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Sunlight Through The Shadows
Volume II, Issue 2 February 1st, 1994
Welcome........................................Joe DeRouen
Editorial: Violence In America.................Joe DeRouen
Staff of STTS.............................................
>> --------------- Monthly Columns ---------------------<<
STTS Mailbag..............................................
Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS News.....................
The Question & Answers Session............................
Answer Me!.....................................Liz Shelton
My View: The Destruction of Good Music.........Todd Miller
Choosing a Monster BBS.........................Gage Steele
Upcoming Issues & News....................................
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> Advertisement-Channel 1 BBS
>> --------------- Feature Articles --------------------<<
A Panacea of Cheezy Movies (MST3K)......... L. Shawn Aiken
The Appearance of Vampires in Fiction.........Robert McKay
Interview: Seth Able Robinson..................Joe DeRouen
<20> Advertisement-Exec-PC BBS
>> ------------------- Reviews -------------------------<<
(Movie) Schindler's List.....................Bruce Diamond
(Movie) Blink................................Bruce Diamond
(Movie) In The Name of the Father............Bruce Diamond
(Music) Other Voices..Rooms/Nanci Griffith.....Joe DeRouen
(Music) Antenna/ZZ Top.........................Liz Shelton
(Book) Winter Moon/Dean Koontz.................Joe DeRouen
(Book) Nightmares & Dreamscapes...............Kathy Kemper
<20> Advertisement-LORD Game Tournament!
>> ------------------- Fiction -------------------------<<
A Dark Red Valentine Story, Sort Of.........Franchot Lewis
The Serpents Embrace.......................Daniel Sendecki
A Close Encounter of a Different Kind.....Sylvia L. Ramsey
Slow Dance..................................J. Harlan Pine
Still Among the Beeblers......................Robert McKay
Too Long.......................................Gage Steele
A Chance Meeting in the Park...................Joe DeRouen
<20> Advertisement-T&J Software
>> ------------------- Poetry --------------------------<<
Only Words I See..............................Mike Slusher
Dragons.............................................Tamara
Backlit...................................David M. Ziegler
You..........................................Sylvia Ramsey
Pride.........................................Mark Denslow
His Eyes....................................Patricia Meeks
In the West....................................J. Guenther
Diety Dwells Within........................Thomas Van Hook
House Cat..................................Albert Johnston
Young Man On a Fence, 1967.................Daniel Sendecki
<20> Advertisement-Integrity Online BBS
>> ------------------- Humour --------------------------<<
Top Ten List...................................Joe DeRouen
How To Get a Computer Nerd Into Bed............Joe DeRouen
>> ----------------- Information -----------------------<<
How to get STTS Magazine..................................
** SPECIAL OFFER!! **.....................................
Submission Information & Pay Rates........................
Advertiser Information (Businesses & Personal)............
Contact Points............................................
Distribution Sites........................................
Distribution Via Networks.................................
Guest End Notes: Love......................Heather DeRouen
Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine Vol II No. 2 Feb. 1994
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ
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<20> From: <20> Dallas, TX <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ<EFBFBD><C4BF><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ<EFBFBD><C4BF><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>> <20>
<20> Joe DeRouen <20> February 14th <20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>ĺ<EFBFBD><C4BA>ĺijĺij<C4BA><C4B3><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>> <20>
<20> 14232 Marsh Ln. 51 <20>Valentine's Day<61> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>> <20>
<20> Dallas, TX. 75234 <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><> USA 29<32> <20><> <20>
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<20> To: <20>
<20> STTS Reader <20>
<20> 123 Generic Ave. <20>
<20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> Anytown, USA 10101 <20>
<20> <20> HAPPY <20> <20>
<20> <20> VALENTINE'S DAY <20> <20>
<20> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20>
<20> JD <20>
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Welcome
Copyright (c) 1994, 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) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
As I write this, President Bill Clinton's state of the union address is
but a few hours old. Mr. Clinton spoke eloquently, clearly, and with
great insight.
I'm not a democrat. I never have been. Nor am I a republican. I vote for
whomever I feel can do the best job. In 1992 I voted for Bill Clinton
and, thus far, haven't been disappointed.
President Clinton spoke of the decay of America's moral fiber and
philosophies. He hinted at several solutions, but didn't really come up
with a feasible end to the problems.
Who could? Whatever mess we've gotten ourselves into (and it IS a mess)
it's going to take a lot more to get us out. Perhaps we need to look
deeper into the problems. We can see the effects - the LA riots, last
year's Dallas Cowboys victory parade fiasco, the shootout and subsequent
fire in Waco, gangs killing one another on the streets, carjacking and
drive-by shootings. But what caused it?
Certainly not television. Sen. Paul Simon and Janet Reno (to mention but
two) seem to want a scapegoat, and television is it. They seem to
believe that with lessened violence on the small screen and viewer
discretion warnings that America's seeming lack of respect for human
life will up and vanish. It isn't going to happen.
Television, as does movies, reflect what the public wants to see. If
we didn't want it, they wouldn't put it on. It's that simple. As a
culture, we thrive on John Wayne Bobbitt's severed penis story. We adore
the drama of Tonya Harding's battle to clear herself of Nancy Kerrigan's
attack. We lust to learn more of Michael Jackson's alleged molestations
of children.
They put on what we want to watch. Television doesn't corrupt. People
do. Change what we want, and television changes to reflect that. We
can't blame the source on the end result. It just doesn't work that way.
It isn't the guns, either. I'm all for gun control, but I'm convinced
that it's really too late for it. If there wasn't the violence, there
wouldn't be the guns. Taking away guns is really only tackling the
expression of the problem and not the problem itself. Knives kill, too.
People will always find a way to kill.
And it isn't drugs. To be sure, drug use (and theft to buy drugs)
involves itself in a tremendous amount of crime. But if it wasn't drugs,
it would be something else. Remember prohibition? It was alcohol then.
To be honest, I believe in drug legalization. But even that wouldn't
stop the violence.
If it isn't television, if it isn't guns, if it isn't drugs - what is
it? That's what we need to ask ourselves. We need to ask ourselves, both
individually and as a culture, a lot of hard questions.
We want to hear the worst of those around us. Why? Perhaps to better
ourselves. Perhaps to prove that they, too, America's larger than life
pop icons, are merely human. Maybe it's a form of self-hate, loathing
what we feel we've become and feel powerless to stop?
Why do we vote Bill Clinton into public office and, when he proceeds to
do everything that he said he would do - more so than the last twelve
years of presidents - we lambast him and tear him down? Why do we want
the underdog and, when we get him, abandon him to the wolves?
Why are we, as Americans, so unforgiving of even the slightest flaws in
our neighbors, flaws we know we have in ourselves? Why would we rather
hurt our own people than trust the man across the street?
Why do we value life so little that we'll walk away as a stranger is
beaten or raped on our own street? Why do we hate instead of love? And
why is it that if we DO choose to love we're looked down upon by those
who sneeringly chose hate as their totem?
I could ask a thousand more "whys". Why is it "cool" not to give a damn?
Why is it okay to hate someone who's different than you are? Why are we
afraid to ask these questions?
I don't have the answers. I wish I did. But I'm NOT afraid to ask the
questions. We must all ask the question, of ourselves, of each other.
And we mustn't be afraid to learn the answers. Above all else, we must
not be afraid to change.
Indeed, we must embrace change. We must look into ourselves and see us
for what we truly are. If we don't instill good, solid values into our
children, no one else will. We must decide for ourselves what these
value are to be. No one, not even a President, can decide this for you.
If America wants to survive, if we want to stop killing our brothers and
sisters, stop hurting those we love, the violence needs to end. How?
I don't know. But to paraphrase a line from a song by the
much-misaligned Mr. Jackson (whom I refuse to believe is guilty before
proven such, despite whatever out of court settlements is made) we need
to start with the man in the mirror. It has to start there.
Joe DeRouen, Jan. 1994
The Staff and Contributing Writers of Sunlight Through The Shadows
------------------------------------------------------------------
The Staff
---------
Joe DeRouen............................Publisher and Editor
L. Shawn Aiken.........................Fiction, articles
Heather DeRouen........................Book Reviews
Bruce Diamond..........................Movie Reviews
Liz Shelton............................Answer Me Columnist
Gage Steele............................Monster BBS Columnist
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.
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.
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<69>, 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.
Liz Shelton works in an office all day, but by night she pokes around
on her computer (to include a large portion of BBSing), and practices
her guitar (she needs a LOT more practice). Liz likes to write when
she gets the notion, as long as she doesn't have to be too serious.
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
--------------------
Mark Denslow...........................Poetry
J. Guenther............................Poetry
Albert S. Johnston.....................Poetry
Kathy Kemper...........................Review
Robert McKay...........................Fiction
Patricia Meeks.........................Poetry
Todd Miller............................My View
J. Harlan Pine.........................Fiction
Sylvia Ramsey..........................Fiction
Daniel Sendecki........................Fiction
Mike Slusher...........................Poetry
Thomas Van Hook........................Poetry
David Ziegler..........................Poetry
Mark Denslow is a student at Saint Chrles Borromeo Seminary in the
Religious Studies Division in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He is
working toward his Cerificate in Religious Studies and Roman
Chatechetical Diploma. He hopes to be admitted to their Master of Arts
Degree Program after completing the Cerificate and Diploma. He enjoys
Poetry, Genealogy, Computing, and Religion.
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).
Albert Johnston survived twenty years of indiscretion + twenty years
of trying to get my karma straight. Forty years total. He feels like
he's the same person he was at 18, he just moves a lot slower. He has
two teenage sons, which should put him in line for some sort of
citation. He and his wife have been on a joint voyage of discovery
for the last 18 years. His main means of providing for his family at
this time is supervising a rag tag band of fugitive diesel mechanics
at the Dallas Area Rapid Transit, aka DART, in Texas. He's been doing
this for about ten years, but still hasn't decided what he wants to be
when he grows up.
A trained economist, Kathy Kemper spends much of her time away from
ordinary business pursuits. It could correctly be stated that she
has 'gone to the dogs' as a great deal of her time is spent with
her Border Collies. These dogs dominate her life (or at least try
to). She is the officer of several organizations and a free-lance
writer who has actually been published and paid for her works.
Kathy is new to the world of BBSing but seems to enjoy it greatly.
She has yet to decide what she wants to be when she grows up.
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.
Todd Miller is new to this writing thing. Originally from Canton, Ohio
he now resides in Dallas, Texas. His favorite pastimes include
collecting Grateful Dead shows, watching bands play, listining to
music, and watching football. He is not currently in college but is
ready to go back. His main goal is to find the "new" music before
anyone else and become rich.
Harlan Pine has lived in many differant places owing to the fact that
his father was in the Air Force. He currently resides in North Texas
by choice. Besides writing romantic vignettes, he also enjoys
exploring the relms of Dark Fantasy. He is currently working on a
novel and several short stories. This is his first sale.
Daniel Sendecki is a young, emerging, Canadian writer who lives
in Burlington, Ontario. Currently, Daniel is pursuing his writing
interests at home but intends to study literature at McGill
University, in Montreal, Quebec.
Michael Slusher is not a writer. The fact that he's been published
once or twice is not his fault. Blame the editors. What he might be is
a computer geek with a weird penchant for modems and all that they get
connected to. He signs his paycheck over to America On-Line each month
and the phone company knows how to find him, despite how well he
hides. He generally can be found wherever fans of Mystery Science
Theater 3000 dwell (MSTies, they call themselves) and runs Deep 13, a
BBS devoted to fans of the cable TV show. A major change in his life,
scheduled for March '94, will cause him to be looking for a new job,
home, and life. Wish him luck at botsnak@aol.com
Thomas D. Van Hook, sargeant in the USAF and part time demigod, is
stationed somewhere in northern Europe. Due to the many warrants out
for his arrest and psychotic acquaintances, he has asked that his
precise location be kept anonymous. He and his wife Kathy spend much
of their free time investing in the diaper industry due to a tiny
Elfling that was laid upon their doorstep....recently dubbed Corey.
In an effort to escape such bondage, Tommy has taken to haunting
various castle- ruins, playing tag-you're it with certain ugly porcine
creatures, reading SF and gracing his friends with poetry. His poetic
style is marked with a characteristic honesty and directness that
ranges from the dark and brooding to startling reflections of life.
David's first poetry was a small collection that he gave away to a few
friends. He then started writing Satirical Prose and found it a great
stress reliever. He lives in Sacramento with his wife Gloria and two
cats. They spend a considerable time traveling which gives him fodder
for the keyboard. Writing to David is a kind of cleansing it is
something that when he has to do it he has no choice. By the same
token, he couldn't write on demand if you put a gun to his head.
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STTS Mailbag
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
[Each month, we'll pull a letter or two out of our mailbag and see what
we wind. We reserve the right to edit for clarity and space, of course.
All letters will be answered, though may not necessarily appear between
these electronic pages.]
Joe:
Well, it's about time I wrote you a note concerning SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE
SHADOWS. It's a good, solid entry into the world of electronic
magazines, and I'm not just saying that because you publish my work,
feeble as it is.
Thought I'd take some time to reflect on the December 1993 issue,
starting with "Yule," by Brigid Childs. Brigid does a great job of
explaining holiday symbols as derived from pagan times (her
"Halloween" article in the October issue was equally informative), but
I still find myself yearning for more. I would have liked a treatise
on *how* and *why* the early church incorporated the pagan symbols,
the historical hue-and-cry that arose from both sides over the
appropriation, and the present-day deniability that certain born-
agains, Pentecostals, and Holy Rollers (fundies, tonguies, and
rollies, according to a friend of mine) have attached to these self-
same symbols. But that wasn't the point, was it? I'm looking forward
to Brigid's piece on the vernal equinox, sure to appear in your March
issue, right? (Hint, hint.)
"State of the Art For Awhile": I started on VIC-20s, too, but never
got into the online community until my C-64 and its "blazingly-fast"
1200 baud modem. One point in your article that I'd like to pick at,
though: you state your wife's company bought her a Twincom 9600
modem, then a paragraph later you say that lightning paid a visit to
*your* Twincom 9600 (after you had appropriated it for the BBS).
Already taking advantage of Texas' community property laws, hmmmm?
Survey -- Movie reviews only placed sixth out of nine categories?
Maybe I need to spice them up, somehow . . . start reviewing adult
movies, perhaps, or .fli, .gl, and .dl files from adult BBSes. Wotta
ya think?
Movie Reviews -- Remind me to proofread, willya? Thanks.
CD Reviews -- Yer startin' ta sound like a PR flack, Joe. Gonna go
work for a record company soon? <grin> Wendy Bryson's review of the
Vince Gill CD was too short, though -- it gave me no real flavor for
the album.
Book Reviews -- Okay, you've given me a taste, but for some reason,
I'm not compelled to read JUMPER. Robert's piece, on the other hand,
has some meat to it, with something to say about STAR TREK books.
I'll disagree with him on one point, however: ST novels are regarded
as canon by some people who like the subgenre -- all you have to do is
visit any of the echomail ST conferences to see that many, many people
regard the novels (*and* the comic books) as canon. The same thing is
happening to STAR WARS -- a publishing industry has appeared, and the
Timothy Zahn books are being treated as canon, to the point that many
readers think the Zahn trilogy will be the basis for the next movie
trilogy, despite Lucas' repeated denials. Some people just carry a
good thing too far.
Poetry -- My favorite poems this issue are "Personal Notes in Black
Mirrors," by Michie Sidwell, for its layers within layers, and
"Mi'Lord," by Patricia Meeks, for its unabashed romanticism.
Fiction:
"Airborne," Robert McKay -- Fascinating idea of an alternate society,
but the story seems little more than a technical study in aircraft
repair and crisis management. I would have liked more about the
society itself, especially its economic structure. How did the
residential flyers pay for refueling and other dirt-based resources?
(And what happened to the "5 or 6 hours of fuel" the ship had left?
Could another tanker really have been topped off and rendezvoused
with them in time?)
"The Squirrels," L. Shawn Aiken -- An amusing little vignette. "Do
Not Mock The Suicide Attack Squirrels," indeed!
"The Caravan," A.M. Eckard -- I'm speechless. I never thought elecmag
fiction could get as good as this. Eckard has a talent for rendering
an "otherwhere" feeling that's almost equal to Ursula K. LeGuin, Jack
Dann, or Gene Wolfe. The simplicity of the prose (the sameness of
sentence structure is annoying, despite the effect Eckard is trying
for; another trip through the word processor would have helped) belies
the richness of idea and understanding of atmosphere that speaks to
Eckard's future publishing success. Next to Gage Steele (whose prose
is sorely missed this issue), A.M. Eckard is SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE
SHADOWS' most talented find.
Keep up the success, Joe!
Yer bit-buddy,
Bruce Diamond
Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS News
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
STTS BBS is ran on TriBBS v5.1 software (registered, of course), a 33Mhz
80386 DX computer, two IDE hard drives (120 meg and 170 meg), a Zoom
14.4k Fax/Modem, and a VGA monitor. Soon, it'll be hooked up via a LAN
to a 50Mhz 80486 DX with half a gig of storage space.
It's run on one phone line, and the number is (214) 620-8793. At some
point in the near future, we hope to add another node as well as a 28.8k
Fax/Modem.
One last thing - it's entirely free. Donations are accepted (so far,
I've only received three) but you can't buy higher access. Access is
completely, 100% FREE.
STTS BBS carries 30+ doors (games and information), a good deal of them
registered. We also carry four networks (RIME, Pen & Brush Net, World
Message Exchange, and PlanoNet) as well as a large file area. The file
area specializes in electronic magazines (carrying the entire back issue
run of several!), texts on all subjects, and shareware text adventure
games. Of course, there's also a wide variety of other programs to be
had, including BBS doors, telecommunication packages, arcade/adventure
games, offline mail readers, and more! Additionally, STTS BBS is a
support BBS for TriBBS software and carries just about all the programs
available out there for TriBBS. STTS BBS is also a regional HUB for Pen
& Brush Net (P&BNet) as well as a HUB for World Message Exchange (WME).
Lastly, we're a member of the American BBS Association.
About 70% of the callers are from Texas, as it's a Dallas-based BBS. The
other 30%, however, are from just about everywhere else. Oklahoma,
California, Virginia, Oregon, Kansas, Illinois - you name it. We've had
several people from Canada and the UK call as well. Most of the long
distance callers are SysOps calling to download STTS Magazine every
month (those that don't get it through the net) but there's several
"just plain users" who call to participate in the message base or
download files.
Each month, we'll discuss additions and upgrades to the BBS as well as
new door games added, nets or conferences added, and just general news
about the BBS. We'll divide it into two sections - BBS News and Net
News. With that said, away we go . . .
BBS News:
Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS is going to sponser a Legend of the Red
Dragon tournament! That's right, Seth Able's popular LORD game will be
used for the first in a series of game tournaments.
Entry fee into the tournament is $10.00/per person, and the winner
receives $25.00 in cash as well as mention in these electronic pages.
Everyone who enters receives access to the soon-to-be-installed second,
private note.
Download LORDCONT.ZIP for more details, or look for details on STTS BBS
or write to Joe DeRouen via any of the avenues mentioned elsewhere in
this issue under CONTACT POINTS.
I've added a couple of new doors to the BBS. The Lost Lands (by David
Cooke) is a wonderfully inventive role playing game in the best
tradition of the old Infocom text adventures and Dungeons and Dragons.
It'll soon join the growing list of registered doors on the system.
The Online Legal Advisor (registered!) also joins the list of door games
and information doors.
The most popular download for January was SUN9401.ZIP, the January
issue of this magazine. Number two was RAH9401.ZIP, Dave Bealer's
wonderfully funny humor magazine. Number three was MCI.ZIP,
a text file explaining MCI's new PC Connect plan. The fourth most
popular file was STTSINFO.ZIP, an old file explaining the concept and
execution of STTS Magazine. Fifth most popular was SM9401.ZIP, Lucia
Chamber's Jan. issue of Smoke & Mirrors magazine. Four of the top five
download were literature-related. Our callers know quality, that's for
sure! <Grin>
The top five local message writers were 1) Joe DeRouen, 2) Shawn Aiken,
3) Tommy Van Hook, 4) Heather DeRouen, and 5) Robert McKay.
Not counting myself, Tim Bellomy contributed the most uploads, followed
by Alissa Harvey, Don Bird, Sara Levinson, and Danny Grider.
Net News:
We've now got STTS Magazine conferences on both Pen & Brush Net
and RIME. Check 'em out! (SysOps: Please consider picking up these
conferences. On RIME, the channel number is 448. On P&BNet, IF you're
using Postlink, it's 1108. If you're *not* using Postlink, ask your HUB
SysOp)
We've also added several new conferences from WME (thanks to finding a
local HUB, Tim Bellomy's Bucket Bored BBS) as well as a few from RIME.
As always, STTS BBS carries the full line up of Pen & Brush Net
conferences.
The top five netmail message writers were 1) Lucia Chambers, 2) Joe
DeRouen, 3) Robert McKay, 4) Brian Whatcott, and 5) Michael Gibbs.
The top five requested files via any of the nets on STTS was 1)
SUN9401.ZIP, 2) P&BPOST.ZIP (info packet on P&BNet), 3) RDRM30.ZIP
(ReadRoom v3.0 reading door), 4) SCRABFAQ.ZIP (text file on everything
you ever wanted to know about Scrabble), and 5) LITES29.ZIP (issue 29 of
Bruce Diamond's movie review elec. magazine LIGHTS OUT).
All in all, January was a great month for the BBS. If there's anything
that wasn't covered in this column that you'd like to see covered next
month, drop me a line.
The Question and Answers Session
Copyright (c) 1994, 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.
This month's question: "What's the most romantic thing that you've ever
done?" (Or ever had done for you or had happen to you)
February is the month of St. Valentine's Day, so what better question to
ask then that?
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.
========================================================================
STTS Magazine readers,
The question for the QUESTION AND ANSWERS column in the Feb. issue of
STTS Magazine is:
"What's the most romantic thing that you've ever done?" (Or ever had
done for you or had happen to you)
As always, good answers will be printed in the Feb. issue of the
magazine. They may be edited for clarity (ie: quotes of this message
taken out) but will otherwise remain intact. By answering this message,
you give permission for STTS to publish your letter.
Thanks, and keep reading!
Joe DeRouen
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 554 of 554 Date : 01-05-94 22:48
Reply To: 550
Confer : Poetry & Prose <WME>
From : Tommy Van Hook
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : Feb. Question
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The most romantic thing that has ever happened to me: I had just
gotten off of work (it was Spring Break '84, my Senior Year in
High School) and my girlfriend had just come to pick me up and
bring me back to her place (she was a Junior at LSU-Shreveport)
for the night. I was expecting a quiet, dark apartment where I
could crash and sleep for a couple of hours, since we were
planning on going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show at 2 a.m. We
walked in the door and on the table was a (now cold) home-cooked
meal. In the center of the table was a rose in a vase. Tied to
the vase was a heart-shaped balloon that read "Happy Anniversary
Sweetheart". We had been dating for one year at that point, and
it had totally slipped my mind.
---
<20> MegaMail 2.10 #0:Sometimes I wonder if you are who I am.
========================================================================
========================================================================
<PUBLIC><RECEIVED>
Number : 39 of 43 Date : 01/06/94 07:25
Reply To: 36
Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine
From : Grant Guenther
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : Feb. Question
------------------------------------------------------------------------
The most romantic thing I've ever done...well...i never really had the
chance to be truly romantic (see girlfriend for more details) but I
think that the most romantic thing I did was make up the story of the
red and white rose and tell it to her after Homecoming night.
The story goes similar to this: two yellow roses (there were only
yellow roses then) really loved each other, one became deathly ill, the
other tore out its pedals and bled over it (in the right words it's
romantic) so that the dying rose would live. And it did--it became
saturated in blood and turned red and lived eternal. The other became
white (because is lost all of its blood) but lived eternal, too,
because it was willing to sacrifice its life for its love.
--that's the long and short of the story...
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<PUBLIC><RECEIVED>
Number : 42 of 44 Date : 01/06/94 14:28
Reply To: 36
Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine
From : Lisa Tamara
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : Feb. Question
------------------------------------------------------------------------
I remember a evening that my lover and I set aside just for the two of
us.....we'd been dating for quite a while at the point and knew all the
little details that made life special......we shopped for days ahead of
time looking for our favorites foods , set aside the whole evening,
turned the phone off....There was one particular dress I had that he
really loved.....We even made a compilation tape of some wonderfully
romantic music and played it while we dined.....by candlelight...
Everything was slow and easy.....hours were whiled away in
conversation, massage, making love and more conversation....we didnt
have to rush because we knew it was our time....
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<PRIVATE><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 8 of 8 Date : 01/07/94 01:36
Confer : Coregroup <P&BNet>
From : Lucia Chambers
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : Question and Answers
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Most Romantic Event: there have been so many Joe, it's hard to
choose which was the Most. A close second would be the time I was out
with a friend on his boat, and after some Long Island Bay navigational
disasters, we found ourselves in Zach's Bay - a very secluded area of
shallow water and many tiny, sandy islands. We ate the most delicious
crab salad off each other's stomachs and arms, and then washed up by
going skinnydipping.... Perhaps the Most Romantic event was when my
husband proposed for the fifth time, on his knees and in the middle of
Montauk Highway; later we toasted our future by drinking champagne and
feeding each other strawberries during a bubblebath by candlelight.
If these are too racy to print, let me know. There are others
which are almost as romantic but much more "proper." <g>
---
* Pen and Brush * (703) 644-5196
* PostLink(tm) v1.11 PANDB (#1742) : P&BNet(tm)
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<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 16689 of 16782 Date : 01/07/94 11:01
Reply To: 16391
Confer : Writers <P&BNet>
From : Robert Mckay
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : Feb. Question
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Bought flowers for my wife on occasion - or was it my arranging for a
church wedding (finally!) to be performed on our most recent
anniversary? Neither of us are terribly romantic in the usual sense of
the word.
---
<20> QMPro 1.01 11-1111 <20> The Point of Know Return <20><>Kansas
* Pen and Brush * (703) 644-5196
* PostLink(tm) v1.11 PANDB (#1742) : P&BNet(tm)
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<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 17144 of 17185 Date : 01/09/94 09:12
Confer : Writers <P&BNet>
From : Sylvia Ramsey
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : Feb. Question
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Joe,
My husband and I just celebrated 34 years of marriage. We were both
youngsters when we married. We had a whirlwind courtship and eloped
because we knew my parents would say no. Ten years and two
children later, we decided to celebrate our anniversary by getting
married again! We did. Only this time, we had a church wedding. Long
gown, tux, the whole ball of wax including a reception. Our two sons
were part of the wedding party. It was funny because my husband was
more nervous than he had been when we had eloped. His best man had to
help him dress because all his fingers became thumbs. Later, when our
youngest was in the third grade and they were talking about family in
class, he informed them that he knew his parents were married because he
was there. I often wonder what that teacher thought; but, the boys
thought it was fantastic and that was all that mattered. Years later
when my son married, he and his bride chose to be married in the same
little chapel for the ceremony. I thought that was quite a compliment.
This may not be the kind of romantic story you're looking for; but, in
my book it ranks right up there in the top ten!
----Sylvia
---
<20> QMPro 1.50 42-7046 <20> A hug warms the day and puts a smile in the heart.
<20> TNet 3.90 <20> P&BNet - The Imperial Palace 706-592-1344
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<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 7579 of 7673 Date : 01/07/94 17:36
Confer : Net Chat <WME>
From : Glenda Blackwell
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : romance
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hey there Joe:
Here is my answer for romance:
Sitting in front of a warm fire, with a cold bottle of champagne and
enjoying love just looking at each other and gentle touches.
Scented Candles burning, and slow soft music playing is all anyone needs
for a wonderful romantic evening!
Glenda
* OLX 2.1 TD * The best way to appreciate something is to be without it!
---
<20> TriNet: Rising Star * Jacksboro,Tenn * 615-566-9778
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<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 17498 of 17573 Date : 01/13/94 17:46
Reply To: 17144
Confer : Writers <P&BNet>
From : Lyn Rust
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : Feb. Question
------------------------------------------------------------------------
This isn't so romantic as it is sexy. And you have to understand
that a day without onions is for me like a day without oranges is
(was) for Anita Bryant. ('Anybody here remember her? Never
mind.)
When I was young and sexy and living single in Chicago, it was a
tradition that I spend New Year's with my longtime girlfriend,
Jeanne in Ann Arbor (whom I've mentioned before on here). I'd
take the Amtrak train in the afternoon and it was a pleasant and
often adventurous 5-hour ride.
One New Year's Eve afternoon, I met a cute fellow on the train
and we began talking. He was *very* cute. He was so cute that
during the course of our conversation, he told me he worked as a
model for Playboy Magazine in their fashion layouts. That's how
cute he was.
We were getting along pretty well (attracted to each other,
actually) and I learned that he was going to his hometown to
spend New Year's Eve with his family and didn't have any other
plans for the night. It turned out that he was getting off the
train either one stop before or one stop after--I don't remember
anymore--Ann Arbor, certainly within easy driving distance of
Jeanne's house, so I gave him her phone number and asked him to
call after I'd cleared it with Jeanne for this stranger (he could
have been an ax murderer!) to come over to her house.
Jeanne and her then-husband, Richard, the U of M professor, had
been invited to a New Year's Eve party and had been planning to
take me along. But Jeanne, she of the "so-many-men-so-little-
time" mindset, was delighted with my changed plans. Before
departing for the party, she busied herself making a fire in the
fireplace, turning the lights low, putting on some lushly
romantic music, and creating a wonderfully appealing tray of hors
d'oeuvre. I must mention here that Jeanne is Scandanavian, and
she is exceptionally creative when it comes to serving what I
call "snackies" or hors d'oeuvre. She can make the most tired
leftovers look like a Gourmet Magazine illustration. The tray
she placed on the coffeetable in front of the fireplace was
beautiful.
So Joe Blow or whatever his name was (I don't remember that
anymore either) arrived, introductions were made, and Jeanne and
Richard left for their party, Jeanne giving me an "'atta girl!"
wink as she left, eager to hear all the details later. So "Joe"
and I commenced our evening and I could see that he was very
appreciative of the hors d'oeuvres. I was too, and while eyeing
longingly several 1/4-inch thick slices of perfect white onion, I
uncharacteristically disciplined myself to ignore them. (I can
eat an onion the way most people eat an apple, and I do so nearly
everyday.) After all, who knew what might happen later in the
evening?, and I didn't want to olfactorily offend my would-be
lover.
At some point in our conversation and snacking by the fire, Joe
bent his body forward over the coffeetable, and with such grace
and elegance rarely seen in a man's movements, in the middle of a
sentence, exquisitely casually reached with his fingers for one
of the onion slices, and pausing momentarily between his words,
took a perfectly round semicircle bite out of it (his teeth were
as gorgeous as the rest of him!) chewed blissfully for a moment,
then blithely continued talking.
I had been thinking all along, "Will we or won't we? Should I or
shouldn't I?" When I saw him eat that onion, I think my G-spot
started vibrating. That was foreplay enough for me! I happily
joined him in eating several slices of the onion, then later
happily joined him in bed.
The next morning, Joe shared a most amiable breakfast with Jeanne
and Richard and me, then went back to his family, and I never saw
him again. But I can tell you--onions and men brave enough to
eat them in front of a pretty woman are a great combination!
BTW, I met my husband of 20 years, B, over an onion . . . but
that's another story.
:)
---
<20> SLMR 2.0 <20> Look out! I've got a V.32 bis and I know how to use it!
* InfoMat BBS (714) 492-8727 -=- READROOM & Exhibit A Support
* PostLink(tm) v1.11 EXHIBITA (#1153) : P&BNet(tm)
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<PUBLIC><ECHO><RECEIVED>
Number : 572 of 577 Date : 01/15/94 15:42
Confer : Poetry & Prose <WME>
From : Tim Russ
To : Joe Derouen
Subject : Feb. Question
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hi Joe,
Several years ago my wife shared with me that she had a need for
more romance in our marriage. I thought I was romantic enough already.
I honestly couldn't understand what she wanted.
Being the logical computer oriented type I asked for a definition of
romance. The entire conversation fell apart at that point because the
terminology she used was based in emotions while the terminology I
understood was based in logic. She finally just sighed and said,
"That's ok, honey. I love you and it really isn't killing me. You are
somewhat romantic already."
I knew that she was hurt. I could see it in her eyes and that
really bothered me. So, privately, I began asking friends, associates
and co-workers for a good definition of romance. This went on for
nearly three weeks. Poor ole Tim looking for a logical way to
understand one of the most emotional things in life.
Everyone that knew me thought that this was sad. The ladies became
frustrated because they couldn't seem to define romance. Most of the
guys thought I was an idiot for even trying to be romantic. But I
couldn't give up. My wife had a need!
Finally I found an answer from a very unexpected source. One of the
ladies I worked with was a bitter old alcoholic prune. She kept to
herself and argued with everyone. She was one of the most cantankerous
people I have ever met. I had avoided asking her because I *knew* she
would not be able to give me an answer.
I asked another co-worker for a definition of romance when she
happened to be in the office. When the other lady couldn't answer the
question she piped up. "Romance is nothing more than putting your
feelings into action." I couldn't believe it. And it was so simple
too!
I went home that night and hugged my wife. I told her that I was
going to take her out to dinner and we would paint the town red. She
just smiled and told me it wasn't necessary. Three weeks I had been
trying to figure out what she needed! Didn't she understand what I had
gone through?!
She laughed when she saw the look on my face. It seems that she had
heard about my quest for understanding and had been keeping track of my
progress. To her, she said, that quest was the essence of romance and
her life was now much happier.
Tim
* QMPro 1.51 * Be patient with everyone, but above all, with yourself!
---
<20> TriNet: TriNet: North Central BBS: (317) 662-2543: Marion, In.
========================================================================
As always, I'll now attempt to answer my own question . . .
One day in 1990, my wife and I were feeling depressed about something
or other. We decided not to let it get us down, and decided to go do
something we've always wanted to do - visit the local wildlife park.
We hopped in the car and went. The park (closed now, so I won't mention
it's name) was in Grand Prairie, at the outskirts of town. The ride
there was pleasant, and we talked and enjoyed one another's company.
We bought some feed from the caretakers (after paying our way in) and
set out to visit the animals. It was great! Antelopes, deer, monkeys,
giraffes. Certainly nothing like visiting the zoo, but these animals
were all free and out in the open, able to do as they please.
We fed several animals, and my wife managed to fed a giraffe who somehow
got his neck down to our car window. The whole day brought us closer
together and let whatever troubles we were experiencing fall away for a
while. I still remember that day. The park is gone now, but the memories
are forever ours.
A close second would be when, around Christmas time, I came home from my
first day at a new job to find my wife waiting for me wearing nothing
but a big red bow. <Grin> But that's a story for another time . . .
Happy Valentine's and thanks for reading!
ANSWER ME!
Copyright (c) 1994, Liz Shelton
All rights reserved
ANSWER ME!
by Liz Shelton
Did you ever have a question about your computer or some software, and
you just didn't know where to go to find the answer? Well, in this
column I'll be attempting to clear up any questions (big or small) that
any of you may have. I'm not claiming to be an expert by any means, but
I am resourceful and I'll do whatever necessary to find an appropriate
answer for any questions relating to computers, software, or general
BBSing.
Here it is, my first official ANSWER ME! column. I had
tons of question just flooding in. Well, a couple anyway,
and good enough to kick off my STTS debut. At least I
didn't have to waste any time deciding which ones to use.
Dear Liz,
I'm a closet computer geek. I LOVE spending hours upon
hours at the keyboard. It's my thing, my gig, my hobby,
what I live for!
Problem is, my girlfriend is jealous of my relationship
with my computer. She says it's unnatural, and that she
should come first in my life.
Is she nuts or what? This may not be the kind of question
you were expecting to address, but ANSWER ME! anyway.
Virtually yours,
Perplexed in Plano
Dear Perplexed,
You're absolutely right. This ISN'T the kind of question
I was expecting, but needs must as the devil drives, and
I had to have SOMETHING to write about.
I was execting an EASY question, like "Would you please explain
the basic principle of binary code?", and instead I have to
deal with complexities of human relationships? Ugh.
I've been on both sides this type of issue, and while I'm
not near as possessed with techie stuff as you are, I
do know how involved and time consuming it can be.
First, I have to wonder how you two ever got together to
begin with. But since you did, and you obviously care
enough about her to question her sanity, I'd say a compromise
would be in order. People are more important than things,
aren't they? Well, aren't they? No matter what you say,
they really are! Honest!
And while I generally don't trust, or relate to people
who aren't interested in computers, I'd have to say that
most probably the answer to your question is no.
Consider yourself answered,
Liz
Private to Sad in Seagoville:
Attempt another connection. If the handshake is successful,
she's yours, if she drops carrier, it was never meant
to be.
Liz
You may direct any questions to me at Sunlight Through the Shadow's BBS,
Pen & Brush Net, RIME, WME, or via Internet (liz.shelton@chrysalis.org).
Send me some work to do so I won't have to bug Joe for another column!
My View: The Destruction Of Good Music
Copyright (c) 1994, Todd Miller
All rights Reserved
[Each month, a reader/writer is offered the opportunity to give his or
her viewpoint on a particular topic dear to them. If you'd like the
chance to air *Your* views in this forum, please contact Joe DeRouen
via one of the many ways listed in CONTACT POINTS elsewhere in this
issue]
The Destruction Of Good Music
by Todd Miller
As we start a new year, the main question in my mind is: What bands will
the radio destroy this year? Thanks to MTV and the force behind FM radio,
there is really no good underground music anymore. Don't get me wrong, I am
proud a lot of bands got the attention they deserve, but a lot of times I
don't like what all the attention does to the bands.
Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam stated at the MTV music awards back in September,
"If it was not for music, I would of blown my head off." I kind of feel the
same way. I can think of many times when I was depressed, pissed off, or just
sick of everything when music helped me get through it all. But now, I can't
even listen to most of the bands that helped me get through my "rough" times
because I got so sick of hearing them on the radio or seeing them on TV. I
would not be suprised if in two months we will start hearing Jeremy or Runaway
Train on a muzak system at the doctors office.
For example take Metellica. I can remember back in the mid-eighties if
you listened to them you were considered the lowest scum of the earth. Now all
of the "jocks" and "preps" who thought I had an I.Q. of -5 just because I wore
a Metellica T-shirt are walking around with the whole Metellica wardrobe known
to man. Now Metellica are making all of these videos for MTV (something they
vowed they would never do) and producing their albums with Bob Rock who is
known for the Bon Jovi and Cinderella fame. I would not be suprised to hear a
whole album of love songs by Metellica sometime in the next year.
Another example is the whole "Seattle sound" group of bands. Yeah, I
still do like quite a few of them, but I have a great fear that many of them
will sell out in the near future. As sad as it is, if it was not for the death
of Andrew Wood from Mother Love Bone, a lot of people would not know who Pearl
Jam, Nirvana, Soundgarden, or Alice In Chains is. Mother Love Bone was the
founder of the "Seattle sound", and after the heroin overdose of lead singer
Andrew Wood, surviving members of the group started Pearl Jam. Then along
comes Eddie Vedder, the so called speaker of the whole "grung" movement. As I
stated, I still like a few of the Seattle bands, but I fear what might happen
after MTV and FM radio pushes it a little to far. I don't feel any of the
Seattle bands have sold out, it's just that there is a whole new group of
bands coming out because of their somewhat Seattle like sound. Some of these
bands include Stone Temple Pilots (San Diego's answer to Pearl Jam), Dig (out
of Boston, some say the next Nirvana), Urge Overkill from Chicago, and the
Smashing Pumpkins out of Chicago. I like these bands, but it seems every five
minutes the radio or TV is playing one of them..
But as I asked in the beginning of this article, who is the radio gonna
destroy this year? Your guess is as good as mine, but I have a couple guesses.
Watch out for the band Green Day out of Berkeley, California. The underground
favorite for years have signed with Warner Brothers and is expecting a debut
album out on February 1. They have the pop/punk sound and I expect MTV to
destroy them by the end of the summer. Another band is Dig out of Boston. As I
stated before, a lot of people are saying they are the next Nirvana. And you
know what that means, MTV playing them every five minutes. And last but not
least is Smashing Pumpkins out of Chicago. Sure MTV is playing them now, But I
expect in about six months they will go on a summer tour and MTV will sponsor
it and all you will hear will be the Smashing Pumpkins. Who knows what will
happen this year, hopefully not what I stated.
Choosing a Monster BBS
Copyright (c) 1994, Gage Steele
All rights reserved
What exactly IS a "Monster BBS" anyway? The definition is unclear, but
when you find one it's obvious: a large number of nodes, disk storage
measured in Gigabytes rather than megabytes, and several CD ROMs.
A Monster BBS should also be well-rounded; a variety of interests
should be represented. Numerous (registered) doors, a comprehensive
online chat system, many different networks, shareware distribution
sites and technical support are all key examples of the well-rounded
system.
Each month we'll take a look at a different Monster BBS to help you
choose the best overall system for you.
Monster BBS: Springfield Public Access, "SPA"
Software: TBBS v2.2
Main Number: (413) 536-4365
Location: Springfield, MA
SysOp(s): Matthew de Jongh and Linda McCarthy
Established: February, 1990
Aprox. Size: 16 phone lines (13 high speed)
10 Gigabyte (24 CD ROMs)
Access Fee: Optional for full access
Notes: ASP BBS, 1993 Boardwatch Top 100 BBS No. 34
Rating: 87/100
Online Experience
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
The new user login and questionnaire were brief and quite easy to fill out.
SPA's administrators are more concerned that their new caller is able to see
the screen properly, and save the boring, legal aspects for another time.
Submenuing made for mostly painless navigation. Twice, I found myself in
an area I hadn't wanted to be, but pressing one key allowed me to back out
(either to the last menu, or to the Main Menu). I was not able to find a
System Bulletins Page, or equivalent. Some options were unavailable without
subscription. Though I was informed of this in a pleasant manner, I did
wonder why such options were displayed to me at all. The most notable of this
being the Online Chat feature, something referred to in their advertisements
(which further claimed 'no fees' for access).
The file areas are well kempt, and well ordered. Not a simple feat for
any SysOp, but especially not so when the system shows over 125,000 files
currently available for download. Alternate Operating System files, including
Amiga, Mac, and OS/2, are easy to locate in their very own areas. Files of
specific interests, such as Sound-related and GIFs, are likewise segregated,
adding to ease of system use.
Online games, and there were more than 25 from which to choose, are
categorised by type (i.e. Trivia, Word Games, etc.). Of the ones offered,
one was RIP graphics-based and one adult-oriented. In a submenu called DEMOs,
SPA allows their callers to help testdrive online games that have not yet
been registered.
Internet (Usenet), FIDO, and Adultlinks NetMail services are available on
SPA. For those counting the minutes on a long distance carrier, you can
choose to read and reply to your mail offline by using their QWK/REP mail
packet door.
Although I was given 45 minutes to peruse the system, my connection was cut
short. Quite abruptly, too, as there was no warning before the dreaded
'NO CARRIER' message displayed. I tried calling back three times, only to get
to the login prompt, have the system freeze, and dump me again. As I shut
everything down, I remembered reading something in their System News (a file
shown not long after my initial connect) that they'd crashed a few nights
before.
Pros
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
Painless new caller registration.
Voice Support.
Submenuing.
RIP graphics capable.
Non-IBM files available.
Numerous Doors and NetMail subs.
Association of Shareware Professionals BBS.
Cons
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
'No fees' untrue.
Possibly unstable system.
Garish ANSI menu colours.
Numerous typos throughout the system
I don't think SPA is quite established as a 'Monster BBS,' yet, but they do
deserve their strong placement in the BoardWatch Top 100. If given another
year to tighten up a few odd loose ends, I wouldn't be surprised to see them
rank higher. This four year-old system could, and should, do better.
Upcoming Issues & News
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
THIS ISSUE...
Special Valentine's issue! Several of the fiction pieces and poems are
romance related and are sure to bring a smile to your face and a glow to
your heart.
This issue also welcome L. Shawn Aiken to the staff. Shawn has had some
really great stories and articles in the last couple issues, and has a
excellent article on the television show MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000 in
this issue. It's definitely an article to check out, even if you've
never seen the show.
This issue has more fiction than ever before. It's a trend we hope to
keep living up to!
Check out the interview with Seth Able Robinson, creator of the popular
LEGEND OF THE RED DRAGON and PLANETS: THE EXPLORATION OF SPACE BBS door
games. This interview is the first in a planned series with various
people in and out of the BBS world.
Gage Steele makes her triumphant return to STTS this issue with a
fiction piece (TOO LONG) and a new monthly column, CHOOSING A MONSTER
BBS. Check 'em out!
NEXT ISSUE...
The March issue issue will begin the long-awaited, long-promised round
robin fiction story. We promise, it's the March issue for sure. <Grin>
FUTURE ISSUES...
Look for more monthly columns as well as guest editorials and more
ANSI art.
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<EFBFBD> 110 Nodes * 4000 Conferences * 30.0 Gigabytes * 100,000+ Archives <20>
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A Panacea for Cheezy Movies
Copyright (c) 1994, L. Shawn Aiken
All rights reserved
A Panacea for Cheezy Movies
by L. Shawn Aiken
As a child in the 70's I would drag myself out of bed on Saturday
mornings and watch Scooby Doo, Pebbles and Bam Bam, and the Grape Ape. But
the real fun came after the cartoons. Saturday Sci Fi Theater it was called,
and once a week I would revel in the sights of Godzilla smashing Tokyo,
vampires turning into bats, and brave astronauts shooting at martians in deep
space. It was my favorite form of entertainment.
Then Star Wars came out. My world shattered. I realized that science
fiction movies could have plots. They could have good dialogue. They could
have special effects where you could swear you were seeing the real thing. I
realized Godzilla was nothing but a Japanese guy in a rubber suit. I saw the
strings holding up the fake looking vampire bat. I understood that you could
not fire a revolver in a vacuum. Depressed and embittered, I turned my back
on b-movies.
One day in early 1992 while I was channel surfing, I came upon one of
these old movies. It was "The Amazing Colossal Man", the story of a man named
Glen, who, through a nuclear accident, grows to tremendous proportions. But
something was wrong. There was a silhouette of theater seats across the
bottom, with three figures sitting there. But they were not just sitting
there, they were cracking jokes about the movie. But more than that - they
were fighting back. I was intrigued.
Later I found out its name - Mystery Science Theatre 3000. My mother
had told me about it. She thought she had inadvertently turned the television
to a religious channel and stumbled upon Christians pointing out evil things
in movies. What she had thought was the silhouette of a devil was in fact
Crow T. Robot, one of the stars of the show. The devil's horns turned out to
be a lacrosse mask, Crow's "ear devices".
The premise of the show is this: Two mad scientists, Dr. Forrester
and TV's Frank, become angry with their janitor, Joel Robinson, so they shoot
him into space. Aboard the "Satellite of Love", Joel is forced to watch
cheesy movies while the Mads monitor his mind and try to break him. To help
him keep his sanity, Joel builds two robots, Crow and Tom Servo, and together
they assault the movie of the week with their lightning comebacks and
scimitar wit. In fact, in a two hour episode, they come up average of 700
comebacks. That's over five a minute.
But It's not just the sheer volume of jokes in each episode - it's the
quality. Whether dealing with bad monster flicks to 50's beatnik movies,
they're always loaded with ammunition. During the wonderful gem Rocket Attack
USA, Joel notes, "I never thought the end of the world would be so annoying."
While watching the film Rocketship XM, Crow makes a log entry for the stars,
saying, "Dear Diary: Well, we're all going to die and it's my fault. Our
fiery demise is imminent, but at least I have my health, knock on wood." And
in the stinkburger Earth vs. the Spider, Tom Servo lets us know that "no
spiders were squished, stepped on, flushed, or made to suffer any emotional
distress during the making of this film. One spider did die of old age; we
have two letters from doctors confirming this."
Joel Hodgson created the show back in 1988 for KTMA, a UHF station in
Minneapolis. He also played the Mad's victim, Joel Robinson, from it's
beginning until late 1993. After 22 shows had been made the concept was sold
to HBO, who put it on their fledgling network, Comedy Central. The staff left
KTMA and formed an MST3K production company called Best Brains. The show has
become so popular that the network airs it every day for almost 24 hours a
week. Joel recently left the show to pursue other things. Mike Nelson, the
head writer for the show, replaced Joel as the Mad Scientists' new victim.
One MST3K fixtures is Turkey Day. The first episode of MST3K was
aired on Thanksgiving, 1988, and it has become an annual event. Each
Thanksgiving, Comedy Central airs 30 or more hours of the show in a row, to
the delight of the fans and to the scourge of their football spectating
relatives.
Above all, the high point of the show is it's fans, commonly referred
to as Misties. There are some 50,000 "official" fans. They have a tool that
Trekkers of the 70s could only have dreamed of - computer networks, allowing
them to range far and wide in their quest for like-minded people. Mike
Slusher, known as Bot Snak and the Sysop of the Deep 13 BBS, describes them
thus, "MSTies are the greatest people I know. I know that sounds trite, but
it's true. they seem to be very warm and loyal to each other and have
boundless enthusiasm for everything MST."
Misties can be found on many networks throughout the country and the
world. CompuServe has perhaps the most Misty activity, but there are Misties
on America On-Line, GEnie, NVN, Internet, Prodigy, and the burgeoning People
Together Network. Many Misties were scattered to the wind when Prodigy raised
its rates in the summer of 1993, and as Mike Slusher said, "Prodigy was good
for it's sheer number of messages, but it was ruled by evil dictators that
would always ruin the fun." Misties can also be found on many local BBSes,
their messages being echoed through nets such as RIME and WME.
Why do people "become" Misties? Perhaps Chris Cornell, a Misty know
as Sampo, explain it best. "I'm a MSTie, and unafraid to admit it, for two
reasons. First, because in more than 30 years of watching TV, and 10 years of
reviewing it professionally, MST3K is the single most intelligent, thoughtful,
positive, elegant and side-splittingly funny comedy series I have ever
encountered. Period. Second, because the more I meet and talk to other MSTies,
the more I discover what an utterly charming group of people they are. I have
a saying: "I never met a MSTie I didn't like." And when I do meet somebody
irritating who claims to be a MSTie, I'm not surprised to discover, later,
that they really could care less about the show and are just a hanger-on.
It's happened over and over. The show attracts the nicest class of people:
intelligent, sweet, polite and always very funny."
These "on-line" Misties have always yearned to know their pals behind
the computer screen better. They've exchanged photos, they've had small Misty
parties, but as of yet, nothing has compared to the MSTieWeen party of 1992.
Rockclimber, also know as Laura Kelley, described to me how it came about in
an interview. There were some plans for a convention in the late fall of 92,
but those plans petered out. Then Debbie Tobin, know as Kim C. on Prodigy,
decided to have a MST Halloween Party at her home in Edina, Minnesota. A
Comedy Central employee named Naomi who frequents some of the computer
networks was contacted about it. Laura said that they were "hoping for maybe
a bag of Doritos, or maybe a party platter," but Naomi said that they might be
able to do more. Best Brains had not made any intros for the upcoming Turkey
Day Marathon, so they decided to film the party instead, and let the party be
the intro. And they catered the event. There the Misties were, dressed up in
Halloween garb, meeting face to face and being broadcast to America at the
same time. It was a sight few will forget.
So, I have found goodness in b-movies after all. Well, perhaps not
goodness, but a good way to look at the badness, and make it good. Isn't that
what life's all about. If they hand you lemons, just make lemonade.
MST3K BBSES
Deep 13 - (215) 943-9526 (Levittown, PA) Sysop, Mike Slusher
Satellite Of Love BBS - (513) 563-0759 (Cincinnati, OH) Sysop, Bob Poirier
Satellite Of Love BBS - (619) 487-0690 (San Diego, CA)
MST3K Publications
BrainFood - BrainFood, C/O Rock Climber, 2252 S.E. Holland St., Port St. Lucie,
FL 34952
Crow's Nest - Crow's Nest, PO Box 3825, Evansville, IN 47736-3825
Digest Digest - Digest Digest, 953 Rose Arbor Dr., San Marcos, CA 92069-4584
MST3K Manifesto - C/O #12888, 6216 N. 23rd Street, Arlington, VA 22205
The Appearance of Vampires in Fiction
Copyright (c) 1994, Robert McKay
All rights reserved
*The Appearance of Vampires in Fiction*
A short essay
by Robert McKay
Copyright (C) 1993 by Robert McKay
One of my favorite novels is *Dracula*, the classic by Bram Stoker. I
once owned a copy, before 10 moves in as many years proved the saying that
"Three moves are as bad as a fire" in disposing of what Dickens once called
"portable property." I intend to own a copy again.
I also like the 1930 movie version of *Dracula* directed by Tod Browning
and starring Bela Lugosi (by the way, Lugosi's accent was genuine; he was a
Hungarian, from the same general area as the historical Vlad Tepes and the
fictional Dracula who is partly modeled on Tepes). Liking both, I also notice
some discrepancies between the two, including the appearance of the count. In
the book, he is a big man, sporting a heavy moustache and longish, thick hair.
Lugosi's Dracula was not small, but neither was he the massive creature de-
scribed by Stoker. He did not possess either the hair or the moustache of the
Count in the book, and the distinguishing feature that has stuck with me for
years, the "hairs in the centre of the palm", were absent from Lugosi's por-
trayal. And it is the 1930 movie Dracula that we remember, spoof, and write
about, and which influences our vampire fiction to this day.
I am a sometime writer of non-traditional vampire stories. They do not
completely break with tradition, but they do depart from it in some respects.
For instance, "Memoirs of a Reluctant Vampire", previously published in *Sun-
light Through the Shadows*, presents a vampire who is essentially Joe Average
- even something of a nerd - who is snared while leaving a pizza parlor and
who now uses a pocket knife to open the vein. Others I have written, and
which are still (at this writing) seeking publication present the vampire as a
loving wife; or a figure who terrorizes a town, flaunts his crime before the
authorities, and then easily escapes; or who takes the life, without touching
the blood - this one also escapes after a scuffle with police officers. Per-
haps the most non-traditional aspect of my vampires is my sympathy - I'm all
in favor of the vampire. This is fiction, of course; I do not believe that
such creatures actually exist, and if they did I would be decidedly in favor
of their extermination. But in my writing, I am sympathetic to the undead.
And yet, I find that Browning's *Dracula* haunts my descriptions. While
Stoker's Count is not all that indistinguishable from ordinary mortals in most
circumstances, Browning's is - although he appears on the streets of London
unremarked, which is rather strange in view of his outlandish getup. Stoker's
Dracula is sufficiently normal-looking to gain no more notice than as an un-
usually large and muscular man with odd superstitions and a strange affinity
with wolves in his first appearances; Browning's Dracula is Borg-pale, with a
hairstyle that is strange at best, odd clothing, and eerie mannerisms.
I do not, I hope it will be assumed, dress my vampires in Lugosi-type out-
fits. Indeed, only one of them - the loving wife - has any sort of connection
to Stoker's Count, and that is not very significant; her connection is more
closely to what Vlad Tepes might, in my opinion, have been had he actually
been a vampire, and is in fact the daughter of that hypothetical undead Tepes.
I do, however, find that they have some characteristics in common with the Lu-
gosi portrayal. They all have aquiline features. They all like to dress in
dark clothing. They all - with the exception of the wife -comb their hair
straight back. They all have paler-than-normal skin. None -fortunately, I
think - have a Wallachian or Transylvanian accent, though in the wife's case
it must be assumed that during her early life (which was, though this is not
stated in the story, completely normal, she having been born before her fa-
ther's transformation) she did possess such an accent when speaking in lan-
guages other than her native tongue.
Why, since I am so dedicated to the untraditional in vampire stories, am I
so bound, even unconsciously, to the basics of the Browning/Lugosi model? Why
is this true of most who write on vampires? I can't speak for others, but I
can speak to some degree for myself. I say to some degree because, quite
frankly, I am neither trained for nor terribly enamored of the deep analysis
that is currently in vogue in literary criticism. I do not care, for
instance, for that school of literary comment which persisted, and perhaps
still persists, in seeing J.R.R. Tolkien's Sauron as a picture of Hitler in
spite of Tolkien's repeated and vehement denials that he ever intended any
such symbology. I prefer to think that most writers are like me - they may
have some symbolism, some "hidden" message, in their work, but they also, like
me, want to communicate something clearly, and therefore neither do nor can
bury it deep in symbols and figures and dark mysteries.
I believe that the reason for the clinging nature of the standard vampire
type - varied though it might be from author to author in some respects - is
simply that the Browning/Lugosi collaboration was done so well. Granted that
the 1930 film did not faithfully reproduce the story of the book (not that, to
my knowledge, *any* Dracula film has done that). Granted that it has its
flaws, especially in light of modern special effects and movie-making tech-
niques. Still, the direction by Browning and the acting by Lugosi were mas-
terful. The film was so well done in these regards that it has left an indel-
ible imprint on our common knowledge regarding not just Count Dracula, but
vampires in general.
Just when the craze for visible fangs, pointed hairlines, strange accents,
and other Browning/Lugosi creations began I don't know, nor do I particularly
care, since my desire is entertainment, not esoteric knowledge of trivia. But
it must have begun early. I was born in 1960, only 30 years after the film
was made, and as far back as I can remember, these were already settled fea-
tures of American vampire lore. At Halloween during my youth, as today, cos-
tumes recreated the image of the film.
So I grew up, and children then and before grew up, and children today are
growing up, thinking that the word "vampire" is synonymous with the Count Dra-
cula created by Bela Lugosi and Tod Browning and released in 1930. Few, un-
fortunately in several senses, have actually read *Dracula*, and are therefore
completely ignorant of the Count that Stoker created - a count that in physi-
cal appearance (expect perhaps for size) was a close match to descriptions and
portraits of Vlad Tepes. Instead, we integrated into our cultural mythology a
Dracula, and a vampire legend, that is only 63 years old, as compared to the
centuries-old legends of eastern Europe that Stoker combined with myth and
fact about Tepes to create his character.
Can this be reversed? Perhaps, though I strongly doubt it. Just as the
myths of Santa Claus and "Play it again, Sam" are ineradicable parts of our
culture, so the Browning/Lugosi Count Dracula has been indelibly imprinted on
our collective frame of mind. However, it would be well if we who love hor-
ror, and more particularly those of us who enjoy vampire stories, would do our
best to not cling too strongly to this image. Who knows - in 100 years, we
may by our influence have managed to bring the collective view of Dracula and
his ilk back to something more closely resembling the original conception.
Seth Able Robinson Interview
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Each month in these electronic pages, we'll be presenting an interview
with someone important to the BBS world or just to the world at large.
This month, we'll be talking to Seth Able Robinson.
Seth Able Robinson is the author of the very popular LEGEND OF THE RED
DRAGON and PLANETS: THE EXPLORATION Of SPACE BBS door games. I conducted
this information via e-mail on Seth's BBS sent back and forth over a
period of about a week.
Joe DeRouen: Tell us a little about yourself, Seth. Where were you born?
How long have you been programming? Are you married?
Seth Able Robinson: Ok.. I was born in Hunington Beach, California, in
December of 12/06/74. (Yes, I'm 19 now) My family
later moved to Oregon, where I have lived ever
since. When I was 10 I knew I wanted to work with
computers after only watching a few Star Trek
episodes. My parents finally helped me to get a
computer by looking at a campsite and getting a
Commodore 16 as a prize.
JD: What did you think of it?
SAR: I was elated! I studied the manual and started writing programs
immediatly! (The single cartridge it came with didn't hold my
attention very long, so what choice did I have?) The only problem
was that I could not save what I did. So you can imagine how happy
I was when I found a data-cassette under the tree that Christmas!
Anyway, from there I just kept upgrading machines & equipment.
JD: When did you first release LORD? What is LORD 3.02 like compared to
the original version? What improvements?
SAR: I released LORD on my Amiga BBS when I was 14. I ran a small BBS.
(Same number & name as the one I run now) I wrote LORD for one
reason. So people would call my BBS EVERY DAY and use the message
bases. I had a few games but none that were 'right'. Some had no
time limits, (I only wanted people playing for 10 minutes so that
they would have plenty of time to read messages) but most games
were just blah. So I wrote LORD. After experiencing lots of
success on my system, I realized I needed to create an IBM version
- Amiga BBS's were/are very rare. Since I didn't have an IBM
Computer to write it on I wrote LORD 1.6 at a friends house on a
386-16 with a meg of ram. I was able to get my hands on Turbo
Pascal, I had used C on the Amiga and I could see that they were
very simular, just different keywords and such.
JD: How long did it take you to learn Turbo Pascal?
SAR: It took about a month of going over late, and staying late, to
learn Turbo Pascal and write LORD 1.6. (Heheh, I didn't know what
ALPHA or BETA testing was back then..So revisions came fast and
furious...(Not much has changed I guess?)) In time I was able to
buy my own IBM with registration money. This was really great for
me! I was finally being able to program at home! So I released 2.1
IBM, which was the first version that was better than the Amiga
one.
JD: What do you think about the shareware concept?
SAR: I learned Shareware is like a snowball, picking up more and more
users as it rolls across the country - I suppose a better analogy
would be Shareware is like a disease. Always spreading and
reaching more people.
JD: Sounds painful! Where did the names of the monsters and weapons
come from in LORD?
SAR: Hehehe, a few of them are from favorite books and authors. I
really respect the fantasy writers that can make me stay up all
night to finish their book. Most of the enemies and such, are my
own creation, sitting around with friends making things up. One
enemy I should mention is "Rude Boy". This creature is from a 128
RPG I created a long time ago which LORD is loosely based on. I
don't know why, but I love this guy. "Rentaki's Pet" is from a
weird dream I had.
JD: Why did you install yourself as the bard? Do you enjoy women
fighting for your attention? <Grin>
SAR: <Grins hugely> Er, the truth is I never expected my game to go any
further than my own Amiga BBS. I created it kinda personalized,
for fun. So he is part of the game now! I am flattered when I get
fan mail from females, it's always nice to be noticed.
JD: What about Planets? Tell us a little background information on that?
SAR: Planets: TEOS is a very different game than LORD - Rarely do people
LOVE both these games, usually they like one much more than the
other one. TEOS requires a bit more strategy, and is more a
thinkers game, where LORD is a bit more a Hack N Slash. Both games
require strategy, but TEOS requires a but more learning before you
become good at it.
JD: Which is the most popular of the two?
SAR: LORD is by a long shot. Of course, LORD has been around a lot
longer, Planets: TEOS was only released last year and a lot of
people have still never even heard of it.
JD: Do you plan any updates to Planets: TEOS?
SAR: I'm thinking about this. I want to come up with some truly
inovative ideas to make this game even more unique - and fun. I
don't want to create a new version merely because people want RIP
and Multi-node support, I want to add to the game.
JD: Are you working on any other games? Do you plan to release any other
games in the future?
SAR: I'm working on several different ideas now - Doors, local games,
and even games that are not shareware. Right now, a Local VGA RPG
is in the planning stages. This allows so much more
personlization, character development and graphics...You lose the
fun of killing real people, but the total experience should more
than make up for that loss.
JD: What kind of money are you making from your games?
SAR: Plenty. <G> I'm completly supported by LORD alone right now, but
I know I need to take this 'bonus' time and use it to create
something that will return profits a year or two from now...(The
time it takes to be 'spread').
JD: How long has your BBS been up? Tell us about your BBS?
SAR: The Darkside (Tales From The Darkside inspired this btw) has been
up for 5 or 6 years now. It's always had a very active message
base, and that is what I'm most proud of.
JD: What software do you use? What's the #? (etc.)
SAR: I run Renegade. We've got two high speed nodes, and are adding
more. We have over 2000 users and 3 packed out LORD games!
The Darkside (503) 838-6171 (Both lines)
JD: Do you register (other people's) doors for your BBS?
SAR: I would if I ran any. I do register any util or game or anything I
use, and think is a quality product.
JD: What door games do YOU play most?
SAR: I LOVE Trade Wars! I loved 1.03, and I love V2.0. I don't mean to
brag, <ahem> but I've blown up a few traders in my time! I think
it's the best door ever created, bar NONE.
JD: What're your overall plans for the future?
SAR: I don't know... Stay free, make Robinson Technologies into a
household word, and I hope I never create a game that *I* wouldn't
like.
JD: Thanks for talking to us, Seth. Do you have any closing comments?
SAR: Oh...I'm not married. I love Mortal Kombat 1 & 2, I like to surf,
(yes even the Oregon Coast) golf, play basketball, ride horses,
stay fit and go places to think. (I love living so close to the
ocean!) One last thing - My education - I thought it might be
important to let you know that I have never been to school. I was
homeschooled, by a great mom. Woah! I almost forgot to plug my
new version of LORD, V3.02. RIP and multi-node support are a few
additions to this wonderful game.
JD: Anything else?
SAR: NEVER STOP PLAYING GAMES!
JD: Thanks a lot, Seth. Good luck with LORD 3.02 and all your future
endeavors!
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
Seth can be reached by anyone via the following methods:
DarkSide BBS: (503) 838-6171 (both lines)
FIDO NET MAIL on Field Of Dreams BBS (Not MY BBS!)
Mail Seth Able at 1:3406/13.
You can also FREQ the latest versions of both games by using the magic
names of LORD and PLANETS from the above address.
Compuserve: 73502,2755
The most current release filename for LORD is LORD302.ZIP
The most current release filename for PLANETS:TEOS is PLAN112.ZIP
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
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Lights Out Movie Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Bruce Diamond
All rights reserved
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ
<20> SCHINDLER'S LIST: Steven Spielberg, director. Steven <20>
<20> Zaillian, screenplay. Based on the novel by Thomas <20>
<20> Keneally. Starring Liam Neeson, Ben Kingsley, Ralph <20>
<20> Fiennes, Caroline Goodall, Jonathan Sagalle, and Embeth <20>
<20> Davidtz. Universal Pictures. Rated R. <20>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
Spielberg's first "serious" film, THE COLOR PURPLE (1978),
met with mixed box office and critical success when it was
released; for my money, it was his best artistic effort (some
critics would argue for JAWS, 1975, or DUEL, 1971) until
SCHINDLER'S LIST. Spielberg was known mostly as an image-driven
director before COLOR PURPLE, blatantly pushing the audience's
buttons without a nod toward subtlety. In this respect, he would
never advance into the first tier of American directors (peopled
with the likes of John Ford, Howard Hawks, Alfred Hitchcock --
although Hitch started as a British director, he became the
quintessential American director throughout the sixties --
Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese). Critics advanced
theories (too mired in popular culture, not enough depth in
"traditional" cinema, etc.) concerning Spielberg's so-called
superficiality, and attributed the same faults to conspirator-
in-entertainment, George Lucas. To a very small extent, they may
have been right; even with THE COLOR PURPLE, Spielberg's button-
pushing became evident, especially through comic moments (Oprah
Winfrey striding purposefully through a field of corn, a shiner
covering one eye; her husband's slapstick confrontation with their
roof) and in scenes of high emotion (Whoopi Goldberg standing on
the porch, straight-razor gleaming in her hand, torn between
shaving Mister -- Danny Glover -- or slitting his throat).
Spielberg was still married mostly to the image then, in such a
way that it occasionally overrode his story sense. Witness
Shug's rousing spiritual number at the end of the movie, complete
with traveling choir, as she leads the way from the beer house to
the church for Mister's funeral. Shug's "salvation," represen-
ting as it does Whoopi's salvation and the healing of the town's
schism, really makes no dramatic sense as staged, because the
emotion of the moment overshadows what the movie is really about:
the defining of African-American roles as a free people in the
early part of this century. The image of that traveling choir,
and the music, is about as stirring as you'll find in a
Spielberg movie (it moved me to tears on first viewing), but it
sews disparate people, emotions, and messages into too neat a
bow, giving the movie a happy ending it really shouldn't have
aimed for. (I'll only mention Spike Lee's criticism of the scene
as "happy darkies down on the farm" long enough to partially
agree with him.)
SCHINDLER'S LIST is another case, completely. Here,
Spielberg is dealing with his own pain instead of someone else's.
(More than one critic of COLOR PURPLE has called that previous
film as one white man's apology for 400 years of slavery, but
again, that criticism shoots wide of the mark). SCHINDLER'S is
an intensely personal film, and for all of that, it is also an
immensely entertaining one. Perhaps entertaining is an odd word
to use in conjunction with a film concerning the Holocaust,
especially a film that shows the brutality of that event in gut-
wrenching details. Realize that I'm not speaking of comedy or
the frivolous nature of a Hollywood thriller here (you want an
insulting version of the Holocaust and WWII, just rent the
screamingly awful SHINING THROUGH, a 1992 piece of dreck that
starred Michael Douglas and Melanie Griffith). SCHINDLER'S is
entertainment of the first magnitude: a gripping human drama
that clocks in at three hours and 20 minutes while barely feeling
that it's over two plus change. Spielberg has managed to
reawaken the Nazi monstrosity and show it to us in such frighten-
ing detail that a new generation of movie-goers will have a hard
time forgetting that the Holocaust really *did* happen.
Spielberg's visual and manipulative magic (so blatantly
obvious, yet thrilling in JURASSIC PARK) is still present, but
here it serves the story rather than overshadowing it. Scenes
that seem to be pure Spielbergian invention (a boy hiding in a
latrine cesspool as Nazi stormtroopers sweep through the camp; a
frighteningly-vulnerable scene in the camp showers) are based on
reality and only spiced by Spielberg's cinematic "reality."
SCHINDLER'S is just further proof that the horrors of real life
can transcend anything we can imagine. Real horror is never
cathartic; instead it's depressing, sickening, and most times
beyond our comprehension.
SCHINDLER'S LIST portrays Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson) as
he was, with no apologies: opportunistic, egotistical, and
demanding. He was a man used to the finer things in life and
found a way to further his fortune at the expense of others. He
approaches Isaac Stern (Ben Kingsley) with an idea for a factory,
totally funded by Jewish money, since Jews could no longer run
businesses in occupied Poland, and staffed by Jewish workers, the
cheapest labor around. Schindler rationalizes the business deal,
stating that it will provide a means for Jews to remain employed,
thereby delaying their "resettlement" into the camps, and it will
also provide Jews with a source of black market goods -- pots and
pans -- that they can, in turn, trade for the essentials like
food and clothing. We later see that the occupied territory has
a thriving black market (Schindler obtains his wardrobe and other
items of luxury through street contacts), so there is some truth
to his words. By presenting Schindler in this seemingly-sympa-
thetic light, Spielberg has opened himself up to criticism that
he means for this war profiteer to be regarded as a hero who had
only the best interests of the Jewish people at heart from the
very start. And by presenting Schindler as this shining knight,
the naysayers contend, Spielberg unfairly confers sainthood on
him, reducing the Jewish plight to a mere power struggle and
trivializing their efforts to survive. That is a cynically
shallow reading of Neeson's portrayal and Spielberg's complex
presentation of the turmoil within Oskar Schindler and how it
mirrored the turmoil around him. You'd have to be blind to
regard Schindler as a saint from the time he proposes the
business deal; throughout most of the movie, constantly refers to
his workers as "*my* Jews," reducing them to the equivalent of
machinery, as anonymous and interchangeable as the tools they
work with, and he's constantly embarrassed when confronted with
his workers' problems on an individual basis. "Never do that to
me again," he warns Stern, after the bookkeeper/plant manager
brings an elderly worker to Shindler's office so the old man can
thank the German for his job. The confrontation with his own
conscience (essentially, Stern acts as Schindler's conscience
throughout much of the film) unnerves him and serves to remind
him that he has an obligation to these people, an obligation to
keep them as safe as one person can in war-torn Europe.
Schindler's inner growth and acceptance of his ultimate
responsibility seems to occur in inverse proportion to the
depravity around him. His first full awakening to the horrors
Germany is visiting on central Europe comes when he visits a
fellow SS officer, Goeth (played with disturbing intensity by
Ralph Fiennes) at an Austrian concentration camp. Goeth
represents the absolute worst in the Nazi character: he shoots
prisoners at random from his balcony, more for his own amusement
than anything else. Goeth's hypocrisy disturbs Schindler more
than the man's cruelty -- while he guns down Jews by day, he
professes his devotion to his Jewish maid (Embeth Davidtz) by
night. When "his" Jews are rounded up for the camps, Schindler
finally takes action and owns up to his conscience. He and
Stern put together a list (the titular list) of Jews that worked
in the factory, and then go beyond their original list in an
attempt to save as many people as possible. Everything that
Schindler has done to make his own life comfortable is now in
turn laid on the line to save his workers.
Goeth as a character bothers me. Though based on reality, I
can't help but consider Goeth an almagamation of Nazis, serving
as the representative for all of the Third Reich's sins. As
such, he comes across as more monster than man, and harder to
relate to on a human level. Of course, we've all heard stories
of Nazis as bad as, and worse than, Goeth, but the on-screen
depiction somehow passes our saturation level for cruelty, to a
point where we can become inured to the character's depravity. I
don't know where the fine line is, nor if Spielberg really could
have presented Goeth in any other way, but after a fashion the
character began to join the ranks of the storybook Nazis so
prevalent in Hollywood movies about WWII and the Holocaust.
Perhaps I'm the only one who reacted this way to Goeth, but after
his third scene of sniping from his balcony, he seemed at one
remove from the heart of the problem and he became a stereotype.
I'm still in awe of Steven Spielberg's achievement.
SCHINDLER'S LIST is one of the best films of 1993, and is,
indeed, one of the best films of the past few years. Spielberg's
use of black-and-white imagery goes beyond the usual reasons for
the form: portraying the world in shades of gray, even during a
time when the world seemed polarized into black and white;
lending an historical/documentary feel for the subject matter
(which the intense, hand-held camerawork also augmented); or even
to just make an artistic statement with light and shadow. Spiel-
berg has recreated his family history (not literally, but the
film feels that personal) and captured a point in time when the
utter ruthlessness of humanity helped create some of the race's
truly shining moments of individual grace and honor. As a
people, we have all been to the heart of the fire, and we are
stronger, and hopefully, more compassionate for having been there.
RATING: 10 out of 10.
Lights Out Movie Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Bruce Diamond
All rights reserved
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ <20> BLINK: Michael Apted, director. Dana Stevens, screen- <20>
<20> play. Starring Madeleine Stowe, Aidan Quinn, James <20>
<20> Remar, Peter Friedman, Bruce A. Young, Paul Dillon, <20>
<20> Matt Reith, and Laurie Metcalf. New Line Cinema. <20>
<20> Rated R. <20>
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Boy, howdy, was I wary of this thriller. The publicity had
all the earmarks of the done-to-death "body parts controlled by
previous owner" plot (<28> la THE HAND, 1981, starring Michael
Caine, and directed by *Oliver Stone*!; and the equally-bad BODY
PARTS, 1991), a plot that I find dubious, at best, to construct a
movie around. (Following the "logic" of films like these, you'd
want to screen *every* blood transfusion you get, to make sure
your heart won't be pumping criminal intentions with every beat;
it's a ludicrous premise, and I've yet to see a successful film
made from it). Well, I was pleasantly surprised to find that
BLINK contains a fairly-original hook, and is a well-crafted
thriller, at that.
Emma Brody (Madeleine Stowe), blind from age eight thanks to
her abusive mother, receives new corneas and new perception of
life, thanks to a talented doctor and a thoughtful donor.
(Remember the donor angle, it comes up again later.) She's
apprehensive about the operation at first, and that anxiety be-
comes well-merited when Brody unknowingly becomes the only
witness to a terrible murder that occurs in her own Chicago
apartment building. The case throws her together with a rough-
and-tumble cop, played by Aidan Quinn, who doggedly pursues the
case even though his only eyewitness was blind just six short
weeks before the incident. Their relationship (and yes, gawd
help us, they do fall into each others' arms after a while, never
mind the ethics of the situation; I'm tired of this easy
violation of professional ethics that pervades film, but that's
another soapbox for another time) marks the bedrock of reality
that everything else in BLINK eddies around. It's a relationship
based on a sharp perception of real life: they argue, they
complain, they even give and receive compliments in an offhand,
uncomfortable manner, so natural that you could believe Stowe and
Quinn were "hooked" together in some way.
Speaking of hooks, the side effect of Brody's eye surgery is
what makes Detective Hallstrom's (Quinn) job so difficult: not
only does the world drop in and out of focus for most of the
movie, but Brody suffers from a malady called perceptual delay.
Essentially, the character suffers from a visual image lag, as
her doctor explains; what she sees one moment may not clearly
register until hours later. When Brody sees the killer on the
stairs of her apartment complex, she mistakes the blurred image
for the building manager. It isn't until the next morning that
she realizes she saw an intruder. That, and the mysterious
sounds she heard coming from the apartment above her are what
sends her to the police.
As the plot thickens, Hallstrom discovers the killer is a
serial murderer, and somehow, the donor of Brody's new corneas is
connected. That's revealing a bit of the surprise, but it won't
ruin the movie for you, because there's so much more to it than
that. Eventually, you may not find yourself actually caring
about the motive behind the murders, but the killer himself, and
the visual tricks (some employing computer effects, especially
"morphing") will keep you jumping with practically every scene.
As an added kick, Hallstrom and Brody have a connection before
the case even begins, as shown in an opening scene that'll either
have you howling or turning up your nose in distaste. That one
scene will either sell you on Quinn's character, or make you give
up on him.
Of course, for me, the inclusion of Emma Brody's job as a
fiddler in an Irish bar band is just an added perk to a
satisfying thriller.
RATING: 6 out of 10
Lights Out Movie Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Bruce Diamond
All rights reserved
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>Ŀ
<20> IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER: Jim Sheridan, director. <20>
<20> Terry George and Jim Sheridan, screenplay. Based on <20>
<20> Gerry Conlon's autobiography, PRESUMED INNOCENT. <20>
<20> Starring Daniel Day-Lewis, Peter Postlethwaite, Emma <20>
<20> Thompson, John Lynch, Corin Regrave, Beatie Edney, <20>
<20> and John Benfield. Universal Pictures. Rated R. <20>
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
So where does real cruelty exist? Is institutionalized
cruelty inherently eviler than random acts of guerrilla warfare
and/or terrorism? Ask a member of British government, you'll get
one answer; ask an IRA terrorist, and you'll get the polar
opposite. Caught in the middle is the apolitical, petty thief
Gerry Conlon (Daniel Day-Lewis), who happens to be of the wrong
nationality, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. When the IRA
blows up a London pub, killing five people and wounding dozens
more, Conlon and three of his mates are tagged as the scapegoats,
sentenced to life in prison with no hope of parole. Also caught
in the government's web of deceit and false accusations are
Conlon's father, Guiseppe (Peter Postlethwaite), amongst other
family members.
If this hadn't actually happened, you'd probably find
yourself shaking your head over the alleged improprieties
attributed to the British government. Indeed, you'd say to your-
self, who could believe that a self-declared democracy would
*knowingly* punish innocent people, especially *after* they learn
the truth behind the incident? Something like this happens only
in countries like China or Russia, right, where civil rights are
routinely trampled under the State's hobnailed boots? It can't
happen in 1974 London.
Wrong. It can, and it did, and what makes it even more
reprehensible is the British government *covered up* its own
ineptitude, its own *crimes*, for 15 YEARS. In a way, justice
was eventually served, but not for everyone concerned, and not as
far-reaching as it should have been (according to the final text
that appears on-screen). No matter where you stand on Ireland/
England relations or the official status of the IRA and its
political arm, the Sinn Fein, you'll find yourself outraged that
a supposedly free country can run roughshod over an individual
any time it wants to. Without getting onto a soapbox, I hasten
to add that it happens in this country, too -- and all too often.
Daniel Day-Lewis has got to be one of the ten best actors
working in film today. He molds himself so *perfectly* to the
role he's portraying, subsumes himself so completely into his
character, that you can't imagine anyone else in the part. Day-
Lewis breathes life into characters that are already multi-
dimensional, that's how talented he is. Practically anyone with
a modicum of talent can make a one-dimensional character come to
life (witness nearly any role that the classically-hammy William
Shatner takes on, even aside from Captain Kirk), but to take such
complex, diverse roles as Christy Brown in MY LEFT FOOT (1990),
Hawkeye in LAST OF THE MOHICANS (1992), Newland Archer in THE AGE
OF INNOCENCE, and Gerry Conlon in the film under discussion (per-
haps the roughest and most blue-collar of the four named roles)
and make every one of them a distinct person is the work of a
true artist. Watch Day-Lewis as he ages Conlon from an aimless
street punk to a bitter, determined adult, wise to the ways of
those in power and wary of those who wield it. His very bearing,
how he carries himself, the purpose that comes into his stride
and into his stare, make Gerry Conlon that much more real, and
his plight that much more painful.
Almost as astonishing is Peter Postlethwaite as Conlon's Da,
a man caught up in the confusion of his son's celebrated arrest.
The screenplay twists convention and fact by pairing father and
son in the same prison cell, but what we learn about their
relationship, and how adversity actually strengthened it,
couldn't have been depicted any other way. It's a brave story-
telling choice, based on fact and an existing autobiography as
this movie is, but it works. In fact, it may have worked too
well, in that after the initial set-tos about their situation,
Conlon Senior and Junior become almost otherworldly in their
solidarity and respect for each other. Surely, the real-life
Conlon analogs still had their disagreements, but after Guiseppe
falls ill in prison, the movie shows nothing but sweetness and
light between them. The smoother relationship allows the movie
to focus more on Gerry's discussions with the lawyer who
eventually takes on their case against the British government
(played a little *too* intensely by Emma Thompson), but it does
show how distorted even a right-minded film like IN THE NAME OF
THE FATHER can become.
You might be surprised that even though this film seems like
a diatribe against the British government, the IRA is portrayed
in an unflattering light as well. I was pleased with the presen-
tation of cold fact, rather than the patriotic banner that the
story could have easily metamorphosed into. IN THE NAME OF THE
FATHER is even-handed in its indictments, and eminently watchable
for its compelling story of wrongs committed and made right.
RATING: 9 out of 10
Lyrical Leanings
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
OTHER VOICES - OTHER ROOMS
Nanci Griffith
Elektra Entertainment
1993
OTHER VOICES - OTHER ROOMS is basically an inverted TWO ROOMS -
CELEBRATING THE SONGS OF ELTON JOHN & BERNIE TAUPIN. Instead of many
different artists singing John & Taupin's tunes, folk singer Griffith
tries her hand at recreating several different entertainers works.
It really doesn't work. To be sure, the album has some highlights.
Griffith sings BOOTS OF SPANISH LEATHER as well or better than Bob Dylan
ever did. The song seems inspired, and she carries it through with
typical Griffith flair and style.
Unfortunately, this performance doesn't often repeat throughout the
album. There are a couple of other highlights in the seventeen-track CD
- Nanci's intrepretation of Ralph McTell's FROM CLARE TO HERE and Townes
Van Zandt's TECUMSEH VALLEY, to name two - but the album lacks her usual
freshness and sense of exhuberant energy.
If you're a Griffith fan, you should check this one out. Even if you
don't think much of it, it's part of the collection. If you've never
listened to Griffith before, you might do better checking out 1988's
LITTLE LOVE AFFAIRS or 1989's STORMS. Both these albums showcase the
tremendous talent that is Nanci Griffith, and thus far seem to be the
pennacle of her career.
After listening to OTHER VOICES - OTHER ROOMS, I got the sense that this
was but a transition in Ms. Griffith's career. A pause, if you will.
Keep an eye on her - there's more yet to come from Nanci Griffith.
My score, on a scale of one to ten: 5
Music Review
Copyright (c) 1994, Liz Shelton
All rights reserved
Music review
Liz Shelton
Antenna by ZZ Top
RCA 1993
It's been a while since we've heard from my favorite
little power trio, ZZ Top. And worth the wait it was.
The "little ol' band from Texas" has done us right and
showcased what makes us love them so much.
Gibbons jams on this one, and gives us a little of that
"Fuzzbox Voodoo" that has been the staple of the ZZ Top's
music mystique. If you're a fan of the later ZZ Top
releases, (Recycler, Afterburner, Eliminator) you'll love
this one.
I personally would like to see them stretch a bit more, or
even further back (say, back to the Deguello days). But the
boys still know how to rock and roll in fine fashion.
All of this considered, I give them a hefty 7 1/2 on that
1 to 10 scale.
Book Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Heather DeRouen
All rights reserved
WINTER MOON
Dean Koontz
Ballantine Fiction
$6.99 (US), $7.99 (Canada)
I've only read two Dean Koontz books in my life. MR. MURDER and his new
one, WINTER MOON. If his other offerings live up to the standard set by
these two, I'll be a fan for life.
At first set in LA, WINTER MOON tells the tale of police officer Jack
McGarvey, his wife Heather, and their son Toby. It also tells the tale
of Eduardo Fernandez (father of Jack's first partner Tommy, who was
killed in the line of duty over a year ago) who lives in a secluded part
of Montana, setting up a beautiful point-counterpoint comparison between
the two areas and the lifestyles inherent in each.
Within the first few pages, Jack is gunned down by a hot hollywood
director high on PCP. His second partner is killed, as is the owner of
the service station where the violence took place. Only Jack and the
owner's wife manage to survive. Jack, minus a kidney and suffering a
spine fracture, is forced to spend many months in recovery and
rehabilitation.
A light in the woods calls to Eduardo Fernandez, in far off Montana.
Eventually he heeds the call, and a fight for his life has begun. Jack
continues to fight for his own life in the hospital, as both destinies
draw inexorably closer and closer together.
Jack recovers physically, but the mental scars still haunt him. In his
absence, Heather turns their house into a virtual arsenal armed with
everything from pistols to the micro uzi that wounded her husband. As
their bills surmount and the deceased director's parents and fans
proceed to make a martyr of the dead man, their situation spirals
towards bleakness. Nearly out of money and with little prospects for
getting more, a fateful inheritance couldn't come at a better time.
Hundreds of thousands of dollars and an estate richer, The McGarvey's
head for the country life of Montana . . .
I won't tell you about the light in the woods, nor will I tell you of
the McGarvey's encounters in Montana. Suffice it to say that Koontz's
talent lies in making the hackneyed new again, in breathing exciting new
life into old themes.
This is definitely a book worth checking out. The ending is actually a
surprise but one that doesn't come out of left field, something
unexpected in today's horror market. And I won't spoil that ending here.
My score (out of a possible 10): 8
Book Reviews
Copyright (c) 1994, Kathy Kemper
All rights reserved
NIGHTMARES & DREAMSCAPES
Stephen King
Viking Publishers
$27.50 (at this writing available only in hardback)
To say I'm a Stephen King fan would be an understatement. In fact
he is one of only three authors who have the distinction of being
those that I purchase in hardback. I absolutely refuse to wait until
the more affordable and less space restrictive paperback arrives in
print.
Nightmares & Dreamscapes is the third short story collection of
King's. However, it has the dubious distinction of being his least
attractive book. This isn't the traditional literary criticism of
King's works in which reviewers often find him overwritten. This
is the critique of one who has all of his books, and has read them
all--most many times. Nightmares & Dreamscapes is one I don't plan
to re-read.
The old King is present in "Nightmares", the characterizations are
full and well rounded; and the horror is explicit with his usual
plot twists and ironies. Yet there remains a difference, in this
book, our ordinary worlds are once again disturbed by the master of
his craft, but one is left pondering the question "why"?
That is not to say that everything in the book is unenjoyable, it
isn't. In fact there are a couple of stories that stand out well.
One is entitled "The End of the Whole Mess". Here an
intellectually gifted person discovers that Texas is the most
violent state (per capita) in the union, but that even here exists
a "calmquake". An area where violent crimes drop dramatically.
This area is centered around La Plata which is close to Waco.
Given the tragedy that occurred in that town just last year,
perhaps another location would have proved more beneficial.
However, King could not possible foresee the future (or could he?).
This scientist is able to ascertain that the peaceful feelings
people have for one another is literally "something in the water".
What he fails to realize until after he has concentrated the stuff
and distributed everywhere is that there is an appalling side
effect.
Two other stories that rate mention are "The Doctor's Case" which
is solved by Sherlock Holme's partner, Dr. Watson; and "Head Down"
which contains no horror or remarkable twists. It is merely the
analysis of a season of his son's little league experiences. In
fact, although it isn't typical King, I enjoyed the insight in this
historical piece much more than the other stories in the volume.
The book ends with notes detailing the writing of each of the
stories. I always find this part interesting--a sort of mini look
into the convoluted mind of Stephen King. The last story, which
appears after the story notes, is a Hindu parable which is
incredibly thought provoking and also unlike the typical King.
For those that are looking for classic King, this isn't the book to
purchase. And, while I recommend it on other merits to readers, I
still suggest one wait until the paperback is released.
My score (out of possible 10): 6.5
Sunlight Through The Shadows presents:
L e g e n d o f T h e R e d D r a g o n T o u r n a m e n t !
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A Dark Red Valentine Story, Sort Of
Copyright (c) 1994, Franchot Lewis
All rights reserved
A DARK RED VALENTINE STORY, SORT OF
(c)Copyright 1994 by Franchot Lewis
"Billy!
"Uh?"
"Billy."
"What?"
"What you gonna do with that gal?"
"I -"
"I mean, Billy, we got one room in the shack back home,
one room and that's all. No space."
"Jess, Well ..."
"Well, what Billy?"
"Don't know, I reckon, Jess."
"Don't know?"
"I ain't ask her that."
"Well ... I reckon you should have."
"I thought, Jess."
"Thought about it, have you?"
"Sure, some."
"I reckon, before you brought a female back from town, you
had ought to have asked me, and I don't recollect hearing you
talk to me 'bout bringing one back."
"Listen, Jess -"
"Listen? I'm listening."
"She ain't my gal."
"She ain't? She looks about like somebody's gal. She's as
young as you, but I hope not as stupid. What she's doing here?"
"She done followed me."
"A fancy woman in pantaloons followed you?"
"How you know she got on pantaloons?"
"I looked."
"What? Jess? She got a blanket over her. What you mean?"
"I mean the blanket slipped down before she pulled it up
in her sleep."
"Jess, you better leave her alone; she's not a regular
gal."
"I'll say. I prefer my females in petticoats not pantaloons.
She appears to be on the mannish side."
"She done killed a man."
"Who she killed? Her husband? Boy friend?"
"She done shot Mad Dog Dugan down dead."
"Her? Ha!"
"Don't laugh. The town folks back there think I done it."
"You?"
"I tell you, Jess."
"Let me tell you, Billy. Some folks who you bring up
since they were young'n, after their maw and paw died,
whose neck and ears you've wiped, like to brag and boast
'bout things they make up 'cause they're too young to tell
proper lies."
"And let me tell you, Jess. Some old coots who you stays
with 'cause they're too dumb to run a ranch by themselves -"
"Billy, why don't you hush? Most of what you know, and
that ain't half of what I've tried to learn you, came
from me."
"Ha!"
"Who learned you how to ride? Who?"
"You."
"How to shoot?"
"You."
"And you can't shoot worth a damn. And, why come you
stand there spouting off a lot of do-do about folks in that
town saying you shot down Mad Dog Dugan?"
"Jess, they do."
"Huh? Somebody -"
"The girl! You woke her up."
"Billy, who's there with you?"
"Miss. Elsie, Ma'am, this is my uncle -"
"Billy, I wish you would keep our kinship secret.
Ma'am, I'm Jesse Johnson. You don't have to get up."
"I'm up now - want to be to meet you."
"Ma'am, we're out of Texas, on our way back home."
"Say, a Texas gentleman?"
"I done sold our cattle and we didn't get much money
for them, that's why we're camped outside of town. I let Billy
go into town 'cause he's a young'n, who needs a little hay
for his donkey every once in a while. You understand my
drift?"
"I was just being polite."
"I'm thinking, a lady like you have something else on her
mind than politeness."
"Such as, Uncle Jess?"
"Quiet, young'n."
"My uncle don't have much manners."
"Few men do."
"Miss, don't you have something to ask old Jess? A question?"
"May have, Mister. I can't remember right now. Probably
isn't important. In the meantime while I remember, I gotta go
take a pee. Be right back. Don't you boys peep."
"Why?? At a woman in pantaloons? Never! And the boy won't
either."
"Jess."
"Huh?"
"Over here."
"What? I can't hear you. What is you whispering 'bout?"
"You gonna hurt her feelings, talking to her like that."
"What? You knows I got a bad ear, Billy. If you gotta
whisper, come around to my good ear."
"She's a lady, Jess; you can't talk to her like that."
"Did she hear how she talked to me? Did you? About going
to take a pee? No female says anything like that to a man."
"Stop calling her a female, she's a lady."
"So, you fancy her? A gal in man's pants?"
"You can be polite to her?"
"What is this female? A fancy woman in disguise?"
"Cool it, Jess."
"What good is a fancy woman on our spread? There's nothing
there but us and the land? We're a hundred miles from folks.
We're right smack in the middle of the badlands. We've got
untamed In'juns. We've got Mexican bandits, and white men
who are bandits, thieves, bushwhackers, cattle rustlers. And we
got other bad things, varmints of all kinds: rattle snakes,
prairie dogs, vermin and I don't mean just the four-legged kind.
And what do we need with a fancy woman? If there is a fight, a
fancy woman can't run. She can't fight. Sure, she might want to
and stand by you, but she'll get hurt."
"It ain't like that, I want to help her."
"Help her? What can she do for you? What? Oh, maybe she do
know how to feed a young boy's donkey."
"Jess -"
"Listen, boy. Maybe, she knows how to do whatever, but
how long can you do that? Who's gonna drive them cows? Who's
gonna keep off the varmints? The prairie dogs and the bandits?
Her? Boy, you're thinking with your little dong dang, with your
tiny, little boyish brain."
"Stop! Hush! Jess, hush, or I won't talk to you again."
"Lordy -"
"Hush, Jess, please. She's back."
"How's this for gentlemen? Dear Lord, aren't they a
handsome picture of Texas manhood? I took my pants down and
not one peep. I have never had so little attention, and I
have always wanted to have the attention of a couple of men
from Texas. Come on, Billy, make me feel good, did you have
a little peep?"
"How come you ask that?"
"Jess."
"Don't no lady talks like that. Why do you think we'd
do such a thing to you?"
"You see a lady? "
"Hell, I would crawl down to the Red River on my belly
like an old white worm on its way to be a fish's supper before
I would disrespect a lady."
"Mister, I'm not worth the trouble. I am not your lady."
"I know you ain't mine."
"I'm nobody's lady. I am a whore."
"A what?"
"Elsie, don't put yourself down."
"Billy, I'm a saloon whore. I'm nothing but a whore."
"You told me, you told us."
"An honest female... You're one honest female ain't
you?"
"Yes, Mister."
"I hope the boy's ears aren't stuffed with wax, or tar,
or deafness."
"I don't want your nephew."
"Good."
"Jess -"
"I'm through talking tonight. I'd do me better to get
the bottle out of the saddlebags and hit the sack with it."
"Yeah, good night, Jess."
"Night, to you and to the woman."
"Don't worry about Jess. He's good and gentle, almost
like a maw."
"You should listen to him."
"Tell me, how you like me?"
"That's some smile you've got."
"Why don't you kiss me again, Elsie, like in - and make me
feel real fine?"
"No."
"Why?"
"I don't kiss."
"What? You did."
"How many women do you know?"
"Hundreds."
"How many women have you talked to before me?"
"Lots."
"Sure."
"It's true."
"Billy, am I not a pretty sight for your eyes to see?"
"Yelp."
"There's a bright moon, almost like the kerosine light in
a parlor. And your uncle's gone to sleep. It's just you and
me awake. I'm in pantaloons. They're so tight. You see more of
me than a woman is supposed to show a man she's not married
to. Almost like I'm naked - you see my butt like it is naked
almost; the pants are pressing against my privates too.
What are you thinking, Billy? Yeah, I'm a real pretty sight for
you, and all you want is a kiss? Billy, warm me up, I'm getting
cold standing here like this."
"Holy cow, you sure know how to -"
"Hurt?"
"I feeling mighty good right now, let me hold you, there ..."
"What you heard about me? Heard I was a good whore? The best
gal doing in the Wet Dollar Saloon? You believed it. Boy, oh
boy, and Lord God, you sure knows how to get a whore's
tongue really going."
"Cheee - Stop talking."
"No. I won't. I've got to keep telling you, I am a whore.
"Hush."
"Don't start with me. I am wrong for you."
"Hush."
"I'll hurt you, I know. I always hurt and get hurt. Let
me cut out. Let go. Come on, Billy, let me go. "
"Elsie."
"No."
"Please."
"Just let me breathe a sec."
"Elsie."
"You cut out, drop me off in Abilene. There's a town and a
saloon. I can survive in Abilene."
"Town is no place to be. It's unclean: smoky, dusty, keeps
in the musky smells."
"Your Uncle tells you that."
"It's true. Town is no place for anybody especially for
a lady."
"God, a'mighty, I fixed myself temporarily, to the biggest
greenhorn I done ever rumped. Come on, Billy, don't get sick
on me. Baby, make me not hate you."
"Elsie -"
"Here it comes, Billy."
"What comes?"
"Why I shot that son of a bitch. I wanted to kill the bitch
for screwing me without paying me. That son of a bitch took
from me real good."
"That's behind us, Elsie."
"Us?"
"Yes, us."
"God. That's it."
"Yes."
"I shot that creep for not paying me my money, my pay that
I was owed for balling him. That's the truth."
"Feel better now for telling me something I knew?"
"Hell, Billy. If I ever wanted a man, I would take you
over any man, any time. But men aren't worth a damn; they
sure in hell haven't been worth a damn to me."
"Why did you follow me?"
"Cowboy, you won't stop, until you get a preacher and get
me married? You're just too dumb to let us drop our drawers and
start romping together, with no words said, no promises, no
mumbling, nothing, but rutting, and that's all?"
"If I had me somebody like you, I would -"
"Damn, Billy, with the face you got and that smile, you
could have any nice girl you want. What am I? Your first? Tell
me? You know, I know?"
"I've been with girls."
"And they were no good, right? Billy, I am a whore who
shot a bad man, a wrong thing for a man to have happened
to him, being shot by a woman and a whore to boot. The whore
would get driven out of town, out of every town, dead, if it
gets known. What can I do out of town? Die? So I tried to
convince you that you shot the bad man. You were drunk, but
not convincible. Do you have anything to drink? Does your
uncle have anymore whiskey?"
"Nothing to drink but water."
"Give me that, I'll drink a whole canteen of that.
Prepare myself."
"For what?"
"Going on alone. You're too sweet, you don't know
what women are like."
"I do."
"You've never had a woman before this morning in town."
"If you're planning on going on alone, I gotta tell
you, I ain't gonna let you."
"How's a nice, soft boy like you gonna stop me? The
best you can do is to ask me nicely not to."
"It's the best way."
"I shot that bad man as he came into my room to take
me again. Shot him, then made believe that you shot him,
told townspeople you did. When his partner came around to
bushwhack you, I shot his partner in the back, to save you. I
couldn't let him assassinate you. I was supposed to have set
you up for him to kill, and I sat him up, because I pulled you
into something you need to get out of. You're so young."
"Hush."
"God, man. You got me hot and I'm gonna tell you. It
ain't that I'm gone soft, not yet."
"Sure am glad you told me; you like me."
"I been wanting to go to Abilene for so long that I
stuck myself to you, a wrong damn thing too. I was just
afraid to stay in that town, afraid of what I might say or
do, if another man tried to take me without paying. Since
I put the blame for him on you, people didn't think
nothing of me picking up and following you. Dugan
pretended he owned me. Nobody liked him, nobody much cared
about him."
"Hush."
"No."
"You just want to get me to stay off you. I could go all
my life and find nobody better than you to be with me. My
Uncle Jess, is right, I'm a born know nothing but I know -"
"Look, Billy -"
"Hush, I know you ain't my lady, not yet. But look here
what I got for us: Plans. I done filed on me some acres
adjoining Jess's place. You can run cattle there, and you
can do more. Grass grows there, soft grass. I even took in
some acres that include an old brook. Jess is an old cuss,
but he's not stubborn. He'll help me build you a house
with a bed, a proper bed, with a goose downs pillow that
belonged to my maw. You're have a comfortable place to lay
your head while we grow old together."
"How would you like that!"
"I would like it fine, real fine, Elsie. But, if you
want to go out there and waste your life in Abilene,
you're have to whop me first."
"What?"
"We need a place to lay our heads down at night."
"Sure, and be naked, cuddle and rut on top of a blanket. I
can give you that now, a time like you would never
believe."
"Hush."
"Billy, I asked nobody to be born -"
"Nobody gets asked."
"I'm telling you something, don't interrupt."
"Enough talk."
"I asked nobody to be female in this Hell, I'm telling
you that."
"Hush."
"I have never loved a man, I can never love a man."
"Hush. Don't waste your time talking. Just sit down
with me, and we'll be quiet and wait for the sun."
"You sure you haven't talked to a woman before?"
"I have many times."
"Sure. I am not a woman, I'm a whore."
"You are worth something."
"Holy sh-, man. I have never had nobody ever speak to
me like this."
"Like you got feelings?"
"And I'm fixing to shoot you. I can feel it building up
inside me like something I have no power over. God, Billy."
"Where you going?"
"Lord!"
"Come on, Elsie. Shoot, where you going?"
"Most men don't want you to talk to them and they sure
don't want to ask you questions, or know that you can think
to answer them, or that you can think -"
"Elsie, stop, talking and feel what I am feeling for you,
please."
"I know how to survive, say alive."
"Elsie, hush."
"No."
"I won't let you go."
"Billy, see this: my gun. I'm going."
"No, Elsie."
"Stop!"
"Elsie."
"Lord, I've had men talk to me like you, and God, but none
as sweet as you. But, deep inside, I know it amounts to
nothing."
"No, Elsie, I want you."
"Stop. I'm gonna shoot you. Billy, now, stop!"
"Shoot me, Elsie? Kill me? You can't."
"I'll wound you!"
"No, now, hush."
"Billy!"
BANG! BANG!
"Billy, oh Billy!"
"Billy, I heard shooting. Billy, where are you? Boy, I'm
too old to be wandering around in darnation. Billy ..."
"Billy!"
"I'm coming."
"What was that shooting?"
"Somebody shooting in the air?"
"You?"
"Jess, wait for us in the camp."
"Where did you wander off with her?"
"She's out there?"
"By herself?"
"Yeah."
"Where? Over that way? Billy? God, what is she doing
out there? On foot?"
"I froze and let her run off, but -
"She shot the gun?"
"I gotta catch her."
"What? She run away from you? On foot?"
"I gotta track her."
"In the dark? You're a natural egg sucking fool."
"You gonna really like her, Jess."
"In the dark? You're chasing her in the dark?"
"Yelp!"
{END}
The Serpents Embrace
Copyright (c) 1994, Daniel Sendecki
All rights reserved
The Serpents Embrace
by Daneil Sendecki
In the eyes of those driven by thirst, the gently rolling dunes of the
humble Sahara must have appeared more welcoming than the parched and
blaring enormity of the flatlands, which, broken and jagged, lined
route seven all the way to the filling station.
This desert was kin to all deserts. Endlessly, in all directions, lay
silence. There was no sand here, only a thirsty, shattered crust.
When the wind blew, it kicked up nothing but a dry, blistering heat.
Splintered and popping under the searing sky lay a ribbon of forlorn
asphalt which carved incessantly through the desert. It was called
route seven.
It was through this emptiness that the Pilot rode, wrenching and
shattering, hewing and hacking, the placid air. His steed, a Mac
truck, and each of it's antique wheels whined indignantly as they
navigated a bend in the road. But once the rumbling truck
disappeared, the silence would once again descend upon the indifferent
desert and stretch calmly toward the towering sky. In the minds of
the peasants, those incredibly simple folk who lived on the edge of
the flatlands, those who lined the boardwalks and stood stupid with
amazement as the Pilot rolled into town atop his mount, the Pilot was
neither malevolent nor benevolent, but the source of immense awe.
Countless miles of broken road separated the Pilot from the town of
Abraxas, a shanty town, on the outskirts of the flatlands. Moreover,
the truck, empty now, needed gasoline. As always, there was hope.
And then there was the filling station.
Abraxas would have been a one stoplight town - had the magic which had
once kindled the lamps not gone away. There were a bootfull of
buildings, the tallest of which was two stories, and four streets,
running from the asphalt of route seven like veins. Indeed, the town
of Abraxas clung to route seven like a tumor. One day-cycle had
passed since the Pilot had slipped from his cab into Abraxas, but it
may as well have been a week, as both month and minute wore the same
face as they passed over this archaic, yielding, desert.
The truck came to rest in the center of town. Once there had stood
here a cenotaph, but it had since fallen, leaving only it's pedestal.
The air was as cold as an outlander. Stealing into the shadows of the
boardwalk, the Pilot left his truck to brood over the remains of the
statue.
Besides the cenotaph there was a livery and a granary. A general
store lay on the other side of the route. None of the buildings were
well kept, weathered and squalid, bent from the torrid sun and moon.
Sardonic show tunes spilled from a dusty clapboard building, which
bounced and writhed in tune like a wineskin full of mice. A fading
sign proclaimed that it was a "Hostel & Grill". The Pilot stepped
from the shadows of the boardwalk into the light of the saloon.
The crash of billiards assaulted the Pilot. A round man clumsily
pounded the teeth of an antique piano that had long since rotted.
"Have you any gasoline?" the Pilot cried over the clamor of the
saloon.
Eyes turned from card games, beer mugs, and harlots to the Pilot. The
bat-wing doors swung lazily in the wake of his entrance.
"Petrol?" he demanded inquiringly.
A pair of well-worn jeans, a faded denim shirt, and spit-polished
boots were all he wore - save the holster that hung from his hip and
the six iron that lay asleep inside.
A haggard man stood and the a few notes escaped the piano. Grimacing,
the man spoke.
"We've none of your poison," then almost muttering, "madman."
The Pilot's mid - not his eyes - turned toward the reassuring weight
of the six iron that lay against his hip' his eyes remained stolidly
fixed on the weary man.
"Have a seat." the Pilot prompted. The haggard man, whose lips
writhed as if each movement pained him, stepped forward.
Effortlessly, the Pilot woke his Pistol, pulling breech and bore from
their bed and startling the gun into consciousness as hammer struck
primer, and gave the gun tongue. The man, gutshot, doubled over and
stared at the Pilot, glassy eyed and incredulous.
"Mmmmfuuu..." the man gurgled. Hand at belly, he fell to the floor.
A pink fold of his entrails slid out from between dirty fingers.
The Pilot sauntered towards the bar and the floorboards groaned as
each, in turn, bore his graceless weight. The saloons patrons
filtered out. Nervously pouring a glass of whiskey, the barkeep kept
a disdainful eye on him.
"Put me up for the..." the neck of the bottle chattered against the
lip of the glass. Rocking his palsied weight from foot to foot, the
barkeep began to dance a jig completely unaware.
"A room for tonight, you old fool."
"We've no room." The saloon keeper's eyes lit upon the man whose
intestines slowly cooled on the floor. Sighing, he took a tarnished
key from his pocket.
The Pilot mounted the stairs. Relieved, the barkeep sighed. Slowly,
night returned to the comforting arms of silence when, with a clap
that made the barkeep howl, the looking glass behind the bar cracked
frightfully and crashed to the floor.
"Your whiskey," the Pilot hissed, "is weak." Having hurled a shot
glass through the mirror, the Pilot retired to his room. Only when
the Pilot disappeared did the barkeep realize, abashed, that he had
soiled himself. Upstairs the Pilot slept soundly.
Out here, amid the harrowing flatlands, stood the castle of the
blacksmythe's fairy tales - the filling station. The road undulated
and twisted on indefinitely before the grill of the grunting truck,
finally succumbing to the horizon and heavens. The filling station
stood defiantly off in the distance.
The Blacksmythe was an old man - surprising, since he had been exposed
to the rigors of the flatlands - a wild shock of silvery hair fell
over his eyes. He, like all other town folk, had a genius for
superstition which made him thickheaded. His apron was the tired
color of a bleeding sunset.
"Pilot?" it was the Blacksmythe.
Uninterested: "what?"
"The flatlands aren't a safe place."
The Pilot sighed. "Is that so?"
"Ayuh."
And it probably was, to this dumb specimen at least. The trailer
protested with a shrill scream of rust as the Pilot swung it shut and
secured the hitch.
"Ther're hazards along the way," the Blacksmythe ejaculated, "it's
not a safe outing to make lonesome. No sir!"
"Hazards?" The Pilot stopped. His eyes narrowed. "What kind?"
"Draguns!" the Blacksmythe blurted. Upon hearing this the Pilot
stepped into the cab, turning his back on the 'Smythes gibberish. He
spoke in torrents of fear and awe and wonderment. "All along route
seven there're draguns! Scaly and hid-yus. Ayuh!" Spittle flew from
his lips as he shouted. "They spit petrol from their snouts and crawl
along the ground on their bellies!" The roar of the Mac's engine
interrupted him if only for a second.
"Flames leap from their lips! They wait! Ayuh! They wait in ambush
all along... Beating their wings against the sand." Dawn had come, a
streamer of bruised light that encompassed the horizon amid
the 'Smythes ravings.
"Calm yourself." the Pilot said. Slowing his flailing arms, the
Blacksmythe complied. He glanced up at the Pilot sheepishly.
The Pilot looked down at him from his cab. "Do you know of any
gasoline?"
Mortified, he stared at the Pilot.
"Well?"
"There is a filling station. Many leagues away. Ayuh! There is!"
At this, the Pilot slowed.
"A filling station?" he echoed. He frowned and his brow wrinkled.
"Ayuh!" the Blacksmythe nodded. "But beware! It is where the
draguns feed and nest. I've heard tales of them suckling from the
utters that grow from the ground. They feed on fire and stone and
steam. Ayuh! From the center of the earth."
The Pilot had heard enough.
"They spit poison! Petrol!"
He shot the fevered Blacksmythe before he could take up his frantic
dance again. The report rang through the town. It's echo muffled
only by the hoarse moan of the truck as it shuddered into gear. The
Pilot drove away, leaving the weary saloon patron and the fevered
Blacksmythe to the mortician and the town of Abraxas to the scarred
desert morn.
The Pilot felt no remorse. The filling station certainly was just
another of the 'Smythes rambling's. The station, however, lay with
great conviction on the west side of route seven. A simple, squat
hovel with a low hung roof and sand beaten walls- the imperceptible
naked color of wood.
The day began to bleed night. Soon, unnoticed it would inevitably
hemorrhage and the gore of darkness would splatter over all. The sky
was still a grave purple when the Mac - empty and exhausted - came to
rest by the filling station with a wry belch and died. The air was
tombstone cold. Two red towers of rubber and glass thorax stood
statistical in the dusk. The Pilot guessed that these were the utters
on which many a "dragun" had suckled. The simple building and the two
tired tin soldiers at steadfast attention in front of it had not
fallen into disarray. The world about them was falling apart, and
they were dumb to it.
The Pilot started towards the gas pumps. The hard packed dust left no
footprints. The ancient pumps stood one and a half men tall. Each
wore a glass thorax crown and arms of rubber which were broken and
rotted. Rusting nozzles hung by the giants sides like cramped,
arthritic hands. Both pumps were painted cherry red and although they
were old, old, they spelled promise to the Pilot.
In the dying light of the day, the Pilot took the hand of the gasoline
pump and, like a child leading another, brought it towards the truck.
With fevered anticipation, he unscrewed the gas cap and thrust the
compliant nozzle into the tank, hoping that it would spill it's
petrol.
Nothing.
The Pilot was unstirred and observed his predicament with removed awe.
It was as if he was watching himself from far, far, away. He dropped
the nozzle and it's rotting arm to the ground. He started back
towards the second pump, realizing that the last pump, insanely
identical to the first was his final hope. The Pilot again observed
the ceremony, lifting the nozzle of the pump from it's housing,
bringing it carefully towards the truck, fitting it into the tank and
praying for the sudden rush of fuel.
Night was all over the desert. It covered everything in it's
darkness. It cooled the day's fever. The Pilot lay crumpled on the
ground, the rotting arm of the pump coiled about him in a serpents
embrace. The ancient gas pumps held no fuel. The Pilot waited for
the dragons under the night sky.
The constellations rose over a desert that had once known life, but
had since perished.
A Close Encounter of a Different Kind
Copyright (c) 1993, Sylvia L. Ramsey
All rights reserved
A Close Encounter of a Different Kind
by Sylvia L. Ramsey
You hear stories about people having encounters during the
nighttime with strange flying objects. These people tell how
overwhelmed they were by the experience. I can't say that
this story has anything quite so glamorous as UFO's; but,
sometimes things happen that are very much a part of our very
own world that are just as overwhelming as visitors from
outer space. This is a true story and none of the names have
been changed to protect the innocent or the guilty.
If you are going to fully understand and appreciate this
strange encounter that happened in our present day advanced
technological society, a little background is needed. There
are still places (a few sprinkled here and there) in our
country that have retained all the flavor of an age many have
never experienced. I often feel like a time traveler in
today's society because of my background.
I'm not "old" (however, my granddaughter may disagree) and
many of the people my age never experienced the same world as
I. I guess you might say I'm an oddball in my own
generation. The reasons for it were quite beyond my control.
My parents were married for twenty-two years before I was
born (and I was the first and last)! Talk about a generation
gap, it was like being raised by grandparents! Now, I marvel
at all the things my father experienced throughout his
lifetime and taught me. Imagine being born in the late
1800's and living until 1986. Think of all the things that
man created during that time that has become part of our
daily lives. When I do, it almost boggles my mind. Anyway,
you get the picture of my parents. The next image you need
to set the scene for this encounter is where it happened.
Imagine a small, quaint house resting, nestled among the pine
of a secluded valley in the foothills of the Ozarks. It's a
simple house, not designed by a architect or built by a
contractor; but, the trees for the lumber were cut, the
boards were sawed, and it was built with the owner's hands.
It began its humble life as a home with only one room without
windows or doors in November of 1932. The spot it sat on was
carved out of the wilderness far from roads or neighbors. It
was a symbol of hope and faith for a future during the dreary
days of the depression.
It was built by two young people who believed in themselves
and each other. People who had traveled and explored their
world for the first ten years of marriage. They had seen the
world and decided it was time to return to the place they had
known as children, settle down, and begin to invest in their
future. They had accumulated very little material
possessions during their days of exploration. They began
their new adventure with very few of the things we take for
granted in today's world. But, they believed enough in
themselves to start building a house and begin a new business
when their world was in a state of darkness. The dreary days
of the depression ended. The house grew room by room and the
business grew to be a very successful one. The two were
happy and content; but, eventually the two young people
became three. This was when I enter their lives, just when
they had grown accustomed to being a couple without children.
My father always wanted a son; but, that was not in his
future, he got me instead. However, I may as well have been
a boy while I was growing up. I became the son he had always
wanted, and I was his buddy. Instead, he taught me all the
things he had hoped to teach to a son. He knew the forest
and the land, and he taught me what he knew. We fished the
numerous streams located near our home, hunted together, and
did what most father's and sons usually do. My father taught
me to respect the land, and its creatures. He taught me to
hunt for food and not kill for the sake of killing. He
taught me to "see", "hear", and appreciate the beauty that
surrounded me.
My father saw a day coming when a haven such as ours would be
as valued as a rich man's mansion. He chose to preserve a
small area of his land as a refuge for his family and all the
living things that depended on just such a refuge. This
place would be a legacy to his grandchildren and his great-
grandchildren. They would be able to know a little part of
the world that existed when he was young.
I inherited this small mecca and I have made sure that his
wishes have been carried out. It will go to my son and then
to my eldest granddaughter. It has been a haven for us to
escape the fast paced world we live in today. A few years
ago, when my husband became disabled, we lived in the house
for about six years.
The back of the house faces a small brook with a hillside
full of pine, maple, wild cherry and dogwood trees. My
husband loved the outdoors; but, because of his illness was
limited in how much he could get out. We decided to build a
screened in porch on the back of the house so he be outside
during the daytime when I was at work. The back porch became
a place to spend the early evenings. We would watch the
little valley change from a bright cheery haven to a
mysterious realm of sight and sound as the shades of dusk
encircled it in its arms. We soon discovered that the back
porch was a place for a variety of activities. We enjoyed it
so much we decided it was a good place for our exercise bike.
It wasn't long before we, also, discovered that the hillside
in front of us was a source of entertainment. Almost every
evening we watched deer casually stroll across the hillside
as they nibbled at tender leaves and grass. Sometimes there
would be four or five deer together. On other evenings, wild
turkey would be spotted. It seemed as if our little valley
had become a refuge for a variety of wild animals that were
being pushed out by the growing population that had cleared
away the forest that has once covered the area. The presence
of all the animals prompted us to put grain and other treats
out for them to eat.
The next summer, we began to notice that the wildlife
population was increasing in number and variety. The animals
quickly learned they had nothing to fear from the two humans
who shared their sanctuary, and they began to visit our
backyard. We were invaded by deer, turkey, opossum, wild
duck, and a variety of other animals and birds.
We took the invasion in stride, enjoying the chance to
observe all the wild creatures. However, one morning after I
arose from my bed and took my morning coffee to the back
porch to enjoy the sights and sounds, I walked into a
disaster area. Something, or someone, had invaded our back
porch and played havoc with everything. It had been
vandalized. I disposed of the things that had been destroyed
and straightened the rest. I couldn't imagine who or what
had committed the dreadful deed. The next morning, the porch
was in the same condition. I cleaned it up again. This
became a pattern, and needless to say, I was beginning to get
tired of it. There wasn't a lock on the door to the porch;
but, the door had to be opened to get in. Who or what was
doing it was a puzzle. The first time it happened, I could
believe it to be the results of a prank; but, not every
night! It had to be an animal.
How an animal could open the back door and come in, I didn't
know. My husband and I became determined to find out. We
began our quest by leaving the porch light on at night. It
didn't help. Whatever was getting on the porch wasn't afraid
of it and the destruction continued. We decided to set guard
and solve the mystery.
One evening, after we had grown too tired to watch the porch
anymore, my husband thought he heard a noise. He got out of
bed and very carefully went to the door that led to the
porch. He was gone only a few seconds when he returned and
motioned for me to accompany him. I started to ask why; but,
he shushed me to silence. We tiptoed together like cat
burglars as we made our way to the back door. We very
carefully peeped out. I couldn't believe my eyes! I saw one
of the strangest and most amusing sights I had ever
witnessed. Sitting on the seat of the exercise bike with
paws on the handlebars was a raccoon that looked big enough
to be a small bear. He wasn't only nice and fat, he was
long. He had to be large to reach the handle bars of that
bicycle.
The raccoon looked as if he were contemplating how to reach
the pedals so he could ride it. We simply stood frozen,
staring in amazement. Then, the humor of the sight began to
take hold of us. He didn't see us watching him until we
began to shake with silent laughter that was about to erupt
into loud guffaws. When he realized that he was not only
being watched by two strange creatures who were obviously
laughing at him, he calmly, arrogantly, climbed down off the
bicycle. He took his time as he sauntered to the door. He
walked with a haughty air seeming to be aware that his
privacy had not only been invaded; but, he appeared to be
insulted by the behavior of the two creatures who were so
rudely laughing at him. Once out the door, he paused, looked
back at us as if to let us know what he thought, and slowly
disappeared into the darkness. By this time, my husband and
I were reduced to tears of laughter.
For some strange reason, I was fascinated with this bold
creature and became obsessed with the idea of seeing him
again. So, for several nights after the event, I sat on
the bench in our back yard, located just outside the porch
door, and watched for the raccoon to return. I just knew he
would be back and I was going to make sure I saw him. I had
no idea what I was going to do when I did, I hadn't thought
beyond just seeing him again. Three nights passed and there
was no sign of the creature. I was beginning to think our
laughter had either scared him off for good, or, had insulted
his sense of dignity far too much for him to chance a return.
But, I didn't give up. Finally, my vigil was rewarded. One
evening as I sat quietly watching, I caught a glimpse of
something moving in the shadows off to my far left. I knew
instinctively that it was the same raccoon. He didn't look
nearly as large in the shadows as he had that evening he was
on our porch. I waited patiently, watching the small figure
circle around until he was directly in front of me and was
only about fifteen feet away. I watched as he checked out an
old trash can we kept to use when we cleaned out our car. It
didn't take him long to decide that he would find nothing to
eat in the can. He turned and began walking straight toward
the door of our back porch . . . and . . . me.
I sat still, frozen by fascination combined with a growing
sense of apprehension that began to overtake me. All the
things my father had taught me about the dangers of wild
animals came flooding back into my consciousness. I had time
to move, to run; but, I didn't. My obsession to observe this
creature overrode all caution and I sat like a statue where I
was, tempting fate. The animal kept advancing closer and
closer. The tension and the thrill I felt grew with each
step he took toward me. I was beginning to feel a need to
bolt for cover. He was no more than five feet away, it
seemed like two. He stopped. He raised his head, our eyes
locked for a moment. Then, he slowly, very deliberately
walked directly at me as he maintained eye contact. The
tension within me was growing with each step he took. He
began to look bigger and bigger the nearer he came. I felt I
could stand the tension no longer as he moved within no more
than three feet of where I sat. I felt the urge to move, to
speak, to do something. Again, the need to watch this
fascinating creature kept me from running or yelling. I had
to watch him. I didn't want to scare him away, so, to
relieve some of the tension, I merely changed the position of
my feet.
My movement, caused the raccoon to come to a sudden halt. By
the time he stopped, he was close enough that I could have
reached out and touch him. He stood up on his hind legs and
looked me straight in the eye. Standing, he was nose to nose
with me. He looked bigger than ever. I became the object of
observation as he tilted his head side to side looking me
over. There was look in his eyes telling me that he was
planning to analyze this strange creature at an even closer
distance. I had no idea what he might do if he got closer.
I thought about us laughing at him and thinking he may want
revenge. As he stood there in the soft light I could almost
hear him thinking. I observed a change of expression in his
eyes from one of curiosity to one of determination. I didn't
know what he was going to do, and I didn't want to find out.
The hairs on the back of my neck were tingling as fear began
to creep over me.
The fear grew and the knowledge that I didn't want the
raccoon any closer overwhelmed me. I wasn't sure what to do.
If I were attacked, my husband would never hear because he
was watching the ballgame on the television. Visions of
a headline in our local paper flashed across my mind, "Local
Woman Attacked by Large Raccoon." Still, I didn't run or
yell. Instead, I did one of the craziest things I have ever
done in my life, I addressed the raccoon as if he were a
person and said, "Hello, there! What are you doing?"
Again, he looked into my eyes, turned his head this way and
that as if he were trying to understand my words. For a
moment, I thought he was going to come at me and my body
stiffened again. Instead, he lowered himself on all fours,
slowly turned his back to me, and majestically strolled into
the night without ever looking back. In my mind, I could
almost hear him chuckle. The raccoon had gotten his revenge.
I waited and watched several nights after our encounter for
him to return. He never did. I think he had experienced all
the contact with humans that he ever wanted. I still wonder
what would have happened if I could have remained still and
quiet. I guess I'll never know; but, it's an experience I'll
never forget, and somehow, I don't think he will either.
Slow Dance
Copyright (c) 1994, J. Harlan Pine
All rights reserved
Slow Dance
by
J. Harlan Pine
It is not the memory, but the memory of the memory that
matters. Truth isn't an issue, and starting over is not a
possibility.
The memory of the memory--the moment--will be with me
forever. Long after old age has settled within my bones and
memories begin to fade, this one will remain vivid--sharp--as the
night I experienced it.
Light from the room streamed outward silhouetting her in a
Man Ray aurora of color and movement. The light from the street
lamp--stark, white, piercing--forced her features into sharp
contrast of light and shadow. Standing in the doorway, half
turned to enter or leave, (her petit frame providing little
obstacle to the others who came or went) she spoke to someone I
couldn't see. She brushed short auburn hair from her eyes, and
though I couldn't hear her voice, a thrill shot through me when
she smiled at what was being said. I stood staring at her while
people passed me on the street. Her beauty illuminated the night
and I basked in its glow.
I studied her, as might a Renaissance master, and memorized
every line of her face. Her gaze turned my direction, eyes
locking with mine. Black, white, exploding color filled my
vision, engulfing my world view with loveliness. In the stare
she said, 'you are cold and alone. Come let me give you
comfort.' In the stare I replied, 'I cannot. I must not.'
The non-instant--eternity long, however brief--passed when
she focused on someone or something behind me, my presence never
acknowledged. Embarrassment flooded me that I'd been staring,
but in that brief fantasy moment when sparks had and hadn't
passed between us I'd heard the sound of her voice speaking my
name with tenderness and desire. I'd known the soft rose petal
taste of her lips on mine. I experienced the electric thrill of
love.
The moment disappeared, gone cold as grate ashes in the
morning when I realized she'd not even seen me; that nothing had
passed between us. She turned, entering the room. I turned,
leaving before I'd even arrived.
The moonlight, soft only minutes before, bathed the world in
stark shades of gray. It washed what little color the city had
offer in its bleach. Every crack and crevice, yawning chasms
done in miniature, lay in wait for the unwary wherever the eyes
might linger. The dirt and grime coating the city, easily
ignored by day became glaringly obvious in the night. It cloaked
the city in winter clothing, preparing it for coming storms. A
vain shield against the bitter, cruel cold winds whose touch
rattles and chills the bones.
I walked. Wandering aimlessly along the
empty--bustling--streets, I tried to recapture the feelings that
had so fleetingly passed through me. Her image, brief that I'd
seen it, I called up with ease. But instead of an alluring
picture--soft shades done in oil--I received a whitewashed
canvas--cold and barren. The sparkles that had so illuminated
the night remained elusive--yet tantalizingly close. I rounded a
corner and found my feet had brought me back full circle, echoing
the pathways of my thoughts, to stand once again before the door
I'd seen her in.
What had I felt? Could it be fleeting infatuation? A
pretty face in the crowd easily replaced by the next one I should
stare at? Or maybe it was simple carnal lust, the fourth Deadly
Sin? And after having entertained it in my heart, was I now
consigned to the Second Circle of Hell? Or perhaps it was truly
love that had suddenly filled my world. A thin razor line of
difference separated the three that had been debated by
brilliant--lost--poets through the ages, and who was I to second
guess them?
I stared at the door unsure of what to do and confused by my
feelings. Should flames that caught so quick in the dry kindling
of drought be entertained? Nurtured, would--could?--they bank
and warm the lost soul? Or, in a furious flash, would they
instead destroy everything about them in pain and agony?
Stranger Love had too long abandoned me, not that she'd ever
courted me with any passion. I doubted that I would truly
recognize her unfamiliar features should she come traipsing
through my life. Would she come to sow the seeds of joy, or
instead try and reap of harvest of pain and despair? Both were
in her domain, her choice--arbitrary.
I gave into the insistent prodding of Mistress Love and
walked through the door. I saw her instantly. She sat alone,
along the wall, moving gently with the music. The soft melodies
played by the big band, Moments In The Moonlight, distant and far
away, permeated the fabric of the room. It expanded, moving
beyond the walls until I felt sure the whole universe must be
filled with the gentle notes that spoke of love. The singer made
love to the microphone lost in his own world. His voice blending
without stitch with that of the sax and trombone, transported
willing patron past the tissue thin barrier of time, past the
expanse of memories and moments, bringing us all back to 1941.
I tarried in the shadows, indecision twisting at my stomach.
Should I approach her. What would I do, what would I say? Could
I say anything, should I force my legs to travel the distance
between us, or would my tongue tie itself in Gordean knots and
strangle me?
The song ended, and I found myself walking toward her. I
reached her table as the band started up again.
"Would you like to dance?" I asked.
She looked up and again our eyes met. Fantasy or reality, I
thought I caught a glimmer of recognition. Blood rushed to my
face--embarrassment returning from my earlier stare. I lost the
next words, opening my mouth then closing it again.
Leave, I told myself. I knew I should flee while I still
had the chance--before she had could respond. If she was kind it
would be casual words of dismissal that would wound or kill me.
It not, I would be utterly destroyed. But, leaving now would
keep the fantasy intact. An unrealized dream is better than a
shattered hope.
Before I could mumble an apology, she nodded and smiled.
Taking my hand she led me to the dance floor. There we moved in
a slow waltz to the music. We held each other loosely and
through her dress I felt the soft, warm curves (delicate and
tender) of her body. Her perfume was of lilacs, her eyes, a soft
gray-blue.
Words caught in my throat. I wanted to know her name, where
she was from. I tried again, but she smiled sadly and shook her
head, silencing me with that simple gesture. She was correct;
words were unnecessary. For this moment in time, we had each
other, and nothing else mattered.
We danced that dance and into the next without stopping.
She looked deep into my eyes--deep into my soul. I met her gaze
while sweet summer scents surrounded us. We
moved--lost,found--letting the music transport us where it
willed.
Without flinching, as I had so many times in the past, I let
her look deep within me. Though I'd never had the courage to do
so before, I too tried to peer through her eyes to her soul, and
was confused by the images I found there. There was an echo of
pain and loneliness. Overlaid in fresco, the passions of life
sparked and shone forth brightly. Confidence had been painted
over doubt and indecision, but the former bled through in places.
Seeing what was there, I suddenly wondered at the images I must
surely be giving. There was nothing but negativity within my
soul, and none of the goodness to hide it.
Shamed I tried to turn away. I attempted to stop the dance
and leave before I made a bigger fool of myself than I already
had. My life, compared to hers, must be a mockery of unrealized
dreams, and shattered hopes. How I knew this, I don't know, but
I knew it. And I knew I had no right being with her.
She held on tight, not letting me go. "Dance with me," she
said softly. Her voice was just as I imagined it would be. Soft
and musical.
"You should be dancing with another. I'm not right for
you."
"Maybe, but I chose to dance with you. Do you truly wish to
stop?"
"I...I don't know."
"Then hush, and dance with me."
I did, and we continued to move about the floor in silence.
At times we held each other loosely staring in each other eyes.
Other times we danced close together, her head on my shoulder,
moving as one.
Lost in time, I don't know how long we moved together, but
it was over far too soon. The last song ended and she held me
close.
"You can make it prim, proper," she murmured in my ear, "or
passionate." She pulled away. "The choice is yours."
Before I could ask her what she meant, her lips briefly
brushed mine. Then she walked away.
I followed her to the door. I didn't know what to think or
say. She turned just inside and said, "Life is a slow dance."
She left while I stared in uncomprehending confusion. She
spoke in riddles and I didn't know how to respond. I walked out
the door, but she was nowhere in sight.
I started the long walk home. The night air was chilled and
moonlight still washed the colors away. Where had she gone, and
what had she meant. I stopped in an all night diner for coffee,
and tried to sort through my thoughts. Confusion so fogged my
brain that I almost failed to see the lady sitting at the far
edge of the counter. I shared the diner with her alone.
I stared at her, while she gazed out the window. Color
began to seep back into the world, starting with her. She
shifted and i quickly looked away, only to have my gaze wander
her way again moments later.
Should I? I wondered. Then another thought intruded--Could
I?
In my mind I heard a soft musical voice. 'Shape it to your
will and waltz through life, else die broken by the wall.'
With those words, the room exploded with warmth and light,
and I knew that I could. Taking my cup, I moved to the end of
the counter. "May I join you?"
The lady looked up and into my eyes. I returned the gaze
without hesitation or fear. She stared deeply for moment, then
smiled. "It would be a pleasure," she said.
The mysterious lady with her riddles I never saw again.
She'd disappeared into the night leaving behind a memory.
--END--
Still Among the Beeblers
Copyright (c) 1993, Robert McKay
All rights reserved
*Still Among the Beeblers*
by Robert McKay
Dedicated to Zach Klein and Bill Lich:
They invented the title
*** *** ***
Operations can be frightening things. Surgeons are not ordinary
doctors; they've not splint-and-pill men. They don't run family
medicine clinics and write prescriptions for Billy's cough. Surgeons
cut people. What surgeons do would be torture if performed on
prisoners of war; when done to a seriously ill patient, it's medicine,
and we're glad to have it. But it's not a pleasant thought to know
that tomorrow a surgeon will cut open your skin, slice down through
muscle tissue, and generally wade through your innards.
Harry was not thrilled. Tomorrow was his day. He was due, he
supposed - he'd been waiting all this time for the chance to get the
problem taken care of, but now that it was here the fear had risen with
devastating force. He didn't care to be cut open and then pasted - or
stapled or sewn - back together. Cut and paste was what one did to
text, not people.
But a bad heart was something that couldn't be gotten around. And
if the chance came to correct the problem, it was foolish to turn it
down. For all the fears and worries, it was better to be cut on and
have the improvements made than to go through life wondering when the
ticker would quit.
For now, Harry sat in his darkened room, pecking away. Georgia
lay in the bedroom, sleeping. In order to cut down on the phone bills,
Harry called late, and then, because the pull was so strong, sat up
till even later answering the mail. Computers, modems, offline mail
readers - these were wondrous tools that had opened up a whole new
world. If he didn't make it out of the operating room, he'd miss this
more than anything.
* * *
Harry stretched, careful to avoid pulling on the sutures that
still held skin together. The operation had been a success. The
surgeon had done his gruesome work with great skill and, Harry
suspected, a touch of sadistic pleasure. The new valve functioned
superbly; Harry hadn't felt this well in years. Georgia had noticed
the difference, too - and had assigned him a list of "honey-do" jobs
that increased in difficulty as his recovery proceeded. Harry had
complained, and complied. At least he *could* do them, now.
He turned his attention back to the monitor. He looked again
at the words glowing on the screen: "So, Harry, how'd it go? Still
with us, or did you decided to migrate? :)" A brief message, but
warming. People he'd never seen cared as much about the heart and the
operation and the outcome of it all as much as did people he'd been
seeing every day for 20 years. Tears didn't come easy, but come they
did.
Harry angrily wiped his arm across his eyes and reached for a
Kleenex. Men didn't react this way; maybe it was just the pollen or
something. He pulled the keyboard closer, and pecked out his reply:
"Yep, I'm still among the beeblers."
Too Long
Copyright (c) 1994, Gage Steele
All rights reserved
Too Long
by Gage Steele
I lift the chilly plate from its shelf in the refrigerator and slam
the door shut with my heel. Bluish plastic wrap crinkles and puckers,
having been sealed and resealed too many times around the dinner ware.
Beneath the plastic lies what's left of my birthday cake, the dancing
letters are smeared, illegible. I tug the covering away, wad it up and
hum it at the overflowing garbage bin. It lands with a wet slap against
two day old coffee grounds and sticks there. The cake is stale, I warn
myself, but somewhere inside, something has to know this for certain. I
dip my forefinger in the brown frosting and lift a glop to my lips. The
underside is palatable, but a fine layer, the topmost, crackles on my
tongue. I spit it out into the sink, tasting, faintly, mould.
A vase of roses stands on the counter next to the sink. The flowers
are dead; petals litter the area, brown like the cake. A whispery spring
breeze flits through the open window, rousing the ruined bouquet to a
gentle hiss. I pick up the vase and stare at the roses for a moment,
once, so beautiful, now made ugly by time. My arm arches, swooping over
the sink, over the lip of the window and hangs, frozen, briefly. And
then, I let the vase fall to the ground below.
A Chance Meeting in the Park
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
A Chance Meeting in the Park
by Joe DeRouen
Sam fed the pigeons every day, without fail. Today was no
exception. The sun shone down through the trees in accompaniment to the
warm gentle breeze of summer, but all Sam noticed were the pigeons.
A large stone dolphin spat water into the sky, some of it splashing
out of the fountain onto the grass surrounding it. None of it mattered
to Sam. He continued to feed the birds, the world around him but a
foggy, meaningless haze.
At least until SHE came into view. She sat on the park bench across
from Sam, reading Newsweek magazine. She crossed her long legs and Sam
could almost hear the rustle of silk underthings. Her tight red dress
clung to her like a hungry pigeon to popcorn, and her long, delicate red
hair brushed across her face in the wind. Cool eyes of blue gazed out,
taking in her surroundings. She couldn't be a day over thirty. Her skin
was a light creamy peach, unblemished by the ravages of the world.
A moment later, her surveillance finished, she went back to the magazine.
Sam was forty. He'd been married once, but his wife had left him
some ten years earlier. He'd been BORING, she said. She'd wanted
adventure, and Sam couldn't give her that. Good old Sam, she'd said.
Good old Sam was good for sitting around the house, going to church on
Sundays, taking in a movie now and then. She'd wanted something more, so
she'd left.
He'd dated sporadically since then, though no one ever really
piqued his interest. He'd had his career, and that was that. He'd been
at Miller Accounting firm for nearly twenty years, and had managed to
rise to assistant manager. He didn't need a woman.
Didn't need a woman? Who was he trying to fool? He'd managed to
fool himself for years, but deep inside he knew he didn't want to be
alone.
She turned her head away from the magazine, laughing as a pigeon
pecked Sam's grey loafers as if to say "Hey, we're hungry!" Politely
ignoring the moment's indiscretion, she went back to her magazine.
Sam tossed a bit of seed to the pigeon, enough to get it to give up
it's assault on his feet. Sam's hair was turning grey, almost matching
his loafers. He was getting old. He really wasn't happy at Miller
Accounting, but what else did he have? He didn't have a wife, and he
probably never would. Certainly no one would ever go out with HIM.
Definitely no one like the lady in the red dress across from him. He
couldn't help his gaze as it wandered to her, caressing her form like
the gentle rays of the sun touching the morning dew.
He could imagine how she saw him: old, out of shape, short brown
hair starting to grey, his lusterless blue eyes paling in comparison to
her own. Why, she probably wouldn't have noticed him at all were it not
for that hungry pigeon.
If he asked her out (now THERE was a laugh!) he'd get turned down
flat. He imagined it would go something like this . . .
"Er . . . excuse me, ma'am. I couldn't help noticing you, and . . ."
"Yes?"
"Er.. It's awfully nice weather we're having today, isn't it?" Sam
shuffled his feet, feeling more nervous than he had in years.
"I suppose it is. Did you need something, mister?" The woman in red
asked, looking annoyed.
"Well, as a matter of fact yes. Do you come here often? I've been
in this park every day for over ten years, and I've never seen
you here before."
"Look, mister - If you need something, ask it. I'm on my lunch
break, and I haven't got long. I have to be back to the office in about
fifteen minutes, and I really want to get a start on this new Dean
Koontz novel. Do you need something or not?" She gazed cooly up at him,
icy eyes with a hint of danger.
"Well . . . Would you like to go out sometime?" He asked in a rush,
the words coming out between ragged breaths.
"With YOU?" The woman laughed, then turned her attention to her
novel.
And that's where the fantasy ended. At that point, she'd laugh,
rise to her feet, and stalk out of his life forever.
If there was even a chance she'd say yes, he might do it. Might
actually ask her out. There wasn't a point to doing something that would
only cause you heartache, was there?
His thoughts were interrupted by her movements. She folded the
Newsweek magazine into her purse, stretching languidly across the green
metal park bench. Soaking in the sun's warm breath, she sighed, smiling
up to the sky. Reaching in her purse, she pulled a shiny-covered
paperback book out. Dean Koontz's TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING.
Sam's mouth dropped in shock. He couldn't be psychic, could he? He
didn't believe in that sort of thing. She must have had the book out
before, and his subconscious had picked up on it and used it in his
fantasy. Makes sense.
He was spending far more time than he should thinking about this
woman. He'd have to get back to the office soon himself, and why ponder
over what you can't have? Besides, even if she DID agree to go out with
him - and that would never happen - he'd find some way to bungle it up.
His thoughts seemed to lose focus, as he fantasized about how his dream
date might go . . .
"I'm glad you agreed to go out with me, Kelly. I've been going to
this restaurant for years, and they serve the best pasta I've ever
eaten."
"I'll do anything once, I suppose." Kelly yawned, surveying the
restaurant. It was dimly lit, and looked as if it hadn't changed in the
last ten years. She instantly hated the place.
"Umm . . . Well, would you like to order now?"
"We might as well. I have to wash my hair tonight, so let's order
something quick."
"The linguini in red clam sauce is really great!" Intoned Sam, with
an exuberance he didn't feel. This wasn't going at all well.
"Well . . . Great. I'll have that, then."
"Would you like some wine? This red wine is delicious." Maybe this
was going somewhere after all. Maybe the wine would relax her. He tried
to steady his shaking hands as he began to fill her glass.
"Sure, I'd love some . . ." She smiled for the first time at Sam.
The wine sloshed over the edge of the glass as Sam's attention
wavered to her smile.
"Oops!" He yelled, loud enough to draw the attention of half the
room. "Let me . . ." Reaching for a napkin, he managed to knock the full
glass of red wine into her lap.
"Eeek!" She screamed, leaping to her feet. "All over my new silk
dress! dammit, I KNEW I shouldn't have come!"
Yes, he'd bungle it up for sure. There was no doubt in his mind.
He hadn't been on a date in longer than he could remember. Why, he'd
probably forgotten how! If it wasn't the wine, he'd say something wrong
or forget to hold her chair for her, or something.
The rest of the world lost to the novel, her eyes danced through
the pages as Sam's eyes once again fell upon hers. She shifted in the
bench, as if sensing her admirer's gaze. Her black leather purse tumbled
from her lap to the ground below, revealing gold-embossed initials: KM.
In one swift motion, the purse was recovered and she was once again
buried in Koontz's prose.
Sam's eyes popped out of his head. KM? Her name was Kelly in his
fantasy. He couldn't have seen the purse; the initials had been facing
away from him. He shook himself, as if to force some sense back into his
tired frame. His imagination was working overtime. He must have seen the
purse after all, or just had a lucky guess. Besides, even if he WAS
blessed with a premonition of some sort, what did it matter? The
premonition was bad. His fantasies ended up with him wearing a liberal
amount of egg on his face. What good was that?
She placed the book face down on the bench, then rose to her
feet. Stretching, her form pushed fully against the confines of her
dress. Her black pumps showed off her well-developed calf muscles, as
she smiled into the distance. Taking a deep breath, she found the bench
again and went back to her book.
Sam's eyes caressed her body longingly. She was the most
beautiful woman he'd ever seen, even more so than his ex-wife.
Almost imperceptibly, his surroundings once again seemed to fall away
and his mind was elsewhere . . .
"Kelly, will you marry me?"
"Sam . . ." She looked away from his eyes, focusing on a point
beyond him.
They'd been dating for two years. He'd asked her out and she'd
actually gone, and, even more amazing, enjoyed herself. They'd continued
to date off and on, never committing, but growing closer.
"Kelly, I love you."
"You know, that's the first time you've said that."
"Well, I DO. I've loved you since I first saw you. You are my
heart." He started to cry, swept away by the emotions he felt inside
him.
"Why did you take so long to tell me?" She found his eyes,
reaching out to touch his cheek. "I knew you cared for me. Dating anyone
this long has to mean something. But you've only kissed me a handful of
times. You've never come into my house. You've never made love to me."
"Kelly!" Sam blurted, looking away. "I've wanted to, lord knows
I've wanted to. Kelly, I've been so scared. I didn't want to scare you
off. I didn't want to lose you like I lost Sara . . ."
"I'm not her! I'm me, dammit! Never once have you held me, never
once have you taken me away for the weekend. Two years, Sam! I kept
waiting for you to do something - anything! - but you wouldn't."
"I was scared!" His tears fell freely now. "You're so beautiful. I
wanted you so much, I was afraid I'd lose you. That day I met you in the
park, I was terrified to ask you out. I managed to do that, somehow, but
I've been scared ever since. It took me so long to find you, I didn't
want to lose you."
"Sam . . ." Tears came to her eyes. "Sam, if you'd only said
something sooner. All this time . . . I've loved you, I've wanted you to
love me. You wouldn't even commit to dating exclusive."
"I haven't dated anyone." He said stiffly. "I've never looked at
another woman since I met you. I haven't wanted to."
"Why didn't you SAY something, Sam?"
"Kelly . . . If you don't want to marry me, we can wait. We'll
take it slow . . ."
"Sam, there's someone else. I didn't want to wait! He asked me to
marry him. Yes, Sam, he ASKED. And I accepted! That's why I asked you to
meet me here. To tell you."
He felt as though his heart had just died. "It's Gary, from your
office. Isn't it? I knew he had his eye on you . . ."
The world seemed to snap back in place, and Sam was on the park
bench again, pigeons all around him. The fountain was pumping water into
the air, creating little rainbows in the sun. Kelly - No, he reminded
himself, the woman in red - was still reading. His thoughts were his own
again.
"Kelly!" Shouted a thirtysomething man in a grey pinstriped
business suit, about thirty feet from the center of the park. His blonde
wavy hair didn't blow in the wind, as he walked briskly towards the
woman in red.
Kelly? His thoughts raced, his heart pounded. The world around
him seemed to come into focus, defining, gaining a crystal clear edge.
The fog was gone, replaced by a sharp awareness. He felt his muscles act
of their own accord, as he rose from his bench.
"Hey, Gary." She called, a voice so sweet it sent chills through
Sam's soul. "How was the business trip?"
He'd lost so much already. Sam stepped away from his bench, as
thoughts and images raced through his mind. Thoughts of his wife
pleading with him, of a childhood lost, years at a dead end job. Chances
not lost, but never taken. Decisions sidestepped in favor of fear. In an
instant, he made a decision.
"Kelly?" Asked Gary, nearly upon them. "I was wondering,
if you're not busy . . ."
"Excuse me." Smiled Sam, quickly putting himself between Kelly
and her advancing officemate. "Kelly, could we . . . talk?"
"Sam?" She asked, finding his eyes. She smiled.
<20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
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Only Words I See
Copyright (c) 1993, Michael Slusher
All rights reserved
*** Only Words I See ***
How can I tell you my feelings when
you're so far away?
The feeling inside is emptyness
I have so much to say.
I saw you on my video screen when
you wrote your words to me.
I heard your voice in my ear last night
it almost set me free.
Now I've got this pain inside and
it's tearing up my soul.
You may not see my pain inside but
it won't leave me whole.
You're not here, neither am I.
I'm not there and I don't know why.
Who are you, my mystery love?
When will you show your face?
I need to see your eyes, my love
and gaze far into that place
that place only you know...
will make me cry.
Daily I try to remind myself that
you're just a fantasy.
I try to be casual and light but
you move me too deeply.
Sometimes I tell myself you are
playing a predator.
This victim of a hungry heart is
laid out on the floor.
If I knew what's in your mind I
might be able to cope.
Without your honest feelings known I
really have no hope.
You're not here, neither am I.
I'm not there and I don't know why.
Who are you, my mystery love?
When will you show your face?
I need to see your eyes, my love
and gaze far into that place
that place only you know...
can make me cry.
I called you on the telephone when
you were too busy.
I kicked myself for hours that night
obsessed so foolishly.
Your love is yours to keep or give
not to be casually thrown.
Who am I to want your love or
take it as my own.
You could not love a phantom voice or
words typed on a screen.
I've found my love living far away and
your words are all I've seen.
You're not here, neither am I.
I'm not there and I don't know why.
Who are you, my mystery love?
When will you show your face?
I need to see your eyes, my love
and gaze far into that place
that place only you know...
it makes me cry.
(c) 1993 Michael Slusher
Dragons
Copyright (c) 1994, Tamara
All rights reserved
Date sent : Mon 19 Dec 88 12:11
You
imagining, being, feeling
closer than before,
better and better
my love
Dragons are mythical creatures
or so I've been told.
Yet each night I think of one
whose love has given me
the reality of being loved
and maybe more importantly
the essence of seeing myself
as worth much more than gold.
Can you love what mythos says is real?
Can hearts trancend the barrier
of altered states of truth?
I don't know - but of one thing I am sure
I love a dragon in this reality.
Dragons are mystical creatures
as far as I can tell.
Each night I dream of one
whose love has given me
the passion I'd been missing
and maybe more importantly
the interchange of human love
that's worth much more than gold.
Can you see what love says is real?
Can we trancend the barrier
we built before we knew
I love you - but of one thing I am sure
I love a dragon, and get this, he loves me.
Written online by Tamara
(c) 1988
Backlit
Copyright (c) 1992, David M. Ziegler
All rights reserved
BACKLIT
A shadow outlined against a screen.
Out of touch and searching for I know not what.
Someone whose broken with shattered dreams.
Dialing outward into the night.
A sound of static and that welcome whine.
A bright warm greeting, a password line.
Welcome friend we do not care.
what you have done, with whom, or where.
In this world of ascii and modems and such.
We do not feel, or cry, or touch.
We can sit here lonely in our revolving chair.
Telling lies to the folks out there.
We can live in a fantasy of games and talk.
About Star Trek or` puters or how to use a wok.
In our world of magic there is no pain.
no warm fuzzys, no sun, no rain.
We sit wishing for other dreams.
Of human contact, of life of dreams.
Locked in our rooms with our own little dream.
Our profile backlit by the computer screen.
(c) DAVID M ZIEGLER 1992
You
Copyright (c) 1988, Sylvia Ramsey
All rights reserved
You
When I am with you
Space is limitless, and
Time is without meaning.
When I am with you,
Love explodes, into
Flowers like music on
Vibrating notes rising
To a crescendo!
When I am with you,
The highest heights
Can be scaled,
Fear is non-existent.
When I am with you,
The farthest distances
Even to galaxies unknown
Are but stepping stones
To ecstasy.
We are lovers eternal,
Who can be parted for only
Brief moments in the
River of time.
When I am with you,
Is to love,
Is to live,
Is to be.
Pride
Copyright (c) 1993, Mark Denslow
All rights reserved
Pride
the void between you and me is too great
for me to see the beginning and the end
I should have said to you, "Wait!"
for you were my only good friend
I know now I could have been wrong
I was the disillusioned one
that was the price I paid for this song
it is all said and done
where were you when I needed you?
gone away with your strong pride
you left because you knew
I could have completely died
when you were there for me I was whole
I miss you dearly with all my soul
His Eyes
Copyright (c) 1989, Patricia Meeks
All rights reserved
His Eyes
by Patricia Meeks
She looked into his golden eyes
where once there had been fire, laughter and desire,
and as she looked deeper,
under the surface of once was,
the fire changed to sadness
the laughter to tears
and the desire to loneliness.
She wondered why the things that were had come to pass from what was...
And as she wondered she began to search even deeper,
Until at last her eyes saw pain, deep and hurting,
barely discernible in the burnished flecked gold.
She was drawn to that hurt,
for she had known it herself,
a pain that slowly tore at her,
that she recognized as her own.
And because she knew the pain inside him,
even though it had burned her once, when once was,
she still was compelled to reach out.
Her hand drifting in the air,
to softly land, ever gently against the solid thumping. . .
Of his heart . . . the source of his hurt.
Her heart thumped in rhythm with his as it pumped warmth
that spread through her body to her open fingers,
and gently because she knew the pain was deep,
she gave her warmth to him in peace,
placing it ever tenderly . . .
Against his heart, warming the coldness of his pain.
And she watched as the warmth spread to his eyes,
as once again they began to smile,
the sadness changed to fire,
the tears to laughter, and the
loneliness to desire.
And she smiled also
knowing that
once was and what were
had become now.
In the west
Copyright (c) 1993, J. Guenther
All rights reserved
In the West
by J. Guenther
I can't see her, in the western horizon,
but I scan my eyes to the setting sun
wondering what she is doing,
and hoping my heart is with her.
Diety Dwells Within
Copyright (c) 1994, Thomas Van Hook
All rights reserved
Diety Dwells Within
By Thomas Van Hook
3 Jan 1994, 22:30
Bedford, Texas
Throughout the ages
Of limitless time
Man has wondered
And looked to the sky
In times of crisis
When needs arise
Man has prayed
Staring to the sky
For unanswered prayer
Such shaken faith
Man curses the Gods
Shaken fist to the sky
Such selfish desires
Unfettered pride
Man seems never
To look inside
We are merely a reflection of the potential
for Diety dwells within us all...
...written with help from Lisa Tamara.
House Cat
Copyright (c) 1994, Albert S. Johnston
All rights reserved
House Cat
I
You know, that animal's so stupid
that I once saw her take a flyin' jump
off the top of the vent-a-hood
to catch a moth.
Middle of the kitchen,
a straight drop
of over 6 1/2' to the floor.
Well, she landed on her feet,
walked away and oh yeah,
she caught that moth.
She played with it for a bit
before it died.
Then she ate it.
II
You have to watch the children
whenever they're around.
They are not to be trusted.
The woman is affectionate
but rarely to be seen;
she is good to sleep on, though.
The man is somewhat of an enigma.
He can be kind or cruel,
whatever his mood dictates,
distant or familiar.
He feeds me and I suppose
I put up with him
more than I might otherwise
because of this.
The dogs are allowed in
when the sun goes down.
They offer some entertainment
but more than anything else
the smell of outside.
Albert S. Johnston (c) 1994
Young Man On a Fence, 1967
Copyright (c) 1994, Daniel Sendecki
All rights reserved
Young Man On a Fence, 1967
--------------------------
It seems there was a time
you climbed,
scampered over the fences that
your father built.
Turning your back, leaving the
bureaucrats and diplomats
to their fence sitting
They gaze incredulously after you
as you scampered
down the hillside laughing,
screaming, giddy with relief
as the bramble bushes bit
into your ankle; tumbling.
However, out of necessity? circumstance? age?
You took up your fathers vain pursuit.
Now, stooped over, cursing, driving
rusty nails into rotting fenceposts
I can see the contmept and loathing
in your movements
and assure myself that you would
(if everything wasn't so gray)
drop your hammer and leave
others to set up parameters and
drive fenceposts into the ground
And tumble through the bramble just as you
did after this photograph was taken
on a black and white day in 1967.
I stole this from an old, yellowed photo
I keep in my wallet.
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Top Ten List
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
Top Ten Proposed Movie Sequels For 1994
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10. Remains of the Day II: Aww Mom, Leftovers Again?
9. Free Willy II: Sorry, We're All Out - Come Back Tomorrow
8. Sequel to The Firm - The Slightly Out of Shape
7. Wayne's World III: The End of The World Is Nigh
6. Sequel to The Man Without a Face: The Man Without a Penis -
The John Wayne Bobbit Story
5. Indecent Proposal II: For a Million Dollars, I'll Do It Twice!
4. The Last Action Hero II: Well, Maybe Not The LAST Action Hero . . .
3. Sleepless in Seattle II: Abusing the Tranqualizers
2. Sequel to The Pelican Brief - Porcupine Panties
1. Honey, I Ate the Kids
How To Get a Computer Nerd Into Bed
Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen
All rights reserved
How To Get a Computer Nerd Into Bed
<Or>
What To Do When The Chips Are Down
It's nearing Valentine's Day. Your husband (or wife) has been on
the computer for three months straight. His communication of late has
been nothing more than incomprehensible ramblings about the internet or
Apogee's latest game.
You'd like a little romantic attention for a change, but don't
quite know how to go about getting it. Sexy lingerie, a romantic dinner,
artsy porn movies - nothing you do or say seems to work.
We at STTS magazine have compiled a helpful list of phrases and
ideas that just might do the trick! Use them sparingly, and with
discretion. Above all, use them wisely. Good luck, and let us know how
it all turns out. We're praying for you!
Phrases that will turn him/her on
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
How about a little time sharing?
Would you like to try a manual entry?
My response time is shorter than an ELF.
I run on AC or DC.
I'll trade you my software for your hardware.
I'm a member of Aslib.
Want to try my back-up equipment?
How about a digital search?
Boot my system!
Mind if I run a cylinder scan on you?
Let's push our upload/download ratio to the limit!
Wanna see my dedicated port?
You can have direct access if you want.
How about a flip-flop?
Your LSP really turns me on!
Like to see my head rotor?
Let me try your joystick
Kiss my system!
I'd love to FTP your file!
You'll always be LILO in my system.
It's time to log in.
Warm boot me all night long!
Massage my input.
Wanna twiddle my mouse?
I've also got a slow mode.
I'm gonna Telnet your brains out!
I'm programmed for parallel processing.
I'm into RAM.
RIP me into shreds!
Let's advance the state of the art.
Like some digital timesharing of my TTS?
Wanna play Artifical Intelligence Hot Chat?
Clothes that will drive him/her wild
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
White shirt with plastic pencil case in pocket
T-shirt with rock group on front
White socks
Worn out running shoes
Shiny suit pants
Hawaiian shirt
12-point wingtips
Carry a briefcase
Food to stimulate him/her
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
Warm Coke
Twinkies
Szechuan food
Week-old pizza
Oreo cookies
Lukewarm coffee
Selected reading to whisper in his/her ear
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
On circuit operation (read as if lecturing):
"The input signal is impressed on the grid of the voltage amplifier tube,
T_1. This signal is amplified and appears across R_1 after
experiencing a 180' phase shift."
On common polyphase rectifier circuits:
"A three-phase, delta-wye circuit, sometimes known as a three-phase,
half-wave rectifier circuit, has the disadvantage of giving a large ripple
voltage in the output circuit."
If all else fails, try this wining line:
"I = {E \over X_T} \quad{\rm where}\quad
X_T = X_{c1} + { X_{c2}X_{c3} \over X_{c2} + X_{c3} } +
{ X_{c4} X_{c5} X_{c6} \over X_{c4} X_{c5} + X_{c7} }"
Last but not least, a romantic line from the internet:
"To: FTPMAIL@Chrysalis.org
GET SUN9402.ZIP"
If none of this has worked so far, you're probably out of luck. Our
advice: get a new spouse. Do something that only your spouse could
really appreciate - upgrade.
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<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD> <20><><EFBFBD>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>۰<EFBFBD><DBB0>۰<EFBFBD><DBB0>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2> <20><><EFBFBD>۰<EFBFBD><DBB0>۲<EFBFBD><DBB2>
<EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD><EFBFBD>
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. <G> ]
Having trouble finding back issues of STTS Magazine? (This is only the
eighth 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.
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've been 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 twice-yearly
"best of" contest, where the best published stories and articles in
three categories will receive substantial cash prizes.
These changes took effect in January of 1994, and the first
twice-yearly awards will be presented in the July 1994 issue.
Honorariums, twice-yearly 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 twice-yearly 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.
TWICE-YEARLY 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
twice-yearly awards.
Twice-Yearly 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 twice-yearly 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. <Grin>
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
--------------
CompuServe - My E_Mail address is: 73654,1732
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 Sunlight Through
The Shadows Magazine, 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 Sunlight
Through The Shadows Magazine conference, 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 80 BBS's
across the United States. It's also being carried by BBS's in the
United Kingdom, Canada, Portugal, and Finland.
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
CompuServe: 73654,1732
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 ........... Northern Maine BBS
Location ........... Caribou, Maine
SysOp(s) ........... David Collins
Phone ........... (207) 496-2391 (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 ........... Wamblyville
Location ........... Los Angeles, California
SysOp(s) ........... John Borowski
Phone ........... (213) 380-8188 (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 ........... Blue Banner BBS
Location ........... Rowlett, Texas
SysOp(s) ........... Richard Bacon
Phone ........... (214) 475-8393 (14.4k 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 ........... <Temporarily Down>
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 ........... Deep 13 - MST3K
Location ........... Levittown, Pennsylvania
SysOp(s) ........... Mike Slusher
Phone ........... (215) 943-9526 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Beta Connection, The
Location ........... Elkhart, Indiana
SysOp(s) ........... David Reynolds
Phone ........... (219) 293-6465 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Bill & Hilary's BBS
Location ........... Elkhart, Indiana
SysOp(s) ........... Nancy VanWormer
Phone ........... (219) 295-6206 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... FTB's Passport BBS
Location ........... Frederick, Maryland
SysOp(s) ........... Karina Wright
Phone ........... (301) 662-9134 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... The "us" Project
Location ........... Wilmington, Delaware
SysOp(s) ........... Walt Mateja, PhD
Phone ........... (302) 529-1650 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Hole In the Wall, The
Location ........... Parker, Colorado
SysOp(s) ........... Mike Fergione
Phone ........... (303) 841-5515 (16.8k baud)
BBS Name ........... Right Angle BBS
Location ........... Aurora, Colorado
SysOp(s) ........... Bill Roark
Phone ........... (303) 337-0219 (14.4k baud)
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 ........... O & E Online
Location ........... Livoign, Michigan
SysOp(s) ........... Greg Day
Phone ........... (313) 591-0903 (14.4 k baud)
BBS Name ........... Pegasus BBS
Location ........... Owensboro, Kentucky
SysOp(s) ........... Raymond Clements
Phone ........... (317) 651-0234 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Puma Wildcat BBS
Location ........... Alexandria, Louisiana
SysOp(s) ........... Chuck McMillin
Phone ........... (318) 443-1065 (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 ........... Treasures
Location ........... Longwood, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Jim Daly
Phone ........... (407) 831-9130 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Flying Dutchman, The
Location ........... San Jose, California
SysOp(s) ........... Chris Von Motz
Phone ........... (408) 294-3065 (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 ........... Uncle "D"s Discovery
Location ........... Redwood City, California
SysOp(s) ........... Dave Spensley
Phone ........... (415) 364-3001 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... File Cabinet BBS, The
Location ........... White Hall, Arkansas
SysOp(s) ........... Bob Harmon
Phone ........... (501) 247-1141 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Starting Gate, The
Location ........... Louisville, Kentucky
SysOp(s) ........... Ed Clifford
Phone ........... (502) 423-9629 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Darkside BBS, The
Location ........... Independence, Oregon
SysOp(s) ........... Seth Able Robinson
Phone ........... (503) 838-6171 (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 ........... Base Line BBS
Location ........... Peabody, Massachusettes
SysOp(s) ........... Steve Keith
Phone ........... (508) 535-0446 (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 ........... Appomattox BBS, The
Location ........... New Lebanon, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Dan Everette
Phone ........... (518) 766-5144 (14.4k baud dual standard)
BBS Name ........... Integrity Online
Location ........... Schenectady, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Dan Ginsburg, Jordan Feinman, Dave Garvey
Phone ........... (518) 370-8758 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (518) 370-8756 (2400 baud)
BBS Name ........... Tidal Wave BBS
Location ........... Altamont, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Josh Perfetto
Phone ........... (518) 861-6645 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Casino Bulletin Board, The
Location ........... Atlantic City, New Jersey
SysOp(s) ........... Dave Schubert
Phone ........... (609) 561-3377 (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 ........... Arts Place BBS, The
Location ........... Arlington, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... Ron Fitzherbert
Phone ........... (703) 528-8467 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Bubba Systems One
Location ........... Manassas, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... Mark Mosko
Phone ........... (703) 335-1253 (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 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Virginia Connection, The
Location ........... Washington, District of Columbia
SysOp(s) ........... Tony McClenny
Phone ........... (703) 648-1841 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Imperial Palace, The
Location ........... Augusta, Georiga
SysOp(s) ........... Michael Deutsch
Phone ........... (706) 592-1344 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Zarno Board
Location ........... Martinez, Georiga
SysOp(s) ........... Tim Saari
Phone ........... (706) 860-7927 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Anathema 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 ........... T&J Software BBS
Location ........... Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania
SysOp(s) ........... Tom Wildoner
Phone ........... (717) 325-9481 (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 ........... Straight Board, The
Location ........... Virginia Beach, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... Ray Sulich
Phone ........... (804) 468-6454 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (804) 468-6528 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... TDOR#2
Location ........... Charlottesville, Virginia
SysOp(s) ........... David Short
Phone ........... (804) 973-5639 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Valley BBS, The
Location ........... Myakka City, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Larry Daymon
Phone ........... (813) 322-2589 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Syllables
Location ........... Fort Myers, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Jackie Jones
Phone ........... (813) 482-5276 (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 ........... Hurry No Mo BBS
Location ........... Citra, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Roy Fralick
Phone ........... (904) 595-5057 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Tree BBS, The
Location ........... Ocala, Florida
SysOp(s) ........... Frank Fowler
Phone ........... (904) 732-0866 (14.4k baud)
Phone ........... (904) 732-8273 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Legend Graphics OnLine
Location ........... Riverside, California
SysOp(s) ........... Joe Marquez
Phone ........... (909) 689-9229 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Locksoft BBS
Location ........... San Jacinto, California
SysOp(s) ........... Carl Curling
Phone ........... (909) 654-LOCK (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Image Center, The
Location ........... Ardsley, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Larry Clive
Phone ........... (914) 693-9100 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... SB Online, Inc.
Location ........... Larchmont, New York
SysOp(s) ........... Eric Speer
Phone ........... (914) 723-4010 (14.4k baud)
Canada
------
BBS Name ........... Canada Remote Systems Online
Location ........... Toronto Ontario, Canada
SysOp(s) ........... Rick Munro
Phone ........... (416) 213-6002 (14.4k baud)
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, England, United Kingdom
SysOp(s) ........... Jason Hyland
Phone ........... +44-934-511751 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Pandora's Box BBS
Location ........... Brookmans Park, England, United Kingdom
SysOp(s) ........... Dorothy Gibbs
Phone ........... +44-707-664778 (14.4k baud)
BBS Name ........... Almac BBS
Location ........... Grangemouth, Scotland, United Kingdom
SysOp(s) ........... Alastair McIntyre
Phone ........... +44-324-665371 (14.4k baud)
Finland
-------
BBS Name ........... Niflheim BBS
Location ........... Mariehamn, Aaland Islands, Finland
SysOp(s) ........... Kurtis Lindqvist
Phone ........... +358-28-17924 (16.8k baud)
Phone ........... +358-28-17424 (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)
South America
-------------
BBS Name ........... Message Centre, The (Open 18:00 - 06:00 local)
Location ........... Itaugua, Paraguay
SysOp(s) ........... Michael Slater
Phone ........... +011-595-28-2154 (2400 baud)
SysOp: To have *your* BBS listed here, write me via one of the
many ways listed under CONTACT POINTS elsewhere in this
issue.
STTS Net Report
Copyright (c) 1994, 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 SUN9402.ZIP. After Mar. 1st, the current issue
will be SUN9403.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: SUN9403.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) 1994, Heather DeRouen
All rights reserved
Well, it's 5:30 p.m. on February 2, 1994. The weather outside is quite
chilly, but, thanks to the miracle of central heating, it is quite warm
and cozy inside. I am writing this column on the request of my beloved
husband, The Editor, so if you like it, send lots and lots of praise to
him for his choice of end notes writers for this month.
What exactly does one say in an end notes column? Something about an
end... a completion... a termination... a dropped carrier... a finish...
buttocks??? I guess I'll just pick one and go with that.
This month's magazine has dealt mostly with everyone's favorite subject for
the month of February - LOVE!!! The one thing on earth that is both as
perennial as the grass and as elusive as the title to a song that's going
through your brain. Without it, we're but hollow realizations of the
fully actualized persons that we are capable of being.
As I write this column, I realize that I never got around to answering
my husband's question for the month of February - "What is the romantic
thing that you've ever had happen to you?" I've had difficulty answering
this question because almost 5 years of marriage to him is the most
romantic thing that I've ever had happen to me. I can single out dozens
of individual events that have transpired over the past 5 years, each
of them extremely romantic, but none more or less romantic than the
event that went before it, because each of them was laden with love.
I hope that this month's issue has reminded those of you with a special
romantic interest how precious the gift that you give one another every
day is, and to encourage those of you without a special romantic interest
that, whatever heartaches you have endured, keep trying. It's worth
it.
Peace and love to all of you.
Heather DeRouen