Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!jarthur!dtrindle From: dtrindle@jarthur.Claremont.EDU (D. J. Trindle) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Yes, but... Summary: Spider sez- Message-ID: <3489@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Date: 8 Dec 89 22:53:12 GMT Reply-To: dtrindle@jarthur.UUCP (D. J. Trindle) Distribution: usa Organization: Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA Lines: 26 Erm. If I may quote for a bit... I don't want you to get a picture of Callahan's Place as an agonized, Alcoholics Anonymous type of group-encounter session, with Callahan as some sort of salty psychoanalyst-father-figure in the foreground. Hell, many's the toast provokes roars of laughter, or a shouted chorus of agreement, or a unanimous blitz of glasses from all over the room when the night is particularly spirited. Callahan is tolerant of rannygazoo; he maintains that a bar should be "merry," so long as no bones are broken unintentionally. I mind the time he helped Spud Flynn set fire to a seat cushion to settle a bet on which way the draft was coming. This is a passage from the very first Callahan's story, "The Guy With The Eyes." Sad to say, I haven't smelled much seat cushion smoke around the Place recently. Remember both halves of the line, "Shared pain is lessened; shared joy increased." So to that end, [SMACK! goes the dollar bill on the bar] Mike, gimme a Coke. [Chugging noises] On Tuesday the fifth, my girlfriend and I celebrated our second year of going out. We may have had occasional rough patches, may still run across one every so often, but we've come through it all, so--to relationships! -D.J.T. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!apple!sun-barr!newstop!sun!lorelei!lemay From: lemay@lorelei.Sun.COM (Laura Lemay) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Banana. No, thank you. Message-ID: <129010@sun.Eng.Sun.COM> Date: 9 Dec 89 01:57:52 GMT Sender: news@sun.Eng.Sun.COM Reply-To: lemay@sun.UUCP (Laura Lemay) Organization: Sun Microsystems, Mountain View Lines: 71 An entrance was what it would best be called. Many people came into Callahans in mysterious ways; she was not one of them. She did not change shape, or glow like a beacon, or do anything out of the ordinary as she entered the bar. She just walked. But oh, what a walk. All eyes were on her as she closed the oaken door behind her. She was alone, but did not appear in the slightest bit uncomfortable. Looking around at the crowds looking at her, she walked to the bar. Her coat was black, and fell nearly to her ankles. With a motion she removed it and placed it on the chair beside her. Beneath the coat, her clothes were also black, from the boots on her feet to the scarf around her neck. In sharp contrast to the darkness of her clothes, however, was her hair. It was red, bright red, cropped off short in the back and falling in waves over her forehead. Absently she pushed a hand through it; it fell back into place as if she had never touched it. She reached into a pocket, and as everyone continued to watch, emptied four pennies, a set of keys, a tattered California Driver's License and a dollar bill onto the bar. Mike took the dollar bill. "What'll it be?" he asked, breaking the silence. "Shot of stoli?" she asked, pocketing the pennies, the keys and the license once again. Mike raised one eyebrow quizzically. It was not exactly the most feminine of drinks. "What?" the woman asked, looking up at him. Mike shurgged and reached for the bottle, as the woman turned to face the crowds. There was a silence as she seemed to be sizing up those in the crowd -- human and otherwise. She leaned back against the bar, propping up her elbows. "My name is Laura," she started. "It was the name I was born with, and the name I go by. I have no persona." She turned around at the sound of Mike putting the bottle of vodka back into the rack, took the shot glass, and looked carefully down at it. "A renaissance man told me I might like it here," she continued, rolling the glass lightly between her fingers. "But in all truth, I wasn't sure I would be welcome." "Rumor has it that Callahan's is the place to make instant friends, the place to come air your troubles and have an infinite amount of shoulders to lean on and ears to bend. This is a wonderful thing." The full glass was still in her hand; some were wondering if she was ever going to drink the contents. "The problem is....well, I don't have any problems at the moment. "But wait -- before you dismiss me as hopelessly arrogant, let me explain. It took me a long time to be comfortable with my life and comfortable with myself. I have done a lot of soul-searching, and I like what I have come up with. Yes, I am self-confident. I am cocky. And yes, I am a bit arrogant. But I am a good listener, and I am sympathetic. That is why I decided to come in here after all." Again, her hand went absently through her hair, making many aware that this was more a habit than anything else. She looked up from the shot glass again, and grinned. "Besides, I hear the pun contests in here are lethal. Can't resist that." A few faces broke into smiles, and the woman seemed to relax. "OK then," she said, her hand in her hair once again. "To acceptance." Finally, she downed the vodka, and flung the glass into the fireplace, where it landed with a crash. Still smiling, she joined the conversations in progress around her. -Laura Lemay lemay@eng.sun.com Redhead. Drummer. Geek. Path: mit-eddie!bu-cs!snorkelwacker!apple!usc!wuarchive!uunet!philmtl!philabs!ttidca!hollombe From: hollombe@ttidca.TTI.COM (The Polymath) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Colorful Characters Message-ID: <8333@ttidca.TTI.COM> Date: 8 Dec 89 19:45:57 GMT Reply-To: hollombe@ttidca.tti.com (The Polymath) Distribution: alt Organization: Citicorp/TTI, Santa Monica Lines: 47 Jilara listens to the Polymath's circus story. "Hmm, makes me think of a fellow who sometimes hangs out in a historic saloon where a couple of my shadows sometimes tend bar... Around there, he's called High Card Johnny, but I first met him when he was running a fencing salle. He must be family, because you always run across your "relatives" again and again. Picture the sort of person who would run a fencing studio, a magician, and old carney. Gray hair, pointed moustache and beard, high cheekbones, and an eternal flamboyant flair. That's John de Cesar. A stunt man, too. He used to do a great street brawl up at Renaissance Faire, in the old days, impressive to watch. This man can swashbuckle! And to do stunt fencing, you have to be good at the real thing, at least his sort. Couple years ago, we talked about a strange guy he'd done a bit with, who decided he was Errol Flynn and ended up with an epee embedded in him... I had breakfast with him two years ago, and he told me about when he and Anton la Vey used to be carneys together, before Anton got into his satanic schtick. Currently, he sits around in the historic saloon in San Juan Bautista, showing tourists why there is no such thing as a "game of chance." I could say "fleecing tourists," but he doesn't play for money. If he did, it would be scary. Even knowing what he's doing, I don't catch the ploy most of the time. I know the card-count games that are rigged. But when he works a deck, I sometimes find myself wondering just how... Everyone needs someone like John, just to remind them real people are sometimes much more interesting than fictional characters." She looks around the room. "As a matter of fact, I think he'd be right at home at Callahan's. Who knows, maybe someday he'll find the place!" --- ---Jilara the Exile (I hope.) "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most." A. Brilliant (alternate identity may be jane@fsdcupt.csd.mot.com---don't you love computers with identity crises?) [Posted for Jilara by:] -- The Polymath (aka: Jerry Hollombe, hollombe@ttidca.tti.com) Illegitimis non Citicorp(+)TTI Carborundum 3100 Ocean Park Blvd. (213) 450-9111, x2483 Santa Monica, CA 90405 {csun | philabs | psivax}!ttidca!hollombe Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!decwrl!ucbvax!ucdavis!pollux!ez000691 From: ez000691@pollux Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Riddle Night! Summary: And about time, too... Keywords: not long-winded Message-ID: <6218@ucdavis.ucdavis.edu> Date: 9 Dec 89 03:28:49 GMT Sender: uucp@ucdavis.ucdavis.edu Reply-To: ez000691@pollux (Shadow) Followup-To: alt.callahans Organization: University of California, Davis Lines: 48 This evening, when you enter the Place, Shadow is there before you, grinning quietly to himself in a corner. He has placed a chalkboard on the bar, which proclaims, "Riddle Night!" "You know the rules," he says, repressing a chortle. "Don't shout out the answers (i.e. post), just email them to me at . I'll try to go by date sent, rather than date received, so that I know who I need to buy drinks for. I know the winner is supposed to do the next riddle night, but since no one's come up with anything yet, I firgured the early bird award was worth *something*." He waves a fistful of singles back and forth gleefully. "Who's first?" I. Honest, skinny; scrys Duck; movie, either Glade, umm...; split, disembark Seat, ancient; Prefect Short nightgown; regret, slim Can; Peter, spy; Rhett quotes II. Myself, ill; like, ogle, relocate Dent; ocean; scribe Agent, honey; Cock, offspring Get gas; anthem start; tiller Bear, tra; thousand; lima Rock, presently; free; joker III. Tap; wise man, change a tire Chops, joint; vehicles, atop Firestarter, Smothers art; deck it Top off; daybreak, a color Doris, tape; permit, she, he Horse feed, tumbled, be obligated; carpenter, awfully IV. Accompany; season, workers Chicken, pumpernickle; tenpins, creek Too, sketched; urge, sheep, countenance Check; pismire, sole Publishes; curve, climb, we Make fast, buddy; belonging to; one, waters down Shadow -- From the only slightly twisted mind of... "In case we decide to ez000691@pollux.ucdavis.edu surrender to them, Number One." Path: mit-eddie!bu-cs!lll-winken!uwm.edu!psuvax1!rutgers!njin!princeton!phoenix!jmdoyle From: jmdoyle@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (Jennifer Doyle) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Interconnectedness Message-ID: <12058@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> Date: 8 Dec 89 19:45:09 GMT References: <11960@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> <12007@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> Reply-To: jmdoyle@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (Jennifer Mary Doyle) Distribution: usa Organization: or, conversely, Chaos: Lines: 60 Here's something to make those of you talking about this think. Heaven knows I have since I've been hearing this thread. Those people you've been talking about? The ones who you have to be "socially correct" for? The ones who aren't worth a damn? I'm one of them. In <12007@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> ejalbert@phoenix.Princeton.EDU writes: >"Anyway, these people were nice, or so I thought. But when we came back >from break this year, on the second day of classes they held a meeting >with my priest to which I unbeknownst was led. There they said I was >self-centered and that I was too 'clingy'. They provided numerous >examples, yet they had a misconception. They wanted me to get there >hints when I had no experience doing so (sorry, the above there should >be their). Also introduced was this conception of personal space, >something I really did not understand, since I have always wanted people >around. I was at that meeting, and took part in it, and said and felt many of the things Jason mentions. I felt that it was the right thing, that I didn't want to give up on Jason and simply ignore him. I wanted to be friends with him. What I didn't see is that maybe *I* needed to change, too. There were later one-on-one conversations (2 with me) and those were better. Now I see that the fault lies not in the stars, but in me. A mutual friend pointed out, when I mentioned I was still feeling uncomfortable "Jen, he *has* changed. We've all been kidding ourselves." And I realized that he was right. Does that mean that now I want to be close friends, that things are all better? No. I'm still changing, too, and I don't know how things will end up. What I do know, and what I can see, is that we're all changing, Jason, and I, and the rest of the group. I guess the reason I'm saying all this, is because I want to make you realize that I'm not evil, none of us are. I never set out to hurt anyone, just the opposite. But I have a hard time saying "You make me uncomfortable" or "Please don't touch me" or "I need to talk about our relationship with one another". It is easier to maintain the status quo than go out on a limb, and that's what I tend to do. I never really felt I was being dishonest, or bad, I felt I was doing the right thing. I'm beginning to think that honesty doesn't precede friendship, and friendship doesn't precede honesty, but that when you've found one, you've found the other. Maybe the rules Chris proposed aren't entirely bad. Think about what we do in real life, with the people who are true friends. The rules sit in our subconscious, and we generally don't follow them. But we know when to apply them in certain situations, we know when being close will make someone uncomfortable, and when it will be the best thing for them. I think we all follow these rules in some sense. If we didn't, we would do exactly as we wanted all the time, and we would have no friends. An extreme of touching someone when they don't want to be touched is assault, or worse. We need to find a happy medium. Mike, all this talking has made me thirsty. The usual, please. "To friendship! May all our friends be as close as we need them to be." Jen -- "Make mine a root beer, Mike. Thanks. To communication! " ------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Jennifer Doyle // Princeton '92 // jmdoyle@phoenix.princeton.edu Disclaimer: I am a student, I represent the future. Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!shelby!csli!cphoenix From: cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU (Chris Phoenix) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Banana. No, thank you. Message-ID: <11360@csli.Stanford.EDU> Date: 9 Dec 89 04:43:10 GMT References: <129010@sun.Eng.Sun.COM> 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 <129010@sun.Eng.Sun.COM> lemay@sun.UUCP (Laura Lemay) writes: >"A renaissance man told me I might like it here," she continued, >rolling the glass lightly between her fingers. "But in all truth, I >wasn't sure I would be welcome." > >"Rumor has it that Callahan's is the place to make instant friends, the >place to come air your troubles and have an infinite amount of >shoulders to lean on and ears to bend. This is a wonderful thing." >The full glass was still in her hand; some were wondering if she was >ever going to drink the contents. "The problem is....well, I don't >have any problems at the moment. Well, I think you've made at least one friend already. I like the way you write about yourself. And yes, you'll be welcome here, even if you don't have a problem. Matter of fact, it's nice to meet someone who doesn't have any problems. I don't think it's arrogant to say so. There's certainly nothing wrong with being self-confident. There isn't enough self-confidence in the world. And a good listener is always welcome. >"OK then," she said, her hand in her hair once again. "To acceptance." I think I speak for all of us... you're accepted here. Have a seat, join a conversation, make another friend. Welcome to Callahan's! -- Chris Phoenix | A harp is a nude piano. cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU | "More input! More input!" Life is the only game in which the object of the game is to learn the rules. Disclaimer: I want a kinder, gentler net with a thousand pints of lite. Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!apple!agate!usenet From: gsmith@garnet.berkeley.edu (Gene W. Smith) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Message-ID: <1989Dec9.054205.15710@agate.berkeley.edu> Date: 9 Dec 89 05:42:05 GMT References: <129010@sun.Eng.Sun.COM> <11360@csli.Stanford.EDU> Sender: usenet@agate.berkeley.edu (USENET Administrator;;;;ZU44) Reply-To: gsmith@garnet.berkeley.edu (Gene W. Smith) Organization: Garnet Gang Gems of Wisdom, Inc. Lines: 9 In-reply-to: cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU (Chris Phoenix) In article <11360@csli.Stanford.EDU>, cphoenix@csli (Chris Phoenix) writes: >I think I speak for all of us... you're accepted here. Have a seat, join >a conversation, make another friend. Welcome to Callahan's! Is it OK if I'm an obnoxious drunk? -- ucbvax!garnet!gsmith Gene Ward Smith/Brahmsgangster/Berkeley CA 94720 ucbvax!bosco!gsmith A box of mixed biscuits in a biscuit mixer Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!shelby!csli!cphoenix From: cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU (Chris Phoenix) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Interconnectedness Message-ID: <11364@csli.Stanford.EDU> Date: 9 Dec 89 06:14:26 GMT References: <11960@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> <12007@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> <12058@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> Sender: cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU (Chris Phoenix) Reply-To: cphoenix@csli.stanford.edu (Chris Phoenix) Distribution: usa Organization: Center for the Study of Language and Information, Stanford U. Lines: 93 In article <12058@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> jmdoyle@phoenix.Princeton.EDU (Jennifer Mary Doyle) writes: >Here's something to make those of you talking about this think. Heaven knows >I have since I've been hearing this thread. Those people you've been talking >about? The ones who you have to be "socially correct" for? The ones who >aren't worth a damn? > >I'm one of them. Oops. I'm sorry. I suppose I've been a little too harsh on you people. (But just a little, mind you :-) I never meant to say you weren't worth a damn. I don't think you're worthless at all. What I was saying is that it's really hard for me to deal with you (In this article, "you" is collective.) If I don't accept your rules, you reject me. If I do, then I become something I really don't want to be. Rule- less relationships and friendships are possible, and IMHO are much better than rulefull ones. But if I integrate your rules, then I can't have any ruleless ones. At this point, I don't think I can accept the rules. Trying to has messed me up, and cost me several months of grief. But if I don't accept them, I get rejection. I tried, but you just wouldn't deal with me, wouldn't relate to me, even ran away from me--sometimes literally! Yes, I'm bitter. I've been realizing that I can't be connected to the vast majority of my peers, unless I force myself into a mask that absolutely doesn't fit me. After spending months learning these rules, then just as you start to accept me I realize that I've turned myself into something I can't live with, so you'll reject me again when I go back to being myself. Can you blame me for rejecting you first? > ... What I didn't see is that maybe *I* needed to change, too. > ... What I do know, and what I can see, is that we're all changing, Jason, >and I, and the rest of the group. I guess the reason I'm saying all this, is >because I want to make you realize that I'm not evil, none of us are. I never >set out to hurt anyone, just the opposite. This makes me feel a lot better. All I wanted was for people to think about the masks and rules, and try to find a better way. Maybe there isn't one... I certainly don't think you're evil, or trying to hurt anyone. >But I have a hard time saying "You >make me uncomfortable" or "Please don't touch me" or "I need to talk about >our relationship with one another". It is easier to maintain the status quo >than go out on a limb, and that's what I tend to do. I never really felt I was >being dishonest, or bad, I felt I was doing the right thing. I'm beginning >to think that honesty doesn't precede friendship, and friendship doesn't >precede honesty, but that when you've found one, you've found the other. I know, it is hard to be open. I'm not saying you should suddenly tear off the mask and go defenseless--that would be too much to ask. I am saying that if someone doesn't already have a mask in place, he should not try to build one, but instead find places where he doesn't need to use it. Yes, this means that if you can't be comfortable with maskless people, you will be excluded. And it means that if you're in a group full of people who can't be comfortable, we may not have the resources it takes to find you. And it means that we will very likely be bitter toward you--without meaning to, you have kept us on the social fringes for years. >Maybe the rules Chris proposed aren't entirely bad. Think about what we do in >real life, with the people who are true friends. The rules sit in our >subconscious, and we generally don't follow them. But we know when to apply >them in certain situations, we know when being close will make someone >uncomfortable, and when it will be the best thing for them. I think we all >follow these rules in some sense. If we didn't, we would do exactly as we >wanted all the time, and we would have no friends. An extreme of touching >someone when they don't want to be touched is assault, or worse. We need to >find a happy medium. Now I'm afraid you didn't understand the rules, and what I mean by refusing to follow them. One of the rules is Don't touch people. If I don't follow it, that doesn't mean I touch whoever I want to. I agree, we need some rules to govern our behavior, but not the kind of rules I was listing there. There are other rules to follow. With true friends, I don't think we do apply these rules. Others... for example, "Care for your friends and do what is best for them and will make them happy." This rule by itself will be enough for most friendships, as long as both people follow it. Again, I'm not saying we should have no rules at all, just no rules of the kind I was listing. I guess if we used the rule "Be nice to everyone you relate to and do what will make them least uncomfortable", that would be the basis for most of the "rules" I listed. But can you see the difference between this one and the "Care for your friends" rule? The first, IMHO, is healthier somehow and doesn't require that I change who I am nearly as much as the second. I guess I'm losing what I'm trying to say here. I hope this makes some sense. And again, I'm not saying you're not worth relating to, just that I can't afford the effort and changes it would take to relate to you, and I wish you could change so that I could relate to you. Again, I'm sorry I was so harsh. -- Chris Phoenix | A harp is a nude piano. cphoenix@csli.Stanford.EDU | "More input! More input!" Life is the only game in which the object of the game is to learn the rules. Disclaimer: I want a kinder, gentler net with a thousand pints of lite. Path: mit-eddie!bu-cs!lll-winken!uunet!philmtl!philabs!ttidca!hollombe From: hollombe@ttidca.TTI.COM (The Polymath) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Callahan's on IRC Message-ID: <8340@ttidca.TTI.COM> Date: 9 Dec 89 01:48:59 GMT References: <44135@bu-cs.BU.EDU> <1989Dec8.002645.5179@sun.soe.clarkson.edu> Reply-To: hollombe@ttidcb.tti.com (The Polymath) Organization: The Cat Factory Lines: 32 Where the Polymath usually sits there's only a terminal screen with the following on it: In article <1989Dec8.002645.5179@sun.soe.clarkson.edu> stadnism@clutx.clarkson.edu writes: }From article <44135@bu-cs.BU.EDU>, by austin@bucsf.bu.edu (Austin Ziegler): }> On 7 Dec 89 21:43:13 GMT, stadnism@clutx.clarkson.edu (Me) said: }me> Well, after playing around a bit, I'd like to propose an unofficial }me> Callahan's channel on IRC; ch. 25, staffed by whoever's around at the }me> time, open 24 hours, etc. Title is up to whoever's on... }> IRC, pester, bug, annoy, do *anything* you must to get IRC at your server. } ^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^ }Well, I had to go get it + compile it myself... it was worth it, though. I'm guessing that IRC stands for Internet Real-time Chat, or equivalent. Um ... folks, some of us aren't on the Internet. We can't talk in real time. We can't even ftp. Thanks anyway. Have a good time. I think it's a great idea, but I can only be here in alt.callahans, as usual, in my usual form. (Not that I'm complaining. It's one heck of a nice place to be). Probably just as well. If I had 24 hour IRC available, I'd _never_ get any work done. (-: -- The Polymath (aka: Jerry Hollombe, hollombe@ttidca.tti.com) Illegitimis non Citicorp(+)TTI Carborundum 3100 Ocean Park Blvd. (213) 450-9111, x2483 Santa Monica, CA 90405 {csun | philabs | psivax}!ttidca!hollombe Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!snorkelwacker!genbank!agate!helios.ee.lbl.gov!lbl-csam.arpa!stefan From: stefan@lbl-csam.arpa (Stefan gottschalk) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: H's and WF's Message-ID: <4418@helios.ee.lbl.gov> Date: 9 Dec 89 09:27:07 GMT Sender: usenet@helios.ee.lbl.gov Reply-To: stefan@csam.lbl.gov (Stefan Gottschalk) Distribution: usa Organization: Lawrence Berkeley Laboratory, Berkeley Lines: 176 X-Local-Date: 9 Dec 89 01:27:07 PST The wind has picked up, and howls against the windows. He enters in a deluge of snow, and battles the door closed. The figure wears hiking boots, jeans, a very large coat, and a bombhat. "Damn cold out there," he is heard to mutter. He removes his coat and pulls off the hat, to reveal long brown hair, tied into a pony tail which reaches the small of his back. Without the coat he looks much lighter, like a cat who has stepped out of his fur. He produces a bill, and receives a very large mug of hot chocolate from Mike. Muttering thanks he goes to the corner he has visited often in the past few weeks. There he sits quietly, nursing his steaming drink, cradling it with as much of both hands as he can. ... Ordinarily, he would rise after an hour or so, collect his change from the cigar box, and depart. Today, however, he steps into the open space before the fireplace, just short of the line, and turns. Conversations automatically dwindle and cease. He sees people turn in their chairs to face him, much as he has done so often himself. {Funny}, he thinks, {never thought to be on this end. Kind'a scary}. He takes a swallow from his mug, while finding his voice. "My friends," he says, "and I know by now that I may call you such, I wish to relate an interesting episode that occurred last spring. At the time I knew not what to make of it, but having heard what I have here," glancing toward Gilly, "I feel that I understand." "One fine early afternoon I had ventured a little further into Duke Forest than usual. The scenery had changed somewhat from the usual evergreen to more of a, well, sylvan setting. A delightful place, it was, and I spent somewhat more time there than I had intended. Anyway, on my way out I ran headlong into a little man in a red cap, toting a small sack over his shoulder." 'I beg your pardon!' I said, most apologetically. 'I swear I did not see you coming.' 'Quite alright, laddie,' he said, chuckling, and picking himself up. 'New in this neck of the woods, aren'tcha?' He opened up his back, which apparently was full of dead hamsters, or something, and began rummaging about in it. 'Ah, yes,' I said, eyeing his bag. 'This particular area is especially nice.' 'Aye, so it is.' He grinned. 'Here, take this.' And he thrust one of those things at me. "Well, having recoiled a step or so, heart beating wildly, I recovered myself and looked more closely at the little fellow and what he held in his hand. It wasn't a dead hamster. It wasn't even dead. Well, I mean, it was supposed to be dead. That is, it was never alive. I think. It looked like a furry koosh, or a tribble, or something like that. It didn't really move, or anything, but it did seem to, well, _thrive_. Hard to describe. "Anyway, there he stood, offering this thing to me, and with this grin on his face, which turned out to be a rather cheerful grin, at that. I stepped forward and accepted his gift, if that's what it was all about, and thanked him for it. It really was extraordinarily soft, with a kind of energy in it. I cuddled it against my cheek. Something about it made me feel good. I dont know. It just did. "Then I realized that he was just standing there. Looking at me. Expectantly." 'Oh. Um. I'm afraid I really don't have anything to offer in return.' His smile faded. He looked disappointed. I cast about in my mind for something I could give him, but nothing occurred to me. 'Well, ah, would you like this back?' I offered him the furry thing. He looked mortified. Oops. I withdrew my hand. 'I really am sorry, but I've nothing. Perhaps a raincheck? I can't be sure when I'll be able to return, but when I do I'll be sure and bring something.' He looked hopeful. 'Actually, I don't think I have anything to compare with this. If I did, I'd offer it freely.' I wasn't really to sure of that, when I said it. It really did feel AWFULLY nice. 'It is a wonderful gift.' He looked at me in confusion. 'Are ye sayin' ye've never seen one o' them before?' 'Well, no. I mean yes. I mean, that's right, I've never seen one before.' He gaped at me, half in disbelief, and half in pity. 'Ooh, by gum! 'Tis a shame, that! Keep it; y'need it more than I ever did! But listen to me well: you must give it to the very next person you meet. The very next one!' He shook his finger at me. "It didn't make much sense to me. I needed this thing so very much, he said, but I had to give it away right off! So, I promised him I would. Then he wouldn't let me go, but bombarded me with questions about who I was and where I came from and who I knew and what I did. He really was quite engaging. We fell into a long conversation about forests, music, death, love, magic, all manner of things. Can you believe that he'd never heard of pizza? 'Food of the Gods!' I told him, to which he muttered 'have to check up on that.' Turned out he was handy with a flute, too. He could could weave a melody so melancholy it'd bring a merry elf to tears (his words, not mine), and then turn around and play a tune to lift a leaden heart. He said I should tote out my lute sometime so we could play duets to the wood. It was a guitar, of course, but I'll be damned if he didn't refuse to call it such. Well, we had talked for quite some time until I realized that it was almost dark! He noticed my alarm, and began to close the conversation. As we were shaking hands, some compulsion swept over me, and I reached out with the other arm and gave the little fellow a hug! " 'Bless me,' he said, wiping his eye, 'you big'uns can be hard to read.' Never found out what he meant by that. "I said 'If I can come back, I promise I will.' Somehow I was sure I'd never find that place again. I pulled out the tribble. 'Don't think I'll be able to match this though.' " 'Laddie, you'd be surprised.' Which reminded him. He shook his finger at me again and said 'remember, very next one.' "I regarded my tribble, and began to say 'I promise,' but he was already stalking off with his sack in his hands. However, I could see in the twilight that he had a second, smaller tribble, which he was just putting into his sack. Strange, I thought, never noticed him pull out another one. "So, I found my way out of the wood, and made for home, thinking about little men with sacks and tribbles, or whatever they were, and sylvan glades in the middle of pine forests. "Ah yes, and the first person I came to meet was a young woman on my street, whom I ran into on the way to the grocer the next morning. It wasn't as difficult as I expected, letting go of the little fellow's gift. She was rather startled, though. Reacted pretty much the same way I did: with much suspicion. "But she accepted it, and gave it away in turn. Now we make our own and exchange little ones whenever we happen to meet. "You know it's funny how strangers react when you try to give them one. Somehow friends are never so distrustful, but strangers never know what to make of them. But, you know, if you look around you'll see them everywhere. It takes a certain sight, but it's not hard to develop, if you try. A regular walks into a soda shop and exchanges one with the proprietor. Lovers stroll past, leaving giant radiant ones like a trail of fluorescent bushes in their wake. And this place, oh my, this place! We're practically buried in all kinds of them here! "All shapes and colors and sizes, I'm sure, even though most people don't see them in the midst of exchanging them. But the kinds which I would like to praise are the little ones. The sort casually given to the passerby. I think that they are important, because they are where a stronger exchange can begin. Give away a little 'tribble', and who knows what you might be starting?" Scanning the faces around him, he downs a bit of his hot chocolate, which, unfortunately has grown cold. Swallowing with effort, he manages a grin, and raises his mug to the room. "A toast! To small kindnesses and passing strangers. May they often come in pairs!" ##CRASH!## He walks to his chair and picks up his things. "Oh, and speaking of names, mine is Stefan. And if anyone ever cares for conversation, I'll be right there," looking to the chair. He dons his coat and bombhat (and therefore weight, once again), adjusts his ponytail, and heads for the door. The wind is still howling outside. He braces himself, and when he turns the handle, the door explodes open, and snow whips around the room. He steps out, and somehow manages to close the door behind him. The swirling flakes settle gently to the floor, and disappear.