Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!yale!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!netxcom!netxdev!ewiles From: ewiles@netxdev.DHL.COM (Edwin Wiles) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Yeah cats! (was Re: Some ramblings) Message-ID: <4614@netxcom.DHL.COM> Date: 7 Apr 90 17:42:47 GMT References: <9003292120.AA05832@rush.cc.cmu.edu> <1990Mar31.012432.13643@NCoast.ORG> <8803@pogo.WV.TEK.COM> <1990Apr3.233448.5424@NCoast.ORG> Sender: news@netxcom.DHL.COM Organization: NetExpress Communications, Inc., Vienna, Va. Lines: 16 In article <1990Apr3.233448.5424@NCoast.ORG> allbery@ncoast.ORG (Brandon S. Allbery) writes: >Tsk, tsk. One expects to be able to at least understand the *words* of the >toast, if not their meaning. (If a sound like a cross between a siren and a >slide whistle can be said to have "words", that is.) Not in Callahans. Here, anything is possible, except prying. And it doesn't matter if you're going to die from curiousity. No Prying! Would you deny an alien life form the possiblity of language even if you don't understand their language? In a smiling voice, "Hey! Fast Eddie! I think we got a customer for you!" -- "Who?... Me?... WHAT opinions?!?" | Edwin Wiles Schedule: (n.) An ever changing nightmare. | NetExpress, Inc. ...!{hadron,sundc,pyrdc,uunet}!netxcom!ewiles | 1953 Gallows Rd. Suite 300 ewiles@iad-nxe.global-mis.DHL.COM | Vienna, VA 22182 Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!orca.wv.tek.com!pogo!andyd From: andyd@pogo.WV.TEK.COM (Laura Davidson) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Living on the line... Message-ID: <8846@pogo.WV.TEK.COM> Date: 7 Apr 90 20:52:50 GMT References: Reply-To: andyd@pogo.WV.TEK.COM (Laura Davidson) Organization: Tektronix Guest Lines: 17 In article nap92@campus.swarthmore.edu writes: >"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 ... >She ducks, grins, and waits expectantly. Lyra says: "Please, shirtn't we try to keep the pun level down? Punning is used solely in some articles, together with serious stuff in some, but surely we're wearing down the patience of some people. I collar interesting, but some might not." "Oh buoy, what's the porpoise of this conversation? I guess I'm only fishing for trouble, but anyone still listening took the bait hook, line, and sinker. Puns are a whale of a lot of fun, aren't they?" She ducks. (yes, I intended that) Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!usc!snorkelwacker!spdcc!mirror!necntc!ima!haddock!karl From: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: depressed Message-ID: <16407@haddock.ima.isc.com> Date: 7 Apr 90 20:34:12 GMT Reply-To: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Distribution: alt Organization: Interactive Systems, Cambridge, MA 02138-5302 Lines: 65 The man entering the bar could almost pass for one of what the Hraani would call _adveidy shu-ch'sen_. His hair is long and unkempt, his eyes are slightly bloodshot. There are a few snowflakes in his beard; winter is not quite over in Boston after all. The shirt he's wearing probably should have gone into the laundry pile a day ago. His socks don't match. Callahan gives no outward sign of noticing that anything might be wrong; that's always up to the customer to mention first. He silently pours a glass of apple cider before Karl can ask for it. "And what if I'd decided to break from tradition and order something alcoholic today?" Karl says with a grim smile, as he drops a crumpled single on the bar and picks up the drink. "Then, after you'd taken the first sip and changed your mind, the cider would be right here waiting for you," says Mike. Karl's low tolerance for alcohol has never been discussed within these walls, but it is, after all, Callahan's area of expertise. Karl nods and turns to look at the room for the first time since entering. He almost drops his drink in surprise. "Looks like there's been a slight population explosion! And...oh no, cats!" His surprise turns to alarm, and he quickly removes his bottomless backpack and starts frantically searching through it. After a few seconds he finds the bottle he was looking for, and extracts one pill, which he swallows with the help of the cider. He stands away from all feline activity, sipping his drink, waiting to give the drugs time to take effect. Finally he walks to the center of the room. There are no empty tables today, but he's reluctant to take a seat with others, wondering whether the semi- persona he's wearing today comes with its own built-in offensive smell. He decides to remain standing for now. Several people are looking his way, their eyes asking the prying questions that their voices won't. "In our last episode," he says, sounding for all the world like the narrator of _Rocky and Bullwinkle_, "I mentioned a woman I'd met on the airplane, and how I had reason to believe that she might be at a certain upcoming event. Well, the short answer is that she wasn't there. Not entirely unexpected; the newsletter tends to arrive just a few days in advance, and even if she was interested, she may have already committed that timeslot." He pauses in thought for a moment. "Hmm, maybe I should send her a bonus copy of the next issue, and include a note asking her whether she's interested in going to the April event, and if so, whether she could give me a ride. Trouble is, I don't know if she has a car. "Anyway, several things have gone wrong in the last few weeks. I finally got rid of a certain telephone pest who wanted to be my financial advisor, but the conversation was a bit traumatic. I went to play volleyball with some friends and lost every game but one. I phoned my Mom on her birthday and she hung up on me." His nose gets half an inch longer, and with some embarrassment he corrects the statement. "Okay, strike that one. She only had a minute to talk because Dad was taking her out to dinner, and I did talk to her again a few days later. Anyway. I booked a no-change-no-refund flight for Easter and then discovered I'd gotten the schedule wrong; my brother and sister will have to wait an extra day for me before driving up the rest of the way. I'm having trouble at work, to the point where my boss has almost told me not to take the vacation time I've already booked. And I've had dishes waiting in the sink nearly long enough for the bacteria to evolve into sentience." He finishes his drink, but does not make a toast. Convinced that the antihistamines are working, he picks up a passing kitten and again looks around for a seat. --Karl Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!jarthur!bweed From: bweed@jarthur.Claremont.EDU (Attack of the Wild Virgins) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: depressed Message-ID: <5958@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Date: 8 Apr 90 01:58:17 GMT References: <16407@haddock.ima.isc.com> Distribution: alt Organization: Hotel Pandemonium (Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA) Lines: 13 The fuzzyelf walks over to Karl. "I'm not always sure how to offer solace in words, but will a hug do?" and embraces him. Unfortunately, she forgot about the kitten, and it makes an indignant squeak at being a bit squished. "O no! I'm sorry, furry purrthing," she adds, petting the little creature until its injured feelings seem healed. Purring, it settles down in Karl's lap. -- | Brandi Weed bweed@jarthur.claremont.edu !uunet!jarthur!bweed | Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!apple!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!psuvax1!xavier!news From: hrr91@campus.swarthmore.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Living on the line... Message-ID: Date: 8 Apr 90 04:59:58 GMT Sender: news@xavier.swarthmore.edu (USENET News System) Organization: Swarthmore College Lines: 22 In article , nap92@campus.swarthmore.edu writes... > >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 Eretria rises slowly, as if uncertain of the motion of old limbs. Fluid motion, yet, overtakes the body to throw off a blue black cloak. A river of silk hits the floor rustles, swirls around sky blue and emerald green warm fuzzies in a darkening cloud. She is impossibly thin, rich in curves and painted lines, this one, clad in sky blue leathers that sling and move with her in high riding boots, breeches and a slashed jerkin. Her hair twines around her waist as it dances on it's own. /Nao, I would be honored if you would be my partner, but you may have to teach me the steps/ ____________________________________________________________________ Hannah Rosner // "To sleep, perchance to dream; // Aye, there's the rub." // --Shakespeare's _Hamlet_ --------------------------------------------------------------------- Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!njin!princeton!phoenix!jwbirdsa From: jwbirdsa@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (James Webster Birdsall) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: WARNING Message-ID: <15156@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> Date: 6 Apr 90 06:16:02 GMT Organization: Princeton University, NJ Lines: 114 The green tiger in the rafters draws his Presence back in from the kittens and other remotes, restoring this central body and bringing it back to full reality, concentrating all of himself in this one place. {I've got to stop reading,} he says abruptly, and then settles down for a long explanation. {You know how some people have bad reactions to romantic movies? Because they remind them of just how alone they are and how good everybody else is having it?} {I'm getting the same thing from books. The two I've read most recently are _Callahan's_Lady_ and a book called _Strings_, by Dave Duncan. (Incidentally, if you like just slightly offbeat stuff, you should check out Dave Duncan. He's not destined to be one of the greats, but he's certainly not fluff.) I suspect many of you have read or heard about _CL_ by now. While it doesn't necessarily qualify as romantic, it is chock full of things like warm fuzzies, and togetherness, and fun.} {_Strings_ isn't really what you'd call romantic either, but it has boy-meets-beautiful-princess-etc. And then last night (I think it was last night. Hm.) I bought Mike Oldfield's latest album. Fairly good, by the way. But all the songs have vocals and guess what half or more of the songs are about? Yeah.} {You ever get the feeling that the world is conspiring to ram a message down your throat? Every one of these incidents reminds me of my isolation, and the total effect is overpowering. The word desperation springs to mind.} {And that is flagged as an error, which adds to the general overload and chaos. After all, desperation is counterproductive. Desperation greatly reduces the chances of anything good happening.} {In part, this is because desperation brings on leaping mode, wherein an attempt is made to capitalize on any possibility, no matter how faint or how bad the match actually is. Which isn't helped by the fact that my judgement is affected, too. The bottom line is that it's not so much anything about the other party in the matter, it's just that she is female and available. And this just isn't the way it should be.} {I _know_ that. But I can't get rid of or even entirely contain the desperation. There's only one cure, and that cure is not available while I have the disease. An infinite loop.} {Temporary change of topic. Lyra, it's nice to see that you're coming out. But I have to laugh at the timing. While you are dropping defenses, I'm having to restart stuff that I spent years breaking down. I'm having to raise the walls once again because the replacement defenses have saturated entirely.} {I think this is mostly a result of thesis stress. I don't have the spare energy to deal with all of life. I hope to shut them back down after this is all over. But there's one that's back to stay, and that's the Perimeter Guard.} {For years and years, nobody got within a foot of me without special permission. At least once, I was shocked to rediscover that people were warm to the touch! I had an impressive array of automatic blocks (well, impressive for a klutz with no martial-arts training at all. Jilara, I know what you mean when you talk about slugging people who sneak up behind you. While I've never done that, I did nearly break a friend's hand when they touched me in just the wrong place. And I didn't know I'd even moved my arm until they started yelling at me.).} {It took me more years to shut Perimeter Guard down, and it never entirely went away. But now I have reinstated as much of it as I can find sitting around in my head, because it turns out to have served a purpose.} {The problem here is that I have a weird hypersensitivity to the touch of a female. The effect is about like handing a reformed alcoholic a glass of Everclear. My judgement doesn't just go to lunch, it decides to take the rest of the week off too. The ensuing damage can range from the merely bad to the absolutely disastrous, depending on various factors. And it doesn't take much. Something as simple as a hug -- one hug -- can trash the entire system.} {They say you can catch a cat in any trap -- once. I guess I make a pretty poor cat, because I've been nailed by this five -- or is it six? -- times. It has taken me at least a year to finally isolate the common factor. Probably because I didn't really want to know. It may destroy my mind, but it has an addictive appeal.} {How did this come about? Hard to say, but here's an interesting fact: I have a grand total of maybe two friends who might hug me if I really really needed it. And both of them are 100 miles or more away.} {And the damage is spreading. It has reached the point where even a virtual touch can catch my attention. And I can neither eliminate the problem nor contain it entirely.} {LOOK AT ME.} The tiger is standing on the rafter now, glaring down at those below. {This is not my true form. I am actually the Ghost in the Machine, or perhaps the Black Dragon. But I needed a form that was cuddly. That invited the touch. So I ended up as the Green Tiger. I didn't even realize what was going on when I made the decision. All I knew was that immaterial or scaly just didn't feel right, while furry did.} {It's scary. Things that I'm trying hard to suppress can outwit me without difficulty. And there's so much going on in the background in my head that I can never know exactly why I do anything.} {So I'm restarting Perimeter Guard in hopes of limiting the problem. It won't do everything, but it's a start.} {Anyway, until I eventually decide to be a hermit, all I can say is, STAY AWAY FROM ME. For your own good. Because I can't reliably protect you from me,} the tiger finishes, looking miserable. {I'm not even sure why I'm saying this. This is Callahan's, after all. I know that there's nothing like a serious problem to bring hordes of people gathering around. If I really really meant it, I would just disappear. But, as much as I know that would be the best course of action, I just can't bring myself to do it. Which means that even as I say I'm trying to protect you, I'm actually possessed by a daemon...} all the UNIX people groan {...which wants you to gather around. Bring you within reach, so to speak. So please listen. I CAN'T PROTECT YOU FROM ME.} The tiger curls up into a very tight curl on his rafter, head buried in his paws, and feels so confused and bad that he can barely maintain the image... -- James W. Birdsall jwbirdsa@phoenix.Princeton.EDU jwbirdsa@pucc.BITNET ...allegra!princeton!phoenix!jwbirdsa Compu$erve: 71261,1731 "For it is the doom of men that they forget." -- Merlin Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!sdd.hp.com!hplabs!hpfcso!daq From: daq@hpfcso.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Babylon Message-ID: <9060058@hpfcso.HP.COM> Date: 7 Apr 90 04:35:40 GMT Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA Lines: 36 Oh to return to Babylon where flesh was knowledge and the wine flowed like blood. The verdant gardens healed us of our worthless hope and intoxication and infatuation were the order of the day. To return to Cassandra and bask in her amorous affectations. To pace on the massive battlements and feel their proof of power and potency. To behold golden tressed Telima and know that her wink meant absolutely nothing. I yearn for the silver springs whose waters would provide hours of meaningless hallucination. I wish to match strength with Garvin who could make young girls commit suicide on command. I remember the museums where we held the icons of victory over enemies and our friends. I long to match wits in a game of skill with Devoran whose knowledge and wisdom surpassed the gods. This hated place, so far form Babylon, eats my soul. They worship honor here. They carry on in tedious homily about love and respect and values. If I had one warrior from Babylon, I would crush them. I would show them the meaning of contentment. It is the only thing that I have to offer. Path: mit-eddie!bloom-beacon!bu.edu!mirror!necntc!ima!haddock!karl From: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Something to say Summary: a different parody Keywords: silly Message-ID: <16408@haddock.ima.isc.com> Date: 8 Apr 90 00:31:04 GMT References: <78854@tut.cis.ohio-state.edu> Reply-To: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Organization: Interactive Systems, Cambridge, MA 02138-5302 Lines: 52 In article <78854@tut.cis.ohio-state.edu> Thenomain writes: >The young man clears his throat and begins reciting an old, old poem from >ages past. > 'Twas brillig and the integrals were gyre and gimble in the wabe. > All limits were the borogoves, and the calculations outgrabe. > "Beware the Calculus, my son. The jaws that bite, the limits that > catch. > Beware the Jub-Jub Bird and shun the Integrating Bundersnatch." Karl smiles in that direction. "I don't recognize that one--and I'm sorry to say that I don't especially like it; it's just a straight copy of Jabberwocky with a few calculus terms thrown in. Now if it used mathematical nonsense in place of the pseudo-English nonsense of J., I think that would be closer to the right spirit." Too late, it becomes apparent that his smile is that of someone accepting an implied challenge. "It can be dangerous to start in on mathematical or computereze poetry in my presence..." He goes into a sort of mnemonic trance for about five seconds before reciting from memory: 'Twas Euclid, and the theorem pi Did plane and solid in the text. All parallel were the radii, And the an-gulls convexed. "Beware the Wentworth-Smith, my son! The loci that vacillate! Beware the axiom, and shun The faithless postulate!" He took his Waterman in hand; Long time the proper proof he sought. Then rested he by the XYZ And sat awhile in thought. And as in inverse thought he sat, A brilliant proof, in lines of flame: All neat and trim, it came to him Tangenting as it came. "AB, CD," reflected he-- The Waterman went snicker-snack-- He Q.E.D.'d, and, proud indeed, He trapezoided back. "And hast thou proved the 29th? Come to my arms, my radius boy! O good for you! O one point two!" He rhombused in his joy. 'Twas Euclid, and the theorem pi Did plane and solid in the text. All parallel were the radii, And the an-gulls convexed. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!thalen From: thalen@reed.UUCP (Thalen, son of chaos) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: The end of fencing. Summary: Drat! Foiled again! Keywords: The welt was THIS BIG! (sorry, private joke.) Message-ID: <14650@reed.UUCP> Date: 8 Apr 90 00:19:31 GMT Reply-To: thalen@reed.UUCP (Thalen, son of chaos) Distribution: alt Organization: Reed College, Portland OR Lines: 82 (* All right. I've decided that it is about time we got this bout over with. And, since Jilara hasn't posted a point, I am going to finish it off, here. I *have* to be able to get back to conversations without breaking what little continuity there is here. :-) *) (* By the way, if you have no interest in fencing, don't read this article. All that is in it is a blow-by-blow of one of my favorite matches, and that could get deadly boring to disinterested parties, or even interested laymen. *) Thalen lowers his mask again, after lobbing the peanut at Thenomain. He and Jilara face off across the center of the strip, and Orion, whom Thalen has apparently borrowed to be a pseudo-director, says "Ready?" At the nods from both sides, he says "Fence!" and, not being stupid, backs away quickly. Thalen takes the initiative in this exchange, obviously because he knows that if Jilara ever forces him completely on the defensive, he will have a lot of trouble getting back to the offensive. He attacks somewhat regularly, building up a somewhat monotonous rhythm, as Jilara stays basically in one place and parries and ripostes. She suddenly tries a point attack to the head, which Thalen avoids by ducking and retreating, and then jumping in before Jilara can take up his lost ground. Far from getting drained, Thalen appears to be giving off even more energy now then when he started, but Jilara matches him, blow for blow. Suddenly, when it looks like this bout will go on forever, Jilara makes a straight attack to the flank, which Thalen parries, and Thalen suddenly shoots up in the air, and, jumping forward, slaps his feet on the mat, and THEN makes his belly cut (nasty attack). Jilara, thrown off by the jump-stamp, had moved her guard on the stamp, and didn't quite make it to the stop-thrust in time. Thalen removes his mask yet again, and, breathing hard now, says "I'm using my special moves a bit too quickly here." He grins. "When I've run out, bang! There goes Thalen!" This time, when Jilara and Thalen start fencing, Jilara begins with a flurry of blows. Thalen, who has obviously heard the old adage about the best parry being a retreat, gets out of the way as quickly and elegantly as he can, which is very and not very, respectively. However, he realizes that the strip is not infinite, and stands his ground for a little while. And, when Jilara makes an attack on his guard, he ignores it, figuring it for a parry. And, when Jilara hits him through his guard, without even coming near his weapon, he looks extremely embarrassed. He shifts his position, to cover the nonexistant hole that Jilara had managed to exploit, grumbling to himself, and the bout continues. The next point is somewhat of an anticlimax; somehow Jilara figures out that Thalen is about to attack a moment before he does, and simply sticks out her blade, which he handily impales himself on. The fencers shake hands, switch sides (an old custom), and continue. The next point is one of those long, drawn-out points that Thalen seems to love so much. A little more than a minute, and no score. Suddenly, Jilara tries a point attack, something which Thalen has apparently been waiting for for a while, because he snaps it directly upward, in one smooth motion, and then catches her with a slash to the head that misses the head and hits her left shoulder. Thalen looks a bit embarrassed at this, but apparently will take whatever he can get at this point. Thalen, on the next point, manages to make himself look stupid. Typically. He tries a parry that sort of works, but leaves him so open that Jilara takes a straight poke at him, without even a feint. Thalen nearly manages to dislocate his right arm trying to get back to parry it, and manages to. He steps back a bit, to get his bearings, and then, even as he is blocking two half-hearted swipes by Jilara, slowly overbalances to his right. It is somewhat like watching a redwood fall- it seems to be in slow motion, and the word topple describes it very well. Just before he hits the ground, you hear a strangled voice from under his mask say "Conceded!" Jilara, however, will have none of this, and says "No point! Nothing done." as she helps him to his feet. Thalen shoots her a grateful glance, and says "Dexterity? I don't lack in dexterity. It's agility that I don't have any of. And brains; those'd be nice too..." The next point is sheer beauty as far as mechanics goes. Neither fencer misses, neither makes any mistakes. Thalen's feints are *just* close enough, and you can bearly see Jilara's blade, it moves so fast. However, as all good things, it comes to an end, and Jilara makes a perfect beat on Thalen's blade, driving it out of the way. After that, the point is almost trivial. Thalen is a bit nervous now; you can tell. His movements are a little less fluid than they were, but also a little faster. He moves quickly, trying to gain the initiative by not being where Jilara thinks he is. He advances suddenly, and does a simple lunge, which somehow avoids Jilara's parry. Point. Jilara chuckles, and says "Hoist in my own pitard. I should know better than to let one of those through, especially after I got you with one!" The score is 4-4. The tension is magnificent. Thalen has gone back to vibrating, and Jilara looks as calm and cool as ever. ...To be continued... Thalen, Dancer in the Winter Wind Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!wuarchive!dogie.macc.wisc.edu!decwrl!shelby!lindy!news From: GE.LJB@forsythe.stanford.edu (Louis J Bookbinder) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: this n that Message-ID: <8848@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Date: 8 Apr 90 16:47:58 GMT Sender: news@lindy.Stanford.EDU (News Service) Lines: 43 CLANK CLANK HICK! Nick Chopper staggers in as tho drunk. People move away from him - he has his axe and appears dangerous. Nick sees this, straightens up and suddenly appears sober. "Sorry, just practicing. Since I was made metal I haven't had any alcohol and can hardly remember what drunkenness was like. I'm going to the WC gather at the WC and may get drunk there. No, just kidding, I got to drive and really don't want to try it tipsy. Bummer. "Doug, I like your story - it was not moralistic, but it was real. You write well. "The reality of this place, Jilara, is undeniable. The reality of the CONTENTS is also real, but in a more abstract sense - we created them, therefore they are real. To us. But certainly the most important thing we create - our words - are very, very real. And that really makes all the difference. These images will come and go and be lost in time, but the fun, caring, even the shared pain and joy, will make permanent impressions on some people, make many lives happier, enrich the world a little. What can be realer than that? I liked the poem by Lyra's friend. I have trouble saying anything in the face of such tragedy. I hope her friend continues to write - there is pain in her words but great artistry, too. Continue to put these pains into words, even if you are the only reader. You will bleed all over these words and eventually, believe it or not, come out of the pain to find that life and love and happiness never really went away, and that the only permanent mark left will be that you have grown. If you were here in the Place, I would give you a warm fuzzy, but until you come, I respect your need for privacy. Write back some day. Green Tiger, you may be aversive to human touch, but your persona means more than just cuddly. It means power and size and beauty. You are confused. So are we. But we are here. We will let you be yourself in any way you choose and to use this place as a way of touching, not only others by whom you now feel threatened, but yourself. Please remember that even the Tin Woodman has a heart. PS Lyra, dont mix pun subjects. bad manners. or maybe im just jealous. Nick Chopper - my opinion? dont ax! LB>- GE.LJB@Forsythe.stanford.edu