Path: mit-eddie!bu-cs!spacey From: spacey@bu-pub.bu.edu (Eva Chan) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Good Tidings and Good Cheer Message-ID: <45115@bu-cs.BU.EDU> Date: 24 Dec 89 17:56:43 GMT Sender: daemon@bu-cs.BU.EDU Distribution: alt Organization: Boston University Computer Science Lines: 38 The strange oriental woman returns for a drink and a toast. She enters the tavern from the cold of the night. Taking her coat of, she steps up to the bar. "Mike", she says, "make mine a shot of bourbon." He hands it to her with a smile. Stepping up to the line, she holds her drink and wonders for a bit. "During this time of happiness and goodwill towards men, may peace reign forever more in this world of ours for years to come. It is not an easy thing to wish for, you see. But what can be lost in the asking? I guess, that as long as we all have friends, there will be some peace and happiness. I just hope that there is some humanity left in this world." "So, with that I give a toast to all here at Callahan's. Be merry during your holidays, but please, do remember others who may not be as fortunate." And with that she gulps down her drink and tosses the glass at the fireplace. She goes back to the bar and says to Mike, "Mike, here is a gold piece that I have been saving. This is for those who may not be able to pay for a drink. Lord knows there are a few of us who can use a little warmth and spirit this time of year." She smiles as she hands the coin to Mike. Mike just looks at her and smiles in acknowledgrment. Then before she leaves, she looks around the room again, and spots the young man with strawberry blond hair still sitting there. "Mike," she says. "A glass of some Zinfadel please." Mike gives it to her and she hands him a dollar. Then she takes the glass over to where the young man is sitting. She places the glass in front of him then turns and leaves. Happy holidays everyone! Merry Christmas! Happy Chanakuh! and Happy New Year! -- Eva Chan spacey@bu-pub.bu.edu (e-mail is always appreciated) Cheers! And may you enjoy life! Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!swrinde!ucsd!ucsdhub!hp-sdd!hplabs!hpfcso!hpcndaw!hpcndm!jason From: jason@hpcndm.CND.HP.COM (Jason Zions) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Erev Christmas and another irregular... Message-ID: <125990002@hpcndm.CND.HP.COM> Date: 25 Dec 89 01:11:06 GMT Organization: HP Colorado Networks Division Lines: 137 (Didja ever notice it's been snowing outside of Callahan's Place for the last three months? I grew up in that part of the woods, though; there are a few parts of Long Island that feel like snow from October to March...) The front door opens far enough to let in a rather odd-looking shape; roughly 5'10", with a rather large humpback. On second look, the hump isn't that at all; rather, it's a well-padded bag in the shape of a saxophone. Roughly alto-sax sized; the fact that it appears to be a part of the body wearing it, and the fact that the weight of the horn isn't noticed by the carrier, leads one to believe that a larger bag sometimes appears; much larger. After 30 seconds or so of unzipping and unsnapping, the figure turns out to be male, a bit better-padded than average; the body is quite broad, though, and the weight carries well. A minor paroxysm of foot-stamping ensues, and about a cubic foot of snow is dislodged. The man walks up to the bar, digs in his front left pocket a bit; comes up with three pink phone messages, two folded post-it notes (the canary yellow taking on a strange cast in the light from the fireplace), and a money clip. A single is laid out on the counter; "A glass of Olde Sheepdip if you've got it, otherwise Laphroig 15, neat, please." The amber fluid (seems the Sheepdip was around) fills the glass and casts shadows on the bartop. He carries the glass over to a table along the wall furthest from the door, and begins to divest himself of heavy weather wear. The coat, scarf, gloves, etc. seem to form a pile which looks more and more like a nest; he nestles the gig bag carefully in the center, then sits, sipping at the scotch. As he soaks in the warmth from the fire, and the scotch, and the glow of friendship around him, color seems to seep back into him; if you were watching closely, you might get the impression that solidity itself is seeping back into him, that he was inflating from flatness to three-dimen- sionality. You'd be wrong, though; the flatness was only a trick of light. As the level of liquid drops in the glass, the most sensitive listeners might notice a quiet sound of music coming from the table; not that the horn is unpacked, nor are his hands or lips moving in the making of sound. Rather, the music you hear is the music swirling in his mind, in his imagination, built from the sounds he hears around him. His breath comes in rhythm, syncopated to the ebb and flow of conversation nearby, rising and falling in response to the underlying lyric of life. The silent symphony ends, and only a sliver of scotch remains. He rises, walks slowly to the front of the fireplace, and toes up at the chalk line on the floor. The room sighs softly into silence, and he breathes once more, more deeply than usual, as if to settle himself. "Music lives in all of us, to a greater or lesser degree. I have a friend who is completely unable to reproduce a pitch; to save her life, she could not sing "Happy Birthday" in key. She listens to music, though, and has a taste that could accurately be described as educated in a head-banging way. Another has no musical sense at all, and doesn't really listen much to music; but the words that flow from her pen are lyrical, the melody there to be heard by any who care to listen. "Even fifty years ago, the musician's life was hard. It's said that Klezmerim, players of Jewish folk music from the old country, were "doorknob polishers" between engagements to keep themselves fed. Black musicians were shamelessly exploited, their life's blood stolen, other names placed on the music they birthed. Too many composers of the great Classical and Baroque works died penniless and too young. "Musicians today, at least, can make a living from what they do. Some become megastars, earning more money in a month than you or I will earn in a year, than some will earn in a lifetime. Others at least get respect and a living wage; gigging in a bar may not make a lot of bucks, but it keeps the rent paid, the belly filled, the car running, the guitar maintained. "Being a musician is one of the hardest jobs I know. Any piece of music you can think of contains a part of the heart of the creator in it; even the simplest piece of Heavy Metal, or the wimpiest piece of fluff Jazz, or tritest tune from this week's Debbie Gibson clone. And much contains far more than a part; there is music in those genres and others which anyone can see contains nearly the entire soul of the writer, everything that person ever felt or believed. "Any time you write or perform music, you hang your ego out where everyone can see it, right next to your heart. You take a chance that the people listening will really *hear* what's being sung, the truth of the message in the melody, the essence of the music. Losing that gamble is heartrending; a friend of mine performed the first piece of music she ever wrote, and received stony silence and was ignored for her efforts. She hasn't had the heart to show anyone her music since, though she still writes it. "I don't perform for a living; I'm not that good, though in my dreams I am and in my heart-of-hearts I know I could be if I spent enough time at it. I do perform from time to time, though; and, I write. "I've been a coward; kept the music in my mind, hid the manuscripts and scores, lyrics and leadsheets, from anyone. Hid them from myself, even; haven't really finished one yet, brought it to the point where it could be played, where it could try to communicate to the listener the message lying in wait. I always had an excuse; never had to take that risk with the words *I* wrote, the music I created. "I was never afraid to perform music others wrote; more than that, I'm not afraid to solo, to improvise over chords and melody, to try and say something meaningful in a different way than it's been said before. But I haven't been able to bring myself to do the whole thing myself; to create the whole music from whole cloth and show it to the world. "I don't know if I'll ever find the courage to really do this; to finish the job on even one tune, to ever hear if I can sound as good in sound waves as I can in thought waves. I like to think I can; I dream of it, and long for it. But I also have nightmares about it; spending months searching for the right chords, the right voicings, and never finding them; hearing my music played, and coming to the realisation that I really didn't have anything to say that was worth saying. "There's a cliche about the Tortured Artist; it really applies throughout the creative arts and into the creative sciences. The act and result of creation says something about the creator. How many have been paralyzed in that creation, wrestling with the message that results from it? "Which brings me to my toast. To the makers of music Who've wrestled their demons and found understanding Long enough to gift us with Themselves He drains the last leavings from the glass, amber shadows dancing on his face turning to all the colors of the spectrum as it empties. His fingers twitch briefly (looks like a G minor scale) before he launches the glass into the fire. As it shatters, he cocks his head to one side, mumbles something that sounds like "Hmph. A-flat, and three cents sharp on top of it", and walks back to the bar. "Another Sheepdip, water on the side; thanks very much." As he walks back to his table, a floorboard under his foot squeaks; his feet strike the floor in jazz waltz time, heel-toe-stride syncopating. Season's Greeting and Happy New Year! Jazz Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!apple!agate!sandstorm.Berkeley.EDU!gwh From: gwh@sandstorm.Berkeley.EDU (George William Herbert) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Merry Xmas Summary: We're all listening... Message-ID: <1989Dec26.071908.14434@agate.berkeley.edu> Date: 26 Dec 89 07:19:08 GMT Sender: usenet@agate.berkeley.edu (USENET Administrator;;;;ZU44) Reply-To: gwh@ocf.Berkeley.EDU (George William Herbert) Organization: ucb Lines: 10 As i watch the messages pour through from my private table off a bit to the side of the bar, I want to lend everyone present a bit of holliday cheer and reinforcement. You're talking to a bunch of the most empathic people out there, and we're listening. Have a wonderful holliday season. To friendship and a sympathetic ear...thanks, Mike...[gulp] [lob] [Ke-runch] See y'all later. >maniac< Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!wuarchive!mailrus!rutgers!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!pt.cs.cmu.edu!andrew.cmu.edu!jt1o+ From: jt1o+@andrew.cmu.edu (Joseph L. Traub) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Panama Message-ID: Date: 25 Dec 89 20:50:41 GMT Organization: Class of '91, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA Lines: 43 A loud noise causes everyone (whoever is still around) to turn and look for the disturbance.. The sound was a tankard being slammed very hard into the table. "GODDAMMIT!!!" The takard slams again, and Moonchilde looks up from what appears to be a crystal ball. "I just can't believe it," he cries in an anguishchoked voice. "How could ANYONE be that crazy." Realizing that everyone is staring at him like he's a madman, he just gestures sadly toward the crystal ball. It's now obvious that the crystal ball is actually some sort of television set. Playing on it right now, is a news broadcast from Pittsburgh, PA. A young (22 yr old) soldier is being inter- viewed. He has recieved a Purple Heart for wounds taken in battle.. The newscaster asks the lad what he thinks about Noriega's surrender. "I think it is a chicken's way out" says the youth. The crystal ball fades.. "How can ANYONE be that stupid," Moonchilde cries again. "How can they WANT more killing, more bloodshed, more violence in a world that already has more than enough." Moonchilde finally gets ahold of him self, and regains some sort of composure, though it is obvious to all, that this pains him deeply. "If I could find anything in this stupidity to toast, Mike, I'd have a glass, but I can't see anything worth toasting here." He refills his tankard with ale from a pitcher in front of him, and sits back down. _______________________________________________________________________________ ** | * * |Joseph Traub -- Carnegie Mellon * * |Internet: jt1o@andrew.cmu.edu ****************************************** |UUCP: harvard!andrew.cmu.edu!jt1o * Blessed * * Blessed * | * Be! * An it * Be! * |__________________________________ * * harm none, * * | * * do as thou * * |"If pro is the opposite of con, * * wilt. * * |then what is congress?" * IO * * IO * | * EVOHE ** EVOHE * |___________________________________ * IO * * IO * | * KORE * * KORE * |This space intentionally left blank * * * * |This one too! * * * * |And ditto once again! ** ** | ___________________________________________|___________________________________ Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!apple!arc!steve From: steve@arc.UUCP (Steve Savitzky) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Better Late... Keywords: Party, Christmas, Peace Message-ID: <745@arc.UUCP> Date: 26 Dec 89 22:52:01 GMT Reply-To: steve@arc.UUCP (Steve Savitzky) Distribution: alt Organization: Advansoft Research Corp, Santa Clara, CA Lines: 72 Expires: References: Sender: Followup-To: The medium-sized teddybear lands with a bump! on the bar, or rather on a small pile of paper that has materialized there. Steve slides off, spilling some of the paper in the process. As he picks it up he mutters "Gin, please", and adds a single to the stack. Mike replaces it with a glass containing the slightly greenish contents of a ceramic bottle. "I meant to drop these fliers off last week, but I was out flat on Wednesday with the flu, and things got sorta busy after that." "Rot," puts in the guitar slung on has back; "He's just been procrastinating." "Hmm. Actually, procrastination has its uses; there've been days when that and a vague feeling that I might miss something interesting were all I had between me and suicide. Not recently, though. "Anyway, Colleen said I should tell you folks about the party we're having this weekend, so I brought over some fliers. You never know *what* might show up at one of our parties; sometimes our house gets to be the closest thing to Callahan's I know of." "So are you going to tell us about your Christmas?" someone asks. "No, maybe later. I probably ought to be getting back to work. I'll tell you one thing, though, apart from Panama it's the closest I've ever gotten to finding Peace on Earth under the tree! Wouldn't it be nice if it got to be a habit? Hey," (raising his now mostly empty glass) "PEACE ON EARTH!" <*CRASH*> He fades out... Eventually almost everyone in the Place picks up, teleports, or clairvoyantly reads one of the fliers left on the bar. They say: /*********************************************************************\ * * * P A R T Y * * * * In honor of: * * Twelfth Night, our 14th Anniversary, * * or any other seasonal excuse for a party. * * ------------------------- * * === Saturday, December 30 === * * ------------------------- * * From Noon - Midnight (or whenever it ends) * * (Arrive & leave any time) * * RSVP *not* required * * *--------------------------* * * | At the home of | * * | Steve & Colleen Savitzky | * * | (Grand Central Starport) | * * *--------------------------* * * The Usual Potluck Bash * * Bring something you like to eat or drink * * Kids, Friends and Musical Instruments welcome! * * * \*********************************************************************/ There was a map on the back, but whatever they were copied with has made an illegible mess out of it. One can barely make out: GRAND CENTRAL STARPORT is at 343 Leigh Av, San Jose, CA 95128. It's a green house with a white picket fence, the fourth house on the right going from W. San Carlos toward I280. If you get lost, call (408)294-6492 -- \ 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!rutgers!usc!samsung!uunet!microsoft!t-phils From: t-phils@microsoft.UUCP (the Eternal Stranger) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: The Answer, Of Course, Is 42 (SOLUTION) Message-ID: <10072@microsoft.UUCP> Date: 27 Dec 89 02:17:58 GMT References: <6558@hacgate.scg.hac.com> Reply-To: t-phils@microsoft.UUCP (the Eternal Stranger) Organization: Microsoft Corp., Redmond WA Lines: 25 Lori Barfield writes: | OK, Mike, here's a stack of singles for Phil. He came soooo close.... But not close enough... now if I'd had less to do otherwise, so's I had more time to read them, maybe I might have figured it out. But time has been crazy, and I didn't... But since the payoff is here, I guess you'd all better come up and help me spend it! Blessings all around, Mike... | I have gotten very little feedback on whether many people on alt.callahans | are into puzzling any more. It's been interesting to watch the evolution | of this net over the past month or so. If anybody out there wants to | try another, post a theme-- It's Phil's turn! | | ...lori Well - since I'm only going to have this account for a couple more days (until the 29th), I'd better pass on that... someone else want to pick up the ball? -- CHECK ALL BOXES THAT APPLY: [ ] Out-of-place Renaissance man [ ] Frustrated idealist with no utopia [ ] Romantic with no-one to romance [ ] Amateur superhero minus superpowers [ ] Sometime poet with no audience [ ] t-phils@microsoft.UUCP [ ] Gallant knight with no holy sword [ ] Software wizard seeking new tower [ ] Player at Life, with no rule book [ ] Empath with no-one to help [X] All of the above Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!mtxinu!unisoft!greywolf From: greywolf@unisoft.UUCP (The Grey Wolf) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: A final goodbye, and Re: Christmas, and Re:.... Message-ID: <2730@unisoft.UUCP> Date: 27 Dec 89 00:59:43 GMT References: <1989Dec22.075704.16352@sun.soe.clarkson.edu> Lines: 71 Christmas. I went to bed kinda late (midnight) Christmas eve. When I woke up on Christmas, it was noon. Just as well. Christmas was just another day for me. Since the only time my friends (and my dear one) could get together was last weekend, that's when it took place for me. I was under the impression that Christmas was supposed to last for a while, that there was a certain spirit which was supposed to prevail. Kinda difficult when you're alone for the holidays. I saw a good friend last night so it wasn't for naught. I know I should be able to find all that I need (more or less) within myself; but I haven't yet. I keep finding I need someone to be there to share it with me. *sigh*... The following is dedicated from one empath to others, immaterial of the fact that I didn't write the damned thing. Merry Exmas, Happy New Year and all that. Love ya! :-; When you're weary, Feeling small, When tears are in your eyes, I will dry them all I'm on your side When times get rough And friends just can't be found Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down When you're down and out, When you're on the street, When evening falls so hard, I will comfort you I'll take your part When darkness comes And pain is all around Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down Like a bridge over troubled water, I will lay me down Sail on, silver girl, Sail on by Your time has come to shine All your dreams are on their way See how they shine... If you need a friend, I'm sailing right behind Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind Like a bridge over troubled water, I will ease your mind -- Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel, "Bridge Over Troubled Water" -- "You guys are NUTS! En-Vee-Tee-Ess, NUTS!" -- History of the World, part I. Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!nuhub!glaubman From: GLAUBMAN@nuhub.acs.northeastern.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: A Toast, and a Pun Message-ID: <4985@nuhub.acs.northeastern.edu> Date: 27 Dec 89 03:10:09 -05:00:00 Organization: Computing Resource Center, Northeastern University Lines: 70 Boxing Day, 1989 Folks, Not an hour ago I am writing a friend, and I come to the (wistful) decision not to smoke pot or drink Bushmill's (or anything else alcoholic) for at least six months with an option to renew. Before I go to bed, I decide, for the first time in 3 months to check out the VMS News reader and I stumble across a place that calls itself Callahan's, or actually, Alt.Callahan's. So I stride to the bar, not recognizing anyone, even the 'tender place a dollar bill down and ask for a glass of water, straight, no chaser. As if I knew, somehow, what to do I walk to the center of the bustling room directly in front of the once-roaring fire and say To the people of Timisoara and Tianenman. And six slaughtered Jesuits and their murdered housekeepers. and I down the water, and toss the glass into the fire but it does not break for the toast is unfinished: And to the others who died marching, writing, talking, fighting for their rights, or just because they were in the way. And to the people who marched and struck and did not die: "I never died, said he." People stare for a while at the unbroken glass then, one by one, others walk to the electronic stripe, type in their toasts, and press enter. As the last one is finished, the glass shatters whether from the heat of the dying fireplace or sheer sense of the moment is unknown. The bartender introduces himself and explains that I only need pay 50 cents for the glass as the water is free. David dglaubman@northeastern.edu Alt: dglaubman@nuhub (Bitnet) About a year ago, F&SF had one of their contests for puns on titles of SF works. The same issue had several contributions by SF's grandpere terrible, H. Ellison, in which he complained about the diminished mental capacity of SF fans in general and people who engaged in puns in particular. Only my deep respect for his feelings, and lack of postage, prevented me from entering the following offering: "Repent, Harl'n" said the Ticked-Off Fan You will notice, I trust, that the use of the author's name is an example of a howling ellision. Path: mit-eddie!bloom-beacon!eru!luth!sunic!tut!kk102087 From: kk102087@tut.fi (Kai 'Kaizzu' Kein{nen) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Kaizzu trembles in Message-ID: Date: 27 Dec 89 12:07:56 GMT Sender: News@tut.fi Distribution: alt Organization: Tampere Univ. of Technology, Finland. Lines: 71 A blond guy of about six feet walks back and forth in front of the entrance restlessly for a few times, peeking in, unsure if he should enter. His green long overcoat gives him shelter from the rain and his boots protect him from the melting snow. He sees happy people sitting in tables, chatting merrily with each other and wonders how he is ever going to fit in. "But wasn't this place for all those wandering endlessly?" he wonders and decides to step in. He removes his overcoat and grabs himself a comfortable chair. He walks up to Mike and says: "Could I have some warm glogg, not too strong, though. It is, after all, December 27th." Mike looks at him at disbelief but delivers the wanted soon. The stranger finds two 50 cent coins in his jeans' pocket and hands them over in exchange. "Thanks, I needed this." He starts to warm up and his spectacles are shortly allowing him to examine the people at the tables more closely. There are some faces he's seen before on endless nights of IRC, but this is certainly different. "This bar can never last on an IRC public channel", he says to himself. "It must be a semi-open one with the word `Callahan's' in the topic, as it often is. This place is inherently semi-open: once you know where it is you may enter; thus the logic." The glogg has does its part of warming him up, as has the cozy atmosphere prevailing. He notices how people are looking at him and decided to commence his story. "Hello," he commences shyly, "my name is Kaizzu. Well, Kai Markus Keinanen with dots over the last 'a', in fact, but I prefer Kaizzu, if you don't mind. A little something to make a difference to the cold harsh world, you know..." "To those of you I've already met on IRC: rehi. Others: I hope to prove myself a worthy member of this community. I spent two hours listening to more than 200 stories told here, and was positively surprised! No spelling flames, just friendly chatting and help for those in need. I thought 'Wow, this is the bar to be in!' and decided to step in to see what will happen." "As you can see, I'm desperately trying to avoid the problem. You see, I'm not happy with my life. I should have every reason to, but still I rarely find myself happy. A little background info could help." "I was born in Tampere, Finland August 16th, 1971 and am therefore barely 18 years of age. I come from a 'good' home: no 'official' problems here. I went to high school for two years in New Delhi, India, and after finishing my junior year there we returned back to Finland, I applied to Tampere University of Technology and got in, a year or two younger than every other freshperson. I found myself a part-time job: I watch old computers in the evenings for a few hours. I originally meant that to be for the summer only, but after noticing that the company would have severe difficulties in trying to get the job done without me, I cannot just quit. The pay is bad, too, and now that I pay almost 30% of it in taxes before I ever see it, the money doesn't make any difference, either. My parents said they'd support my studies, but how do I ask them for money for miscellaneous stuff? What do I do all nights if I don't work? 'go and have a beer with your friends' is not a valid answer, please. 'study'? And spend the nights home?" "Another thing with working is that it sets me a strict schedule to follow. Although I get to choose my work hours rather freely, I still need to drop whatever I'm doing by 6 pm and go there. Trips to places? Not me... It interferes with my studies, too. I have never read for any of my classes, and that's beginning to become a problem, too. It looks like I failed a physics class! Not serious as itself, but is that a sign of something more serious? I've always had my average in the A's..." "I'm sorry for the structure or this speech (or lack thereof, really). Please talk to me. You don't need to have _the_ solution, any mail brightens my days, as would info on getting accepted in Callahan's." "No toast, yet." He sits down staring at his now empty glass of glogg. -- Kai 'Kaizzu' Kein{nen kk102087@tut.fi (mail/finger for more...) Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!wuarchive!decwrl!orc!mipos3!omepd!pzbaum!reed!littlei!percy!parsely!bucket!leonard From: leonard@bucket.UUCP (Leonard Erickson) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Logic? Message-ID: <1855@bucket.UUCP> Date: 26 Dec 89 10:13:50 GMT References: <12303@phoenix.Princeton.EDU> <20940019@hplred.HP.COM> Organization: Rick's Home-Grown UNIX; Portland, OR. Lines: 18 egly@hplred.HP.COM (Diana Egly) writes: >Someday I'll have to tell the story of a friend of mine who killed >herself during the happiest part of her life. She chose to kill herself >because she knew that joy could not last forever -- and she did not >want to go through another valley. Not ever. Diana, please don't take this wrong but I wish you'd never written that. It shows up a hole in the logic I used to decide against suicide. I read it and it was like a punch in the gut. It's such damnably *seductive* idea..... the more so because I can actually *feel* the "logic" of it. Brrr... -- Leonard Erickson ...!tektronix!reed!percival!bucket!leonard CIS: [70465,203] "I'm all in favor of keeping dangerous weapons out of the hands of fools. Let's start with typewriters." -- Solomon Short