Oldskooler Ramblings

the unlikely child born of the home computer wars

Archive for the ‘Software Piracy’ Category

Journey’s End

Posted by Jim Leonard on April 21, 2013

I was part of the first wave of people tackling the gigantic task of preserving personal computing gaming history in the early 1990s.  (I suppose pirating software in the 1980s counts too, but scanning materials and interviewing people began, for me, in the 1990s.)  Without connecting to others or knowing what was out there, I started to hoard software and hardware where financially possible and appropriate.  I collected software I considered hidden gems, that should be given their due in some public forum before being forgotten.  I grabbed many Tandy 1000s and other early PCs to ensure various works could be run and studied.  I was an original member of the abandonware movement.  I wrote articles on how to get old software running on modern machines, and contributed to software that did the same.  I co-founded the world’s largest gaming database so that information about these works could be consumed and researched by millions.

I did this all before Y2K.  When you’re the only guy shouting in a crowd, you tend to look the lunatic, and that’s pretty much how most of my friends and family saw me.

Look around the preservation landscape today and much of what I was working towards for years has come to pass.  There are many vintage hardware and software museums, both physical and virtual, including some dedicated to gaming.  There are some wonderful emulators that get closer and closer to the real thing each year.  There are even some curated collections online.  (There are many more curated collections offline, orders of magnitude larger than what is online, but in a decade or so I believe these will move online as well.)  Most importantly, there are established communities that support these efforts.  All in all, I’m pretty happy with how things have turned out.

Looking around all of my possessions inside my home, I see the fallout of what I was trying to accomplish many years ago.  I see no less than five PCjrs, three identical Tandy 1000s, three identical IBM PC 5150s, and multiples of Macs, Apples, C64s, and Amigas.  I see crates and bookshelves and closets filled with hardware and software.  I see clutter where there should be a nice desk for displaying a computer in a respectful way, or an easy chair for reading or watching TV.  It’s too much.  It’s time to let most of it go, and focus like a laser on the things that are the most important.  I will be disseminating most of my collection, both software and hardware, in the following year.

What I will continue to do, however, is archive and preserve software, as there is still a ton of IBM PC software from the 1980s that has not yet been released into the wild.  I am also committed to creating the “sound card museum” project I keep threatening to do.  To those ends, I will retain a few systems that will allow me to achieve both of those goals.

So, I’ll still keep buying and collecting vintage software — the difference is, I won’t retain the software after preserving it.  Consider me a vintage personal computing clearing house.

Posted in Family, Gaming, Home Ownership, Lifehacks, MobyGames, Software Piracy, Vintage Computing | Tagged: , , | 11 Comments »

The PC Mockingboard

Posted by Jim Leonard on September 9, 2011

I am a lucky owner of the IBM PC version of Bank Street Music Writer, which I purchased in 1986 using $85 of saved allowance through a friend’s older brother who worked at Babbage’s and could get it at a discount (normal cost was $150).  The Ad Lib Computer Music System wasn’t available yet, and for $245 I couldn’t have afforded it anyway.  $150 was a lot for a consumer-oriented music composition program, and with good reason:  It came with a sound board.  For the owner of a PC jealous of nearly every other home computer that came with decent sound hardware built in, this was the holy grail in a software box to me.

The software and packaging called it the Bank Street Music Writer card, and it was capable of six synthesized voices with different instrument types, some of which could be percussive.  If that sounds a lot like the Ad Lib, don’t be fooled — the output was square waves, the volume envelopes were controlled by the software, and the percussive sounds were made by mixing white noise with a waveform.  It sounded a lot like two PCjrs glued together.   Apple users are familiar with this sound:  It’s the Mockingboard.  The PC board doesn’t say anything like that on its PCB, and the components aren’t arranged the same way as they are on a real Mockingboard, but it sure sounded awfully similar.  So much so, in fact, that I pulled my card out of storage a few years ago to see if I could decipher it for adding support for it in MONOTONE.  I discovered it was built around a GI AY-3-8913, which itself is a smaller pincount version of the AY-3-8910, which was, in fact, the main chip on a Mockingboard.  But that was the only connection, and it was mostly conjecture on my part.

Until tonight.  I was browsing through The Internet Archives’ collection of Family Computing Magazines (thank you, Mr. Scott) when this caught my eye:

Well look at that — it is a PC version of the Mockingboard!  So at some point there was going to be a PC Mockingboard, but the only fabrication of it was as the “Bank Street Music Writer Card” bundled with Bank Street Music Writer.  You don’t see this written in any Mockingboard/Apple history, which is a shame because I’d be curious to know what the plans were and how far they got off the ground.  All we have proof of, thanks to Family Computing, is that they were planning to market it as a Mockingboard at some point.

This is easily the rarest sound card I have in my collection, and is probably the most rare and valuable PC sound card second only to the Innovation SSI 2001 music card, of which only two are known to still exist.  (Only one BSMW card is known to exist — mine — but remember the first lesson of the collector:  Rarity != value.)  And the Innovation has its own trump card:  It’s a PC version of the SID.

Scans of this card, reference samples of its output, and my interview with Glen Clancy about Bank Street Music Writer and it’s music file format will probably be inaugural entries in my Sound Card Museum project, which I will start building before the year is over.  If you can’t wait and want to hear what it sounds like right now, you can check out both a sample file that came with BSMW, or a piece of music I transcribed myself (a section of “Consider Yourself” from Oliver).

(PROTIP: Bank Street Music Writer also supports the PCjr and Tandy 1000 sound chip in a limited capacity, so you can snag BSMW from your favorite abandonware watering hole to play with it in DOSBOX.  It requires ANSI.SYS, so hopefully that won’t be a problem in DOSBOX.  If you’re especially lucky, it will come bundled with the songdisk I released with it so you can play with 20+ extra tunes.)

Posted in Software Piracy, Vintage Computing | Leave a Comment »

Learning to let go

Posted by Jim Leonard on March 16, 2009

There’s a happy ending in here, so don’t cry for me Argentina.  Also, it rambles a bit.  These conditions should come as no surprise to those who know me.

For many collectors, librarians, and historians in the field of computer preservation, there is a line between “productive” and “OCD hoarding complex”.  I wouldn’t call it a fine line — it’s pretty broad — but a couple of measured steps in one direction and you can easily travel from museumland to crazyville.  My collection, for example, takes up about seven bookshelves (software) and about 700 cubic feet of space (computers/hardware in the basement and crawlspace).  I usually have three or four projects around me at a time, and so my work area is usually always quite cluttered.  For my current state of project completion, I consider myself right on the line:  If I acquire more stuff, it will progress from “cute little stockpile” to “life-threatening”.  If I let go of some stuff, it will migrate down to the happy state of “collection”.  But as a collector, it is against the fiber of my being to let go of… well, anything.

There are several things that tug at the heartstrings of a computer historian.  The most common is the occasional report of a large collection that was junked because the owner (or widow) didn’t know what they had.  Those are frequent enough (and geographically distant enough) that it’s easy to develop a callus.  Less common are when collections are offered directly to you, but you don’t have the space/money/time/permission/health/etc. to accept them.  Even less common are reports of collections that have been lost not due to negligence, but rather some sort of unexpected disaster (ie. fire, flood, etc.).  All of these royally suck ass, for lack of a more eloquent colloquial euphemism.  But the absolute worst is when you’ve done everything right — found assets, stored them properly, tagged and cataloged them — and circumstances dictate that it is you who needs to give them up before they have been fully processed.  And that time finally arrived for me.

I decided to let go of arguably the golden nugget of my collection:  My cache of Central Point Option Boards.  The personal aftermath of this decision surprised the hell out of me, as I actually feel… better about the entire experience.  (I lack the psychological knowledge to self-analyze why that is; suggestions welcome.) Why did I let them go?  So I could attend a demoparty.

Let’s talk about demoparties.

One of the things I look forward to most in life (other than family events, of course) is attending demoparties.  Europe is maggoty with demoparties (if you look hard enough, you will find at least one every weekend), but here in North America they are few and far-between.  The most amount of major NA demoparties we have had in a single year is two, and that was last year!  (And that won’t be repeated in 2009 because NVision will not occur this year.)  And because NA is so big, it can be a significant financial investment to get to one if you don’t live nearby.  Luckily, Jason Scott — probably at significant personal detriment — has committed to putting on no less than five annual large demoparties, which he both organizes and hosts.  This year is the third one, and although it isn’t as big as some Euro parties, it definitely has the correct vibe, which is a major accomplishment for being so far away from the demoscene nexus.  It’s got a room away from the convention that hosts it all decked out for coding, watching demos, meeting with sceners, listening to demo tunes, etc.  There are compos (including a true wild compo) in front of an audience of at least 200 people.  There are many scene in-jokes floating around.  There is booze of exotic varieties, ranging from home brews to salmiakkikossu (salmari) and a lot inbetween.  About the only thing missing is a bonfire — which is admittedly very difficult, since most NA demoparties are inside convention centers, hotels, or schools.

I mention the demoscene stuff because it is one of my first loves — and the Option Board is another.  In fact, my involvement with the Option Board (is this starting to sound dirty?) goes as far back as 1987.  I became so intimate with it (yeah, this is starting to sound dirty; my apologies) that I began to develop a sense for what settings to give the software based on the publisher of the game I was trying to copy before I even looked at the disk.  Even today, I use Option Boards in my hobby work, sometimes even transferring difficult disk images to overseas colleages who are more adept at cracking than I am, so that they can be dismantled and released into the wild.

So.  I love demoparties and I love my collection of Option Boards.  I lacked the money to go to Block Party this year.  I could sell the Option Boards, to get the money, but I hadn’t properly archived them yet (meaning, put up a web page about them, describe them and their usage, trivia, etc.), which is something I usually spend months doing — because I am anal about stuff like that.  I was stuck.

So how did I resolve these two diametrically-opposed objectives?  I cheated. I decided to perform a best effort at a quick documentation and archival process, and then sell them.  For a single weekend, every spare moment of time was spent scanning manuals and other materials, copying software, taking photos, and writing up a small history of the boards and how to use them.  All of this was organized into the Option Board Archive, which is now available for your leeching pleasure.  In an age where the DMCA is used for repeated abuse, the Option Board is a historical curiousity: A product marketed specifically to break the law (if you used it inappropriately), so I am glad to have had the chance to make my contribution to the world of Option Board history.  And as for the boards themselves, they are on their way to their new owners.  Two of them are going to a computer history museum in Germany; another is going to the KEEP project in France; the other three are going to private collectors with an active interest in using them to further their vintage computing hobby.

I can’t see a downside to this:

  • I get to go to Block Party, on my own terms (I’m paying my own way — my attendance is not conditional on any obligations.  That means a lot to me.)
  • I got the damn things archived and documented
  • I get to see other vintage computing hobbyists enjoying the boards
  • My family gets to see some more clutter go out the door

Life is good.

So does this mean I’m going to start liquidating everything I have, to achieve a zen-like state of higher conciousness?  Um, hell no — at least, not before I’ve had a chance to archive it all properly.  2010 will be the year of the soundcard museum, mark my words.  Now where did I put those Interwave cards…

PS:  I saved two boards for myself.  I’m not that crazy.

Posted in Demoscene, Software Piracy, Vintage Computing | 6 Comments »

The diskette that blew Trixter’s mind

Posted by Jim Leonard on September 28, 2008

As an IBM PC historian, one aspect of my hobby is archiving gaming software.  (You can take that statement to mean anything you want — whatever you think of, you’re probably right.)  At the 2008 ECCC this past Saturday, a vendor wanted to offload his entire PC stock on me for $5, which I happily accepted since there was at least one title in there (Martian Memorandum) worth that much.  When I got home, however, I found two additional Avantage (Accolade’s budget publishing title) titles that have not yet been released “into the wild”.  This means there are no copies of these games floating around on Abandonware sites.  For me, this was like finding actual gold nuggets in a collection of Pyrite.

The two games I got were Mental Blocks and Harrier7, so they join my third Avantage title Frightmare.  I decided to archive all three properly, and it was when I got to Mental Blocks that I ran into something I’d never seen before: The manual for Mental Blocks claims that, for both C64 and IBM, you put the diskette in label-side up.  I thought that had to be a typo, since every single mixed C64/IBM or Apple/IBM diskette I have ever seen is a “flippy” disk where one side is IBM and the other side is C64 or Apple — until I looked at the FAT12 for the disk and saw that tons of sectors in an interleaved pattern were marked as BAD — very strange usage.

The Incredibly Strange FAT of Mental Blocks That Stopped Living And Became Mixed-Up Formats

The Incredibly Strange FAT of Mental Blocks That Stopped Living And Became Mixed-Up Formats

A DIR on the disk shows that only about 256K of it is usable as space, instead of 360K.  My Central Point Option Board’s Track Editor (TE.EXE) confirmed that every other track on side 0 cannot be identified as MFM data.  So the manual is correct, and this truly is a mixed-format, mixed-architecture, mixed-sided diskette.

This diskette has officially blown my mind.

This is the very first time I have ever seen something like this.  The data for the IBM program takes up more than 160KB as evidenced by a DIR.  The C64 1541 drive is a single-sided drive; IBM’s is double-sided. Based on all this, we can deduce how this diskette is structured and why:

- The IBM version of the game required more than 160KB (ie. needed more than one side of a disk), probably because it has a set of files for CGA/Herc (4/2 colors) and another for EGA/Tandy (16 colors) and either set will fit in 160K but both won’t
– The C64 version required around 80K, based on the fact that every other track is unreadable by an IBM drive
– The publisher had the requirement of using only a single disk to save on packaging and media costs
– Not wanting to limit the game to either CGA or EGA, someone at Artech (the developer) built the format of this diskette BY HAND so that DOS would not step on the C64 tracks, and somehow the C64 would also read/boot the disk

I don’t know how the C64 portion boots since track 0 sector 0 looks like a DOS boot sector, but quick research shows that C64 disks keep their index on track 18.  If anyone knows how C64 disks are read and boot, I’d love to know.

I think I need to go on a mission to discover who built the disk format(s) by hand to see what he was thinking.  Did he work on it for weeks, feverishly trying to figure out how to meet the publisher’s demands?  Or was he so brilliant that he did it all in a day or so, not thinking too much about it other than it was just another facet of his job?  Fascinating stuff!

Just goes to show that you can still get surprises in this hobby after 25 years, even after being considered one of the top 20 “subject experts” for PC oldwarez.  I guess you truly can never see it all.

Posted in Software Piracy, Vintage Computing | 175 Comments »

From Courier To Supplier

Posted by Jim Leonard on July 21, 2008

Half of my friends will read the title of this entry and think “Courier? US Robotics Modem?” and the other half will think “warez”. This article is for the latter half.

Back in the mid-1980s, there were essentially two places you could get warez from: Friends, and BBSes. You might find the occasional bootleg in a store, but 99% of the scene was about personal hook-ups and online trading. Young Trixter started out his computer gaming life getting games from friends and spreading them to BBSes for download credits, then using those credits to download other games to add to his collection (and spread to more friends and BBSes.) In warez parlance, young Trixter was a courier: A person who spreads games from person to person and place to place.

At first, copying software was about trying cool games for his new computer. But after a while, young Trixter became a bit obsessed and wanted to take things to the next level. What’s the next level for a courier? A supplier. A supplier is someone who supplies the games to the crackers in the first place. Software piracy begins with suppliers; they’re the first link in the chain. Suppliers can be anyone and come from anywhere, like software engineers providing beta copies to friends, people who work in the packaging companies or distribution warehouses that let a box or two fall off the back of the truck, or people who work at software stores. Young Trixter was the latter.

Exactly two months after young Trixter turned 16, he started working at Babbage’s, a software store chain located in a nearby mall. In his defense, he started working there not to become a supplier, but because it was a dream job to be surrounded by software and people talking about software. (That, and his existing job of bagging groceries was, shall we say, a demoralizing endeavor that left emotional scars.) But when young Trixter found out that Babbage’s had a take-home policy (let’s pause for a second and reiterate that they had a TAKE-HOME POLICY), his path was set in motion.

The take-home policy existed in a time before software viruses, where you were not merely allowed but encouraged to take software home to try it out, so that you could learn more about it to help sell it to customers. Some stores even had machines in the back room that you could play with to this end (off the clock, of course). When you brought it back the next day, you simply used the shrinkwrap machine in back to re-shrink the package, resticker it, and put it back out on the shelf. You can imagine how many neurons exploded in young Trixter’s head when he learned he could do this.

It wasn’t all milk and honey; there were roadblocks. Most game software was copy-protected. Some software came in an envelope that, were you to open it, indicates your acceptance of the EULA (but more importantly, destroys the envelope). But young Trixter was determined. For envelopes, he tried many experiments and eventually found that a very thin knife, passed extremely slowly between the flap and the envelope, could separate most glues without damaging the paper. He would reseal it with rubber cement, which mimicked most glue textures used on EULA envelope flaps. A few envelopes would require a hot air blower to melt the glue, but this wasn’t a problem because all software stores conveniently had one next to the shrinkwrap machine (because heat was needed to, you know, shrink the wrap). After confessing his refined envelope method to a co-worker a few months later, young Trixter was shocked to hear the other young man’s alternate solution, which was almost zen-like in it’s simplicity: Simply throw the opened envelope away. Customers don’t get mad over opened envelopes if they don’t know an envelope was ever in the package.

The copy-protection proved to be a much more difficult problem. Young Trixter was not a cracker; he didn’t have the assembler experience for that (yet). What he did have was fierce determination, strong drive, lots of caffeine, and a teenager physiology that could withstand days without sleep. So young Trixter spent months learning all about how diskette-based copy-protection works on the IBM PC. He researched copy utilities, unprotectors, decryptors. Some games he could unprotect himself using tools and knowledge, and this allowed them to be supplied and couriered. He discovered Snatchit and was able to use it to supply protected diskette images to crackers. For the most stubborn of all software, he spent half a month’s pay on a Central Point Option Board, which not only dominated diskettes but also allowed the truly difficult software to be supplied to a few select crackers who also had Option Boards by trading special “TransCopy images” in secluded BBS file areas.

Life was good. Young Trixter eventually went to college, and reverted back to courier while away because his supply had been cut off, but upgraded to supplier again when working summers at a new store, Egghead Software. But it couldn’t last. The end of young Trixter’s warez involvement was ended by a few events that occurred almost simultaneously: Jim Seymour of PC Magazine wrote an article about how he bought a piece of software from CompUSA (called Soft Warehouse back then) and how, when he went to install it, found someone else’s name burned into the bits. (A customer had installed the software, which wrote his name onto the disks, then returned it to the store and they reshrinked and resold it.) Around that time, the Michelangelo virus got major media coverage. These two events killed the take-home policy that most software stores employed. But even if they hadn’t, the Option Board was losing the cat-and-mouse game of publishers vs. pirates: Every time a new release came out, two things happened:

  • Publishers complained voraciously and a few of them, under threat of litigation, got Central Point to alter the next release of the software so that SekretProtektionSkeme-X could not be copied with an Option Board
  • Some protection authors studied the Option Board so well they they were able to come up with schemes that fooled the board or its software into producing a less-than-perfect copy (Cop’s Copylock II comes to mind)

But it wouldn’t matter for long, because the creator/maintainer of the Option Board died, and Central Point was purchased by Symantec, so that coffin was finally nailed shut. Eventually, young Trixter threw himself into the demoscene, where he had fun creating and enjoying software instead of copying and hoarding it, and the warez chapters of his life story came to a close.

Or did they?

Remind me sometime to tell you about the oldwarez boyz. Or the birth of Abandonware. Or Demonlord’s protection diary. Until then, take a peek at the back of young Trixter’s Babbage’s business card, which had all of the primary SKUs written down and what they were for. If you ever wanted to know what a software store stocked in 1987, well… now you know.

That’s right: SKUs for printer ribbons and diskette holders. How times have changed.

Posted in Software Piracy | 9 Comments »

Collecting and Programming

Posted by Jim Leonard on May 25, 2008

Just a quick note that Slashdot posted a main-page post about software collecting, one of my oldest hobbies.  I personally weighed in, of course.

For those not following MONOTONE, I released another alpha yesterday with Adlib support and more effects.  Still not finished, but it’s starting to become usable and interesting now :)

Posted in Programming, Software Piracy, Vintage Computing | 3 Comments »

Government workers are so very helpful

Posted by Jim Leonard on October 25, 2006

In all my days of computing, the software that has impressed me the most has been software that pushes a machine seemingly beyond its limits, making it do things that it was never meant to do. One such piece of software was ICON: The Quest For The Ring. It tweaked CGA to within an inch of its life, displaying 16-color graphics on a video card only meant for four ugly colors in graphics mode.

I’m a software collector. I collect vintage retail packages of software as a hobby. (I’m comfortable enough with my nerditude to admit this, so go ahead and mock me — I don’t mind.) So imagine the nerdly dance of joy I did when I found that ICON was up for auction, bid on it, and won! The package I’d been searching for for over two decades, the game that had inspired me to learn assembler and graphics tweaking, the game that shaped my hobbyist world, would finally be mine!

That’s where the governmental workers come into the story. It seems that they were in need of a football to relieve the overwhelming tension and stress of delivering packages, so what I actually received was this:

If you’re not familiar with the hobby of software collecting, I can sum it up in five words: The Value Is The Box. 90% of a software collectable’s value is in how good a condition the box is, then the printed materials inside it, then the diskette labels, then finally the actual software code itself. (Why? Because most software has been pirated already… and most people throw away the box and lose the manuals.)

My twenty-year dream quite literally crushed, I decided to visit my local US Postal Services office to file the claim for the $50 I had paid for it. And this is where we again meet our lovable and cute governmental workers, for here is what I learned today about insuring packages:

  1. You have to provide proof of the item’s value. So if the USPS determines that your item is worth less than what you insured it for, and you cannot provide any “documented proof” (the validity of which is at the government worker’s discretion, of course) that it is worth more, you get what they are willing to give you, not what it is actually worth. This is how they justify giving you less money than the value you wrote down on the form when requesting insurance.
  2. You cannot insure something for more than what you paid for it. See #1 for rationale. So if you completely luck out and find an Akalabeth with a Buy It Now of $4, the most you can insure it for is $4 even though its value is anywhere from 10 to 150 times that value.
  3. If your item is only slightly damaged, and you want to keep it, you can’t. You must completely give over every single thing you are filing a claim for, never to be seen again. This means that there is no protection against *partial* damage — if it’s partially damaged, bend over, since you can’t get partial money for it.

See, all this time I was under the silly impression that, if you insured something for a certain dollar value, that was the value they were going to give you when you showed them it was damaged. Or that maybe, just maybe, you were insuring it against partial damage — like depreciation or something. How wrong I was: Insurance is only protection against complete and total destruction of property and/or complete and total loss of delivery. If it *arrives*, and is only *somewhat* damaged, you’re shit out of luck! How glad I am to be educated! (although I could have done without the “bending over the table” portion of my education)

So what did I do? I made the obvious determination that something I had been searching two decades to locate — in *any* condition — was worth more than the $15 or so they were going to give me for it. So I tore up the claim form, took back the item, and left. Since then, I have been researching cardbox box reconstruction techniques, for I am not only a nerd, but a stubborn nerd.

About the only satisfaction I got from today’s visit was the audible popping noise the government worker’s synapses made snapping apart into individual neurons as I tried to explain that, yes Daisy Mae, the value really was the BOX itself and not the contents inside it. The complete and total lack of understanding confused her to such a degree that she was unable to blink her eyes in unison for at least 10 minutes after I stopped talking. I could have done without the drool, though.

Posted in Gaming, Programming, Software Piracy, Vintage Computing | 5 Comments »

The Running Program

Posted by Jim Leonard on March 13, 2006

The Running Program - Title Screen

As promised, The Running Program has been cracked and made available. I can’t take credit for the crack; my good friend Demonlord took the program and what little progress I’ve made and did a proper INT 13 redirect crack for it. (Check the file NOTE.TXT for info, and PROTECT for the “secret data” that the program was protected with.)

Demonlord, for those not familiar with his work, is the hardest-working oldskool cracker still at it today. Nowadays we have windows executables with symbol information still linked to them — this is child’s play.  Way back when, we had 512-byte boot loaders that we had to disassemble by hand. Demonlord still does this, and is the best cracker I know both two decades ago and today. He’s so good that most cracks take him less than an hour, and unlike most hack jobs, they’re quite elegant and graceful. For example, check The Running Program: His crack never even touched the .exe — instead it loads an INT 13 handler that intercepts the request and redirects it to the data saved off of the protected track.

You know how there’s one person responsible for about 95% of all the ATARI 2600 cartridge ROM dumps out there? Demonlord is responsible for cracking 95% of all the bootable PC diskette images out there. The next time you play a bootable PC game in an emulator, say a little howdy for Demonlord.

Posted in Software Piracy, Vintage Computing, Weight Loss | 2 Comments »

Week #11

Posted by Jim Leonard on March 12, 2006

Still self-destructive, still under a lot of pressure, and yet:

  • 220 pounds
  • 28% body fat
  • Blood Pressure 134/80

So now I don’t know if it’s the stress or the switch to diet pop that made me trickle downwards. Not complaining, I guess.

Since I love to goof off with my IBM PC/XT, and since I want to start running again, I won an auction for MECA’s 1984 software “The Running Program”. The Running Program was based on Jim Fixx’s The Complete Book Of Running from 1978, and it contains stretching exercises, evaulates your fitness level, records and graphs achievements, etc. It’s also fairly well copy-protected; every single track is goofy, and the program requires information loaded from one of the goofy sectors. Not difficult, but time-consuming.

When I finally get it cracked, I’ll make it available. Jim Fixx is dead, MECA is long gone, and I have little scruples when it comes to 22-year-old software.

Posted in Software Piracy, Vintage Computing, Weight Loss | 1 Comment »

Where did Trixter come from?

Posted by Jim Leonard on January 5, 2006

Seriously, where did my handle “Trixter” come from, anyway? I’ve had the handle since 1986, long before the rock group existed. Some people think it’s because I knew software piracy tricks (cracking games, or at least figuring out how to copy them leaving the protection intact). Others think it’s because I knew programming and VGA hardware tricks during my active stint in the demoscene. But, honestly, I was taking a subway into Chicago to buy comic books with some high school friends in 1985, and “TRIXTER” was spray-painted on the inside of the subway car. It stuck in my head, and I used it as my first BBS login handle. Anti-climactic, I know.

Now you know the truth… which is why I can’t let you live.

Posted in Demoscene, Software Piracy | Leave a Comment »

 
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