Sunlight Through The Shadows Volume I, Issue 6 Dec. 1, 1993 Welcome........................................Joe DeRouen Editorial......................................Joe DeRouen Staff of STTS............................................. Special Survey............................................ We're Now Paying For Articles! ................ ------------------ MONTHLY COLUMNS ----------------------- Letters to the Editor..................................... The Question & Answers Session............................ Upcoming Issues & News.................................... ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ Advertisement-Channel 1 BBS ------------------ FEATURE ARTICLES ---------------------- Yule.........................................Brigid Childs State of the Art For a While...................Joe DeRouen STTS Survey Results............................Joe DeRouen ÿ Advertisement-Exec-PC BBS ---------------------- REVIEWS --------------------------- (Movie) Addams Family Values.................Bruce Diamond (Movie) Mrs. Doubtfire.......................Bruce Diamond (Movie) A Perfect World......................Bruce Diamond (Music) Big Times In A Small Town/Various......Joe DeRouen (Music) Let There Be Peace On Earth/V.Gill ..Wendy Bryson (Book) Jumper/Steven Gould.....................Joe DeRouen (Book) Trekking Into Literature...............Robert McKay (Shareware) Epic Pinball.......................Joe DeRouen ÿ Advertisement-Legend of The Red Dragon ---------------------- FICTION --------------------------- Airborne......................................Robert McKay The Squirrels...............................L. Shawn Aiken The Caravan.....................................A.M.Eckard ÿ Advertisement-T&J Software ---------------------- POETRY ---------------------------- A Christmas Trilogy: Enough For Me.............Joe DeRouen Gray House Cat....................................Jim Reid Souls Alone................................Shelley Suzanne Ashen..........................................Gage Steele Mi'Lord.....................................Patricia Meeks A Godly Person.................................J. Guenther Personal Notes In Black Mirrors.............Michie Sidwell In Time The Heart Will Wander.......................Tamara ÿ Advertisement-Winterfest '93 BBS Party ----------------------- HUMOUR --------------------------- Top Ten List...................................Joe DeRouen Technically The Night Before Christmas......Author Unknown ÿ Advertisement-Chrysalis BBS -------------------- INFORMATION ------------------------- How to get STTS Magazine.................................. ** SPECIAL OFFER!! **..................................... Submission Information.................................... Advertiser Information (Businesses & Personal)............ Contact Points............................................ Distribution Sites........................................ Distribution Via Networks................................. End Notes......................................Joe DeRouen   ³ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ø ÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÜ Ü ø ø   \ ³ / ø ø ÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ  øÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ Ü ø S u n l i g h t  ÄÄÄúÄÄÄÄÄÄ ÜÛÛßßßßßßßß  øÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛßÛÛÛÛÜÜ ÜÜ ø ø ø ø   / ³ \ ø ßßÜÜÄÄÂÄÄÄÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ Ü T h r o u g h T h e   ³ ø ÄÄÂÄÁÄÂÄÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß Ü ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ Ü ø ø   ³ ø ÄÄÁÄÄß ÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß Û Û Û ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ Ü Ü S h a d o w s ø   ø ø ÄÂÄß ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ßÜ Û Üß ßßÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ Û  ø   ÜÜßß ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ßß ßÛÛÛß ßß ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ÜÜÜ ø   ø ø ø ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ Ü ø ø   ø ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÜ ßßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ    /\ ø ÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛß ÛÛß ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛßß ÜÜ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ßÛÜßÛÛÛÛÛÝÜ ø ø  ø //\\ ÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛßÜÛÛß ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛßß ÜÛÛÛÛÛÜÜ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ß ÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ Ü   ///\\\ÛÛÛÛ ÛÛÝ ÜÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ÜÛÛÛß Ü ßÛÛÛÜ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ Ü ø  ////\\\ßÛÛÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ÜÛÛß ÜÜÛÛÛÜ ßÛÛÛÜ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ßÛßÛÛÛÛ  ø  ////\\\\ßÛß Ûß ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ÜÛÛß ßßßßßßßß ßÛÛÛÜ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÜ ßÛß  ø  ////\\\\\\\ÜÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛßßßßßÛ ÜÛÛß ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ßÛÛÛÝÛßßßßßÛÛÛÛÛ  ßß ø ø  ////\\\\\\\\ ÛÛÛÛß ÜÛ ÛÜ ßÜß ÛÛÞÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÝÛÛ ßß ÜÛ ÛÜ ßÛÛÛ  ø ø  ////\\\\\\\\\ÛÛÛ ÜÛÛÛ ÛÛÛÜ ÛÛ ÛÛÞÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÝÛÛ ÛÛ ÜÛÛÛ ÛÛÛÜ ÛÛ   ////\\\\\\\\\ÛÛÛ ÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜ ÛÛ ÛÛÞÛDeRouensÛÝÛÛ ÛÛ ÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜ ÛÛ  ø ø ø ÛÜ/ÞÝ\\\\\\\\ÛÛß ßßßß ßßßß ßÛ ÛÛÞÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÝÛÛ Ûß ßßßß ßßßß ßÛ ÜÜ ø  ÛÜÛÞÝ ø ÜÛÜÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßÛÛßßßÛÛ Û ÛÛÞÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÝÛÛ Û ÛÛßßÛÛßßßÛÛ Û ÛÛÜ øjd ÜÜÜÜ  ÛÛÛÞÝÜÜÜÛÛÛÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÜÜÜÛÜÜÜÜÛ ÛÛÞÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÝÛÛ ÛÜÜÜÜÛÜÜÜÛÜÜÜÜÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÛÜÜÛÜÛÛÜÛ  Welcome Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows magazine! In this issue, as well as in the future, STTS will strive to bring you the best in fiction, poetry, reviews, article, and other assorted reading material. STTS Magazine has no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative concepts, and the unique execution of those concepts. STTS wouldn't have been possible without the aid, support, and guidance of three women: Inez Harrison, publisher of Poetry In Motion newsletter. Her's was the first electronic magazine I ever laid eyes upon, and also the first such magazine to publish my work. She's given me advice, and, more importantly, inspiration. Lucia Chambers, publisher of Smoke & Mirrors Elec. Magazine and head of Pen & Brush Network. She gave me advice on running a magazine, encouragement, and hints as to the kind of people to look for in writers. Heather DeRouen, my wife. Listed last here, but always first in my heart. She's proofread manuscripts, inspired me, listened to me, and, most importantly, loved me. Never could I find a better woman to live life by my side, nor a better friend. Now that that's said and done... Again, welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine! I hope you enjoy it. Joe DeRouen  STTS Editorial Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Changes, changes, changes. There's been a lot of changes at STTS magazine, most of them good. * Pen & Brush Network now carries an international STTS Magazine Conference! Users from all around the US and world can use this conference to discuss the magazine, submit stories and articles, and give suggestions and comments. * Effective January 1st, 1994, we'll be PAYING writers for their works! That's right, paying. Check out the article STTS NOW PAYS FOR SUBMISSIONS elsewhere in this issue for more details. The payments are more or less just honorariums ($2.00 for a fiction piece, $1.00 for anything else) but it's a start. We're also holding a b-annual (twice a year) contest to judge the best we've published in three categories: fiction, non-fiction, and poetry. The winners in each category will get a, respectively, $50.00, $25.00, and $25.00. * Jason Malandro has left the staff of STTS. Though he'll still be contributing to the magazine from time to time, Jason's studies have forced him to move to Europe. Good luck Jason, and we all wish you well! Yes, there's been a lot of changes with STTS magazine, most of them good. 1993 has been a great year for electronic magazine publishing, and I've thoroughly enjoyed being a part of it all. Have a great Christmas, Yule, or Hanukkah! Heck, while you're at it, enjoy all three! I'll see you next year! Joe DeRouen, Thanksgiving 1993  The Staff and Contributing Writers of Sunlight Through The Shadows ------------------------------------------------------------------ The Staff --------- Joe DeRouen............................Publisher and Editor Heather DeRouen........................Book Reviews Bruce Diamond..........................Movie Reviews Randy Shipp............................Movie Reviews Gage Steele............................Feature Articles Tamara.................................House Poet Joe DeRouen publishes, edits, and writes for STTS magazine. He's had poetry and fiction published in several on-line magazines and a few paper publications as well. He's written exactly 1.5 novels, none of which, alas, have seen the light of publication. He attends college part-time in search of that always-elusive english degree. In his spare time, he enjoys reading, running his BBS, collecting music, playing with his five cats, singing opera, hunting pseudopods, and most importantly spending time with his beautiful wife Heather. Heather DeRouen writes software for the healthcare industry, CoSysOps Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS, enjoys playing with her five cats, cross-stitching, and reading. Most of all, she enjoys spending time with her dapper, charming, witty, and handsome (not to mention modest) husband Joe. Heather's help towards editing and proofreading this magazine has been immeasurable. Bruce Diamond, part-time pseudopod and ruler of a small island chain off the coast of Chil‚, spends his time imitating desk lamps when he isn't watching and critiquing movies for LIGHTS OUT, his BBS movie review publication (now syndicated to over 15 boards). Bruce started reviewing movies for profit in 1978, as part of a science fiction opinion column he authored for THE BUYER'S GUIDE FOR COMICS FANDOM (now called THE COMICS BUYER'S GUIDE). LIGHTS OUT, now a year old, is available through Bruce's distributor, Jay Gaines' BBS AMERICA (214-994-0093). Bruce is a freelance writer and video producer in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Randy Shipp is a sometimes-writer who specializes in half-finished works, an idea he decided was chic and the sign of genius after hearing about some unfinished symphony. The generous offer from Bruce Diamond to join him in publishing (plus free movie passes!) led Randy to take up movie criticism. When he's not picking movies apart, he's showing conservative political thinkers the error of their ways, reading, or playing bass or the guitar (depending on the day of the week) He occasionally works selling computers, too. When he grows up, he expects to teach high school history. Gage Steele, illegitimate love child of Elvis Presley and Madonna, has been calling BBS's since the early seventies. Having aspired to write for an electronic magazine all her life, Gage is now living the American dream. Aged somewhere between 21 and 43, she plans to eventually get an english degree and teach foreign children not to dangle their participles. There is very little known about Tamara, and she prefers to let it remain that way. She's a woman of mystery and prefers to remain hidden in the shadows of the BBS world. (Enigmatic, don't you think?) Contributing Writers -------------------- Shawn Aiken............................Fiction Wendy Bryson...........................CD Review Lucia Chambers.........................RIP Cover Brigid Childs..........................Feature A.M. Eckard............................Fiction J. Guenther............................Poetry Jim Reid...............................Poetry Robert McKay...........................Fiction Patricia Meeks.........................Poetry Michie Sidwell.........................Poetry Shelley Suzanne........................Poetry Author Unknown.........................Humour L. Shawn Aiken dropped out of college when he realized that they couldn't teach him the two things he wanted to do, live successfully, and write. He had to find out these things all by himself on the road. Thus he became a road scholar. After spending his life hopping country to country, state to state, he now feels confident in his abilities and is working on his literary career. His main endevour is to become successful in the speculative fiction area, but he enjoys writing all forms of literary art. Wendy Bryson, the well traveled, well read, and highly exotic music critic, (most famous for her works of the 1970's) speaks seven languages, none of which are spoken on earth. If her writings baffle you a little, don't feel too bad; she's puzzled by them as well. Lucia Chambers, thirty-something, shares SysOp duties of Pen & Brush BBS with her husband John. Aside from running a BBS and a network of the same name, Lucia publishes Smoke & Mirrors, an on-line/elec. magazine which features fiction, poetry, and recipes. She works as a consultant in the Washington D.C. area and also writes for a living. Brigid Childs is a practicing Wiccan solitaire in the Dallas/Ft Worth area. She holds a master's degree in theatre from the University of Houston and has worked in the entertainment field. With three children, ages 16 years to 15 months, she also holds a PhD in Motherhood. She is married to an aspiring writer of science fiction and horror novels. Her previous writing credentials include contributions to Bruce Diamond's LIGHTS OUT and a stint as copy editor/reporter/chief cook and bottle washer on her company newsletter. A.M.Eckard started out writing short fiction and poetry in college and then drifted away from it for twenty years. He spent that time enamored of becoming a "Renaissance Man". He became a generalist in a time of specialists and is finally getting back to writing. He can be reached through the Internet as arthur.eckard@the-spa.com. Grant Guenther, sometimes known as J. Guenther, confesses to be from a long-lost Martian colony, but in-depth investigations reveals that he was born and raised in a small but well-to-do community called Hartland in Wisconsin. A senior, he has written several collections of poems, and won many awards from his high school literary magazine, including 1st place for poetry and short-short fiction. He is the editor-in-chief of the school newspaper and writes as a humor columnist (or at least he thinks so). Jim Reid is a hard-working federal employee who lives in Virginia with his lovely wife Kris and two equally pretty daughters. He manages people for a living, programs shareware for the challenge, and writes poetry to vent the stresses created by the other two activities. Robert McKay was born in Hawthorne, California, one of the few native Californians in existence. He calls the area north of Goffs home, though he currently lives in Marlow, Oklahoma, and has in fact lived in Texas and Oklahoma since 1980. The setting for several of his stories comes from the desert west of Needles, where he grew up. He has one wife and two daughters, meaning he's seriously outnumbered in any argument. He writes mostly science fiction, with some horror thrown in - Lovecraftian horror being his favorite, followed by non-conventional vampire stories. He's been published in three elecmags - Sunlight Through the Shadows, Smoke & Mirrors, and Ruby's Pearls - and is currently waiting on the publication of two science fiction novels on disk. Considering herself a "closet writer" Tricia Meeks has spent most of her life writing stories and poetry that no one ever sees ...until now! Inspired by her friends, she has finally screwed together her courage and let her poetry be exposed to the public realm. Outside of writing, Tricia is a professional psychic, sings at Karaoke Clubs and has dance for 20 years of her life. Her other interests include camping, karate, reading, playing the keyboard occassionally, BBSing, working in finance, and spending time with her dog and cat, Ringo & B.J. and riding her horse Sudanna in Waxahachie. She is single and has lived in Dallas all her life. Shelley Suzanne lives in the Dallas area with her rock musician husband Tom and their three kids Ralphie, Waldo, and Gretchen. When Shelly isn't writing poetry, she travels the globe digging up rare artifacts and works part time modeling for Dillards. Author Unknown (oddly enough, his real name) has had several stories, poems, novels, plays, and pieces of artwork published throughout the world dating back to the dawn of man. So far, he hasn't received one red cent in royalties.  STTS Survey Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved NOTE: Yes, this is the same survey that was in last month's issue. I've decided to keep it in until the end of the year in hopes of more responses. If you haven't already replied, please do so today. Please fill out the following survey. This article is duplicated in the ZIP archive as SURVEY.TXT. If you're reading this on-line and haven't access to that file, please do a screen capture of this article and fill it out that way. If all else fails, just write your answers down (on paper or in an ASCII file) and include the question's number beside your answer. Everyone who answers the survey will receive special mention in an upcoming issue of STTS. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 1. Name: _____________________________________________________________ 2. Mailing address: __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ 3. Date of birth: (Mm/Dd/YYyy) _______________________________________ 4. Sex: ______________________________________________________________ 5. Where did you read/download this copy of STTS Magazine? (Include BBS and BBS number, please) ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 6. Do you prefer to read STTS while on-line or download it to read at your own convenience? ( ) On-Line ( ) Download 7. Are you a SysOp? ( ) Yes ( ) No (if "No", skip to 10) 8. If so, what is your BBS name, number, baud rate? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 9. Do you currently carry STTS Mag? ( ) Yes ( ) No ( ) I don't carry it, but I want to I carry STTS: ( ) On-Line, ( ) For Download, ( ) or Both 10. What do you enjoy the MOST about STTS Mag? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 11. What do you enjoy LEAST about STTS Mag? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 12. Please rate the following parts of STTS on a scale of 1-10, 10 being excellent and 1 being awful. (if no opinion, X) Fiction ___ Poetry ___ Movie reviews ___ Book reviews ___ CD Reviews ___ Feature Articles ___ Question&Answers ___ Editorial ___ ANSI Coverart ___ Misc. Info ___ Humour ___ RIP Coverart ___ 13. What would you like to see (or see more of) in future issues of STTS Mag? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Return the survey to me via any of the following options: A) Pen & Brush Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site ->5320. In any conference. B) RIME Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site ->5320, in the COMMON conference C) WME Net - A PRIVATE message to JOE DEROUEN in the NET CHAT conference. D) Internet - Send a message containing your complete survey to Joe.DeRouen@Chrysalis.org E) My BBS - (214) 629-8793 24 hrs. a day 1200-14,000 baud. Upload the file SURVEY.TXT (change the name first! Change it to something like the first eight digits of your last name (or less, if your name doesn't have eight digits) and the ext of .SUR) Immediate access is gained to my system via filling out the new user questionnaire. Alternately, logon with the handle STTS SYSOP and password: STTS and skip the new user questionnaire and upload the file. F) U.S. Postal Service - Send the survey either printed out or on a disk to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234  Newsflash!! Sunlight Through The Shadows On-Line/Elec. Magazine is now offering payment for stories and articles! In a bold move, STTS has decided to offer an incentive for writers to submit their works. For each accepted submission, an honorarium fee will be paid upon publication. Premium access to STTS BBS is also given to staff and contributing writers. In addition to the monthly payments, STTS will hold a bi-annual "best of" contest, where the best published stories and articles in three categories will receive substantial cash prizes. These changes will take effect in January of 1994, and the first bi-annual awards will be presented in the July 1994 issue. Honorariums, bi-annual cash awards, award winners selection processes, and Contributor BBS access is explained below: HONORARIUM Each and every article and story accepted for publication in STTS will received a cash honorarium. The payment is small and is meant as more of a token than something to reflect the value of the submission. As the magazine grows and brings in more money, the honorariums will increase, as will the bi-annual award amounts. Fiction pieces pay an honorarium of $2.00 each. Poetry pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each Non-fiction* pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each You have the option of refusing your honorarium. Refused funds will be donated to the American Cancer Society. Staff members ARE eligible for honorariums. * Non-fiction includes any feature articles, humor, reviews, and anything else that doesn't fit into the fiction or poetry category. BI-ANNUAL CASH AWARD Twice a year (every six months) the staff of STTS magazine will meet and vote on the stories, poems, and articles that have appeared in the last six issues of the magazine. Each staff member (the publisher included) gets one vote, and can use that vote on only one entry in each category. In the unlikely event of a tie, the winners will split the cash award. Winners will be announced in the July and January issues of the magazine. Anyone serving on the staff of STTS magazine is NOT eligible for the bi-annual awards. Bi-annual prize amounts ----------------------- Fiction $50.00 Non-fiction 25.00 Poetry 25.00 The winner in each category does have the option of refusing his cash award. In the event of such a refusal, the entire sum of the refused cash awards will be donated to the American Cancer Society. STTS BBS Staff members and contributing writers will also receive level 40 access on Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS. Such access consists of 2 hrs. a day, unlimited download bytes per day, and no download/upload ratio. A regular user receives 1 hr. a day and has an download/upload ratio of 10:1. Staff and contributing writers also receive access to a special private STTS Staff conference on the BBS. LIMITATIONS STTS will still accept previously published stories and articles for publication. However, previously published submissions do NOT qualify for contention in the bi-annual awards. Furthermore, previously published stories and articles will be paid at a 50% honorarium of the normal honorarium fee. RIGHTS As always, the rights of stories and articles published in STTS revert back to the author immediately upon publication. STTS reserves the right to possibly reprint the story/article for the bi-annual awards issue, as well as a possible year-end "best of" issue. HOW DO I SUBMIT? Send queries, questions, and submissions to: Joe DeRouen via any of the following avenues: STTS BBS (214) 620-8793 14.4k baud 24 hrs. Pen & Brush Net - Any conference RIME - Common or Writers conference World Message Exchange - Net Chat or Poetry & Prose conference On the internet, send mail to joe.derouen@chrysalis.org (Refer to CONTACT POINTS elsewhere in this issue for more details) Thanks for your interest in the magazine, Joe DeRouen Publisher STTS On-Line/Elec. Magazine ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Monthly Columns ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ Letters To The Editor Send any and all comments you have concerning STTS Magazine to Joe DeRouen, via any of the routes covered under CONTACT POINTS, listed elsewhere in this magazine. Now, on to a few letters . . . [ Do to a message base crash, there are no letters this month. We apologise for any inconvenience. ]  The Question and Answers Session Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Each month, we'll ask a (hopefully) interesting question to users on various nets and BBS's across the world and include the best answers we get in this column. The question we asked for this month was: "What Christmas gift would you like to give to someone else? To whom would you give it and why?" This seemed like an appropriate question to ask for the December issue of STTS. Apparantly, at least a couple people didn't think so. Originally I'd planned to include Hanukkah, Yule, and other seasonal holidays. I decided not to, so as to not clutter the message. I thought that people, regardless of their belief system, would see the intent of the message. A couple didn't, and one man was actually offended. If my using "Christmas" as a cover-all for seasonal holidays offended anyone else, I apologize. Take it as it was meant to be. Oh, and have a great holiday season, regardless of whatever you happen to be celebrating! The original message and responses are reproduced here in their entirety, (Minus some quoting of the original question) with the permission of the people involved. ======================================================================== Number : 53 of 61 Date : 11/07/93 02:49 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Joe Derouen To : All Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ People, For the Dec. issue of Sunlight Through The Shadow's monthly Question and Answers column, I'd like to pose this question: "What Christmas gift would you most like to give someone else? To whom would you give it and why?" As always, replies to this question will be printed, in their entirety, in the December issue of STTS Magazine. Anyone replying to this message gives permission for us to use the reply in the magazine. Many thanks, Joe ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 55 of 61 Date : 11/07/93 09:15 Reply To: 53 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Lisa Tamara To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ One thing I've always loved about christmastime is that it is the one time of year you can freely give to others without making them embarassed or ashamed. So often being the giver is touted and people dont know how to graciously accept a gift. There are folks who dont feel comfortable being given anything......perhaps they feel they shouldnt *need* gifts....that they dont deserve it......that they must *pay* for it in some way. Only at christmastime do they relax and allow the world to bless them. That freedom......to express caring thru giving & receiving....is what I would give...and receive. ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 58 of 61 Date : 11/13/93 04:59 Reply To: 53 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Shawn Aiken To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Joe, Hmm, what, whom, and why. Left a lot open on this question, didn't you? Ah, MOST LIKE TO GIVE. That kinda narrows it. I guess I would give my mother a satellite dish that could pick up the BBC channels. She's a BritCom fanatic and I think it would really make her day. Or year. Or life. She'd like it alot. Shawn ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 11342 of 11392 Date : 11/08/93 17:10 Reply To: 10969 Confer : Writers From : John Blakeney To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The one gift I've always wanted to give is "A well stocked Limo trip across the U.S. for 2." and I'd give it to Myself and Whom ever happened to be special to me at the time. --- þ TLX v1.50 þ A fool and his money are some party. * SLMR 2.1a * * Pen and Brush (703) 644-6730 * PostLink(tm) v1.11 PANDB (#1742) : P&BNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 11359 of 11393 Date : 11/08/93 18:38 Confer : Writers From : Michael Hahn To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Sappy, but serious: I'd like to give a family member an effective cure for the neurochemical disorder, schizophrenia. It's heartbreaking to watch this person struggle through life day after day, trying to get by with a brain that sends garbled signals. .\\ichael --- þ QMPro 1.51 þ Contents may have settled out of court. þ RNET 2.00m: P&BNet: * The CAD Duck * 703-631-2559 * Pen and Brush (703) 644-6730 * PostLink(tm) v1.11 PANDB (#1742) : P&BNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 26174 of 26247 Date : 11/08/93 14:10 Confer : Writers From : Bobb Waller To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ JD> "What Christmas gift would you most like to give someone else? The knowledge that the universe is not made up totally by Xtians. JD> To whom would you give it and why?" Anyone who forgets that fact, such as people who ask the first question. Why? Because I spent more than 3/4 of my 32 years fighting for recognition that I as a JEW am here in this country. þ SMRead 3.3 #S185 ¯ No one's god says,"Hate your neighbor!" þ BCSUTI Version 1.0 --- * FIAWOL/MSCONNECTIONS BBS (214)-790-6472 * PostLink(tm) v1.11 FIAWOL (#977) : RelayNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 26195 of 26247 Date : 11/08/93 22:44 Reply To: 25797 Confer : Writers From : Marty Weiss To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The ability to be empathetic. Everyone. If we each knew how most things felt to others, we would all suffer less. --- þ KingQWK 1.05 þ I tried switching to gum but couldn't keep it lit * DSC * Ivyland, PA * (215) 443-7390 5,000 Sigs * LIVE FTP/TELNET! * PostLink(tm) v1.11 DSC (#308) : RelayNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 319 of 320 Date : 11/10/93 10:23 Confer : News From : Michael Loo To : Joe Derouen Subject : xmas retry ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Date: 11-08-93 (11:12) Number: 117 of 118 (Refer# 115) To: JOE DEROUEN From: MICHAEL LOO Subj: Christmas! Read: NO Status: RECEIVER ONLY (Echo) Conf: News-PB (615) Read Type: GENERAL If I cared about someone, I'd try to give them one day of happiness that they would otherwise not have had. Less than one day is cheap and paltry; more than one day reaches into the realm of the gods. --- þ KingQWK 1.05 # 187 þ * Channel 1(R) * 617-354-7077 * Cambridge MA * 85 lines * PostLink(tm) v1.07 CHANNEL1 (#15) : P&BNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 26663 of 26664 Date : 11/12/93 15:27 Reply To: 25797 Confer : Writers From : Nate Orzoff To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Personally I would make it a chanakah gift being Jewish but here is my answer... Peace on Earth and goodwill toward men... to everyone. Why? Because at xmas time it seems that people act 1 day a year the way people should act all year round. We hypocritically pretend that we do, but EVERYONE including myself act like jerks the rest of the world. It makes me wonder why? Because the Human condition is full of hypocrites and liars. We smile and give money to the salvation army santas and help out the poor and meak one month a year. The day after thanksgiving to Christmas. Then Dec. 26 we revert to the Bundys or the Bunkers or the Fox's etc. It could take years to figure everything out. Instead, I suggest that we just try and help each other all year round... People throw away perfectly good equipment, food, etc. because they are bored or don't want it anymore. Why not give it to an organization? Why not help out your neighbor when he/she/they needs it? Why not help everyone all year round? It might catch on and we might be just a little less hypocritacal the rest of the year.... That is my answer... I hope you do print it... it need saying and most people will not admit it.... * SLMR 2.1a * "I am afraid of Nothing!!!!" "He's in Denial" Croow MST3K --- * Treasures Longwood, FL 407-831-9130 * PostLink(tm) v1.11 TREASURES (#69) : RelayNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 312 of 312 Date : 11/13/93 09:02 Confer : DFW Chit-Chat From : Paul Atherton To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I would like to give my mother's eyesight back to her. I am a 28 year old and my mother has just finished putting me through college. Two years ago, my mother lost her eyes to Diabetes Retinopathy and has still supported me through the remainder of her education. This, being the only thing that she would really like to have, is what I would like to give to her for all the support and love she has shown me through the past 28« years. Paul Atherton --- þ -PlanoNet- Ideas & Innovations Mt. Dora, FL (904) 383-6957 * Lunatic Fringe BBS*Richardson TX*214-235-5288*USR DS*QWK Central * PostLink(tm) v1.11 LUNATIC (#1282) : ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 60 of 61 Date : 11/17/93 07:11 Reply To: 53 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Heather Derouen To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ JD> "What Christmas gift would you most like to give someone else? To wh JD> would you give it and why?" This is an extremely difficult question to answer. There are so many things I would like to give so many people. Well, I guess first off I would like to give my husband all the presents that I've ever wanted to get for him but couldn't afford, such as a 28.8k baud modem, a CD-ROM multi-multi-multimedia kit, an 18-CD disk changer/player, and a variety of other things. I would like to give it to him because I think he would be really surprised by it, and it would be neat to see the look on his face. And to everyone, I would like to give a bit of the spirit of the season to carry with them all year long - the time of year when we seem to be able to forgive one another more easily, seem to get along with each other a little bit better, seem to enjoy being around one another a little more than other times. Pardon me for getting mushy, but I really love this time of year. Heather ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 61 of 61 Date : 11/19/93 07:12 Reply To: 53 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Grant Guenther To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ what i would like to give and to whom by j. guenther My favorite gift of all is happiness. It's impossible to judge material things for how much happiness they can give, because different people appreciate different things. There is no guarenteed way of giving happiness, but I know a joke is a good. So my favorite gift would be making everyone smile for Christmas.... ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 1240 of 1247 Date : 11/24/93 05:57 Reply To: 1236 Confer : STTS Mag From : John Chambers To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ If I could afford it, you mean? To Lucia: I would give a multiple disk CD/ROM changer. Why? So that she could play 6 CD/ROM based games at once! To Howard Palmer I would give a nice toupee. Why? So he would no longer be accused of trying to look like someone from ZZ Top. --- þ QMPro 1.51 þ Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor, not a tagline writer. * Pen and Brush (703) 644-6730 * PostLink(tm) v1.11 PANDB (#1742) : P&BNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 1261 of 1263 Date : 11/25/93 08:04 Confer : STTS Mag From : Melanie Byas To : Joe Derouen Subject : Christmas! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Joe, I keep seeing these questions. I've given them some thought but the same thing keeps coming to mind. I'd give my parents the mature, responsible, self-supporting, kind, well-balanced, talented, considerate, adult, etc... person they hoped I'd be. Why? Because it would make them feel sooo good! ciao... Melanie --- þ SLMR 2.1a þ Nuthin' is simple sometimes... þ TriNet: [P&BNet(tm)] Inkwell * Alexandria VA * 703.548.1507 V.32bis ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 16 of 16 Date : 11/27/93 09:53 Reply To: 8 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Anastasia Alexander To : Joe Derouen Subject : Argh! ------------------------------------------------------------------------ If I could give ANYTHING, I would give a cure for headaches and body aches to my father. He is my very best friend and has migraine headaches a lot and had surgery on his stomach and back and he gets a lot of aches and pains from that, especially during cold weather. ======================================================================== A lot of good answers. Many thanks to all of the people who replied. Your replies were very much appreciated! Now, I'll attempt to answer my own question . . . If I could give anything to anyone, as a Christmas gift.. I'd give everyone health. Take away all diseases and sickness, and let everyone start out with a clean slate. Specifically, I'd cure my wife's cancer. Sadly, this is something that I cannot do. In lieu of this, I choose to give her as much love, support, understanding, and caring as I possibly can. It's a cheap Christmas gift, but perhaps one worth more than anything I could ever buy her. Then again, maybe she'd prefer that Mercedes. . . Thank you everyone for reading, and special thanks to those of you who responded. Have a great holiday season!  Upcoming Issues & News Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved THIS ISSUE... Check out Brigid Child's feature article on Christmas/Yule. A few facts about everyone's favorite holiday might surprise you . . . We're now paying for accepted submissions! Check out selection # 5 for more details. Merry Christmas to all, and many, many thanks for reading and supporting STTS all year long. See you next year! NEXT ISSUE... With the January issue of STTS, we'll introduce two new columns. The first, MY VIEW, will feature a different writer each month doing a guest editorial. The second, ANSWER ME!, will showcase Liz Shelton (a new addition to the STTS staff) answering questions about BBSing and the world of computers. FUTURE ISSUES... The long-promised "Round Robin" story will DEFINITELY start with the January issue. Also look for more monthly columns as well as guest editorials and more ANSI art.  ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³  110 Nodes * 4000 Conferences * 30.0 Gigabytes * 100,000+ Archives ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÛÛßßßßßß ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßßßÛÛ ÛÛßßÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßßßßß ÛÛßÛÛ (R) ÛÛÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÛÛÛÛ ÛÛÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛÛÛ Ü ÛÛ ßßßßßßßß ßß ßß ßß ßß ßß ßßßß ßß ßßßß ßßßßßßßß ßßßßßßß ßßßß °°°°°°°° * Winner, First Dvorak/Zoom "Best General BBS" Award °°°°°°°° * INTERNET/Usenet Access* DOS/Windows/OS2/Mac/Amiga/Unix * ILink, RIME, Smartnet* Best Files in the USA * Pen & Brush, BASnet.* 120 Online Games * QWKmail & Offline Readers* Multi-line Chat Closing Stocks, Financial News, Business/Professional Software, NewsBytes, PC-Catalog, MovieCritic, EZines, AbleData, ASP, 4DOS Huge Windows, Graphics, Music, Programming, Education Libraries ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ Channel 1 Communications(R) * Cambridge, MA * 617-354-3230 14.4k ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ °°°úfasterúbetterúless expensiveú°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° "Best Files in USA"° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Feature Articles ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Toll the Ancient Yuletide Copyright (c) 1993, Brigid Childs All rights reserved Toll the Ancient Yuletide - by Brigid Childs Deck the malls with boughs of holly! T'is the season for Christmas trees and evergreens, for kissing under the mistletoe, for joy to a world of sugarplums and candycanes. T'is a season of wonder and miracles. T'is also the time of the Winter Solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year and in pagan tradition the time of the rebirth of the Sun King, celebrated and decorated with evergreens, holly and mistletoe - sound familiar? Many ancient Yule traditions have been incorporated into the festivities of Christmas. The Christmas tree is the most recognizable holiday symbol; where does it come from? The earliest references available indicate that the first recorded "Christmas tree" appeared in 1510 in Riga in Latvia when a local merchant guild set up a decorated evergreen in their town square. Here they danced and capered about it, finally setting it ablaze - a combination Christmas tree/Yule log. In pagan times, however, the cult of Cybele decked their evergreens with violets and white drapery, the violets representing the blood of Attis shed at the time of his death. The German word for Christmas tree is Tannenbaum; liguistically this relates to a species of European evergreen oak and in the pagan traditions of this region, the Solstice is the time of the birth of the Oak King and the death of the Holly King, although it is only on the female holly that the bloodred berries grow. Mistletoe was sacred to the Druids and was involved in many of their rituals including the Solstice rite. This botanic had a peculiar place in the plant pantheon growing as it does only in the boughs of other plants without a firm root system in the earth. Mistletoe was gathered at midwinter when it was carefully cut with a golden sickle and even more carefully kept from touching the ground, thus losing its magickal potency. At the Yuletide harvest, the mistletoe has clusters of white, translucent berries which resemble droplets of semen; the herb gathered at this time of year was used in charms of fertility. (When Druids kissed under the mistletoe, they were serious about it!) Winter Solstice is a solar festival concerned with the rebirth of the Sun, with the passing of the old and with new beginnings, and the Yule log symbolically embodies this aspect of the celebration. Ritually lit with a brand from last year's fire, the log itself is traditionally oak (oh, Tannenbaum redux?) and is decorated with seasonal evergreens before flaming on the hearth. In some pagan circles, each celebrant writes those things he wants gone from his life on a scrap of paper and then drops it into the blaze, chanting "Take the old and burn it...burn and let it go!" There is an obvious message there. Yule is a festival of the return of light to a world of darkness, darkness not only of the mundane physical world, but also of the mind and spirit. Modern paganism focuses on enLIGHTening the spirit to allow the individual to grow unto the infinite: it focuses on healing the earth of the ecological excesses to which we have subjected our Mother; it focuses on the love and understanding of our fellow beings on this planet. The Anglo-Saxon toast appropriate to the season sums up this emphasis neatly. They gathered about the wassail bowl as we still do today, and they raised their flagons to the cry, "Wes Hal!" Translation? "Be Whole!" T'is the season - and so from me to all of you - "Wes Hal!" Blessed be - Brigid  State of the Art For Awhile Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved [This article was originally published in the Nov. issue of DFW Connects Magazine] I remember when I got my first modem. I was 16, and it was a 110/300 baud VIC Modem. It plugged into the back of my Commodore Vic 20. It even worked, most of the time. That was nearly 10 years ago. The VIC Modem was lost in the move when I moved from Illinois to Texas in 1985, and, after many fruitless hours looking for the lost box, I realized I'd have to purchase another one. 1200 baud modems were still too expensive at that point (well over $100!) so I had to settle for another 300 bauder. At least with this one you didn't have to dial on the handset of your phone and, when the carrier answered, plug the cord into the back of the modem. You could actually dial *through* the modem with this one! About a year later, I broke down and purchased a Aprotek 1200 modem. It nearly broke me at $129.99, and that was mail order! Boy, though, it was fast. Everyone kept telling me that I wouldn't be able to read the message bases at 1200, but after a few days I was used to it and got along fine. I'd never get used to that speed, though: I could get a whole game in under an hour! Talk about progress. It doesn't get any better than this. Well, actually, it did. In 1989, I happened onto a great deal on a 2400 baud modem. Now, truly, *this* was state of the art! I downloaded files day and night, reveling in the speed of the transfers. Why, with Z Modem, I could get transfer rates of nearly 2000 cps! I'd heard of those new 9600 baud modems, but that was overkill. Who needs it? A year later, my wife's company bought her a Twincom 9600 baud modem. Needless to say, I fell head over heels in love with it. Sure, I still spent hours downloading. But now I got megs of files rather than bytes. What could be faster? Earlier this year, I decided to run a BBS. I tossed the 9600 baud onto the BBS computer and took the ViVa 2400 pocket modem from the laptop and put it on the 486 so I could call out while others called in. All was well until a few months later when tragedy struck: lightning decided to pay a visit upon my Twincom 9600. Saddened (she had served me well) I put the Twincom to rest and set about buying a 14.4k modem. Finally settling on a Zoom fax/modem, I was impressed at the speed increase over the 9600. It wasn't like going from 2400 to 9600, but there *was* a noticeable speed increase. The long distance new mail runs also ran better and in doing so cost me less. Who'd ever need anything more than a 14.4k modem? Once again, I was happy. 14.4k technology was state of the art, and I had it. About a week ago, someone on one of the nets I carry sent me a ASCII text file about a SysOp upgrade offer from Hayes. It was for a 28.8k modem, and the technology's going to be approved any day now. Who'd ever need a 28.8k modem, I thought to myself. Why, my 14.4k Zoom is as fast as I'll ever need . . . *Sigh* It was fun having state of the art for awhile.  Survey Results Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved The results are in from the survey in the October and November issues, and tabulated below for a median score. Due to keeping the survey in the magazine an extra month, I actually ended up with quite a few completed surveys. I'm still keeping the survey in until the end of the year. (IE: This issue) Please respond. I'd like to thank everyone who responded. Each and every one of your comments were read and taken into consideration. In the survey, I asked the readers to rate the sections of the magazine on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the best and one being the worst. Here's the averages, taken by adding all the scores for an indiviual section (eg: fiction) and dividing it by the number of survey's received that scored that section with something other than an "X" for no comment. Magazine sections are ranked in order of scores, from highest to lowest: SCORES ÄÄÄÄÄÄ Fiction: 9.6 Poetry: 9.4 Book Reviews: 9.0 Editorial: 8.5 Feature Articles: 8.7 Movie Reviews: 8.5 ANSI Coverart: 7.4 CD Reviews: 7.2 Question & Answers: 7.1 Summary: Fiction and poetry seemed to prove the most popular, as I was sure it would. Nothing really received *bad* scores, though, which is promising. Of the reviews, the book reviews seemed to be the most popular, followed very closely by the movies and, lastly, the CDs. What the above scores really *don't* tell is that the surveys seemed to be divided into camps. There were several people that read STTS mainly for fiction and poetry, and almost as many people who read it exclusively for the reviews. Both groups scored their interest group high while X'ing a "No Comment" on the other sections. Again, many thanks to those of you who took the time to fill out and send in your surveys. If you haven't yet filled out the survey, you still have time to do so. Send it in to me before the end of the year, and it'll make it into the January issue's final tabulations. If you haven't already, please fill out the survey. It's article 4 in this issue of STTS, and it's duplicated in the .ZIP archive as SURVEY.TXT. Þ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±ÝÞúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúÝÞ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿2400 bps(414) 789-4210 ÝÞ ³ ÚÄÄÄÄÙ "The best connection yourUSR HST 9600 (414) 789-4337 ÝÞ ³ ³modem will ever make!!"USR HST 14400 (414) 789-4352 ÝÞ ³ ÀÄÄÄ¿v.32bis 14400 (414) 789-4360 ÝÞ ³ ÚÄÄÄÙ Ü Ü ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜ Compucom 9600 (414) 789-4450 ÝÞ ³ ³ßÜß ÛÜÜÜ ÛÜÜÜ ÛÜÜÜÛ ÛHayes V-Series (414) 789-4315 ÝÞ ³ ÀÄÄÄÄ¿ Üß ßÜ ÛÜÜÜÜ ÛÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÝÞ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ" World's Largest BBS! " ÝÞÝÞ þ Exec-PC BBS is the largest LAN and microcomputer based BBS in the world! ÝÞ þ 280+ dedicated phone lines - NO busy signals - 24-Hour accessÝÞ þ Over 650,000 files and programs - DOS, Windows, OS/2, Mac, Unix, Amiga ÝÞ þ Lightning fast - Search 20,000 files in 2 seconds with Hyperscan feature ÝÞ þ Over 35 CD-ROM's online - Scan all of them at 1 time for keywordsÝÞ þ Special Moraffware games, Apogee games, and Adult file areasÝÞ þ Extensive message system with QWK compatability - Also, Fidonet areas! ÝÞ þ Online Doors / Games / Job Search / PC-Catalog / Online MagazinesÝÞ þ Over 5000 callers per day can't be wrong - 35 gig of online storage!ÝÞ þ Low subscription rates: $25 for 3 months, $75 for a full yearÝÞúúúúúúúúúúúúCallútheúBBSúforúaúFREEútrialúdemo,úandúFREEúdownloadsúúúúúúúúúúúúÝÞ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±Ý ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Reviews ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Lights Out Reviews Copyright (c) 1993, Bruce Diamond All rights reserved ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ ADDAMS FAMILY VALUES: Barry Sonnenfeld, director. ³ ³ Paul Rudnick, screenplay. Starring Anjelica Huston, ³ ³ Raul Julia, Christopher Lloyd, Joan Cusack, Christina ³ ³ Ricci, Carol Kane, Jimmy Workman, Carel Struycken, ³ ³ David Krumholtz, Christopher Hart and Dana Ivey. ³ ³ Paramount Pictures. Rated PG-13. ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ Your best bet for an out-and-out fun romp this holiday season is ADDAMS FAMILY VALUES. There's an addition to this lovely nuclear-fallout family, little Pubert Addams, a boy after Gomez' (Raul Julia) own heart (he shoots flaming arrows, breathes fire, and can stop a guillotine blade with two fingers). Along with the new addition comes a nanny (Joan Cusack), another in a long line of Sharon Stone-clones this year (see the review of FATAL INSTINCT, elsewhere in this issue), who plays the femme fatale, Debbie Jellinsky, with delicious aplomb (and looking better on- screen than she has in quite a while.) I had problems with the first film. THE ADDAMS FAMILY TV show was one of my childhood faves (don't look at me that way -- take out the laugh track and some of the stupider gags, like the ever- present lightbulb in Uncle Fester's mouth, and you get a show that's strikingly refreshing compared to the glut of suburbanite '60s sitcoms). Although the casting was superb, nay inspired in the case of Raul Julia and Anjelica Huston (Morticia), I disliked Wednesday (she acted way too far beyond her years, a fallacy in many sitcoms and movies that feature *precious* children), Grandmama was way too flighty and over acted, and Christopher Lloyd's (Fester) bodysuit made him look like a hairless gorilla. (He's *not* that big, why stick so tightly to Charles Addams' designs when it makes the character look so silly?) The gratuitous dance scene, the whole subplot about bilking Gomez out of the family fortune, and the addition of Dana Ivey (the evil "psychiatrist" who had brainwashed Fester into believing he was her son -- do I need to add that I intensely dislike Dana Ivey in *every* movie she's in?) muddled what could have been a funny, character-driven comedy. Some of the first movies weakness' are repeated (Dana Ivey is *back*, albeit just in a cameo; Fester still looks badly-designed; and director Barry Sonnenfeld is still too fond of his high-speed camera tricks), but the addition of baby Pubert and the evil nanny plot actually add a new dimension to the wacky proceedings. In a way, ADDAMS FAMILY VALUES becomes a more successful spoof of the b*itch-from-hell movies (like HAND THAT ROCKS THE CRADLE, 1992) than HEXED, FATAL INSTINCT, and SO I MARRIED AN AXE MURDERER combined. Yes, it's true -- Ms. Jellinsky has no intentions of being Pubert's nanny. She's really after Fester's money, amusingly brought to light by a scene with Cusack amongst her clippings about Fester. (He's written up in publications like Forbes as "America's Strangest Millionaire.") Jellinsky is a black widow, marrying rich men and then killing them shortly after the honeymoon. When the kids tumble to her identity, she maneuvers Morticia and Gomez into sending them to summer camp. "Summer camp?" Gomez asks, horrified. Jellinsky just nods and smiles evilly. The camp is a wacked-out yuppie nightmare. Troublesome youngsters spend time in the Harmony Hut and watch movies like HEIDI and THE SOUND OF MUSIC. Wednesday and Pugsley, needless to say, spend a lot of time in the hut. They make plans, along with Joel Glicker (David Krumholtz), a nerdy camper who also doesn't fit in and seems to be developing a crush on Wednesday, to disrupt the camp's special Thanksgiving presentation. The production, featuring blond-haired blue-eyed Pilgrims and everyone else (the minorities, the overweight kids, the Addams kids, Joel, and a kid in a wheelchair) as the Indians. The misfits tear the play apart even more splendiforously than Wednesday and Pugsley's bloody stage debut in the first film. But do they return home in time to save Uncle Fester from a fate worse than death? Ah, you'll have to see the movie to answer that for yourself, although I think you've already guessed the right answer. Some aspects of ADDAMS FAMILY VALUES bother me, especially the danger that the kids place baby Pubert in. Some of the gags cross the line, not of good taste (how can a movie about the Addamses be accused of having taste?), but of basic decency. Maybe I'm just being a little too uptight. Despite these reserva- tions, I can still recommend the film. RATING: 7 out of 10.  Lights Out Copyright (c) 1993, Bruce Diamond All rights reserved ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ MRS. DOUBTFIRE: Chris Colombus, director. Randy Mayem ³ ³ Singer and Leslie Dixon, screenplay. Based on the novel ³ ³ "Alias Mrs. Doubtfire," by Anne Fine. Starring Robin ³ ³ Williams, Sally Field, Harvey Fierstein, Pierce Brosnan, ³ ³ Polly Holliday, Lisa Jakub, Matthew Lawernce, Mara Wilson, ³ ³ Martin Mull, and Robert Prosky. Twentieth Century Fox. ³ ³ Rated PG-13. ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ Yep, that's Robin Williams cavorting around under a ton of makeup and sporting that improbable accent, having a grand time as housekeeper to his own kids in MRS. DOUBTFIRE, the best live- action feature he's done since DEAD POETS SOCIETY. (Yeah, I liked HOOK, even though most critics didn't, but it really was a bloated picture. TOYS? Don't *even* get me started . . . ) Before you dismiss this movie as just another excuse for Williams to adlib his way through two hours of "story," let me hasten to add that every other performance in this film (despite the unfortunate gay almost-stereotypes and the huge bit of nothing Pierce Brosnan is given to work with) is enchanting, entertaining, and solid. Pay no attention to the simple-minded screenplay -- it's clever, it's funny, and it even manages to say something about adult relation- ships. But more about that later. The marriage has had it. Daniel and Miranda Hillard (Williams and Sally Field, a quirky-but-amusing pairing) are on the skids and Miranda wants out. (Watch Williams during this scene. He's more genuine here, both angry and tear-filled, than he's been in a dozen pictures.) The last straw is the birthday party, complete with petting zoo and kids jumping on furniture, that Daniel throws for his son, Chris (Matthew Lawrence), a party that Miranda had expressly forbad him due to his low grades in school. Daniel's out, and to win custody of his kids, he has to find a place to live and land a job. Well, the apartment's a shambles (kinda looks like my place), but Daniel manages to land not just one, but *two* jobs. By day, he's a packer/shipper for a TV station, by evening, he's Mrs. Iphigenia Doubtfire (thanks to an expert makeup job done by his brother, Frank, played larger-than-life by Harvey Fierstein), housekeeper to the Hillard clan: Chris, Lydia (Lisa Jakub), and little Natty (Mara Wilson, another 'way too *precious* kid). At first wary, the kids eventually warm to Mrs. Doubtfire, which is the second mistake this movie makes (the first mistake is a scene in the employment counselor's office where Williams is allowed free reign to do his comedy schtick -- most of it isn't funny, as we've seen it countless times before, and the jump cuts that director Chris Colombus decides to use are unprofessional and jarring). The kids come to accept the new housekeeper way too easily, especially with the iron hand "she" uses on them. "I run a tight ship," she tells them, "not of this loosey-goosey way you're used to." Sure, sure. She turns off their TV program, makes them clean the house when they complain, then she sends them to their rooms to do homework for two hours. And the very next day, they absolutely *adore* her. Go figger. Why they didn't just walk out of the house is beyond me. (Yeah, right, Bruce, then there'd be no movie. Duhhh.) Two subplots run concurrently in MRS. DOUBTFIRE: Miranda's awakening "romance" with an old flame, played by Pierce Brosnan, and Daniel's working relationship with the general manager of the TV station, played by Robert Prosky. Both of these supporting roles are pretty much cardboard characters, but as I mentioned before, the performances are given weight by the acting talents behind them. Prosky is likeably gruff, and Brosnan is slick without being oily. I was pleased to see that Brosnan's charac- ter didn't descend into the too-easy-caricature of the evil boyfriend, someone the kids would hate and would detest them back. Williams' reactions to Brosnan (constant, constant in- sults) seem unmotivated, at times cruel for no reason, until you remind yourself that he sees Brosnan as nothing more than a threat to his possibly reuniting with Miranda. Even then, it seems a bit much, played as it is for the easy laugh. Parts of the movie are predictable, including the scene at the restaurant. I knew the moment his boss invited him to dinner to discuss a possible TV show starring Daniel, that Miranda would insist that Mrs. Doubtfire go out to dinner with her and the kids. *At* the same restaurant, *on* the very same night. Please, this plot twist has been done to death in countless sitcoms. What's refreshing about the scene, though, is Williams, and the twists he manages to put on such a hackneyed scenario. The ending (without giving too much away) is at the same time coldly realistic and saccharine sweet in resolution. I can't say anymore, other than to tell you I was very disappointed at how director Chris Columbus decided to portray it. Sure, it says something about the reality of adult relationships, but there's no punch behind it. The final scenes have the dramatic impact of boiled tofu. RATING: 6 out of 10.  Lights Out Copyright (c) 1993, Bruce Diamond All rights reserved ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ A PERFECT WORLD: Clint Eastwood, director. John Lee ³ ³ Hancock, screenplay. Starring Kevin Costner, Clint ³ ³ Eastwood, Laura Dern, and T.J. Lowther. Warner Bros. ³ ³ Rated PG-13. ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ At an age when many actors and directors become terribly self- indulgent (witness Orson Welles, Laurence Olivier, and John Wayne, for three examples), Clint Eastwood keeps getting sharper and sharper (my negative reaction to UNFORGIVEN notwithstanding). IN THE LINE OF FIRE, released this past summer, showed us a Clint that has matured and even mellowed a bit with age. Now, with the release of A PERFECT WORLD, Eastwood's first directing job since UNFORGIVEN, we see how much farther Clint will be taking himself in the future. In a feature that could have easily become a bloodbath, the guns-n-car-chases scenes are kept to a minimum. What we're left with is a touching story of surrogate parenthood and how the cycle of violence merely repeats itself. Butch Haines (Costner) is a man on run, a convict who's broken out of stir and determined to make his way north. Red Garnett (Eastwood) is the Texas State Police chief who's tracking him, complete with a governor-appointed criminologist (Laura Dern as the unfortunately-cliched "spunky young woman," Sally Gerber), a couple deputies, and a Fed in his entourage. He commandeers the governor's mobile-home campaign headquarters ("But he's taking that to Dallas for President Kennedy's visit!" someone complains) to coordinate operations in the field. Butch has some company of his own: Philip (T.J. Lowther), a seven-year-old boy he kidnaps as a hostage. At first the boy's just safety insurance, allowing him to keep running from the law. What Butch doesn't count on is the bond that develops between the two of them: Butch identifies with the boy's lack of a father figure and the implied message that when his father is around, he's not exactly a model parent. "Me and you are a lot alike, Philip," he tells the boy. "We're both handsome devils, we both like RC Cola, and we both have daddies that ain't worth a damn." That pretty much sets the tone for Butch and Philip's relation- ship, and is nicely counterpointed by scenes of domestic vio- lence the two witness in their travels. In fact, one such situation, a man who whups up on his grandson, leads to the film's climactic scene, and the faint damning of young Philip's soul. A PERFECT WORLD unfolds slowly, driven as it is by the exploration of Butch Haines' character. The idea that Eastwood is presenting Haines as a saint (as some people have claimed) or even a person to admire is hooey. That's a shallow interpretation of what's going on here. You can't help but sympathize with him, even though he has killed two men in his life (both of them men who had visited violence on people Butch cared for), but he's by no means held up as an example for us, or Philip, to emulate. The boy is entranced by the sheer wildness and freedom that Butch represents (and the father figure that he never had), but in the end he realizes, in a surprisingly mature and chilling way, that this man is seriously flawed. "I ain't a good man," Butch says at one point, "and I ain't the worst. I'm a breed apart." Even at the end, Butch himself realizes both the good and the bad he's done to and for the boy. Could the Eastwood of even 10 years ago have handled a theme as mature as this? A PERFECT WORLD is a subtle picture. Don't be misled by the surface patina of criminal-as-heroic-figure, because that's a MacGuffin screenwriter John Lee Hancock has deftly woven into the film's texture. A couple scenes disturbed me (one, a near-child molestation, the other being the sight of Philip holding a pistol -- a similar scene in LAST ACTION HERO totally disgusted me, but here it's presented to make a definite point) in a way that is both thought-provoking and gut-wrenching. A PERFECT WORLD ain't a perfect picture, but it's the best Eastwood's done so far. RATING: 8 out of 10.  Lyrical Leanings Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved CHRISTINE LAVINE PRESENTS: BIG TIMES in a SMALL TOWN - THE VINEYARD TAPES Various artists Philo/Rounder Records Corp. 1993 BIG TIMES IN A SMALL TOWN is by and far one of the best live recordings I've ever heard. Taken from the first annual Martha's Vineyard singer/songwriters'' retreat, all of the songs were performed live at the Wintertide Coffeehouse with an energy and enthusiasm far surpassing most live recordings. The CD boasts some of the brightest names in folk music today - Cheryl Wheeler, Pierce Pettis, Cliff Eberhardt, Electric Bonsai Band - as well as several up-and-comers such as Jonatha Brooke, John Forster, and Peter Nelson. What really sets this CD apart from other isn't the quality (though there's lots of that here) nor is it the talent. What sets this recording apart from other live albums is that it's FUN. Throughout all the live sets you can sense that the performers are performing not with thoughts of the next big contract or cash payment, but for the sheer joy of it. Some of the highlights of the CD include John Forster's wonderfully funny ENTERING MARION, Peter Nelson's wistful, poignant recollection of times lost in SUMMER OF LOVE, and David Roth's self-effacing THE STAR SPANGLED BANNER AND ME. The other 14 selections are just as good. In fact, there isn't a bad selection on the disc. If you enjoy folk music or just think that you might and want a good sampler CD to check it out, grab this one. You won't find any better. If you can't find it in your local record store, write to: M. Lavin 313 Mulberry Street Rochester, New York 14620 My rating, on a scale of 1-10: 10  CD Review Copyright (c) 1993, Wendy Bryson All rights reserved LET THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH Vince Gill 1993 MCA Records, Inc. Not a typical "Country" album by any means, this Christmas CD by a country singer leans more towards the "Pop" sounds of the late 1970's. The artist has a very mellow, tenor voice that will brighten your holiday spirit. There is nothing really spectacular about this album, it's just a nice collection of Christmas music. We're even treated to a few new and original pieces by Mr. Gill. Some of the more impressive selections are: "Santa Clause is Coming to Town" - Instrumental only. Arranged in a country/swing style. "Let There Be Peace on Earth" - Duet with Jenny Gill, a very sweet voiced child. "White Christmas" - Guitar with rhythm back up - very nice. "It Won't Be The Same This Year" - an original. written and sung by Vince. I don't think you'll have any trouble listening to this holiday special. You may even find it rather enjoyable. My rating (on a scale of 1-10) 8 Merry Christmas, Wendy Bryson  Book Reviews Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved JUMPER Steven Gould TOR Science Fiction $4.99 US, $5.99 Canada In JUMPER, Steven Gould proves that there's no such thing as an idea who's time has passed. Since the beginning of science fiction (and before) there's been tales of people who could teleport, leaping from one place to another in but a second. Steven Gould uses the same concept, but presents it in a fun, funny, and at times poignant way. Davy Rice was abandoned by his mother at age 12 and left with his alcoholic, abusive father. Beatings were often and usually without any cause, and were usually carried out by his father's weapon of choice - a large, metal belt buckle. Davy, now 16, seeks nothing more than escape from his father, and one night - seconds away from a beating - simply vanishes. Appearing in the small town's library, Davy isn't sure what happened. He convinces himself that he somehow managed to escape his father, wandered to the library, then blacked out. Still, though, he isn't about to go back. Steeling his courage, he decides to rid his life of his father once and for all. He runs away to New York. JUMPER is a novel of escape, of revenge fantasies, and of having the courage to face down your past and come to terms with who and what you are. It's also a novel of adventure, intrigue, and romance. Tie all of that in with a good, flowing writing style and a quick wit, and you have a definite winner. My score (on a scale of 1 to 10) 8  Trekking Into Literature Copyright (c) 1993, Robert McKay All rights reserved *Trekking Into Literature*: a review by Robert McKay Copyright (c) 1993 by Robert McKay Through much of its history science fiction has been regarded by a great many as not worthy of the term literature. Even today, when there is a large and well-established science fiction subset of the publishing industry, and some mainstream works contain elements that can be accurately described as science fiction, the genre is not always looked upon with an unprejudiced eye. Within science fiction, there is yet another subset that has, even by science fiction fans, been regarded as less than respectable. I speak of Star Trek. Most of us are aware of Star Trek only as a series from the 60s and a few movies; fewer appear to be aware that there are two Star Trek series currently in production, with another coming in the future and an entirely new slate of movies being planned to grow from one of the current series. Even fewer are aware that since the days when the original series still ran, there has been a vital and growing Star Trek publishing industry. Ranging from the adaptations of the original episodes by James Blish (who also wrote the very first Star Trek novel) through the current Deep Space 9 novels, the total output runs to scores of volumes and hundreds of thousands, if not millions, of words. It must be admitted that some of this output is worthy of all the scorn that has been heaped upon Star Trek. I am myself a dedicated Trekkie, and I have read some Star Trek fiction that quite frankly would have been better burned before submission. There is a great deal of hack work out there parad- ing as genuine Star Trek; this is one reason I am glad the novels are not re- garded as "canon" among those who make and those who like Star Trek. However, occasional works have been very good Trek, and good science fiction. One, at least, is in my opinion worthy of the term literature. The original series (TOS; other abbreviations commonly used in the Trek world are TNG = The Next Generation; TMS = The Movie Series; and ST = Star Trek) broadcast an episode called "Mirror, Mirror." This episode postulated a universe parallel with the one in which the series was set. In this other universe the Federation was a cruel empire; the crew of the *Enterprise* were vicious barbarians, and even the logical Spock served the cause of terror and tyranny. The TNG novel *Dark Mirror*, by Diane Duane, picks up this theme with the era of Star Trek: The Next Generation, which is roughly 80 years af- ter Kirk's day. Unlike other works which continue themes created by TOS, this book is *good*. Briefly, the *Enterprise*, commanded by Captain Jean-Luc Picard, is unex- pectedly drawn into the parallel universe of "Mirror, Mirror." As it turns out, the Empire has sent its own *Enterprise*, with its own crew of Picard, Riker, and company, to by this means capture the Federation ship, massacre the crew, and infiltrate the Federation. This is merely the prelude to an inva- sion; due to the distribution of stars in the galactic arms the Empire has run of areas it can feasibly colonize in its own universe, and seeks *lebensraum* in the universe of the Federation. The Empire has long since crushed the Klingons and the Romulans, and the Vulcans have willingly joined in the cruelty. All that stands in the way of the planned invasion is the Federation version of the *Enterprise*, and this fine point is honed even sharper when Geordi LaForge, Deanna Troi, and Captain Picard secretly beam aboard the Empire vessel to break into the other *Enter- prise*'s computer and copy the files needed to recreate the universe-crossing technology, and thus return home with a warning. Yes, it sounds trite. And in the hands of a lesser writer, it would have come out that way. But Duane, who has not enchanted me in earlier ST novels (two were in the pot-boiler category, in my opinion, and only one was really worth reading), comes through superbly. This is simply the finest writing I have seen in the Star Trek sub-genre since the death of James Blish in the 70s. No one - whether dealing with the animated Trek series that ran briefly, the novels surrounding TOS, or the TNG books (I have yet to read any of the Deep Space 9 novels) - has come near Duane's effort here. She has placed her- self squarely on a pedestal that now holds just two people. She is not just a good writer, or a good Trek writer; she is a writer of Trek who, like James Blish, has taken the Trek universe and characters and written *well* about them. I readily grant that Star Trek is not for everyone - the facetious tagline is that "Star Trek is for those who can't handle reality." Not even all sci- ence fiction fans like Star Trek. That is fine - if all readers had identical tastes publishing would be a singularly dull endeavor. However, it is my con- sidered opinion that no one - whether a Trek fan or not, whether a science fiction fan or not - will go wrong at least giving *Dark Mirror* a try. Even if you're not fond of Picard or Data, or don't care a lick for starships trav- elling a warp 5, the writing, the plotting, the characterization in this book are well worth the effort. *Dark Mirror* is what writing ought to be - it is the kind of writing that causes me to read, say, *The Good Earth*, even though normally I don't have the slightest interest in the kind of writing Pearl S. Buck did. It is, quite simply, Trek written well enough to be called litera- ture.  Software Review Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved EPIC PINBALL Epic Megagames 1993 The shareware version of EPIC PINBALL comes with but one pinball board (Android) but it's the best pinball game I've seen in years. It almost perfectly duplicates the look and feel of a real pinball game. After playing it a few dozen times, I even found myself wanting to whack the side of the monitor to get my ball to go away from a place I didn't want it to go. Fortunately, in EPIC PINBALL, that doesn't cause a "tilt". The object of the Android board is to hit several different holes and jumpers and slowly bring your Android to life. So far I've not managed to do this and I'm not sure what happens when you DO, but getting to that point promises to be even more fun. The ball movement is near-flawless and a great deal of care has gone into recreating the sounds and movements of the old pinball games. The sound card support and music fits the theme, to create a thoroughly enjoyable playing experience. Epic Megagames offers two pinball packs, each containing four pinball boards. These are $29.95 each. If you buy both together, they go for $45.00. They also offer a commercial game, Silverball, for $39.99. If you opt to buy ALL of this (both pinball packs and Silverball) you get it for $79.99. Who needs this much pinball? I'm not sure, but if the other games are as good as Android, it just might be worth the price. The shareware version of EPIC PINBALL can be found on most of your better bulletin board systems under the filename $PINBALL.ZIP. You can order directly from Epic Megagames in the United States by calling their toll-free number 1(800)972-7434. $PINBALL.ZIP includes a list (much too long to reprint here) of phone numbers you can call to order if you're in the UK, Japan, Germany, or other countries. My rating (on a scale of 1-10) 9 ÜÜÜÜÜ Ü°°°°° ±±° ° ÜÜÜ ° ° °° °±±± ú²±ß ܲ± °°°°°°°°°°±±±°°°°° ú ß ßß±²²Ü °° °±±° ß ß±°Ü °°°° °° ±ú ²²± ÜÛ²±ß °°°°°°°°°°°±±°°°° °°°° °ß²²²Ü ° ° ± °°° ß±±Ü° °° °° °±±Ü ܲ±±±Þ²ß ÜÛ²± °°°°±±±°°°°±±±°°° ú°°°ÞÛÜÜ°°ß²±±²Ü °°° ÜÜÜ ß²±±² °° °°° °°°±±±± ² ܲÛß °°°°°°±±°°°°°±±°° ú °°° Þ²°ÛÛÜ° ß±±±±±²ÜÜÛ²²²²±Ü ²²°ÜßÜ°°° °°±°±±±±²Ý±²ß ²²² °°°±±°°°±±±±°±°° °°°°° ß²°°°ÛÛÜ° °°°±²±±±±Û²²±±°°Üß ÜÜÜÜÜ °°±±ÜÛ²ß °°±±±±±±±±±±°°± °°° °° °²²°°°ßÛÛ°±±²ßßßÛ²±±²²²°ßܲ²²²²²²²Ü ±±°° °±²ÛÛß ÜÛ²± °°°±±±±±±±±°±±± °°°°° ° ß²²°°°±°±²Û ÜÜ ß²±°ßܲßÜÜÜÜ Üܲݰ±±°°²Ûß°°±±±±±±±±±±± ú °°° °°° °ß²²²±°°±²Û ßÛ ßܲßÜÞ²²²²²²°Ý² ±±±±°°°°°°Ü °±²ÛÜ °°²±±±±±±±±± °°°° ° °° ±°±±²²²ÜÜÜÜÛßÜÞ±²ÛÛ±±Û²ÝÛÝ ÛÛÛ²²²²²²²±°° ß² °°²²²²±±±±±± °° °° °°° ±°±±±±±±Ûß ݲ²²±Û²²²ÛÛÛ °°ÛÛÛÛ²²²²²²²±±± ±±± °°²²²²²²²±±± ú° °°°° ° °°±±±ÛÛÛÜ ²²²°±²ÛÛ²²ÜÜÜßßßÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²²²²²Ü ± ±±ÛÛÛ²²²²²±± ú°°°°±± ß°±±²ÛÛ²ÛÜ°²²°±ÛÛÛÛ²²²²²²ÜÜÜßßÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²² Û±Û²²²²²²²² úß°±ßÛÛÛÛ²Ûß°Ûß°²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²ÜÜßßÛÛ²²²² ± ÞÛÛÛ²²²²²²² Legend Of The Red DragonßÛÛÛ²ÛÛÛÛ °²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²²Üß²²²²Û Þ ÛÛÛ²²²²²²Û 3.0ú ܲ°±±ßß²ÛÛÛÛ °²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²Üß²ßß ² ÝÝÛÛ²²²ÛÛß ܲ²²²²²±ÜÜ ßßß °±²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²Ü Û²²Ý ÞÞÞÛ²²Ûß ° A fantastic door becomes ±±±±±²²²²°±²²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²Û²²²Ý ÜÝÛÛÛÛß °° better. Pick it upܲ۲ÛÛ±²²ßÞ ß°±²²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²Üß² ²ÝÛÛß ±±±± Jan 1st, '94.ÜÛ²Û±²²²Û²ÜÛÛ °±±²²ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²ÛÜ Ü²ßÞß ²±±±±± úÛ²²Û±±²²ÛÛ²²ÛÜßÛÛÜÜ°°±ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ²²²²²²²²ÛÛÛÛÛ²² Multi-node battle. Þ²Ûß Û²Û ß²ÛÝßÛ²Û²²²²±±°±±°°²²Ûßßß ÜÛ²ÛÜßÛ RIP support.ßßßÜÜßßßÛ°°±±±°°ÛßÛÛ²²²²ÛÛÛÛß Support BBS: The Darkside (503) 838-6171. ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Fiction ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Airborne Copyright (c) 1993, Robert McKay All rights reserved *Airborne* by Robert McKay I I'm one of the Airborne. While the rest of humanity has to live down on the dirt in the smog and fog, I live here in the air. I was born in atmosphere, I've lived here all my life, and I expect to die here. I can't think of one good reason to leave my ship and go down to the dirt. We're a whole culture up here. We have, of course, the huge residential craft like this one. Let's just look at this one for a moment; it's pretty typical. The *Billy Mitchell* is formally known as a Grugoff Type IV Long-term Atmospheric Residential Vessel, Mark X. We just call it a residential craft, and of course the name differentiates it from all the other thousands of residential craft which fly around up here. It's basically an immense flying wing, 70 feet thick, 800 feet from tip to tip, and either 200 or 287 feet from front to back, depending on whether you measure from the nose to the center trailing edge, or to the wingtips. In this space we have quarters for 300 families; engine, flap and slot gear; and the steering mechanism. There are fuel bunkers, of course, as well as storage facilities for the commissary outlets aboard. Most of what we see - although the sky is vast enough that we don't often come closer than a mile or two - is this type of residential craft. They're built to last, since they cost a bundle and a community can't afford to buy a new one every decade or so. The various models are basically alike. They cruise about the sky like majestic boomerangs, many of them with a glassed in recreation area on the top deck, and observation lounges, with their bubble windows, scattered about the hull. Since we never land, the underside is just as apt to have windows as any other portion of the hull. There are also the police vehicles, slim, fast needles with wings that go zooming around like they own the sky. Of course, the only time you ever see one is when they're in the way; you can never find a cop when you want one. The personal planes come in a great variety of types. There are cargo trucks, bulk and container lighters, family get-abouts, speedsters, and all the different kinds of plane you can come up with when your whole culture has been born and raised in the air for 200 years past. Even the massive bunkers of a residential craft get low, and we have to refuel. This is almost the only contact we have with the dirt. The oil is down there, and the nuclear material, and all the other items that when properly manipulated become the fuel that keeps us in the air. The tankers come up from the dirt, and we sink to meet them. Our craft never touch the dirt once the factory delivers them, and the only way they can get up from the dirt then is with bolted on undercarriages and auxiliary engines. They're simply not designed to operate under 5,000 feet or so, and we try not to get even that low. The air's too thick down there; give me 15,000 feet and breathable atmosphere any day. Anyway, the tankers come gliding up to meet us, and once we're on a straight and level course they come swooping in over our trailing edge, maneuvering carefully to avoid losing control in our wash. We tried coming up behind the tankers, I'm told, when we first began taking to the air, but as soon as the residential craft got to a certain size the bow wave began pushing the tankers up and away and contact was impossible. So they plow into the wave from behind, and almost sit down on the wall of air to maintain position. When both planes are satisfied with their position, the refueling boom flies down, the nozzle hatch bangs open against the wind, and the boom's snout clunks into the nozzle. It takes one tanker to top off a residential craft's bunkers, and they charge hefty fees for the job. I guess it's worth it to stay up here; they have to go back to the dirt and breath that clogged-up, sticky stuff they call air. I like it up here; all of us like it up here. We're an independent nation, according to the UN. While we fly over nearly every dirt-nation on the planet, few of us have any citizenship other than Airborne. Our independence is a natural consequence of our life -no dirt-nation can enforce its laws on us, when we can be on the other side of the world by the time the officials get all their papers together. We've got a president, who we elect every three years. Generally our presidents are civilians who've come up through residential craft government, but occasionally one of the military or police types makes it. The executive has pretty broad powers, which he has to. With a society as fluid as ours, situations have to be dealt with as they arise, and that means an executive who can make and implement decisions on his own. But he's not a dictator - if we don't like his style we boot him out, and the few presidents who've tried getting high-handed haven't lasted more than a term. The president is advised by a council, drawn from all levels of society. On the dirt I guess they'd get representatives for such a council from all the regions of the country, but simply to stay in operation a residential craft has to keep moving, and since cruising speed is around 250 miles per hour we cover a lot of "regions" in a day. So we've deliberately included people from all levels - there are people on the council who in their ordinary jobs don't make enough to get off their own residential craft, and others who make a living buying and selling whole fleets, and all sorts in between. This council is half elected and half appointed, to retain both accountability and independence. Sometimes people get mad and switch halves on the council members, and boy, you should see the scramble as those who thought their seats were secure try to explain their actions! Although our president has, as I've said, some pretty impressive powers, the government doesn't bother us much. There's the maintenance tax, which is divided between supporting the government and providing for maintenance of the residential fleet. There are various local taxes, for schools and whatnot. But government has learned the hard way that it doesn't pay to interfere too much up here. The government craft has to remain in touch with the nation, so it's easy to find out where it is, and a concerted attack by even a few irate residential craft could put it down on the dirt in a hurry. There's only been one revolt, though; generally we just elect someone else to replace an official who thinks he's more important than he really is, and the one incident didn't send anyone down. II Accidents happen, even up here. Even though a residential craft can go weeks without seeing anyone else, collisions occur. Generally the accidents are between personal or commercial vehicles, since the warn-off and collision avoidance gear on a residential craft is designed to keep them at least a mile apart at all times. The police are of course trained to fly fast and accurately - I understand the old dirt-based fighter pilots were trained somewhat like our police. The worst crash is between a dirt plane and one of ours. They're not designed to operate continually in atmosphere, and their pilots are essentially dirt-thinkers, so they've kind of unsafe in our environment, and our craft can't land, and can't even fly well below 5,000 feet. So when one of theirs hits one of ours, it can be difficult. I found this out the hard way. I work in the day shift steering gear section. We do whatever is necessary to keep the rudders operational at top efficiency, and we coordinate with the movable wing surface people to ensure the craft is completely maneuverable. This is critical when refueling or transferring cargo, since an unstable craft during these operations can result in great damage and even loss of life. I was on a day off when my collision occurred. I hadn't known a refueling was scheduled - but when you consider that each craft is a small city, and only a relatively small crew actually deals with refueling, that's not surprising. I was on the upper observation deck, up near the forward wind deflector where the glass merges into the steel shield, when the tanker came up from behind. We were flying with the sun at our six - directly behind, at six o'clock if the nose is noon - and so the tanker's shadow came up first. I looked around, and there it was. On the ground I suppose a tanker looks big - at least, they're the biggest things made that can land. But compared with a residential craft they're not particularly large. Their biggest feature is their tanks, and those are inside the hull where you can't see them. A tanker is basically a cylindrical gas tank, divided into sections to reduce sloshing, with control surfaces, a cockpit, and a little protrusion on the aft belly for the boom operators. They look ungainly, and basically they are. This tanker came up rather slowly. I looked at the condition indicator on the forward glass, and saw the weather was fine, but this pilot flew like he was dealing with a gale. He kept inching up, and inching up, and I wondered if he was trying to sneak up on the cockpit crew. Finally he got out ahead of us, riding our bow wave, and commenced to "sit down." This is the trickiest part of the operation, since the tanker has to fly nose-up, fighting the tendency of our bow wave to push him away, while ensuring that he doesn't over-control the plane and fly into our hull. The boom came down, the nozzle hatch opened, and then it happened. I still don't know for sure, but it looked like the boom snagged in the hatch coaming. It bent slightly, quivered, bent again, then shattered. The force threw the tanker out of control for a moment, and as big as a residential craft is, I felt ours lurch upward when the pressure from the boom suddenly let off. The tanker "sat down" alarmingly, and then their tail slammed down into our hull. Luckily the refueling hatch is aft of the cockpit, or we would have had a dead crew. As it was, a frightening area of hull was smashed in, the skin crumpling like paper. The entire tail of the tanker was broken off - as it bounced upward again I could see the boom operator's compartment had been crumpled -and the main fuselage pitched down with flame pouring from the broken rear as spilling fuel ignited. Our craft had been knocked nose-down by the impact, and our crew, seeing the nose of the tanker plummet by, dived. This is all that saved us; as it was, flame from the stricken tanker washed over the forward part of the hull, and had the refueling hatch not automatically closed when the drastic alteration from the proper flight path took place, we would have gone up too. Once the tanker's smashed hull had gone by, the cockpit crew pulled the nose up and brought the craft around in a sharp port turn, to get away from any falling wreckage that might still be above us. We turned so sharply - well outside the recommended turning list - that I could look down through the side of the glass and see the tanker twisting apart as it fell. It was engulfed in fire, and the smoke left an oily black trail down the sky. I didn't have to wait for the emergency alarm to sound. I was running full tilt before the screech began, and by the time those who hadn't witnessed the crash were beginning to charge through the corridors I was below decks and on my way to the steering gear. The craft was shuddering, and while the movement was in all directions, there was a lot more down involved than up. We were already down at 8,000 feet when the crash occurred, making it easy for the tanker, and we couldn't afford to lose much altitude. Judging from the drops, we had suffered a lot more damage than just a smashed upper hull. I slammed into the steering gear compartment at full blast, pushing through others in the same hurry, getting to my station and quickly scanning the readouts. Hydraulic pressure in the main system was down by 50 percent, and the backup system had an intermittent electrical failure. That was scary news, since without hydraulics the control surfaces were very difficult to move, and without control surfaces the craft wasn't flyable. If we didn't get the hydraulics in operation, we would probably crash, and that was that. I got the basic situation at my station down while putting on my headset, jacking in, and strapping into my seat. As soon as I knew what I needed to for a station-manned report I flicked on my microphone, and passed on the bad news. Apparently I didn't have the only unpleasant report, for my supervisor didn't even groan; he just acknowledged the report and cut me off. Chuck's got good manners, and he doesn't foul up on network procedure unless it's serious. Until I had pressure to work with, there wasn't much I could do, so I started hitting other channels, trying to find out what was going on. It wasn't encouraging. The tanker had ruptured the upper main hydraulic reservoir, which accounted for the drastic loss of pressure, and parted a number of backup hydraulic lines. That was just for starters, though. The sudden blow had sent shards of metal flying in all directions, and we'd had three engines FODded. FOD stands for Foreign Object Damage, and with jet engines it's the worst thing that can happen. With turbines whirling at thousands of rpms, it doesn't take much - a nail, a rock, a piece of shrapnel, even a little bird - to smash blades to splinters, wreck the engine, and maybe even send more shrapnel out to FOD other engines. That was how one of the engines had gone, and we weren't sure that all the others had escaped without damage that just hadn't gotten noticeable yet. The cockpit was a shambles, I learned as I flicked through the net, with consoles shorted out from the jarring they'd received. Several of the cockpit crew had been bruised in the collision, and two had been burned in the sudden electrical fires that had broken out before they were smothered by the automatic extinguishers. The main windshield had cracked from the shock, and if it went out the cockpit would be unusable. The fumes from the extinguishers and the smoke from the fires was caught inside, for with the emergency the environmental control system was restricted to absolute minimum requirements and didn't move the air as fast as normal. In addition, some of the ducts had been smashed and others shaken loose, compounding the circulation problem. To add to all this, our fuel problem was as great as ever. We hadn't taken on a pound of fuel before the crash - the boom was trying to hit the nozzle when it happened - and so our bunkers were nearly dry. And with the hull damage and hydraulic difficulties, we were having to use the remaining engines harder to keep us up, on an even keel, and steering a straight course. I caught a report, as I hurried past, that indicated we didn't have enough fuel for more than five or six hours of flight, and the absolute minimum reserve under normal circumstances is 24 hours. The report didn't say, but if we were down that low I expected we had a fuel leak as well. Things didn't look good. Boy, was that a cliche mixed with an understatement! If they'd looked much worse, we would have been trying to solve the situation from the dirt, for we were barely flyable as it was. III As I sat there at my post, flipping through the channels hoping for a good report, Chuck came by and tapped me on the shoulder. Looking around, I saw him flick a finger at me and move on, tapping a few others as well. I jacked out and hung my headset on the hook, and followed. We wound up in his office, me, him, and about 15 other people. He didn't waste time. "You know that we've lost hydraulic. Normally the mechanical steering gear would compensate, but we're taking a lot of buffeting thanks to the torn hull plating topside. The motors for the mechanical gear are taking too much strain, and if they have to do it alone we won't be up here much longer. "You're a rudder crew. Other crews with take the main port and starboard rudders; you get the main midships rudder. Your job is to see that it answers helm commands. You're going to have to work. You'll be fighting dead hydraulics, plus keeping the motors running, plus assisting the mechanicals in any way necessary. It may come to using the manual apparatus. Richards," here he pointed at me, "as the senior hydraulics man on this crew, you're in charge. Keep that rudder operational." "Yes, sir," I replied; I could say nothing else. Turning to my crew I said, "All right, let's go. This isn't just a plane we're on - it's home and we've got to keep it up." We rushed through the service corridors. Our feet pounded hollowly on the steel deck as we charged along, for we weren't as much interested in being quiet as we were in getting there. Steering one of these giant flying wings is not easy task, not when you've got to do it with less than optimum equipment, and that was certainly where we were. If the manual steering crews, of which we were one, didn't get to our stations it could very well mean the end of the craft. We could hear the groaning of the strained mechanism before we arrived. Normally the rudders don't make any noise at all, except for an odd clank now and then, or a hiss as the hydraulic pressure moves the rods and pistons about to change the rudder setting. The machinery is never supposed to groan like steel in agony; when we heard it, we looked at each other in alarm. The hatch was dogged tight, and it took two of us to spin the wheel and get it open. When we did, a thin haze of smoke spurted out, and we could smell the odor of burned wiring. Things weren't good. If the electric motors of the mechanical steering gear went out it would be almost impossible to move the rudder, and we certainly wouldn't be able to execute helm commands with any kind of speed. There were four critical positions in operating the manual steering gear - two sets of push-rods and pull-rods, one on each side of the massive flap of metal. Each rod was operated manually by means of cranks and handwheels. I kept one man with me to act as a runner if necessary, which left me with 14 men to divide up between four positions. Since each position had room for only two men at a time, unless things got really desperate and we simply had to try to put as much muscle on the wheels as possible, I put eight men to work right away, leaving six as roving relief. They were to keep an eye on those who were at work, and whenever a man appeared to be lagging, or requested a break, they were to jump in and take over. This way the job would get done, and at the same time everyone would get a rest eventually. It quickly became apparent that the electric motors were dying by degrees. The groaning lessened as the men threw their muscle into the problem, but it didn't stop, and we'd only been at it five minutes or so, with me checking equipment, jacking in to report on occasion, and generally keeping an eye on conditions in the compartment, when a balancer motor blew up in a shower of sparks. This was bad, since without the balancer it was much harder to maintain control of the rudder. It would be no harder to get the thing moving, but it would be much more difficult to stop it in the right position, and over- control became a real possibility - a possibility we didn't need. The balancer had two motors, so it wasn't completely out yet, but it wasn't working right either. I jacked in as soon as I saw the situation was under as much control as we could have it, and got Chuck on the horn. "Boss," I told him, "it's worse down here than I thought. We've just lost the #2 balancer motor, all the other electrical gear is smoking and burning out slowly, and the air in here's foul with the smoke. Plus we've got a slick of hydraulic fluid on the floor, and if it gets to be a real straining match we'll have men slipping. That won't just lessen the effectiveness of their work, but it'll get someone a broken bone for sure." "Is there anything you can do?" "Not without electrical. If you could break loose an electrician and get him to us we'd sure appreciate it. Maybe he could slow down the burning." "All right, I'll see what I can do. I warn you, though, that our electricians are spread pretty thin. We've had burnouts all over the ship, and they've been grabbing my people to run off up to the cockpit even." As I jacked out something let go inside the rudder with a tremendous bang. I was sorely tempted to swear; I don't use that kind of language, but if the rudder itself went I wouldn't want to stake my life on the craft staying off the dirt. I grabbed my runner and climbed the access stairs. The access platform was a grillwork semi- circle that allowed maintenance people to get inside the rudder itself and work on the skin, struts, braces, and equipment there. Just now the rudder was swinging slowly - painfully slowly - to starboard, bringing the access door toward the ladder. We waited for it, opened up, and stepped inside. We didn't have to watch for the change in floor motion, for the rudder was barely moving. At first the source of the noise was invisible. The lights were out, and I had to fumble for a moment to find the emergency switch. When I got the lights back on, I realized with horror that the whole rudder was in danger. I spun to the runner. "Get to a jack. Tell Chuck that the main transverse brace has broken loose on the port end. It's dangling by the starboard weld and the midships suspension brace." The man darted out the door. The brace fascinated me; I couldn't take my eyes off of it. As I picked my way along the fore-and-aft catwalk that ran down the center of the rudder, I gazed upward at the massive beam. The starboard weld was cracked - I could see that with my naked eye - and the midships suspension brace wasn't designed to take the full weight of the beam. The thing weighed nearly three tons - if the cracked weld let go completely, it would pull the brace out of the rudder's ceiling and smash through the other supporting structures and the various items of equipment, and go right through the bottom of the rudder. While I had been easing along the catwalk, the rudder had continued its swing. Now it halted, and jerkily began moving back, no doubt to an amidships position. The skin of the rudder flexed where the strut had come loose, and a chunk of broken-off weld came loose and whistled down. It hit the bottom with a crash, knocking a hole in the skin of the rudder and nearly going on through. Glancing over at the remaining weld, I could see the skin pulling away and flexing back. The brace was going to go, unless we could do something. The runner was back. "Boss says he's sending a crew. He said he doesn't know where he'll get the men, or what they'll be able to do, but if possible that strut's got to be put back, he says." "Yeah. Look, stay here and keep an eye on that thing. Stay back by the door; right here under it you'd never have a chance if it came down. Report to me if it shows signs of getting worse. When the repair crew gets here I'll send them up, and you can fill them in on the details and then get back to me." I backed out of the rudder, still with my eyes on the weakened brace. I didn't know what there might be about the craft that was more critical or in worse shape, but I knew one thing - if that strut went it would put the rudder out of action, and without the rudder the craft, in its weakened condition, probably wouldn't be flyable. The next 15 or 20 minutes was a reeking, acrid inferno. The electrician had arrived while I was in the rudder, and he was rushing about the compartment trying to keep motors running which, in a healthy craft, would be ripped out and junked. It was a wonder, he said, that we hadn't burned out every motor in the compartment. I went around to all four manual steering stations, noticing how the men were already sweating and weakened by the heat and smoke and crushing labor. The rudder banged and creaked, the motors groaned and sputtered, the men slipped and vilified the failing equipment, and I did everything I could think of, including pray. The repair crew's arrival was obvious. Even though the compartment was big, 10 men and an arc welder take up noticeable space. The crew's leader, a beefy man with scorched gloves on his hands, didn't need to be told where the problem was. He took one look at the rudder, saw the flexing skin and heard the creaking, banging disintegration in progress, and lifted an eyebrow at me as he pointed to the ladder. I nodded, deep in a conversation with the cockpit crew, who were frantic with worry at the poor handling caused by our rudder's difficulties. The repair crew moved toward the ladder, and absorbed as I was I couldn't help but notice that they were all soot- stained and sweat-streaked, and weary. Half the ten men got up the ladder right away. They let down a rope, slung from a pulley they rigged on the railing near the ladder. The five men still on the main floor quickly hooked the welder up and tailed on to the rope. One man climbed up the ladder, holding on with one hand and fending the welder off with the other. The operation obviously was old hat to these men, although if they'd hoisted the machine much today they probably wanted other employment by now. Once the welder was on the platform, the rest of the crew swarmed up the ladder, and manhandled it to the door. The rudder, just then stopped at a standard port angle, gave the crew no problems as they hustled the machine inside. Meanwhile, I had managed to convince the cockpit crew that we weren't quite ready to go down - although I was only half convinced myself - and took off on another tour of my compartment. My people were pitiful. The motors were going out, in spite of all the electrician could do. The balancer motor that had blown was beyond hope, and the #1 motor was screeching in the last stages of decay. It wouldn't last much longer. When it went it would be almost impossible to avoid over-control, and the added strain on the main actuating motors would quicken their demise. The electrician was nearly exhausted from his efforts and the acrid fumes he was forced to inhale at close range. My people were worn out from trying to ease the stain on the electric motors; I wasn't sure that if the mechanical system went they'd be physically able to work the rudder. And yet we couldn't quit - if we did, the whole rudder would go that much faster. I was losing control - we all were losing control. The rudder was getting away from us, and there was nothing we could do about it. The power of entropy was more than our power to put things together again. The one accident topside - the crash of the tanker into our hull - had set in motion events that weakened the fabric of the craft, and that weakening in turn led to further disintegration. We were rapidly becoming, instead of capable crewmen who could handle our problems and keeping ourselves in the air, unwilling passengers on a sinking ship. I wonder where, if we went down, our rats would go. Time blurred. I conferred with exhausted men from the welding team, the cockpit, and my own crew. I struggled to keep the electrician conscious in spite of the wretched air he had to breathe as he forced the motors to continue working beyond the limits of their endurance. The haze of smoke, the penetrating odor of spilled hydraulic fluid, and the constant noise and activity numbed my brain, and I lost all sense of time. I jacked out from yet another conference with the cockpit crew to find the burly leader of the repair team at my elbow. "We've got the beam back in place," he said, wiping rivers of sweat from his smeared forehead. "The welds are good, but I don't know about the skin. We didn't have the time to properly site the ends on solid metal, and the weakened condition caused by the initial break may bring it down after all. But your rudder's not bending like grass in the wind any more." These last words were said with a kind of tired pride; this man would do good work even if it meant welding all the way down to the dirt. "Thanks," I muttered, hardly able to comprehend that something had gone right for a change. "Do you think the rudder will survive?" "As long as the beam holds, that rudder'll stay together. It's this equipment in here I don't know about." "Look," I asked desperately, "I know that you're not an electrician, and you may have other jobs to get to. But if you know anything about keeping motors in line I'd appreciate it if you could give us a hand down here. The electrician's nearly passed out." "Sure," he said. "I'm not an expert, but me and a couple of the boys can stay. Unless something else gives out, there's nothing else aboard now that needs the full crew, except for some hull damage that can wait and will take days to fix anyway." IV It seemed as though getting our rudder in usable shape, and with the help of a few men from the repair crew keeping the mechanical steering gear operational, made a difference throughout the craft. This isn't to say, of course, that everything suddenly was perfect. We still had a lot of work to do just staying in the air, not to mention putting the craft back in normal condition. But the rudder seemed to be a turning point. Each situation has at least one turning point - a place or a time or an action which, once passed, is seen to have either ensured survival or doomed the whole thing to failure. We never know what the turning point will be until after it's passed, and there's rarely any reason we can see for that particular thing being the pivot on which the whole situation revolves. Nevertheless, such turning points do exist, and our frantic work with the rudder was the turning point for our craft. At the time I didn't realize all this, of course. It seemed as though we got one major crisis safely behind us only to be faced with a hundred minor problems, that when added together were almost worse than the crisis. The smoke still seeped from the strained motors, the hydraulic fluid still slimed the floor and caused us to slip at all the worst moments, the rudder still sounded like it might come apart after all. But from the time the strut was welded back in place and the volunteer electrician's helpers went to work, the overall situation began, slowly, to change. Looking back on it now, it seems that our survival was foreordained. At the time it seemed as though we staggered from one near-crash to another, with death and destruction only a finger's length away. But from the perspective of two years, I can see how it all fit together in a seamless mosaic, each event, each solution, each difficulty moving toward an inevitable conclusion. I'm glad I didn't have this perspective then, since our utmost efforts to avoid what we viewed as imminent death were themselves part of the puzzle that kept us in the air. We still fly and live on the same craft. The scars of the crash and the struggle to stay aloft are hardly visible now. The gaps in families and tables of organization have been filled, or else have become part of everyday existence that can be lived with. The hull plating that was torn and bent, and the equipment that burned out, failed under the strain, or was simply smashed to pieces, was more easily repaired, and by now we hardly remember that we're dealing with "new" materials. We still refuel from tankers that "sit down" on our bow wave, we still avoid the dirt like the plague, and we still take care of ourselves. But one thing we don't do anymore - we don't consider ourselves immortal.  The Squirrels Copyright (c) 1993, L. Shawn Aiken All rights reserved The thick branches of the pecan trees swayed back and forth, their leaves rustling in the wind. Robert whistled a merry tune as he strolled, almost skipped, down the path. Gunter plodded along behind him, a bulging rucksack mounted on his back. "How long before we get there?" Gunter asked, his gargantuan feet crushing the brittle leaves below them. "We're five minutes closer than when you last asked," Robert quipped and started whistling again, skipping merrily down the trail. "So how long's that?" Gunter's back was aching with the strain of the overloaded rucksack. "It's just over that there ridge," Robert indicated with a skinny finger. Gunter could easily see over Robert's skinny form, but he could not make out any geological formations in front of them. he had a feeling that his short buddy had no idea where they were. Gunter continued along, the rucksack weighing on him heavily. "Could you tell me again why I got to carry all the supplies?" the large man asked. "I need to be free to navigate properly," Robert said, "Besides, you're stranger than me." "Oh," Gunter still didn't understand. A fork in the trail could be seen up ahead. The right path was wide and clear of obstructions, while the left was overgrown with vines and brambles. Robert ceased whistling and stopped in between the two branching pathways. His fingers stroked his chin as he looked back and forth between the two. "So which way?" Gunter asked, standing behind his pal. "To the left, of course," Robert began to trudge through the undergrowth. The wind picked up and the leaves in the trees rustled. "Are you sure?" Gunter asked. "Hurry up," Robert said, looking back at Gunter, "They are waiting for us." Gunter sighed and followed the short man. The straps were digging further into his back. They continued through the brambles until they came to a clearing. Blackened trees that looked like burnt match sticks surrounded them. They saw metal poles standing out of the ground, arranged in triangular patterns. Bits of something white littered the forest floor. Gunter bent down and looked at the small white things. "They kinda look like little bones," Gunter picked one up and examined it. "Come on," Robert said, continuing through the blasted area, "we're late!" Gunter stood and struggled to catch up with him. They soon came to a rough hewn sign sticking up out of the debris. It bore carved letters that read: DON'T MOCK THE SUICIDE ATTACK SQUIRRELS. "Gol dang," Robert laughed, "What some people do for a practical joke." The leaves in the trees rustled. "Uh . . . yeah," Gunter slowly chewed his lip as he followed Robert out of the clearing and back into the forest. "Can you believe that someone actually took the time and effort to set that up?" Robert chuckled. The leaves continued to rustle although Gunter could feel no wind. He began to notice that small, dark shapes were making their way through the branches of the trees. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. "Uh . . ." said the large man, staring up at the black masses accumulating in the trees. "The more I think about it, the funnier it gets," Robert laughed, wiping a tear from his eye, "Of all the stupid things they could have picked, suicide attack squirrels has got to be the stupidest!" "Uh . . . Robert," Gunter said. Suddenly a small, dark figure fell from above, hitting the ground with a thud. Robert looked down at it. The mangled squirrel lay at his feet, its legs twitching spasmodically. "Uh, Robert . . ." Gunter's eyes widened. Suddenly thousands of squirrels flung themselves from the trees, hurtling teeth first at the two men. One grabbed Robert's ear with its tiny jaws and hung from it like a horrible earring. The small man screamed and began running about with his arms flailing, trying to avoid the insane rodents. He collided face first into a tree and collapsed, tiny animals pelting his body. Gunter ran toward him, trying to save his hurt buddy. Squirrels were slamming into him, ripping deep gashes with their razor sharp teeth and claws. Blood ran from his face and arms. As he tried to pick up his friend a mad rodent crashed into his forehead. He fell to the ground with a smash. The world grew dim as the macabre rain continued about him. The sheriff's mirrored sunglasses captured the aftermath at the burnt out clearing. One of his deputies walked up to him carrying a rough hewn sign. His lips moved as he read it, then laughed. The leaves began to rustle.  The Caravan Copyright (c) 1993, A.M.Eckard All rights reserved The Caravan by A.M.Eckard I like the veld. What choice do I have? There is nothing but the veld. It is mostly brown with a little green. It smells of sage and sand. It is hot in the day and cold at night. The lexicon in the Feed calls it the Gaia. The lexicon I got from Dad calls it the veld. Dad said I should name things according to the Feed when I'm talking to the people of the clans. Since no one will see this, I'll call it the veld. That's what Dad always called it before he left. Dad showed me how to change the lexicon in the Feed, but he said I shouldn't do it. He taught me a lot of neat things before he left. I still come across new messages to me in his lexicon. He was very good with computers. This is the time of the Winding-Down. That's what both lexicons call it. This is the time of desert and wind. This is the time of scarcity and drought. This is the time of hunger and thirst. The Feed says that this was not always so, but it does not say what was before. There's a lot in Dad's lexicon about it, but I find it hard to believe. I've thought of editing it out. I don't because Dad said that was definitely a bad thing to do. * * * I spend my time traveling the veld. I scavenge in the veld. Collecting and fixing things is my trade. I trade with the clans. Dad showed me my JobDesc in the Feed. It said I was a fixer. I looked up my JobDesc in Dad's lexicon. That said I was a maker. There was an attachment from Dad with it saying I should never call myself a maker when I was with the clans. He said the clans don't have makers anymore. The clans don't want makers. According to Dad's lexicon the clans had traders that did what I do. The makers would make, the fixers would fix, and the traders would trade. I guess with fewer people there are fewer JobDescs. That is all part of the Winding-Down. * * * In the veld I have seen the skeletons of many people. There were a lot more clans once. They say there were so many clans that they lived side-by-side. Things have changed. In my own traveling I have seen fewer and fewer clans. The clans don't move around very much. I make my living by traveling to them. I bury my needs, take my wares, and join them for a day. I trade what I have to trade and fix what needs fixing. By nightfall I must leave. That is the clan way. Usually I camp nearby. I like watching the clans. I have tools to watch them with that are better than their guards. I can spot Rovers many klicks away. * * * I spend most of my time on my own. Before Dad left we stayed together most of the time. It was like we were a clan of two. We were the only clan of two I have ever seen. Dad said we were a family. I really don't know what that means. It's not in either of the lexicons. Dad and I would grow our own food and make our own water. Dad would visit the clans and trade. I would stay behind and study the lexicons. Sometimes we would hunt the Rovers when they got too close. Dad said they had their purpose, too, but not too close to camp. We would protect the clans from the rovers, too. For a long time Dad wouldn't let me visit the clans. He said that it was because I was small and this was the time of the Winding-Down. He said the clans wouldn't accept me. I don't remember everything he said and the lexicons don't really help much. * * * There are things in Dad's lexicon that he added. He said he was the last one who could work on the lexicon. There are some things in Dad's lexicon that don't exist anymore. In the Feed they are Deletes. In Dad's lexicon they are Obsoletes. Dad said they were important because they didn't exist anymore. The best I can figure is that I was an Obsolete. I was a kinder in a time when there were no more kinder. I changed in a time when there was no change. I was a begat in a time when there were no more begats. Dad said that there was a Golden Age when mankind tried to stop change. He said it didn't work and I was part of the proof. I'm not a kinder anymore, so I can visit the clans. * * * There is a part of the Feed and Dad's lexicon that are almost exactly the same. It concerns the Mystics. It says that after the Golden Age comes the Winding-Down. It says that women are barren and men are sterile. It says that all the new souls are maxed-out. The Bodhis say that no more souls are becoming incarnate. The Xians say that Judgment is here. The Pagas say that Gaia seeds men no more. It goes on and on. I guess each clan has its own way of saying it. But it never really explains what it is. It just says that it is the Winding-Down and it doesn't sound good. Dad said that it was not strictly true. He never said what was strictly true. I talked about it with some of the teachers in the clans. The ones that didn't show me the Feed all said something different. Some said the Winding-Down was a coming whimper. Some said it was a coming roar. Most just changed the subject and told me to be out by nightfall. * * * Dad taught me studying. He taught me to study the veld. He taught me to study the clans. He taught me to study the lexicons. He studied with me. He studied me. He never told me what he saw. There is a section in his lexicon about me, but it is Access Denied. There is an attachment that is only for me. It says that I should travel the veld as a fixer. It says that I will really know myself by what I do. He said that no one should tell me what I am. He said that I should tell them what I am by being what I am. Dad spoke that way a lot. * * * I have encountered more traveling clans. They travel, they said, because the Winding-Down was getting faster and faster. Some of the clans that didn't travel said that the Winding-Down was getting faster and faster because of the traveling clans. Sometimes when I would go back to those clans I would find that they had picked up and started traveling. The traveling clans were good for business. Traveling always makes things break down faster. There was always a need for my services. I can always find ways to make something work for another day. I came to realize that I no longer had to make my rounds. I could travel North and South along the last of the hills. I would always come across a clan traveling from East to West. I had more work than I needed. Sometimes I would sit in the hills for days and watch the clans go by. I spent a long time in the hills. It gave me a feeling of peace, so I kept it for a while. * * * There came a time when out of the East there raised a cloud of dust so large I thought I would finally see a storm. It approached very slowly. I used a spy and saw that it was a group of people traveling in a line. It was more than a clan. It was a clan of clans. It was like nothing that has ever been. Instead of camos they traveled with their colors and flags. I moved in line with them and waited. Finally they circled in the valley and stopped. I went down to them. The guards waved as I approached. I asked them what kind of clan they were. They said they were not a clan. They were the Caravan. Clans were joining them from far and wide. They said they were passing through. They asked me if I would like to come along. * * * I had never seen anything like the Caravan. There was nothing in the lexicons. They spent everything they had on color and sound and movement. People were actually dancing. Hawkers sold food and it was very cheap. They had a converter and gave water away for free. I spent the rest of the first day fixing and mixing, in awe of their ways. These were not hoarders. These were not scrabblers in the veld. They were just making their way through. They were the Caravan. I made three trips to the veld to bury my needs. They just laughed and shook their heads at me. I was fixing things that were a delight, but were of no use. There were bells on wagon wheels. There were chimes on wagons. There were little colored windmills that turned no wheels. There were bellows that sounded horns. As the evening approached, I helped to raise great tents and small. When the sun touched the hills I cleaned myself off and began gathering my things. I would not go far, I thought. I might follow this group a while. I was making for the nearest cover when someone asked me if I would stay. I just laughed. What else could I do? But they meant it. They said that I could stay the night. They would be off in the morning and, if I wanted to, I could travel with them. I just shook my head no and hurried away. I dug my camp and buried my wares and watched them. * * * The word Carnival was in Dad's lexicon. It seemed to be close to what I saw. They danced and played. There were jugglers and clowns and acrobats. They cooked food in the open and the smells drifted to my camp. They sang and chanted. It went on for hours and hours. They burned lights all night long that could be seen across the veld. When I grew tired I slept, listening to their music. In the morning I helped strike the tents. When the first were off I stood aside. They all called me friend although I was a member of none of the clans. They said that clans meant nothing now. They were members of the Caravan. It was Winding-Down time and the clans were gone for them. They asked me if I would come along, if only for just a while. I did. * * * The Caravan traveled and made good time. I helped when things needed fixing. Everyone called me friend. They said that I should see the Queen at the next halt and join them. Throughout the day I considered it. Before this my clan had been only Dad and me. Dad had been gone for a long time. I decided I liked the idea. As on the previous day, the halt was called in the afternoon. The Caravan circled. The tents went up. The fires were lit. The music and the play began. I was sent to see the Queen. * * * The Queen's tent was the largest tent of all. It was decorated with the colors of all the clans. Everywhere I looked there were the symbols of the clans and the symbols of all the workers. It was so fine it made my eyes water. The Queen's consorts were all women. They brought me food and water and welcomed me to the Caravan. They brought me a robe of Caravan colors and asked me for my sign. I asked them where the Caravan was going. They told me it was going to the end. "This is the Caravan," they said. "We are traveling on the journey of the Winding-Down and we are traveling to the end." They coached me on the form of my formal petition to the Queen. They laughed and joked and said that I was the first clan of one to join. Finally they led me to an inner chamber of the tent where I was brought before the Queen. She was a handsome woman with hair slightly touched by gray. I was taken by her air of knowledge and wisdom. When I looked in her eyes I was reminded of dad. There seemed to be a similar light of intelligence and humor and sadness. When I found my voice I introduced myself to her as her consorts had instructed me to. "I have no clan," I said. "I am a helper and a fixer. I would be honored if you would allow me to join your Caravan. I will offer my services freely, and ask only that my needs be met." It was at this point in my speech that I had been instructed to stop. I had been told that the Queen would nod to accept me or shake her head. I had been told that she never shook her head. I had been told that I should then bow and leave. But I did not. Perhaps it was that she reminded me of Dad. Perhaps it was that the Caravan was like nothing I had ever seen and I wanted so badly to become a part of it. Perhaps it was the curious way she seemed to look into me and see more of me than anyone ever had. Whatever the reason, I could not contain myself and I continued on. Against my Dad's wishes, I said, "I am a maker. I also can make things new." I could hear a few of the consorts gasp. I looked at the shock on their faces as they covered their mouths and knew that I had made a mistake. * * * The Queen stood from her chair and approached me. All eyes were upon her as she put her finger to my lips and said "Shhhh." Her hand smelled of sage and balsam. To the amazement of myself and everyone there, she took my hand and led me into her inner chambers. The others were told to remain outside. She lay down on her bed and bid me bring a table and chair to her side. Every time I tried to speak she would touch my lips. She would shake her head with a frown, but her mouth would barely smile. She brought out a deck of cards with colors and pictures I'd never seen before. There were more than in a deck of chance, she explained. "I fear the others may have been too eager to invite you to join our ranks, but we will see," she said. "These are cards of old. They were called future cards before the Winding-Down. Now they are the cards that guide us on the path to the end. I use them to know the way and set our course for each new day. They once had another use." She extinguished the lamps and set four candles down, one on each corner of the table. The chamber was cool and smelled of anise and patchouli. Not a breeze stirred the candle flames as they burned. "Come and shuffle the cards as if they were a deck of chance," she said, "then cut them three times to your left." I did as I was told. She spread the cards on the table in a strange pattern and took a deep breath. She shook her head, but still smiled at me. * * * "Here is the Queen," she said. "I've seen her many times. She is my card and she sits before you." "Here is the Mage, though not the one I've known." When she looked at me I thought of Dad, but said nothing. I was in awe of her and could not interrupt her words. "Here is the ending," she said, "fruits of the seeds our forebears have sown. There is nothing new here. This is the way we have come." She paused as she turned the next card, then turned a few more. I believe her hand shook a little as she turned the last. Her voice had been quiet, but now came even quieter than before. "Here is the maker, and here is the crone. Here is a girl-child and here a boy. Here is a birthing and here a joy. And here is a soul-star." She started to cry. I tried to speak, but again she silenced me. She sat for a long time with her palms together in front of her face. Tears streamed from her eyes and she breathed in small gasps. Finally she blew out three of the candles and took me to her bed. * * * First we made love with a quiet ferocity I had never known. Then we were tender and savored the moments that seemed like hours. I told her I loved her and I would travel with the Caravan forever. She cried then, and shook her head no. "We don't have forever, anymore." She sat before the single candle and spoke, looking older than any of the people ever looked. "There were makers and fixers once that worked on people instead of things. It was decided that the people would never grow old, would never sicken and die. It was decided that children would not be born and man and woman would live simply with Gaia. The makers and fixers had their way and planned their way with Gaia, too. Everything was changed according to a grand plan." "But they hadn't planned well. The Gaia cannot be fixed. Man cannot be made and fixed. The Winding-Down began." "What kind of man are you, maker? How have you come here?" I told her what Dad had told me. I told her the secret that I had been a kinder and I had grown. I told her of Dad's lexicon, the lessons he had taught me and the lessons that waited for me still. She blew out the last candle, held me close, and told me to sleep. It was a long time before I could. * * * In the morning I awoke to the sound of her shuffling the cards. When she saw I was awake she called her ladies with a little bell and bid them bring me food and water and clothes the colors of the Caravan. My heart swelled with hope, but her head shook no. She studied the cards while I dressed and ate. "You cannot come with us," she sighed. "We are the Caravan of the Winding-Down. You must stay here in the veld and wait. Others will come the way we have come. These are the stragglers, the lost, the late." "You will show them my sign. They will give you what you need, and you will help them with their needs. They will be like us and you will show them the way we have gone and send them along." "But what about me?" I asked. "What of this Caravan? What about us?" "This is the Winding-Down. Eventually no more will come from the East. But you must stay. We are not meant to travel the same path." "One day someone will come from the West. Just one, or two, or a few. You must wait for that day. They will bring you my sign. Then you must make your own way." * * * She turned from me then, and was gone. The camp was struck. I watched her Caravan travel out of sight as I have watched others. With each that has come and gone I have sent a note: Will this be the last time, my love? The crowds depart. All the songs are songs of farewell. Everyone seems to have gathered here to leave. I am a pilgrim in this land and there are things you have not told me; things I should have known. It has been a long time now. The pain that I felt on her leaving somehow does not hurt as much anymore. Somehow things seem to be as they should be. I look to the West and there is hope. In Dad's lexicon hope is something that hurts but feels good. Hope is something that grows amidst loss. Hope is something I've added to the lexicon of the Feed.  ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ"Bringing our software to your home" ÄÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÜÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ ßßßßßßÛÛßßßßßßßÛßßßßßßßßßÛÛßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßß ÍÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍßÛÛÛßÍÍÍÜÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ ÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÛÛ(717)325-9481 14.4 ßÛßÛÛÛÛß2 NODES ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÛÛÛÛÜÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÛ ÜÛ ÜÛÛÛÛÛÜÜÛÛÛÛÜÜÛÛÛÛÜ ÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÛÛÍÍÍÍÍÍÍ ÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÄÄßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÛÛÛÛÜÄÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÄÄÄÄÛÛÄÜÜÄÛÛÄÄÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÄÄÛÛÛÛÛÛÄÄÄÛÛÛÜÄÄÄÄÄ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÛÛÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÜ ÛÛ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛÛÛÛÛÜÛÛÜÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛÜ ÛÛÜÜÜÜ ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß ßÛÛÛÛÛß ßÛßÛßÛÛÛÛß ßÛ ßÛ ßÛ ßÛ ßÛÛÛÛß Prize Vault LemonadeScrambleDollarmania ANSI Voting Booth Studs!StudetteBadUserConvince!OnLine! 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ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Poetry ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  A Christmas Trilogy: Enough For Me Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Enough For Me by Joe DeRouen 11:56am (12/08/89) A fire in the fireplace, warmth from within, Frost around the windows, wrapped in covers to my chin, Stockings hung with care, presents around the tree, All this I have, but you're enough for me. It's Christmas time, carollers singing, Out in the streets, salvation bells ringing, Snow on the ground, fallen from above, But all of this pales, held up to your love. Without a fire in the fireplace, you'd keep me warm, Without my covers, you'd protect me from the storm, And if we didn't have the stockings, or gifts under the tree, You'd still be enough for me. Still Enough For Me by Joe DeRouen 6:12pm (12/21/90) A year ago, salvation bells rang, Laughing in the streets, carollers sang, Stockings were hung, presents around the tree, All this I had, but you were enough for me. Snows falling now, but a different shade of white, Different spirits dancing away with the nights, Everything has changed, time started anew, Things have changed, but I'm still in love with you. Our love is still there, but grown deeper and strong, And I'll tell you again what I've said all along, If we didn't have the stockings, or gifts under the tree, You'd still be enough for me. Enough For Me Again by Joe DeRouen 12:29am (11/11/93) Christmastime's coming round once more, Time to hang mistletoe over the door, Reflections of days gone past, Yuletides shared, first to last. In the years gone bye, we've found many things, Learned of the joy that the world brings, We've endured sadness and trouble, too, I wouldn't have made it without you. It's a lesson I have to keep learning, Like a spark to a flame, slowly burning, If we didn't have the stockings, or gifts under the tree, You'd still be enough for me.  Gray House Cat Copyright (c) 1993, Jim Reid All rights reserved Gray house cat standing at the sliding glass door looks out, then at me. Repeating until I catch the hint. I let her out. A moment later her nose and paws press the glass. In and out, out and in until I scowl and leave the door ajar. She sits inside, nose at the door jam, smiling. I am slow. What she wanted was neither in nor out, but the freedom to choose.  Souls Alone Copyright (c) 1993, Shelley Suzanne All rights reserved As the goddess of the night Shines her flashlight beam of energy down to my soul. I awake. My mind moves with anticipation to connect with the muse on my shoulder I rise. Like the petals of a flower I open to soak in her mysteries, her magic. She energizes me, I fly. In search of my world of man. I revel in his desires, his fears and his insatiable lust. I feed I fill of the ponderings of humankind. I try to comprehend him. His wars, his disease, his evil. I sleep. Why am I here? Why are you there? I contemplate as she who guides the night descends to her domain. I wait for her to call me once again. I dream.  Ashen Copyright (c) 1993, Gage Steele All rights reserved i am the last she strokes me soothing smooth come the burning wither me mesmerise apparition for a moment pieces taken without within cocotte swell proud flesh my final ember snubbed but not forgotten blacken bosom lay she twisted sharing fate ashes to ashes to ashen  Mi'Lord Copyright (c) 1993, Patricia Meeks All rights reserved Mi'LORD When I first saw your face, I looked and saw another hiding in your soul, he smiled at me, as he looked through your eyes, recognition hit me like a blow, I knew him from times long past, though where and when I could not tell, His laugh came out your lips, and gave me goosebumps and warning bells. Then one night I had a dream, I was in a long flowing dress, Waiting on Mi'Lord to come, and ringing my hands in distress, Concern flowed through me for his welfare, For the night was pitch and dark with storm, Fearing of what could befell him, On that early winter morn. A cry came from the sentry on watch, A horse and rider tore down the lane, The sleet and snow came down so hard, Friend or foe he could not name, Booted feet stomped up the steps, To crash open the heavy oak door, A form loomed out of swirling ice, And with a cry I knew him as Mi'Lord. I ran and threw my arms around him, Shaking with my joy and relief, He clasped me to him in surprise, As tears streamed down my cheeks, "Were you afraid, Lass?" he said, Ashamed I nodded yes, You see, In my dream I looked in his eyes, and saw you instead.  A Godly Person Copyright (c) 1993, J. Guenther All rights reserved shock shock to the thoughts and to the mind [--She laid on my chest, tired, and she fell asleep* [--By accident, I woke her up, and she smiled* [--She told me about God and purpose [--And all I did was smile--] smile smile to each other [--I battled from an Atheist coat of armor [--And she grinned and argued back* [--We both giggled* [--She listened to what I had said, then I heard her [--And she fell back asleep on my chest--] peace  Personal Notes In Black Mirrors Copyright (c) 1993, Michie Sidwell All rights reserved PERSONAL NOTES IN BLACK MIRRORS Perhaps I was not spawned Out of beauty Or chiseled like the statues Stood raging as fortresses Commanding the sweetest gardens With their godlike stone But, With a mind that thinks the sky Do I Challenge a world With its fangs pressed against me And welcome the talon Tearing at my flesh Though the blood of my sleep Begs one last beat So do I Cough out The last word of shamed blasphemy Tied to the burning sails Damned on the wine consumed tide I raise my ghost Burning with senses Incenses the pillow Sweat stained by the mark Sadly battered Morning shattered Pieces of broken head And corrosion of dreams Melted down by last night's dead meal Like amber precious Spun the flavoured breath Drips its dew Over the petal of my lips And the frost seeks outside  In Time The Heart Will Wander Copyright (c) 1993, Tamara All rights reserved "Poetry is to the soul, what music is to life - intrinsic without force" Tamara In Time The Heart Will Wander In time the heart will wander through passages unknown. Words that bring us thunder for silences have grown. To love and then to lose a brother and a friend makes deep and lasting blues the kind that never end. Going out together to reach the new horizon casting out the feathers that always keep surprisin'. A love so strong it strengthens the heart and soul for more in spite of time that lengthens through infinity - the door. Death has taken many but none were quite so near For thoughts are just a penny for those who wish to hear. Written 6/15/88 (c) by Tamara A poem in memory of my brother Kristofer Jon who died June 6, 1988. Kris - I love you.  ßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜß ßÜß Â   Â ÚÂÄ¿  ÚÄÂÂÄ¿ ÂÂÄÄ¿ ÂÂÄÄ¿ ÂÂÄÄ¿ ÂÂÄÄ¿ ÚÂÄÄ¿ ÚÄÂÂÄ¿ ßÜß ßÜß ³³ ³ ³ ³³ ³³ ³ ³ ³³ ³ÃÄ ³ÃÄÂÙ ³ÃÄ ³ÃÄ ÀÁÄ¿ ³³ ßÜß ßÜß ÀÁÄÁÄÙ ÁÁ ÁÁ ÀÄÙ ÁÁ ÁÁÄÄÙ ÁÁ ÁÄ ÁÁ ÁÁÄÄÙ ÄÄÁÁ ÁÁ ßÜß ßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜßÜß  Benefitting the North Texas Food Bank, Toys for Tots and Pediatric AIDS research!  Howdy, folks! We've come up with a plan that'll quench your thirst for holiday fun, get you back in touch with old friends, and give you an opportunity to help those that are less fortunate.  When: December 11, 1993!! Where: Ranch of the Lonesome Dove Price: Admission is $5 per person plus either a can of food or an unwrapped toy. don't worry. All of the money collected goes to the Pediatric AIDS Research Foundation. NOTICE: You must RSVP if you wish to attend so we can accomodate the people who attend.  ************************ READ THIS ********************************  * You must be over 18 to enter. * BYOB - If you aren't 21, don't bother. We will provide for your soft drink needs.  * Bring food! Whip up your Grandma's favorite dessert or casserole! We plan on "cooking up" a contest for the best feast, so show us your stuff! If you don't cook, chips and dips will be fine! Be sure to let us know what you're bringing so that we don't have too many fruitcakes!  * Dressy casual is the look! No ties are necessary but ragged jeans and t-shirts are discouraged. This is a nice party! * All will be expected to conduct themselves in a socially acceptable manner! If you do not, you WILL be asked to leave. We can't make it any plainer than that. * It's a requirement that you have fun. If you fail to do so, we'll be forced to cheer you up. Final Note: All BBS's are encourage to participate in this joyous gathering, so if you feel that a sysop needs to know about this, feel free to spread the word.  *************************RSVP INFORMATION************************  Ok, if you are certain you want to attend this is how to RSVP: Leave a message to Glenda Thompson Tell us the total number of people coming with you (including yourself of course). OR Send E-mail to Glenda Thompson through the Fidonet organization at the following address: 1:124/6108. OR Call FireSide Chat BBS @ 214-333-2357 and leave a message to the sysop. There is an (R)svp option at the main menu to make it simple.  ********************* SPONSOR INFORMATION ***********************  If you would like to sponsor the event and bring something: please call FireSide Chat and leave a message to the "Glenda Thompson" or "K" telling us what/how much you are bringing. If possible, leave a voice number for confirmation, just let us know how to reach you in the future.  ************************* NOTE **********************************  You are encouraged to call FireSide Chat @ 214-333-2357 to view all the updated party information, we will be posting directions, etc. in the near future! ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Humour ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Top Ten List Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Top Ten Best Christmas Gifts This Holiday Season ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ 10. John Wayne Bobbit doll (some assembly may be required) 9. For Collectors: Rare footage of Infomercial *Not* starring Cher! 8. Ted Danson remake of "The Jazz Singer" 7. Ross Perot CD (manufacturing error - skips and keeps repeating the same thing over and over) 6. Senator Robert Packwood's Guide to Gettin' The Babes 5. Three words: Gifs, Gifs, Gifs! 4. Michael Jackson's Around-The-World Getaway tour (Kids fly free!) 3. Find Fabio kid's activity book 2. 28.8k Modem/Fax/food dehydrator (from Ronco) 1. Beavis and Butthead's Book of Social Etiquette (fire damage sale - 50% off)  Technically The Night Before Christmas T'was the nocturnal segment of the diurnal period preceding the annual yuletide celebration, and throughout our place of residence, kinetic activity was not in evidence among the possessors of this potential, including that species of domestic rodent known as Mus Musculus. Hosiery was meticulously suspended from the forward edge of the woodburning caloric apparatus, pursuant to our anticipatory pleasure regarding an imminent visitation from an eccentric philanthropist among whose folkloric appellations is the honorific St. Nicholas. The prepubescent siblings, comfortably ensconced in their respective accomodations of repose, were experiencing subconcious visual hallucinations of variegated fruit confections moving rhythmically through their cerebrums. My conjugal partner and I, attired in our nocturnal head coverings, were about to take slumbrous advantage of the hibernal darkness when upon the avenaceous exterior portion of the grounds there ascended such a cacaphony of dissonance that I felt compelled to arise with alacrity from my place of repose for the purpose of ascertaining the precise source thereof. Hastening to the casement, I forthwith opened the barriers sealing this fenestration, noting thereupon that the lunar brilliance without, reflected as it was on the surface of a recent crystalline precipitation, might be said to rival that of the solar meridian itself--thus permitting my incredulous optical sensory organs to behold a miniature airbourne runnered conveyance drawn by eight diminutive specimens of the genus Rangifer, piloted by a minuscule, aged chauffeur so ebullient and nimble that it became instantly apparent to me that he was indeed our anticipated caller. With his ungulate motive power traveling at what may possibly have been more vertiginous velocity that patriotic alar predacates, he vociferated loudly, expelled breath musically through contracted labia, and addressed each of the octet by his or her respective cognomen--"now Dasher, now Dancer..." et al.--guiding them to the uppermost exterior level of our abode, through which structure I could readily distinguish the concatenations of each of the 32 cloven pedal extremities. As I retracted my cranium from its erstwhile location, and was performing a 180 degree pivot, our distinguished visitant achieved--with utmost celerity and via a downward leap--entry by way of the smoke passage. He was clad entirely in animal pelts soiled by the ebon residue from oxidations of carboniferous fuels which had accumulated on the walls thereof. his resemblance to a street vendor i attributed largely to the plethora of assorted playthings which he bore dorsally in a commodious cloth receptacle. His orbs were scintillant with reflected luminosity, while his submaxillary dermal indentations gave every evidence of engaging amiability. The capillaries of his malar regions and nasal appurtenance were engorged with blood which suffused the sub- cutaneous layers, the former approximating the coloration of albion's floral emblem, the latter that of the Prunus Avium, or sweet cherry. His amusing sub and supralabials resembled nothing so much as a common loop knot, and their ambient hirsute facial adonment appeared like small, tabular and columnar crystals of frozen water. Clenched firmly between his incisors was a smokingpiece whose grey fumes, forming a tenuous ellipse about his occiput, were suggestive of a decorative seasonal circlet of holly. His visage was wider than it was high, and when he waxed audibly mirthful, his corpulent abdominal region undulated in the manner of impectinated fruit syrup in a hemispherical container. He was, in short, neither more nor less than an obese, jocund, multi- genarian gnome, the optical perception of whom rendered me visibly frolicsome despite every effort to refrain from so being. By rapidly lowering and then elevating one eyelid and rotating his head slightly to one side, he indicated that trepidation on my part was groundless. Without utterance and with dispatch, he commenced filling the aforementioned previously dorsally transported cloth receptacle. Upon completion of this task, he executed an abrupt about-face, placed a single manual digit in lateral juxtaposition to his olfactory organ, inclined his cranium forward in a gesture of leave-taking, and forthwith effected his egress by renegotiating (in reverse) the smoke passage. He then propelled himself in a short vector onto his conveyance, directed a musical expulsion of air through his contracted oral sphincter to the antlered quadrupeds of burden, and proceeded to soar aloft in a movement hitherto observable chiefly among the seed bearing portions of a common weed. But I overheard his vehiculation beyond the limits of visibility: "ecstatic yuletide to the planetary constituency, and to the selfsame assemblage, my sincerest wishes for a salubrious beneficial and gratifying pleasurable period between sunset and dawn." ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ÚË Ë¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ Ú» É¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ÚÉÚÍÑËÑÍ¿ ÚËÍÍÍË¿ ³ ³ ³ºÃÎÍÍÍδ ³ÌÍÍËÊÙ ÀÊÑËѼÙ ÀÊÍÍÍË¿ ÃÎÍÍÍδ ³º³º³ ÀÊÍÍÍË¿ ³ ³ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ÀÊ ÊÙ ÀÊ ÈÍÙ ÀÊÙ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ÀÊ ÊÙ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ÀÍÏÊÏÍÙ ÀÊÍÍÍÊÙ ³ ³Dallas/Ft Worth's First & Longest Running Multi-User BBS³ ³Online Since 1979³ ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´ ³(214) 690-9295 Dallas(817) 540-5565 Ft. Worth³ ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´ ³48 Telephone Lines³ ³Internet E-Mail, FTPmail, Archie, Oracle, Usenet Groups³ ³ Over 35+ Gigabytes of Files Represented - 12 CD-Rom Drives Online ³ ³NO File Upload or File Ratio Requirements³ ³Interactive Multiuser Chat Conferences³ ³Dozens of Interactive, Real-Time, Games of Chance & Excitement³ ³Text, Graphics, & ANSI Color Completely Supported³ ³ Dozens of Special Interest Areas - Literally 1000s of Messages Online ³ ³USA Today Online Each Business Day³ ³Thousands of Interesting, Intelligent, Diverse Members³ ³ Connex (Tm) - The Biographical, Friendship, and Matchmaking Service ³ ³Voted # 1 BBS in Texas by Boardwatch BBS Magazine³ ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´ ³ High Speed: (214) 690-9296 Dallas(817) 540-5569 Ft. Worth³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Information ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  There are several different ways to get STTS magazine. SysOps: Contact me via any of the addresses listed in CONTACT POINTS listed elsewhere in this issue. Just drop me a note telling me your name, city, state, your BBS's name, it's phone number and it's baud rate, and where you'll be getting STTS from each month. If your BBS carries RIME, Pen & Brush Network, or you have access to the InterNet, I can put you on the STTS mailing list to receive the magazine free of charge each month. If you have access to FIDO, you can file request the magazine. If you don't have access to any of these services - or do but don't wish to use this option - you can call any of the BBS's listed in DISTRIBUTION SITES and download the new issue each month. In either case contact me so that I can put your BBS in the dist. site list for the next issue of the magazine. (Refer to DISTRIBUTION VIA NETWORKS for more detailed information about the nets) Users: You can download STTS each month from any of the BBS's mentioned in DISTRIBUTION SITES elsewhere in this issue. If your local BBS isn't listed, pester and cajole your SysOp to "subscribe" to STTS for you. (the subscription, of course, is free) If you haven't any other way of receiving the magazine each month, a monthly disk subscription (sent out via US Mail) is available for $ 20.00 per year. Foreign subscriptions are $ 25.00 (american dollars). Subscriptions should be mailed to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Addison, Tx. 75234 U.S.A.  * Special Offer * [ Idea stolen from Dave Bealer's RaH Magazine. So sue me. ] Having trouble finding back issues of STTS Magazine? (This is only the fifth issue, but you never know..) For only $ 5.00 (count 'em - five dollars!) I'll send you all the back issues of STTS Mag as well as current issues of other magazines, and whatever other current, new shareware will fit onto a disk. Heck, I'll even send you a *registered* version of my shareware program, Quote! v1.4 (a random quote generator) What could be better than that? Just send your $ 5.00 (money order or check please, US funds only, made payable to: Joe DeRouen) to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 U.S.A. Tell me if you want a high density 5 1/4" disk or a high density 3 1/2" disk, please. (The following form is duplicated in the text file FORM.TXT, included with this archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Enclosed is a check or money order (US funds only!) for $ 5.00. Please send me the back issues of STTS, the registered version of Quote!, and whatever else you can cram onto the disk. I want: [ ] 5.25" HD disk [ ] 3.5" HD disk Send to: ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________  Submission Information ---------------------- We're looking for a few good writers. Actually, we're looking for as many good writers as we can find. We're interested in fiction, poetry, reviews, feature articles (about most anything, as long as it's well-written), humour, essays, ANSI art, and RIP art. STTS is dedicated to showcasing as many talents as it can, in all forms and genres. We have no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative concepts, and unique execution of those concepts. As of January 1st 1994, we're going to begin PAYING for accepted submissions! In a bold move, STTS has decided to offer an incentive for writers to submit their works. For each accepted submission, an honorarium fee will be paid upon publication. Premium access to STTS BBS is also given to staff and contributing writers. In addition to the monthly payments, STTS will hold a bi-annual "best of" contest, where the best published stories and articles in three categories will receive substantial cash prizes. These changes will take effect in January of 1994, and the first bi-annual awards will be presented in the July 1994 issue. Honorariums, bi-annual cash awards, award winners selection processes, and Contributor BBS access is explained below: HONORARIUM Each and every article and story accepted for publication in STTS will received a cash honorarium. The payment is small and is meant as more of a token than something to reflect the value of the submission. As the magazine grows and brings in more money, the honorariums will increase, as will the bi-annual award amounts. Fiction pieces pay an honorarium of $2.00 each. Poetry pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each Non-fiction* pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each You have the option of refusing your honorarium. Refused funds will be donated to the American Cancer Society. Staff members ARE eligible for honorariums. * Non-fiction includes any feature articles, humor, reviews, and anything else that doesn't fit into the fiction or poetry category. BI-ANNUAL CASH AWARD Twice a year (every six months) the staff of STTS magazine will meet and vote on the stories, poems, and articles that have appeared in the last six issues of the magazine. Each staff member (the publisher included) gets one vote, and can use that vote on only one entry in each category. In the unlikely event of a tie, the winners will split the cash award. Winners will be announced in the July and January issues of the magazine. Anyone serving on the staff of STTS magazine is NOT eligible for the bi-annual awards. Bi-annual prize amounts ----------------------- Fiction $50.00 Non-fiction 25.00 Poetry 25.00 The winner in each category does have the option of refusing his cash award. In the event of such a refusal, the entire sum of the refused cash awards will be donated to the American Cancer Society. STTS BBS Staff members and contributing writers will also receive level 40 access on Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS. Such access consists of 2 hrs. a day, unlimited download bytes per day, and no download/upload ratio. A regular user receives 1 hr. a day and has an download/upload ratio of 10:1. Staff and contributing writers also receive access to a special private STTS Staff conference on the BBS. LIMITATIONS STTS will still accept previously published stories and articles for publication. However, previously published submissions do NOT qualify for contention in the bi-annual awards. Furthermore, previously published stories and articles will be paid at a 50% honorarium of the normal honorarium fee. RIGHTS The copyright of said material, of course, remains the sole property of the author. STTS has the right to present it once in a "showcase" format and in an annual "best of" issue. (a paper version as well as the elec. version) Acceptance of submitted material does NOT necessarily mean that it will appear in STTS. Submissions should be in 100% pure ASCII format. There are no limitations in terms of lengths of articles, but keep in mind it's a magazine, not a novel. Fiction and poetry will be handled on a pure submission basis, except in the case of any round-robin stories or continuing stories that might develop. Reviews will also be handled on a submission basis. If you're interested in doing a particular review medium (ie: books) on a full-time basis, let me know and we'll talk. ANSI art should be under 10k and can be about any subject as long as it's not pornographic. We'll feature ANSI art from time to time, as well as featuring a different ANSI "cover" for our magazine each month. In terms of articles, we're looking for just about anything that's of fairly general interest to the BBSing world at large. An article comparing several new high-speed modems would be appropriate, for example, whereas an article describing in detail how to build your own such modem really wouldn't be. Articles needn't be contained to the world of computing, either. Movies, politics, ecology, literature, entertainment, fiction, non-fiction, reviews - it's all fair game for STTS. Articles, again, will be handled on a submission basis. If anyone has an idea or two for a regular column, let me know. If it works, we'll incorporate it into STTS. Writers interested in contributing to Sunlight Through The Shadows can reach me through any of the following methods: Contact Points -------------- The Internet - My E_Mail address is: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org RIME - My NODE ID is SUNLIGHT or 5320. Send all files to this address. (you'll have to ask your SysOp who's carrying RIME to send it for you) Alternately, you can simply post it in either the Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner conference to: Joe Derouen. If you put a ->5320 or ->SUNLIGHT in the top-most upper left-hand corner, it'll be routed directly to my BBS. Pen & Brush Net - Leave me a note or submission in either the Poetry Corner conference, or the Writers Conference. If your P&BNet contact is using PostLink, you can route the message to me automatically via the same way as described above for RIME. In either case, address all correspondence to: Joe derouen. WME Net - Leave me a note or submission in the Net Chat conference. Address all correspondence to: Joe Derouen. My BBS - Sunlight Through The Shadows. 12/24/96/14.4k baud. (214) 620-8793. You can upload submissions to the STTS Magazine file area, comment to the SysOp, or just about any other method you choose. Address all correspondence to: Joe Derouen. US Mail - Send disks (any size, IBM format ONLY) containing submissions to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 U.S.A.  Advertising ----------- Currently, STTS Mag is being "officially" carried by over 60 BBS's across the United States. It's also being carried by a BBS in the United Kingdom, one in Canada, and three in Portugal. Unofficially (which means that the SysOps haven't yet notifed me that they carry it) it's popped up on literally hundreds of BBS's across the USA as well as in other countries including the UK, Canada, Portugal, Ireland, Japan, The Netherlands, and Scotland. It's also available via Internet, FIDO, RIME, and Pen & Brush Networks. Currently, STTS has about 10,000 readers worldwide and is available to literally millions of BBSers through the internet and other networks and BBS's. If you or your company want to expose your product to a variety of people all across the world, this is your opportunity! Advertising in Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available in four different formats: 1) Personal Advertisements (NON-Business) ----------------------- Personal advertisements run $5.00 for 4 lines of advertising, with each additional line $1.00. Five lines is the minimum length. Your ad can be as little as one line, but the cost is still $5.00. Advertisements should be in ASCII and formatted for 80 columns. They should include whatever you're trying to sell (or buy) as well as a price and a method of contacting you. ANSI or RIP ads at this level will NOT be accepted. Business ads will NOT be accepted here. These ads are for non-business readers to advertise something they wish to sell or buy, or to advertise a non-profit event. BBS ads are considered business ads. 2) Regular Advertisement (Business or Personal) --------------------- We're accepting business advertisements in STTS. If you're interested in advertising in STTS, a full-page (ASCII or ASCII and ANSI) is $25.00/issue. Those interested can contact me by any of the means listed under Contact Points. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($125.00) the sixth month is free. 3) Feature Advertisement (Business or Personal) --------------------- We'll include one feature ad per issue. The feature ad will pop up right after the magazine's ANSI cover, when the user first begins to read the magazine. This ad will also appear within the body of the magazine, for further perusement by the reader. A feature ad will run $50.00 per issue, and should be created in both ANSI and ASCII formats. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($250.00) the sixth month is free. 4) BBS Advertisement (Business or Personal) ----------------- Many BBS SysOps and users call STTS BBS each month to get the current issue of STTS Magazine. These callers are from all over the USA as well as Canada, Portugal, the UK, and various other countries. Advertising is now available for the logoff screen of the BBS. The rates are $100.00 per month. Ads should be in both ASCII and ANSI format. We're accepting RIP ads as well, but only for the this advertising option. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($500.00) the sixth month is free. Advertisement Specifications ---------------------------- Ads may be in as many as three formats. They MUST be in ascii text and may also be in ANSI and/or RIP Graphics formats. Ads should be no larger than 24 lines (ie: one screen/page) and ANSI ads should not use extensive animation. If you cannot make your own ad or do not have the time to make your own ad, we can make it for you. However, there is a one-time charge of $10.00 for this service. We will create ads in ASCII and ANSI only. If you absolutely need RIP ads and cannot create your own, we'll attempt to put you into contact with someone who can.  Contact Points -------------- You can contact me through any of the following addresses. Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS (214) 620-8793 12/24/96/14,400 Baud InterNet: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org Pen & Brush Net: ->SUNLIGHT P&BNet Conferences: Sunlight Through The Shadows Conference or any other conference WME Net: Net Chat conference PcRelay/RIME: ->SUNLIGHT RIME Conferences: Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner US Mail: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 U.S.A.  You can always find STTS Magazine on the following BBS's. BBS's have STTS available for both on-line viewing and downloading unless otherwise marked. * = On-Line Only # = Download Only United States ------------- BBS Name ........... Sunlight Through The Shadows Location ........... Addison, Texas (in the Dallas area) SysOp(s) ........... Joe and Heather DeRouen Phone ........... (214) 620-8793 (14.4k baud) (Sorted by area code, then alphabetically) BBS Name ........... ModemNews Location ........... Stamford, Connecticut SysOp(s) ........... Jeff Green Phone ........... (203) 359-2299 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Lobster Buoy Location ........... Bangor, Maine SysOp(s) ........... Mark Goodwin Phone ........... (207) 941-0805 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (207) 945-9346 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... File-Link BBS Location ........... Manhattan, New York SysOp(s) ........... Bill Marcy Phone ........... (212) 777-8282 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Poetry In Motion Location ........... New York, New York SysOp(s) ........... Inez Harrison Phone ........... (212) 666-6927 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Archives On-line Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Pellecchia Phone ........... (214) 247-6512 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 406-8394 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... BBS America Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Jay Gaines Phone ........... (214) 680-3406 (9600 baud) Phone ........... (214) 680-1451 (9600 baud) BBS Name ........... Bucket Bored! Location ........... Sachse, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Tim Bellomy Phone ........... (214) 414-6913 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Chrysalis BBS Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Garry Grosse Phone ........... (214) 690-9295 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (214) 783-5477 (9600 baud) # BBS Name ........... Collector's Edition Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Len Hult Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... New Age Visions Location ........... Grand Prairie, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Larry Joe Reynolds Phone ........... (214) 264-8920 BBS Name ........... Old Poop's World Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Sonny Grissom Phone ........... (214) 613-6900 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Opa's Mini-BBS (open 11pm-7am CST) Location ........... Plano, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Marshall Phone ........... (214) 424-0153 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Texas Talk Location ........... Richardson, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Sunnie Blair Phone ........... (214) 497-9100 (2400 baud) # BBS Name ........... User-2-User Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... William Pendergast and Kevin Carr Phone ........... (214) 393-4768 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 393-4736 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Right Angle BBS Location ........... Aurora, Colorado SysOp(s) ........... Bill Roark Phone ........... (303) 337-0219 BBS Name ........... Ruby's Joint Location ........... Miami, Florida SysOp(s) ........... David and Del Freeman Phone ........... (305) 856-4897 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... PUB Desktop Publishing BBS, The Location ........... Chicago, Illinois SysOp(s) ........... Steve Gjondla Phone ........... (312) 767-5787 (9600 baud) BBS Name ........... Pegasus BBS Location ........... Owensboro, Kentucky SysOp(s) ........... Raymond Clements Phone ........... (317) 651-0234 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Badger's "BYTE", The Location ........... Valentine, Nebraska SysOp(s) ........... Dick Roosa Phone ........... (402) 376-3120 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Megabyte Mansion, The Location ........... Omaha, Nebraska SysOp(s) ........... Todd Robbins Phone ........... (402) 551-8681 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... College Board, The Location ........... West Palm Beach, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Charles Bell Phone ........... (407) 731-1675 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Aries Knowledge Systems Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Waddell Robey Phone ........... (410) 625-0109 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Doppler Base BBS Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Dan Myers Phone ........... (410) 922-1352 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Port EINSTEIN Location ........... Catonsville, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... John P. Lynch Phone ........... (410) 744-4692 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Puffin's Nest, The Location ........... Pasadena, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Dave Bealer Phone ........... (410) 437-3463 (16.8k baud) BBS Name ........... Robin's Nest BBS Location ........... Glen Burnie, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Robin Kirkey Phone ........... (410) 766-9756 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Chatterbox Lounge and Hotel, The Location ........... Penn Hills, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... James Robert Lunsford Phone ........... (412) 795-4454 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Signal Hill BBS Location ........... Springfield, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Edwin Thompson Phone ........... (413) 782-2158 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Exec-PC Location ........... Elm Grove, Wisconsin SysOp(s) ........... Bob Mahoney Phone ........... (414) 789-4210 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (414) 789-4315 (9600 baud) Phone ........... (414) 789-4360 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... First Step BBS, The Location ........... Green Bay, Wisconsin SysOp(s) ........... Mark Phillips Phone ........... (414) 499-7471 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Lincoln's Cabin BBS Location ........... San Francisco, California SysOp(s) ........... Steve Pomerantz Phone ........... (415) 752-4490 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Last Byte, The Location ........... Alamogordo, New Mexico SysOp(s) ........... Robert Sheffield Phone ........... (505) 437-0060 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Leisure Time BBS Location ........... Alamogordo, New Mexico SysOp(s) ........... Bob Riddell Phone ........... (505) 434-6940 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... High Society BBS Location ........... Beverly, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Chuck Frieser Phone ........... (508) 927-3757 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... SoftWare Creations Location ........... Clinton, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Dan Linton Phone ........... (508) 368-7036 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Extreme OnLine Location ........... Spokane Washington SysOp(s) ........... Jim Holderman Phone ........... (509) 487-5303 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Silicon Garden, The Location ........... Selden, New York SysOp(s) ........... Andy Keeves Phone ........... (516) 736-6662 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Revision Systems Location ........... Lawrenceville, New Jersey SysOp(s) ........... Paul Lauda Phone ........... (609) 896-3256 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Hangar 18 Location ........... Columbus, Ohio SysOp(s) ........... Bob Dunlap Phone ........... (614) 488-2314 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Channel 1 Location ........... Cambridge, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Brian Miller Phone ........... (617) 354-3230 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (617) 354-3137 (16.8k HST) BBS Name ........... Bubba Systems One Location ........... Manassas, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Mark Mosko Phone ........... (703) 335-1253 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Arts Place BBS, The Location ........... Arlington, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Ron Fitzherbert Phone ........... (703) 528-8467 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Pen and Brush BBS Location ........... Burke, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Lucia and John Chambers Phone ........... (703) 644-6730 (300-12.0k baud) Phone ........... (703) 644-5196 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Sidewayz BBS Location ........... Fairfax, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Paul Cutrona Phone ........... (703) 352-5412 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Anathama Downs Location ........... Sonoma County, California SysOp(s) ........... Sadie Jane Phone ........... (707) 792-1555 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... InfoMat BBS Location ........... San Clemente, California SysOp(s) ........... Michael Gibbs Phone ........... (714) 492-8727 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Cool Baby BBS Location ........... York, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... Mark Krieg Phone ........... (717) 751-0855 (19.2 baud) BBS Name ........... Systemic BBS Location ........... Bronx, New York SysOp(s) ........... Mufutau Towobola Phone ........... (718) 716-6198 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (718) 716-6341 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Paradise City BBS Location ........... St. George, Utah SysOp(s) ........... Steve & Marva Cutler Phone ........... (801) 628-4212 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... TDOR#2 Location ........... Charlottesville, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... David Short Phone ........... (804) 973-5639 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Renaissance BBS Location ........... Arlington, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Pollard Phone ........... (817) 467-7322 (9600 baud) # BBS Name ........... Second Sanctum Location ........... Arlington, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Mark Robbins Phone ........... (817) 784-1178 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (817) 784-1179 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Dream Land BBS Location ........... Destin, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Ron James Phone ........... (904) 837-2567 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Legend Graphics OnLine Location ........... Riverside, California SysOp(s) ........... Joe Marquez Phone ........... (909) 689-9229 (14.4k baud) Canada ------ BBS Name ........... Encode Online Location ........... Orillia Ontario, Canada SysOp(s) ........... Peter Ellis Phone ........... (705) 327-7629 (14.4k baud) United Kingdom -------------- BBS Name ........... Hangar BBS, The Location ........... Avon, United Kingdom SysOp(s) ........... Jason Hyland Phone ........... +44-934-511751 (14.4k baud) Portugal -------- BBS Name .......... Intriga Internacional Location .......... Queluz, Portugal SysOp(s) .......... Afonso Vicente Phone .......... +351-1-4352629 (16.8k baud) BBS Name .......... B-Link BBS Location .......... Lisbon, Portugal SysOp(s) .......... Antonio Jorge Phone .......... +351-1-4919755 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Mailhouse Location ........... Loures, Portugal SysOp(s) ........... Carlos Santos Phone ........... +351-1-9890140 (14.4k baud) STTS Net Report Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available through FIDO, INTERNET, RIME, and PEN & BRUSH NET. Check below for information on how to request the current issue of the magazine or be put on the monthly mailing list. FIDO To get the newest issue of the magazine via FIDO, you'll need to do a file request from Fido Node 1:124/8010 using the "magic" name of SUNLIGHT. INTERNET To get the newest issue via the internet, send a message to FTPMAIL@CHRYSALIS.ORG and include as the first line in your message (or second, if the system you're using forces you to use the first for the address like) GET SUNyymm.ZIP where yymm is the current year and month. Example: This issue is SUN9312.ZIP. After Jan. 1st, the current issue will be SUN9401.ZIP, and so on. Easier than that would be to request being put on the monthly mailing list. To do so, simply send a note to Joe.Derouen@Chrysalis.org asking to be put on the STTS mailing list. If you're a SysOp be sure to tell me your BBS's name, your name, your state and city, the BBS's phone number(s) and it's baud rate(s) so I can include you in the list issue's distribution list. RIME To request the magazine via RIME, ask your RIME SysOp to do a file request from node # 5320 for the current issue (eg: SUN9311.ZIP, or whatever month you happen to be in) Better yet, ask your SysOp to request to be put on the monthly mailing list and receive STTS automatically. PEN & BRUSH NET To request via P&BNet, follow the instructions for RIME above. They're both ran on Postlink and operate exactly the same way in terms of file requests and transfers. I'd like to thank Garry Gross of Chrysalis BBS and David Pellecchia of Archives On-line for allowing me to access the Internet and Fido (respectively) from their systems.  End Notes Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved 'Tis the season to be jolly! Well, not everyone can afford to live up to that positive assessment of the holiday season. There are a lot of people out there less fortunate then you and I. Should you feel guilty about that? Feel guilty because you have a better job, have been luckier in life? Of course not. Should you use a little of what you DO have to help others? That's up to you. Around Christmas time, we all find ourselves feeling a bit more charitable, a bit more friendly. We might drop a few coins into the Salvation Army drum. We might even give a little to charity, or perhaps even buy a homeless person a meal. If we can do these things at Christmas time - give a little more of ourselves than we normally give, open up our hearts to those around us - who's to say we can't make it a year long trend? There *are* people out there less fortunate than us, and their population grows year after year. We can't close our eyes to it. Is it your responsibility to help them? That's a question you need to ask yourself, and not one that I can answer for you. We're all alike, you know. We all have dreams, we all have fears, we all love, we all hate. We're all human. Perhaps we could all be a little more human, all year round? On a lighter note, Dallas, Texas is hosting Winterfest '93, a local BBS party. Proceeds from the event (it costs $5.00 and a can of unopened food or unwrapped toy to get in the door) will go to Toys For Tots, the North Texas Food Bank, and to Pediatrtic AIDS research. Have fun and help someone else out in the process. What could be better? Check out the Winterfest '93 advertisement on page 39 for more details. To RSVP or just find out more about the party, call Fireside Chat BBS at (214) 333-2357, logon as JOE PARTY using the password: RSVP, and go to the RSVP menu. Alternately, you can write Glenda Thompson via FIDOnet at 1:124/6108. Try to attend this event, if you can. If you can't, (it's quite likely you're reading this in London or Japan) consider donating a bit of time or money to a charitable cause local to you. 'Tis the season to be jolly, after all . . . Thanks, and have a great holiday season! Joe DeRouen