Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!ucsd!usc!samsung!uunet!shelby!csli!cphoenix From: cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU (Chris Phoenix) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Some appropriate lyrics (Was (Re: Life?)) Message-ID: <11177@csli.Stanford.EDU> Date: 29 Nov 89 04:14:25 GMT References: <4114@celit.fps.com> <11730@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> <9170@microsoft.UUCP> 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: 29 In article <9170@microsoft.UUCP> t-phils@microsoft.UUCP (the Renaissance Man) writes: >Where will we go to find our freedoms in future? I kind of like the idea of cyberspace. NOT cyberpunk--I think that particular picture of the future is way too depressing. Maybe that's the point of it. For those who don't know, cyberspace is basically a virtual reality, modeled on computers. The idea is that people can interact with data, or with other people, or with situations in general, with the computer producing the sensory data. In the full implementation, cyberspace has a lot of potential. Want to visit anywhere on earth? Talk to anyone? Use the most intuitive possible user interface? See any information you want, in any form you want? Ride a roller coaster? Or just trip out on the most psychadelic light show you've ever seen? Just plug yourself in... The future may look like this. Already kids are spending many hours a day watching cartoons. Imagine if their school, and most of their other recreation, was also spent plugged in... Or soap operas you can actually be an actor in? Or newsgroups where you can see and talk to the people, as well as watching any prior discussion? Or conferences involving every scientist in a field, or in all fields? I said I kind of liked the idea... but I'm not sure people are ready for it. We may just produce a generation of couch potatoes and computer junkies. But for those who really want to explore, cyberspace will hopefully provide an unlimited amount of exploration space... -- Chris Phoenix | A harp is a nude piano. cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU | "More input! More input!" First we got the Bomb, and that was good, cause we love peace and motherhood. Disclaimer: I want a kinder, gentler net with a thousand pints of lite. Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!ucsd!usc!samsung!uunet!shelby!csli!cphoenix From: cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU (Chris Phoenix) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Weariness... Keywords: crash, tinkle, geez-I'm-running-out-of-singles Message-ID: <11180@csli.Stanford.EDU> Date: 29 Nov 89 05:01:02 GMT References: <6071@ucdavis.ucdavis.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: 29 In article <6071@ucdavis.ucdavis.edu> ez000691@vega.ucdavis.edu (Shadow) writes: > He pauses, thoughtful, and absent-mindedly slurps an ice cube. "Have >you ever wanted to help, not one or two close friends, but half a hundred >near-strangers? 'Let me help' -- words prized above even 'I love you' in a >well-known episode of a certain nameless television show..." > ...... > He sits, and gazes anxiously around. "Well? Am I really off base >here? I can't stand public speaking -- one never knows just how big a fool >one has made of oneself until one has finished, at which point it is already >too late for one...oh, for crying out loud, this is ridiculous. English can >be a most infuriating language at times, you know?" No, you're not off base at all! I often want to help people, and they won't let me. I think I've mentioned already that you can't offer too much help too soon, or you (at least I) will freak people out. One story, if I may... A casual acquaintance had to leave her house because of earthquake damage. (Yes, Stanford "the Disneyland of the North" took some damage.) She was talking to a mutual friend about how upset she had been. As she was leaving, I said, "If you ever want a shoulder to cry on, I'm available." I got one of the most heartfelt hugs I've ever had. After she'd gone I said to the friend, "Of course, I know I won't hear from her." His response: "Of course not, she doesn't know you!" So what can I say? I hope that the people here will accept help, because a lot of us want to give it... -- Chris Phoenix | A harp is a nude piano. cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU | "More input! More input!" First we got the Bomb, and that was good, cause we love peace and motherhood. Disclaimer: I want a kinder, gentler net with a thousand pints of lite. Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!usc!samsung!caesar.cs.montana.edu!blake!unicorn!n8946177 From: n8946177@unicorn.WWU.EDU (Melissa Tabbifli) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: disatance (Re: No longer lurking in the corner) Message-ID: <345@unicorn.WWU.EDU> Date: 29 Nov 89 06:35:47 GMT References: <9127@microsoft.UUCP> <3215@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Reply-To: n8946177@unicorn.WWU.EDU (Melissa Tabbifli) Followup-To: alt.callhans Organization: Western Washington Univ, Bellingham, WA Lines: 5 thank you... more than you know. distance can be painful. so can ten hour time differences. -melissa tabbifli Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!usc!samsung!xanth!mcnc!spl From: spl@mcnc.org (Steve Lamont) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: A Toast Keywords: short Message-ID: <5812@alvin.mcnc.org> Date: 29 Nov 89 12:47:43 GMT Reply-To: spl@mcnc.org (Steve Lamont) Organization: Foo Bar Brewers Cooperative Lines: 12 A tall, laconic looking fellow walks in, plunks down his dollar, orders a glass of water, consumes it, turns and tosses the glass into the fireplace. "To brevity." spl (the p stands for probably wasn't me) -- Steve Lamont, sciViGuy EMail: spl@ncsc.org NCSC, Box 12732, Research Triangle Park, NC 27709 "There are two major products that come out of Berkeley: LSD and UNIX. We don't believe this to be a coincidence." || - Jeremy S. Anderson Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!samsung!cs.utexas.edu!asuvax!noao!amethyst!xibo@mts.rpi.edu From: xibo@mts.rpi.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: A Toast Keywords: darkness doom despair Message-ID: <1228@amethyst.math.arizona.edu> Date: 29 Nov 89 14:43:33 GMT Sender: ssc@amethyst.math.arizona.edu Lines: 14 A tall, dark, but not handsome stranger walks in from the cold. He closes the door and pauses to catch his breath. Then he heads over to the bar, nearly tripping over a small teddy bear in the process. He continues over to the bar, this time more carefully watching his step. He tries to speak, but only a cough comes out. He closes his eyes, pauses, clears his throat, and whispers to Mike, "Whiskey... better make it a double." Drops his money on the counter, and drinks it in with one swallow. "To freedom" He tosses the glass <*CRASH!!!*> with a bit more force than necessary. "Sometimes it's all you have left" And then he is gone, back into the cold. Path: mit-eddie!bu-cs!gilly From: gilly@bucsf.bu.edu (Gilly Rosenthol) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: soulmates Message-ID: <43561@bu-cs.BU.EDU> Date: 29 Nov 89 16:16:42 GMT Sender: daemon@bu-cs.BU.EDU Reply-To: gilly@bucsf.bu.edu (Gilly Rosenthol) Organization: Boston University Lines: 43 The door opens slowly, and Gilly glumly walks in. She nods a silent hello to her friends. They can see from her face that there is something wrong, but for once, even the hugs they offer help but little. At the bar, Mike takes her wrinkles dollar bill and silently hands her something a bit stronger than her usual hot chocolate. She sips it slowly on the way to the chalk line, shuddering a bit at the unfamiliar taste of alcohol. Gilly seems undecided as to whether or not to make a toast. There's nothing that anyone can really do - why burden these fine people with unsolvable problems? But then, shared pain is diminished, and this pain has been building for quite a while now. So, with a half-smile toward the Shadow in the corner for giving her the encouragement necessary, she finishes the bitter liquid in her glass and prepares to make her toast. Looking down at the glass, she says with a quiet intensity, "Do soulmates really exist? I wonder. Greywolf says he's found his, and that gives me some hope, but *where the hell is mine*? Alright, I'm only twenty, and I know that's young. But dammit, there are times when I feel so damned alone. I don't understand it. I'm a nice person, got a decent sense of humor, I'm fairly attractive - you would think I could find someone. But the last time I had a real boyfriend was two years ago, and that only lasted for a month. I miss that intimacy so much. I have friends I can talk to, but it's just not the same." She sighs, and a tear rolls down her cheek. "Bloody hell. I'm sorry - no, I *won't* apologize for my feelings. It just - sort of builds up on you sometimes, y'know? Oh, I'll be alright in a little while. I just made the mistake last night of watching a romantic movie alone. Not the smartest thing I've ever done. I had a good cry, and got a lot of it out of my system, but it seems there's still some left I had to let out. Thanks for listening, guys." She smiles wanly, and throws the glass into the fireplace with more force than one would have thought she possessed. "To soulmates - and finding them soon." She walks quietly over to a table, rests her head on her arms, and prepares herself for a quiet cry among friends. (I really am okay, I guess - or will be soon. I just needed to get it off my chest, and I've used up most of the local ears.) -- +--------------------+-------------------------------------------------------+ | Gilly Rosenthol |"Don't dream it, be it" -The Rocky Horror Picture Show | | gilly@bucsb.bu.edu |"On ne voit bien qu'avec le coeur. | | | L'essentiel est invisible aux yeux." -Le Petit Prince | +--------------------+-------------------------------------------------------+ Path: mit-eddie!bu-cs!cerebus From: cerebus@bucsf.bu.edu (Tim Miller) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: soulmates Message-ID: <43571@bu-cs.BU.EDU> Date: 29 Nov 89 17:32:28 GMT References: <43561@bu-cs.BU.EDU> Sender: daemon@bu-cs.BU.EDU Organization: Boston University Lines: 55 In-reply-to: gilly@bucsf.bu.edu's message of 29 Nov 89 16:16:42 GMT In the rush of the cold breeze as the door opens, a lone figure enters Callahan's. The wind whips the tails of his long overcoat into the room, and threatens to push the hat perched on his head off as well. He smiles at no-one in particular, relishing the feel of the warm room and the cold wind at his back until someone in the corner shouts for him to "Close the bloody door!" He grins, suitably chastened, and lets the wind close the heavy oaken door. As he approaches the bar, he notices Gilly at the line and listens to her tale. His smile fades and his eyes turn inward; lost in thought he lays his bill on the bartop and takes the proffered Coke. The stranger turns and leans backward against the bar, placing one foot on the tarnished brass rail underneath. He sips slowly and thoughtfully at his glass. Straightening with sudden decision, he takes a step in the direction of the line; hesitates, then with renewed resolve toes the white line and raises his glass, and brazenly announces, "To Gilly; you are not alone!" quaffs the remaining Coke and hurls the empty glass into the fireplace where it shatters with a satisfying crash. Since all eyes in the bar are now upon him, he feels the need to explain. "I find myself in a similar position; I have never been able to form relationships above the level of 'good friend' with anyone of the opposite sex. I suppose the whole problem stems from the fact that I dislike dating anyone I don't know well. I prefer to get to know someone I find attractive before I ask that person out; unfortunately, that puts me in the 'friend' position early on in the game. "When I finally decide to take the plunge, I've known this person for several months and she *inevitably* finds it impossible to consider me as a possible candidate for anything other than 'friend.' "I try not to take this personally; after all, the fault appears to be mine. Neither can I change; this is the way I think, and I would not feel comfortable with any other approach. "It's been years since I've had anything approaching a relationship; the last time was in high school-- and *she* asked *me* out. I suppose I've given up on the possibility of things changing. I am the perpetual friend and I suppose that's better than nothing." He retreats from the line, disturbed by what he's just said to a roomfull of strangers. After gazing at his shoes for a moment, he heads for the door. As he grasps the knob, he glances around again, looking at all the people arrayed in groups around the crowded room. Then he quietly opens the door, smiles at the bracing wind, and leaves. Timothy J. Miller cerebus@bucsf.bu.edu Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!apple!usc!cs.utexas.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!pt.cs.cmu.edu!nl.cs.cmu.edu!mjc From: mjc@nl.cs.cmu.edu (Monica Cellio) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: friends Message-ID: <7137@pt.cs.cmu.edu> Date: 29 Nov 89 18:45:50 GMT Organization: Carnegie Mellon University Lines: 30 The short, stocky (she prefers "stocky" to any of the other euphamisms for "overweight" that she knows) woman glances at the Shadow for encouragement, then steps to the line and drinks the last of her Irish creme. "To partings," she says quietly, and hurls the glass toward the fireplace with such force that it surprises even her. The glass brushes the bricks above the fireplace on the way in. "Oops," she says sheepishly, peering out from her thick glasses. "Misjudged the distance again." "You know," she continues, "you never know just how important your friends are until they're gone. Mind you, I have had friends before, though not many, and I still have some. Friends have left town before, and some have left more permanently, and I've always taken it in stride. So I was kind of surprised at the reaction I had this time. "A friend left for a new job in a distant city this morning. On a week's notice. He'd been here for several years, and was just part of the small group of people I consider my friends. We all knew he'd be leaving someday, maybe even soon, and this didn't really bother any of us. But when he gave me that goodbye hug, it suddenly seemed much more important." She stares into the fire. "Farewell, and please, please keep in touch. Friends are too rare to let distance get in the way. I'll miss you." She finds her way to a table and sits, staring into the flames for a while. Monica mjc@cs.cmu.edu Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!snorkelwacker!usc!samsung!caesar.cs.montana.edu!blake!unicorn!n8946177 From: n8946177@unicorn.WWU.EDU (Melissa Tabbifli) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: explanations (long!) and a toast. Message-ID: <348@unicorn.WWU.EDU> Date: 29 Nov 89 20:29:21 GMT Reply-To: n8946177@unicorn.UUCP (Melissa Tabbifli) Distribution: alt Organization: Western Washington Univ, Bellingham Lines: 70 **poof** the soft sound of air being displaced is barely audible above the general noise level in the room. gradually, people become quiet as they realize that there is a small grey-point tabby kitten with large blue butterfly wings hovering over the bar. with a small shimmer of light, she lengthens down into a female form, one which is definately human when the wings at last fade. 'a glass of your house wine, please' she asks in a soft voice. taking her glass she moves to the fire, claims a chair nearby, and curls up in it like a cat. Nodding and smiling at the people she knows, she is on the outside happy... but as you look at her you realize that the happiness is only on the outside. 'let me tell you a story,' she says, in her soft voice, 'a story about a young girl. it is not a happy story, really - at least, not yet. 'some years ago, there was a four year old girl by the name of Missy. she was happy in her world, and thought that everyone else was, too. her parents, however, were not happy, and got divorced. Missy was confused, not understanding why her mother and father were not together anymore, but she saw them both often, so it was almost all right. one day, her mother came and took her, and all of her things, to a different house, where her mother and her mother's boyfriend lived. Missy was upset - she no longer saw her father, or her grandparents, and her mother's boyfriend was not a good man. one night, when mother was out, the boyfriend decided he wanted to play with Missy. what he considered playing is also known as sexual abuse. eventually, Missy and her mother moved out on their own, and the boyfriend was never heard of again. 'well, the mother got married to a wonderful man.. and they had two sons of their own. the family moved a lot, until they finally settled down in wisconsin. Missy, by this time, was almost 16. over the next two years, she had a few things happen to her, quite a bit of which changed her. then, when she was eighteen years old, the boy she was going out with got her pregnant. he had told her to trust him.. that he would take care of her, and she believed him. now, when she told him that she was pregnant, he refused to talk to her. there was a further complication - due to chemical mixups, there was a very small chance of the child living, and a very large chance of Missy dying. with this in mind, she did the only thing she could do - she had an abortion. the procedure itself was frightening enough for her... the fact that she had to go through it almost totally alone terrified her. After it was all over, her boyfriend tried to tell her that he loved her.. that he was hurt by what she had done.. that he did not understand why she would not sleep with him any longer. when she continued to refuse to sleep with him, he tried to force her. soon after, she graduated from high school, and moved to washington, where her father lived, and started a new life of sorts. she met people.. and made friends with them. one of them teasingly gave her a name that stuck to her - and has become her own.' the young woman paused for a moment, then continued. 'how do i know this? because, as you may have guessed, Missy was me. i go by Melissa now.. it is more appropriate, as i have not been that girl for over a year now. Tabbifli is my given name, and it is as much me as any other.. and more so than most. no, it is not a happy story, but it is true. i request no sympathy - i have learned to deal with it. but why is the tabbifli the way she is? because she has **accepted** her past, and now looks to the future. things are not always wonderful - to whomever talked about academia, i fully agree... and distance is something i have learned to deal with. i have found a love, greater than any i had hoped for - and he is in finland, rather far in both time and distance. but i do hope, and i do dream... and i do listen.' '***HUGS*** to all. if nothing else, i am good for that.' now, at long last she steps up to the line, wineglass in hand - 'to life and love, to hope and dreams, and to distance in both time and space. but most of all, to the one i love' *crash* there is a small shimmer in the air around her, and the tabbifli is once more hovering in the air, once again in search of a lap. Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!ucsd!ucsdhub!hp-sdd!hp-pcd!hplabs!hplred!egly From: egly@hplred.HP.COM (Diana Egly) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Distressed (and a toast) Message-ID: <20940002@hplred.HP.COM> Date: 28 Nov 89 17:51:02 GMT Organization: Hewlett Packard Labs, Palo Alto CA Lines: 28 Mike, give me a stiff drink. I need one. Not caring what it is, I drink it down... Do I have to make a toast before I talk for a bit? I just got a phone call from my SO. He was distraught. While walking to work today (in San Francisco) he saw a crane fall. Five people are dead... At least five people... A school bus is somehow involved, nothing has been said about it yet on the news, but he saw it. Any case, he called to tell me that he's OK, just upset, so that I wouldn't worry when I heard the news. He's more upset than he was by the recent earthquake. It seems like the people around me are having some serious problems. At Thanksgiving, a woman had a stroke while making the gravy. It seems that she's going to have some resulting paralysis. The day before Thanksgiving my boss (who is a wonderful human being) learned that his cancer had spread to other systems. He's on oxygen now and can barely breath. A couple days before that we learned that one of my former co-workers has liver cancer. And then there's anniversary grief which lead to my first post/toast. I hurl my glass into the fireplace: "To luck -- both the bad and the good" Now that I'm calmer (what did you put in that drink, Mike?) I gotta figure out if there's any way that I can help...