Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!sdd.hp.com!elroy.jpl.nasa.gov!usc!cs.utexas.edu!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: WARNING Keywords: Touch Message-ID: <79103@tut.cis.ohio-state.edu> Date: 11 Apr 90 06:18:49 GMT References: <15156@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> <14660@reed.UUCP> <13045@csli.Stanford.EDU> Sender: usenet_news@tut.cis.ohio-state.edu Reply-To: Thenomain Organization: Ohio State University Computer and Information Science Lines: 22 In article <13045@csli.Stanford.EDU> cphoenix@csli.stanford.edu (Chris Phoenix) writes: [Information about the Psych experiment deleted] >Fascinating. (One raised eyebrow.) >I didn't realize that this had actually been tried as an experiment. >It's happening, every day, here at Stanford! >Maybe I have the wrong kind of friends. But I can go for several days >without being touched. In fact, I'm often forced to. I don't have a SO at >the moment, and most people around here, even friends, Don't Touch. Excuse the sarcasm, but a whole several days? [I'll explain if I get yelled at for that remark. :)] I'd think it interesting to note that not everyone is comfortable with the touch factor. I, for one, jump or feel very, very nervous when people get/ stand/whatnot too close to me. Call me silly, but I have no idea what they expect, or if they expect anything. -=- -- 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!snorkelwacker!apple!usc!cs.utexas.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!pt.cs.cmu.edu!andrew.cmu.edu!jf2z+ From: jf2z+@andrew.cmu.edu (John Charles Fiala) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Hello, did any one hear me? Message-ID: Date: 11 Apr 90 06:47:37 GMT References: <11551@encore.Encore.COM> Organization: Class of '92, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA Lines: 65 In-Reply-To: <11551@encore.Encore.COM> The door opens, and a man and his cat wanders in. I walk to the bar, and wave Mike over. "A Mounten Dew for me, and a milk for George," quoth I as I slide two bills across the table. Listening in, I reply... To Terence.. "Oh, for goodness sakes. "Of course we see you. I'm sorry, It's just that I tend to be BUSY what with being on 2 different Muds, KGB, APhiO, Showing films once a month, doing homework (2 more yrs to a masters!). I only just have enough time to look in on Callahans, and only take the time because of the people. My own entrance remarks were left unremarked, so I just took that. Hey, people do tend to ignore someone who just walks into a room." George speaks up from floor level, "You think you have it bad, this is one of the few places where people will TALK to a fellow. I mean, most places it's polite if they don't ask your pet to leave you in the car!" I smile, and pick up George and his milk, and put them on the table. "We're both sorry we didn't at least wave at you before. Have a Warm Fuzzy. George?" George looks at me. "Look, bub, you were supposed to bring them this time." I roll my eyes, concentrate, and a Fire-engine-Red Fuzzy drops from the ceiling. I present it to you with a flourish. To the Green Tigre... "I don't know what to say. I can only try to comfort you in the knowledge that another knows of your pain, and tries to share it...." To Robert.... "My. That's quite a drop. In a month, your grades are Unrecoverable? If you can't face your parents with the news that you`re flunking, then you had better not flunk. Even if you don't wish to be there after this semester, later on, life will be easier if you've not flunked. "But that's only the shell of your problem. Your real problem is a girl, who apparently has used you, and has now dropped you. You feel used. Quite possibly, in these states you must feel terrible. "Again, however, how long has she been gone? From the sound of your post, you've only been without her for a week or so. I suggest calling your parents and letting them know how you feel, that you need support. Parents are uncommenly good at providing backup, if they are working at being parents. I run into a lot of people here at school whose parents don't do so well, and if that's the case, call a very good friend. Collect. They won't mind the cost. " What you need is support, to help you get over this. You will. Have a Warm fuzzy. Pet a cat. (or a dog, or a snake. whatever). I look over my shoulder at the door. "Oh my, I have to go already.": I begin to slide, backwards, towards the door, and as I fall though, I shout "I'll be at Balticon! Look me up!!!""".... I fall though the door. George looks at the door. "heh, he forgot to make a toast." Running around the table to build up momentum, he shouts "To Parents!" He then sits, and cleans his fur. ------ George QuickPaw Professional Cat (Rates negotiable) You can reach me through my pet, John Fiala, at: jf2z@andrew.cmu.edu ------ Path: mit-eddie!bloom-beacon!shelby!portia!garygm From: garygm@portia.Stanford.EDU (Gary Brainin) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Return of a newcomer Message-ID: <11046@portia.Stanford.EDU> Date: 11 Apr 90 06:59:58 GMT Sender: Gary Brainin Distribution: alt Organization: Stanford Law School, Stanford University Lines: 84 Off in a corner a figure in a dark business suit begins to stir. A couple of the people who notice the movement remember this young man coming in a couple of weeks ago, but since then there has been no movement save breathing. The name "Gary" comes to a fiew minds. A head slowly rises, then almost immediately sinks back down on the table. After a few mimutes of painful-looking streching, the young man is sitting up. There is a glazed look in his eyes, as of someone vainly attempting to find out what happened during a long convalescence. After a time, a pained expression crosses his face, and remains for several minutes. Ultimately, reluctantly, a decision is made: he will just have to live with a couple of weeks of amnesia, and get on with his business. Which reminds him of "business suit", which causes him to notice the horribly wrinkled state _his_ business suit is in. Which invariably leads to noticing the two weeks worth of excess facial growth, and...anyway, he grabs his briefcase, and adjourns to the nearest Gent's. . . . . . . . . "Well, I feel much better now," he says, re-emerging from the loo. The beard has returned to its equilibrium state, hair has been combed, teeth brushed. Yet there is almost a different man here now than the one who walked into the bar. Instead of a suit, the young man wears more of a college-student uniform: sneakers, jeans, and a t-shirt with a most peculiar picture of a green quasi-humanoid, above which are the words "Boris' Kitchen". One would think (albiet wrongly) that the man was once a Boy Scout, given the preparedness level indicated by what must have been in his briefcase when he walked in. "I can only recall a bit of what I heard while I was asleep," he begins. "I tried to recall more, but the effort would have taken too much out of me, and more was being created - and permanently lost - every day. I apologize in advance for any faux pas (correct pluralization?) I may make due to my 'amnesia'. One long-delayed response only (since I hate delayed responses): I play guitar. Or at least, I did; it's been lying fallow more or less recently. But when I did (and when I do again), it'll be jazz. In theory, at least. You can judge for yourself what it is in practice. "While I was 'out', though, my alter-ego went on a little trip. Going Back Home is often wierd, but this one had the wierdest bit of all: going to my ex-SO's wedding. Now, before you jump to conclusions (would anyone do that here in Callahan's...naw) things were generally good. It's been quite a while for us, so it wasn't one of those residual bitterness things. She's obviously very happy, and her happiness still has the ability to make me happy, a little, so I am happy for her. And yet, there was just something _wierd_ about someone I personally had been "involved" with (none of your d**n business how much) getting married. "The only really bad thing about the trip is that some people, inevitably, got left out. [Sorry, Dave, I wanted to stop by, but...well, anyway] I wanted it to last forever, but since it couldn't, there came a point where I wanted it to end, so it wouldn't be more difficult to live without. I am not fast to make friends, so my new environment is necessarily much less supportive than the old. I guess it's a case of Post-graduation-is-that-all-there-is's. [with apologies to the author]" Suddenly, the young man becomes self-conscious with the realization that he's been talking a bit too much. He coughs nervously, walks over to the bar, and quietly orders a Green Stinky. Digging in his front pocket, he produces a small blue capsule, and swallows it. "One more thing before I toast. I hate to complain, but technically I am allergic to cats, and there seem to be an awful lot of 'em here. [The blue capsule was his latest antihistimine-of-choice.] I say 'technically' because, from constant exposure to Shakespeare and Sonnet (the cats of a good friend of mine) I seem to be building up a tolerance. With luck, I should be ok here. I just don't want any felines taking offense if I refuse to touch them. It's nothing personal." With that out of the way, the young man toes the chalk line, and raises the remainder of the Stinky. "To old friends," he says, drains the glass, and lobs it into the fireplace. He returns to his seat, drags it closer to the center of the room, and sits. This time, he doesn't fall asleep.-- |Gary Brainin |BITNET: garygm%portia.stanford.edu@stanford| |garygm@portia.stanford.edu |UUCP: ...decwrl!portia.stanford.edu!garygm | |"...the right to be let alone-the most comprehensive of rights and the right | |most valued by civilized men." Olmstead v. U.S. (Brandeis, J., dissenting)| Path: mit-eddie!bloom-beacon!shelby!csli!cphoenix From: cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU (Chris Phoenix) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Hello, did any one hear me? Message-ID: <13051@csli.Stanford.EDU> Date: 11 Apr 90 09:15:33 GMT References: <11551@encore.Encore.COM> <79081@tut.cis.ohio-state.edu> <9511@mentor.cc.purdue.edu> Sender: cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU (Chris Phoenix) Reply-To: cphoenix@csli.stanford.edu (Chris Phoenix) Organization: Center for the Study of Language and Information, Stanford U. Lines: 38 In article <9511@mentor.cc.purdue.edu> f3w@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Mark Gellis) writes: >Seriously, I've been feeling this way myself. I have been virtually >ignored since I came in. Now, to be fair, I have tried not to push myself >on people, and have tried to simply toss in a comment here and there and >wait, politely, for a response. ... > >I like to talk to people. That's the main reason why I stepped in. So, >and here perhaps is the sixty-four trillion dollar question, what do you >have to do to get people in Callahan's to talk back? What do you have to do for a response? Simple: say something that grabs someone's attention. There's a lot of people here who think of themselves as empaths, and who try to help others with their problems. So if someone has a problem, they automatically get a large response. Aside from that, I don't know what will attract attention. Some people do it with flashy magic. Some do it with a topic a lot of people are interested in, like music. Some do it by bringing in a lot of their friends at the same time (I think the IRC people are an example of this). If someone wanted to discuss science fiction, I'd probably be interested. Or computers, or nanotechnology, or ... I think that part of the reason you feel ignored is that you can't see all of the responses you get. In a conversation, when you made a comment that people agreed with, they wouldn't take several sentences to say "Yes, I agree with that", they'd just nod, or say "yeah" or something like that. But that doesn't work too well over the computer, so postings that everyone agrees with and that don't spawn lots of discussion never get responded to. But that doesn't mean we don't read them. I guess I haven't really answered your question, but hopefully I've helped to explain what's going on. Honestly, you're not being ignored. -- Chris Phoenix | "I've spent the last nine years structuring my cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU | life so that this couldn't happen." ...And I only kiss your shadow, I cannot see your hand, you're a stranger now unto me, lost in the dangling conversation, and the superficial sighs... Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!samsung!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!turner From: turner@reed.bitnet (Phantasmagoria) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Hello, did any one hear me? Message-ID: <14669@reed.UUCP> Date: 10 Apr 90 22:06:32 GMT References: <11551@encore.Encore.COM> Sender: news@reed.UUCP Reply-To: turner@reed.bitnet (Phantasmagoria) Organization: Reed College, Portland, OR Lines: 75 Caithelin at last decides that it is indeed time to stand up once again and if she can think of a song she will sing it. First to the bar for another pint of cider. She pulls her money from the pocket of her skirt. It's dark blue, almost black but not quite, she also has dark boots and a white blouse on. She then takes the pint and moves back towards her table and the piano. As she strolls towards her table, she passes the poker table. She hands a purple fuzzy to Doug, "Here you are, for both the story and our conversations. Enjoy. He will sort of reflect your mood going from changing colors from deep purple to grey green almost the color of the sea on cloudy days. Sort of like an alexandrite stone." Handing another one that is more iredescent than the last one, to Hildy "I don't know that I have the right as an "Official welcoming committee of Callahans" but I welcome whatever you have to offer. >"Am I missing some inside jokes or something? Other than a couple >generic hellos, no one seems to want to answer me. Have I turned >invisible? Or is there some requisite pain that one has to share to >be included? Maybe since I am not a college student (nor ever was >one) or going through a painful break up, there is no place for me >here? I feel I should apologize for being happy or not knowing one of >you on the outside. Is this true? Deal me in for one hand at poker >and I'll tell a story." "If there are inside jokes I think I've missed them to, and I hope that one doesn't have to share pain because for now in my life I am happy. I get frustrated sometimes over my inability to help those I love through their pain but I'm happy with myself. I think there is a place here for everyone whether or not they have pain, as long as they are willing to listen to others, and talk honestly with others as they are able. Don't apologize. I think if there is a rule here, besides not prying, it's not apologizing for the way you are. At least I hope so." "Mike, I'ld like to buy this lady a drink, whatever she likes." >Sorry, Mike. I'll find another watering hole. "Don't leave. It will be our loss if we(?) have developed such a clique that others aren't welcome. I thought that was the charter of the place that everyone is welcome." She moves on, trying frantically to think of a song. "Eddie will you help me with this. Morpheus, everyone else join in. As Joni Mitchell says when she introduces this song `The more voices the better, and the more out of tune voices the better.' This also fits somewhat with our discussion of childlike innocence and what might have been, and others. Yesterday a child came out to wonder Caught a dragonfly inside a jar Fearful when the sky was full of thunder And tearful at the falling of a star And the seasons they go round and round And the painted ponies go up and down We're captive on a carousel of time We can't return we can only look behind from where we came And go round and round and round in the circle game (she fumbles madly trying to remember the lyrics)hmmm,mmme Skated over ten clear frozen streams Words like when your older must have teased him And promises of someday make up his dreams Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town They tell him take your time it won't be long now Till you drag your feet just to slow the circle down, As the song fades away she looks rather embarrassed, "Sorry folks, I thought I remembered all of it. But apparently not anymore." "Well since I fumbled that badly, Nao want to teach me to dance, and see if I can manage that? Perhaps I need something without any alcohol. Mike, a blackberry soda, please." Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!samsung!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!thalen From: thalen@reed.UUCP Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Hello, did any one hear me? Summary: WHAT? Keywords: NO!! Message-ID: <14672@reed.UUCP> Date: 10 Apr 90 22:28:17 GMT References: <11551@encore.Encore.COM> Reply-To: thalen@reed.UUCP (Adam A. Lang) Organization: Reed College, Portland OR Lines: 47 In article <11551@encore.Encore.COM> terryk@pinocchio (Terence Kelleher) writes: >A voice picks up from the padded bar stool where the woman in the >muted paisley sweater is sitting. > >"Am I missing some inside jokes or something? Other than a couple >generic hellos, no one seems to want to answer me. Have I turned >invisible? Or is there some requisite pain that one has to share to >be included? Maybe since I am not a college student (nor ever was >one) or going through a painful break up, there is no place for me >here? I feel I should apologize for being happy or not knowing one of >you on the outside. Is this true? Deal me in for one hand at poker >and I'll tell a story." Thalen looks (in all seriousness) aghast. "My God! How did this happen? I can hardly believe..." {A rational explaination: Your article didn't make it here. I don't know how many places actually got it, but if it didn't get here it may have missed a lot of places...} >Sorry, Mike. I'll find another watering hole. Thalen stands, and walks over to Hildy. "I apologise, on behalf of Callahan's Place. I wouldn't want it to be said that anyone left here for lack of HOSPITALITY!" He bows to her. "If you would like to talk, you will find two ears on this head with your undivided attention." He winks. "You wouldn't happen to fence, would you? By the way, you might get more replies if you riposte (sorry, couldn't resist) the article. "By the way," says Thalen seriously. "I object to your statement that I depict myself other than I am to attract attention. First, I don't do it to attract attention, so much as to facilitate certain matters." Grin " I fence to attract attention." Serious " Second objection: I don't depict myself as other than I am. I have looked at the man in the bar, and he is myself. If I can do magic in the bar, well, the only reason I can't do magic here is because I haven't learned how yet. If I can turn into a cat in the bar, I can turn into a cat in real life, just not as literally. The bar is a place where segments of the personality (i.e. magic, cats, unicorns) take on an independant life. Thus, that in the bar is the real me, just as much or maybe more than the one looking at the DECstations 3100 right now. Thalen, an abashed bashed ashed shed (oh, well, it worked for a while) Mage (I just say 'em, I can't spell 'em) Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!odlin From: odlin@reed.UUCP (Iain Odlin) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: "Togail Curs Air Leowas" Keywords: Touch Message-ID: <14674@reed.UUCP> Date: 11 Apr 90 06:14:15 GMT Reply-To: odlin@reed.UUCP (Iain Odlin) Organization: The Kobayashi Maru Lines: 135 The sky in the east slowly brightens, adding deep-purple, then blue tinges to the heavens, like a blanket drawing over the stars at their bed-time. Soon, the Sun peeks her golden head over the horizon and casts her rays of light across the land spread out beneath her. One ray, particularly eager on this fine spring morning, joyously streaks toward the earth as her mother sets her free. She dances her way through the atmosphere, skipping around clouds and tickling birds as she passes, all the while laughing merrily the sounds of dawn. However, mid-flight, she finds herself tangled in the hair of a man standing on the roof of a build- ing. This, she notes to herself, is only a minor setback in her enjoyment of the new day, so she playfully tickles his scalp before streaking off to spread her joy across the rest of the universe, hindered only by a quick bounce off a sign saying "Callahan's Place." When the sunlight touches his head, Orion, slightly damp from the dew that had settled overnight, stills his bagpipes and listens as the last notes played echo eerily back to him from the hills in the distance. Satisfied, he packs his pipes into the pipecase and heads down the staircase into the warmth that is Callahan's. After setting his pipecase on the end of the bar and getting a bowl of Rice Crispies from Tom, Orion watches the activity in the Place around him. >"BAMF!" A flash of light and a whiff of sulphur, and (Brandi) is at the bar >ordering more cocoa. She drinks it rapidly, also devouring a sandwich she has >ordered. Orion grins and whispers to Tom, "Mayhap you should get her some tele-porter to go with that," for which Tom blips him on the nose with a peanut. Orion smiles, then turns back to his bowl and finishes eating the cereal within. >Lyra wanders around, searching out various people - Orion, Taldin, Doug, >Jilara, the Green Tiger, Eretria, Oktave, and Kareth - and presenting them >with emerald green warm fuzzies. Orion accepts the fuzzy and winks at Lyra. "My favourite colour! M'lady, my deepest thanks!" He then looks at his shoulders upon which are sitting, one each, an orange and a brown fuzzy. "Now, where am I going to put it?" he says while stroking the newest addition to his fuzzy family. The fuzzy, not truly caring where it is put, purrs soothingly. >(Abbadon) deposits two bucks on the bar. "Mike? Mountain Dew, please. >The other buck is for Orion. Give him what ever he wants." Abaddon does >appreciate some of the finer things, and he considers the sound of the >pipes to be one of them. "Thanks Abbadon! Lemonade, please, Mike!" Orion sips his drink when it comes, and listens as Jilara soundly defends the `reality' of Callahan's Place. It is a sentiment he echoes, but what she says gives him pause for thought, much as does Abbadon's speech. How- ever, before he can gather his thoughts enough to say anything, the numerous green kittens in Callahan's all disappear, their essences absorbed within the host body of the Green Tiger, who then tells the place his tale of woe. Suddenly, as though the last puzzle piece in his mind has fallen into place, Orion turns his gaze at the tightly curled green form in the rafters and speaks. "Tiger..." Orion tugs at his collar. {There...that's better. Tiger, I know how you feel. I grew up in the backwoods of Washington State. The nearest real neighbour was ten miles away. The nearest children my age, farther. Consequently, I spent my childhood growing up with myself (and, after several years, my brother) as my only playmate. I was very much alone, but I was not really lonely; perhaps because I didn't know any other way. As Abbadon said, "To spend time alone is time spent exploring the depths of one's soul." I got to know myself very well.} A sip of his drink later, Orion continues. {One aspect of this is how I picture myself in Callahan's: Exactly how I appear in the `real' world. I *am* 21. My hair *is* brown. My eyes *are* blue and augmented by glasses. I really weigh 140 pounds. And, I really do wear a kilt with a plain white shirt by choice. Granted, not all the time, but nevertheless the only real change I've made to myself is that here I can play the pipes better than I actually can. I do not `hide behind' anything. This *is me,* lumps and all. {Another aspect is I value being touched above most everything else. You see, I never really was touched as I was growing up. My parents, God bless them for everything else, never thought it really was important. I received my first real hug in Junior High, and its effect on me was dramatic. This was the first time another human had touched me for some other reason than familial obligations, and I found I was addicted. My first kiss...} Orion smiles, but the smile quickly fades. {However, anything you can derive pleasure from may be used as a source of torment. When my ex-girlfriend broke up with me, she initiated the pro- cedure in the cruelest way possible for me; She stopped touching me. It was a slow process, and its effects on me were much as Thalen described in his recounting of the psych experiment. Then, as virtually everyone here knows,} Orion ducks a peanut or two, {the bottom fell out of my life and I washed up on the shores of Callahan's Place. {You ask, "You ever get the feeling that the world is conspiring to ram a message down your throat?" Yes, I do. In fact, in my first posting, I said bloody near the exact same thing. I still feel that way. I've not been touched by anyone (outside of accidentally) for over two weeks, and just last week, as things were once again getting brighter for me, my father was forced into the hospital by a near-fatal case of pneumonia. He is now out and doing better, but it still very much feels like someone up there saying, "Don't get *too* comfortable, me Laddybuck."} Orion swallows down the last of his drink. {I don't honestly know that I can be of any help, however much I wish to be, but at the very least I want you to know there are others out here in the same boat, and that we have ears to listen with, and shoulders to cry on, and even hands to use to stroke fur should that be what you wish.} Orion picks the brown fuzzy off his shoulder and pets it until it is purring steadily, then tosses it up onto the rafter in front of the tiger. It stops mere inches away from his green fur and purrs at him, inviting his touch should that be what he needs. Then, Orion steps up to the chalk line, proclaims "To Touch, in all its myriad forms," and sends his glass to its demise in the fireplace. *CRASH* tinkle tinkle... Orion sets the emerald hued fuzzy on the shoulder once occupied by the brown one and addresses the house in general. "I apologize for being out-of-touch for so long. In the future I'll endeavour to do better. For now, I'll catch everyone up on my life with a posting I'll make tomorrow, and then I'll write some long overdue letters to people." He grins ruefully at Kathy and Lyra, then turns to the bar to see if he can procure anything else in the way of breakfast. Meanwhile, the little sunbeam who not so long ago graced Orion's hair with her warm presence is dancing around asteroids and twisting through the ion tails of comets in her delightful desire to become a twinkling point of star- light in the sky of a distant world. So bound, she flies free and unfettered out of our little solar system and begins the long journey through the inter- stellar vacuum, leaving warmth in the cold depths of space as she passes... -- ----------------------------------Iain Odlin----------------------------------- 4326 SE Woodstock Blvd, Suite 378, Portland OR, 97206 odlin@reed -or- {ogicse,tektronix}!reed!odlin Bagpipes are both more economical and more musical than taxis. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!apple!mips!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!samsung!uunet!sco!caroline From: caroline@sco.COM (Caprice) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: fuzzies and other subjects Message-ID: <4315@scorn.sco.COM> Date: 11 Apr 90 00:39:38 GMT Sender: news@sco.COM Reply-To: caroline@sco.COM (Caprice) Distribution: alt Organization: The Santa Cruz Operation, Inc. Lines: 43 Caprice fades into the scenery at the table where she's been vaguely visible. She heard WildCard's request for a fuzzy. "Here. Have one." She tosses a fuzzy onto the heap that has grown around WildCard. It's scarlet and black, matching a kooshball she has in her office back in the mundane part of her life. "They're really sweet" she says by way of comment on the fuzzy, "but lately I think they're almost too sweet for me. Taking comfort in warm fuzzies is, for me, a lot like taking comfort in eating too much chocolate when I'm feeling blue -- tastes great at the time, but afterwards, I don't always feel so good. I guess I need some real nourishment, not treats. But when you're hungry, a warm fuzzy will certainly keep the pangs away for a while." "There are a lot of conversations going on around here lately", she adds to some of the newcomers. "This isn't a complaint, I'm a relative newcomer myself. But consider that if you don't immediately get answered, it took me 2 or 3 times to actually join in a conversation of any sort. And besides, there's a rule against prying. Which means that if you don't bring it up, we won't ask." "Jilara, I tried to get to the White Cockade, but I guess I was earlier than your sign. Bummer.... Perhaps I'll try to set another time for a gathering." "Cider, Mike. Thanks. I think I want to second a toast that was heard in here not too long ago. To Rebellion. The fellow that made that toast said it was dying. But not in my heart it's not. Often, rebellion's flame is all that keeps me warm on cold nights." <*CRASH*> Caprice settles back down at her table, listening to Radio Free Colorado. -- I'll wrap four strands of hair 'round a notch of the nearest pine. A spider's web, come spring. -- Roberta Hill Whiteman Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!mirror!necntc!ima!haddock!karl From: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: depressed Message-ID: <16430@haddock.ima.isc.com> Date: 11 Apr 90 05:06:51 GMT References: <16407@haddock.ima.isc.com> <5958@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Reply-To: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Distribution: alt Organization: Interactive Systems, Cambridge, MA 02138-5302 Lines: 57 >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. "Sometimes that's better than words anyway. Thank you." Karl turns to address the room at large. "I noticed two things about my recent mumblings. First, even though I was feeling kind of down when I said it, I still threw in the usual handful of mildly humorous phrasings. I guess I tend to do that automatically. I recently got a letter from my sister; she told me how much she'd enjoyed my last letter with the `hilarious' story of my woeful existence last year, including when I got mugged." He looks himself over: >>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. "I don't know why I used that one. I guess it's from a memory of a time when I was extremely depressed, and homeless besides. But I'm nowhere near that stage now." With a grimace, his hand moves to the Holo-Matic Persona Projector on his belt, and as he flips it back to its default state, his appearance changes. His hair is neater, his eyes betray only a slight lack of recent sleep, his shirt is clean. Strangely enough, his socks continue to not match. "Secondly, I'd noted all the things I could think of that had gone wrong recently--but how bad were they? The telephone pest is gone; that's exactly the outcome I wanted. So I lost a few games of volleyball, but I did win the one, and managed to serve a streak of ten consecutive points. I already retracted the bit about my Mom. Nobody is complaining about the airplane confusion, and if it were the other way around, I'd be more than pleased to spend the extra day with the Minneapolis branch of my family before continuing on to my parents' house. The trouble at work is still there, but nobody's giving me any serious grief over it, and the worst they could possibly do is fire me--which would be their loss, not mine. Having realized that things weren't all that bad, I attacked the pile of dirty dishes. It took two days, but the sink's empty now." He removes the kitten from his lap, stands up, and starts looking around for Willy. "Thanks to Chris and Lyra for the comments off-line; sorry I haven't had much time for individual replies." He finds the teddy bear sleeping in a corner between a cat and a Warm Fuzzy; he carefully puts him into his backpack. He looks around for Willy's balloon, but can't find it. "I'm going to be away for a bit over a week, and we run a short expire time. But I'll leave a process to archive the conversation in my absence so I won't miss anything." He removes the Holo-Matic from his belt and places it on the mantle above the fireplace, and sets it to record. "I'll see y'all in a couple of weeks. Adiaux, amikoj." As he makes his exit, there is no trace of the earlier snowfall. It's a pleasantly warm spring evening in Boston. --Karl Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!lll-winken!uunet!cs.utexas.edu!samsung!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!psuvax1!xavier!news From: nap92@campus.swarthmore.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Circle Game (was Re: Hello, did any one hear me?) Message-ID: Date: 11 Apr 90 13:59:36 GMT Sender: news@xavier.swarthmore.edu (USENET News System) Organization: Swarthmore College Folk Dance Club Lines: 70 In article <14669@reed.UUCP>, turner@reed.bitnet (Phantasmagoria) writes... > >Handing another one that is more iredescent than the last one, to Hildy "I >don't know that I have the right as an "Official welcoming committee of >Callahans" but I welcome whatever you have to offer. Nao looks up. Hildebaby's speech helped, so she is looking more cheerful. She walks over and joins the welcoming committee. "Here's one of mine to add to the collection." >She moves on, trying frantically to think of a song. >"Eddie will you help me with this. Morpheus, everyone else join in. As >Joni Mitchell says when she introduces this song `The more voices the >better, and the more out of tune voices the better.' This also fits somewhat >with our discussion of childlike innocence and what might have been, and >others. > > Yesterday a child came out to wonder > Caught a dragonfly inside a jar > Fearful when the sky was full of thunder > And tearful at the falling of a star > And the seasons they go round and round > And the painted ponies go up and down > We're captive on a carousel of time > We can't return we can only look behind from where we came > And go round and round and round in the circle game > > (she fumbles madly trying to remember the lyrics)hmmm,mmme Now the child moved ten times round the seasons > Skated over ten clear frozen streams > Words like when your older must have teased him (not to be picky, but...) appease > And promises of someday make up his dreams > > > Sixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now > Cartwheels turn to car wheels through the town > They tell him take your time it won't be long now > Till you drag your feet just to slow the circle down, > Four years more (?) and now the boy is twenty Dreams have lost their grandeur coming true There'll be new dreams, maybe better ones in plenty As the years move on to bring the circle through. > >As the song fades away she looks rather embarrassed, "Sorry folks, I thought >I remembered all of it. But apparently not anymore." > >"Well since I fumbled that badly, Nao want to teach me to dance, and see if >I can manage that? Perhaps I need something without any alcohol. Mike, a >blackberry soda, please." Nao had joined in on "Circle game", but wasn't entirely sure of the words herself, even though she sang it Monday night. "I'd be glad to teach you. First though-- I called my father last night. He was wonderful about it, and I ended up crying in relief. I'm feeling MUCH calmer now. I think my academic situation is working out. Finally. Thanks for the glue, Jed...and everybody. My feet feel like dancing now." She moves off, and three pairs of feet dance in a corner..... -Nao / v \ | Nao Parkhurst | | | nap92@campus.swarthmore.edu | "Blasny, blasny." | | nap92@swarthmr.bitnet | -"The Foreigner" | \ ^ /