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Metaverse NY Meetup Message Board › What if Neal Stephenson's Metaverse was here now

What if Neal Stephenson's Metaverse was here now

Gary Lynn M.
user 101288082
Wichita, KS
Post #: 3
Cory's virtual eyes scan the virtual surrounds trying to observe sudden shifts of continuity jumps or jerks. Trying to catch the moment of a shift. Searching in the immediate actual act of seeing; to see any skips in what she is seeing. Not really a blind spot but rather a fleeting spot. Watching the eyes of the other avatars, their movements are realistic and intelligent and must mirror her own. There is some rezzing and some lag but not much.

Moving your eyes to navigate immersive space in a kind of mouseview perspective where fast eye movement doesn't whir so much as jumps. That's what it's like. Cory has gotten to be an old hand at it; yet here she is, her metaphorical head cranked back New York New York tourist style. She reaches out a hand that in the moment can only be her avatar hand, and places it on her very own accommodating hovering black spot. The black spot resolves into a keyboard on which she begins to tap. In a chat box she writes it down. It's not lost on these mostly New Yorkers chuckles all around.

Chuckling: The real body responds first but this is distracting and it injects noise into the system. So you resume su/re -pressing (quieting) the body and return to the immediacy of the virtual. You give a more controlled less visceral response, handing the ball as it were back to your avatar. Rocking, shaking, knee slapping, and rolling holding your sides are favorites. She hears through her ear phones the ambient sounds. The NIRS/EEG cap fits like a swimming cap. The optical probes close to the ears limit how much of the ear the phones can cover (circumaural).

Cory catches the eye of Josephine Junot getting a little thrill just from the doing: A rush from interpersonal dynamics in so odd a landscape. The NonProfit Commons is not odd in and of itself don't get me wrong thinks Cory. Introducing Krestianstvo - the modern p2p virtual world based on Croquet is towering above. It's a photo finish which one of us is the MC of this glorious event. Josephine's been behind me, I mean us, ever since she knew about our particular BCI project. Never deserving of ear boxing although never quite a deck hand actually. LAAYYYDEEE is my Avatar name. I've been sort of closeted and am in need of catching up socially.

A motley crue? Nah, just the usual. Giant Kargath Bladefist is hard to miss. Tusks like sharp stalagmites protruding out of a dark blood red face matched by giant stalagmites/stalactites sets fitted to the shoulders of armor made out of the same cavern with ground hugging blades instead of hands. Talk about a speech impediment. (The blades not the sentence). Tuna Oddfellow: a black top hat and coat voodoo look, white skeletal while fleshed all at once seeming. Pale Infinity: Yíkes! White skin and clothes Waif. Rex Obviate: a black Svengali.

Walking the cobblestone of NYU Poly after parking at the Marriott: Through the glass doors of 2 MetroTech; gentlemen open the door for the ladys; that's right do-si-do; Are we perchance to join the same rendezvous? Cory has browsed the faces of Metaverse NY and asked and answered on their webpage. Greg Lions has the temperamental John Savage look down. First impressions. Behind the minimal door off the lobby and the coolly harmless facade of it's sentinel metal detectors, lies a waiting world. Along marble corridors and golden elevators through cozy space I met this meetup.

Josephine is typing. "let's aL clOs ^" "grup H". Instead of snappy comebacks like "iz dat wise?" "U suR dat safe?", they all just give it a go. The program won't let you pass through other people or scenery. However, it's up to you to notice. Like toddlers or some reverse blindness (you can see but can't feel) and where only the watched pot will boil. No use running a hand along some texture. Cupping a breast on the other hand may get you a feel of things thus is the nature of the brain. A slap obeys virtual physics and an abrupt 90° change of viewpoint is probably in order (maybe 360, maybe even 360 over and over). Maybe some stars and a little unresponsiveness. You might even go horizontal. Similarly a knee in the groin however unintentional. No pushing and shoving
Marveling at the graphics up close and getting caught mesmerizing with one's own hands, if we were nothing but eyes in contact in the dark it would hold us in the moment. Persephone Phoenix is discovering her inner dancer. So intent is she she only just discovers she is the center of attention. There are things to be said but too much bother to say them, to disturb the flow of the moment. Everyone knows Persephone dances in real life. Well, almost everyone. Cory remembers the plump vibrant redhead in the elevator.

So watching in her little girl in the attic knowing way that you are compelled to acknowledge. This is AngryBeth Shortbread. A face molded on her own Annabeth Robinson face. Cory's avatar is modeled on Lilian Roth with whom she has been told she bears a more than passing resemblance. (I'll Cry Tomorrow, and no that was Susan Hayward playing her who doesn't actually look anything like her. Try the kid from Grounded For Life but even cuter.) She wished her legs looked like hers. She makes a face at Anastasios Aurotharius. He winks. He is fabio/caveman/greek god. How would he smell? She can almost smell. What is She doing? Sideways looking at her is what everyone else is doing. Ⓐrιєllє.ⒸσуÐαѕнιαɴ.Ⓖнσşт: That's Ebonylynette to you, face an inverted teardrop with I dream of jeannie on her bottle eyes. We give her her space.
In Cory's mind, this little african american lady superimposed on her avatar mimics her avatar for a moment her grin a little cheshire. Cory returns the imagined smile feeling that something has indeed passed between them. The girl who seemed to be walking faster than everyone else just to keep up. I half expected her to produce a news microphone at me, thinks Cory. “You Already Know” she would prefix her commentary. She is “Wylin” and “Fuck Outta Here!” is her term of skepticism. Tom Hines "so the dance begins, wherein both parties seem to do a sped-up version of the robot, first extending an open hand, then switching to open arms, with the other party doing the opposite" (urbandictionary.com).

Petey Carver, the slightly cyborg gentlemen perhaps a count or duke in his Star Trek simple uniform, does some robot moves and I laugh. We essay a hug this time. I pat his chest. See, not so hard to do. I notice his eyes returning to a direction I turn to follow. Glamouramama Boa has become still shifting herself oh so slightly. Her eyes read the audience feedback for her every nuance. Posing in her mind's eye. The interface they are using only really understands motion. The motion of putting something somewhere. You are here. Is that promise on her face?
There is something of a previous era about Katy Ells. Old lady perfume was not old when the old ladies were young. You anticipate it's bouquet when enters Katy even if you get something youthful instead. Katy was take charge learning everything and was the last in the room before Cory to gear up. Peggy Sheehy is waiting to be sold on this whole enterprise in her "just the facts, ma'am" smiling patience way. Easier on the eyes than Sgt. Joe Friday. Rhonda Lowry is the tough guy no a good natured gal first in line to try something new, to be entertained, to make magic, to kiss the Blarney Stone.
Maggie MArat mirrors Peggy's ...
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