Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!wuarchive!decwrl!shelby!lindy!news From: GE.LJB@forsythe.stanford.edu (Louis J Bookbinder) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: time for fuzzies Message-ID: <8560@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Date: 19 Mar 90 18:46:43 GMT Sender: news@lindy.Stanford.EDU (News Service) Lines: 80 Clunk, clank Nick clanks in from the back room with another load of wood and an empty bucket. He dumps the wood by the fire, takes a critical look at the flames, (no, going good for a while), then goes over to the broom, puts down the bucket. Re-arranging the 4 or 5 fuzzies clinging to arms and shoulders, he takes the broom and begins to sweep broken glass. Saint Paddy's has been a messy weekend! Silversinger, a new guest (newnicorn?) comes in talks a while, toasts and adds glass to the mess, which Nick sweeps up without complaint. Every toast seems to make the place a bit warmer, something even the fire has trouble doing. Silversinger shifts to unicorn and back again, Nick sighs, - he has always loved to see unicorns. Various other folks come in and introduce themselves. Nick sweeps un-obtrusively and most guests make no comment. Silversinger comes back to the bar and trips over the net, posts a few redundant repostings and finally bemoans the fact that one of his two loves has backed off to give him room. Nick responds. "My sympathies, Silver. I've been in your shoes once or twice. I sort of think that this soulmate thing is wishful thinking - or exaggeration - or 90degrees from the truth or something. Everybody here swears by it, makes toasts by it, or gets cynical about it. Personally I think the best of us change and grow over time and that makes great matches between strangers a fleeting phenomenon. I'd much rather find someone I like a lot and who I am comfortable with, and who makes me happy, even if for a short time - no glowing ideals or matches made in heaven, just good warm sharing and a laugh or two. Anything else is bonus but never a condition for commitment. "Commitment. Funny how I stumble over these key words, now and then. With all this talk about soulmates and perfect love and joy and sex, we often forget that ultimately this entire game is about commitment. I will be blunt, knowing I will fall short of the truth: it aint the goodies you get, it is what you give. If there is ultimate justice in the universe (and thermodynamics suggests there is), you get out of a relationship no more than you put in. "Two consequences: selfish people end up shriveled and impoverished. And truly happy people are the ones who have risked everything for one or more others. You don't hit the jackpot finding that perfect match - instead you find someone you can commit to, and who commits to you, and between the two of you and a hell of a lot of hard work and burnt fingers you build a small fortune in love and happy memories. "I'm not sure how this relates to your problem, Silver. Maybe I am just trying to suggest you look at the problem from THEIR points of view. What do THEY invest? What are THEIR risks? I can't say the answer is obvious, at least not to me. I want to tell you I am pulling for you, and them, and wish you the best." Nick reaches up and gently lifts a green fuzzy off one shoulder. "Here, share this with them and it may help heal the pain. These 'happy' accidents can sometimes be the most agonizing you can have." Nick returns to sweeping broken glass. After a while most of the glass is in the bucket so he stops, replaces the broom, carries the bucket out through the door into the back room. A minute later he comes back in with the empty bucket and places it by the fire. The bar gets noisy with new guests and fancon announcements and visitors from alternate realities. Nick wanders over to the window and gazes in apparent happiness at the flowering plum trees outside. A few noisy mockingbirds are in them, scolding a large black cat who is washing a paw, apparently oblivious. Orion comes into the bar, gets a drink and walks to the chalk line. Nick turns from the window at the ensuing tale of woe. The toast is made. Broken glass again litters the hearth. "Gee, Orion, thats really tough. Life sure can be unfair at times. Anything we can do? I'm afraid I can't get you housing or friends, or even back in school. I can only wish you luck and tell you to HANG IN THERE - things WILL get better. Here is another warm fuzzy from a tin man." He picks an orange one off one arm. It gives a little questioning "Qhweeeep!" but humms when it comes in contact with Orions hand. Orion is not quite sure what to do with it but strokes it anyway. Nick walks back to the back room, all 6(!)(They are multiplying!) fuzzies on him singing a quiet song of assurance. Nick Chopper - my opinion? dont ax! LB>- GE.LJB@Forsythe.stanford.edu Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!rpi!jefyoung From: jefyoung@pawl.rpi.edu (Jeffrey Young) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: My Apology Message-ID: <4#A#9{$@rpi.edu> Date: 19 Mar 90 20:26:32 GMT References: <9062@sdcc6.ucsd.edu> Organization: Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute, Troy NY Lines: 117 Taldin, in human form, looks a bit distraught at first (and out of phase as well for being so far behind as he's been away from news for a time) at being the subject of what RESEMBLES a flame. As he silently listens to the Cynic talk about what is, and what was, and what he thinks will be, his eyes do not fill with the anger that would mirror that in the Cynic's own (as some might expect) but rather a faint sorrow and embarassment as well. The Cynic finishes, and sits, and awaits the fatal post that will cause him to leave Callahan's forever. He is rather surprised when it doesn't happen. Instead of even the 'ignore-the-person-who-dares-to-flame-here policy-we-agreed-on-way-back' treatment, he gets only replies of understanding and compassion, and a few stern words, but no requests to 'get out.' The Cynic then approaches, and apologizes. Taldin sits quietly and listens to what he has to say, and then stands, and a silence falls over all--surely this moment will be remembered for quite some time. To the others in the room: "I know this should be kept to private mail, but lest people accuse me of not reading the news again, and keeping quiet about all this, letting others fight for me, and whatnot, I'll post this public-- perhaps it will do others good as well." He then locks gazes with the Cynic. "I accept your apology, indeed I do-- and I would ask you for yours as well. Though this is Callahan's, where shared joy is joy multplied, I realize now that my post may have caused pain for many-- indeed perhaps more than the joy brought. It was a post intended to bring Hope to those who as of yet have not, and still would like-- for I have been one of those who thought I'd never find my soulmate (as evidenced by earlier posts down around 375 or so by me)--and I am not immune to cynicism." He takes hold of the Cynic's shoulders. "I do not want you to leave. If you would think you owe some sort of penance for your actions against me, my lady, Jilara, Alaric and Callahan's in general, then I suggest that your penalty be that you NOT leave until you are no longer able to get here due to net difficulties, or until you in fact find your soulmate. I want you to stay, and I say the Place still has room for THE Cynic, the moniker YOU have chosen for yourself. Understand? It may not sound like as much coming from the others, perhaps, but I hope you'll listen to me at the least." "You have great pain, friend, but you have been here for a long time, and though it may cause you pain to remain, you have stayed nevertheless. There's a reason for that, I'm sure. I know you can easily backlash that with a good-bye reply to this post, but I believe you are a man of honor, and you said you will not leave until WE tell you to. I will hold you to that. Stay, and perhaps here you might find a better way to ease your pain--which I can feel but a small part of." Taldin seems to be choosing his worlds carefully, as if he knows this is a rather delicate situation. "I would apologize for my lady as well, but she is her own person, not a posession of mine. She is free to go if she wants, but at this present moment in time we have every reason to stay together, and none to part. May the sad day where we break up never come, for I know I can never love another. My love for her is that great, and hers for mine is the same. I think I know her well enough that I can say that she will forgive you too." "As for the rest of you folks, I would ask that nobody ask him to leave, since that is obviously what he expects of us. Well, I'm fond of doing the unexpected-- and seeing the unexpected as well. I will not say I will leave if he does, because that would bind some people here not to speak their true thoughts-- but rather, if anyone wishes the Cynic to leave because of what they think his words have done to me, then please e-mail such to me-- whereupon the simple reply will be -- "I have forgiven him, and I was directly affected. Why can't you?"-- and Cynic will hear none of the words you speak. I would say I am protecting him, but he doesn't wish that of me-- doesn't expect it of me. But it's the best way to describe my reaction to this." "I would give you a Warm Fuzzy, as the others have, but you claim to touch it would turn it to a Cold Prickly. An idea of one tied around your neck came to me, but to bind a Warm Fuzzy to you would be cruel as well. A bit of magic, though I hate to use it in this manner, seems the best solution." Taldin picks up a Warm Fuzzy (silver-furred) from the pile on the table, and concentrates for a minute. He tosses it in the air, and the Cynic makes no move to catch it-- but he wasn't meant to anyway. It sails high over his head, and floats suspended in midair behind his left shoulder. When he turns to look at it, it scoots around behind him where he can't see it. "I've given you a warm fuzzy, friend-- may I call you friend? -- whether you know it or not. Even after all this. You'll always have one, whether you like it or not-- and you can use it someday to make more. All it takes is one, and I have given you one you can't easily get rid of. Keep it in good health, it won't hurt you a bit-- it's not poisoned, but rather of a love that is pure and true." He gives the Cynic a hug, which hopefully he reluctantly returns. "Now please, do sit down...friend? We can use 'aquaintance' if it makes you feel uncomfortable." "And I think some of us would like to know about this mysterious Lynn you mentioned." "I do apologize if in fact this situation has blown over, but I've still got another 75 articles to read to catch up, and I thought now would be a good time to reply before my silence was noted as being incorrectly reticent." -Taldin The Blue Unicorn -- "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." -The Raven Taldin The Blue Unicorn in real life: jefyoung@pawl.rpi.edu Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!mailrus!iuvax!noose.ecn.purdue.edu!mentor.cc.purdue.edu!gtz From: gtz@mentor.cc.purdue.edu (Eric C. Garrison) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Thank-you! Keywords: Metaphysics & Angst Message-ID: <8611@mentor.cc.purdue.edu> Date: 19 Mar 90 20:06:22 GMT Organization: Purdue University Lines: 44 Eric's bewilderment grows as people begin to surround him and shower him with understanding, advice and encouragement, and best of all - friendship! He welcomes those who come and sit with him, looking rather flustered, not knowing what to do with all the attention! He speaks to those now sitting at the table with him, and to others around the room who cared as well. "I want to thank you people, and since I have seen the principle of 'shared pain is lessened' actually work (I would never have believed it, not even when reading the books), I think I'll share some joy, and see what happens. "My joy is in the friends who are here, supporting one another, taking in everyone who dares to open, befriending sad and happy alike. I think this Place is something wonderful, some sort of incarnation of the empathy Spider intended, and the darnedest thing of all is that it *works*! "I have a toast, to those who heard my cry and answered with kindness, to Maya, Silverblack, Moonchilde, Stanzi, Paul, Kate and Elaine, to everyone here who has cared." "To friends!" <**CRASH**> The empty mug hits the fireplace and joins the growing pile of shards. Fast Eddie, not missing a beat, began a rousting round of "Friendship" on the old upright, while old Doc Webster rolled his eyes and filled up with more Peter Dawson's. Mike wiped down the bar once more, filling Long-Drink McGonnigle's stein for the nth time that night as he went by. Eric sits down among friends. Eric ----------------------- Eric C. Garrison ericg@ei.ecn.purdue.edu ----------------------- Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!PICA.ARMY.MIL!skitchen From: skitchen@PICA.ARMY.MIL ("D. Scott Kitchen", CCH-V) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: It's Been a While... Message-ID: <9003191633.aa04085@CC1.PICA.ARMY.MIL> Date: 19 Mar 90 21:33:06 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 62 The guy who likes to snap his fingers to change his clothes walks in again and performs his usual function. The peach shirt and tan slacks change to the more standard white Ohio State sweatshirt and jeans. "Mike," he begins, "an ice water, please. "First, let me apologize for not stopping in sooner. It's been rather busy here at work, and priorities often make me miss my stopping by Callahan's when I want to. "I've also got a status report to relay to all of you about Jennifer Doyle. She and I got together this past weekend at Princecon in Princeton, NJ. She's looking well and feels as well, too, though she wishes she were back at Princeton. She's still looking for access to get back, though, and her search continues. She's been doing some substitute teaching on the side (put her near small children, and from what I understand, she's really in her element), and she hopes to be going back to school at Brookdale Community College in Monmouth County, NJ, and eventually get her degree from a full-time school. I'll probably be seeing her (or at least talking to her) this coming weekend, so I'll gladly relate any messages you wish for me to give her. "I've also found a Callahan's. At least, a real bar that says "Callahan's" on the front. It's in Atlantic City on the corner of Brighton and one of Florida, Georgia, and Texas Aves. I didn't actually go in, but I saw it while driving by during my last trip down there over President's Day Weekend. "As for authors, I'll take the one you shouldn't rattle a sharpened stick at -- Bill Shakespeare." He ducks to avoid the hail of projectiles immediately thrown in his general direction. "Sorry. I'm an invertebrate punster -- so slug me. Anyway, life in general is pretty much status quo. Work is. Not much exciting is happening here. But I do have my raise which is a very nice thing. My family is well. The social life is still somewhat subdued, though. I do try to catch my movie every week, if at all possible, and I have my gaming groups, but it's just not the same as being in school. Anyone want to fund a second major for me? "One other positive thing you'll be pleased to hear about is that I've lost 15 pounds in the past month, thanks to Ultra Slim Fast. I've also just bought a bike, so I can actually get out and exercise, too. Dieting really sucks, but in the end it'll be worth it. "Well, I'm going to go grab a corner now, but I would like to make a toast before I head over there." He steps up to the line, drains the remainder of the water from his glass and toasts, "To Friends, both present and absent." The glass joins its brothers in the fireplace, shattering upon contact with the fireplace wall. Hugs, backrubs, and conversation freely given and accepted. Take care. ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Scott Kitchen Send mail to: skitchen@cc1.pica.army.mil Mechanical Engineer ICBM: 40.88 N 74.56 W ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Heard during Warhammer Fantasy Battle gaming session: Matt (looking a lot like a Jay Leno-type lich): Kill all you want...(creates loads of undead)...we'll make more. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!prism.gatech.edu!ccastdk From: ccastdk@prism.gatech.edu (Arthur dan Pwyll) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Advice and Greetings. Message-ID: <9003192141.AA26450@prism.gatech.edu> Date: 19 Mar 90 21:41:39 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 61 > "To cats: without which I would most likely be dead now." As the glass shatters against the fireplace wall, it is almost immediately followed by an ale mug. *SMASH* Arthur stands with the aid of an oaken staff, and turns towards Orion. "Brother, you're in a bad way. I've had similarly bad things happen to me, I'm sure everyone here can say the same. But I've never had so many happen so fast. And while I can't say I know how you feel, I can say I think I have a good idea. Here, sit down, have a drink on me, and let me give you some advice. For what it's worth." He smiles a wistful, self- mocking smile, and gestires to a seat at his table. "Mike, get this man another lemonade." Arthur waits until the Lemonade is brought, then continues, "When the world starts beating on you, there's three things you can do. You can lie down and die, you can retreat under the flurry of blows, or you can take it, square your shoulders and go on. It's easiest to just lie down, but then your beaten, and you'll never be as strong again. Retreating is harder, because you never do give in. You admit that you can't win, but not to defeat. You stand back, drift for a while, and recover, then go forward again. I've had to do this a lot, and it may be what you need to do. Or, hardest, you can just keep going. Absorb every blow as it comes, master it and go on. You deal with every problem as it occurs, do your best, and deal with the next one in it's turn. In your condition now, I wouldn't reccomend trying to do this, since you seem to have already taken your step back to catch your breath. Now what you need to do is solve your immediate problems one at a time. Don't think about the next one until the current one is under control. You seem (from me great distance) to be handling things pretty well, you just need to remember one thing. Don't lose heart. Don't give in. No matter how hard it gets, keep *trying* because if you give up, that'll be the end of you." He gets a sad faraway look in his eyes and continues, "I *know*. I've watched it happen to too many people. And I've too very nearly let it happen to me." He sighs, "I know this probably hasn't helped much, but I can't tell you that everything will be all right, because it probably won't, but I *can* tell you that it will get better. Grief and pain will fade, and life goes on. But only if you go on with it. I wish you luck, both with your house search, and with your life." Arthur clasps Orion's shoulder reassuringly, and returns to the bar. "Peppermint schnapps, Mike. Double." He picks up the drink as he drops the money. "SilverSinger, I congradulate you on your fortune, and feel for you with your loss. You are fortunate indeed and I wish you luck." "Karl, I'd give you some of the copious advice I've been giving out, but with my track record, I think I'll spare you the burden. Good luck to you as well." "Jilara & Alaric, Joelle & Unicorn, I wish to add my good wishes to those already given, for while I envy you, I do not begrudge you your happiness." "Cynic, Ah, Cynic. I recognize you, Oh how I recognize you. For you and I have much in common, although I have pulled back somewhat from your position, it was not so very long ago that I held it as well. I have found, though, that hate is usually not worth the trouble. It's object is, more often than not, not worth it. And as for companionship, it is all well and good not to need anyone else, but you should not take it to extremes such that you *must* be alone, simply being content alone is enough. Sure the game stinks, but it's the only game in town," he grins. "To all the rest of you, Greetings. I hope earnestly to get to know you all much better in the future." He walks over to the chalk line and looks into the half full glass of Schnapps. "To advice, may it always flow freely." **SMASH** Arthur dan Pwyll, Mage of Fionivar 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: Grenades a la Creme Message-ID: <9003191401.AA27560@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 19 Mar 90 22:01:33 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 28 Mike stride out from behind the bar, a mop in each hand, looking rather dangerous. He hands one to Jazz, then another to Zach. "Awright, you guys, I'd better see you cleaning up this mess, pronto. This ain't no three stooges act, here. I don't _care_ who started what, somebody is going to clean it up, and I better see that mop moving, right snappy, take my meaning? And when you get done, howsabout you all getting together and discussing this off in a corner, by yourselves, okay? At least Cynic and Jilara went outside to talk. Didn't see any slugging out there, either. None of this scorched floorboards and pastry cream and what." He mutters darkly as he heads back behind the bar. Jilara has pulled out a couple bar rags and is mopping cream filling off the tables, where it seems to be adhering in little gobs. "Gee," she remarks, "wasn't I the one who said something about a food fight, way back when? We really creamed that idea." "Perhaps I can help?" says a high voice from a shadow. A large mouse in a robe starts forward, holding a book, followed by a mop that seems to be moving on its own." "Oh no," says Mike, pointing an accusing finger at the mouse. "I've heard about you! None of this Micky Mouse help around here! Let them go it on their own!" The mouse and his broomlike friend retreat back into the shadows... ---------------------------------------------------------- Jilara the Exile jane%fsdcupt.csd@urbana.mcd.mot.com "If I'm not home accepting what I can't change, I'm out changing what I can't accept." --Ashleigh Brilliant Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM!jane From: jane@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM (Jane Beckman x4030) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Hearts and unicorns Message-ID: <9003191505.AA28854@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 19 Mar 90 23:05:51 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 52 Jilara is looking a little bleary-eyed after the weekend, but there is a grin on her face. "What can I say?" she says, shrugging. "I was at an Irish Rovers concert Friday night, a friend's birthday party Saturday day, over to Grand Central Starport for the It's Green party and informal Callahans gathering, stuffed my face with dim sum on Sunday, and spent the rest of the day in my favorite Japanese garden. Ah, hedonism! And Alaric's been around, too, so what more can one ask?" She laughs. "There were FISH jokes? That's crazy, because over at the party, a lot of us Callahanians were starting to fin-ish up some fish jokes and had a whale of a time with it." She walks over to SilverSinger and offers a warm fuzzy. "Call these the Callahans handshake," she says with a smile. "Welcome. SilverSinger, hmm? "Jilara" is protolanguage for "Singer of the Light," and once upon a very long time ago, I was known in certain circles as Jilara of the Golden Unicorn. She's long gone, I fear, but I find there are a lot of unicorn connections around here." As she heads back to her table, people notice a crystal at her throat wink red/green/gold as the light catches it. "It's a heart-shaped crystal that matches the one in the hilt of Alaric's sword," she remarks to Nick Chopper, who is looking at it curiously. "You and I may have a few things in common, my tinware friend. "A few months back, I toasted Oz, the Great and Powerful. That was because a friend remarked to me that one's heart is judged not so much by how much YOU love, but by how much you are loved by others. Now, there's a funny thing about this. I don't always connect well with my own emotions. I shift, and sometimes just stop feeling anything. It's part of my dissociation disorder. Yet, while I may not always feel the emotions, I try to run my life by certain principles. And somehow, I end up with being very important to a lot of people. Well, a few people have asked why the majority of my jewelery incorporates hearts, because they don't see me as a hearts person. I reply that they just seem to come to me---other people give them to me. I guess it's rather like your clockwork heart from the wizard. Maybe if enough people give me hearts, I'll find a little more of my own? Little by little, as they give me hearts, I seem to acquire a bit of one of my own. I'm learning, a bit---maybe I'm like that lady in Oz who had her heart frozen by a witch, except mine was just locked away from me, not frosted. (She wasn't a very nice person, any more than the princess with her head collection!) Sounds like an adventure from Oz, though! Lady gets her heart enchanted and put into a bunch of gems and trinkets, and has to quest through the world to get it back! I wonder how many pieces I have left to find?" She sighs, and orders a can of 20-50 Pennzoil for the tin woodman. ---------------------------------------------------------------- --Jilara the Exile jane%fsdcupt.csd@urbana.mcd.mot.com "If I'm not at home accepting what can't be changed, I'm out changing what I can't accept." ---Ashleigh Brilliant 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: A Place for everything... Message-ID: <9003192111.AA01819@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 20 Mar 90 05:11:21 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 84 After absorbing some echoes of recent past conversations, Alaric is looking a little concerned. His concentration elsewhere, the small shadow-forms flitting about the rafters and corners slowly dissipate. Finally, he sits back and sets his goblet down. "There's a Place for everything," he begins, "but everything isn't necessarily always in its place. For instance, anger. Hate, rage, all the feelings associated with it. It has a place too. Sometimes it's not easy to find that place; you may find yourself wishing you could just sweep it under a rug." He leans forward, giving a meaningful glance at the Cynic. "That's a big mistake. Don't ever try to just null out anger, or hate - because if you try to null it out, you're not dealing with it, you're just running away from it. The trouble is, you can't get away from it by running, because it stays right there with you. You can run, but you can't hide. If you null out anger, hate, fear, you wind up nulling out everything else as well... and believe me, even pain can feel awfully good, when you start feeling it after not being able to feel _anything_." He picks up the goblet again and takes a swallow from it, then gestures toward Cynic with it. "You say that you feel heavy emotional turmoil about crib death, about mustard gas, about nukes... answer me one question: IS THERE SOMETHING WRONG WITH THAT? Frankly, if these things _didn't_ bother you, _then_ I'd be worried. Being unable to accept these things doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with you; it just means you're sane. (A term that cannot be applied to most of the idiot politicians who inflict the nukes and mustard gas and Chaos-knows-what on us.) So you're angry about these things, and about other things? Don't try and null out the anger. Try to do something about the _source_ of the anger. Does a doctor treat a cancer by prescribing medication to null the pain?" He stops, and thinks for a moment. "Don't answer that one. A friend of my younger sister lost a father because of a doctor who did exactly that. Winning the malpractice suit wasn't much consolation. But that's another story... The important part is, it is _normal_ and _rational_ to be hurt and angry about things you cannot accept - whether for ethical or personal reasons. To ignore the hurt doesn't help anything - it's self-destructive as hell, and if you succeed in nulling it all out, you'll cripple yourself. So you're in pain - who wouldn't be?" He pauses again. "Just because you're feeling pain, though, doesn't mean you deserve more. Pain does not deserve more pain. So don't punish yourself for feeling bitter and hurt, - and don't try to tell yourself, or us for that matter, that you don't need anyone, either. If you didn't need anyone, you wouldn't be here. You haven't overstayed your welcome, either... just look around you, and you'll see a lot of sympathetic faces looking at you. You commented, with regard to Morgaine, that exile is horrible... yes, you're absolutely right. You said, `Don't try to glamorize it.' Well, no-one here is trying to glamorize exile; there's nothing about it to glamorize. I don't think anyone will argue with you on that score. "So why are you trying so hard to exile yourself?" He pauses again, and takes another mouthful of brandy. "If you want to be exiled from the Place, you're going to have to do it for yourself - because we're not going to do it for you. If you really wanted to leave, all you'd have to do is walk out that door and never look back. If you really wanted to do that, no-one here would go and drag you bodily back in... you have the right to make that choice if you want to. But I don't really think you do. "You see, you're not any kind of sociopath who can't tolerate people around - you're just a friend who's in a lot of pain and doesn't quite know how to deal with it. I don't blame you; it's not easy. Ask just about anyone here. Especially Jilara-san, or Taldin, or the Tabbifli. And you're still here because you _want_ to be here. Remember, this is Callahan's Place - and if there's anything any of us can do to help you deal with your pain and anger, all you have to do is ask. "But we will _not_ give you the bum's rush. If you want out of here, you'll have to walk out on your own." Alaric thinks for several minutes, then decides he's said about all there is to really say on the subject. He stands up and walks to the chalk line, taking a last swallow from the goblet. "To friends: May there always be some, and may we always have the sense to know when we have them." Blue flames from the residual brandy flicker in the fireplace for a few moments, as he walks back to his seat. _________________________________________ Alaric, alive and well, appears by courtesy of Jilara the Exile. My opinions do not necessarily represent those of her employer. Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!mirror!necntc!ima!haddock!karl From: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Realspace Gathering idea becomes a t-shirt Message-ID: <16207@haddock.ima.isc.com> Date: 19 Mar 90 04:25:25 GMT References: <9003120536.AA17527@ccb.ucsf.EDU> <1990Mar12.182716.14856@world.std.com> <1990Mar13.035252.1905@granite.cr.bull.com> Reply-To: karl@haddock.ima.isc.com (Karl Heuer) Organization: Interactive Systems, Cambridge, MA 02138-5302 Lines: 19 In article <1990Mar13.035252.1905@granite.cr.bull.com> mandel@granite.cr.bull.com (Mark Mandel) writes: >In article <1990Mar12.182716.14856@world.std.com> eliz@world.std.com (Elizabeth Lear) writes: >>But what would [the T-shirts] look like? > >Hmm... maybe the publishers would let us use "TIME TRAVELERS STRICTLY CASH"? I hope you mean "Callahan's Secret"; the covers on the first two books (the Berkley paperbacks, anyway) are pretty bad. Three bipedal aliens--Callahan's has had a vampire, a talking dog, a near-immortal, several time-travelers, and three psychics, but the only aliens featured in stories are Finn (who looks human), the Master (insectoid), and Raksha (furry green); none of them match those on either cover. A mirror--okay, it existed in *one* story. And a *barstool* on cover of the second book! Egad, didn't you read the book first, DiFate? (Trivia time: I named three aliens. At least one more alien has been in Callahan's, but never starred in a story. What am I talking about?) --Karl Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!goldfarb@ocf.berkeley.edu From: goldfarb@ocf.berkeley.edu (David Goldfarb) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Grenades a la Creme Message-ID: <35034@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU> Date: 20 Mar 90 07:49:53 GMT References: <9003191401.AA27560@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Sender: usenet@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Reply-To: goldfarb@ocf.Berkeley.EDU (David Goldfarb) Organization: ucb Lines: 61 "Not a Three Stooges act, huh? Tell that to *them*!" Zach says, pointing off to one side of the room where three balding men are pinching each other's noses and poking each other in the eye. Chocolate cream drips off his hand. "Well, before I take that mop, lemme clean up a little. I think I can still do a force field..." He says two words, and is surrounded by a cylinder of opalescent light. Mike, with a "Hrmph," leans the mop against the field and returns to the bar. Zach takes off his clothes. "Now for a bit of a shower." Slightly longer gestures now, and more complex words. A black, viscous liquid begins to fall from the ceiling inside the cylinder, spattering what little of Zach's body is not already covered in chocolate. "Chocolate syrup. Cute, guy, very amusing. I am *soooo* impressed by your wit." Zach is growing a bit impatient. "Now can I have some *water*?!" And it does indeed start to rain. "Doomo arigatoo gozaimashita!" Zach says, rather sarcastically. "I don't know," he mutters. "Four point eight seven six three times ten to the eighty-third familiar spirits in the multiverse, and I get one who likes to play practical jokes." The rain washes the food off of Zach's body, collecting in a layer of brown water at the bottom of the cylinder. A word stops the water, and another creates an opening in the force field. The mop handle falls through the door, whacking Zach on the head. He takes up the mop, and using it to preserve his modesty steps back out into the room. "Yo, Scott!" he calls to the recent entry. "Can you use that finger-snap of yours to whip me up some new clothes? The ones I've got are a bit... I'd do it myself, but my usual supplier is being somewhat unreli- able just now." "Sure thing..." comes the reply. With a *snap!* Zach is clothed in beige slacks with a black cloth belt, and a black T-shirt. "Much obliged!" Zach says. "And now to work..." He turns to the pile of pies on the floor, to discover that Jazz has mopped some of it up already. "Oh, hey, Jazz! You didn't have to do that! Here, give me that mop. This is my fault, it's only fair that I should clean it up myself." Zach reaches into the air. His hand disappears for a second, then returns with two one-dollar bills, which he gives to Jazz. "Have a couple of drinks on me, sit down, relax." With that, he sets to. A little while later, a nude man walks through the wall next to the door. He may be nude, but he seems less conscious of his body than anyone else you've ever seen. He has a distracted air; you get the impression that he walked through the wall because he couldn't be bothered to find the door. Also, he's completely bald--not a hair on him. Also, he's blue. And glowing. On his forehead you can barely make out a symbol of some kind: it seems to be a dot surrounded by a circle. Zach brightens, seeing him. "Jon! Hi!" Zach cries. "Hello..." the man responds uncertainly. "Listen," Zach continues. "Could you do me a little favor?" He indicates the mess with a sweep of his arm. "Could you take this stuff somewhere else--clean up the place a little?" The man blinks. It's obvious that he does that more out of habit than necessity. "Cream pies on the floor and cream pies in a trash can contain the same number of particles. Structurally, there's no discernable difference. Cleanliness and messiness are unquantifiable abstracts. Why should I be concerned?" Zach scowls. "Great, Doc. Thanks. Big help you are..." The "Doc" walks up to the roof. He doesn't use the spiral staircase; he just walks up the wall and through the roof. Zach sighs and keeps mopping. David Goldfarb goldfarb@ocf.berkeley.edu (Insert standard disclaimer) "Appears life is a fractal in Hilbert space!" "Ah, well. I knew it had t'be sometin' like dat. I knew dat couldn't be right, about de bowl of cherries." -- _Big Numbers_ #1