Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!mailrus!iuvax!rutgers!columbia!cunixc!cunixf!shoulson From: shoulson@cunixf.cc.columbia.edu (Mark E. Shoulson) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Masks Message-ID: <1989Dec13.041657.10733@cunixf.cc.columbia.edu> Date: 13 Dec 89 04:16:57 GMT Organization: Columbia University Lines: 54 Hullo again, all. I've been reading all this talk about the masks people wear and realized that you were all probably dying for my $0.02 :-). I must have developed backwards. I started needing a mask in kindergarten or first grade and found it necessary most of the way through high school, and for a year after that, too (in varying degrees, of course). Elementary school was rough, 'specially 3rd-4rth grade. Being a small, skinny, non-athletic (not even *interested* in sports--including baseball cards!), bright boy in fourth grade is not a good way to be considered the all-American dude on the playground. I could tell various horror stories (well, they were horrible to me at the time, anyway). By eighth grade, things were slightly better, but I had to start all over again in high school. Not so bad there, as the kids were older. After high school, I took a year off at a one-year program. That involved a new set of friends of varying personalities, but I managed okay. College, however, brought me a whole mess of friends who are really wonderful. I am now so unused to the mask that I have trouble wearing it when it's called for (POSSIBLE HORRIBLE ALTERNATIVE: I have gotten so used to the mask I don't even realize I am wearing it. I think there may be some truth to this alternative. Perhaps some alternation. In any case, at least it doesn't *seem* oppressive). My life seems to have worked on an upswing. The problem is that I needed the mask when I was least capable of maintaining it--when I was young. But that's past me now. Well, sorry to waste your time with my life story, don't bother comparing it to yours, this ones's all mine. Myself is one of the few topics on which I can (and do!) speak with some certainty and for long periods of time (Odd sentence, that!) So, Mike, a shot of Everclear. [dollar on bar] [ walks to line, constantly moving his hand so the fumes from the glass don't eat through the ceiling ] "To the masks, may they join this glass!" [ inhales fumes of drink, and throws it into fire ] -WHOOSH!- (you didn't think I was going to *drink* that, did you?) ~mark o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o Mark Shoulson: shoulson@cunixf.cc.columbia.edu shoulson@cunixf.bitnet {...}!rutgers!columbia!cunixf!shoulson P.S. lori: still having no success in mailing. still trying. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!pt.cs.cmu.edu!andrew.cmu.edu!gh1g+ From: gh1g+@andrew.cmu.edu (Gregg Fielding Hinderstein) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: ah well Message-ID: <8ZVZ1Fy00V4EIfc0om@andrew.cmu.edu> Date: 13 Dec 89 13:36:17 GMT Organization: Class of '91, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA Lines: 10 Off in a corner, Mike finally notices the dollar lying in front of the wild haired youth. "Sorry, you been waiting long?", Mike asks. "No", the youth lies. "Lay a coke on me, I got to hit the road". "Gonna be by again tomorrow?", "No, I'm really hitting the road, won't be back for a long time, maybe never, but who can tell what the future will bring?". Mike looks confused by this, but places the coke on the bar. Gregg slowly walks up to the chalk line, and takes a final look around the bar. He cocks back his arm, pauses for a second, and ... lowers his arm again, places the glass on the bar, grabs two quaters, and with no one noticing, dissapears through the door. Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!usc!apple!arc!steve From: steve@arc.UUCP (Steve Savitzky) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: A Toast for Strypes Message-ID: <716@arc.UUCP> Date: 12 Dec 89 09:00:16 GMT References: <715@arc.UUCP> Reply-To: steve@arc.UUCP (Steve Savitzky) Distribution: alt Organization: Advansoft Research Corp, Santa Clara, CA Lines: 44 Later in the evening, the teddybear waddles out of the corner, becoming Steve in time to retrieve the guitar that has been making quiet conversation with Fast Eddy and his piano. "You know, Snuggles, that remark of yours about Strypes's health might have been in slightly bad taste." "Hrumf" (which on a guitar sounds rather like a muffled A9 chord) "Anyway, you're the one I'm really worried about. If you don't start losing some weight YOU'RE the next one due for a heart attack." "Mike, a Bolls genever for me and silk & steel for the lady." Mike pours a glass of greenish fluid from a brown ceramic bottle, and reaches under the counter for a package of guitar strings, which Steve begins to apply as he speaks to nobody in particular. "You know, it's all these lonely people here that really make this place feel like home. I mean, I've been there. I didn't meet my Lady Colleen til I was in graduate school, and life was pretty grim in spots. "But anyway, this is the closest thing to a *place* that I've run into anywhere on the net. I like it. Friendly. And the best way to find friends is to be in a friendly mood in a friendly place." "Shut up and drink," the guitar says. "It's after midnight and you're getting incoherent. That G string is still flat." Steve finishes tuning, and puts the old strings in his now-empty glass. "To friends!" <*CRASH*> Fast Eddy glances over and says "Hey, you gonna sing?" "Maybe next time. Gettin' late." "Besides," Snuggles adds, "He can't carry a tune in a paper bag." The new strings give her voice a somewhat sexy shimmer. Steve slings the guitar over his back and heads out the door. "G'night, folks." -- \ Steve Savitzky \ ADVANsoft Research Corp \ REAL hackers use an AXE! \ steve@arc.UUCP \ 4301 Great America Pkwy \ #include \ arc!steve@apple.COM \ Santa Clara, CA 95954 \ 408-727-3357 \__________________________________________________________________________ Path: mit-eddie!bu-cs!lll-winken!decwrl!ucbvax!ucdavis!csusac!unify!jde From: jde@unify.uucp (Jeff Evarts) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Montreal Message-ID: <0yl64y@unify.uucp> Date: 13 Dec 89 14:33:50 GMT References: <19178@watdragon.waterloo.edu> Reply-To: jde@unify.UUCP (Jeff Evarts) Organization: Unify Corporation, Sacramento, CA, USA Lines: 19 In article <19178@watdragon.waterloo.edu> jmsankey@rose.waterloo.edu (Sharkey) writes: > "May I have fifteen shots of whisky, please Mike?" and places >a clean Canadian 20 dollar bill on the bar. > > "To the 14 women massacred in Montreal. May God have mercy on their >souls." A single tear rolls down his cheek as he slowly downs the liquor. >When finished, he walks to the fire and carefully places the empty shotglass >among the coals, heedless of the flames. A young man with a thin moustache walks up to the bar, grabs up the $20Can, and counts 20 $1 bills into Mikes hand just as Jim finishes speaking. He is dresses in black buccaneers, and carries a thin blade at his side. His short blonde hair glitters in the firelight, and his green eyes seem somber, a state to which they seem unaccustomed. "Greetings, friends, I am Amarth. I, too have been sitting and listening, but I will take my turn at the line for this... To Life! (and healing)" He turns and walks back to his small table, where he is (currently) alone. Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!rpi!image.soe.clarkson.edu!news From: gary@sun.mcs.clarkson.edu (Gary Levin) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Do Not Open Until Tall Tale Night Message-ID: Date: 13 Dec 89 16:54:35 GMT Sender: news@sun.soe.clarkson.edu Distribution: alt Organization: Clarkson University, Potsdam NY Lines: 90 A short man with large glasses gets up from a quiet table where he has been listening to many conversations at once (a favorite activity). Slight of build with night black hair and a full beard flecked with brown and (the inevitable) white hairs. The all-surrounding mass of hair makes him look like a cousin to some of the meta-ursine visitors of late, or perhaps a friendly dog. Little children are often a little frightened by his appearance (some students are too, apparently), but they usually wind-up snuggled in his lap by evening's end (the little children, not the students). A few people here are friends from other places, and a few are students that he has known. A little levity to lighten the atmosphere seems called for. (Although this is ``leavening'', the last name is pronounced with accent on the second syllable (not a problem on a non-vocal net).) (Multi-level parenthetical remarks are another favorite activity; interesting when they occur in a lecture, for me at least.) Mike, I'll have a Diet Coke, though I hate the taste. On second thought, make that an original Pepsi Lite (I am sure you can have one of our time traveling friends have picked one up when you next see them), the kind with less sugar and a touch of lemon. (Why *did* they take that off the market?) I never drink diet sodas, but this tale seems to call for one. Everyone knows that diet fads run riot through this country every now and again. Fortunes are made on diet books and papers (the kind you scan while checking out with a cart full of twinkies, chips, and diet soft drinks) are sold on the promises. The main problems with them are that either (1) they don't work and one loses nothing but the price of the diet book, or (2) they upset the body's balance and you lose your weight and your health. Well, a great scientific breakthrough was made recently. It seemed that all you had to do was eat sandwiches made of goat's cheese and sausage. The amazing thing was that it seemed to work just fine. You could eat anything else you wanted, so people with healthy diets were still ok. On the other hand, the pounds seemed to melt away. Unfortunately, as such things will happen, one of the sleazier tabloids got hold of the diet and published it. (Their editors must read an amazing number of technical journals to find the harebrained stuff they print.) Not surprizingly, they got it slightly wrong. Suddenly people were losing weight much too quickly. They were melting away to nothing in no time. The editors found that printing stories about people losing 150 lbs of ugly fat sold the papers even faster, and were thrilled. But when the readers got together to sue the cheap sheet (150 lbs is too much when you only weighed 175 to start with), the editors decided to see what went wrong. They called the scientists who had published the original report and told them about the problem. Of course, the scientists hadn't heard anything about the Great Diet Disaster, being too busy working on solving the next problem, but they were appalled when they read the description of their diet in the paper. The first problem was that their names were spelled wrong and in much too small a point size. The other problem was one of accuracy. (Accuracy is never the strong point of the check-out line rags.) The sausage part was right, but you had to used *dried* goat's cheese, and not just any goat's cheese, but a very sugary version distantly related to Swiss. Eager to halt the deaths and their sagging circulation (after all, it was their readers who were trying the diet (Possible folk etymology -- die-it? nah)), the editors hurried back to the sweat (whoops) print-shop and set the headline in the largest type they could find. [[Deep breath now! Wait for the tension to build!]] Powder of Sweet Holey Cheeses will Save You from the Feta-Wurst Thin Death For anyone still thinking of dieting (as if anyone could think of eating after that one), may I recommend ``The Trouble with Pycraft'' by H.G. Wells. A wonderful story that fits the style of Callahans. Dieting for your health is one thing, dieting to fit others conception of what you should be is quite another. -- Gary Levin/Dept of Math & CS/Clarkson Univ/Potsdam, NY 13676/(315) 268-2384 BitNet: gary@clutx Internet: gary@clutx.clarkson.edu Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!apple!apple.com!zardoz From: zardoz@apple.com (Phillip Wayne) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Panic Attack Message-ID: <5748@internal.Apple.COM> Date: 13 Dec 89 20:00:17 GMT Sender: usenet@Apple.COM Organization: Apple Computer, Inc. Lines: 64 References:<9368@microsoft.UUCP> <1989Dec12.011148.17238@athena.mit.edu> It's been a bit dreary at Callahan's lately. Lots of crying in beer and other beverages. But it will get better. One night, not too long ago, I was sitting in the corner, nursing a beer and my own bruised ego. There was the usual buzz of conversation -- folks are good at that here. But tonight was going to be different. The door opened, and I caught a glimpse of a sunset (or maybe it was a sunrise). The person standing in the door was not that unusual for Callahan's. About four feet tall, bare chested with dark skin, muscles that would make Mr. Omniverse jealous, and a coat of hair befitting a bear. He had on dark pants with legs too large -- you know the kind. In the waistband I could see a set of pan pipes. He walked up to the bar with a wave of his hand to the rest of us. "Kalimera," he said. "Got any retsina?" You could tell he was new, asking a question like that. Mike has every liquor (known and unknown) I or anyone else has ever heard of. Mike reached under the bar, and brought up no less than six bottles. The man pointed at one and pulled a dollar out of one of his pockets, which he laid on the bar. He took the wineglass he received in exchange and made his way across the crowded floor. Somehow he managed not to spill any of it. He set it down on the table, and then put himself into a large chair. He pulled the pipes from his waistband and waved them around for a bit. Once he had caught a few peoples attention, he started to play. Now, I have heard some music at Callahan's (and I don't mean Fast Eddie, either), but this was different. It shimmied; it twinkled; it wiggled between your toes and made your feet want to move. Even Mike, who usually didn't partake of the festivities, was tapping on the bar with his fingers in time with the music. A few of the folks got up from their tables and began clumping in twos and threes to dance with each other. More followed, whooping and hollering as if they were waking every last soul on earth. Clapping hands and stamping feet were the order of the day. People started singing along with the tune, or making up their own as they went along. Some time during the fray, the music stopped. With all the different songs, no one noticed. A few said, later, that they did see the stranger remove those great pants and dance with the rest of us, naked, supported on goat's legs and goat's hooves. Can't say I did myself though. We danced clear to sunset (or it may have been sunrise). Finally, exausted, we were all sitting in the center of floor in a contented pile, arms and legs and heads and other body parts scattered in indiscretion. I saw the little man go up to the line, empty glass in hand. "To Joy!" he shouted, followed by the expected crash of glass in the fire place. He left the same way he came in. I wasn't the only one who wondered when he would be back. ************************************* * When you do it to me, it's discrimination * When I do it to you, it's AA ************************************* -- These are my ideas. Oy vey, are they mine. -- zardoz Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!cs.utexas.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!bloom-beacon!athena.mit.edu!erspert From: erspert@athena.mit.edu (Ellen R. Spertus) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: The Unbeliever's Tale Message-ID: <1989Dec13.201551.8648@athena.mit.edu> Date: 13 Dec 89 20:15:51 GMT References: <5161.257f9900@elroy.uh.edu> Sender: root@athena.mit.edu (Wizard A. Root) Reply-To: erspert@athena.mit.edu (Ellen R. Spertus) Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Lines: 104 I am hesitant to offer advice, because I don't want to offend you, but I also sympathize with you and want to be helpful... In article <5161.257f9900@elroy.uh.edu> cosc5sh@elroy.uh.edu (Unbeliever) writes: >I am not an overpowering figure. I'm a 5'10" computer science major who has >strenuously avoided anything that remotely resembles exercise. While I'm not >fat, neither am I the svelte god that girls seem to flock around. They claim >appearance is unimportant next to personality -- and then chase after the >first football player they see. I think you are wrong. I have dated gorgeous men, average men, and physically unattractive men. Their looks in no way correlated with any other factor of our relationship (i.e. how long it lasted or how much I liked them). From what I have overheard, the first thing that men ask another man about a new girlfriend is, "Is she pretty?" In contrast, that is not the first thing I am generally asked about a new boyfriend (although I admit, what I am asked is usually equally shallow). But I think it quite possible that looks correlate with success with the opposite sex but not for such a direct reason. Good-looking men probably have higher CONFIDENCE, and I think this is what attracts the women. I am sure you can find some physically unattractive males who are happy, feel good about themselves, and have girlfriends. Tell me if you think I'm wrong. >I long for The Land. I long for a place where I can let my guard down and find >Peace. A place where the women look at you with interest; as though you were >MORE than they had hoped for, not less. This wish may be understandable, but it makes me feel uncomfortable. It is very male-centric. Women have minds and wills of their own, and I find it horrible to imagine that there is a place where women's judgment would be altered. For women to look at you as though you are more than they had hoped for requires a change in you (or in how you present yourself), not in them. >Ah, to have a sense of self-worth again. I think this corroborates my point about self-confidence. I suspect that confidence is your problem not the women that you meet. I feel bad for you, because it sounds like you're in a vicious circle. >My disease is that I'm a social leper. Other regulars have spoken >of their need to find their soulmates; I'm an undergrad senior who hasn't even >had his first girlfriend yet. Living in the dorms, I see the other, "healthy" >people, constantly. If you think of yourself as diseased and others as healthy, others will see that you feel this way. I think the problem is about more than getting a girlfriend. >I have talked to >some of my female "friends" about this problem to the point where they're >tired of listening, but none of them have much of a solution to >offer. If they get tired of listening to you, it probably means that the relationship isn't beneficial to them. While I sometimes need support from my friends, I always try to give more than I receive, making their interaction with me net positive. Do you think you are a good person to be friends with? >"Go to >more dances, and social events", they say. Yippee. I agree with you. Meeting someone at a dance sounds absurd. >I came up with a theory the other day -- all one needs to do to find a >girlfriend is to arrange your life so that you're happy without one. Seems reasonable. I met my last two SOs at intellectual clubs I enjoyed being at. Try joining clubs that you'd enjoy, doing fun volunteer work, or going to departmental events and talking to people -- male or female -- whose faces start looking familiar and friendly. I'm currently in an all-female class, "Women in Literature". Next semester, I'll take "Women in Computers". It'll probably all or mostly female too. Consider taking a ->discussion<- class a little outside of your narrowest area of interest (but still in something you're interested in). I know CS students are subject to a high boy-girl ratio in tech classes. >Needlessly bitter No! I don't think anything is wrong with the idea that you only get a girlfriend when you can be happy without one. Is she supposed to be a crutch? Relationships are ideally between two happy people who want to share life's adventures, not between insecure people who depend primarily on other people for happiness. >Am I setting my "standards" too high? Am I looking for a soulmate while >thinking I'm just looking for a girlfriend? I don't THINK so. "Setting >standards too high" implies to me that I'm overlooking some women >intentionally; and if I'm doing that, I certainly haven't noticed. You seem to think that your looks matter in your desirability as a boyfriend (I disagree). Could this be a hint that you avoid physically less attractive women? (This is just a wild guess on my part.) I hope nothing I said offended you. I could be way off. I'm just going on my interpretations of what you said and on what I've seen of other people. Path: mit-eddie!bu-cs!lll-winken!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!samsung!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: Re: Growing Up Message-ID: <7330@pt.cs.cmu.edu> Date: 13 Dec 89 22:53:00 GMT References: <10290@pucc.Princeton.EDU> Organization: Carnegie Mellon University Lines: 122 Ah, that stage that is beyond friendship... I know it well. Once upon a time, and over a period of many years, I became close friends with a man I'd met in college. This was the closest friend I'd ever had, by far. (Certainly closer than my "official" family, who I have little in common with.) Eventually I realized that I was quite possibly in love with him (having never experienced this before, I wasn't sure how to tell, but I think I Just Knew), but the signals I got were confusing, and I'd really seen little to indicate that he felt that way about me, and I didn't want to risk ruining the friendship (folklore said this was a risk), so I kept quiet. Don't ever do this. It's very painful and aggrivating. Eventually we had a long talk, and I told him how I felt, and the upshot was that he didn't feel the same way about me -- though he cared about me very much as a good friend. But the friendship was strong, and we remained good friends, and I felt better for having told him, even if I did cry myself to sleep sometimes. We're still good friends, though sometimes I feel the strain as we inevitably grow ever so slightly apart. I was in love; I don't know if I still am. I still don't know how to tell. Maybe after so many years of knowing that there was no prospect of a permanent relationship there, I've begun to convince my subconscious to give up, and try to keep what I had before, on the assumption that it will be less painful in the end, because losing a friend is surely less painful than losing an SO. And I'm a pesimist; I assume that we will eventually go our separate ways, since there is nothing binding us together, and I will lose him in the process. (This is, of course, always a problem in particular with friendships that develop in college, though my student days are long past.) I know that if my friend were to fall in love with someone else, that I would be upset and intensely jealous. In the past I think I have unconsciously tried to prevent other women from getting too close to him, but this is not right. I am doing my best to stay out of the way, and not interfere in any way with anything that might develop. But one consequence of this is that you can't spend so much time together; you have to give him time to go out and do things without you. It feels like you're growing apart, and you probably are, but with luck you maintain a friendship anyway. Friendships that take years to develop simply shouldn't disintegrate in a few days. In any case, it takes a long time to let all the confusing feelings settle. The week that has elapsed since your friend became involved is not nearly enough time to adjust. A month or two probably isn't enough time. But eventually, I think things might settle down for you. Your relationship with her will certainly change, but there's no reason you can't still be friends. Of course it's going to be depressing. When you're that close to someone, this is natural. I've been depressed many times in this friendship -- when I was trying to keep my feelings to myself, and when I've tried to cope with the fact that he isn't in love, and now when I try to figure out if I'm falling out of love, and if I'll ever love again, and if I'm going to be alone for the rest of my life. Mostly I try to conceal the depression (this post notwithstanding), to avoid dragging someone else down, and that makes it even worse. So do what I've been too much of a coward to do. Talk about it. To her if you can (you've done some of this already), though you should realize that you aren't going to "change her mind" by doing so; to your other friends, to the net (:-) ), to -- if you feel the need -- a professional. (Personally, I have a strong distrust of pshrink types -- present company excepted, Jerry -- but there are some out there who actually can be useful. Your school's student health or counseling center probably has one on tap.) Talking about it probably makes you feel much better (it does for most people), so do it. Now, as for: >Well, I was incredibly depressed. I talked to almost every other one of my >friends, since they all woke up to comfort me when I mentioned that it wasn't >really worth living without Jen. [...] In high school, I probably would have >considered my best course of action to be suicide. I am stronger than that >now, though only slightly. It's awefully tempting sometimes, isn't it? There've been a number of times, mainly in college, when I thought my best move would be to just chuck it all. I talked to some friends, but I didn't have any really close friends, and I often got the feeling that nobody understood me, and I was just burdening them all unnecessarily with my problems anyway. I spent a lot of time sitting alone in my dorm room (or in the terminal room at 4am -- same thing), or at architects' leap, or just wandering, brooding. But I kept asking myself if it was really worth giving up completely over what would undoubtedly seem a minor problem a year later, and somehow I made it through college more or less intact. (This is, by the way, a degree of maturity that developed in college. High school was a completely different matter; I wasn't able to cope with problems then any better than you were.) And you know, years later I look back at all this and say, "You mean I nearly *killed myself* over *that*?!" I'm not belittling your problem; far from it. But I am saying that if you give yourself time rather than giving up, you'll probably pull through. (I got a lot of mileage out of the attitude that I may as well try; I always had the option of quitting later. This probably isn't overly healthy, but it worked for me.) >I don't really know what's wrong with me, or what I'm asking advice about. You're human, and you've just taken a major tumble at a stage in your life when you don't know how to deal with major tumbles. We all go through it, and no one is going to complain about you just venting a bit of frustration and asking for general advice here. That's what this group is for. I hope it helps. If you can manage it, trying to become less dependent on her -- and growing into your own person -- will probably help the situation. It'll give you more confidence and a greater ability to deal with problems in general, if nothing else. It won't be easy, and it will probably be painful, though, and you shouldn't hate yourself if you fail. Love is a very tricky thing which probably no one understands. I don't know what will eventually happen with Jen. You might or might not eventually get together. You might find someone completely different. Who knows? But change is not going to happen overnight, and there's nothing that says you can only love once anyway, so please -- try to be patient, and see what happens. Running away from the problem won't help; the same thing could happen at another college (if you transfer), and you wouldn't have your group of friends to talk to about it. Stick it out, and as you mature -- a rite of passage we all have to endure -- you will become better able to deal with problems. It's a long and hard process, and I suspect we never quite finish, but over time we do get better at coping. Monica mjc@cs.cmu.edu Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!cs.utexas.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!bloom-beacon!athena.mit.edu!erspert From: erspert@athena.mit.edu (Ellen R. Spertus) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Montreal Message-ID: <1989Dec14.001130.18388@athena.mit.edu> Date: 14 Dec 89 00:11:30 GMT References: <19178@watdragon.waterloo.edu> Sender: root@athena.mit.edu (Wizard A. Root) Reply-To: erspert@athena.mit.edu (Ellen R. Spertus) Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Lines: 20 In article <19178@watdragon.waterloo.edu> jmsankey@rose.waterloo.edu (Sharkey) writes: | "May I have fifteen shots of whisky, please Mike?" and places |a clean Canadian 20 dollar bill on the bar. He arranges fourteen of the |shots in a line and picks up the fifteenth. He ignores the change Mike |has left near the drinks. Jim walks to the line, his hands shaking slightly. | | "To the 14 women massacred in Montreal. May God have mercy on their |souls." A single tear rolls down his cheek as he slowly downs the liquor. |When finished, he walks to the fire and carefully places the empty shotglass |among the coals, heedless of the flames. | | As he walks back to his seat, Jim announces to any who care to listen, |"The other shots are for any of you who would like to honour the fallen." Ellen doesn't usually drink alcohol, but she takes one of the glasses and slowly drinks it. "Thanks for doing that, Jim," she says, sitting next to him. "I'm surprised my mother didn't call me about it. I'm an MIT engineer, and I can't drive on the highway without her worrying about me. I always thought she was silly to worry so much, but I guess she is right." Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!bloom-beacon!athena.mit.edu!erspert From: erspert@athena.mit.edu (Ellen R. Spertus) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Solitude speaks again Message-ID: <1989Dec14.004835.19537@athena.mit.edu> Date: 14 Dec 89 00:48:35 GMT References: <3378@sage.cc.purdue.edu> Sender: root@athena.mit.edu (Wizard A. Root) Reply-To: erspert@athena.mit.edu (Ellen R. Spertus) Organization: Massachusetts Institute of Technology Lines: 23 In article <3378@sage.cc.purdue.edu> ibs@sage.cc.purdue.edu (Lawrence daffner) writes: > I would like to take this opportunity to welcome Ellen. Thank you. I'm glad I finally spoke up. >Congrats, Ellen. You >are one of the lucky people in life. Some people never find a soulmate, and >many of those never find callahan's. It's a pity,too. There are so many people >out there that only dream of your luck. I hope your luck stays with you, as I >am sure it will. Once you find the Luck, it stays with you until you lose hope. I know I am fortunate. I told my friend what I posted and always express appreciation for him. (He does the same for me.) Unfortunately, I am in a little danger of losing the "luck". My friend failed me this summer, and although he's deeply repented of it, things aren't the same as before. There is still some bitterness in my treatment of him that I can't eliminate. His failing was due more to thoughtlessness (very rare in him) than to malice (nonexistent), but it hurt me more than anything in my life ever has and caused a significant change in my personality. (Originally, my introductory toast was going to be "To souls and to love, from one who no longer has either.") So I guess my current toast will be: "To forgiveness; may I learn how!"