Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!samsung!uunet!microsoft!t-phils From: t-phils@microsoft.UUCP (the Eternal Stranger) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Panama Message-ID: <10088@microsoft.UUCP> Date: 28 Dec 89 18:32:52 GMT References: Reply-To: t-phils@microsoft.UUCP (the Eternal Stranger) Organization: Microsoft Corp., Redmond WA Lines: 37 Moonchilde writes: | "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 | anguish choked voice. "How could ANYONE be that crazy." ... | "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." Alaric's figure shimmers and shifts again (obviously, this is a day for changes), and after a moment, his place is occupied by a samurai in brilliant red armor. He bows his head respectfully to Moonchilde. "So sorry," he says, "but unfortunately, the wisdom that men choose to call common sense is in truth far from common. Those who have wandered from the Way, or never trodden it to begin with, commonly confuse violence with strength." He picks up his goblet, now transformed into a porcelain sake cup. "It is written," he says, "in the books of the Way: `Never kill, when to maim is enough; Never maim, when to wound is enough; Never wound, when to threaten is enough; Never threaten, when to be there is enough; The greatest samurai is he who never needs to fight.'" He pauses, then stands and raises the cup. "I offer you a toast, honorable companions: To the day upon which all men will put aside the need to fight." Draining the cup of sake, he tosses it into the precise center of the fireplace, bows to the room in general, and sits again. After a moment, his form shimmers and flows again, and Alaric sits there once again. -- Until Friday Dec 29, Alaric is still t-phils@microsoft.UUCP `Mid dreams that die and things that end, I ask but thee, eternal friend. One lantern in the vasty dark, One stable soul, my way to mark. - Jilara Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!shelby!lindy!news From: GE.LJB@forsythe.stanford.edu (Louis J Bookbinder) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: A second debut, what is empathy Message-ID: <6757@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Date: 28 Dec 89 20:25:13 GMT Sender: news@lindy.Stanford.EDU (News Service) Lines: 104 subject - empathy The door opens. Mike takes one look, puts his hands over his eyes and says, "Give me strength. Next a Wogglebug, no doubt!" The creature standing in the door is metal, bright gleaming nickel-steel from pointy head to foot. It turns (the blade of the axe over its shoulder narrowly missing a tall green lady in the crowded bar), and closes the door. It has obviously been outside a while because fog is drifting slowly down its sides and frost is turning it white. The cold is palpable and patrons step back to avoid the chill. In the sudden circle of space it stares around and finally settles its gaze on Mike. "Pardon me, Sir, where is this place?" Mike finishes the drink he had been mixing for a nerdy looking computer type student (drinking age? who knows? or cares?), wipes his hands and pulls the cigar out of his mouth. "You're in Callahan's Place, Nick, and I'm Mike Callahan, proprietor. Like where you come from, this place is just as real, or unreal as people let it be. Seems pretty real, right now. I serve drinks here, and the clientele serves the reality and all the real nourishment in the place. What's your poison?" "Oh, I'm so sorry, I don't drink. Rusts my insides horribly! But I obviously need help, I was just sitting in my castle polishing my nickel plate when I suddenly found myself in an this awful, dark, cold world where magic no longer works. I do hope one of my friends finds me soon!" Despite its frozen (both ways) metal face, it seems sad. Several patrons look questioningly at Mike, who seems familiar with this apparition, but Mike does not offer introductions. Jake looks up from his conversation with a largish, but somehow beautiful, young woman, takes another swig of whiskey, and mumbles "Bob Heinlein did this already. Try something new, turkey" Taldin looks up, notices the heavy layer of frost on the metal - person - is beginning to melt, gazes #inward# for a second or two, gestures hypnotically...... The metal creature is suddenly dry and evidently warm because the crowd, still largely unmindful of the stranger, begins to close back into the empty circle. Taldin crooks a finger, and the stranger clanks over to him. "Here are the rules", he informs the metal creature, "This is a place for puns, riddles, life-stories, sharing of pain and joy, the giving of oddball toasts, and the exhibition of wierd talents and personalities. If you can't drink a toast, you will just have to join in the conversation here or there and see what you can add. I'm afraid I can't get you back to where you came from, but you might find this place equally interesting. No little girls to rescue, I'm sorry to say. All the females in this place seem pretty grown up to me." The metal one nods. "I see. This is very stressful. I hope I get back home before something awful happens to someone I love" "Sorry, I suppose you will have to take that up with the critter whose sig is at the bottom of this ramble. Meanwhile make yourself at home. Let me introduce you to Jilara, here, and this little furry friend, the Tabbifli. I am Taldin, a wizard. You are Nick Chopper, The Tin Woodman of Oz. You are in good company." "Thank you, Taldin. I'm sorry my sig-critter had to use your persona for this intro, but it makes the story go better. Now back to my confused, lonely, mechanical persona to talk about what is REALLY on my mind. By the way, I can't see the scarecrow at the moment - does anyone know if he is any relation to my good friend from Oz? "I am so upset to hear the pain expressed by Diana. I heard of many people killing themselves (in Mundania, it's impossible in Oz) because of the pain. I've NEVER felt that bad, even when I could feel. I would like to share more of the pain in the hope of lessening it for her. If it is possible for me. I'd like to understand what this EMPATHY thing is. I know, I can feel all of you drawing back from me like I had some highly contagious disease when I say I don't know if I can feel the way you do. But I don't. This heart is excellent, the Wizard said so, but it beats its own way, not the way someone else's beats. I feel sorry for those who suffer, but their suffering does not hurt me, unless this strong desire to DO something is empathy (?!). I HAVE to try to help, you see, because unless we all try to help each other, we will all die, I am convinced. "So, please, Diana, hang on there: if I knew how, I would rescue you! I can't give you anything to save you unless you give me something to know you by. Until I know something, I can only see a human in pain. A tin man has no pain and so I cannot ignore your pain." Jake gets up from his table, bends over and kisses the young lady, then heads for the door. On his way by Nick Chopper, he pats him on the shoulder, leans over and says, "Keep it up, kid, I like this persona better. Try it for a few posts and maybe you can find how you REALLY wish to greet the net. Good luck." Taldin nods, leans over and adds: "And don't take yourself so damn seriously!" and vanishes without a sound or a flash. So do all the others. The Tin Woodman is sitting in a dark bar, alone. Somehow, he is not surprised. He looks toward the bar, but only a faint outline remains of the bartender. He looks back at the fireplace and its cold heap of ashes and broken glass. He raises an imaginary glass. "To the New Year" Somehow he is not surprised when his imaginary throw is answered by a loud crash. Booky - You Bet! (What? me? opinions? Bo) GE.LJB@Forsythe.stanford.edu Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!shelby!polya!lucid.com!lucidboston!kdo From: kdo@lucid.com (Ken Olum) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: end of growing up Message-ID: <150@boston-harbor.lucid.com> Date: 29 Dec 89 00:29:31 GMT References: <6301@ucdavis.ucdavis.edu> <125990001@hpcndm.CND.HP.COM> <1853@bucket.UUCP> Reply-To: kdo@lucid.com Organization: Lucid East, Sharon MA Lines: 36 In article <1853@bucket.UUCP> leonard@bucket.UUCP (Leonard Erickson) writes: > >If you've had your trust in your *parents* systematically destroyed, >you aren't too likely to be able to trust anyone enough to confide in >them about your problems. All your experience says that the first >thing they'd do is try to talk to your parent(s) about the problem ... There's a real problem in our society that we don't respect children. We often treat them as though they are the property of their parents, and so their parents should have the right to total control and knowledge. There ARE place that children can go and get confidential counseling with even their parents not knowing about it, but I agree that if I were I kid I wouldn't know which places were safe and which weren't. >It's sad. I have some idea of how most people feel about their families. Interesting. I wonder how things are really distributed. I get along very well with my family (even though my parents are much older than me), but I had the idea that most people weren't close to their families at all. >I've seen my mother maybe 4 times in that time. I've even taken a >few trips back home. But it's been at least 5 years since the last >time, and I really doubt that I'll see her again before she dies >(she's 80). At Christmas time and around her birthday I sometimes try >to remember to send a card, but I rarely do. I feel a bit guilty >about it, but that's all. Just a twinge. I think you don't have any more obligation to your relatives than you do to any friend. If they don't treat you right, you shouldn't feel obligated to have anything to do with them. It's unfortunate when things work out this way, but I think people are often better off to cut all ties with their relatives rather than endure endless grief. Ken Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!pt.cs.cmu.edu!andrew.cmu.edu!haste+ From: haste+@andrew.cmu.edu (Dani Zweig) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Banana. No, thank you. Message-ID: <8ZaiJSS00WB84DI1UK@andrew.cmu.edu> Date: 29 Dec 89 04:17:34 GMT Organization: Graduate School of Industrial Administration, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA Lines: 19 lemay@eng.sun.com: >Rumor has it that Callahan's is the place to make instant friends... Rumor lies. Small loss. Callahan's is a good place to find people who are both interesting and interested. That makes it a good place to make friends at your own pace. Which is bound to be more rewarding than making instant friendships -- which are as solid as the water you add and stir. >Redhead. Drummer. Geek. Be strong! *Hundreds* of drummers have been cured! --Dani Zweig haste@andrew.cmu.edu My adversary's argument/Is not alone malevolent/But ignorant, to boot. He hasn't even got the sense/To state his so-called evidence/ In terms I can refute. --Piet Hein (Grooks) Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!usc!samsung!uunet!crdgw1!sixhub!davidsen From: davidsen@sixhub.UUCP (Wm E. Davidsen Jr) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: end of growing up Message-ID: <349@sixhub.UUCP> Date: 29 Dec 89 04:14:48 GMT References: <6301@ucdavis.ucdavis.edu> <125990001@hpcndm.CND.HP.COM> <1853@bucket.UUCP> Reply-To: davidsen@sixhub.UUCP (bill davidsen) Organization: *IX Public Access UNIX, Schenectady NY Lines: 62 In article <1853@bucket.UUCP> leonard@bucket.UUCP (Leonard Erickson) writes: | It's sad. I have some idea of how most people feel about their families. | But I have no idea how it *feels*. I haven't seen my brother in 15 years | and likely never will again. I've seen my mother maybe 4 times in that time. | I've even taken a few trips back home. But it's been at least 5 years since | the last time, and I really doubt that I'll see her again before she dies | (she's 80). At Christmas time and around her birthday I sometimes try | to remember to send a card, but I rarely do. I feel a bit guilty about | it, but that's all. Just a twinge. I wish I could share with you. I have a close relationship with my kids, and I feel very bad for anyone who doesn't. I am reasonably close to my mother. Although we were not particularly close when I was growing up, I have to admit that I was a pretty strange kid. I have to admit that she had my life pretty well mapped out for me, too, and didn't care to hear my opinion on the matter. Either my wife or I talk to my mom on the phone every few days. She's old, and I never know when she may need something. Without our help she couldn't continue to have her own home. I talk to my oldest daughter a few times a week. Although she is living several states away, we seem to wind up calling each other when interesting things happen, or just to shoot the breeze. We did the same with our youngest when she was away, now she's back at home for a bit while she takes courses at a local school. I wish I could share some of the close family feeling we have, but there's no way. All I can say is that old people are the only time machine we have (at least outside Callahan's). Your mom is the link to all the generations who have gone before, and someday that may be very important to you. I can't say that you should be close, because I have no way of knowing why you're not, but I feel the same way about someone who lacks a close family relationship as someone who is blind from birth: I'm glad you don't know what you're missing, or you might never be happy again. I did something a few years ago for my unborn descendents. My mom was going to have a new knee put in, because the old one was just not functional anymore. Because she was over 80 then we all knew that there was risk involved. I bought a video camera and taped a number of hours of her talking about the old days, some about people I dimly remember and some about people I never knew. I am going to make a tape of my wife and I, of the same nature. I hope that I will be able to pass these stories along to my grandchildren and their children myself; but if I can't I want them to have the chance to know me, not from a few pictures and stories, but from hearing me tell them stories of my life, hours of them should they choose to listen. You have no choice of your relatives, and very little of your relationship with your parents and siblings. I'm sorry that you have reached this state of being emotionally orphaned, but I hope that if you have children you will not let this happen to another generation. I hope that when you're 80 you will be able to share your life and wisdom with many generations of descendents, not because you or they feel any *duty* to be done, but because it's *fun* to share things with people who have grown up with you and who share your heritage. -- bill davidsen - sysop *IX BBS and Public Access UNIX davidsen@sixhub.uucp ...!uunet!crdgw1!sixhub!davidsen "Getting old is bad, but it beats the hell out of the alternative" -anon Path: mit-eddie!bloom-beacon!eru!luth!sunic!bmc!kuling!jonasf From: jonasf@kuling.UUCP (Jonas Flygare) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: All well that ends well... Message-ID: <1311@kuling.UUCP> Date: 28 Dec 89 23:15:29 GMT Sender: news@kuling.UUCP Organization: Dep. of Computer Systems, Upsala University, Sweden Lines: 57 "Well.. Too late for a merry Christmas, but not quite too late to wish you all a good new decade!" The voice is one that have been heard before.. The ferret sensing that yet another drink might be coming his way darts across the floor, jumps up on a chair, skids across a table (>crash<, oops, sorry!) jumps onto the stove (OUCH!) and finally sits on the bar, waiting for his friend to get his heavy feet across the room... Flax orders a glass of "something appropriate", and exchanges a coin for the glass and its content. After putting it on the bar, so the ferret can have a (small, I promise you all, but he gets VERY cranky if he is without, when everyone else have got some) sip. It is quite obvious it is something appropriate, because the furry animal looks very fuzzy as he sits down to listen.. "Soon Christmas is over, and well is that... I spent Christmas with one of my parents and relatives, and have just gotten back home (in more than one sense, mark my words..) Christmas is a season of joy, but also of strain on my soul, as my mother and father are (since some years now) separated.. One of my parents is often trying to keep me busy for Christmas _and_ New Years Eve, to prevent me from visiting the other.. And as I do want to share this time of year with both parents, I have to make excuses for not being able to visit the first during one of the two holidays.. This means that part of me is feeling guilty for playing games with one of my parents, and the thought of it being for the benefit of the other gives little joy.. (Simultaneous sigh, but for different reasons from man, and animal, which have finally caught its breath, and is now having hiccups) But.. this sad little story ends happily, sort of.. Tomorrow I will be off to visit the other, and after that life will be back to normal.. which, now that I think of it might not be so good after all.." But, the wink in his eye betrays him, and as he gulps down the drink and let the ferret run off with the glass (it strangely enough ends up in the fireplace after all, thanks to an undescribable stunt on the ferret's behalf) he is now smiling (happily) again. "A good new decade to you all!" Before anyone get to reply, he puts another coin on the bar, and asks for something bitter. A small glass with a brownish liquid is put in his hand. "And, a good new decade to all the troubled people, in all worlds, who are wondering what good (or bad) the next 10 years will bring.." >GULP< Eyes teared, he flings the second glass, and after collecting the now quite obnoxious (and toe-nipping) animule, he walks back to his table, where he folds up in a warm mantelet, with the ferret snoozing around the neck. -- jonasf@kuling.docs.uu.se : "Doedth eddydthig dthrike you adth dthrayge Jonas (flax) Flygare : aboud dthidth houdth?" -- Dirk Gently Path: mit-eddie!bbn!granite!Mandel From: Mandel@granite.cr.bull.com (Mark Mandel) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: end of growing up Summary: stay in touch if you can stand to Message-ID: <1989Dec29.164028.23736@granite.cr.bull.com> Date: 29 Dec 89 16:40:28 GMT References: <6301@ucdavis.ucdavis.edu> <125990001@hpcndm.CND.HP.COM> <1853@bucket.UUCP> <150@boston-harbor.lucid.com> Reply-To: Mandel@granite.cr.bull.com (Mark Mandel) Organization: Bull HN Information Systems Inc. Lines: 63 Bcc: Mandel In article <150@boston-harbor.lucid.com> kdo@lucid.com writes: >In article <1853@bucket.UUCP> leonard@bucket.UUCP (Leonard Erickson) writes: >>I've seen my mother maybe 4 times in that time. I've even taken a >>few trips back home. But it's been at least 5 years since the last >>time, and I really doubt that I'll see her again before she dies >>(she's 80). At Christmas time and around her birthday I sometimes try >>to remember to send a card, but I rarely do. I feel a bit guilty >>about it, but that's all. Just a twinge. > >I think you don't have any more obligation to your relatives than you >do to any friend. If they don't treat you right, you shouldn't feel >obligated to have anything to do with them. It's unfortunate when >things work out this way, but I think people are often better off to >cut all ties with their relatives rather than endure endless grief. > > Ken (Guy whose black hair is now about 50% silver comes in, looks around. Wipes the fog off his aviator glasses with a garish bandana. Orders a shot. Walks up to the mark; stands there for a few minutes pensively, sipping till he's done. "To communication!" ** CRASH Tinkle tinkle **) I have just become able to come to Callahan's, so I don't know the background of these relationships, but I was reminded of a passage in Heinlein ("the old man in free-fall")'s novel _Job: A Comedy of Justice_. Alec, our hero, was a "good" enough follower of his religion to be among the 7% or so of humanity who rated salvation: in fact, he became a saint. The subject of this passage is the commandment "Honor your father and your mother." Alec's mother was not a nice person: one of the other characters (a god; Lucifer, I think) got interested enough to look up her records to find out "just what kind of a bitch Alec was the son of." He NEVER loved her... but he honored her. Kept her picture on his desk, phoned her every week and sent her flowers on her birthday, that sort of thing. I'm not concerned with going for salvation by somebody's set of rules, but my situation is (remotely) comparable, and it may shed some light on yours. I don't get along magnificently with my mother, but I do care about her. She lives >1000 miles away in winter, and a 5-hour drive in summer. I am not a very good letter-writer, and phone calls can easily become uncomfortable (as well as expensive), and she kept wishing I would keep in touch more often. A year or two ago I decided to make a point of writing a postcard every weekend. It's worked out very well. While sitting down to write a letter can seem like a major chore, a postcard with 40-100 words takes only about 5 minutes, it can hold the current family news of interest major ("car totaled, nobody hurt") or minor ("daughter got an A+ on a test"). My mother is very pleased with getting regular news this way. She feels that I'm keeping in touch with her, which I am. These notes contribute to keeping the family closer, in a positive way. I don't feel pressured by this little routine. As a matter of fact, it's developed into something fun. I'm always on the lookout now for postcards to send: museum cards, scenic cards, funny cards (e.g., Garfield), weird cards (e.g., from the booklet _Revenge of the Son of the World's Tackiest Postcards_, no kidding!), spacey cards (Sierra Club's booklet of Home Planet Views), and so on. The cards are good with friends, too. -- -- Mark Mandel /* My employer is not responsible for anything I say, do, think, or eat. */ Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!apple!oliveb!bu.edu!bu-cs!buengc!ho From: ho@buengc.BU.EDU (Yue-shun E. Ho) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: The grad school drop-out Message-ID: <5154@buengc.BU.EDU> Date: 30 Dec 89 03:26:29 GMT Reply-To: ho@buengc.UUCP (Yue-shun E. Ho) Distribution: alt Organization: Boston Univ. Col. of Eng. Lines: 42 The young man returns. Contrary to last time, he looks shy. A few patrons immediately recognize him. He was yelling at the door last time, shouting about his ignorance of this place. He got a few kind responses. He has some more questions to some of the letters that he got, so he inquired them again through private mail. However, he didn't get many back this time. Probably they are too busy, he thought. But more likely, his mail have disappeared in the ether. Well, too bad. He goes to Mike and asks for a drink. But his voice was so soft that Mike couldn't hear him. He raised his voice a little bit and says "May I have a glass of vitasoy please?" "Certainly," replies Mike. He leaves a dollar bill and takes his vitasoy to a table. He doesn't say anything. He looks worried. He is only thinking deeply. He starts thinking about the decade that is about to die. "What have I done? Well, I graduated from primary school, entered secondary school, left secondary school, entered college, graduated from college, and now, just finished my first semester at graduate school." But he is not at all happy. He now studies at a graduate school in upstate New York, and has just flunked his first semester there. He is afraid that he is going to get kicked out from it. "I know I'm lucky to be able to afford going through college. If I get kicked out from graduate school, I still have a B.S. degree. And then many college drop-outs are now famous millionaires and many are enjoying life as well. But ....." He couldn't think anymore. He doesn't like the feeling at all. He finishes his vitasoy, returns his glass, takes back two quarters, and approaches the door without saying a word. In a second, he is gone. Mike haven't seen such a shy person before. Neither do the patrons who were watching. - Yue-shun the flunker {If you mail me, please include your internet address if possible. Thanks.} {I may not be able to check my mailbox on the first week of January. Sorry.} Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM!jane From: jane@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM (Jane Beckman x2637) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Life, Death, and Love Message-ID: <8912281442.AA03963@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 28 Dec 89 22:42:55 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 18 "All right, all right, I can't stand it any longer!" Jilara says, getting up and tossing a dollar on the counter. Callahan gives her her scotch and she frowns at it as if trying to determine the significance of this glass of fluid. "We have everyone here discussing all of this heavy stuff (is it the holidays do this to us?) and I admit I've been doing as much of it as anyone. But I want to remind people that there are notes even in the most dire discussion of life, death, and love that lend a twist of meaning, be it even the blackest humor. Somehow, they keep turning up. I thought of this when they told about raiding one of Noriega's dens of iniquity. Yes, his cocaine, his pornography, evidence of dark occult rituals, the (I'm surprised it wasn't autographed) photo of Adolph Hitler. And surrounding all this, his collection of teddy bears in military uniforms!" She steps up to the line. "Therefore, to that leaven in the darkest situation, TO ABSURDITY! She drains the glass. ***CRASH!*** Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM!jane From: jane@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM (Jane Beckman x2637) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Sunreturn Greetings Message-ID: <8912281021.AA01452@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 28 Dec 89 18:21:05 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 33 Jilara sighs and smiles at all her Callahans friends. "Thank you all, and have wonderful holidays, whatever your religious persuasion. And let's all remember that the meaning of this season is best said in the sentiments "Peace on Earth, Goodwill to Men." I always liked Dicken's "A Christmas Carol," which may say different things to me than to many who just think of it as a hoary chestnut of the season. Scrooge wasn't a bad person---he was just someone who had let a bunch of bad experiences in his early life upset his value system. He'd been so deprived that he'd forgotten the good things, and looked to parsimony and misanthopy as a way of protecting himself, forgetting what made things worthwhile---his fellow man. The sad thing was that the secret had been in him the whole time---he was just woefully late in realizing it. My mother was Scrooge---I don't know why, but something in her past made her dispise Christmas with all her heart and soul, and she was always taking pains to make Christmas "just another day." When I was nine, she informed me that she had "done her duty," and if I wanted Christmas from then on, I could bloody well do it myself. So I did. She was very critical of me for this, and always made very Scrooge-ish comments, but sometimes, you do what you have to. I have celebrated Christmas in many ways, since: visiting shut-ins, walking down Fisherman's Wharf late at night dropping whatever I could afford into the little baskets and instrument-cases of the street-musicians, showing up at the apartment of a friend who had recently lost her father and was preparing to spend Christmas alone with a complete (vegetarian!) Christmas dinner in hand... May the spirit of this turning of the season be with you throughout the year. Love and Light, and Blessings to All ---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?)