Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!ucsd!ucbvax!FSDCUPT.CSD.MOT.COM!jane From: jane@FSDCUPT.CSD.MOT.COM (Jane Beckman x4030) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: A bout fencing Message-ID: <9004091119.AA23388@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 9 Apr 90 18:19:09 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 30 Jilara pulls off her mask and smiles at Thalen. "One word of advice, my friend. Point control. You lost point control at a couple times, and it's soooo easy to exploit it when it happens. Creates nice holes, just perfect for running a blade home..." Her eyes dance a little. "And if you're going to try specialty moves, be a little careful that the other person doesn't have a few, too. Now if I weren't fighting fair..." She suddenly does a swift crescent kick to the guard of his sabre. It flies free, but is intercepted by Alaric before it hits anyone or bounces off the wall. Thalen suddenly finds her foot resting on the thigh just above his knee. "However, mixed styles aren't considered kosher, so we must passover them for now." Someone in the back of the room groans and throws a handful of peanuts. She nods in that direction. "Thank you," she says with a slight flourish of her sword-hand. "It's far too dangerous to do with the uninitiated, but you ought to see my greatsword technique. I may not look it, but I've got great shoulders. I'm the only woman I've ever met who can do passably at live steel great sword. But, as I say, it's a little too dangerous to either inside, or with someone who isn't familiar with heavy weapons. It's been great bouting with you! But I think we should surrender the floor for a while. I think we've been blocking the way to the restroom..." The fencers shake hands and retire for the moment. ---Jilara the Exile (I hope.) "If I'm not home accepting what I cannot change, I'm out changing what I can't accept." ---Ashleigh Brilliant alternate mail path: jane%fsdcupt.csd@urbana.mcd.mot.com My email went to Urbana, but all I got was this stupid router! Path: mit-eddie!bbn!usc!jarthur!bweed From: bweed@jarthur.Claremont.EDU (Trance of the Bloody Freaks) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: A bout fencing Message-ID: <6013@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Date: 9 Apr 90 19:13:07 GMT References: <9004091119.AA23388@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Organization: Hotel Pandemonium (Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA) Lines: 16 "Ah, I wish I'd learned that sport," the fuzzyelf muses. "They've offered it here at the colleges, or I could go to the SCA group and learn other-style sword fighting, but it seems like I never have enough time." "Too bad, too-- I probably could have done a mean florentine-plus!" she grins, making little circles in the air with her tail." >BAMF!< Over to the chalk line. "To time-- perhaps I'll be able to enjoy wasting it soon enough!" CRASH! goes the glass-- those tail arcs are getting better every time... -- | Brandi Weed bweed@jarthur.claremont.edu !uunet!jarthur!bweed | Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!rutgers!njin!princeton!phoenix!jwbirdsa From: jwbirdsa@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (James Webster Birdsall) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Clarification Message-ID: <15221@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> Date: 9 Apr 90 05:16:33 GMT Organization: Princeton University, NJ Lines: 131 The tiger in the rafters is no longer green. He is polished flowing metal, with the flawless albedo of laser shielding. His eyes are glowing crystal lenses. He stands and stretches with a soft whine of servomotors. Then the image wavers and is replaced with a moire flux which is difficult to look upon... {I am the Ghost in the Machine. The battle tiger was a good analogy but I couldn't quite make it consistent...} {I've gotten three responses to my last posting so far, and I'm not sure anybody really understood what I was saying. So let's try it again...} {We've got two entirely different issues here. The first is general defenses.} {I'm having to restart a few in order to reduce energy drain below the critical level. This bloody thesis of mine is trying hard to drive me crazy and it's showing on the rest of my life. Put it this way: my computer doesn't care if I freak and spend fifteen minutes swearing at it for a mistake I made. My friends do. But I don't have the energy to guarantee stability. It takes energy to make allowances for human limitations. So I'm trying to lower the energy requirements for a while by temporarily dismounting parts of my life. This is almost certainly not a permanent situation.} {The second issue, which is a much bigger problem, is the bizarre reactions that touch can trigger. I really don't know what to do about this one.} {Well, the optimal solution would be some sort of desensitization. Pardon me whilst I laugh raucously.} It isn't a very pleasant sound. {_Not_ a feasible solution. Besides which, there are some spots you just don't put friends in. And the early stages would probably be pretty destructive. The reaction would go off and then all hell would break loose as per usual.} {So the obvious solution is to just restore the Perimeter Guard. And reinstall the automatic backaway from situations where something might happen. Of course, with a reflex like that, nothing ever will happen and the basic problem will remain unresolved forever. What is needed is realtime decision making. Unfortunately, that's what I was trying and it has been well demonstrated that I cannot make good decisions under such conditions. The negative reflex at least confines the damage to me.} {However, it's even more complicated than that. Even just talking, even in slowtime, via email, can cause targeting. And target selection tends to have a self-reinforcing loop in it, with the result that it will start leaking around my best efforts to suppress it somewhere between one and two months later. This is demonstrated fact as well. Indeed, there is one here among us who has been on the other end of this process. Gah.} {As an engineer, I would say that these symptoms indicate a system so close to overload that it is forced to attempt to dump load whenever there is any possibility of being able to do so.} {Of course, this is *me* I'm talking about. Yippee. Do you have any idea what it's like to _know_ that your life will eventually drive you insane, but at the same time be unable to change anything for the better?} {Boy, I'm in a good mood tonight. And I see I've lapsed into technospeak. Means I'm hitting pretty close to home, because I automatically shift to technospeak when I need to talk about things which might trash the the process doing the talking if I approached it directly. I hope that enough of you understand it.} {A quick note on processes: I can support multiple, quasi-independent copies of me at once. I can have a perfectly normal conversation with one part of me while another part is having a nervous breakdown. I'm not sure just what this means, and it doesn't always work -- depends on how extensive the damage is and suchlike -- but it is useful at times.} {This may be my true form, but, you know, I've become very fond of my green tiger body. It feels like a part of me. So I think I'll restore it. Just as long as everybody understands that it -- and the kittens too -- share something with the nature of bait in a trap. Everybody please remember that my warnings are still valid.} The green tiger reforms on the rafter, tail hanging off the edge and gently waving to and fro. {Lastly, although I'm not usually much for poetry, either reading or writing, this little bit sort of rose up into my consciousness over the last couple days. Drinks for anybody who can name all three references.} And the tiger declaims in a deep and mellow voice: I am surrounded by the sound of machines, The hum of fans and whine of motors. No human voice within hearing. Nothing here for organic life. The delicate ebb and flow of data on silicon. Music made by machines and stored for machines is being read by another machine and converted to a form that I can understand by a third. The delicate ebb and flow of data on silicon. Naught but miles of machines for company, gently whispering; The delicate ebb and flow of data on silicon. Scene. As I walk across the mighty bridge left by ancients of days long past, I stop by a broken paving-stone to watch an eagle fly below. Look upon my works, ye mighty, and despair. Indeed. For the works still stand, vast and sere, and they shall stand for ages more. The ancients built well. So why do I keep moving, to do that which has been done before by greater ones than I? For the honor of the Regiment. -- 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!mintaka!think!yale!cs.utexas.edu!samsung!usc!ucsd!ucbvax!HAWK.ULOWELL.EDU!wgarmil From: wgarmil@HAWK.ULOWELL.EDU (WildCard) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Book Info Message-ID: <9004091929.AA26797@hawk> Date: 9 Apr 90 19:29:11 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 7 When I first discoverred the Place, someone asked for personal info for a book they were writing about the Place. I forgot to save this message and have forgotten who asked for this information. Could someone please remind me? Randomness sometimes means forgetfulness ( *sigh* :-( ) WildCard, the Random One Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!swrinde!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!mcsun!ukc!stc!rmj From: rmj@tcom.stc.co.uk (Rhodri James) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Some ramblings Summary: Spring is here, suhpuhring is here,... Message-ID: <1631@jura.tcom.stc.co.uk> Date: 4 Apr 90 13:13:45 GMT References: <9003292120.AA05832@rush.cc.cmu.edu> Reply-To: rmj@htc2.UUCP (Rhodri James) Organization: STC Telecomms, Harlow Technical Centre, Harlow Lines: 19 > THE SPRING POEM > > Spring has sprung, > Da grass is ris. > I wonder where > Da birdies is? Thyst proclaims. Windsinger grins heavily and mumbles into his beer. Something like; <> in an awful imitation of Fast Eddie's accent. Overhead, Quandry starts carefully and accurately dropping peanuts... -- * Windsinger * "Nothing is forgotten..." * rmj@islay.tcom.stc.co.uk * Mike Whitaker * or * "...except sometimes the words" * ...!mcvax!ukc!stc!rmj * Phil Allcock Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!swrinde!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!mcsun!ukc!stc!rmj From: rmj@tcom.stc.co.uk (Rhodri James) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAArrrrrrrgh! Keywords: directions Message-ID: <1632@jura.tcom.stc.co.uk> Date: 5 Apr 90 13:30:07 GMT References: Reply-To: rmj@islay.tcom.stc.co.uk (Rhodri James) Organization: STC Telecomms, Harlow Technical Centre, Harlow Lines: 40 The bar is quiet for a while after the techmage has said his piece and gone. Finally Windsinger walks up to the line, winds up his beer glass and shouts; <> >SMASH< <> -- * Windsinger * "Nothing is forgotten..." * rmj@islay.tcom.stc.co.uk * Mike Whitaker * or * "...except sometimes the words" * ...!mcvax!ukc!stc!rmj * Phil Allcock Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!mcsun!ukc!stc!rmj From: rmj@tcom.stc.co.uk (Rhodri James) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Goodbye (for a while) Keywords: Easter Eastcon Message-ID: <1634@jura.tcom.stc.co.uk> Date: 6 Apr 90 18:53:14 GMT Organization: STC TSD-E, Access Systems Engineering, Harlow. ESSEX Lines: 21 Windsinger toes the chalk line, pint glass in hand. <> >SMASH< <> He walks to the door. <> Fade to a smudge of blue and the distant strains of Old Hundredth... Rhodri James. -- * Windsinger * "Nothing is forgotten..." * rmj@islay.tcom.stc.co.uk * Mike Whitaker * or * "...except sometimes the words" * ...!mcvax!ukc!stc!rmj * Phil Allcock Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!shelby!lindy!news From: HF.ZMF@forsythe.stanford.edu (Miriam Ferziger) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: poem -death Message-ID: <8876@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Date: 10 Apr 90 01:17:48 GMT Sender: news@lindy.Stanford.EDU (News Service) Distribution: usa Lines: 56 In article <8845@pogo.WV.TEK.COM>, andyd@pogo.WV.TEK.COM (Laura Davidson) writes: > >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. "I do not know if I am qualified to try to straighten out anyone's thinking on this sort of subject," said Viola. "But several years ago I found myself in a situation straight from the seventies show _Emergency_. Cycling home from campus, I tried to outrun a car at a stopsign. . . and failed. "I woke up in the emergency room with next to no idea what happened. I still do not remember more than one block before the accident, but basically this is what happened. "I slowed, then ran the stopsign. One car slowed and avoied me, but another did not. I broadsided the car and fell to the ground. My injuries were relativly minor: a cut on my head (about 5 stiches) and a fairly well mangled finger. I have always been vain about my hands, and was very upset by the fact that I might never grow a nail again. I realize now (and it didn't take me too long to figure this out) that it is much better to live with a scarred hand than what might have happened. "What might have happened. . . were the timing right (or wrong) I could have 1: been hit head on at at least 35 mph. or 2: entirely missed the oncoming car. "I think the point I am trying to make (and forgive me for taking so long to get here) is that worrying about "what might have been" is a waste of time. I have no idea what it might be like to survive such a horrible car crash, but I _do_ know that it is good to be alive, and letting your life be ruled by "what might have been" is a depressing way to live. I think that many of us at Callahan's are here partly because we spend too much time on "what might have been". Cherish the memory of your mother and sister, and help your father (which will help yourself) through your grief." > >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. "Lyra, I hope that what I have said helps your friend and makes sense to her (gender?). "And now, of course, a toast. Hmm. Maybe I should get a drink first." Viola sent an airmail express loop the loop over several heads, and a drink got teleported to her at the chalk line. "To 'What might have been' may it never happen" <> Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!bu-pub.bu.edu!ckd From: ckd@bu-pub.bu.edu (Christopher Davis) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Yet another...interesting...visitor Message-ID: Date: 10 Apr 90 03:50:19 GMT Sender: news@bu.edu.bu.edu Reply-To: ckd@bu-pub.bu.edu (Christopher Davis) Distribution: alt Organization: Boston University School of Management Lines: 82 Chris steps out from the corner where he'd been sitting. "I've been busy, work, classes, stuff like that... ah, being a senior. What fun, what fun. "Anyway, I had some stuff to say on my perceptions of the nature of the Place... where'd I put those notecards? (mumble) not this pocket... not that one... hm... musta left them in the truck." At his last few words, several patrons begin to move their chairs back towards the corners, making the erstwhile fencing strip into a much larger area, even as others begin to get looks of extreme concern on their faces. "I promise I'll get it out of the way as soon as I get my notes." Chris punches some buttons on his watch, and the white pickup-TARDIS starts to materialize in the middle of the open area. Suddenly, a voice comes from the coalescing vapors. It says, "WHO HAS SUMMONED DARK BAMF?" Brandi, Chris, and Austin suddenly get *extremely* concerned looks on their faces, and Chris starts frantically punching buttons, trying to reverse the transport. It doesn't work. Mike gives Chris a look of "What did you do *this* time?" Chris suddenly says, "AHA! I'll take care of this. No problem!" as Mike and most of the patrons look at him skeptically, and the extremely large Bamf continues to form. Suddenly, there's a green flash, and Chris appears to be wearing a green robe covered with stars--but only for a moment... The truck disappears, much more quickly than it arrived, carrying Dark Bamf with it, and Chris breathes a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness for that Jittlov button I picked up at Worldcon." "Now, for my mini-speech on how I see the Place: "It's like a person, really; sometimes it's in a good mood, sometimes it's depressed, or angry, or just tired. It's all of our moods added together, and I think we're all prone to go up and down. I see people saying that it's 'too depressing' or 'too happy & cheerful'--but that's the way it's been since Spider first found the place! "Sometimes we get folks in like Rachel, with the pain of years--or we get Ralph, and his ... er... dogged punning ability. "There's room for everyone here, and the First Law of Callahan's continues to hold, I think: Shared pain is lessened, shared joy is increased. "Mike? A seven-and-a-half, please?" "You'll get *that* on the house, whatever it is." "Well, it's something only someone as silly as I am would drink-- 7up and V-8 juice..." Mike makes gagging noises, but serves it up anyway. "To the Place, and my extended electronic family, always full of surprises for me but always familiar as well... "To those who, by the vagaries of life, are not here or cannot be here... "To everyone who reaches out to help someone in pain... "and to everyone who brings a smile to someone else's face. "I salute you!" The glass describes a patently impossible triple-loop-de-loop around Chris's head before arcing into the fireplace on a perfect parabola. -- Christopher Davis, BU SMG '90 <...!bu.edu!bu-pub!ckd> "Dammit, we're all going to die, let's die doing something *useful*!" --Hal Clement on comments that space exploration is dangerous Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!usc!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!sdd.hp.com!hplabs!hpfcso!daq From: daq@hpfcso.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: this n that Message-ID: <9060060@hpfcso.HP.COM> Date: 9 Apr 90 05:42:35 GMT References: <8848@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA Lines: 18 Doug gets up from his solitary table and crosses to Nick. >"Doug, I like your story - it was not moralistic, but it was real. You >write well. Nick, I thank you very sincerely for your compliment. However, I almost ran out of morals writing that story. I won't list what it means to me, but I do not post here just for the audience. I am trying to say things, subtle or not, about emotions and what they mean to me. If people get something from the posts, even if it is just pleasure, then I have succeeded. I do not know much about hearts, and I do not give fuzzies, but I have this new oil can that I could give you in return for the compliment if you would have it.... Doug