Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!bu-pub.bu.edu!ckd From: ckd@bu-pub.bu.edu (Christopher Davis) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Reminiscence and Renaissance and a Pickup TARDIS Message-ID: Date: 10 Mar 90 04:45:34 GMT Sender: news@bu.edu.bu.edu Reply-To: ckd@bu-pub.bu.edu (Christopher Davis) Distribution: alt Organization: Boston University School of Management Lines: 58 The room is filled with the familiar "TARDIS materialisation" sound, as something takes shape in the open area in front of the fireplace. However, the 'something' doesn't look like a police-box... Chairs and tables are hastily pushed out of the way, since whatever's materializing looks to be fairly large. Large, and white, and.... hmm... it's a pickup truck. A familiar-looking young man gets out, muttering something about miscalibrations. "That *should* have put me in the parking lot," Chris says, "and the inside-bigger-than-the-outside stuff isn't working at all yet." He shakes his head. "Should I try for the parking lot, or just leave it here for now?" Mike responds, "Better not try moving it--the lot's in its usual chaotic state, and this is probably the only space large enough for it." "Ah, well. I'm tire-d of the thing anyway. Of cars, that just sets me off on another punny lane, steering toward.... sorry. "The place *is* bigger, though. I *know* that beast wouldn't have fit in here before. Of course, we'll need the extra room. Something like 68% of the Net now has portals to the Place...and we, here, have already passed 1200 messages since ours opened. "As for where I've been, lately, I've been busy with classes, getting ready to graduate (but I will, I *will* find a way to stay on the Net--there's a nice public-access Net site just down in Brookline, for example...), stuff like that. Life's been getting better and better--there's a good new SF store in Harvard Square, I'm feeling more confident about life after the Big G, the weather's even been getting better. This week's been kinda tough, since it's BU's spring break and everyone's gone, but I've managed to keep busy (and catch up on news :-)." Chris walks over to one of the nearby tables, hugging Gilly and Tabbifli, taking time to dispense some shoulder rubs, and generally trying to catch up with folks. "Oh, Mike--a ginger ale, please?" As he walks up to the bar to claim (and pay for) his drink, he notices some marks in the floor and rafters--but decides he "won't axe." He takes the ginger ale, downs it with a *gulp*, and heads for the chalk line to give a toast, then realizes that he's parked on top of it. Sheepishly, he lowers the tailgate, climbs into the pickup bed, walks to where the chalk line should be, and says: "Once again, to friends, both near and far... and, in particular, to each and every one of you here." *CRASH* "Hey, Mike, there might be room for a table up here..." -- Christopher Davis, BU SMG '90 <...!bu.edu!bu-pub!ckd> "Basic upshot - get your science straight, or start getting used to the taste of your Nikes." --Siobahn Morgan, thebang@blake.acs.washington.edu Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!lll-winken!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!psuvax1!callahan From: callahan@cs.psu.edu (Paul B. Callahan) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Wow! My very own newsgroup. Message-ID: Date: 10 Mar 90 05:33:24 GMT Organization: Johns Hopkins University Computer Science (posting from PSU) Lines: 22 Words cannot express my pleasure at having a Usenet newsgroup named after me. I was recently told of the existence of this group, and at first I was reluctant to accept the honor of having my very own newsgroup. After a bit of thought, however, I realized the honor was entirely deserved, and I decided to bestow upon this group the favor of posting an actual article. Well, here it is. Basically, I think that any group dedicated to me should be a veritable playground for the creative impulse. I would like to see an open forum in which all topics are fair game. The only exception I can think of offhand is that science fiction author Spider Robinson... I don't know why really, I just don't find him that interesting. Cheers, Paul Callahan callahan@crabcake.cs.jhu.edu callahan@psuvax1.cs.psu.edu -- Paul Callahan callahan@crabcake.cs.jhu.edu callahan@psuvax1.cs.psu.edu Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!lll-winken!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!ucdavis!pollux!ez000691 From: ez000691@pollux Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Gee, it's been noon for an awfully long time... Summary: ...but now the shadows are returning... Keywords: old friends new hugs and warm fuzzies Message-ID: <6978@ucdavis.ucdavis.edu> Date: 10 Mar 90 06:18:50 GMT Sender: uucp@ucdavis.ucdavis.edu Reply-To: ez000691@pollux.ucdavis.edu (Shadow) Followup-To: alt.callahans Organization: University of California, Davis Lines: 49 Hmm. Something looks a little odd about that particular corner this evening. You can't quite put a finger (or paw, or hoof, or whatever) on it, but there's something unusual. At first glance, it looks like just another ordinary, shadowy corner, one of hundreds in this Place...but if you stare at it long enough, the shadows seem to shift a bit. A few of the older patrons of the Place can be seen giving that cor- ner a second glance, and even a third. Taldin wanders over and noses around a bit in the darkness, but trots back looking slightly perplexed. He trades a look with Jilara, and nods his head slowly. "I think he's trying to get back through..." Mike busies himself behind the counter, and soon whips up a truly amazing concoction. It looks like a coffee cup filled with darker than usual hot chocolate. And the rim is sugared. The smell is indescribable: friendly and inviting and tangy and reckless and delicious, and it wafts through the room, leaving a slightly cinnamon scent behind. "Anyone for an Irish Cocoa?" he rumbles. Those shadows are definitely moving now. A shape detaches itself from the corner and drifts slowly over to the bar. It hovers over the cup for a moment, and then drifts over to the book table, looking quite a bit more substantial. The cup is half-drained, and there's a dollar bill on the bar. The shadow winds through the heaped books until it comes to a worn copy of Shakespeare's plays. It seems to sink in, and the book vanishes. The shadow looks much more definite now. In fact, it looks familiar... "Hi there." At first you aren't sure, but it's definitely speaking. "I see a lot of new faces here. That's good; it means the Place is doing it's job." It drifts back the the Irish Cocoa and sips down a bit more. By now you can make out the wispy outline of a young man. "If you haven't guessed, you can call me Shadow. "I used to be a regular of the Place," he whispers. "Then things got hectic, and I lost touch for a while, and for a time I wasn't sure I was going to make it back. But here I am, and I'm damned glad I made it. And I aim to stay this time." He finishes the cocoa and floats over to the chalk line. "May as well toast, while I'm here..." He pauses, deep in thought, then shrugs and says, "To hugs." He tosses the cup carelessly into the fireplace, where it cracks but does not shatter. "You've been buying that cheap pottery again, Mike," he says, and almost smiles. "I'm not going to go back into that corner. I've had enough of corners for a while. Anyone mind if I pull up a comfortable chair?" He curls up in a seat and watches intently. "Someone poke me when it's Tall Tales Night." Shadow -- From the only slightly twisted mind of... "In case we decide to ez000691@pollux.ucdavis.edu surrender to them, Number One." Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!psuvax1!psuvm!jls139 From: JLS139@psuvm.psu.edu (Abaddon) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Trials and Tribulations/ a students nightmare Message-ID: <90069.001106JLS139@psuvm.psu.edu> Date: 10 Mar 90 05:11:06 GMT Organization: Penn State University Lines: 65 There is a sort of shimmering amoung the shadows as they appear to part. Out steps Abaddon, mostly shadow himself. He silently approaches the bar and lays down a much rumpled dollar. "Hi Mike, something different this time. Give me a glass of Pineapple-Orange-Banana juice." A bit of smile creeps across his lips as he takes the glass from Mike and turns to the crowd. "I've been watching and listening for some time now, and I've noticed several Callahan's customers tell of their problems concerning school. Most seem to be suffering from burn out, either doubting the worth of their studies or feeling like they are sinking in a sea of unfinished assignments and despairing of ever getting them done. "Well, I'd like to try and ease your pain somewhat by sharing my own experiences with these problems. I'm an undergraduate student on my second time around. I first began my studies 11 years ago straight out of high school. I was a good student up until my third year. Up to that point I lived at home and attended a branch campus, where the atmosphere was more laid back. So, that third year was something of a culture shock. My studies suffered and I began to doubt my abilities, heaping on a generous portion of self pity. I made it through that year, but it set me up for a big fall the next year. I could feel myself going under but didn't want to give up for fear of being a failure. This just made things worse, because time and financial matters had already doomed me to dropping out if I didn't graduate that year, which I wouldn't be able to do. Thus, seeing the writing on the wall I had already given up. I had burned out. "I left school after the fourth year and took a little 7 year 'vacation' with the Army as a military intelligence analyst. Along the way, I discovered that I didn't fail. I had the ability to do the work - I had just lost faith in that ability. I had let myself be intimidated, primarily by myself, into thinking that I was incapable of doing the work. The only thing I lacked was the time to figure this out. I also discovered that I was no longer afraid of making it on my own in the world. "So, here I am, an undergraduate once again. Last semester was my first one upon returning, and I made the Dean's List - something I had not even accomplished my first time through. I owe this to my newly rediscovered confidence. When I had several assignments due at once and felt like I was falling behind, I just redoubled my efforts, trusting in my abilities to pull me through. I pulled several all nighters and then some, but then it was no different than what I had experienced in the Army so I knew that I could handle it. Everbody has this capability, but not everyone has experienced it in the extreme and nobody likes to go without sleep or work under pressure. I figure if anybody does well enough to make it to college then they should have the tools to enable them to graduate. "If I have anything to say to struggling students, I would say that you have to know you absolutely want to do what you are doing and then never give up. Sometimes a friend pushing you along or an advisor giving you guidance can help, but in the end it's up to you. If you need the help you have to actively seek it. And if you do need help, don't wait until it's too late. "Well, enough preaching - I'm not exactly the best source of good advice, but I hope someone can make good use of my experiences. So, here's a pat on the back (or a kick in the pants?) and best of luck to all those struggling students out there. (Just remember that the world is not quite the frightening place it appears to be, once you've experienced it.)" He glides silently to the chalk line, finishes his drink and says, "Here's to the quest for knowledge. Oft times misunderstood or taken too lightly." <<>> He stands there for a time looking in the fire as though looking at something far away. Then turns back toward the shadowy area he normally occupies between visits. After taking a couple steps, he seems to change his mind and takes a seat at a table nearer the center of the room (but not too far from those shadows). /////////////////////////////////////////////////////// ...jeff stine......Abaddon... "Fiery the angels fell..." \\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\ Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!mailrus!usenet.ins.cwru.edu!cwjcc!ncoast!allbery From: allbery@NCoast.ORG (Brandon S. Allbery) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: author! author! Message-ID: <1990Mar10.033020.25939@NCoast.ORG> Date: 10 Mar 90 03:30:20 GMT References: <8378@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Reply-To: allbery@ncoast.ORG (Brandon S. Allbery) Followup-To: alt.callahans Organization: North Coast Public Access UN*X, Cleveland, OH Lines: 16 [The possibly-familiar quasi-elf suddenly pops in from nowhere, in an uncontrolled tumble; he crashes against a wall. He then stands up and dusts himself off. "Sorry, Mike; I just got bounced off of uunet by an antisocial local network again. Rather more forcefully than usual, I might add." He pulls a dollar. "Do you have cinnamon tea?" Shortly thereafter, he finds himself an empty seat.] Assuming we're not after already-established Big Names, I'll take Janet Kagan. (That is, if my neck isn't broken the next time I get knocked for a network loop....) ++Brandon -- Brandon S. Allbery (human), allbery@NCoast.ORG (Inet), BALLBERY (MCI Mail) ALLBERY (Delphi), uunet!cwjcc.cwru.edu!ncoast!allbery (UUCP), B.ALLBERY (GEnie) BrandonA (A-Online) ("...and a partridge in a pear tree!" ;-) Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!pt.cs.cmu.edu!andrew.cmu.edu!+ From: thyst@rush.cc.cmu.edu (Jeffrey Alexander) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Greetings, everyone Message-ID: <9003101916.AA00561@rush.cc.cmu.edu> Date: 10 Mar 90 19:16:15 GMT Organization: Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA Lines: 108 As the door begins to swing shut behind the last person to leave through this rather mundane portal (as opposed to some n-spacial temporift), a raven flaps in. It has some trouble maneuvering at low speed in such an enclosed environment, but succeeds in unceremoniously lighting ("heavying", actually) on an unused chair back. It sits and takes the place in, dark eyes passing from occupant to occupant, for a good half minute before its attention returns to the door, a door which is opening to reveal, this time, a solid gray cloudcover feebly lit by a late afternoon sun somewhere above it (in other words, typical Pitts- burgh weather, for ANY time of the year). Pushing the door open is what looks to be a late-year college student, male, in a paint-streaked brown jacket, toting an umbrella and backpack. He closes the door behind himself and looks around. He looks as though he wouldn't have minded entering inconspicuously, but newcomers always seem to be noted here, and the slight look of purpose on his face hints to you it's not all that important right now. He discards his gear on and around another empty chair at the same table the raven's at. He gets his bearings and walks to the bar. Pulling a two dollar bills from his wallet and placing them on the countertop as Mike walks over, he orders a hot chocolate and a white russian. In Mike's face is a hint of curiosity, as to whether a toast is forthcoming. The newcomer notices, and replies, "I don't mean to be rude, but please, one thing at a time. I heard something while lurking here that I've got to respond to, and I'm still a bit rushed. I didn't even have time to change out of my RealWorld appearance." In any case, the drinks are served, and the young man nods his thanks, turns, and zeroes in on a form back in the shadows. He walks back, skirting tables with cats and books on them, sleeping wolves, piles of peanut shells, and the occasional hammered dulcimer. The raven gives a heavy hop off its chair, flies over and lands on a sturdy-looking miscellaneous piece of wall decorum around where the student appears to be headed. "Maya? I'd like you to sit down, and have a drink, and listen." With that, he leads her back to the table he has staked out and places the glass and mug upon it. The raven annoyedly flaps back to its original location. The boy sits, and doesn't speak until Maya has sat across from him. "You can call me 'Thyst," he begins, "and this here is Quandary. Normally I would be just lurking here, but you said something that really hit home. I know Carnegie-Mellon doesn't hold the only claim to a rediculously high amount of coursework, but I pretty much *do* believe it's got more than a fair share of students who don't know any way of coping with it besides constant griping. You can maybe understand my surprise at seeing someone from somewhere else mention the problems of 'too much work, too little time' and 'no sense of pride in my work'. It's almost as if our copyright had been violated. "All I can offer are the little hints I've accumulated over my past three and a half years here, hints which pretty much remained unreinforced until quite recently, when I visisted a bunch of new friends at a completely different college. And some advice from the professor of a class here called Abnromal Psychology, which is almost, but not quite, exactly what the course is not about. "That advice is this: positive reinforcement is required to learn a new behavior. Which means this: if you truly don't feel a bit of pride in the work you're doing, you're wasting your time taking the class. You can't be learning anything that you'll remember for very long. "I chose computer science as my major because, let's face it, I enjoyed twaddling around with my high school's TRS-80's and whatnot. Admittedly, that's a far cry from algorithm analysis, softwear engineering concepts, solvability restraints, and all the other things I've studied while pursuing my major, but the point is that I've stuck with this major, in spite of all these 'complications' I didn't know about beforehand, because I've had time to fiddle around with them too. Learn some stuff on my own. Keep my interest up." The student pauses to sip his drink, motioning for Maya to do the same. "But that has since changed. Two semesters or so ago, my academic performance dropped...or perhaps 'plummeted' is more like it. The reason? Among other things, I was trying to maintain, however feebly, the development of my social life along with my academic, and this simply left me no time to pursue individual projects. All of a sudden I realized that I had no love for the work anymore, that I was doing the assignments simply because they were given to me, and that, although it would be nice if the final product were a nice, coherent, fully-operational program, I really didn't care if it wasn't. "My solution? Well, it's not one that I recommend, since it's rather drastic. Myself, I have this annoying problem of not being able to tell when I'm in a detrimental situation until things get really bad. The neat thing about time is that, if none can be found, some can always be made, although the price can be pretty high. I paid for my time by taking a leave of absence from school. I am not currently a student, and when I do take up studies again sometime next school year, I will have two semesters to go before I graduate. Like I said, fairly drastic, and not a course of action I would recommend--" He casts a look around Callahan's. "--or that would be necessary, if this place can deliver to you half the help it typically does." With that, he finishes the last of his drink, then takes his glass (leaving Maya's mug, emptied long ago while the contents were still warm, for her to toast or return, as she feels necessary) and steps to the chalk line. The raven seems content to watch from the chair back, casually fluffing out a few wing feathers. "To schooling: may it not interfere with our education!" And with that, he takes the glass in hand and wings it frisbee-style into the fireplace. fwssswsss *>PAKSH!<* . . . +--\ __ /--------------------------+----------------------------------+ | \/ \/ thyst@rush.cc.cmu.edu | "The point of the journey | | < <> > (ja1r@andrew.cmu.edu) |___Is not to arrive."_____________| | \__/ | "I prefer to remain anomalous." | +------------------------------------+----------------------------------+ Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!cbmvax!vu-vlsi!nlp From: nlp@vu-vlsi.Villanova.EDU (Nick Pine) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: French Friendship Message-ID: <241@vu-vlsi.Villanova.EDU> Date: 11 Mar 90 17:37:34 GMT Reply-To: nlp@vu-vlsi.UUCP (Nick Pine) Distribution: alt Organization: Villanova Univ. EE Dept. Lines: 43 _Cultural Misunderstandings--The French-American Experience_, by Raymonde Carroll, is a nice little book by an anthropologist from Tunisia about cultural differences that cause problems between French and American people. Of course, it's full of generalizations, with lots of caveats... The chapter on friendship sort of touches on some of the subjects discussed here, for instance, the author says: "The axiom 'friends help each other' is valid both for Americans and for the French [but] a misunderstanding arises from different presuppositions, which are roughly these: 'X is my friend, he is therefore going to offer to help me' (French side); 'X is my friend, he will therefore ask me to help him if he needs me' (American side)." She observes that French people do not make friends easily, citing _The Little Prince_, but their friendships are very durable, and happen more in groups, than one-on-one, here. The smaller the group, the closer the friendship. She says that Americans and French would agree that a friend is someone "who understands me better than anyone else in the world," but says the sense of the word "understand" differs. American friends support each other, and agree with each other, and would not take an adversary's side. If I say I did something stupid, your role is not to say "Boy, you sure did," but to find extenuating circumstances, cheer you up, etc. French friends do say things like "Yes, that was stupid," and try to set each other straight, helping each other to see clearly and patch things up. French friends shake each other up once in a while. This seems more realistic and stable behavior to me... Change the rules a little, the cultural context, and people can get confused and angry without knowing why. An American looking for "support" from a French friend may be "set straight" and feel betrayed, while a French person wanting help to "see clearly" would find it disconcerting if his American friend just kept agreeing... From what I can tell, French friendship is like this, and it seems {Frankly} very refreshing and honest sometimes. Fortunately, a lot of American friendships are like this too. --Nick Pine Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!cs.utexas.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!pt.cs.cmu.edu!andrew.cmu.edu!jf2z+ From: jf2z+@andrew.cmu.edu (John Charles Fiala) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: The noun which preforms the verb. Message-ID: Date: 12 Mar 90 02:59:59 GMT Organization: Class of '92, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA Lines: 77 The door opens. Behind the person who is walking in can be seen a large grass field, which has recently been (achem) fertilized. Walking in is a man, with beard, holding onto a notebook and trailed by a grey and black striped cat. George, my cat, gives my ankle a swipe, and I look down at him. "You've been watching that Japanese anime again, haven't you?" "Well, yes, but why do you ask?" "Because your face has gone funny again." As I come into the light, I find that he's right. My nose has shrunk, and my eyes are the size of dinnerplates. "Oh, well. Diet Coke, Mike?" I sip and turn around. "Hmmmmm.... As for authors, I would like to take care of David Gerrold, if only for the job he's done on "When HARLIE was One", which is an excellent book exploring the questions and answers (but mostly questions) that arise from a truly successful AI program. It's really a mind-streatcher. (He also is the person who wrote the original ST episode "The trouble with tribbles".) "As to Silverblack, my (little) support goes to you. My mother has told me of several friends who have been let go from where she works, and everyone of them is a shame. I wish you the best of luck. Oh, yes, George does also. "As for heavy workloads, I too come from Carnegie Mellon, and the workload here for many of the majors is heavy. However, I'm (somehow) able to keep myself sane by reminding myself something that's broadcast over the campus every once in a while: It really doesn't matter. Try and find a friend with a pet, uhhh.. preferebly a cat. :-) I find that playing with an animal can really make your problems go back to a more reasonable signifigance. "To Nick Pine, yes, Shakespeare also thought that friends should help you to see your faults. In the Last Act of Twelth Night, he has a fool talk to a duke: Clown: I am the worse for my friends and the better for my enemies. Duke: I think you have it backwords. C: No, for my enemies let me know of my faults, so I correct them, and my friends ignore them, so my enemies make me improve, and my friends make me a fool. ^- this is a paraphrase, I don't have it in front of me. "Anyway, It's great to see you all, and to speak out." To Chaos! (I throw the glass as Nick straightens up. The glass bounces off of him, and arcs up into the rafters, just missing the green tiger. Before the glass hit's anyone, it stops in mid-air, and flies to the fireplace, this time missing Nick. Anyone watching the cat notice that it has been staring at the glass during it's strange flight, but now continues to lick his paw.) "I'm sorry Nick, I guess I should have asked you to move." John Fiala jf2z@andrew.cmu.edu Chaos Incarnate and Master of your Destiny {or something like that} (Say does anyone know of someone who wants to buy a pushy cat, almost free) OUCH!!! [I don't believe in letting my pets badmouth me behind my back.] ------ George QuickPaw Professional Cat (Rates negotiable) You can reach me through my pet, John Fiala, at: jf2z@andrew.cmu.edu ------ Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!CCB.UCSF.EDU!robin From: robin@CCB.UCSF.EDU (Robin Colgrove) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Realspace Gathering idea and a poem Message-ID: <9003120536.AA17527@ccb.ucsf.EDU> Date: 12 Mar 90 05:36:38 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 75 SLAM!!!! Robin comes flying through the front door, bicycle helmet first, toeclips last and lands in a sliding, skidding heap across the bar. "Gotta do somethin' about those brakes!" he mutters, dusting off the faded denim jacket that serves as street armor in the rough world of urban attack bicycling. "Just, uhhh, passing through, today but while I'm about a couple thoughts. First, the callahans realspace gathering on st paddys day a steve savitz...um...how do you spell that again?...anyway, suggested event coordinates are 5pm in the computer room which should be fine but let me add another twist. How to recognize one another? A number of possible schemes come to mind but one, I think, stands out for nice multiple meaning. Given that it's the day for the wearin' of the green and given that the artifact common to all good callahanians is the buck we use for a toast, how bout if callahans.folk who wish to quietly announce their presence wear in some creative, discreet but visible form a dollar bill on their person so that it could be noticed by an interested observer? For extra effect, you could write your e-mail address on the bill ;). This stopgap measure could suffice till we get down to the important business of making an alt.callahans.tshirt ;)! Second thing. While rummaging through my files I came across some stuff that might add the the ambience. Today, a poem that fits well in style, content, and history with the callahans.spirit. I mentioned before that I "met" Kathy Li through soc.motss of all places and we introduced ourselves in verse. Here's the transcript of that -for me- eventful encounter." He goes to the bulletin board and with a Pythonesque flourish pins on a couple sheets of smudged fanfold. He leaves, now with a slight limp, trailing the broken toeclip. Observant patrons notice the odd traces of cement (?) on the wheels of his trusty 10 speed (10 steed?), Rosinante... A few bargoers float over to the bulletin board and examine the new addition, which reads: ******A collaborative sonnet: ******** being a brief email correspondence between myself and kathyli (aka Rev. Mom) late of Berkeley CS. She had coined the term "bisquit" for straight folk who read soc.motss and I had "fingered" her account to see who this interesting person was. In her finger file she had complained that her dual CS/Lit major had caused her C programs to come out in blank verse. Rising to the challenge, I emailed the first stanza of a Shakespearian sonnet and the following exchange ensued. i caught your post to motss the other day then fingered rev'rend mom to trace the source to code in iambs five per line? no way! but e-mail's quite a different colored horse -c The .plan's from last semester I fear When reading Will was mostly all I did. For TWO courses, both film and stage, most dear I payed the price. You see, I flipped my lid. --Kathy Yet what is truly lost upon the flip that measures half so precious as the gain? A new perspective's etched into your chip. A billion dendrites blossom in your brain. The lid that's flipped 's no curse to be maligned! What surer way to open wide one's Mind? -c Thank god! I thought you were going to stick ME with the couplet! --Kathy ********************************************************************* Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucsd!ucsdhub!hp-sdd!hplabs!hpfcso!daq From: daq@hpfcso.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Hell Message-ID: <9060035@hpfcso.HP.COM> Date: 11 Mar 90 03:49:48 GMT Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA Lines: 115 The cynic wanders through the darkness. It is quite dark. There may be a mist. There seems to be a mist, but it is difficult to tell, because it is so damned dark. His destination, although unclear, seems to be almost ordained, and before long he begins to detect a glow in the far distance. At first, like the mist, it refuses to penetrate the dark enough to provide confirmation. Eventually it does reveal itself, and proves that there is indeed a light mist pervading this place, wherever this place is. The light also reveals the outside of a bar. It is so non-descript as to beggar description and it almost seems to change appearance by the second. "Callahan's," thinks the cynic, although the label does not seem to bear any signifigance for a second. He stands there under stars that he also cannot see, but knows must be there because, well, because they should be there. He can also feel their presence, perhaps their radiant light, however faint, and perhaps their gravity as they race their paths through the infinite night. If this is night. It is so hard to tell in this place. He crosses to a rock in the path that seems to have appeared in anticipation of his need to sit, to sit and to think despite the incredible numbness in his mind. Not one to look a gift rock in the mouth, just try finding its mouth, he sits and places his chin on his knees as he regards Callahans. "Just what the hell is this place?" he ponders. Even as he watches, the nondescript facade becomes brick, the mist thickens to a light fog, and the sound of waves begins to caress his ears. "Ah, the Kitsap penninsula." He recognizes it from years ago. A feeling of melancholy creeps into his mind, but he does not entertain it for long. "Seattle is gone. Those people in the window are not my friends. Lynn is not to be found in there now. Or would she still be calling herself Lyn now?" He chuckles. Suddenly the bar changes, rapidly. Flames burst out and the rocks melt. He can see people through the windows. Thier hair burns and their skin melts. They seem to be in excruciating pain, but noone seems to die. In fact nobody seems to be put out by the destruction. It almost seems as if they welcome the pain. "Jesus Christ, what is this place?" It seems as if his loneliness increases every time he comes here. But that is nothing. Loneliness just is, and it would not change if he were surrounded by well wishers. The bar changes again; now it is wrapped in snow and surrounded by a shimmering blue haze that looks very cold when offset by the cheerful warmth of the windows. For a second he resents the warmth and the comeraderie it implies. Then he smiles and remembers the people within. They are allright he thinks. "What the hell is this place?" He stands, and his legs protest until he forces them to stumble to the door. He can almost feel the joy and comfort radiating from the door, and he is not sure whether the sick feeling in his stomach is revulsion or anticipation. Entering, he crosses to his bulletin board and sees that people have been using it to play darts. "Oh well, I haven't been in much," is the kindest thought that he can muster up. He looks around and sees Betsy Bo. Crossing, he thanks her for the short stories. He waves at Diana and Chris, and thanks various people for their assistance in staying informed about Callahans. Crossing back to the board, he posts the following note and leaves: Well grand empaths. Let us discuss hate. Have you ever felt it? Or are we all above such things? Sometimes, usually when I am playing basketball or some other competetive activity, I can almost be provoked to rage. Why can this happen to a man as eminently reasonable as myself? I actually broke my hand once when I got angry during a game. This is the zenith of stupidity, but there it was. It was my hand and it was broken. Certainly rage is not hate, but I think that the emotions may be connected, and it disturbs me that I do not have complete control. Is there a place for this? Or, more appropriately, is there a place to put it, something to do with it to render it null and void? Still the Cynic