Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!pt.cs.cmu.edu!andrew.cmu.edu!haste+
From: haste+@andrew.cmu.edu (Dani Zweig)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: Well-bred circuses:  Ask Dr. Language!
Message-ID: <oa2coVi00WB8E3OFJ=@andrew.cmu.edu>
Date: 23 Mar 90 20:54:57 GMT
References: <Ia1eYpi00WB892nW1N@andrew.cmu.edu>,
	<53706@microsoft.UUCP>
Organization: Graduate School of Industrial Administration, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA
Lines: 38


ellene@microsoft.UUCP (Ellen EADES):

>>how do you feel about circuses?

>They go well with bread.  On toast, say.  Or in walls, with the
>appropriate cables, or perhaps on motherboards.

No, no, that's the wrong use of the word, the it's a common enough mistake.
Luckily, I'll be happy to set the record straight.

'Circus' is the the singular form of 'Circi' (more commonly spelled 'Circe')
-- a shapechanging witch.  (That is, she was the witch and you did the
shapechanging.  But THAT'S OKAY, because the more you change, the more you
remain the same!)  'Circe' (more commonly spelled 'Circae') is in turn, as the
spelling clearly indicates, the plural of 'circa', meaning 'around'.  (E.g.
"The confrontation with Circe took place circa 1000 B.C. and she didn't last
circa.")  So it's not true that there's never a circus around when you want
one.

'Circuit', on the other hand, is a portmanteau word which comes from 'circa'
(because things go around in circuits) and from 'surcoat' (because they're
not designed to close properly).  Which is why your mistake was such a
natural one to make.

This explanation would not be complete without a discourse on the word
'surcoat', but I'm not that much of a completist, so I'll give you some
surcease, instead.

Hope this helped. 

-----
Dani Zweig
haste+@andrew.cmu.edu 

 The surface of the strange, forbidden planet was roughly textured and green,
 much like cottage cheese gets way after the date on the lid says it is all 
 right to buy it.--Scott Jones
Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!prism.gatech.edu!ccastdk
From: ccastdk@prism.gatech.edu (Arthur dan Pwyll)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: Re: Emotions
Message-ID: <9003232135.AA25784@prism.gatech.edu>
Date: 23 Mar 90 21:35:13 GMT
Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU
Lines: 31


Arthur listens quietly to Jilara speak, and after she finishes, he walks
to the bar (having just expended his drink on the previous toast). He
lookes at Mike wordlessly and places a single on the bar. With a similar
lack of speech, Mike places a shot of rum next to it. Arthur takes a
deep breath and turns to face the room.
   "There is little that I can add to what Jilara had already said. She
seems to have had, emotionally at least, a childhood remarkably similar
to mine." At this, Arthur smiles his now familiar self-mocking smile and
continues, "And she is correct that there will be a price to pay. It is,
I believe, different for all of us, for my price had been very different from
Jilara's. Not better, not, I think, worse. Just different. The key is not
to lock away your emotions and feelings and deny them. The key is to
acnowledge them, accept them, and learn to live with them. Not an easy
thing to do, but I assure you all, it's worth it. Even in the minor ways
that I am capable of. You see, I'm not done yet. I've opened my walls,
and opened myself to my emotions, but while pain and sorrow come easily,
happiness is much more difficult. It is very easy for me to be sad. It is
much more difficult to be happy. I haven't had much practice. But that's
neither here nor there. Many of you are doubtless wondering what the point
to all this is. My point is simple. Controlling your emotions is like
wearing armor. It keeps you from being hurt, and sometimes it's necessary,
but if you live in it, it begins to chafe. It's fine for fights, but it's
lousy for parties. And so, I propose (yet another) toast."
   He walks to the chalk line and lifts his glass, "To Armor, and to knowing
when to take it off."  *quaff* *crash*
   He gazes at the fire for a moment, then smiles that oh-so-familiar
smile of his and returns to his seat at the bar.

                          Arthur dan Pwyll,
                          Mage of Fionivar
Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!prism.gatech.edu!ccastdk
From: ccastdk@prism.gatech.edu (Arthur dan Pwyll)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: Puzzle
Message-ID: <9003232145.AA28090@prism.gatech.edu>
Date: 23 Mar 90 21:45:06 GMT
Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU
Lines: 16


>Something about a human floating at the exact center of a spherical
>mirror, and with a flashlight out.  What is seen?  Does it matter the
>direction of the beam?

>Well, any takers?

>Traveler In Elephants
>Dave

I have an answer, but I can'd prove it. Assuming that the astronaut's eye
occupied the exact (to within the radius of the pupil) center of the mirror,
he (or she) would see the inside of his (or her) eye. And nothing the astronaut did would change that.

                          Arthur dan Pwyll,
                          Mage of Fionivar
Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!FSDCUPT.CSD.MOT.COM!jane
From: jane@FSDCUPT.CSD.MOT.COM (Jane Beckman x4030)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: Pain and acceptance
Message-ID: <9003231605.AA23882@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM>
Date: 24 Mar 90 00:05:42 GMT
Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU
Lines: 54

Jilara nods at the tin woodman from her table, where Sasha is busily 
eating nachos out of her polydactyl feet, rather like a squirrel.  
"There's an old joke in the SCA about 'Pain is good, pain is our friend,'
when one is in fighter training.  One of the things about all forms of 
pain is that it's not good to become too tolerant of it.  Pain is there 
to tell you something, point out that something is wrong.  In extremes, 
it can be debilitating, but it has a function.  A lot of people don't 
like my poetry, because they say it has too much pain in it, but pain is 
a part of me.  It reminds me I'm alive.  Thought I'd share a poem of 
mine, about that exact topic.

          Pain
Scarlet blossom, friend/unfriend,
  That tries me, tests my will,
I shall survive eternally
  Though my very soul you fill.

You test, to break my spirit,
  But I triumph once again
And drink your cup unto the dregs
  Explore the soul of pain.

I know thee well, my friend/unfriend,
  You can no terrors bring.
Unflinchingly, I face thy worst----
  And a rebel song I sing.

She looks thoughtful.  "I might add that poem goes for both physical and 
emotional.  My virtual body is much better off than my own.  I've got 
some back and joint problems that are with me on a regular basis, including 
a disc capsule that's too loose, and lets a disc slip.  When this happens, 
I either get raging sciatica, or lose all feeling in my legs.  My back 
first went out when I was 11, and has been a problem ever since.  I HAVE 
to exercise: it's how I stay mobile.  Pain isn't bad.  It's just difficult 
to live with."  

She nods over at Caprice.  "Yes, I can understand about loneliness and the 
gradations and all.  I can't say I'm really lonely so long as I have my 
cats."  She strokes Sasha, who glowers at being interrupted in the middle 
of a nacho chip.  "People also need to remember that loneliness and being 
alone are different.  I find I rarely get lonely when I'm alone, unless 
I'm sick or going through some trauma.  But put me around a crowd of people, 
and I get tremendously lonely, because they remind me of how different I 
am from them, and how I doubt I will ever fit into their world-space.  I've 
never been young and foolish, and easy familiarity is impossible for me.  I 
can play my "social butterfly" role, but I am eternally reminded, the more 
I talk to people, of just how far apart our worlds are.  The stress begins 
to wear on me, after a while, and I have to escape."  She gets up and 
walks to the chalk line.  "Therefore, I have an odd toast.

"To solitude: may it ever be the cure for loneliness!"   ***CRASH***

  ---Jilara the Exile   jane%fsdcupt.csd@urbana.mcd.mot.com
   "I love people: it's humanity I can't stand."  ---author unknown
Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!usc!cs.utexas.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!goldfarb@ocf.berkeley.edu
From: goldfarb@ocf.berkeley.edu (David Goldfarb)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: Re: Grenades a la Creme
Message-ID: <35114@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU>
Date: 24 Mar 90 00:47:32 GMT
References: <9003191401.AA27560@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> <21780008@hpcndjdz.HP.COM>
Sender: usenet@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU
Reply-To: goldfarb@ocf.Berkeley.EDU (David Goldfarb)
Organization: ucb
Lines: 56

In article <21780008@hpcndjdz.HP.COM> jason@hpcndjdz.HP.COM (Jason Zions) writes:
)After Zach takes the mop from his hand, Jazz walks over to the bar, borrows
)a clean towel, and wipes the cream off his face. "I wonder if a cream pie
)is any less violent, in a virtual environment like Callahan's, than a
)grenade? It's still a `physical' response to a non-physical statement. I'm
)not accusing Zach of anything nasty, just raising the question."
)
) "A simple question, I guess; in The
)Place, what's the difference between a cream pie and a rock when thrown at
)someone?" He pauses a second to collect his thoughts. "A toast: To simple
)questions that take a lifetime to answer!" He lobs the shotglass into the
)fireplace, where it quietly breaks into about 5 largish pieces.
)
)As he walks back to his table, he adds "I do know that peanut shells lobbed
)in response to egregious puns are okay..."
)
)Jazz

	Zach walks over from where the new guy has been crying over spilled
chocolate syrup. "Cream? Where did that come from?" he says, picking up the
towel. "I could have sworn I hit you with a snowball..."
	"I hope there aren't any hard feelings on your part. You got hit
with a snowball; I got a whole outfit ruined by whipped cream!" A glowing
sigil appears in the air above his head: :-)
	"More seriously," he continues, "the difference (at least from
my point of view) is that a cream pie or a snowball is a lot softer than a
rock." Several people threaten him with peanut shells. 
	"Wait, hear me out..." he says. "What I mean is that the conno-
tations are quite different. A thrown rock really only has the purpose of
inflicting physical pain. A cream pie has an honorable history in comedy.
To me, at least, that makes a big difference in conveying the impression
of "joke". Both a rock and a cream pie certainly *can* be used simply as
jokes." Zach has started pacing as he talks. Suddenly, a long-haired and
wild-eyed man bursts in through the door and flings a rock at him. At that
moment Zach slips on a patch of cream that he missed as he was cleaning up,
and the rock knocks off his baseball cap, caroms off a nearby empty chair,
bounces into the fireplace with a "clash!" of broken glass, and skitters
away up the chimney. The wild-eyed man flees.
	Seemingly oblivious, Zach picks up his cap and gets the mop again
to clean up the slippery place on the floor. He continues: "But it seems
to me that making a joke of the rock is a lot *harder* than of the pie.
(No pun intended.) Conversely, a pie is a lot less likely to come off purely
as a flame.
	"Sorry to go on so long...Mike, I want to try one of those Lindt
Ball things?" He lays a single on the bar. The gruff redhead makes up
the drink, which Zach takes with a smile. "Bittersweet chocolate...the nectar
of the gods." He sips. "Ooooh. Hey, Steve...when you called this thing
'fuzzy' you weren't kidding!"
	After a bit he finishes the drink and walks to the chalk line.
	"To understanding--to becoming a bit more empathic, and a bit
less sensitive."

David Goldfarb    goldfarb@ocf.berkeley.edu   (Insert standard disclaimer)
"Appears life is a fractal in Hilbert space!"
"Ah, well. I knew it had t'be sometin' like dat. I knew dat couldn't
be right, about de bowl of cherries."   -- _Big Numbers_ #1
Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!mtxinu!unisoft!greywolf
From: greywolf@unisoft.UUCP (The Grey Wolf)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: Re: Metaphysics and Angst
Message-ID: <2883@unisoft.UUCP>
Date: 22 Mar 90 00:29:27 GMT
References: <8505@mentor.cc.purdue.edu>
Reply-To: greywolf@unisoft.UUCP (The Grey Wolf)
Lines: 115

The grey wolf pads over to someplace where he won't get hit by a misguided
glass of something likely caustic (just 'cos I drink the stuff doesn't mean
that I like to bathe in it...), and pauses to reflect.  { Hey, Mike, a good
four-finger shot of Midori, if you would... }

{ Just 'cos I don't post much doesn't mean I'm not here -- hell, I could sit
  here and deal with this all year.  I'd have to send out for Chinese food
  or pizza or something, but hey... 's what makes the world go round.   Well,
  partly... }


In article <8505@mentor.cc.purdue.edu> gtz@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Eric C. Garrison) writes:
>
>"To pointlessness"
>
><**CRASH**>

{ Seconded.  I'll toss my glass later... [ gee, this is good... ].
  How many times I have stopped in the midst of what I do every day and I
  wonder, what is the point?  I'm managing systems that support engineers
  who program software which is going to disappear someday.  What's the
  point?  Or in the middle of attending to personal matters from time to
  time, I wonder, what is the point of all this?
  I don't ever feel this way about my music, or about my friends, or about
  love... Hm.   I do second the toast; if nothing was pointless, we wouldn't
  know the difference between purposeful and pointless.  As above, so below,
  as the saying goes... }


>"Hi.  None of you really know me, though you have been friendly,
>which I appreciate.

{ What's the point of having a place like this if it's going to be elitist,
  unfriendly or otherwise non-communicative?  Potential friends are important
  people, and while I perceive very few people like that, they're that much
  more important to being alive. }

>"However, I find an old problem in metaphysics bugging me: why are we
>here?  What is the point?  Why do I bother getting up in the morning?

{ I'm not sure, but I think we're here to find out why we are here... }

>"Anyway, fomy Sophomore and Junior years I was pretty darned happy.  I was
>engaged and the point to life was to marry my fiancee and live happily
>ever after, come what may.  How sweet.

{ I made that faux-pas once... }

>
>"But at the end of last summer, she left me and pulled the rug out
>from under my feet, and left me with no goals save graduation.

{ (ouch)... except that I left her first... }  He laps his midori thought-
fully (think of a wolf doing that -- it's pretty amusing...).

>
>"Sure, I am dating a great girl now, and who knows what will happen with
>her, but the real problem I face is this:  I don't want to graduate
>because I don't want to face the real world alone.  I don't see the 
>point of going out and making money if I don't know if I will be happy.
>I enjoy computers as an occupation, but I am afraid I'll be alone and
>unhappy at and away from work.

{ This feeling is a familiar one -- at one point I was convinced I would
  have to choose between furthering myself financially and furthering
  myself emotionally and spiritually.  I thought, "If I just further myself
  financially, and get to the goal I am setting for myself, if there's
  nobody there, there's really no point in doing this."  As it turns out,
  given enough determination mixed with a healthy dose of consideration,
  you *can* have it all... }
  
>
>"I wonder if anyone here lies awake in the middle of the night,
>petrified with fear about the future like I do?  Does anyone else
>see the crap behind all this hype to succeed, to compete, to further
>the rat race?  How can anyone be totally wrapped up in getting a
>good job, looking for maximum money without considering the
>happiness factor?

{ Well, you're certainly not the only one.  I feel kind of out of sorts
  not because I'm afraid of the future, but because I kind of regret the
  past.  Don't have the wherewithal to go and complete school now.
  I'm a touch worried that nobody will want to hire me (if I go elsewhere)
  due to the lack of a piece of paper.

  It seems that this society has placed so much importance on a degree
  and not enough on practical experience.  It's come to the point where
  (stereotypically) every college student is working to achieve that
  magic "scroll of create job", and the outside hiring force is not
  doing anything to dispel that myth.

  But then, in the end, as it has, I know it will all work out.  Somehow. }

>
>"I'll step down now, but if anyone understands this at all, please
>let me know."

{ See above. }

>
>He looks exhausted as he goes back to his table.  He looks as though
>he'd like someone to come over and join him, but is too shy to
>just sit with anyone he'd like t get to know.  Maybe you know
>the feeling.  Alone in a crowd, that's Eric, sometimes.

{ C'mon over here and siddown, silly. I'm at the n(log(n)) - 1 corner counting
  clockwise from the door... :-) }
 
>
>Eric C. Garrison
>ericg@ei.ecn.purdue.edu


-- 
Brain fried.  (Explanation is in file "core".)
Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!ucsd!ucsdhub!hp-sdd!hplabs!hpfcso!daq
From: daq@hpfcso.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: The cynic speaks of Fools (VERY LONG)
Message-ID: <9060046@hpfcso.HP.COM>
Date: 23 Mar 90 06:42:18 GMT
Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA
Lines: 233

The cynic enters the bar.  His garb is grey today.  Some
might take it as a good sign, but that would be reading
too much into this particular symbol.

He crosses to his bulletin board, looks at it for a 
moment, and passes it by to find an empty table
near the center of the bar.  

He beckons to Joelle and Taldin to join him and they
do, quite graciously. 

When they arrive, he says, "Hello young lovers.  I have
been playing with symbols quite a great deal in this bar 
lately."

He fingers the leather headband bound about his forehead.
"I gave Jilara and Alaric a symbol to consider, and I want
to do the same for you."

He looks a bit embarrassed.   "Now forgive me, because
this symbol is primarily about myself, but I think that
the symbol may be a simple but general analogy of the
human heart.  I am giving this to you as a picture
of my soul.  I said I cannot discuss things openly,
but perhaps symbols can do the trick."

"I have invented a little card game called 'Fools'
with which you can amuse yourself.  All you need is a 
simple pack of cards."

Cynic pulls some cards from his pocket and begins
to remove some.

"Now, you can get rid of all of the numbered cards,
because we will only be needing the face cards and
the aces.  Use the other ones for coasters for your
drinks."

After removing the numbered cards he begins to
remove the ace and face cards with hearts on them.

"Now these cards are special, because we are talking
about the human heart, now aren't we."

He offers them a genuine and not entirely unbecoming
smile.  As he does this, he begins to shuffle the
four heart cards.  After shuffling them, he lays
them face down on the table in a perfect line, right
next to each other.

"This is the basic human heart.  Now you cannot see
the cards, but we all know what they look like.
The Ace will be strength.  It is sheer power, the power
to drive and motivate.  Simply put it is the strength
to accomplish.  It is, by nature a very solitary thing."

"The king will represent nobility and wisdom and pride.
He is not particularly strong by himself, but his
motives are pure."

"The Queen represents sensitivity, nurturing, love, and
perseverance.  Now the Queen's perseverance
does not invade the Ace's domain, because it is
primarily strength in situations that are
against hope.  It is strength through
faith and hope and not through personal 
power or drive."

"Now, should you think the two previous symbols
sexist, then switch the definitions.  It is
not relevant as long as you keep the characteristics
clear and separate."

Now the cynic puts on a grim face.  Everyone can
tell that it is affected, and there are some
scattered giggles and guffaws.  The cynic looks
up sternly for a moment, but then turns back to the
game.

"In poker, we call the lowest face card the Jack.
NEVER call him that in this game.  In this game,
he is the Fool.  If you call him something else,
you may forget his nature, and that is dangerous.
If you are prone to forget this, I suggest you
sit the game out."

"The Fool is irrational.  He is inconsolable.
He is selfish, petty, and base.  But, the fool
has some minor qualities that can be good.
He is silly and capricious.  Perhaps the word
buffoon would suffice to describe this part of him."

After laying out the heart cards face down, and
explaining their meaning, he begins to shuffle
the other face cards.

"Now, this game is essentially solitaire, and
every day, or as often as you like, you can
deal a new hand.  After laying down the heart cards
you deal yourself one card from these remaining
face cards and aces.  You take this card
and lay it face down on one of the heart
cards."

"Then you turn over the heart cards and 
the card you laid down on one of the
heart cards."

Cynic does this, and everybody sees the heart cards
and a king of spades lying on type of the Ace of
hearts.

"Now the suit of the other cards is not important,
but their value is the same as that of the heart
cards.  This hand would mean that my heart is
seeking to drive and succeed and that this
drive would be noble and wise.  It is very
simple.  If I had dealt a queen on top of
the queen of hearts it would have meant, quite
surprisingly, that my heart would seek and find
love, and that it would be very nurturing and
supportive, and that there would be boatloads
of it if you will excuse the colorful expression."

"But beware the fool!  He can wreck everything.
If I had dealt a fool on top of the king, then
my noble and wise emotions would be corrupted
by pettiness and selfishness.  I might think
myself noble and wise, but the fool would
be bouncing around, whispering nonsense in 
the king's ear and ruining the whole value
of the king in his pristine state."

"I think you can all figure out the other combinations,
and certainly a pair of fools is disastrous.  Because
they make so much trouble that they dominate all of
the other cards."

"Now, given that this is random, it might seem that
people would be all the same, and totally random
and chaotic.  But people deal the game at different
rates.  Some deal constantly, and some wait awhile
between hands.  Also, the cards seem to attract
each other differently for different people.
Some people seem to get a lot of kings from the
second deck, and they tend to end up on the king
of hearts or the Queen of hearts, depending on
the person."

Cynic's head lowers for a minute, but then snaps up
again.

"I tend to get a lot of fools."

Joelle and Taldin look at him for a moment, but before
they can say anything he pulls out a small wad of bills 
and places them on the table.

"Now, this is a game of wager."  Pulling out
a dollar, he waves it and continues, "There is
none of this dollar ante and dollar limit on
the raise nonsense.  No, you must take out
EVERYTHING you have and place it on the table.
This is not a game for the weak.  You play
for everything."

"Now you might ask a very pertinent question.
How do you lose?  Well there is only one way
to lose.  Stop playing.  Now that seems trite,
but this game is very tiresome despite it's
simplicity and seeming attractiveness.
Some people walk away because they cannot
bear to see another combination.  Some
people stop dealing for such a long time
that it becomes clear to them that they
never intend to deal again."

Cynic puts out his hands and says, "That's it."

He begins to collect the cards, and then he
snaps his fingers and cries, "Damn, I forgot 
something.  This is Callahan's, so I added
a new little rule for the sake of the 
clientele of this bar.  This rule is for all
of the help they have given me."

Cynic flips through the deck as if looking for
something.

"#@%%$*!  Where is it?"

Then he spots something under Taldin's drink.
He pulls the Joker coaster out and displays
it to the crowd.

"On each deal of a hand of Fools in Callahan's,
you can have someone hold the Joker for you.
If you ask, but ONLY if you ask, this person
can place the Joker on your face down cards.
No, the person you select does NOT get to
look at the face down cards before they
place the Joker.  Hell, they're your cards,
and you aren't even allowed to look."

"Now the Joker has no meaning of its own,
but it allows you to selectively enhance
or decrease the power of whatever card
it is placed on.  If it is placed on the
pair, then you can affect either of them.
Now, the other person lays the card, but
YOU have to select the meaning.  I added
this rule, because I have noticed that,
if used properly, it can keep people in
the game longer."

Cynic gives them a sheepish look.

"Now, that was pretty simplistic, and
perhaps more than a bit puerile, but
I hope it spoke to you in some
meaningful way.  In a VERY simple
way, this game describes what 
sometimes happens to me.  Taldin,
I wish you lots of kings.  Joelle,
I wish you lots of queens.  And if
I could, I would take all of your
fools.  I get the damned things so
often that a few more certainly would
not change the outcome too much."

Cynic gets up, and giving Mike a 'sorry
I was so long winded glance', he leaves
the bar.
Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!att!dptg!pegasus!psrc
From: psrc@pegasus.ATT.COM (Paul S. R. Chisholm)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: support (was: Someone Trumps in)
Summary: look at it from the other side, too!
Message-ID: <4563@pegasus.ATT.COM>
Date: 24 Mar 90 08:07:57 GMT
References: <4232@harrier.ukc.ac.uk>
Distribution: alt
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories
Lines: 66

In article <4232@harrier.ukc.ac.uk>, spt1@ukc.ac.uk (Stephen Thomas) writes:
> Stephen moves to the chalk line.  "So, I would like to propose a
> toast. To those willing to heed a cry for help, and those willing to
> listen when others need to talk!"

> <GULP> ... <CRASH!>

"Mike, half an ale, please?  Sure, Dos Equis would be fine."

I'd like to second what Stephen said (and congratulate him on the
foresight or fivesight or whatever to make a Trump of the Place; let's
just not make this a Plaza:-), and propose the other half:

To those willing to ask for help!

Some of the more observant of you may have wondered why I sometimes
wear this.  [Point to a carbineer I wear on a belt loop.  Okay, you'd
have to be *very* observant; I've never mentioned it before.  I never
said I have a mustache, either, or an ear-to-ear beard that draws a one
inch wide line around the corners of my face.]

This is a token of a, well, a sort of a course I took.  When folks from
my company go through it, it's call Project Miracles.  It's run by a
firm called SportsMind, with some assistance on the high ropes from a
crowd named On The Edge.  Yeah, Outward Bound kind of stuff:  climb up
a pole (a skinny tree actually), and stand on a circle of plywood about
a foot around; start with a partner at the narrow end of a "V", and
then walk as far as we can toward the open end, leaning more and more
on each other as we go; climbing fifty feet up a sort of a ladder
nailed to a tree, then stepping out onto a pole and walking to the
other end.  *Lots* of safety equipment, lots of training . . . but,
most of all, lots and *lots* of emphasis on working as a team, and
giving support . . . and accepting it.

The second hardest thing I had to do was to, sometimes, set my self-
reliance aside, and look to others for strength.  But when I was done,
I had a better working relationship with just about everyone there, and
especially with one or two guys who I've now come to depend on (and
vice versa).  I think my family got more out of it than my employers; I
came back really appreciating how much love I get from them, and how
much happiness I feel when I love them.

No, no Werner Ehrhart "break them down to build them back up" crap.
There was a lot on emphasis on diet and exercise, which I've largely
taken to heart.

(The *hardest* thing I did was improve my balance.  We started the day
with very gentle exercise, such as stretching while standing on one
foot; I consistently fell down after five or ten seconds.  When we got
to the high beam, I spent all the time I could spare between checking
equipment and helping people . . . practicing balancing.  Practicing
*success*.  Visualizing myself balanced, concentrating on breathing and
finding my center.  Some people started coming up to me and saying,
"Boo!"; it helped, because I could concentrate well enough that nothing
could dislodge me.  I walked across that beam, touched the far tree
(okay, I lunged to it and grabbed it for all I was worth!), turned
around, walked halfway back, and took a bow.  And fell off; but that's
the only way you *can* get off.  And for all that I was fifty feet in
the air, I still felt like I was surrounded by all the people below,
cheering me on, caring, helping.  It was nice.  Not to mention fun!)

> Stephen Thomas, spt1@ukc.ac.uk

Paul S. R. Chisholm, the guy with half an ale
att!pegasus!psrc, psrc@pegasus.att.com, AT&T Mail !psrchisholm
I'm not speaking for the company, I'm just speaking from my heart.
Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!att!dptg!pegasus!psrc
From: psrc@pegasus.ATT.COM (Paul S. R. Chisholm)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: Re: A situation resolved.  I guess...
Summary: love and loss and other stuff
Message-ID: <4562@pegasus.ATT.COM>
Date: 24 Mar 90 07:31:09 GMT
References: <9731@wpi.wpi.edu>
Organization: AT&T Bell Laboratories
Lines: 84

In article <9731@wpi.wpi.edu>, cmoir@wpi.wpi.edu (C-More) writes:
> "I mentioned that I believed I had found two possible soulmates at
> once.  Perhaps this is still the case.  But one of them has decided
> to decrease the inner turmoil she has felt, and that she has seen in
> me, by removing herself from the situation. . . .

[Putting an empty glass down on the bar, taking four bits out of the
cigar box and putting them into the charity jar:]  Silver, I can't say
I've been in your shoes . . . but I've been in hers.  After a month or
so, the only girlfriend I ever had in three years as an undergraduate
said she wanted to see other guys.  And, naturally, one other guy in
the dorm in particular.  I went along with this for about a week, and
found that it was tearing me apart.  It was the only time I've ever
broken up with someone where the lady didn't come to me and said, "It's
over, and I'm going with such-and-such."  Not much variation in my love
life, not until I met Sherry.

> "One thing I cannot figure out is why this does not make me happy.
> Surely I have not lost anything, for she has agreed to always be
> there for me, to always be a friend...a dear one.  But still I am
> not satisfied.  I feel something has been lost, and I fear it may
> never return.

> "I suppose in time I shall be happy with this decision that has been
> made for me, but for now I wallow in the depression that should
> better belong with an honest breakup, one of a relationship that
> *actually existed*.  But this hurts no less. . . .

There's a lot of pressure, in our society, to be monogamous.  I don't
have any problem with that.  I'm very monogamous by nature, and so is
my wife.  I can't even define what that means.  It doesn't stop at
limiting physical intimacy to one person, though it does include that.
It does stop well before it excludes close friends.

But there are some people, mostly young women I met at college (some
ten to fifteen years ago), who seemed genuinely capable of loving more
than one person at a time.  They were rare, but their affections
weren't just who they liked to go to bed with.  (I hasten to add that
for all concerned, I was only a friend.)  Silver, you may have the same
. . . talent?  Gift?  Capability?

So, yes, it's quite possible that you broke up with someone you loved,
or at least cared very strongly about (let's not use the "s" word here,
okay?), despite the fact that there was also Someone Else for you.

(To fill in for Doug, or anyone else who might mutter Cynically off in
a corner somewhere:  On the other hand, you might just miss the
attention, and the unusual egoboo*, of being the center of attention of
two women at once.  Myself, I wouldn't have known how to begin to
handle it.)

> "I know that it is not the place to rant and rave.  I hope I am
> doing neither.  I am just getting this off my chest.  And if someone
> out there a explain this to me, I would be eternally grateful.

> "Mike, give me a shot of whiskey.  Make it Scotch.  Ah, thank you."

> **gulp** "TO HAPPINESS!!!" >>CRASH<< "May it yet find me.  Or,
> better, may I find it within myself."

I don't have any problems with ranting and raving (if not this Place,
then what place?; but if you're going to drink good scotch whiskey (and
would Mike serve anything else?), please don't gulp it.

Here, let me show you.  Mike, two single malts, please?  I trust your
judgment on the label.

> Silver leaves the chalk line, looking suddenly thoughtful, and moves
> back to his friends.  His gait seems somewhat lighter, as if some
> great weight has been removed from his shoulders.

Fair enough.

And, Silver?  You're *only* every going to find happiness within
yourself.  You can make it by yourself, though sometimes it's tough.
If you're lucky, you can find someone who makes your heart such a
fertile place for joy to grow, you'll find that harvesting it is a full
time job.  Good luck!

Paul S. R. Chisholm, the guy with half an ale
att!pegasus!psrc, psrc@pegasus.att.com, AT&T Mail !psrchisholm
I'm not speaking for the company, I'm just speaking from my heart.

(*Egoboo:  Ego boost.  The etymology is obvious, I hope.-)
Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!thalen
From: thalen@reed.UUCP (Thalen, sword of law)
Newsgroups: alt.callahans
Subject: Me.
Summary: Another new one.
Message-ID: <14499@reed.UUCP>
Date: 24 Mar 90 06:03:41 GMT
Reply-To: thalen@reed.UUCP (Thalen, the Mundane Mage)
Organization: Reed College, Portland OR
Lines: 120

As the piano playing finishes, everyone goes back to their old conversations.
Sounds of bagpipe music can still be heard from above, and the sound of 
a dancer, merrily keeping time.  (I assume you did invite her with you,
Orion!)
     Suddenly, a hush falls over the Place, identical to the hush that usually
falls when someone is about to make a toast.  The difference here, of course,
being the fact that there is noone at the line.  Or is there?  Wait a minute,
there is someone there, sort of fading in.  It's not that he wasn't there
a second ago, or that he was invisible, it's just that you didn't, well,
see him until now.
     "He" is about 5'9", blond haired, with the sort of facial hair you 
expect might eventually become a beard, if he doesn't decide to shave first.
It's wierd, though: The middle of the "beard" is almost white, while the edges
of his chin are covered in, well, dark red.  His shoulders are wide, and he
looks like someone who could be reasonably strong if he bothered, which he 
doesn't.  The most unusual things about him, though, are his eyes (sound 
familiar?)  These were possibly the most unusual eyes to wander (with help)
into Callahans.  The pupils were a uniform shade of grey.  Wierd.  He can 
certainly see, however, as he is looking around with a certain "Yep.  I'm
not leaving." look on his face.  He is dressed in a pair of black pants and a
collared shirt, a subdued black and green striped one.  On his shoulder is
(yep, you guessed it) a black cat, and in his hand a glass of deep red liquid,
which you can't identify.
     "Oh, well," he sighs, "I shoulda known better than to try to fake you
guys out.  A room this full of empaths is bound to notice even an accomplished
shall we say, skulker, such as myself.  My name is Greymarck, but my friends
call me Thalen."  After a pause, and another appraisal of the room. "I think
I'd like it if you all would call me Thalen."
     He clears his throat, and readies his glass.  "To optimism.  Damn it."
He throws the glass into the fireplace hard enough to shatter it pretty well.
The liquid doesn't burn.
     He looks around at the circle of expectant faces, and says "I guess this
place really is like it says.  I feel lucky, for the first time in a long
while.  If you'll hold on just a minute, I'll elaborate.  But first, I have
a little buisness to attend to."
     Greymarck/Thalen then ascends the staircase to the roof, where you soon
hear the bagpipe stop.  Suddenly.  And then the sounds of a conversation.
Loud enough to be understandable.

Orion: Hey!  Thalen!  What're you doing here?
Thalen: HOW LONG HAVE YOU KNOWN ABOUT THIS PLACE AND _WHY_DIDN'T_YOU_TELL_ME_
       _ABOUT_IT_??????
Orion: DON'T SHOU- uh, don't shout...

After a few more minutes of incomprehensible murmuring, Thalen comes back down
the stairs, pausing only to say "Sorry to interrupt you two.  I didn't know
you could DO that while playing a bagpipe..."  He turns back toward the rest 
of the bar, with a mischievous grin on his face, and you hear spluttering from
the roof.  Then, his face becoming suddenly more serious, he says, "Now, where
was I?  Ah, yes...  I hadn't started yet.  My problem, ladies and gentlemen, is
very minor compared to many of those expressed here.  It does seem quite
important to me, though, I assure you.  It is really a combination of two
different things.  The first: I am blessed with a condition which most people
have, at least slightly; however, I have it in spades.  It is called seasonally
associated depression, and, boy, is the acronym perfect.  In the winter my
mood, on a scale from 1 to 100, is on average about 75 less than summertime.
The other one is the fact that I am, underneath my surface pessimism, an
unshakable optimist."
     Thalen next turns to {someone}, who was about to say something, and says "I
too am a magic-user, but I don't need spells to know what you were about to 
say.  'Wouldn't the optimism help, in itself, counteract the depression?'
Or words to that effect.  Would that it did.  My problem is that... Well, let
me give you a little example.  Two Novembers ago, I tried out for a play.  The
role was made for me (tenor/pseudo-actor/shakespeare buff) and the 
director is a personal friend of mine.  I was also one of the three real
actors in the school with any experience who wasn't going to be in Russia
opening night, so that helped my chances a wee bit too.  However, being
realistic, I only had about a one in three chance of getting the part.  You
can guess what happens next, right?  Am briefly elated at the prospect (sewn
up, so I think) of being in this musical, and this does help with my
depression.  But, of course, I don't make it, and bwamf!, there goes most of
the winter.  It didn't help that the person who got the part was the one who
I practically dragged into the audition room, and had no experience at all. 
    Thalen walks to the bar and says, "Another, Mike."  And hands Mike a
dollar.  Mike does something out of sight and gives Thalen another glass of 
the deep red stuff, which he sips as he paces.  "Now, others here might 
experience the same thing.  It sounds like if it isn't common, it ought to be.
But something emotional like this, compounded by something physiological, like
S.A.D., is really nasty."
     "I guess, there's nothing much I, or anyone else, can do about it, save
changing my physiology, impossible, or my outlook on life, difficult and
moderately unrewarding.  And I'm not sure it would be a good idea, anyway.
The optimism does help, in a lot of ways.  I mean, have you ever met one of
those unbelieveably conceited people, who succeed at anything they do?  It's
all in the outlook, and it happens to me that way sometimes.  I don't know if
I would trade those impossible things I have done, and will do, for a
"normally" S.A.D. winter.  (Although I might, just, if it would get rid of the
S.A.D. as well as the optimism).  So, I guess I'm just here to gripe, and sit
down."
     "Oh, I do have one more thing to say.  It's too bad I found this place
this late."  Here he shoots an annoyed glance toward where the bagpipes are
still coming from the ceiling. "I do have the feeling, though, that next winter
is going to be a little easier to handle.  Now that I've found you people. 
It'll be a lot easier going knowing that there are actually people like this
around.  I haven't seen many, before.  I guess I thought I was the only one
who would participate in this sort of thing.  Especially after I lent my 
(former) girlfriend "Callahan's".  I asked her how she liked it and she said,
'Well, it was...funny...'  Oh, well, nice to be proven wrong."

     He then toes the line, looking much happier than when he first came in,
and shouts "To new friends!"  The resultant barrage of glassware showers
the area near the fireplace with miscellaneous liquids.

     Thalen sits down, and says "I would welcome company.  I'm in a garrulous
mood, this eve.  Anyone from eastern PA, or New Jersey, (The Godforsaken
State), especially, as I normally live right around there, and would be
extremely interested to find out how I can get onto this from home... 

     "Oh, and by the way," he says to Ellen, "Excuse this from a first timer,
but you deserve this for those circus puns."  He waggles his fingers
dramatically, and a 1 lb bag of (circus vendor's) peanuts appears over Ellen's
head, and upends itself.  

     He then darts off to invite Orion down, to accompany him to some old
Irish tunes they both seem to know.  Well, maybe KNOW is a strong word.  
"Slightly aquainted with" seems more appropriate, but Orion is quite good on the
pipes, and Thalen has a range from low E to high A.  They really don't sound
too bad together.  Really!

                                                          Thalen