Path: mit-eddie!bbn!granite!mandel From: mandel@granite.cr.bull.com (Mark Mandel) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: A few words Message-ID: <1990Jan24.152559.28063@granite.cr.bull.com> Date: 24 Jan 90 15:25:59 GMT References: <1120@lopez.UUCP> <2770@unisoft.UUCP> Reply-To: mandel@granite.cr.bull.com (Mark Mandel) Distribution: alt Organization: Bull HN Information Systems Inc. Lines: 26 (Silverblack, about to run a hand through the already-rumpled hair from which he takes his nickname, looks at the spilled beer on his sleeve and palm and thinks better of it. He wipes his hand clean on a napkin, pulls from his wallet a photo of himself with a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle, an elf wearing a longbow across her back, and a Cheshire Cat, and flips it to the Michigander.) Evening, Hoser. Some of us here are in what might be called a state of arrested development, but I prefer to call it "avoiding ossification". Regardless of the calendar, there's an extraordinary number of supportive hearts and minds in here. I've only been coming by for a month or so, but it's truly amazing. Grey Wolf, I don't know what to say except: If mental force has any effect, I send you strength to wait and to turn as changes pass through you. I can't advise you, but I can be here to listen, to empathize, and to try to understand. (When the cold is reaching toward the bones, try just a dollop of dark rum in the hot chocolate.) (Silverblack heads toward the chalk line again, finishing his beer on the way.) To attentive, loving hearts! (** CRASH Tinkle tinkle **...) -- -- Mark Mandel (InterNet: Mandel@granite.cr.bull.com) /* My employer is not responsible for anything I say, do, think, or eat. */ Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!samsung!uunet!88opensi!ed From: ed@88opensi.UUCP (Ed Anderson) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Thanks!Thanks!Thanks!Thanks!THANKS! Keywords: mucho-grassyass Message-ID: <355@88opensi.UUCP> Date: 24 Jan 90 10:20:58 GMT Organization: 88open Software Initiative Inc., San Jose, CA Lines: 37 A muffled female voice is heard: "Program complete, you may enter" All eyes turn to the far wall... an arch appears with large grey mettalic double doors. The doors slide open horizontally with a slick metal-on-metal sound... In walks a young man with a smile on his face. He looks like a man who has found his persona. He's about average hight with a well toned muscular build, he wears on his collar the rank insignia of a Starfleet Commander. "I've seen this program before" he says addressing those in the room, "You once saw me walk through the other door, but back then I had no sense of character... I hurt too much and needed too much to be creative." "You responded to my need with a flood of mail I have yet to answer. My warmest heart-felt thanks goes to all of you who listened to the story about my divorce, you'll never know how much relief I have had since telling it, and how much help your letters have been to me." He moves over to the bar... "Mike Romulan-Ale please" Mike reaches back and picks up a strange bottle and pours it's blue liquid into a shot-glass. "I'll make sure you get a re-stock on that Mike, I know how hard it is to find Romulan Ale since it was outlawed", with an apologetic look on his face he says, "Computer Halt program, I need some currency for Callahans circa 1990..." suddenly appearing on the bar is seen a 100 dollar bill... "Continue program" the sound of light conversation fills the air again, "Mike, a round of choice for the house!" Stepping up to the line..."To my dear friends... Thanks" GULP ===================================>PaTCHINK!!!!!!!!! ---------------------------------------------------------- Ed Anderson uunet!88opensi!ed "Two things come out of Berkeley, LSD and BSD UNIX, this is NOT mere coincidence..." __________________________________________________________ Path: mit-eddie!rutgers!usc!snorkelwacker!spdcc!xylogics!world!eliz From: eliz@world.std.com (Elizabeth Lear) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: real-time Callahan's Message-ID: <1990Jan24.160901.3230@world.std.com> Date: 24 Jan 90 16:09:01 GMT Organization: The World Lines: 41 As the firelight flickered over the faces of the regulars, a shadow emerged from the covering darkness to stand exposed in the light. "I've actually been here for a while", came the feminine voice, "but I guess I've been uncharacteristically quiet around here, just sitting back and soaking it all in. But that changed last night, when a few of us who frequent this wonderful place found ourselves in the same dimensional area during the same approximate time frame; naturally a party was in order. "Robin started it off, with his realization that he 'could have a social life 2,000 miles from home' and his call for general assembly. The gathering was small, eight people, but it was wonderful. We met in the cold dampness of a Boston January night and proceeded to make our way to my house, with the appropriate stops for sustenance along the way. "The talk was serious, the chatter was light and humorous, the company comfortable, the evening just right in length. Bears met bears met bears, esperanto was shared, and pictures were shown around. I'm sure that each person who shared the evening will have something to say, so I'll cut myself off and end with a list of attendees of the first Boston (anywhere?) alt.callahans.gathering." Justin du Coeur justin@inmet.inmet.com Robin Colgrove robin@ccb.ucsf.edu Christopher Davis ckd@bucsf.bu.edu Karl Heuer karl@haddock.ima.isc.com Elizabeth Lear eliz@world.std.com Greg McMullen mcmullan@eddie.mit.edu Kathy O'Connell kmo@athena.mit.edu Gilly Rosenthol gilly@bucsf.bu.edu ...eliz -- ----------------------------------------------------------------------- One of the many fine staff members of THE WORLD - public access UNIX SUN 4/280 (617)739-WRLD 24 hrs. 300/1200/2400bd *Interested in musical theater? Join us! musicals-request@world.std.com* Path: mit-eddie!bbn!granite!mwolf From: mwolf@granite.cr.bull.com (Mary-Anne Wolf) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Cynic on Beauty and Pain Summary: Perhaps I have felt something similar Message-ID: <1990Jan25.004808.28530@granite.cr.bull.com> Date: 25 Jan 90 00:48:08 GMT References: <9060014@hpfcso.HP.COM> <11889@csli.Stanford.EDU> Reply-To: mwolf@granite.cr.bull.com (Mary-Anne Wolf) Organization: Bull HN Information Systems Inc. Lines: 68 A female voice comes from near the ceiling. Cynic, I think I have also felt something similar in response to beauty. I hope I'm not reading things into what you said that don't belong there, but it made me think of some things. In some kinds of paganism there is the worship of a triple goddess, in the form of maiden, mother, and crone. There's only approximate consensus on what they mean, but to me, the maiden represents anything from moon-goddess to huntress to tomboy to seductress. The mother represents, well, just what you'd think... home, nurturing and all that. The crone represents death, loss, acceptance, wisdom, all the stuff that has to do with realizing that life is the journey instead of the destination, and realizing that experience is now instead of forever. Even memory is selective and reconstructive after all. The crone maybe has a lot to do with that experience of melancholy. I remember when I started to understand the stuff that the crone meant, and DID NOT WANT TO. I fought it hard. I'm 28 and feel much older. So recently, everything was possible, and things in life were lost as a part of growth instead of just age. The reasonably pleasant life I lead now could continue for decades, largely unchanged, except when things change it that don't lead to any goal in particular. The world also seems to keep telling me not to fuss. 'It's not important. Don't care too much. Deal with it calmly. You are not allowed to be angry or sad or upset. You must accept everything.' One reaches the point at which nothing feels important. My melancholy at beauty is a sadness that I am no longer able to feel strongly about it for any length of time..sort of reverse Buddism..I miss my attachments. I used to write poetry. I practiced for years to get skill in rhyming and scanning. Now I don't write any more because there is nothing inside me to write about. Even my dreams are boring. Some months ago, my grandmother died. I had to get, at very short notice, tickets to transport my brother and me to Europe and back around labor day week-end, for the funeral. It was not as tough on me as you might think. My room-mate said I did not act upset, just a little more absent-minded than usual. I don't think I've cried about it yet. My main concern at the funeral (besides just looking around because I'd never been to a funeral before) was identifying the people who were there, and comforting anyone who seemed to need it. Gods! This sounds depressing. The funny thing is that I'm not depressed. I laugh a lot. I'm very functional. There's just a sort of emptiness, a pointlessness, perhaps a loneliness. All the world is full of sh*t and so am I. Is that anything like what you were feeling? Mary-Anne Wolf mwolf@pws.bull.com or mwolf@granite.cr.bull.com "Laughter, music, and perfume linger here and there. Wine flows from flask to glass to mouth as it soothes confusing our doubts. And soon we feel, why do a single thing today? There's tomorrow sure as I'm here. And the days they turn into years. And still no tomorrow appears. Better think a while..or I may never think again. If this were the last day of your life, my friend, tell me what do you think you would do then? Stand up to the blow that fate has struck upon you? Make the most of all you still have coming to you? Lay down on the ground, and let the tears come from you crying to the grass and trees and heaven finally on your knees?" --not my words..partial lyrics to a song which I cannot remember by name..somehow that's appropriate. -- Path: mit-eddie!mit-amt!snorkelwacker!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!rpi!jefyoung From: jefyoung@pawl.rpi.edu (Jeffrey Young) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Speaking in Tongues, Helping A Friend Message-ID: Date: 25 Jan 90 01:32:27 GMT References: <9001231655.AA03174@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy NY Lines: 40 >Jilara grins from a corner. [stuff deleted] >"..and the French will have to blow their horns to speak Cornish..." >She ducks under the table to avoid objects thrown by those who >understand savoir-faire... But she happened to be standing right next to Taldin, who nickers. 'Speaking 'Cornish is my language, and I am *not* French! Well, at least not in this personna.." He neatly sweeps a nearly empty bowl of beer nuts into her lap in appreciation. Greywolf enters, looking pretty bad. I listen quietly to his dilemma, and as he finishes, I get him some of that Midori stuff he likes. Plopping himself into the seat next to the elfin empath, he passes the mug to him. "Better drink it.. 'cause otherwise It'll go to waste. I don't drink alcoholic beverages, if that's what it is." He gives the Elf a hug. "That feeling of dread, that something bad is going to happen? I hate when that happens. The only thing worse is feeling depressed for no reason at all. That's a pain.. well, you've come back to where people do care, and we've been patiently awaiting your return, though not in this state. C'mon.. she's your soulmate, man, and you should wait for her! I'm STILL waiting to meet mine..so count your blessings and be prepared for the worst, since something has seen fit to warn you. But don't wait for it to happen.. that's no good.. be alert and aware, and perhaps you can alleviate the dilemma before it turns into a disaster..a watched pot never boils." -Taldin The Blue Unicorn Defender Of Light -- "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!snorkelwacker!usc!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!swrinde!cs.utexas.edu!rutgers!columbia!cunixf!shoulson From: shoulson@cunixf.cc.columbia.edu (Mark E. Shoulson) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Esperanto Message-ID: <1990Jan25.004521.8864@cunixf.cc.columbia.edu> Date: 25 Jan 90 00:45:21 GMT Organization: Columbia University Lines: 11 There are other Esperantists out there in alt.callahan.land!? Awesome! It's so tough trying to accomplish anything with this language with no interlocutors. Let me know if you want to practice or anything, anyone! ~mark o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o Mark Shoulson: shoulson@cunixf.cc.columbia.edu shoulson@cunixc.bitnet {...}!rutgers!columbia!cunixf!shoulson Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM!jane From: jane@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM (Jane Beckman x4030) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Fragility, Beauty, Resignation Message-ID: <9001241640.AA06606@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 25 Jan 90 00:40:10 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 70 Jilara shakes her head at Cynic and Chris Phoenix. "Herrick said it best: 'And this same flower that blooms today/Tomorrow will be dying.' I should make morning glories my signature; they are the Japanese symbol of mortality, and the fleeting world. My life is eternally like the dewdrop at the end of a grass blade: how long until the drop falls? Every period of stability in my life is just a period of waiting for the plashing of that waterdrop. Death hangs over my shoulder, holding out a pocketwatch, whispering "how much time do you think you have? And has the bell tolled already?" "And yet---stability is stagnation. In the codes of zen, wind and water are to be aspired to, for they are mutable, unchanging yet ever new, restlessly adapting. And we cannot truly appreciate things that never change, but stay in stasis. Nick Chopper, our tinware friend, and I had a discussion of Oz, and how Oz is really hell. Imagine a place where the forces of birth and death, building and decay, are eternally stalled! Imagine Dorothy, a girl with decades worth of experience, who probably came to view the world as an adult pretty fast, considering her experience, forever trapped in a child's body. (I felt like that, when I was younger---it's not the years, it's the mileage.) Beauty has an extra dimension made of poignance, being so transitory. Yet one must let it go, pass on. In Zen contemplation, one first appreciates flowers, which are bright and transitory, then evergreens, which are longer-lived but not as bright and exciting, then stones---which symbolize eternity. Find the interest in the stone, the patterns of raked sand, and your mind has explored all levels. "If you can put up with the old exile quoting some of her poetry, this one seems rather appropriate here, and I've thought of posting it a couple of times, lately. Now seems good. Left Behind The wind from the sea, it calls to me And bears me south, away. But the drawn-out sigh of winds that cry Tells me I cannot stay. Lost in the past, my fate I cast To follow my quest along, And now I stand on distant land Remembering long-lost song. Once I knew all I would do, But now my heart grows old. My past is gone, yet I go on, For all my zeal grown cold. A hurrying year shall not rest here, A vow is my command, To let it go is all I know, Like water through my hand. Pass and fade, the world was made To wait upon no man, All things have cost, and all are lost Though we hold what we can. And age draws near, despite our fear, And breathes a bitter breath. And all we find is left behind In passage or by death. ---Jilara the Exile (I hope.) "If I'm not home accepting what I cannot change, I'm out changing what I can't accept." ---Ashleigh Brilliant (alternate identity may be jane@fsdcupt.csd.mot.com---don't you love computers with identity crises?) Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!samsung!umich!sharkey!lopez!flash From: flash@lopez.UUCP (Gary Bourgois) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Hoser Returns Keywords: heeeees baaaaaack Message-ID: <1121@lopez.UUCP> Date: 25 Jan 90 03:41:17 GMT Organization: Great White North/UPLink, Marquette, MI Lines: 69 Ten minutes before closing. Wearing the same garb as last night, right down to the ragged t-shirt, the Michigander enters the bar. It has finally stopped snowing, although the temperature remains in the high teens just beyond his port of entry. He is solemn. He notes the aviator's absence. Mike says: "The Usual?" His second visit, and Mike has him pegged. Black coffee. A somewhat bitter brew. At home, he would probably dose it good with sacharrine and powdered creamer, maybe even add a teaspoon of cocoa, a dash of vanilla, maybe even some almond extract. But the Michgander's mood demands coffee black. To be sipped, not really savored, for who really savors black coffee? Last night the crusty old hermit stayed up til near sunrise. He's a night person, a solitary creature of the dark. The interlude at Callahans was a diversion, a change in the repeating tracks he has been making for over four decades. Mike says: "What about the lady on South Padre?" The slate grey eyes look up from the coffee cup... "Well Mike, she called tonight from a phone booth somewhere on the island. I could hear the wind whipping into the mouthpiece on the other end... She was down. It's the pain, you know. She sounded a little distant. Not the connection, you know. The CONNECTION. If you get my drift. We have shared a lot in ten years. How can you not? But this we can not share. I think she is wearing out, Mike. I dunno, maybe it is just that it is cold and wet in the gulf this time of year. She liked the books I sent, and the flashlight. She lives in a camper, Mike... Did I tell you that? In a pickup camper. Can you believe it? A vagabond. Keeps to herself, even more than I do, and I am a certified hermit." Mike nods. He knows how it is when someone just needs to talk. To sort their ideas. He is the consumate barkeep. He refreshes other folks drinks, and never misses a word. Mike is a true artist. He fills a nitch that no shrink could. Listening. Comprehending. Mike has heard just about every story there is to tell. The Michigander continues: "Yeah, Mike, I know I am just babbling. Don't know what brought me back. I am not much for bars... But your place, well, it's different. Hard to explain. I was just out for a walk, you know... thought I would stop here before hitting the all night gas station for some diet cola... Not that I like the stuff, you understand. Well, I guess it beats the black coffee." Mike smiles and polishes the bar. "Last Call" he bellows. A few heads turn at Mikes resonant voice. Orders are placed, more cash on the bar. "One for the road," says the Michigander and Mike refills his cup. "Sorry for bending your ear, Mike." "That's what I'm here for." says the barkeep. "Thanks," the greying northerner says, "Thanks." -- == 14.313 == Amateur Radio Forum Saturday 11:00AM Eastern time == 14.313 == == Gary Bourgois flash@lopez (rutgers!sharkey!lopez!flash) GWN UPLink == == 3.950 Nationwide Amateur Radio Nightly after 0200z=Learning Channel == =============== WB8EOH = The Eccentric Old Hippie = WB8EOH ================ Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!brutus.cs.uiuc.edu!samsung!uunet!ontek!mikey From: mikey@ontek.UUCP (Michael E. Lee) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: So it's Sunday... Message-ID: <922@ontek.UUCP> Date: 25 Jan 90 00:54:48 GMT References: <1344@amethyst.math.arizona.edu> Reply-To: mikey@ontek.UUCP (Michael E. Lee) Organization: Krill Liquor Corporation Lines: 131 In article <1344@amethyst.math.arizona.edu> xibo@mts.rpi.edu (Xibo) writes: | | Xibo: I think we're expected to make a toast. | Krill: but I didn't bring my toaster... | crash, tinkle -------------------------------------- Xibo: Say, has anyone seen Kibo lately? If you have, tell him I'm a gunnin' for him. He should know by now, he ain't allowed. Krill: Duh, yeah. Xibo: Wow, krill, take a lookie over there... isn't that little girl cute? Krill: Duh, yeah. Xibo: She can't be a day over 15. Krill: Duh, yeah. Xibo: I'm gonna go over there and get her phone number. I'll be right back. Krill: Duh, yeah. Xibo: [shuffles over to corner #77.3, mumbles something about sntf, gets nervous, shuffles back] [to krill:] She wasn't my type anyway. Krill: Duh, yeah. Xibo: Hey, krill, did you read that book on chaos theory I sent you last week? Krill: Duh, yeah. I found it wanting the area of untested theory, but was pleasantly amused by the frequent counterpoints between investigative approaches to scientific fact-finding and political intervention in the goings on of major universities. The author's acknowledgement of computers as a fundamental tool of research was refreshing. Overall it was well structured, but often dry. The book is one in a continuing series designed to introduce to the layman familiar concepts about science, perhaps to the eventual end of displacement of religious beliefs with secular descriptions of the universe. Insidious but accurate. What did you think of it? Xibo: Duh, yeah. Krill: [Pulls book out of backpack, throws it in fire. Begins chanting quietly:] Krill good, fire bad... Krill good, fire bad... ------------------------------------------ [3 hours later. Krill and Xibo have finished about 5 hard drinks each and are singing a medly of nursery rhymes, beatles songs, and sex pistols. Carasso enters and sits down at the table with Krill and Xibo and joins in the singing without further ado] Xibo, Carasso, Krill together: Three blind mice all live in a yellow submachine gun A yellow submachine gun A yellow submachine gun Rock-a-bye Lucy in the sky with diamonds Elanor Rigby, the cow, dumped over the moon Xibo: Shhhh: Wait, I hear something. [silence] Krill: Duh, yeah. Carasso: I AM YOUR LEADER. IF THIS WERE AN ACTUAL EMERGENCY YOU WOULD HAVE MELTED IN A POOL OF RADIOACTIVE TELEVISION SHOWS. KILL ME NOW. HA HA HA. VERY FUNNY. -LOVE, GORBY Xibo: No, be quiet. [footsteps gradually get louder] [door opens, kibo the kid walks in] Kibo: This town is big enough for the both of us. Xibo: This town is Not Allowed to be be big enough for the both of us. You best be headin' for Boston, Mr. Anti-Xibo. Kibo: So you're saying I'm allowed to go to Boston? Xibo: NO NO NO NO! I'm not allowed to allow that! Kibo: Say boys and girls, today we're going to visit Kind Friday and the Owl and have lots of fun. I'll take off my jacket and put on my slippers and you can watch Mr. Trolley. Can you say Trolley? I knew you could! Krill: Traulie. [smiles at himself] Carasso: JELLO PUDDING POPS ARE THE BEST -LOVE, COSBY Xibo: Oh! The angst! It's killing me! [Xibo dissolves into a puddle of xibo-ooze on the floor. The ooze melts through the carpet and wood-slat floor into the basement. The hole in the floor is three feet wide before the ooze is spent. Below is a direct view of the basement. It contains torture racks, iron maidens, wooden crosses, firepits, and (gasp!) a tv tuned to a colorized version of Casablanca.] Krill: Toys! Carasso: [speechless at the moment] Xibo: [in a booming, otherwordly voice] WAH HAHAHAHAHA! I will haunt you all forever! HAHAHAHA! Krill: Duh, yeah. --------------------------------------- Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!agate!earthquake.Berkeley.EDU!gwh From: gwh@earthquake.Berkeley.EDU (George William Herbert) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Paladins And Unicorns, Quests, Inner Fires, More Message-ID: <1990Jan25.084812.4355@agate.berkeley.edu> Date: 25 Jan 90 08:48:12 GMT Sender: usenet@agate.berkeley.edu (USENET Administrator;;;;ZU44) Reply-To: gwh@ocf.Berkeley.EDU (George William Herbert) Organization: ucb Lines: 18 Summary:And Vat's wrong vit Vampires? :-] In article <2770@unisoft.UUCP> greywolf@unisoft.UUCP (The Grey Wolf) writes: > >{ Am I an empath...? Or am I a vampire? I hope i am not the latter... } >{ perhaps I am both. } > >h ... e --- l ... p > The maniac in the corner smiles, showing a bit of fang, and chomps down on the bottom of a can of Coke. Satisfied that it's suitably opened, he then siphons the contents out through the small holes into his mouth. "Anythign wrong with being a vampire? :-)" -maniac [ps-good luck with whatever it is that's happening...it ought to strengthen you in the end...]