Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!zephyr.ens.tek.com!tektronix!reed!thalen From: thalen@reed.UUCP (Not bad but damn unlucky...) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Me. Summary: Yep. Yep. Keywords: optimism, depression Message-ID: <14627@reed.UUCP> Date: 4 Apr 90 23:26:15 GMT References: <14499@reed.UUCP> <1620@jura.tcom.stc.co.uk> Reply-To: thalen@reed.UUCP (Dedicated (and) terminal) Organization: Reed College, Portland OR Lines: 34 Rhodri James said: > <so many echoes, if you'll pardon the phrase, with things in my life. Not >the seasonal depression -- I don't have any physiological problems like >that as far as I know. No it's that you sound like you use your optimism >when you're depressed the same way that I use most of my life -- to set >yourself up for a fall. > << I know that sounds odd, but think about it for a while. The way it >works for me is that because of ... various complicated reasons that I >don't want to go into just here, I go through cycles of having to do >things and subconsciously doing them badly. Specifically, I _have_ to >* Windsinger * "Nothing is forgotten..." >* rmj@islay.tcom.stc.co.uk * Mike Whitaker >* or * "...except sometimes the words" >* ...!mcvax!ukc!stc!rmj * Phil Allcock Thalen walks up to Rhodri. "Yes! Yes! That's EXACTLY what I mean. Except that the optimism in this case isn't JUST to set myself up for a fall. I guess the difference would be that, well, you have to do things, and do things badly. I have a tendancy to do things well. However, when they are things like the play I was trying out for (I didn't get the part, by the way) I have a tendancy to pin my hopes on unlikely things. Hmm..." Thalen looks thoughtful "...maybe because I want to have something to blame failure on. The funny thing is, if I get them, I don't often fail. I'm not bragging, I just seem to be able to succeed, when I put my mind to it. Unfortunately, I have LOADS of trouble with putting my mind to anything that I am not deeply interested in. :-\ Oh, well, enough from me. Thalen, a lazy Mage (thalen@reed.BITNET works great) "So, I continue to continue to pretend my life will never end, and flowers never bend in the rainfall." (Paul Simon) Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!wuarchive!psuvax1!xavier!news From: hrr91@campus.swarthmore.edu Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Emerarld Green Warm Fuzzies Message-ID: Date: 5 Apr 90 14:48:44 GMT Sender: news@xavier.swarthmore.edu (USENET News System) Organization: Swarthmore College Lines: 8 >Lyra wanders around, searching out various people - Orion, Taldin, >Doug, Jilara, the Green Tiger, Eretria, Oktave, and Kareth - and presenting >them with emerald green warm fuzzies. Kady is given a green-black swirly >fuzzy. Surprise, perhaps, at such a gift is unfounded but present. Eretria for once has no words to express gratitude and holds the fuzzy as if fearing she'll crush it. Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!apple!oliveb!tymix!oolong!baba From: baba@oolong.uucp (Baba Rum Dudu) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: White Cockade Caravan? Message-ID: <3412@tymix.UUCP> Date: 5 Apr 90 16:17:56 GMT References: <9004041548.AA01044@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Sender: usenet@tymix.UUCP Reply-To: baba@oolong.UUCP (Baba Rum Dudu) Organization: BT Tymnet, Inc. / San Jose, CA Lines: 14 A word of caution to travelers. On beautiful spring weekends many cyclists, motorcyclists and Sunday drivers inhabit the road to Boulder Creek. Be aware and have patience. If the trip taxes you greatly, pull off the side of the road, let the cars and `bikes pass you, get out of your car, and enjoy some of the many truly gorgeous views to be found on this path for a few moments. The mountains are magic. Treat them gently and they will reward you. d'baba Duane M. Hentrich ...!hplabs!oliveb!tymix!baba or baba@opus.tymnet.com Claimer: These are only opinions since everything I know is wrong. Copyright notice: If you're going to copy it, copy it right. Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!ucbvax!PICA.ARMY.MIL!skitchen From: skitchen@PICA.ARMY.MIL ("D. Scott Kitchen", CCH-V) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: TRAVEL ANNOUNCEMENT!! -- New Haven, CT Message-ID: <9004051133.aa06416@CC1.PICA.ARMY.MIL> Date: 5 Apr 90 15:33:48 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 12 Hey, everyone. I realize this may be a bit late, but there'll be at least two Callahan's types at SILiCON V this coming weekend in New Haven, CT. The con is being held at the Howard Johnsons Long Wharf (correct me if I'm wrong, Straz) and runs from Friday evening until Sunday afternoon. Straz and myself will be there, for sure, and there may be others. Maybe we'll see you... ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Scott Kitchen Send mail to: skitchen@cc1.pica.army.mil Mechanical Engineer ICBM: 40.88 N 74.56 W ----------------------------------------------------------------------- It is a good day to die, Duras, but the day is not yet over. -- Worf 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: Reality check Message-ID: <9004051014.AA04670@fsdcupt.csd.mot.COM> Date: 5 Apr 90 17:14:26 GMT Sender: daemon@ucbvax.BERKELEY.EDU Lines: 63 Jilara stands up and folds her arms sternly, giving the impression that she is going to Seriously Hold Forth. "HEAR YE!" she says in a voice that has been known to cut through crowds at Renaissance Faire. Mike Callahan cocks an eyebrow and Fast Eddie stops playing, as a lull falls in the conversation throughout the Place. "I have heard it alleged here recently that The Place isn't "real." The analogy follows that if The Place isn't "real," we're all not truly "real" either. I beg to differ. Someone, who ought to know better, she frowns at a table where Austin sits, "has the misapprehension that because you can't feel it when you try to kick a wall here, or because people tend to picture themselves in forms that are more comfortable to their souls than the ones they were born with, that somehow that makes us "not real." Well, I, for one, am a little bent out of shape by that. Admittedly, I appear here pretty much as I appear in some shadows of the other world out there, what you might call "reality," simply because this IS the way I see myself. But frankly, friends, I'm more "real" here than there, simply because I let you see more of the truth of my being, rather than the images and shadows and misapprehensions I let the "real" world see. I'm safe here, and don't have to be obscure and fade into corners, nor put on my "superJilara" guise and become intimidating enough that no one wants to mess with me. "Some folks may have the misapprehension that Callahans Place is just some sort of big fantasy-role-playing game. I dispute that perception. It is most emphatically not, at least not of that sort---real life in many ways is much more of a role-playing game, where we shift into shadows to survive in a cold and harsh world. I doubt that most folks here are playing "characters," even if they picture themselves as unicorns or cats or tin woodmen. They are expressing sides of themselves that they might not be able to express in physical reality." She grins at a big pussycat who is watching her with an amused expression. "If you knew Colleen, you'd know her depiction is a very valid reflection of her character. We aren't just going off and pulling random semblences out of a hat. "Frankly, The Place is a lot more real than the place where I work, thank god for it! I'm a writer, so I live in words, anyway. The Cherokee have a belief that the world is simply a dream we are all dreaming together, and that we have the ability to shift and modify that dream, if we all agree. Callahans is like that. It grew of a dream in Spider Robinson's mind, and acquired a life of its own, without him, as others shared that dream. Until voila, alt.callahans was born! Back when I unravelled last fall, I dispairingly told my therapist: "Because of the weird way my mind works, I'm not really sure of what's real or not." And she, wise woman, replied: "What is real or not doesn't matter. What matters is what you learn from it." I think we could all do to keep that in mind." She looks back at Austin, more gently, this time. "Don't question Callahans, my friend. Because you can't touch me doesn't mean I'm not real, nor that I am not genuinely concerned about the friends I've met here. Some of us meet in other times and places, and find we are very solid, elsewhere, if not exactly as you picture us here. We're real, and we care, as much in this world as in any other. "I'm going to get down off my soapbox now." She tosses an accusing look at a wooden box marked "SOAP" that Mike has casually kicked out from behind the counter, ever-so-innocently. "But I'll leave you with a bit of poem, written by Poul and Karen Anderson, if memory serves, a fragement that has stuck with me. "...Already yours, these unicorns, as real as any dream, This castle, real as memory, but none that you have seen." ---Jilara the Exile jane%fsdcupt.csd@urbana.mcd.mot.com My email went to Urbana, but all I got was this stupid router! Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!usc!cs.utexas.edu!uunet!shelby!lindy!news From: GE.LJB@forsythe.stanford.edu (Louis J Bookbinder) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: a star Message-ID: <8807@lindy.Stanford.EDU> Date: 5 Apr 90 17:19:13 GMT Sender: news@lindy.Stanford.EDU (News Service) Lines: 27 Clank Nick stands by the window gazing at his palm. A hard point of light shines there, ever-so-slowly fading. He realizes that, like memory, the star will always be there but will become less noticable with time. Something he can have and cherish. "Thank you, Eretria, it is a precious gift. I do not deserve it. "A short poem, if nobody minds. I have no idea what it means. " My lover's hair is raven's wings A mantle of night on pale moon glow And a comet wisp of soft singing silver Motionless in the sea of stars. She sleeps in silence and darkness, No breezes sigh through mountain vales, And night spilling in rivers of jet Flowing soft to the shores of peace. But the nightbird wings thru the hours Constellations wheel slowly toward dawn An phantoms of dreams, pale shadows of life, Drip to earth from the hard points of stars." Nick Chopper - my opinion? dont ax! LB>- GE.LJB@Forsythe.stanford.edu Path: mit-eddie!snorkelwacker!tut.cis.ohio-state.edu!pt.cs.cmu.edu!andrew.cmu.edu!haste+ From: haste+@andrew.cmu.edu (Dani Zweig) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Ch-ch-ch-changes... Message-ID: <4a6s9Na00WB84wIksg@andrew.cmu.edu> Date: 5 Apr 90 17:37:29 GMT Organization: Graduate School of Industrial Administration, Carnegie Mellon, Pittsburgh, PA Lines: 6 The "BAMF" is followed by a machine-gun firing of "bamf"s -- not as loud, but somewhat sharper. When the cloud of sulphurous smoke fades, it can be seen that the new Brandi has company: Thirty foot-high near-duplicates, obviously stamped from the same mould. Thirty black faces turn to Brandi with glee: "MOMMY!". Path: mit-eddie!bu.edu!orc!inews!iwarp.intel.com!omepd!pzbaum!reed!thalen From: thalen@reed.UUCP (Not bad but damn unlucky...) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: We have a winner! Summary: The man in black and cream. Keywords: Al Stewart Message-ID: <14616@reed.UUCP> Date: 4 Apr 90 05:28:56 GMT Reply-To: thalen@reed.UUCP (Dr. Paradox) Distribution: alt Organization: Reed College, Portland OR Lines: 46 To heck with continuity. Assume this happened before I started fencing. (Oh, and I'm sorry this is so belated. The article never made it to Reed.) Thalen stands, and walks over to the man in black and cream. "Congratulations! You have gotten the right answers, and I do indeed owe you a drink. I am of course referring to the songs I sang in here about a week ago. This gentleman, who hasn't yet introduced himself to me, has gotten all three titles and albums. For any of you who are curious, the artist was Al Stewart. The first song was "Merlin's Time" on the album "24 cParrots and a Shot in the Dark" (the c is crossed out). The second was "Roads to Moscow" from the album "Past, Present, and Future," and the third was "Year of the Cat" from the album of the same name. Congradulations!" Thalen then looks around mischevously, and starts to say something. Then he stops. "No," he says, "don't even let me START on music puns. That would affettuoso much." He is quickly strangled by several willing volunteers. Next, Thalen sobers abruptly, as he approaches Eretria. "I thank you, m'lady, for allowing me to borrow such a fine instrument. Gena, will you sing with me?" Apparently the answer from the lute satisfies him, for he seats himself, holding the lute reverantly. "This is one of my favorite songs. It is a madrigal of the old style, meaning a one-voice song with the accompaniment of a variable number of lutes. However, one this fine will surely do." Thalen gets a far-off look in his eyes. "Oh, yes, the lyrics are in Italian. I am not even going to attempt a translation, but it is a love song, to "Amarillis, my fair one" (my love? my heart? something like that.) Thalen starts in with a few notes on the lute, and then begins to sing, softly: (I have no idea where to break the song up, so I'm not even going to try) "Amarilli, mia bella, non credi, o del mio cor dolce desio, d'esser tu, l'amor mio? Credilo pur: e se timor t'assale, dubitar non ti vale. Aprimi il petto, e vedrai scritto in core: Amarilli, Amarilli, Amarilli, e is mio amor. Credilo pur: e se timor t'assale, dubitar non ti vale. Aprimi il petto e vedrai scritto in core. Amarilli, Amarilli, Amarilli, e il mio amor. Amarilli, e il mio amore." Thalen finishes with a last fluorish, and hands Gena back to her rightful owner. You see tears in Thalen's eyes, and a smile of great joy on his face, not unlike his usual (now) grin, but deeper and more wonderous. "I thank you much, m'lady. T'were meet that two so kind, graceful, and beauteous should be found together. I wish you both good fortune. And now, in return, will you two sing us " indicating the bar at large " a song?" Thalen awaits eagerly a chance to hear. Thalen, the "Don't you wish I could get it together and put it all in one article" Mage Disclaimer: No, I'm not that good on a lute. And no, I don't play the Celtic harp at all (from an earlier article.) I just wish I could. "Non credi, o del mio cor dolce desio, d'esser tu, l'amor mio." Path: mit-eddie!mintaka!yale!think!zaphod.mps.ohio-state.edu!mips!bridge2!jarthur!bweed From: bweed@jarthur.Claremont.EDU (Legacy of the Outlaw Cheerleaders) Newsgroups: alt.callahans Subject: Re: Ch-ch-ch-changes... Message-ID: <5852@jarthur.Claremont.EDU> Date: 5 Apr 90 19:08:00 GMT References: <4a6s9Na00WB84wIksg@andrew.cmu.edu> Organization: Hotel Pandemonium (Harvey Mudd College, Claremont, CA) Lines: 16 In article <4a6s9Na00WB84wIksg@andrew.cmu.edu> haste+@andrew.cmu.edu (Dani Zweig) writes: .The "BAMF" is followed by a machine-gun firing of "bamf"s -- not as loud, but .somewhat sharper. When the cloud of sulphurous smoke fades, it can be seen .that the new Brandi has company: Thirty foot-high near-duplicates, obviously .stamped from the same mould. Thirty black faces turn to Brandi with glee: . ."MOMMY!". She laughs. "Glad to know someone's got the joke. At least they didn't say `Come here you lusty-eyed hot mama!'..." "Now whatever happened to Mean-- er, forget I said that!" she hastily adds as a rumble shakes the floor of Callahans, startling kittens and Bamfs alike... -- | Brandi Weed bweed@jarthur.claremont.edu !uunet!jarthur!bweed |