Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!ucsd!sdcc6!sdbio2!secbh1 From: secbh1@sdbio2.ucsd.edu (Lori Stahlman) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Elvis. Message-ID: <9529@sdcc6.ucsd.edu> Date: 5 Apr 90 19:29:17 GMT Sender: news@sdcc6.ucsd.edu Reply-To: secbh1@sdbio2.ucsd.edu (Lori Stahlman) Distribution: alt Organization: University of California, San Diego Lines: 111 It was mid-afternoon at Callahans. The n-tet was gathering again in a corner littered with instruments, cases and musicians. Questioning notes, runs and squawks were occasionally heard as the group tried to decide on what to do next. Meanwhile, Beezlebub Bob was sitting at Betsy Bo's table. He was covered in cats. Cats had always loved Beezlebub Bob, and he in turn had a weakness for cats. As he read to Betsy Bo he absently stroked the carpet of felines which covered his lap. "'One summer morning,'" he read, "'a sock on the line decided that life with its mate was tedious and unpleasant. It persuaded the clothespin to relinquish its hold, and blew away on the next breeze. * "'It tumbled over the grass, down a bank, and into a river. As it was being carried towards the sea, a large fish considered swallowing it, but changed its mind.' Bets, are you catching any of this?" No response. "'At dusk it caught against a rock where it remained until a child found and wrung it out the next morning. The child filled its toe with dirty pennies and then tied a knot in it which was extremely painful. "'After the pennies fell out through the hole they'd worn in the toe, the child let the maid have it.' Wow, what a great story. An epic of...of..." He couldn't think of a comparison, so he asked Bets: "Are you better yet?" She reached up and stroked Buster once, and was still. "Okay, big sis, it's time for the heavy artillery. Now you just stay put (as if she intended to do anything else) and I'll be back in a bit with something to cheer you right up!" He danced out of the bar in a flurry of felines. Some hours later, just after sunset, Beezie danced back in. The door started to swing shut behind him when an odd thing happened: It opened a few feet, then gently closed of its own accord. Beezlebub Bob went right to his sister's table and knelt beside her. "Bets? Are you there? Open your eyes, love; I brought someone to visit you!" Her eyelids lifted slowly, although her head didn't move at all. Beezlebub Bob bounced up and stood in her line of vision. He put his right arm out as if to sling it around the shoulders of an invisible person. "Mr. Presley?" he said, "I'd like you to meet my sister, Betsy Bo Beaton." Much to the shock of all who watched Beezie's antics, the King of Rock-n-Roll materialized right there in the middle of Callahans. Several patrons gasped as a youthful Elvis, dressed in a shiny grey suit and cobalt-blue spread-lapeled sport shirt, appeared within the curve of Beezie's arm. A guitar was slung across his back. His hair was perfect. He flashed a brilliant, pouty-lipped grin at Betsy Bo. "Glad to know ya, Ma'am," he said. Betsy Bo's eyes focused. She blinked a couple of times. "The same, I'm sure," she returned. "Beezie, can't you let this nice spirit rest in peace?" Beezlebub Bob stepped back and wafted his palms in the air. "Me? Nuh-unh. I didn't do anything this time, I swear, Bets. I was just down at the mall, trying to think of something I could bring here that would cheer you up. I was sitting in front of 31 Flavors, wracking my brains for something really neat, when _this_ guy," he stabbed a finger at Elvis, "just sat down next to me as friendly as you please and asked me if I new of someplace where he could play some rock-n-roll, maybe belt a couple of Chuck Berry tunes, maybe have some little cutie step on his blue suede shoes..." Several people cast their eyes to the floor. Yep. There they were, those ghostly shoes of lore. "So I brought him here." He stopped and looked at her closely. "You don't mind, do you?" he said worriedly. She sighed and shook her head. "No, Beez. I don't mind. Mr. Presley, why don't you try to get a combo together over there?" She pointed to the group of bedazzled musicians in the corner. "Thanks, Miss Betsy Bo. I 'preciate it." He tossed her a jaunty salute and strode off toward the musicians, where he sat down on a stool and started to pick a blues standard on his acoustic. Betsy Bo gave Buster one last caress before she took him in her hands and put him on the floor. He meowed questioningly once, explored an interesting spot on Beezie's calf, then set off to do whatever it is that cats do. Beezlebub Bob plunked down in a chair, thorouthly pleased with himself. Bets gave him One of Those Looks, then turned to watch what was transpiring in the corner. *_The Abandoned Sock_, by Edward Gorey ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~ What for you is a Norman Rockwell sort of Christmas ~~ ~~ becomes for your cat sort of a Stephen King Christmas ~~ ~~ when a toddler, in a great show of affection, puts ~~ ~~ his/her hands around your cat and says, "Kit-eeeee." ~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~ Lori Stahlman ~~~ secbh1@sdbio2.ucsd.edu ~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!usc!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!sunybcs!ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu!v056qkt3 From: v056qkt3@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu (Wildy Haskell) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Out of a corner... Keywords: Poetry Message-ID: <20885@eerie.acsu.Buffalo.EDU> Date: 5 Apr 90 15:46:18 GMT Sender: nobody@acsu.Buffalo.EDU Reply-To: v056qkt3@ubvmsb.cc.buffalo.edu Organization: University at Buffalo Lines: 60 I have wondered why I wandered in here a few days ago. I have guessed at much, and known nothing to be true. As usual, I took my quest to paper, and I think I may have found an answer. I am not sure yet as to it's meaning, but this what I have. would that words weren't wishful that love could rise again right could form from wrong improbity from virtue to see the peak of love eye to eye... rus in urbe sanctum sanctorum a wish i nearly cast st anthony, take me not i will not play diogenese for thee or mine sonality i can not walk away i love you still My heart tells me that this is why I am here. I think that in my short time here I have already learned that love is not a lost cause, and that I still care about people. An ability which I had feared I had lost. My dreams have been more restful lately. And there have been moments of happiness. I am not saying that it is strictly this place, because there is much within me and my own life that effects it as well. But you have helped. Let me do the same for you all. On loneliness. I have spent much time by myself. I was not lonely, but I was alone. There is much in the difference. If I am alone, but I am happy, I am not lonely, for I have myself. By the same token, I have often been lonely in a crowd. It is how you choose to view your surroundings that changes it. Love is the cure for loneliness. We must first learn to love ourselves. Once we have mastered this, then we may love all. This is not to say that you must serve yourself above all others. It has nothing to do with service. It is to say that you must be able to respect yourself as a loveable being, before you can see anyone else in that role. wildy v056qkt3@ubvms.cc.buffalo.edu v056qkt3@ubvms.bitnet haskell@autarch.acsu.buffalo.edu haskell@lictor.acsu.buffalo.edu (716) 636-5377 at school (518) 584-0314 at home for those of you curious, it's pronounced... /will-dee/ Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!uwm.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!iuvax!noose.ecn.purdue.edu!mentor.cc.purdue.edu!f3w From: f3w@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Mark Gellis) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Ch-ch-ch-changes... Keywords: Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes... Message-ID: <9303@mentor.cc.purdue.edu> Date: 5 Apr 90 22:32:02 GMT References: <5837@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Reply-To: f3w@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Mark Gellis) Organization: Purdue University Lines: 9 The Man Who Talked with Books looks up from his Harp lager and remarks, "Brandi is now a little blue devil, huh? Reminds me a costume a friend of mine once made for an sf con. She dyed her skin blue, put on a nun's habit, but wore a garter belt underneath with a bottle of rum and cigarettes and stuff stuck in her nylon stockings...you guessed it, she was The Little Blue Nun with a Bad Habit." At this moment, a small drum set appears next to him, quickly plays a DA-da-CHhh! by itself on snare and cymbal, and then vanishes. "I wonder," he adds, "what this will do to her behavior" and goes back to his beer. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!sol.ctr.columbia.edu!emory!hubcap!shelby!lindy!news From: HF.ZMF@forsythe.stanford.edu (Miriam Ferziger) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: We have a winner! Message-ID: <8812@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Date: 5 Apr 90 21:52:49 GMT Sender: news@lindy.Stanford.EDU (News Service) Distribution: usa Lines: 31 In article <14616@reed.UUCP>, thalen@reed.UUCP (Not bad but damn unlucky...) writes: > Thalen then looks around mischevously, and starts to say something. Then >he stops. "No," he says, "don't even let me START on music puns. That would >affettuoso much." He is quickly strangled by several willing volunteers. > >of a variable number of lutes. However, one this fine will surely do." Thalen >gets a far-off look in his eyes. "Oh, yes, the lyrics are in Italian. I am >not even going to attempt a translation, but it is a love song, to "Amarillis, >my fair one" (my love? my heart? something like that.) > "I don't know what Amarillis means in Italian, but in English (British?) lore, it is one of the more common names for a shepardess or other pastoral (female) type." Viola sang: When thoroughly tired of being admired By ladies of gentile degree, degree With flattery sated. Highflown and inflated (Oops forgot a few lines here) From charms intramural to prettiness rural The sudden transition is simply Elisian. So come Amarillis, come Chloe and Phyllis Your slaves for the moment are we. ("Welcome Gentry" _Ruddigore_ W.S. Gilbert) "Just thought I'd put my two cents in" ------------- "If music be the food of love, play on." Duke Orsineo _12th Night_ (Wm. Shakespeare) ------------- Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!unix.cis.pitt.edu!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!ux1.cso.uiuc.edu!iuvax!noose.ecn.purdue.edu!mentor.cc.purdue.edu!f3w From: f3w@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Mark Gellis) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Reality check Message-ID: <9304@mentor.cc.purdue.edu> Date: 5 Apr 90 22:51:34 GMT References: <9004051014.AA04670@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Reply-To: f3w@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Mark Gellis) Organization: Purdue University Lines: 33 reality of the place," decides to throw in his own monkey wrench... "The question of reality is moot. While I firmly believe in an external world beyond my own consciousness, and while I also believe that what I experience as reality has some connection to that external world--imagine what driving on the highway would be like if this was not true--what that world MEANS is based in human--personal and social--consciousness." He takes a quick sip of the Harp eternal and continues: "A large school of philosophy now suggests that meaning is linguistic or textual. In other words, we do not really know a thing until we have described in to ourselves in linguistic terms--i.e., we have "named" it and/or "told stories about it." "What Jilara--I hope I'm "pronouncing" that right, since I'm responding to her post without having it in front of me--says about people presenting themselves as cats or tin woodsmen or so on is not exactly true, but it is correct. Since meaning occurs only in the form of things named, and then ordered within dramatic or fictional structures (see Hayden White and Kenneth Burke, among others, for more detailed discussions of this topic), we can argue that all experience is in some way a kind of text, and all texts are different, but meaningful, experiences." "Thus, Callahans may not be "real," in a physical or visceral sense, but it in terms of human and social significance, it is potentially no different than "real" lived experience. Certainly, the "events" that take place in this "location," the meetings between people, the expressions of hidden shades of self, the conversations, the little gestures of kindness, and so on, have the potential to influence our lives as much as any experience in any other kind of being." "If anyone wants to talk to me about this one, I'll be here. At least as long as the Harp lasts." 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: Green Fuzzies Message-ID: <9004051727.AA03025@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 6 Apr 90 00:27:07 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 25 There is now a note posted on the Callahans bulletin board: THE WHITE COCKADE IS ON THE RIGHT, NEAR THE CURVE AS YOU APPROACH BOULDER CREEK, AND IF YOU REACH BOULDER CREEK, YOU'VE MISSED IT. CALL FOR MORE DIRECTIONS: THEY CAN PROBABLY GIVE BETTER DIRECTIONS THAN I CAN. JJilara smiles over at Lyra, petting a green fuzzy. "Funny thing, when I'm not wearing black, I usually wear green. Nice to have fuzzies that match. And I hope you have a drink on me, because I think you might appreciate my toast." She tosses Mike a couple singles (hmm, a singles bar, hey?) and whispers something to him. He produces a strange blue drink, instead of her usual scotch. She grins at the group. "Some of you will notice why this is appropriate." She walks to the chalk line and raises the glass. "To the end of Mr. Spock as a role model!" She drinks one sip of the lethal high-octane brew and sends the rest of it crashing into the fireplace. A small fireball erupts with a POOF as the glass shatters, then fades. Petting the fuzzy, she heads back to her table. Sasha jumps from Alaric's shoulder to her own, reaches down a polydactyl foot and hooks the fuzzy. "Meeeppp?" questions the fuzzy. If Sasha could cock a feline eyebrow, she would. "Hmmmrrowh?" she replies, eyeing it with a turquoise eye. "Mrrrph?" replies the fuzzy starting to purr. Sasha transfers it to her mouth, jumps down onto Jilara's lap, and starts washing the fuzzy. There is a sound of purring. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!jarthur!bweed From: bweed@jarthur.Claremont.EDU (Violation of the Gonzo Nurses) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Elvis. Message-ID: <5865@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Date: 6 Apr 90 00:42:17 GMT References: <9529@sdcc6.ucsd.edu> Distribution: alt Organization: Hotel Pandemonium (Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA) Lines: 18 "Gorey?" the fuzzy elfin being says, gently removing a Bamf who is clinging to her calf. "Ah, I like him. His writing's weird at best, but the artwork is most excellently bizarre. His limericks aren't bad either.... Each night Father fills me with dread, When he sits at the foot of my bed. I'd not mind that he speaks In gibbers and squeaks, But for seventeen years he's been dead." A flash of teeth and eyes punctate the recital. With a grin, she continues sipping from the mug held in tail, using her hands to pry Bamfs off of her shoulders... -- | Brandi Weed bweed@jarthur.claremont.edu !uunet!jarthur!bweed | Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!FSDCUPT.CSD.MOT.COM!jane From: jane@FSDCUPT.CSD.MOT.COM (Jane Beckman x4030) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Reality Check Message-ID: <9004051739.AA03201@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 6 Apr 90 00:39:25 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 19 Jilara- Bravo! I've seen so called "reality checks" in other news groups before, but this is the first time I've seen someone defend so well the concept that the groups *is* a reality. I too feel that Calahan's Place is a real place I can go to thru my computer terminal. One of the things I enjoy the most about the Place is that there are real, caring individuals out there willing to listen behind the personas. If you have a problem, there will someone in the Place who will at least try to help (if possible). What makes the Place no more real than any other social gathering we mundanes might go to is the distance between everyone. But I've never seen any problem caused by this inconvienence. Until someone can prove otherwise, the Place is most certainly real. _ __ _ __ How can we dance ' ) / // / / ) / when our earth is turning? / / / o // __/ / __. __ __/ How can we sleep (_(_/ <_ Date: 6 Apr 90 02:59:08 GMT Reply-To: andyd@pogo.WV.TEK.COM (Laura Davidson) Distribution: na Organization: Tektronix Guest Lines: 56 Kady catches Basta as she runs past (after ANOTHER green tiger kitten, who is currently outwitting her without any effort), and stares rather pointedly at her. Basta looks innocently back, then catches some of Kady's hair in her paws and begins to gnaw on it. Kady pries her loose, sets her on the ground, and shoos her off irritably. Lyra stands up. "Kady, pardon the interruption please, but wouldn't `Time's Defiance' be neat to do?" "Perhaps, if you've your dragon flute?" Kady looks interested. Lyra pulls out a flute, which has too many stops and looks too long, without looking any longer. She proceeds to play an intricate melody. The flute seems to be hitting all the ranges, including vague swirls of subsonics, though Lyra doesn't pull that sort of stuff with the upper range. Kady begins to sing: "Silver shadows, shining dusk, do you defy me? All traces of myself do you erase, the signs I left for friends to see. The wholeness, calling, that comprises me, the silver shadow mist of Time has not allowed to live; but rather, ends that endless line. Somewhere, in a dusky room, Time has yet traces of me left, but I have lost my way back there, I sit and mourn that cosy well-worn cleft." As Kady finishes, Lyra works her way through a trilling end, with mournful subsonics (vaguely heard by some patrons, but unheard by others though still effective) running through it. A tear tracks its way down her face. Lyra looks around. "A bit depressing, in some ways, but if you think about it, also filled with hope. If you will excuse the philosophical bent, much like life. Thank you, Kady." And they sit down. Lyra sits next to Kady at an empty table near about four filled ones. -- But Islands of the Blessed, bless you, son, I Never came upon a blessed one. -Robert Frost, An Answer. Shannalyralythia -- Kadyriatha---- (c'est moi) | using the account of Andy Davidson We dance round in a ring and suppose, But the Secret sits in the middle and knows. --Robert Frost, THE SECRET SITS Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!psuvax1!psuvm!emd101 Organization: Penn State University Date: Thursday, 5 Apr 1990 22:20:05 EDT From: Message-ID: <90095.222005EMD101@psuvm.psu.edu> Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: emerald fuzzy! Oktave, startled, looks up from her physics to see the offer of a small warm emerald fuzzy. She accepts it in delight. She peers closely at the creature. Its fur is fractalish, like a fern! She holds it up to the light. While principally emerald green, reflections along certain sides of the fuzz are brilliant teal blue. Oktave humls to the fuzzy and gently knuckles it in the sfinh, and it pwurs in reply. Another smile for Lyra. Oktave sets the fuzzy on her knee and turns back to her book.