Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!psivax!ttidca!hollombe From: hollombe@ttidca.TTI.COM (The Polymath) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Curmudgeonly advice -- repeat post Message-ID: <9197@ttidca.TTI.COM> Date: 20 Jan 90 03:14:53 GMT Reply-To: hollombe@ttidca.tti.com (The Polymath) Distribution: alt Organization: Citicorp/TTI, Santa Monica Lines: 125 The Polymath leaves his corner and addresses the crowd: "This and the next post were originally presented here on 19 December 1989. That turned out to be a case of bad timing. Most of you left for vacation before they got to you and they expired before you got back. At the request of several people, I'm reposting. Sorry if you've seen them already. "I'll also take this moment to, once again, thank all the caring people who e-mailed me about my goodbye article. Lack of feedback is one of the biggest producers of burnout on the crisis lines. To all who took the time to respond, a big Thank You for your time and caring. I'll be sure to lurk by from time to time, just to rest and renew. "And now, for the second time in this venue, presenting: ============= "I'm going to break my rule again and present some unasked for free advice. There seem to be a lot of people here going through the same hell I went through at their age. I don't know if it will help or not, but I can tell you what I learned from it and how I got out of it. Your mileage may vary. "(Ladies, this will be told from a decidedly male point of view. If I get something wrong or out of line, feel free to correct me. I acknowledge that much of what follows could have the sexes reversed with little other modification). "First, the idea's been expressed that not needing a girlfriend is the key to getting one. This is almost correct. It's ok to want/need a girlfriend. In fact, it's almost impossible not to. The trick is to adopt the attitude that it's not _the_ most important thing in the world. "In practice, this means when you go to things like Sierra Club hikes or Mensa meetings or whatever you go to enjoy the activity. If anything else happens, that's nice, but it's not what you're there for. If you go with the intent of finding a relationship, or just getting laid, you are _guaranteeing_ yourself disappointment and a miserable time. If you go with the intent of enjoying the activity, you will _at least_ have a good time doing that. "If you do meet someone, ask them to join you for coffee after the event. If they agree, rejoice and _don't expect more than conversation and coffee_ -- a pleasant enough passtime, IMHO. If you like each other, make another date and see what happens. "Note: You will go home alone much more often than not. This is _normal_. It's true of _most_ people, regardless of perceptions. It is _not_ a negative reflection on yourself. "Digression: The Slot-Machine Theory of Why You Think Everyone But You is Getting Laid "The casinos in Las Vegas have got the psychology of gambling down to a fine art. The most obvious example of this is in the design of slot-machines (one-armed bandits). They are built to make lots of noise when they pay off -- no matter how small the amount. They are perfectly silent when they keep your money. Standing in a busy room full of them, you hear payoffs almost continually. You don't notice they're only a fraction of the machines' activity. "Much the same is true of singles parties and similar venues. You tend to notice the people leaving in couples because that's the situation you're most concerned with. It's easy to overlook that most people who arrive alone leave alone. You can't even see that most of the exiting couples go out for coffee and conversation, then go their separate ways home. It is, of course, common for people to boast of their conquests (real or imaginary) and remain silent about their nights alone. This adds to the illusion. "The above is my theory, which is mine and mine alone and no one else's. (-: "Now, there's been some discussion of the pros and cons of placing women on pedestals. Think about it. A pedestal, like any small, confining space, is a prison. I wouldn't want to be on one. "A more generic term is puppy dog behavior. This is very difficult to learn not to do. All your instincts are telling you that if you're just nice enough, long enough, she'll come around and love you for what you are. "Your instincts are wrong. This is not true. It will not work. Ever. "I've had the misfortune of being on both sides of this situation. It isn't pleasant from either angle. If you find yourself being a puppy dog, willing to warp your life to any lengths to please the one you love (whether she wants it or not), the best thing you can do is back off -- maybe even end the relationship -- but, certainly, give it a rest. Note: This will hurt like hell. "The best way to reduce the hurt is to find someone else. Remember, going into puppy dog mode is a sure sign she's not interested and your quest is hopeless. (Even if she was friendly, puppy dogging will turn her off eventually. It's very unattractive). Painful though it will be, your best bet by far is to accept the inevitable and move on. There are many many fish in the sea. "Caution: There are a few unscrupulous women in the world who won't hesitate to take advantage of puppy dogs. They'll take everything you're willing to give, which is everything, and return just enough to keep you hoping -- i.e.: next to nothing. This is a pretty good description of Hell and can go on for years. If you think you're involved with such a person, run, do not walk, as far and as fast as you can to get away from them. (I left the country for two years. Your needs may vary). "Some final related thoughts: "If you're going to be alone it's better to be so with pride and dignity than without. "Abandoning pride and dignity will destroy your self-esteem. It will not make you attractive to anyone but the sharks and leeches. "The above opinions are the end product of a lot of years and some considerable pain. They've worked for me. I hope they can do someone here some good. However, there are no warranties, express or implied. "And now for something completely different ... -- 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!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!psivax!ttidca!hollombe From: hollombe@ttidca.TTI.COM (The Polymath) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Long winded story -- repeat post Message-ID: <9198@ttidca.TTI.COM> Date: 20 Jan 90 03:15:33 GMT Reply-To: hollombe@ttidca.tti.com (The Polymath) Distribution: alt Organization: Citicorp/TTI, Santa Monica Lines: 149 "Give me another, Mike. I'm on a roll." (-: "A toast: To all the places that were, are, will be and can be Callahan's." "It's been noted, by no less than Spider himself, that any place can be Callahan's, given the right people. I'd like to tell the story of how I found my first extended family. "First, a little background: For reasons I won't go into just now, I was basically a very lonely kid in high school with no real friends and, certainly, no girlfriends. I hung out with the folk singers (this was mid '60s) because they picked a pretty area of campus to hang out and the music was entertaining. Eventually I started to learn guitar and join them. "Somewhere along there, I heard of this place called The Garret -- vague things about it's being a coffee house and general folk music venue. It was just up the road from school, but only open nights. It sounded interesting, so I summoned some courage and went to investigate. "I'll describe the place later. For now, suffice that I took a seat around the fire place and awaited events. A waitress came up to take my order for a drink (no alcohol served). "For some reason, she rested her hand on my shoulder while she was talking to me. It was a small gesture, probably insignificant to her, but _no one had ever done that before_. I couldn't remember _any_ woman not a blood relative _ever_ voluntarily touching me. The feeling was ... well ... it played a big part in my deciding to come back. (The music was good, too). "A few weeks later I did come back. Same music, same friendly people. And so it went. I started going there weekly, got to know a few people, started going more often, got to know a few more people, brought my guitar, played with others ... The Garret became my home and haven. I was a regular, occasionally an employee (everything from bus boy to Maitre d' and, as always, general fixit), and part of the family for over seven years 'til they shut their doors for the last time in '71 -- a sad day for us all. "'Us all', BTW, were the dozens of other people who'd become part of the family the same way I did. "So, now let me tell you some more about the place: "The first thing you'd notice about The Garret was the smell. Exotic coffees, smoke from the fire and an undertone of kitchen smells all combined in a wonderful mixture that's difficult to describe. "The building itself was a plain, boxy structure, painted black with a red awning over the door and a display window advertising Terrea Lea, half-owner and the only official entertainer. (More about her later). The inside walls, and ceiling, were painted red, but the lighting was so low you hardly registered the color. Small tables and bentwood chairs were on the left, as you entered. On the right was a huge, circular, brick fireplace surrounded by chairs -- the ones most often filled by musicians. Past the fire place was a large round coffee table with more chairs and a couch. Past that was a pay pool table, often covered to serve as more seating. Benches along some of the walls and even mats on the floor on crowded nights completed the customer area. "(We had an interesting relationship with the Fire Department. The Garret was rated for 100 person occupancy. One busy night we counted 350 people in the audience (and 20 more waiting outside in the rain (-: ). The Fire Inspector showed up, walked from the front door to the back and told B.J. "I'm coming back in 10 minutes and count the house." Then he stepped outside. Somehow, we cleared the place in time.) "Past the tables on the left was a tiny stage where Terrea would perform (as many as six sets a night in The Garret's heyday). Past that was the bar and kitchen where B.J. Moore, the other half-owner, mixed exotic concoctions of coffee, chocolate, espresso and ice cream, among other things. There was also a back room -- used exclusively for storage -- and the usual restroom facilities. "There was also the second front door (the building used to be a duplex), notable only because a burglar kicked the old one in one day, so I built them a new one from scratch. Nothing fancy, but at one point my bedroom was ankle-deep in wood shavings. (-: "Now about the people: "Terrea Lea is a folksinger par excellence. Opera trained, she had to cut her volume back by about 2/3 to keep from blowing the windows out (-: . Before opening The Garret she sang with Hank Williams on his TV shows and albums. She has at least half a dozen albums published (and long since out of print, alas). She also guest hosted "The Folk World of Jimmy Rogers" TV show and did some TV acting as well. For 13 years she was the mainstay of The Garret. They only booked other performers when she was too ill to go on -- a rare event. She must have been doing something right because people kept coming back. "B.J. Moore was the business half of the partnership. I can't remember a night The Garret was open that she wasn't there. She gave me my first "real world" job -- washing dishes at $10 a night. Later, Maitre d' was added to my duties and I got $15 a night (no tips). (When times were hard, I worked for free food and no money). "Liz Lea, Terrea's mother, was the cashier -- a feisty woman in her 70's who firmly believed everything Joe McCarthy ever said about communist conspiracies. Fortunately, she wasn't pushy about it. (-: "Sue Tjulander and Stacey Lubell rounded out the permanent staff as the two waitresses. Stacey was the one who hooked me with her hand on my shoulder. (Funny, I don't think I ever told her that story). The kitchen help turned over a lot, but they were all friends and regular customers at some point. "Then, of course, there were the customers. At some point, just about all the major folk groups and singers visited The Garret. Many were regulars and/or friends of Terrea. One night we figured a bomb in the place would have wiped out more than half the folksinging talent in the country (Bud & Travis, Peter, Paul & Mary, Judy Collins, Joan Baez, Theodore Bikkel, Hoyt Axton, Joni Mitchel ... and others I can't remember). "That was one of the truly great aspects of the place. All of these people would sit around the fire and trade songs with each other and anyone else who was there. Where else could you go up to someone like Peter Yarrow and say "Would you run through that progression again? I didn't quite get the middle bit"? And he would! I learned to play guitar sitting around that fireplace (and the stage). "And, of course, there were the just plain, and not so plain, folks. Chris, the artist -- one of who's paintings hangs on my wall. Ann and Joy, both now in the computer biz. Derek, a civilian contractor to the military during the Viet Nam war. Cathy -- managing a hotel in England, last I heard. Two or three Johns, all of whom taught me much about guitar. Liz, a world class volley ball player, late of the U.S. Navy. And on and on ... "Some I got along with better than others. Most had more than their share of eccentricity. All were family and pulled together when the going got rough. They kept me alive and sane through some trying times. "Well, enough for now. There's a few more tellable stories associated with the place (i.e.: You didn't have to be there), but they'd probably take another 100 lines or so. I'll tell them some other time, if anyone's interested. P.S.: My sympathies to the bear in the dull corner with the shiny toys. I'm expecting some new toys myself, but they're all marked "some assembly required" and the person giving them has a whip in his other hand. They're really his toys, you see. It's going to be a busy year ... -- 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!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!usc!samsung!umich!sharkey!lopez!strike From: strike@lopez.UUCP (Tim Bowser) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Another visit Keywords: Lost souls, and their help Message-ID: <1115@lopez.UUCP> Date: 22 Jan 90 02:35:02 GMT Organization: Great White North/UPLink, Marquette, MI Lines: 30 It is a cool, clear evening outside Callahan's as the door opens to admit the SAC flyer. He scans the assembled crowd from the doorway, and the perpetual dour expression on his face seems to deepen. He waves to Jake and Fast Eddie, who are tuning up for the evening jam session, and is startled to see a purple Ludwig drum kit near Eddie's battered piano. "I see you have a rhythm section tonight, and by the signs the drummer is a flame incarnate, dressed in black, with fire in her eyes as well as her hair. No sweat Jake, I hear she has a few mean licks to try out". Collecting his iced tea from Mike, he settles his bony frame into a chair near the fire. "I am looking for a person who has been here. She has not spoken, merely listened and gathered hope from those who speak. I have only heard her voice from without these walls, and have lost her "address". If Lori Cope happens to pass through, could you tell her that Strike would like to hear from her? Cool down Eddie, I am not prying. I have traded letters with her, and was wondering how she is doing in her quest." "I had hoped to see her here in this wonderous place, to catch up on things and just talk about life. She has a shyness of speaking to strangers, but reached out to me after I hit the line to speak of Hope. I was going to send her a follow-up, but lost track when my home system crashed." And with those words, the sage-clad aviator slumps down in his chair, to contemplate the flames and await the music de jour... -- Tim Bowser ("Strikemaster"), Hardware Maintainer| rutgers!sharkey!lopez!strike GWN UPLink!, The U.P.'s UNIX Connection | or strike@lopez.UUCP Marquette, Mi. (906)228-4399 | else (906)346-6735 voice -----> Mi.'s Upper Peninsula: Buffer Zone between Ontario and Wisconsin <----- Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!samsung!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!rpi!jefyoung From: jefyoung@pawl.rpi.edu (Jeffrey Young) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Paladins And Unicorns, Quests, Inner Fires, More Summary: lots of stuff Message-ID: Date: 22 Jan 90 04:16:11 GMT References: <9001151717.AA03010@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> <90020.234601EMD101@PSUVM.BITNET> Organization: The mind of a quiet Unicorn on a Sunday Morning Lines: 172 Taldin looks up again from where he'd been trancedly looking into the fire. He nuzzles the red wolf once, and gets a tall glass of water from the bar. "Haven't posted in awhile, and I generally lump my replies into one post to save message space, so this might be pretty long. Do pardon me." ..Taldin addresses Sir Sterling and Jilara "The quest, the hope of all that is good and just in the world.. that love IS, and all that. Aye, it be my quest too, but as you, SIr Bruce, are a Paladin, I am a Unicorn. My Path shall be different from yours, as it is from yours, Jilara, Samurai, but we will encounter each other on the Road because there are some placs where the paths cross. Callahan's is one of them, I think, and I wouldn't be surprised if more of us show up. They say that Callahan's is only for those who need it-- yet I'm sure we believe that we do not in many cases. Not true-- We are definitely not invincible, the corruptless, the Champion Who Never Fails, or any other steadfast image we show to others, and be their source of strength when they cannot find their own. We live, have hearts, can be hurt." (and with a glance at Alaric) "can even die for our cause. But what I am saying is that we get as much out of Callahan's as we put into it, and brother, some of us put a LOT into it. Trust me.. I'm a part-time empath..." -------+---------------------------+----------- ..walks to address Diana Egly as well "There are some of us, like the Paladin, who help, and Guide, and then let go. We do not Ride Behind, or Ahead, or Beside. We ride alone, because we ride Away. Are we cowards then? No, but rather leave, knowing the job is done, expecting no thanks in return. The Guide and Protector, if you will." (*ARGH! I had 181 lines that got deleted in this thing..) "Those who remain Behind fall into two categories- those who wait for someone who is travelling, and those who seek someone else to help. " "A bit about Unicorns, things which I have found, and to answer the question by one Mary-Anne Wolf 'are all blue Unicorns such good poets?' I must say probably not, for as to my knowledge I am the only one. Why am I this color? Well, you have to understand the legend behind unicorns..." "White Unicorns are the most visible (no pun intended) of the Unicorns, and the most common, because all Unicorns start off White. Those that to not care for those who they Protect remain so. But I do not really like the White Unicorns, because they are too pure for my standards (which are fairly high, but not enough) --they thend to believe that only their equals can touch them. Who is equal to a White Unicorn? Kings, and fair maidens who are chaste. Silly principle.. cateter to the minority. I respect my elders, but do not truly agree to their principles. I guess the human equivalent would be the snobby rich people. There are good whites out there..but they are sometimes embar rassed to be seen associating with 'lesser creatures.' Hued Unicorns , like myself, are those who are considered imperfect by the White Unicorns , because we cared too much. The color of a Unicorn shows that they are not pure, and while we proudly display our colors, it is also a badge of shame. Why blue? It is the color I Chose, the color of those things you see in my .sigfile.. the color of winter.. it isn't a hot color, signifying my serenoty and non-agressiveness.. and other things as well." "Black Unicorns are ofen evil, those which we call Nightmares." "Why am I not then, a Paladin? Because while I believe in honor, justice and all that, I do not like owing allegiance to anyone. Nor do I choose to keep any retainers-- I depend only on myself and my friends. I prefer the company of equals, because noone stands higher than anyone else. I also happen to be quite leery of religion, and I will not take one that has been forced upon me. That is why I am a Unicorn." ----------------------------+-----+----------------------------- "Some of you were talking about inner fires. Here's something I wrote for a Glade (the Glade, aka Green Grass And Shade, as any RPI student can tell you, is a real-time version of Callahan's sans alcohol and toasts.) introduction..." "The branches clutch at your face and arms, like hands that are not there. Your feet carry you on paths unknown, through theForest black as night. When you can run no more, you slump at the base of a dead tree, feeling it's chill bark at your back. You care no longer if the creatures of the Night still chase you; they can have you for all you care. The shadows close in.. 'Don't give up.', a soft voice says. You look up suddenly, and see stading over you a slim youth dressed in pale blue. A battered grey hat sits crookedly upon his brows, and he holds a lighted torch in his left hand. 'It is always darkest before the dawn, my friend, and until it comes we will have to do with what light we hold Within.' 'Light we hold within?' you ask. 'Aye, for anyone who has seen the sun, who has felt his or her own laughter, who knows how to smile, has Light Within.' 'But mine is gone, fair Unicorn.' ,you say. Now why did you call him that? The youth chuckles. 'Heh. Seeing me for what I truly am. Good sign. Your light is not gone, my despairing friend, but rather obscured by your troubles. I've learned not to let my problems obscure my light, because my task is to bring light to those who have lost theirs. While I remain, there can be Hope." [stuff describing my Unicorn deleted] "Walk with me.. I'll take you to a place of safety." ..Perhaps I should bring them to Callahan's with me... "What I am trying to say is that there are ways and means of banking that inner fire. Knowing that you are alive to see the dawn of a new day can often be enogh, and it is a plus if you spend it with a good friend. Sunsets, in all their golden glory, work too, and even darkness on a starry night cn be friendly and enlightening. You can never be alone-- there are hundreds of living things areound you. Your inner fires can only go out if you let them, for they are your Hope and your Will." ----------------------++-------------------------------- He turns to the red wolf. "Runwolf, Oath Friend, remeber that your Dragon is his own person as well, and deserves to do his own thing as well. He's let you into his life, but you can't be allowed to take it over 'for him. He's got his own path to follow, and yes, I know you'll follow him anywhere-- do as you will." "As far as classes go, don't worry so much (I know you too well for that) and you'll do OK..." -----------------------+---------+------------------------------ He then turns to the centaur, and bows. "Greetings, cousin, and haelo. (BTW, I stole that greeting off of Running Wolf over there.) You have that which quite a few of us have been searching for for a long time. What price does love have? It is priceless for some, for when all is said and done, the money doesn't hug you close when you need one. I'd rather have a soulmate than a whole lot of money, (I am not putting a price on love) because what's life without someone to share it with?? Even a Unicorn does not travel alone-- there is always a friend along who we can complain to, or" (with a glance at the wolf) "who likes to complain to you." "Keep your friend with you, don't let anyone run your life that way...." "there will be other jobs available." ----------------------+++++_-------------------------------- Since I can't find my poem I wrote, here's one I copied out of a book I saw... "I am Unicorn born of the sun Who roams the hidden places Who rides the cloud Who tames the beast I drink the still waters I see the center I am the lawless one Whose name is submission I am the spearoint of truth I am the master of your dreams and desires I am YOU." -Taldin The Blue Unicorn Defender Of Light Furry At Large. -- "You are blue, Unicorn.. the Blue of clear, cloudless days where everything seems like it's going right and nothing could go wrong.. and the Blue of despair and lonliness." jefyoung@pawl.rpi.edu Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!ucsd!ucsdhub!hp-sdd!hplabs!hpfcso!daq From: daq@hpfcso.HP.COM (Doug Quarnstrom) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Marriage (was: The Woman Beside) Message-ID: <9060013@hpfcso.HP.COM> Date: 21 Jan 90 02:30:49 GMT References: <156@boston-harbor.lucid.com> Organization: Hewlett-Packard, Fort Collins, CO, USA Lines: 44 >I don't think it's an intrinsic problem with marriage, but in the way >your friends view it. Marriage doesn't have to be an exclusion, where Oh, but it IS an intrinsic problem with marriage. I perhaps, ok definitely, overstated the problem, but it is there. Marriage changes any friendship unless the friendship was formed after the marriage. And for someone like me, who depends on easy access to my best friends, marriage can change friendship signifigantly. I am not saying that friends stop being your friends, but the certainly have much less time for you, and depending on the spouse may have VERY little exclusive time for you. The spouse is usually included in almost any thing you do. This CHANGES a friendship. Also, just try having a friend of the opposite sex get married if you do not think that it changes things. >you don't still have 7 individual human beings. Anyway, if your >friends stop acting like your friends when they get married, then it's >your friends to blame, and not the institution of marriage. They >don't have to act like that. The thing that I hate about marriage is the pairing and coupling of people that tends to remove them from circulation. It happens to some degree in almost all marriages that I have seen. Again, friends do not not have to ignore you for marriage to change a friendship. >Still, I've seen people get swallowed by marriage as you describe. I >guess it's the sterotype that you are supposed to give up your former >life and "settle down" when you marry. But as in many cases, if you >buy what society wants to sell you, you'll end up with a load of >garbage. In many cases, marriage just places more varied demands and restrictions on your time. You have to worry about the wishes and demands of another person, so you are not as flexible as you are when you are single. > Ken ---------- Cynic Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!agate!tornado.Berkeley.EDU!gwh From: gwh@tornado.Berkeley.EDU (George William Herbert) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Lyrics, 1990 Message-ID: <1990Jan22.060809.7151@agate.berkeley.edu> Date: 22 Jan 90 06:08:09 GMT Sender: usenet@agate.berkeley.edu (USENET Administrator;;;;ZU44) Reply-To: gwh@ocf.Berkeley.EDU (George William Herbert) Organization: ucb Lines: 14 Summary:Bo? :-) In article ckd@bu-pub.bu.edu (Christopher Davis) writes: > >The question is... > > Does Bo know Netnews? > I dunnow; let's see if we can get him an account when we give one to Spider :-) -maniac btw: random warning; i may show at the next palo alto callahans meeting. can someone email more details on how to find roosevelt? i may have grown up in los altos but i never went north that often. Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!agate!tornado.Berkeley.EDU!gwh From: gwh@tornado.Berkeley.EDU (George William Herbert) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: WAR Summary: I second the ill-ease... Message-ID: <1990Jan22.062849.7948@agate.berkeley.edu> Date: 22 Jan 90 06:28:49 GMT Sender: usenet@agate.berkeley.edu (USENET Administrator;;;;ZU44) Reply-To: gwh@ocf.Berkeley.EDU (George William Herbert) Organization: ucb Lines: 24 Maniac stands up again, sneaks up to the bar, and rather suprisingly returns mike a unbroken glass. "what's that?," mike asks, looking over the troubled face before him. "oh, i don't know. the cynic rather completely spoke some feelings that have been running around in my head for a while. and i won't do a toast to war. neccesary, even good in extremis, war may at times be, but i will not toast it. the concept disturbs me. though few understood me, i _liked_ mutual assured destruction. while we had that we didn't have any major wars [please dont flame me and assert vietnam was a major war. or do it in mail if you have to] while that was in force. now that the superpowers are friendly and don't want to destroy each other on slightest provocation, all hell is breaking loose. ah, mike, a romulan ale please. ladies and gentlemen, i wish to propose a toast. [the house quiets down. faces turn to the figure at the bar] may we not be troubled in our mutual empathies by armed conflict. [maniac's glass is emptied, then tossed into the fireplace with force a major leauge pitcher would be impressed by. those who are particularly sensitive or observant may recognize a whole host of shades joining maniac in his toast; some standing as representations of their bodies elsewhere, some there alone because their bodies are not. the particularly acute will realize that all at the bar are warriors of one sort or another.] -maniac Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!mcsun!ukc!icdoc!doc.ic.ac.uk!jp From: jp@doc.ic.ac.uk (John Precedo) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: John the Op introduces himself. Keywords: hello! Message-ID: <1458@gould.doc.ic.ac.uk> Date: 18 Jan 90 21:52:22 GMT Sender: jp@doc.ic.ac.uk Reply-To: jp@doc.ic.ac.uk (John Precedo) Distribution: alt Organization: Dept. of Computing, Imperial College, London, UK. Lines: 46 A man walks in through the door. His attire is almost entirely black - that is except for the studs on his belt. Below the belt lies a pair of black jeans and a pair of boots, while above it lies a T-shirt for some oscure rock (or perhaps metal) band and a leather jacket (black of course!). The frame these hang from is about 5'10" tall and 140lb , pretty average really. His hair is verging on being long, and also black. The complexion of his skin speaks of the continental in his blood-line, albeit diluted. His eyes are a deep brown, and reflect back some of the firelight. He walks up to the bar, and pauses. Emptying various pockets he turns out two paperback books, a bus ticket, lots of small change, some keys, and at last manages to find a dollar. Smoothing the bill out on the bar, he slides it over to Mike. "Hello Mike. I've been lurking in the corners for a while, and it's about time I introduced myself. And I'll be making a toast, so I'll have a.." The voice trails off. "..Oh, what the heck! I'll have a Tequilla." He takes the proffered glass, after refusing the traditional salt and lemon, and continues. "My name is John and I'm a computer operator. There's a lot of Johns in the world, so I guess you can call me John the Op. I've been looking into this place for a week or so, and it's got the whole spectrum of people in it! It makes me feel good to be human reading these postings - there's joy and laughter and bad puns, there's pain and problems but always help and support. I like it so much that I'll be an irregular but persistant visitor here, just like I am to lots of pubs in the "real" world." He strides up to the line. Raising both his glass and his voice, he says "A TOAST TO ALL OF YOU!" ...gulp, gasp, lob... >>>CRASH<<< "If anyone wants a quite conversation with me, feel free to e-mail me. But if you aren't in the UK I can't reply - I can't shout that loud! Well, it's because I don't have permission for international e-mail, but that doesn't sound as good. You'll be hearing more from me later." So saying, John the Op wanders of looking for someone to talk to. Path: mit-eddie!bbn!bbn.com!fwebb From: fwebb@bbn.com (Fred Webb) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Grades, copyrights, and a toast Message-ID: <51201@bbn.COM> Date: 22 Jan 90 13:47:05 GMT Sender: news@bbn.COM Reply-To: fwebb@BBN.COM (Fred Webb) Organization: Bolt Beranek and Newman Inc., Cambridge MA Lines: 46 A lurker forms out of the shadows of a corner. He is still wearing a Metallica T-shirt, and he walks sadly towards Chris Phoenix, shaking his head. "Personally, I've never minded others knowing what my grades were. But I did know some young ladies in High School who did mind, and, as far as I can figure, they were basically ashamed of doing well. Anyone who has attended a public school realizes the stigma attached to both doing well ("nerd") or doing poorly ("loser"). Again, personally, I never cared. I always had a quick enough wit to turn around either doing better, or doing worse than the questioner, into a self-effacing joke. But these young ladies, as far as I could figure, tied a lot of their identity into their grades, and being questioned was a double-edged sword: if they did poorly, they felt valueless; if they did well, they were self-conscious about being labeled a "nerd". Perhaps this is just a vignette of life in a small town. Hope this helps. "About copyrights: there is a magazine I used to buy called "Song Lyrics". It was a fairly low-class magazine, and they basically used the information included on the record. (I.e. I don't think they had permission, either.) For example, The Rain Song by Led Zepplin (Page/Plant) (C) 1973 Superhype Music, Inc, ASCAP I'd put something like that down, and I don't see how anyone could object too strenuously." He pauses, and shuffles his foot on the floor. "An RC Cola, Michael, if you could." He withdraws a single from a tattered wallet jammed with traffic citations, notes, pay stubs, and other garbage. He looks at a photo in the wallet, a long-haired girl with a sweet smile. He strides to the chalk line. He looks a Chris again, adds, "I hope I was of some help, kind sir." and drains his glass. "Maybe I'll get to telling you my troubles sometime. For now, I'll just toast my kitten." The glass shatters in his clenched fist. Embarassed, he collects the shards and dumps them in the fireplace. He turns and departs, his long black wool coat flapping in the breeze. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Michael Webb, freshbeing at Massachusetts College of Pharmacy and Allied Health Sciences (whew!), Phantom of His Own Opera, Voodoo Medicine Man ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- -"Someday, all this could be yours." -"WHAT? THE CURTAINS?" -- Monty Python and the Holy Grail Path: mit-eddie!wuarchive!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!sunybcs!rutgers!noao-gemini!noao!amethyst!xibo@mts.rpi.edu From: xibo@mts.rpi.edu (Xibo) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: So it's Sunday... Message-ID: <1344@amethyst.math.arizona.edu> Date: 22 Jan 90 00:59:23 GMT Sender: news@amethyst.math.arizona.edu Lines: 73 vvvrrrRRROOOOOOMMMMMMMMM sccrreeeecchhhh *THUD* (sounds of two people getting out of a corvette) *KNOCK* *KNOCK* Xibo: Actually I hear it's always open Krill: Oh. Oops. Xibo & Krill-Man enter Callahan's. Krill: So this is the net.bar... Xibo: Let's get a table in the corner Krill: Wow, there sure a lot of corners! Xibo: But they're all taken. How about by the fireplace? Krill: Nope, that's taken too. They look around the place. Someone throws a glass into the hearth. People talk in extensive monologues. Several fantastic animals and other talking things are present. Xibo: whoa... just what kind of bar is this, anyhow?? Krill: let's see if we can get a drink. They walk up to the bar. Mike turns around, polishing a glass. He's almost surprised to see humans. Mike: Welcome! What'll it be? Xibo: I'll have a Jolt&Whiskey Krill: fruit juice for me. Mike: what kind of fruit juice? Krill: what kinds do you have? Mike: all kinds. every kind in the world, and more. Krill: I'll just take any old fruit juice!! Xibo pulls out a crumpled paper bag. He empties the contents, a large pile of one-dollar bills, onto the bar. Xibo: just take ones as necessary Mike. Krill: let's take a table in the middle, away from the corners. Seems to be plenty of space there. Xibo: I think we're expected to make a toast. Krill: but I didn't bring my toaster... Xibo looks for "the line" and after about five minutes of confused wandering, finds it. Xibo: To a future, may we meet more closer friends! crash, tinkle Xibo: hmm, gee... now I don't have anything to drink... Krill, you do a toast; I'm going to get another drink. Xibo walks back to the bar but trips over a teddy bear and falls flat on his face.