

"I meant your friend, sir. This gentleman."

Craphound smiled without baring his gums and sipped his lemonade. "Of course I
came, dear lady. I wouldn't miss it for the worlds!" His accent is pretty good,
but when it comes to stock phrases like this, he's got so much polish you'd
think he was reading the news.

The biddie _blushed_ and _giggled_, and I felt faintly sick. I walked off to the
tables, trying not to hurry. I chose my first spot, about halfway down, where
things wouldn't be quite so picked-over. I grabbed an empty box from underneath
and started putting stuff into it: four matched highball glasses with gold
crossed bowling-pins and a line of black around the rim; an Expo '67
wall-hanging that wasn't even a little faded; a shoebox full of late sixties
O-Pee-Chee hockey cards; a worn, wooden-handled steel cleaver that you could
butcher a steer with.

I picked up my box and moved on: a deck of playing cards copyrighted '57, with
the logo for the Royal Canadian Dairy, Bala Ontario printed on the backs; a
fireman's cap with a brass badge so tarnished I couldn't read it; a three-story
wedding-cake trophy for the 1974 Eastern Region Curling Championships. The
cash-register in my mind was ringing, ringing, ringing. God bless the East
Muskoka Volunteer Fire Department Ladies' Auxiliary.

I'd mined that table long enough. I moved to the other end of the hall. Time
was, I'd start at the beginning and turn over each item, build one pile of
maybes and another pile of definites, try to strategise. In time, I came to rely
on instinct and on the fates, to whom I make my obeisances at every opportunity.

Let's hear it for the fates: a genuine collapsible top-hat; a white-tipped
evening cane; a hand-carved cherry-wood walking stick; a beautiful black lace
parasol; a wrought-iron lightning rod with a rooster on top; all of it in an
elephant-leg umbrella-stand. I filled the box, folded it over, and started on
another.

I collided with Craphound. He grinned his natural grin, the one that showed row
on row of wet, slimy gums, tipped with writhing, poisonous suckers. "Gold!
Gold!" he said, and moved along. I turned my head after him, just as he bent
over the cowboy trunk.

I sucked air between my teeth. It was magnificent: a leather-bound miniature
steamer trunk, the leather worked with lariats, Stetson hats, war-bonnets and
six-guns. I moved toward him, and he popped the latch. I caught my breath.

On top, there was a kid's cowboy costume: miniature leather chaps, a tiny
Stetson, a pair of scuffed white-leather cowboy boots with long, worn spurs
affixed to the heels. Craphound moved it reverently to the table and continued
to pull more magic from the trunk's depths: a stack of cardboard-bound Hopalong
Cassidy 78s; a pair of tin six-guns with gunbelt and holsters; a silver star
that said Sheriff; a bundle of Roy Rogers comics tied with twine, in mint
condition; and a leather satchel filled with plastic cowboys and Indians, enough
to re-enact the Alamo.

"Oh, my God," I breathed, as he spread the loot out on the table.

"What are these, Jerry?" Craphound asked, holding up the 78s.

"Old records, like LPs, but you need a special record player to listen to them."
I took one out of its sleeve. It gleamed, scratch-free, in the overhead
fluorescents.

"I got a 78 player here," said a member of the East Muskoka Volunteer Fire
Department Ladies' Auxiliary. She was short enough to look Craphound in the eye,
a hair under five feet, and