Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!bat.cis.ohio-state.edu!kent_a_jenkins From: kent_a_jenkins@bat.cis.ohio-state.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: breaking glass Summary: Braking things, and other suchwhats Keywords: Me, You, Us, Them, Yes, No Message-ID: <78992@tut.cis.ohio-state.edu> Date: 6 Apr 90 21:35:08 GMT Sender: usenet_news@tut.cis.ohio-state.edu Reply-To: Thenomain Organization: Ohio State University Silliness Squad Lines: 32 Thenomain nods towards Ender. "Thanks a lot. It just occurred to me the other day (alright, I admitted it was yesterday) that I WAS missing the thing that I was before." He stands up, tucking his winning hand into a jacket pocket, and walks over to the little chalk line. "This," he says, looking out of the monitor, "I'm going to get right, finally." He turns back, thinks, hums something, and nods (could that be Oingo Boingo?). "To the innovation of imagination and nessecity! And to Caroll Louis, who showed me how to do it." *crash* (It was a thin glass, okay?) Walking back to the table, pulling his cards out of a pocket, Thenomain gingerly sits down, again. "Say, Wildy, that's pretty good, but I don't quite get it. Well, I /get/ it, but I don't get what you mean by asking for a responce. I mean," he looks deathfully psychoanalitical at this point, a brooding look covering his face, "are you saying that you are this child who hates love but needs it, or are you just giving an example of a child and asking us what we'd do, or are you just asking people if they like the poem?" Thenomain shakes his head, as if to clear some cobwebs in his erratic thinking, looking a little ashamed of himself. "Nononono... never mind. I'm in that 'Why' phase, again. One of my favorite questions, really. "How many cards do you want?" -=- -- Thenomain -- Kent Jenkins -- "I'm a figment of my own -- -- jenkins@osu-20.ircc.ohio-state.edu -- imagination, thank you." -Kaj -- -- kent-j@cis.ohio-state.edu -- Brainwave Turbulance, Inc. -- -- It's our lives, the U.S. Constitution! (Void where prohibited by Law) -- Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!usc!jarthur!bweed From: bweed@jarthur.Claremont.EDU (Violation of the Unholy Cobras) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Ch-ch-ch-changes... Message-ID: <5911@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Date: 6 Apr 90 21:51:34 GMT References: <4a6s9Na00WB84wIksg@andrew.cmu.edu> <5852@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Organization: Hotel Pandemonium (Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA) Lines: 31 In article austin@bucsf.bu.edu (Austin H. Ziegler, III) writes: >"Bamf"> She laughs. "Glad to know someone's got the joke. At least they >"Bamf"> didn't say `Come here you lusty-eyed hot mama!'..." > > "Ummmm....Brandi, these would be females, would they not? But >there are a few people from the cast missing..." "True, very true. That should have occurred to me that they would be female. But wait, don't the guys chase them whenever they--" >BAMF!< "Girls!" >BAMF!<"Where?" >BAMF!< "THERE!" >BAMF!< "Back off twerp, I saw 'em first!" >BAMF!< "Uh oh, battle-stations girls!" >BAMF!< >BAMF!<"Hey guys, check out the tall voluptuous one! "Oh, no...">BAMF!< >BAMF!< >BAMF!< >BAMF!< >BAMF!< >BAMF!< >BAMF!< >BAMF!< >BAMF!< ...5 minutes and a rather large patch of sulfurous clouds later, Brandi is seen hanging by her tail from one of the ceiling lamps. Her clothes look like someone made a hearty attempt to remove them. Nervously surveying the area, she hops down. "I must have a mouth with a death wish," she says as she collapses into a chair. -- | Brandi Weed bweed@jarthur.claremont.edu !uunet!jarthur!bweed | Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!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: Meet for WC (interesting acronym) Message-ID: <9004061531.AA21810@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 6 Apr 90 22:31:03 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 8 Howsabout if those who want to caravan up to the White Cockade meet in the parking lot of Motorola facing Mariani Ave, about 11:45 on Sunday? For those who don't remember, that's the corner of 280 and N. De Anza Blvd in Cupertino. (10700 N. De Anza) Mariani Ave. is the left turn at the signal. There's a Peppermill Restaurant and a big pink glass building on the corner, right across from the earthquake damaged 4-story Apple building. Let's say we meet in the lot by the third driveway (2nd Motorola driveway). See you there! Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!wuarchive!psuvax1!xavier!news From: jdh92@campus.swarthmore.edu (Hildebaby) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: What should I say... Message-ID: Date: 7 Apr 90 00:17:08 GMT Sender: news@xavier.swarthmore.edu (USENET News System) Organization: Ministry of Propaganda - SWIL Lines: 43 In article <9J0GX37@xavier.swarthmore.edu>, nap92@campus.swarthmore.edu (Nao) writes... >Anyway, I'd like a root beer. Again." >And she smiles, somewhat wryly, at Hildebaby and Ender. "Pizza and root beer, >my friends." Hildebaby looks up from the corner where he has been recouperating with a wan smile on his face. Very softly, but knowing Nao and Ender can here him he sing the words, "Those were the nights my friends..." He knows that they understand, and that they know that despite all that's happened those nights still mean a lot to him. "It's been a year. Can you believe it." Rising to his feet, Hildebaby follows Nao's lead and gets a root beer from Mike. Holding it up he stares and thinks. "As should be quite obvious to everyone who has seen all our posts recently, Nao, Ender, and I have known each other quite well for a while. There is a lot of history there that is not told. It raises a point that I've never been fully certain about. When we talk about our past, we are willing parting with some of our own privacy. But quite often we may be stripping the privacy of others. How much talking can we justify?" Shaking his head he looks around. "I don't expect an ironclad answer. I suppose it really depends a lot on the people involved. But still, I think it bears thinking about." Pulling out of his musings, he pats the fuzzys Nao and Nick have given him. "How much physical healing power do you suppose these fellows have? Anyway, many thanks to all those who have wished my a speedy recovery. I seem to be achieving that fairly well, getting back close to normal I do believe. Deepvoice, I must admit you amused me quite a bit. While I truly appreciate your offer of the glass of orange juice, I'm afraid I must decline. You seem it wouldn't do me much good as I'm allergic to oranges. Thank you anyway. "Well, there are miles to go before I sleep. Off I must go." Smiling he tosses the glass into the fireplace, "To memories of happy times." -Jeff =-=-=-=-=-=-="Unprepared! That's the student's marching song."-=-=-=-=-=-=- Jeff Hildebrand Swarthmore College, Swarthmore PA 19081 JDH92@campus.swarthmore.edu or JDH92@SWARTHMR.BITNET "I plan to live forever or die trying" - Vila, Blake's 7 "I want to see the universe, not rule it!" - The Doctor, Doctor Who Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!bionet!uwm.edu!cs.utexas.edu!sdd.hp.com!hplabs!hpfcso!daq From: daq@hpfcso.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Doug plays morality poker Message-ID: <9060057@hpfcso.HP.COM> Date: 6 Apr 90 05:48:47 GMT Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA Lines: 186 Doug enters the bar, beat up, bedraggled, and bloody from basketball games from hell. (I wish I knew a word for hell that starts with a b) (Oh well.) He crosses to the table where Wildy and Thenomain are playing morality poker. He speaks. "Hey dudes, will you deal me in?" They nod and Doug grabs a chair. "Mike, make mine a T&T, heavy on the T and light on the T. I don't know. Pick one. What the hell do I care? It will balance out in the long run." Mike brings him the drink, and he squeazes the lime into the glass and swirls the ice with his finger. "Ok Thenomain, deal 'em, and help me out 'cause Imelda needs a new pair 'o shoes." Thenomain groans but deals. Doug picks up the cards and examines them. He maintains a poker face that is only possible to a man who recently lost $130 in a blind guts game. Blind guts is a lot like flipping a coin for cash. "Well gentleman, this hand demands a bluff! So here is my story. It is a love story from a cynical heart. It isn't about me particularly, but it says something. You will have to decide what." Doug launches in to the story while nursing the drink: ------------------ The sun wrapped the city in a warm golden cloak, softening Jim's heart. Light glinting off windows and cars and the water in fountains stabbed at his eyes and pierced his soul bringing him a joy that almost removed the pain from his sixty three year old knees. Jim walked slowly because of his arthritis, and he felt frustration at this externally imposed snail's pace. When he was young, he would walk slowly on purpose. His very youth, filled with hope and promise, obviated the need for haste, and he would take great joy in being anywhere sunny. There was simply no need to hurry to be somewhere else. Now, the pain in his legs encumbered at a heart in haste. He wanted to be somewhere and did not want to waste this slow, agonizing time in between his starting point and his destination. His starting point was his humble apartment on thirty second street. His destination was the city park on fifty third and Hollingsworth. No, his destination was Pamela! Pamela. He had first seen her on a cold spring day, about five weeks ago to be precise. She was one of the bag ladies that wandered the streets of the city, and would wander through the park at about the same time every day. He had been sitting on the bench, watching children play when he saw her approach. A blue paisley scarf on her head, and a tattered, black woolen coat on her shoulders, she approached the bench. Her feet were enclosed in beat up hiking boots and wool socks that were not quite concealed by the torn and faded jeans that covered her legs. She had sat on the bench and placed her thin cotton bag on the ground. She never did tell him her name. He called her Pam because her bag had a can of PAM cooking spray showing at the top on that first day they met. He called her Pam, but he always thought of her as Pamela, because the latter name held the air of nobility he felt she deserved. Through those long, green and yellow summer days, Pam never told Jim anything. She didn't ever talk to him, but he would sit there and talk to her about the stock market and world affairs and the pennant race and she would listen, occasionally muttering the names of things she saw in the park. Squirrel. Swing. Tree. Things like that. Jim did not mind because sometimes he would say something funny and she would giggle and his heart would explode in his chest. That one sound would transcend the sensual, sinful joy of the sunshine on his face. Today, as he sat down and saw her approach in her tentative and wandering way, he knew that he could not be happier. She sat close today as she had done on every day after the first. He began to talk and she sat there and muttered and giggled and fiddled with the light blue t-shirt that she always wore now that the heat was high. Sometimes she would laugh when he said something that was not funny, but she would always laugh when what he said was funny, so he knew she heard and understood. And her laughter said so much more that the lonely and desperate words of the other bag ladies in the park. Jim never knew how old Pamela was. She never spoke to him so how could he? She could have been forty or fifty or sixty. Her face had a timeless quality that was impossible to pin down, and eventually he stopped worrying about it. She simply was. As summer wore on into autumn and the trees began to change color, the earth tones crying the need to return to the ground, and the bright reds and yellows shouting the phoenix promise to return, Jim began to yearn to touch Pamela. He wanted to feel the body that held this spirit that transfixed him. He wanted to confirm that she was not just some spirit or sprite wafting by on the summer breeze. But he never did touch her. He would just sit there tall and dignified thinking of the noble bearing of the royal pair, King James and his silent Queen Pamela, and the worthiness of their benevolent rule over the denizens of the park. Autumn slid into the ice and snow of winter. Still Jim and Pam would come to the park every day. He would talk of the cost of heating oil and the progress of the football season and she would sit silently except for the laughter. The kids playing on sleds and building snow men would, on occasion, bombard them with snow balls, but Jim did not mind. He was wrapped in icy contentment. Then came the freeze, fifty degrees below zero with the wind chill. The weather man on tv always looked so warm as he talked about it. Jim could not leave the apartment, and he was desperately lonely and yearned to return to the park and the winsome bag lady, Pamela. When the freeze broke, he made his glacial way to fifty second and Hollingsworth, but Pamela never came. His heart quivering with trepidation, he made his way to the shelter for street people. He found a social worker and described Pam. His soul was crushed to the ground when he was told that she froze to death because she was unable to make it to the shelter. He wandered the streets, paying no attention to the physical pain in his joints. The reign was over. Queen Pamela was dead. He felt guilty, so guilty. Why had he never offered to let her stay at his apartment? She would be alive. Her laughter would not be frozen to the cold, hard earth. He found himself far from home, biting at the back of his hand and crying openly. He was fully prepared to sit down and freeze to death himself. "The King is dead", he thought. But suddenly an image came. He saw himself sitting on the bench in the warm arms of a new spring. He looked at Pamela and said, "Pam, I know that you have no reason to, but I have plenty of room, and, well, you could come and stay with me." Pamela merely glanced at him briefly; the magic and mystery of the universe passed between them in that moment. Then she laughed softly and returned to muttering the names of things in the park. For some odd reason, this vision caressed Jim's heart and made it warm. It gave him the courage and forgiveness to turn and make his way to his apartment on thirty second street. --------------------------------------------------- "Gentlemen" Doug says considering his hand again, "I fold." Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!jarthur!bweed From: bweed@jarthur.Claremont.EDU (Wizard of the Bloody Pig Men) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Huzzah! Message-ID: <5935@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Date: 7 Apr 90 06:22:24 GMT Organization: Hotel Pandemonium (Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA) Lines: 30 Brandi bounces in from *somewhere* (since no one actually remembers her leaving) with a smile that extends from ear to pointed ear and a pair of what look like really dorky sunglasses on. She bounds to the bar and asks for an IBC root beer. Taking off the glasses, she remarks: "Oh frabjous day! Calooh! Callay! I've just been to the start of a 3-D film festival and got to see _House of Wax_ in all it's tridimensional glory!" (puntuated with a wave of the glasses). Taking a slurp from the bottle in her tail, she adds: "Normally, this wouldn't warrant such hoop and la, but the director of the film and the star, Mr. VINCENT PRICE, were there as well!" She then produces a slightly rumpled photograph from an inside pocket showing Mr. Price politely standing with her (in human form). "Taken in '86, signed in '90. It's a fan's dream come true! I shouldn't bother you with all this, but when something really joyous occurs, one wants to revel in it!" She finishes the bottle and >BAMF! Date: 7 Apr 90 14:51:13 GMT References: <8813@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy NY Lines: 53 The stuff I need for anyone who wishes to be added to the Callahan's Chronicle is: (with myself as a template) a)your real name Jeffrey Young b)the name you use in Callahans Taldin The Blue Unicorn c)the way you look in Callahans Shapeshifts between a slightly larger than pony-sized pale blue unicorn, dark blue mane, tail and 'socks' and silver horn and hooves. d)The way you got to Callahans Someone told me about a newsgroup where all people did was pun. I am an invertebrate punster (slug me, tho it's an old one) and I showed up, finding more than I had expected. e)the toast you liked the most (doesn't have to be yours) "To Caring, and the Empath who does..." (mine) "To Soulmates, may those of us who need them find them soon" (Gilly's) f)where you generally are seated A table near the fire, along with Jilara, Alaric, The Unbeliever (when he's here) Gilly, Chris Phoenix, the Shadow, Moonchilde, Tabbifli, a few other empaths, and of course, right next to my Lady Joelle. g)what your drink will be Spiked Apple Juice, which I should explain has absolutely no alcohol in it, only apple juice and a smidge of orange juice... h)Something to remind me of you (to jog my memory of who you are) This can be the last thing you posted on, something unusual about you, etc. Well, I USED to be the only Unicorn in Callahans.. but I tend to speak out a lot, and post really LONG postings... -Taldin The Blue Unicorn Gee, talking to myself...odd.. -- "You are blue, Unicorn.. the Blue of clear, cloudless days where everything seems like it's going right and nothing could go wrong.. and the Blue of despair and lonliness." -The Raven Taldin The Blue Unicorn in real life: jefyoung@pawl.rpi.edu Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!uwm.edu!psuvax1!xavier!news From: nap92@campus.swarthmore.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Living on the line... Message-ID: Date: 7 Apr 90 20:50:38 GMT Sender: news@xavier.swarthmore.edu (USENET News System) Organization: SWIL Lines: 39 "Now where did I leave myself? Wups! I'm still standing on the chalk line. Didn't mean to do that...." She turns around, startled by Nick Chopper, who threw a glass immediately after she did, then smiles. "Thanks for joining in. Here, have yet another fuzzy to add to your collection." She grins and looks over at Lu...er...Ender. "Nag, nag. Yeah, I'll get it done sometime.....Hm, I think you guys are right about how serious this place has gotten. Not that I mind.....I think it's a good place for talking. Weird, I seem to be going through ups and downs. Oh, well, can't hurt. Hm, lessee. There was something I was planning to do with this fuzzy....Oh, yes." And she walks over to Wildy. "I can't claim to understand what you're feeling. But I can understand a request for a warm fuzzy. Here." And she hands him a yellow fuzzy. "Yellow? That's a change. They've been blue up till now. There's no accounting." "Hm. I'm too blue. I think this mood calls for something else." She walks over to the door, and opens it onto a closet. She looks back, embarrassed by the mess, and shuts the door behind her. When she emerges, she wears a bright green skirt, and a black jacket. The jacket may be black, but it's trimmed with silver buttons, and the sleeves are slashed from shoulder to wrist, revealing the puffy white sleeves of the shirt underneath. She's wearing soft black dancing shoes. "Much better. That was too clothes for comfort. I hate to be skirting the issue, but I have a vested interest in something else: anyone for Fugal Fergus? It's a forty-eight bar reel for three couples. We can do it in one bar and forty eight at the very same time...." She ducks, grins, and waits expectantly. -Nao p.s. Blasny, blasny means "Ain't this nice?" / v \ | Nao Parkhurst | | | nap92@campus.swarthmore.edu | "Blasny, blasny." | | nap92@swarthmr.bitnet | -"The Foreigner" | \ ^ / Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!rpi!uwm.edu!uwvax!sabertooth.cs.wisc.edu!lewandow From: lewandow@sabertooth.cs.wisc.edu (Gary Lewandowski (TA of Doom)) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Ch-ch-ch-changes... Keywords: Turn and face the strange ch-ch-changes... Message-ID: <10101@spool.cs.wisc.edu> Date: 7 Apr 90 20:27:10 GMT References: <5837@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> <9303@mentor.cc.purdue.edu> Sender: news@spool.cs.wisc.edu Organization: University of Wisconsin, Madison -- Computer Sciences Department Lines: 24 In article <9303@mentor.cc.purdue.edu> f3w@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Mark Gellis) writes: >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. Oh, I imagine she'll be quite a swashbuckler now. I wonder if there'll be a bit of mystique about her though. Perhaps she'll carry herself with pryde. Someone else's turn. :-) -- gary lewandow@cs.wisc.edu "But I *want* my outs to count" -- Christine Lavin Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!apple!usc!samsung!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!orca.wv.tek.com!pogo!andyd From: andyd@pogo.WV.TEK.COM (Laura Davidson) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: poem -death Message-ID: <8845@pogo.WV.TEK.COM> Date: 7 Apr 90 20:19:58 GMT Reply-To: andyd@pogo.WV.TEK.COM (Laura Davidson) Organization: Tektronix Guest Lines: 56 Lyra gets up from the table where she was sitting, turns to get her drink, and falls over as her left ankle just sort of folds outward. She bumps into Orion's table, spilling his drink, but catching herself. She flicks her hand toward the bar, where a single appears in front of Mike. "Mike! Give Orion whatever he wants. Sorry, Orion, it does tht sometimes." She looks embarrased. Getting her drink, which somehow survived the fuss, she turns to face the room. "A dear friend of mine recently was in a car accident, in which her mother was driving. Her mother and older sister were killed outright; her younger brother is in very bad condition. Her father, not in the accident, isn't in grand shape himself, after this, of course. She survived without a scratch. Their VW Bug was hit head-on by a semi. She was thrown clear. Anyway, I told her about this place. She didn't want to come, really, but she asked me to share a poem she wrote." - With the understanding that it is not to be copied, save for personal use. Death Am I, then, too young for you? But, no, your cold swirls round me; My face is etched to your pain, Your cloak puts shadows in my eyes. The bitter pain of truth. I know, now, and I can see; That you strike at me, and not in vain. And now I know your pain no lie. The threat you hold is not mine, For that is only peace; But rather, is come to those around me, The better way to hurt. Must all I love, so fine, Be now cast down before me? Why must the mother go before the child, The group before the one? Truly, your blow lands deep; In such a way I cannot fight. Though I may hide the fact, 'Tis you controls my life. Lyra continues, "I thought perhaps you might be interested; she agreed, though she will not come herself, and I will forward any comments to her. I try, but it is hard for only one or two people to help, in a situation like this. -- To other Mages: the prosperity of full power and good luck. To non-mages, | Shannalyralythia | well, there's always the *next* incarnation! | Using the account |But Islands of the Blessed, bless you, son, |_of_Andy_Davidson__|I never came upon a Blessed one. -Robert Frost