Sunlight Through The Shadows Volume I, Issue 5 Nov. 1, 1993 Welcome........................................Joe DeRouen Editorial......................................Joe DeRouen Staff of STTS............................................. Special Survey (READ THIS PLEASE!)........................ ------------------ MONTHLY COLUMNS ----------------------- Letters to the Editor..................................... Monthly Contest........................................... The Question & Answers Session............................ Upcoming Issues & News.................................... ------------------ FEATURE ARTICLES ---------------------- Michael Elansky: Anarchist?....................Gage Steele STTS Survey Results............................Joe DeRouen From the Journals of..(pt.4)...................Gage Steele ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ Advertisement-Channel 1 BBS ---------------------- REVIEWS --------------------------- Movie Reviews? Where Are They?.................Joe DeRouen (Music) Yes I Am/Melissa Etheridge.............Joe DeRouen (Music) Driving Home/Cheryl Wheeler........Heather DeRouen (Music) Bat Out of Hell II/Meat Loaf........Jason Malandro (Music) Up On the Roof/Neil Diamond...........Wendy Bryson (Book) Thief of Always/Clive Barker.......Heather DeRouen (Book) Way Things Oughta Be/Rush Limbaugh....Robert McKay ÿ Advertisement-Exec-PC BBS ---------------------- FICTION --------------------------- It's All Greek to Uncle Thaddeus...............Joe DeRouen Get a Life....................................Robert McKay A Christmas Tale............................Franchot Lewis ---------------------- POETRY ---------------------------- Triad...............................................Tamara Do-Wop......................................Patricia Meeks Buzzing Floor Essence..........................Kurt Becker A Silver Shaft Appeared at the Temple.............Jim Reid Sailing the Seas of Cyberspace.................J. Guenther ÿ Advertisement-STTS BBS ----------------------- HUMOUR --------------------------- Freud on Seuss.................................Josh LeBeau Top Ten List...................................Joe DeRouen Cartoon Law of Physics......................Author Unknown -------------------- INFORMATION ------------------------- How to get STTS Magazine.................................. ** SPECIAL OFFER!! **..................................... Submission Information.................................... Advertiser Information.................................... Contact Points............................................ Distribution Sites........................................ Distribution Via Networks................................. End Notes......................................Joe DeRouen °°°Þ²ÛÛÛSunlight Through The Shadows(tm) _____³³³ °°±±Þ²ÛÛÛNov. 1st, 1993³__³³³³³³³ °°±±±Þ²ÛÛ( ) __³³³³ÎÎÎÎÎγ³ °±±±±±±Û_(___) ³³ÎÎÎÎÎÎÎÎÎÎ °°±±±±²Û³ÎÎÎÎÎÎγÎÎÎÎÎÎÎÎÎÎÎÎÎ °°±±±±Þ_ÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÎÎÎÎÎ °°°°°°_______³ÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÎÎÎÎ ___ºººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÎÎÎÎÎ ºººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÎÎÎÎÎÎ ºººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÎÎÎÎÎÎÎ ____ __________ºººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÎÎÎÎÎÎÎ __ÌÍÎÍγ ÃÄÄÅÄÄÄÅÄÄźººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÎÎÎÎÎÎÎ _³³³ÌÍÎÍγ ÃÄÅÄÄÅÄÄÄÅĺººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÎÎÎÎÎÎ ______³³³ ÌÍÎÍγ ÃÅÄÄÅÄÄÅÄÄźººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÎÎÎÎÎÎ __³³³³³³³³ ____ ³³ ÌÍγ³³³³³³³³³³³ÄÄźººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγÎÎÎÎÎ __³³³³³³³³³³³³ ÌÍγ³ÅÄĺººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγÎÎÎ ³³³³ ³³ÌÍγ³ÄÄźººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγÎ ³ ³³ÌÍγ³ÅÄĺººººººººººººÆÎÎÎÎÎÎγ ÖÄ¿Ò ÂÚÒÄ¿Ò ÒÖÄ¿Ò ÒÖÒ¿ ÖÒ¿Ò ÒÒÄ¿ÖÄ¿Ò ÂÖÄ¿Ò Ò ÖÒ¿Ò ÒÖÄ¿ ÖÄ¿Ò ÒÖÄ¿ÒÄ¿ÖÄ¿Ò ÚÖÄ¿ ÓÄ¿º ³ º ³º ººÚ¿ÇĶ º º ÇĶÇÂÙº ³º ³ºÚ¿ÇĶ º ÇĶÇÄ ÓÄ¿ÇĶÇÄ´º ³º ³ºÂ³ÓÄ¿ ÓÄÙÓÄÁ Ð ÁÓÄÙÐÓÄÙÐ Ð Ð Ð Ð ÐÐÀÙÓÄÙÓÄÁÓÄÙÐ Ð Ð Ð ÐÓÄÙ ÓÄÙÐ ÐÐ ÁÐÄÙÓÄÙÓÁÙÓÄÙ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Welcome Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows magazine! In this issue, as well as in the future, STTS will strive to bring you the best in fiction, poetry, reviews, article, and other assorted reading material. STTS Magazine has no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative concepts, and the unique execution of those concepts. STTS wouldn't have been possible without the aid, support, and guidance of three women: Inez Harrison, publisher of Poetry In Motion newsletter. Her's was the first electronic magazine I ever laid eyes upon, and also the first such magazine to publish my work. She's given me advice, and, more importantly, inspiration. Lucia Chambers, publisher of Smoke & Mirrors Elec. Magazine and head of Pen & Brush Network. She gave me advice on running a magazine, encouragement, and hints as to the kind of people to look for in writers. Heather DeRouen, my wife. Listed last here, but always first in my heart. She's proofread manuscripts, inspired me, listened to me, and, most importantly, loved me. Never could I find a better woman to live life by my side, nor a better friend. Now that that's said and done... Again, welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine! I hope you enjoy it. Joe DeRouen  STTS Editorial Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved What, it's this time again? It seems like only yesterday when I was finishing up the October issue. Time does indeed fly when you're having fun. With this issue, STTS hits the five month mark. I'd like to thank everyone who's been reading it since the beginning, as well as the new readers and SysOps who've "discovered" us along the way. Truly, you make it all worth while. In this issue, Gage Steele explores the strange case of a Hartford, Connecticut SysOp accused of promoting anarchy. Fact really IS stranger than fiction, as you'll see when you read MICHAEL ELANSKY: ANARCHIST?. BBSing, though it's been around since the late 1970's, is still a relatively new medium. Constantly changing, the BBS world doesn't quite seem sure how to regulate itself. We've all heard the stories of BBS's being "busted" for pirated files and users trading illegal credit card information through the electronic airways. To be sure, BBSing *does* need to be put under just as close of scrutiny as does any other form of communication. "Pirate boards" SHOULD be illegal, just as it's illegal for someone to sell copies of pre-recorded VHS movies. But where does the rightful policing stop and persecution begin? Irving, Texas recently made a ruling as to just what GIF files can and cannot be placed on a BBS. While this applies to adult/nude GIFS and I myself don't see much use for them, the ruling worried me. As long as one person's perversion (for lack of a better word) doesn't hurt anyone else, who is the government to decide just what they can and cannot look at? Coming full circle, Mr. Elansky was arrested for having a file on his BBS which allegedly gave instructions on how to build a bomb. Proof on the file's existence and certainly it being accessible by anyone under 18 seems sketchy, but nevertheless the SysOp sits in jail on a half a million dollar bond. Censorship scares me. Always has. I also see a need for policing. Is there a happy medium? I wonder sometimes. If we police ourselves, maybe there won't be a need for the government to come into play. Or maybe they'll just find something new to persecute. Only time will tell. Happy Thanksgiving! Joe DeRouen, 10/29/93  The Staff and Contributing Writers of Sunlight Through The Shadows ------------------------------------------------------------------ The Staff --------- Joe DeRouen............................Publisher, Editor, Fiction Heather DeRouen........................Book Reviews Bruce Diamond..........................Movie Reviews, fiction Jason Malandro.........................Book Reviews Randy Shipp............................Movie Reviews Gage Steele............................Feature Article Tamara.................................House Poet Joe DeRouen publishes, edits, and writes for STTS magazine. He's had poetry and fiction published in several on-line magazines and a few paper publications as well. He's written exactly 1.5 novels, none of which, alas, have seen the light of publication. He attends college part-time in search of that always-elusive english degree. In his spare time, he enjoys reading, running his BBS, collecting music, playing with his five cats, singing opera, hunting pseudopods, and most importantly spending time with his beautiful wife Heather. Heather DeRouen writes software for the healthcare industry, CoSysOps Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS, enjoys playing with her five cats, cross-stitching, and reading. Most of all, she enjoys spending time with her dapper, charming, witty, and handsome (not to mention modest) husband Joe. Heather's help towards editing and proofreading this magazine has been immeasurable. Bruce Diamond, part-time pseudopod and ruler of a small island chain off the coast of Chil‚, spends his time imitating desk lamps when he isn't watching and critiquing movies for LIGHTS OUT, his BBS movie review publication (now syndicated to over 15 boards). Bruce started reviewing movies for profit in 1978, as part of a science fiction opinion column he authored for THE BUYER'S GUIDE FOR COMICS FANDOM (now called THE COMICS BUYER'S GUIDE). LIGHTS OUT, now a year old, is available through Bruce's distributor, Jay Gaines' BBS AMERICA (214-994-0093). Bruce is a freelance writer and video producer in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Jason Malandro resides in Dallas, Texas, and has for most of his 24 years on Earth. He enjoys reading, writing, bowling, fencing, and several other unrelated activities. Jason works in the publishing industry and runs a successful florist business part-time. Single, he shares his apartment with Ralphie, his pet iguana. Randy Shipp is a sometimes-writer who specializes in half-finished works, an idea he decided was chic and the sign of genius after hearing about some unfinished symphony. The generous offer from Bruce Diamond to join him in publishing (plus free movie passes!) led Randy to take up movie criticism. When he's not picking movies apart, he's showing conservative political thinkers the error of their ways, reading, or playing bass or the guitar (depending on the day of the week) He occasionally works selling computers, too. When he grows up, he expects to teach high school history. Gage Steele, illegitimate love child of Elvis Presley and Madonna, has been calling BBS's since the early seventies. Having aspired to write for an electronic magazine all her life, Gage is now living the American dream. Aged somewhere between 21 and 43, she plans to eventually get an english degree and teach foreign children not to dangle their participles. There is very little known about Tamara, and she prefers to let it remain that way. She's a woman of mystery and prefers to remain hidden in the shadows of the BBS world. (Actually, I still haven't gotten her profile. But it sounds much more enigmatic this way, don't you think?) Contributing Writers -------------------- Kurt Becker............................Poetry Wendy Bryson...........................CD Review Lucia Chambers.........................RIP Cover J. Guenther............................Poetry Jim Reid...............................Poetry Josh LeBeau............................Humour Franchot Lewis.........................Fiction Robert McKay...........................Fiction Patricia Meeks.........................Poetry Glenda Thompson........................ANSI/ASCII Cover Author Unknown.........................Humour Kurt Becker finds himself writing in his car, when gridlocked in traffic between home, work, and college. Wendy Bryson, the well traveled, well read, and highly exotic music critic, (most famous for her works of the 1970's) speaks seven languages, none of which are spoken on earth. If her writings baffle you a little, don't feel too bad; she's puzzled by them as well. Lucia Chambers, thirty-something, shares SysOp duties of Pen & Brush BBS with her husband John. Aside from running a BBS and a network of the same name, Lucia publishes Smoke & Mirrors, an on-line/elec. magazine which features fiction, poetry, and recipes. She works as a consultant in the Washington D.C. area and also writes for a living. Grant Guenther, sometimes known as J. Guenther, confesses to be from a long-lost Martian colony, but in-depth investigations reveals that he was born and raised in a small but well-to-do community called Hartland in Wisconsin. A senior, he has written several collections of poems, and won many awards from his high school literary magazine, including 1st place for poetry and short-short fiction. He is the editor-in-chief of the school newspaper and writes as a humor columnist (or at least he thinks so). Jim Reid is a hard-working federal employee who lives in Virginia with his lovely wife Kris and two equally pretty daughters. He manages people for a living, programs shareware for the challenge, and writes poetry to vent the stresses created by the other two activities. Franchot Lewis lives in Washington, D.C. He is the proud owner of a modest 386 computer and a 14.4 modem. As we know, he doesn't know anyone named Wally. 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. Glenda Thompson spends most of her days sleeping, but when she's not doing that, she's BBS'ing around the metroplex or creating ANSI screens for STTS. Her hobbies include: writing, poetry, music, and art done with various media. She was never sentenced to prison for a crime she didn't commit (or even for one that she did) and someday hopes to marry cereal king Captain Xavier Q. Crunch. Author Unknown (oddly enough, his real name) has had several stories, poems, novels, plays, and pieces of artwork published throughout the world dating back to the dawn of man. So far, he hasn't received one red cent in royalties.  STTS Survey Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved NOTE: Yes, this is the same survey that was in last month's issue. I've decided to keep it in until the end of the year in hopes of more responses. If you haven't already replied, please do so today. Please fill out the following survey. This article is duplicated in the ZIP archive as SURVEY.TXT. If you're reading this on-line and haven't access to that file, please do a screen capture of this article and fill it out that way. If all else fails, just write your answers down (on paper or in an ASCII file) and include the question's number beside your answer. Everyone who answers the survey will receive special mention in an upcoming issue of STTS. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 1. Name: _____________________________________________________________ 2. Mailing address: __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ __________________________________________________ 3. Date of birth: (Mm/Dd/YYyy) _______________________________________ 4. Sex: ______________________________________________________________ 5. Where did you read/download this copy of STTS Magazine? (Include BBS and BBS number, please) ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 6. Do you prefer to read STTS while on-line or download it to read at your own convenience? ( ) On-Line ( ) Download 7. Are you a SysOp? ( ) Yes ( ) No (if "No", skip to 10) 8. If so, what is your BBS name, number, baud rate? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 9. Do you currently carry STTS Mag? ( ) Yes ( ) No ( ) I don't carry it, but I want to I carry STTS: ( ) On-Line, ( ) For Download, ( ) or Both 10. What do you enjoy the MOST about STTS Mag? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 11. What do you enjoy LEAST about STTS Mag? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ 12. Please rate the following parts of STTS on a scale of 1-10, 10 being excellent and 1 being awful. (if no opinion, X) Fiction ___ Poetry ___ Movie reviews ___ Book reviews ___ CD Reviews ___ Feature Articles ___ Question&Answers ___ Editorial ___ ANSI Coverart ___ Misc. Info ___ Humour ___ RIP Coverart ___ 13. What would you like to see (or see more of) in future issues of STTS Mag? ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ ___________________________________________________________________ - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Return the survey to me via any of the following options: A) Pen & Brush Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site ->5320. In any conference. B) RIME Net - A PRIVATE, ROUTED message to JOE DEROUEN at site ->5320, in the COMMON conference C) WME Net - A PRIVATE message to JOE DEROUEN in the NET CHAT conference. D) Internet - Send a message containing your complete survey to Joe.DeRouen@Chrysalis.org E) My BBS - (214) 629-8793 24 hrs. a day 1200-14,000 baud. Upload the file SURVEY.TXT (change the name first! Change it to something like the first eight digits of your last name (or less, if your name doesn't have eight digits) and the ext of .SUR) Immediate access is gained to my system via filling out the new user questionnaire. Alternately, logon with the handle STTS SYSOP and password: STTS and skip the new user questionnaire and upload the file. F) U.S. Postal Service - Send the survey either printed out or on a disk to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Monthly Columns ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ Letters To The Editor Send any and all comments you have concerning STTS Magazine to Joe DeRouen, via any of the routes covered under CONTACT POINTS, listed elsewhere in this magazine. Now, on to a few letters... ------------------------------------------------------------------------ STTS Magazine, I really enjoyed Brigid Childs' article on Halloween. It was informative without being condescending, which I really appreciate. It's nice to learn a little about the past and what it means to today. Sincerely, Laura Drake ------------------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Dear Joe, I really liked the ANSI coverart! Too cool! Of course, the articles inside weren't bad either. :) I always enjoy the fiction and poetry. Keep up the good work! Thanks, James Mitchell ------------------------------------------------------------------------  Sunlight Through The Shadows Monthly Contest -------------------------------------------- Do to a decided lack of interest, the monthly contest/prize giveaway is no more. Public interest in the contest just didn't warrant keeping it in. We'll probably have other various contests/giveaways from time to to but as it stands now, at least for the time being, the monthly contest is being shelved. --Joe DeRouen, 10/28/93  Question and Answers Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Each month, we'll ask a (hopefully) interesting question to users on various nets and BBS's across the world and include the best answers we get in this column. The question we asked for this month was: "What are you thankful for, and why?" This seemed like the perfect question to ask for the November issue, with Thanksgiving and all. :) The original message and responses are reproduced here in their entirety, with the permission of the people involved. ======================================================================== Number : 46 of 50 Date : 10/06/93 22:27 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Joe Derouen To : All Subject : Question and Answers.. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ "What do you have to be most thankful for in your life?" That's the question we're asking in the Nov. issue of STTS Magazine. (It seems appropriate since this is the month of Thanksgiving) Those who reply give their implied permission to have their message, in it's entirety, reproduced in the Nov. issue of STTS Magazine. As always, we'll publish the most interesting replies. Thanks, Joe ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 47 of 50 Date : 10/07/93 18:16 Reply To: 46 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Don Bird To : Joe Derouen Subject : Question and Answers.. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ JD> "What do you have to be most thankful for in your life?" Easy one....God, My Family, My Country....In that order....What about YOU? Have a Great Day, -=DON=- ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 48 of 50 Date : 10/08/93 07:13 Reply To: 46 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Grant Guenther To : Joe Derouen Subject : Question and Answers.. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ What I'm most thankful for? Well, certainly not Calculus... But seriously, I'm most thankful for having free thought and being born in a country that not only allows people to express it but sometimes cherish it. And Poptarts aren't all that bad, either... ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 49 of 50 Date : 10/14/93 21:46 Reply To: 46 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Shawn Aiken To : Joe Derouen Subject : Question and Answers.. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Joe, What do I have to be most thankful for in my life? That's an easy one. My mother. Who else would have brought me up in the way that she did, and who else would be helping to support my writing career? Not many. Probably no one. No one except ner. And that is what I have to be most thankful for. Sappy, aint it. Shawn ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 50 of 50 Date : 10-16-93 20:45 Reply To: 46 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Robert Mckay To : Joe Derouen Subject : Question and Answers.. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ JD>"What do you have to be most thankful for in your life?" JD>That's the question we're asking in the Nov. issue of STTS Magazine. JD>(It seems appropriate since this is the month of Thanksgiving) JD>Those who reply give their implied permission to have their message, in JD>it's entirety, reproduced in the Nov. issue of STTS Magazine. JD>As always, we'll publish the most interesting replies. My faith, my family, my health, my writing talent. I believe that sums up the things I am most thankful for. --- þ QMPro 1.01 11-1111 þ Only made it out to Needles. --Three Dog Night ======================================================================== Many thanks to the people that took the time to read and answer the message. As usual, I'll now attempt to answer my own question. What am I most thankful for? Why, life of course. I've always been a bit of a pessimist (just ask my wife!) but there really ARE a lot of things out there to be thankful for, if you just open up your eyes and look. As for myself, I have a wonderful wife who loves me, 5 fine (if occasionally annoying) cats, several great friends, and I'm getting to do one of the things I enjoy the most: write! Who could ask for more? Oh, I could. My wife's sick, and I want her to be well. I'm middle-class, and I really wouldn't mind being wealthy. I've yet to sell a novel, and I'd really like to. You have to live with what you're dealt, though, to mix metaphors. My wife's sick, yes, but she'll get better. Of this I have no doubt. I'm not wealthy, but I manage to get by. And I WILL sell that novel, given time. I have a talent for writing, and of this I'll always be grateful to whatever mix of genes or deity decision made it so. All in all, I have a lot to be thankful for. Thanks for reading THE QUESTION AND ANSWERS SESSION!  Upcoming Issues & News Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved ADDITIONS TO THIS ISSUE... I've included a STTS Magazine survey in this issue. It's Article # 4 in this issue, and also SURVEY.TXT in the archive. *Please* read it and fill it out. Send it back to me per the instructions included with the survey. Gage Steele breaks the story on the Michael Elansky case (a Hartford, Conn. SysOp accused of trading illegal ararchy files). Are law enforcement officers making the BBS world safer for us all, or has justice gone awry? Read Gage's article and find out. RIP Graphics! Thanks to Lucia Chambers, STTS Magazine now has a RIP graphics cover. Of course, if you have RIP capabilities, you probably already noticed that. Humour section! We've added a whole new section to STTS, guaranteed to at least cause you a minor chuckle or two. Check it out, and let us know what you think! SUBTRACTIONS FROM THIS ISSUE... The monthly contest/prize giveaway is no more. There just didn't seem to be enough interest in it to warrant the cost of coming up with a new prize to give away every month. We'll probably have other contests from time to time, but, at least for now, the monthly contest is shelved. Due to unforseen circumstances, STTS won't have any movie reviews this month. Barring disaster and the german measles, they should be back in full force next month. DECEMBER... Look for more great fiction, poetry, and reviews in December. Also, Brigid Childs (who did the wonderful article on the origin of Halloween for the October issue) is working on a similar piece for Christmas/Yule. December will also carry several "Christmas oriented" stories, poems, and articles. 'Tis the season, after all.. FUTURE ISSUES... Look for a round robin/continuing story soon, as well as more feature articles, and more "theme issues".  ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Feature Articles ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Michael Elansky: Anarchist? Copyright (c) 1993, Gage Steele All rights reserved MICHAEL ELANSKY: ANARCHIST? by Gage Steele When does the "long arm of the law" extend too far? Michael Elansky, of West Hartford, Connecticut, found out this summer. 22 year-old Michael (aka "The Ionizer") ran a BBS called The Warehouse. He was also a member of the International Information Retrieval Guild, a computer group very much concerned with freedom of speech and freedom of information. Like the group with which he was affiliated, Michael felt strongly about our First Amendment rights, and it was this belief that ultimately led him to trouble. Michael is currently in jail, unable to post his $500,000 bail. Says the prosecutor, he created risk or injury to a minor and advocated violence against law enforcement agents. Those are some mighty hefty infringements, true, and carry a maximum of 10 years imprisonment if convicted. Police say a file found on Michael's system gave instructions on how to build bombs and other explosives, and that having it on his BBS was in conflict with the law. The text itself was written 4 years ago by "Deth Vegetable" (who was a teen at the time of writing, and unable to be reached for comment). It contained information similar to what you might find in numerous publications, including highschool- and college-level chemistry textbooks, and the infamous _Anarchists Cookbook_. All can be purchased in many bookstores, as well as borrowed from most local libraries, without fear of breaking the law. In fact, minors are able to purchase or borrow the _Anarchists Cookbook_ itself, from numerous venues. So, why, then, was it illegal for Michael to make a similar, electronic version available to his users? This remains unanswered, as do many aspects of this case. While researching, I came to numerous inconclusive pieces of evidence, some possibly fact, some possibly fiction. In Detective Richard Aniolowsky's unsworn officer's report, he states: " That I, Richard Aniolowsky, am a member of the West Hartford Police Department and have been for ten years and 7 months and was promoted to Detective in September 1990. [...] That it was on May 28, 1993 that Detective Goodrow of the Hartford Police Department gained access to the "Warehouse", a modem accessible computer [...] That Goodrow said the "Anarchy'" [sic] file he obtained access to the Warehouse bulletin board through one of the users systems. " Although Detective Aniolowsky's writing is somewhat difficult to follow at times, mixed with typos and grammatical errors, this last sentence does seem to read that Detective Goodrow used someone else's account to log onto The Warehouse. This would be classified as a class C felony under Connecticut General Statute 54-41 ("...Unauthorised or illegal inception of wire communication of any person..."). Also, when Michael's BBS LOG file was made available for inspection, only two incidents were found of the file ever having been downloaded. Neither incidents occured on May 28th, 1993, the date which Detectives Aniolowsky and Goodrow contend they acquired it through download from The Warehouse BBS. Both accesses of the file in question were made previous to the May date. Did the detectives investigating the case commit a crime? Unfortunately, I was unable to reach either Aniolowsky or Goodrow for comment. "Misguided Youth" (whose true name I cannot divulge, upon his request), a user of The Warehouse BBS, had this to say when I spoke with him on the telephone: " Detective Aniolowsky came to my house and made me sign a statement saying I had seen anarchy and bomb-making files on Warehouse and that I had spoken on the phone with 'Ionizer' many times. My parents only witnessed me signing. But later it got changed to '...I had spoken on the phone with 'Ionizer' many times about making bombs.' I have never had an interest in anarchy files. I never got any from 'Ionizer.' I have never cared to download them. " Neither I, nor "Misguided Youth" could grasp the reasoning behind the later alteration of the statement he had signed. He also seemed to feel that the police pressured him in the situation. I found "Misguided Youth" very pleasant to speak with, and do not understand why such apparent "strongarm" tactics were used to ensure his signing of the statement. When I spoke with Michael Elansky on the telephone, he was sincere, at ease, and very willing to talk with me. He did, however, have a bit of information to add to the complexity of it all: " I was supposed to be arraigned in Hartford Court. My lawyer was present when we went down. The arrest warrant had the bond set at $20,000. But, Detective Aniolowsky said that I needed to be taken to the WEST Hartford Court to be booked. So, my lawyer said 'okay,' and he waited at Hartford. So, Aniolowsky [took me to West Hartford Court] and rushed through booking, prints, photo. Then he took me upstairs where they proceeded to arraign me - without my lawyer present! Aniolowsky made a motion to set my bond at $500,000, which it was. Of course it was! My lawyer wasn't even there to say anything, and Aniolowsky knew he wasn't there and knew he was waiting for us back at Hartford Court. " From the way Michael was treated, it looks as though his right to counsel was compleatly ignored. I don't want to pass judgement, but isn't that... unjust? I asked Michael about minors on his BBS, and what sort of files they had access to. He assured me that no-one under 18 could look at the adult areas. When I asked specifically about the text in question, he said: " No, no-one under 16 could even see that stuff. Only one guy under 18 had access to it, he's 17, but he's a member of the International Information Retrieval Guild, and had to have access to it. " For clarity, that means this 17 year old had clout over Michael in the hierarchy of the computer group. It was rather like part of the 17 year-old's job description to ensure that Michael ran his system within the guidelines of the group, and therefor required a very high level of access to The Warehouse BBS. Ever-optimistic, Michael also added this: " [There's] no way in hell I'd ever plead guilty to these two charges, nor would I ever cop a deal forcing me to plead guilty to these two charges. I did nothing wrong. I am confident that the two charges will be dismissed. " Meanwhile, pretrial hearings are filled with deliberation, and some headway. And - Michael remains behind bars, waiting. The Elansky case could have staggering effects on electronic-based media and publication. If the prosecutor finds Elansky guilty as charged, maintains that the file is illegal and worthy of felony prosecution with possible imprisonment, then the basis for attacking a BBS, but not a bookstore or local library, is not defined. In fact, were Elansky to be found guilty, it would seem that the prosecutor reneged all First Amendment rights and protection under such simply because the text was electronically bound and not paper bound. The Internationl Information Retrieval Guild and Michael Elansky asked, as a favour, that I also include the following. The Elansky Family is having a terrible time assuaging the cost of legal fees. Because of this, a fund has been set up, and they are asking that anyone able, donate whatever he/she can afford to his legal defense. Send what you can to: Free Ionizer c/o David Elansky 25 Maiden Lane West Hartford, CT 06117 Make cheques or money orders payable to Michael Elansky. This way, you are assured that all funds go directly to his defense. The bank's account number for the fund should also be written on the cheque or money order: 02-060-573652 My thanks to: Dan, International Information Retrieval Guild; David Elansky; "Misguided Youth;" and Michael Elansky. If it weren't for them, this article could not have been written.  Survey Results Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved The results are in from the survey in the October issue, and tabulated below for a median score. I didn't get as many results as I might have liked (do surveys ever?) so I'm keeping the survey in until the end of the year. Please respond. I'd like to thank the 20 or so people who *did* respond. I'd print their names here, but I forgot to include a statement in the survey asking them if they wanted their names listed. Much thanks just the same, though. You know who you are. In the survey, I asked the readers to rate the sections of the magazine on a scale of 1 to 10, 10 being the best and one being the worst. Here's the averages, taken by adding all the scores for an indiviual section (eg: fiction) and dividing it by the number of survey's received that scored that section with something other than an "X" for no comment. Magazine sections are ranked in order of scores, from highest to lowest: SCORES ÄÄÄÄÄÄ Fiction: 9.5 Poetry: 9.5 Book Reviews: 9.0 Editorial: 8.6 Feature Articles: 8.6 Movie Reviews: 8.5 ANSI Coverart: 7.5 CD Reviews: 7.0 Question & Answers: 7.0 Summary: Fiction and poetry seemed to prove the most popular, as I was sure it would. Nothing really received *bad* scores, though, which is promising. Of the reviews, the book reviews seemed to be the most popular, followed very closely by the movies and, lastly, the CDs. What the above scores really *don't* tell is that the surveys seemed to be divided into camps. There were several people that read STTS mainly for fiction and poetry, and almost as many people who read it exclusively for the reviews. Both groups scored their interest group high while X'ing a "No Comment" on the other sections. Again, many thanks to those of you who took the time to fill out and send in your surveys. As noted elsewhere, I've decided to extend the survey to Nov.'s (this issue) and Dec.'s issues. If you haven't already, please fill out the survey. It's article 4 in this issue of STTS, and it's duplicated in the .ZIP archive as SURVEY.TXT.  From The Journal Of... Copyright (c) 1993, Gage Steele All rights reserved [Names of people and places have been changed to protect the innocent and avoid any nasty lawsuits that decide to rear their ugly heads] "From The Journal Of..." Part Four About the time I began working for JEannie, Gertrude began to show the first real signs of age. At first, I tried to ignore the problem. So what if my hard drive had a few bad sectors and my "C" key no longer "fun tioned," I thought. But, truth be known, by that time, Gertie needed 15 minutes to warm up before booting, and she was seriously beginning to come apart at the weld. She'd served me well, and maybe I hadn't seen the performance of a hotrod, but Gertie never purported herself as such. She knew she was just a Honda - strong and dependable, but disposable after 100,000 miles; I found myself forced to face that fact, as well. Her suddenly more drastic degeneration was, I suppose, her way of telling me, "Mom, it's time. I'm tired." My first problem was what to replace her with. Another PS/2 would bring the same intrinsic limitations. A new system was more than slightly beyond my chequebook. So, after carefully packing Gertie and her accessories away in the attic, I hauled in: "Must See - Must Sell! Hardly used at 2 years old! Full-size tower houses 286/12 board, 150W, SVGA, 100 MB HD, 5.25 & 3.5 floppies! Ideal for later expansion. $1250.00, OBO." Now, it took a lot of convincing to get Mom to forward me that much money from my college fund. I showed her adverts for new 386's, listing in the middle $4,000 range. I pointed to the awe inspiring glossy spreads of the 486's - we both laughed at the price tags on those, wondering who would really drop 6 months' wages on such a thing. I don't know that Mom understood everything I tried to say, but the feeling was there. She helped me talk the guy down to $1,000.00, and cut the cheque. Oh, why didn't I get rid of Gertrude altogether, you ask? I couldn't have sold her for more than scrap metal pennies, for one thing. I couldn't throw her in the bin, either. I just couldn't. We'd been through too much together. Everything about the 286 was faster. I felt like I'd been living in the dark ages! Immediately, I loaded up every game and programme I had just to see a 100 Meg hard drive and Super-ultra-rad-it-doesn't- get-any-better-than-this-VGA at work. The novelty, though, quickly faded. I was soon staring at the modem, wondering what was going on in the electronic world. I couldn't go back to JEannie, not with MY Scottish pride and Irish pighead. Paragon was close to making me ill, especially the users that whined about not understanding the place (?!). It was time to move on, but to what? Now, I'd called private BBSs before, but hadn't gotten into them much. I heard people chattering on and on about their systems, but at the time, it all seemed... "hokey" to me, like a fad, I guess. I just couldn't see what a dinky BBS run by Joe Schmoe could have that might rival corporate whazoo-run JEannie with her mega filebases and international chatting. Besides, both JEannie and Paragon had local dialups, while, last I'd checked, private boards were scattered, the nearest being a hefty long distance call for me. Last I'd checked... THAT was nearly 10 months previous! Resigned to the notion that I'd have to settle for second best while waiting for something better to come along (hmm, a commentary on life? That isn't what this piece was to be about), I picked up a local computing newspaper that often ran BBS ads, and scanned the listings. It seemed, judging from the column plus of local boards shown, that while I'd been sidetracked with JE, private systems had spread and grown. A few were touted as having 400 megabyte or more online. That did it. If BBSs really were to be flash-in-the-pan fads, at least I would be able to say, "Been there. Yawn. Did that," and nab a few files on the way through. Of course, the first place I connected with (and you'll never believe this one in a million years as I still have trouble with it and I was there) was something of a "pirate" board. Okay, so back then, I couldn't tell a pirate from a pickled pancreas, and why such a board was listed in the magazine, I don't know, but there it was. And, rather suddenly, so was I. I know now that boards much like the one I connected with that day have security tighter than Jesse Helm's buttcheeks. I also know why I was allowed access, even though I was a "lamer-newbie" (again). Because I'm a girl. Oh, I almost forgot: I flirt just a tiny bit, too. Now, before I have the bureaucrats beating a path to my door, let me tell you I outgrew that scene (you can tell the nice men in the white vans to go home, now, thanks). I was already too old, often 4 or more years older than the SysOps, when I got there. I never was big on "zero day" crap, anyway; The "mine is bigger/badder/faster/newer that yours" mentality I found all over those boards really grated on my nerves. Penile shadow boxing, I called it. I was much more interested in collecting odd little programmes that no-one seemed to have around anymore. My collector instinct led me to the PD boards, and eventually to the subscription BBSs. It wasn't long before every floppy in the house was filled with files and my hard drive hadn't enough space to store my writing. It was my mother who first vocalised the idea I have lived to occasionally regret. Tired of the subscription costs and phone charges I was now racking up, Mom asked, "Why can't you just make your own file place and have everybody send you stuff?" So, I did. ²±²°±²²Û²²Û²²±Û²²²±°Û±²Û² Û²±°Û²Û²±°Û²²Û²±²°Û²²Û²²Û²±°(R)ܱ°° ²±²Û²²±Û²²Û²±°Û±²Û²²Û²±²Û°Û²Û²±²Û°Û²²Û²±²±Û²±°Û±°° ²±²Û²²°Û°±²Û²²Û²±±Û²²Û²±²Û°±² Û²Û²±²Û°±² Û²²Û²±²°Û²²Û²²Û²±°±°° ²±²Û²²±Û²²Û²±°Û±²Û²²Û²±°±²²Û²Û²±°±²²Û²²Û²±²±Û²±°±°° ²±²°±²²Û²²Û²²±Û²²Û²±±Û²²Û²±°Û²Û²±°Û²²Û²±²°Û²²Û²²Û²±°°²Û²²Û±°°Û ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ Voice: 617 864-0100 ³³ ³³ Channel 1 ³ ³ 14.4 v.32: 354-3230 ³³ The Best BBS on the Planet ³³ PO Box 338 ³ ³ 16.8 HST: 354-3137 ³³ ³³ Cambridge, MA 02238³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ 85 lines þ 100,000+ archives þ 30 gigs þ 3,500+ forums ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ þ High-performance FAST system ³ ³ þ Reasonable membership fees, with optional Internet E-mail ³ ³ þ Humungous up-to-date library of Windows, Graphics, Music, Games, ³ ³ Business & Finance, Adult, Education, Programmers and Tech files, ³ ³ plus a special Free files area for first-time callers ³ ³ þ Closing stocks, funds and daily financial markets news ³ ³ þ Online Games Gallery, including chess tournaments ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Reviews ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Due to unforseen circumstances, STTS won't be carrying the usual movie reviews. Randy Shipp and Bruce Diamond's THROUGH THE MAGIC LANTERN and Bruce's LIGHTS OUT movie reviews should make a reappearance with next month's issue, barring disaster or German Measles. We're sorry for any inconvience this might have caused. Joe DeRouen, 10/31/93  Lyrical Leanings Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved YES I AM Melissa Etheridge Island Records 1993 With her release of 1988's MELISSA ETHERIDGE, Melissa Etheridge shoved her way into the folk/rock world with an energy and intensity not to be rivaled. SIMILAR FEATURES, the album's hottest single, proved Etheridge a force to be reckoned with. 1989 and 1992 saw, respectively, the release of BRAVE AND CRAZY and NEVER ENOUGH, both critically acclaimed by neither having the much sought after selling power of her first album. Both CD's contained a lot of good music, but none embodied that original passion and energy that characterized her first release. YES I AM, Etheridge's fourth album, returns us to that dark intensity and passionate rage that made the first one such a welcome guest in my CD player. Far from being just a knock off of her debut album, YES I AM songs are crafted with precision wit and intelligence as well as something new: the confidence of a established artist who isn't afraid to take chances. The album's first single release, I'M THE ONLY ONE, is a powerful exhibition of Etheridge's music skills (one of the best all-around guitar players in the business) as well as her songwriting ability. (Please baby can't you see/My mind's a burnin' hell/I got razors a rippin' and tearin' and strippin'/My heart apart as well) The single recaptures the intensity of 1988's hit single SIMILAR FEATURES, but doesn't just copy it. COME TO MY WINDOW, the CD's third track, is an achingly beautiful rendition of a forbidden love. Laced with a curious mixture of sensuality and sadness, it's possibly the best all-around track on the CD. (Come to my window/Crawl inside, wait by the light/of the moon/Come to my window/I'll be home soon) TALKING TO MY ANGEL, the last (10th) track on the CD, is an achingly bittersweet tale of a woman who's searching for something she can't find and running away from what she has found just the same. (Don't be afraid/Close your eyes/Lay it all down/Don't you cry/Can't you see I'm going/Where I can see the sun rise/I've been talking to my angel/And he said it's allright) It's a hauntingly remorseful tune, with just the hint of hope and promise. All in all, there's not really a bad song on YES I AM. That's a feat rarely accomplished by even the experienced veterans of the music world, and one to be celebrated. With a strong mix of excellent musical ability (Etheridge playing acoustic and electric guitars, Kevin McCormick on bass) and beautifully crafted, energetic and passionate songs, this is one CD that can't lose. Check it out. My rating, on a scale of 1-10: 10 Melissa Etheridge CDs, all published by Island Records: YES I AM (1993) NEVER ENOUGH (1992) BRAVE AND CRAZY (1989) MELISSA ETHERIDGE (1988)  CD Review Copyright (c) 1993, Heather DeRouen All rights reserved DRIVING HOME Cheryl Wheeler Philo Records 1993 When looking for music by Cheryl Wheeler, one can never be certain in which category it might be located. She has been classified as Pop, Country, and Folk, and her music rightfully fits into all of these categories. The only times I've seen music videos or performances by her have been on The Nashville Network, but she seems to have her own individual style, denying a definitive niche for her work. This individualism could be the reason that she is rather obscure as an artist, and her work hasn't ever really found a loyal following (besides myself, my husband, and a couple of our friends). Her first and second releases ("Cheryl Wheeler", and "Half a Book") had very strong C&W influences in them, but her last two releases ("Circles & Arrows" and "Driving Home") are less twangy, much more pleasant and easy to listen to. Each of the tracks on "Driving Home" provides the listener with what I feel is an intimate insight into the type of person that Cheryl Wheeler is. She is to music what Erma Bombeck is to humor, connecting all of us with common threads that help us to not feel quite so alone. There is not a track on this CD that is bad, many of them evoking strong feelings of wistfulness, longing, and a couple of chuckles. I strongly recommend this CD for anyone who has an interest in Folk, Pop, or Country music. (NOTE: Border Books has this CD in the Folk section.) Rating (on a scale of 1-10) 9.999999 (just because I rarely give anything a 10) Other Cheryl Wheeler titles: DRIVING HOME, Philo Records, 1993 CIRCLES AND ARROWS, Capitol Records, 1990 HALF A BOOK, Cypress Records, 1987 CHERYL WHEELER, North Star Records, 1986  Music Review Copyright (c) 1993, Jason Malandro All rights reserved BAT OUT OF HELL II: BACK INTO HELL Meatloaf MCA Records 1993 In 1978, an unknown musician calling himself Meatloaf released BAT OUT OF HELL. A pop album curiously infused with Wagnerian opera (ala composer and songwriter Jim Steinman), it become an almost overnight sensation and ended up topping out at number 14 on the billboard charts. 15 years later, in 1993, BAT OUT OF HELL II: BACK INTO HELL rests firmly atop the charts in the number 1 slot. Call it retro rock, call it 70's nostalgia, call it anything you'd like - the album's actually good. Reuniting with partner Steinman seems to have added the missing ingredient Meatloaf needed. Of course, recycling the album title probably didn't hurt either. I'D DO ANYTHING FOR LOVE (BUT I WON'T DO THAT) currently holds the number 3 slot for top singles, with a bullet. A stylistic sequel of sorts to BAT OUT OF HELL's best-selling single PARADISE BY THE DASHBOARD LIGHT, the song's destined to become a classic. Some of the songs are more original than others, but there's isn't a bad one in the group. Everythings well done, energetic, and creative. That's a hard combination to achieve when doing a sequel to a 15 year old album, but Meatloaf and Steinman manage to pull it off admirably. Check out the artwork as well. You wouldn't normally buy a CD for the artwork, but it sure doesn't hurt. The front of the CD itself displays a beautiful recreation of the album's cover, depicting a motorcyling wizard racing into the bowels of hell to save an angel. The coverart as well as the 7 other illustrations found in the CD booklet are courtesy of fantasy artist Michael Whelan and fit into the overall package perfectly. High-quality artwork, great songs, and a well-deserved comeback. Who could ask for more? My rating, on a scale of 1-10: 9  CD Review Copyright (c) 1993, Wendy Bryson All rights reserved "UP ON THE ROOF" SONGS FROM THE BRILL BUILDING Neil Diamond Columbia 1993 "Nostalgic", best describes Neil Diamond's salute to the song writers he starved with in the late 1950s and '60s. For those of us who are old enough to remember, the sounds on this CD will prompt warm memories. There are no original works recorded here, as the artist states that this album is a salute to those who pushed and inspired him in his youth. For those "die hard" Diamond fans, you will find this CD in his usually style of being fully orchestrated, and well done at that. The CD definitely has a sing along appeal. However, for those who loved the writer more than the singer, there is little offering here. Diamond is simply the singer on this album. Since there are none of his own works, the flavor and feeling that usually permeates his work is lost. For the most part, this CD is pleasant listening, but don't get a ticket running to get a copy. Wait till the price falls a little. My rating, on a scale of 1-10: 6  Book Reviews Copyright (c) 1993, Heather DeRouen All rights reserved THE THIEF OF ALWAYS Clive Barker Harper Fiction $5.99 US, $6.99 Canada Having never read one of Clive Barker's books before, but having seen a couple of the movies based on those books, I embarked upon reading this book with the expectation of vivid special effects, intense emotions in the characters, and a thrilling roller-coaster ride of a tale. Herein was my downfall, because none of these things was evident in "The Thief of Always". I should have been forewarned by other horror writers' attempts to write fairy tales for children and try to market them to both adult and child audiences. Does anyone remember Stephen Kings "The Eyes of the Dragon"? This same type of condescenscion is evident in "The Thief of Always". Barker assumes that none of the readers, whether adult or child, would be smart enough to spot the obvious logic lapses in the plot and lack of clear-cut plot resolution. This was one of the most unfulfilling and cumbersome books I've read in ages. If one can trudge through the muck and mire of tedious dialogue, it is evident that the author goes to great length to provide visual imagery that really doesn't tell us anything whatsoever. (Example text: "The great gray beast of February had eaten Harvey Swick alive. Here he was, buried in the belly of that smothering month, wondering if he would ever find his way out through the cold coils that lay between here and Easter.") About the only redeeming quality that I found in the book was that I only wasted about 2-1/2 hours reading it. If you can't tell by now, I wasn't really all that impressed by this book. I guess I'll stick to his movies. (If you haven't already seen "Night Breed", based on his book "Cabal", I highly recommend it.) My score (on a scale of 1 to 10) 3  Book Review Copyright (c) 1993, Robert McKay All rights reserved *Almost Always Right - 97% of the Time* * * * *The Way Things Ought to Be* Reviewed by Robert McKay Everyone knows who Rush Limbaugh is. This "harmless little fuzzball" is a household word even among those who neither watch his television show, listen to his radio program, nor care for his views. The words "dittohead" and "megadittoes" have entered the language of our day; they may not last any longer than "groovy" or "boss" did, but for now they're familiar to many. In other words, Rush Limbaugh is a phenomenon. His first book "was" released in paperback, according to the copyright page, in October of 1993 (I'm writing this on September 23). The title reflects Rush's view that he knows *The Way Things Ought to Be*. I'm not certain, however, that the title is a completely accurate reflection of the content of the book. It'll come out before I'm through, so I'll say it now - I agree with Rush Limbaugh. I am not, however, a convert. Nor am I a mindless sheep. I heard the same things he's saying from the time I was old enough to listen to the political discussions that went on in my family (and almost everyone I've talked to since has espoused the same views I heard then). When I began to think seriously about political matters for myself, I found that I came to the same conclusions my father so vociferously espoused. When I first heard Rush, therefore, I was already a dittohead - I'd been saying the same things for years. The book contains this kind of thinking - conservative thinking, stated well. Rush is certainly no William F. Buckley when it comes to command of the English language (even if you loathe Buckley's political views, you should listen to him speak just to learn how a well-constructed English sentence is put together), but he does have an admirable talent for stating matters in such a way that anyone can understand them. Not since Will Rogers has a popular commentator been able to so effectively convey, in easily-understood language, his views on what's going on around him. Rush is, even though he lacks a full college education, well-equipped to utilize our language in stating his positions. A book is not, obviously, a spoken monologue. And Rush is, above all else, a speaker. He began in radio, became famous on radio, and only when radio propelled him into television and speaking engagements did he enter those forums. He is not - and he admits this - a writer by trade. The book at times has the flavor of a wannabe monologue. However, it is apparent that Rush is aware of his weaknesses, and there is strong evidence throughout the book that he tried hard to make it less of a "spout-off" and more of an adaptation of his speaking style to the printed page. He deserves an A for effort as far as his writing goes; even with the flaw mentioned in this paragraph, it is well done, and with practice he could become a really good writer. I have already mentioned another flaw in the book - it does not quite match the title. Now, Rush does tell us in the book how he thinks things ought to be. Indeed, he could no more stop doing that than Congress could stop spending money tomorrow. However, at least as much space is devoted to denouncing (one plus - Rush does not bemoan) the way things are and describing how Rush got to where he is. There's nothing wrong with this, of course, but it does render the book at most only half about the way things ought to be. Rush admits in the book that he is, primarily, an entertainer. I have believed since I first heard him that much of his apparent abrasiveness, silliness, and pomposity is a shtick. While he clearly does have an ego, the well-honed ability to play the clown, and a style that is sometimes potentially if not actually offensive, the book makes it clear that much of this is for effect. Rush does not alter *what* he says, but in order to be heard he'll put on a show and thereby get attention from people who at first are merely "looking at the funny man." William F. Buckley is admirably suited to reach the calm, controlled intellectuals in our country; for the proverbial man in the street, sated with extremes in writing, television, and movies, Rush is just the attention-getter that is needed. Rush is, though an admitted entertainer having fun at what he does, also a purveyor of political commentary. And here many will no doubt diverge from my opinion. I think he is indeed "almost always right 97.9 percent of the time." It is my sincere conviction that he is indeed on the cutting edge of commentary in this country. I am persuaded that Rush is no more than telling the truth when he claims to know *The Way Things Ought to Be*. But then, as I've said, I've agreed with his views since I was young. Those who disagree with his views will find no solace in the book; they probably will not be entertained as much as I was. Rush is no diplomat. Tact is seldom found in his vocabulary. He does indeed use such terms "feminazi" and "Slick Willie." He'll never be Miss Congeniality, though he is not vicious in his name-calling. His weapon is not abuse, but ridicule. He seeks not to injure feelings, but to provide a loud and visual *reductio ad absurdum*. Thus, when he states his position, he is not only setting himself against liberalism ideologically, but terminologically as well. He blasts, he mocks, he prods, he ridicules. However, if those who disagree with him can see past the rhetoric and the shtick, they will find much to think about in *The Way Things Ought to Be*. I do not say they'll agree. I do not say they'll be converted to the conservative position. But they *will* find food for thought. They may find Rush's egotistical claims to near-infallibility galling, but the facts and figures in the book will take study and thought to refute, if indeed they can be refuted. Even if liberals manage to show that the book is a tissue of fabrications and distortions, they'll have to put serious thought into their own positions and how those positions are presented, for Rush very accurately diagnoses why many average Americans simply don't find liberalism credible. Perhaps you who are reading *Sunlight Through the Shadows* don't care to read *The Way Things Ought to Be*. That is of course your privilege. However, whatever your political views, whatever your opinions of Rush Limbaugh either as a person or as a political commentator, I think it's safe to say that if you don't read the book, you'll be missing much food for thought and much entertainment.  Þ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±ÝÞúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúÝÞ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿2400 bps(414) 789-4210 ÝÞ ³ ÚÄÄÄÄÙ "The best connection yourUSR HST 9600 (414) 789-4337 ÝÞ ³ ³modem will ever make!!"USR HST 14400 (414) 789-4352 ÝÞ ³ ÀÄÄÄ¿v.32bis 14400 (414) 789-4360 ÝÞ ³ ÚÄÄÄÙ Ü Ü ÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÜÜÜÜÜ Compucom 9600 (414) 789-4450 ÝÞ ³ ³ßÜß ÛÜÜÜ ÛÜÜÜ ÛÜÜÜÛ ÛHayes V-Series (414) 789-4315 ÝÞ ³ ÀÄÄÄÄ¿ Üß ßÜ ÛÜÜÜÜ ÛÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜÝÞ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ" World's Largest BBS! " ÝÞÝÞ þ Exec-PC BBS is the largest LAN and microcomputer based BBS in the world! 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ÝÞ þ Online Doors / Games / Job Search / PC-Catalog / Online MagazinesÝÞ þ Over 5000 callers per day can't be wrong - 35 gig of online storage!ÝÞ þ Low subscription rates: $25 for 3 months, $75 for a full yearÝÞúúúúúúúúúúúúCallútheúBBSúforúaúFREEútrialúdemo,úandúFREEúdownloadsúúúúúúúúúúúúÝÞ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±Ý ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Fiction ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  It's All Greek to Uncle Thaddeus Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Uncle Thaddeus was a retired travelling salesman. During his career, he'd sold just about anything from aluminum siding for cars to diet edible underwear. No matter how ridiculous the concept was, Uncle Thaddeus could sell it. What was his secret to the Great Sell, as people often referred to it? He talked them into submission. Something about their lives or the product would remind him of a story he'd once heard (or, more likely, lived) and he'd just take it from there. Thaddeus was by far the best in his field. People would often buy anything at all from him just to get him to shut up! If there was anything he loved to do more than smoke Royal Cuban cigars, it was to talk. And he didn't just talk, he told tales. Tall tales, to use a phrase from days gone by. Oh, we could never prove that his tales weren't true; he crafted each with the precision of one of those little ship-in-a-bottle builders. We'd learned to avoid his stories whenever possible, or suffer the always-jolting consequences of his punch line. Often, though, it just wasn't possible. We were all sitting around the fireplace, waiting for Aunt Louise to bring out the Thanksgiving turkey. My brother Bobby, Heather (my wife), and, of course, Uncle Thaddeus. "You'll have to come over more often, Joe!" Roared Uncle Thaddeus, between puffs on his Royal Cuban cigar. His red face beamed down at me, and he smiled. "It's been ages! Why, we have so much to catch up on!" "Umm. . . I think I hear Aunt Louise in the kitchen." I replied hastily, knowing the signs of Uncle Thaddeus gearing up for one of his stories. "She might need help with that turkey." Heather smiled at me. "I'll go. You stay here and visit with your uncle." She rose with a flourish from the couch that we shared and before I knew it was through the kitchen doors and gone. "Damned woman. . ." I muttered to Bobby, who shrugged with resignation. Uncle Thaddeus managed to stand, his hulking 6'4" frame just clearing the roof support beam above. Crimson cheeks spread out in a smile, and he blew a generous puff of smoke in my general direction. "This reminds me. Did I ever tell you about my friend Penny Stein? No, of course I didn't. You'd remember something like that." He paused expectantly, waiting for me to say something. "No, I don't think you have." I almost sighed, relinquishing myself to the unavoidable. Throughout this exchange, Bobby had edged further and further away from the edge of the couch. He was just about to make a run for it when, quick as his frame could take him, Uncle Thaddeus was beside him. "You'll want to hear this too, Bobby. It's a marvelous tale!" He thundered, slapping my brother on the back. "You see, it all began many years ago, when I was dating a reporter by the name of Penny Stein. Ever heard of her, Joe?" "I don't think that I have, now that. . ." "Probably a little bit before your time." He frowned, rolling the cigar around in his mouth. "You see, she was an up-and-coming investigative journalist then, and had her eye on the biggest story of her career. You see, the King of Shag Gydo'G had just died." He paused for effect, then cleared his throat to continue. "Shag Gydo'G was, and still is, I imagine, a curious little island off the coast of Greece. Being a curious little island, it naturally had curious and quaint little customs to go along with it. "Tradition held that a King's soul was so full and rich that he needed more of a vessel for it that the human body would normally provide. On a King's 13th birthday, he was taught in the ways of ceramics. By the 14th birthday, he was to have sculpted and created a urn of great and magnificent proportions. This urn was to help house his soul and, ultimately, see his demise." "And what a magnificent urn the King created! There were gold inlaid runes on one side, depictions of great battles on the other, and great diamonds and rubies everywhere else! Truly, the urn was fit for a king!" Bobby and I groaned in unison, knowing that the worst was yet to come. "When the King died, he would be cremated and his ashes sifted into the urn, and dumped - urn and all - into the Aegean sea, upon the hour of his birth." "So all of his life, the king was expected to preserve this vessel, guarding it with his very life. If the King didn't keep his urn, as it were, he'd soon be out on the streets." That one hurt! I stifled a groan at my uncle's pun. I'd never let him know that one got to me! "Of course," He continued, seemingly oblivious to my lack of response. "I wouldn't expect either of you to understand. After all, it IS just Greek to you." "Oy vey!" Bobby slapped his head in mock-rage, apparently unable to show the great restraint I'd thus far managed. "This King," Intoned Uncle Thaddeus, the barest hint of a smile visible on his full lips. "had been born at the stroke of noon, and would go out the same." "I think I need to. . ." Bobby started, then fell quiet as Uncle Thaddeus' gaze turned to meet his. "It's no use." I sighed to Bobby, leaning back in the couch. "Penny had stowed away on the yacht that had been assigned to take the King's ashes out to sea. You see, the Crown Prince Hali was also on the yacht, and the world awaited with bated breath to see the new King's visage. Penny planned to shoot a few pictures and then escape on a rubber lifeboat she'd managed to hide aboard the yacht, and, with a few photos, make her career. What she hadn't planned on was terrorists from H'Chali, a small island off the *other* coast of Greece, and mortal enemies of the great King of Shag Gydo'G." "Penny had managed to steal a few shots of the Crown Prince Hali, and was just about ready to make her escape when it happened. The terrorists were upon the boat in seconds, just half an hour before the urn was due to be dumped. The terrorists - there must have been hundreds of them - overwhelmed the Shag Gydo'Gians, slew the Crown Prince, and set the yacht on fire, all in a matter of minutes. And then they were gone." "Penny drew herself out from the lounge she'd managed to hide behind, only to discover everyone dead and the ship going down in flames. Her film forgotten (alas, for she never gained the fame she rightly deserved) and her hidden lifeboat blocked by flames, she let her instincts for survival take over. Running to the ceramic urn, she dumped the King's ashes into the sea. With a wish and a prayer, she jumped into the urn, pulled the plug in over her, then rocked herself until the urn tipped over the bow of the burning ship and into the waters below." "Just about a week later, the urn washed up on the southern coast of Greece. Dehydrated and half-starved, Penny thanked her lucky stars to be alive. She'd lost over half her body weight during her week-long ordeal but, of course, everyone agreed that if they couldn't have the full Penny a ha'Penny would just have to do. Truly, she must have been blessed!" Thaddeus smiled, scoring another stifled groan from Bobby and myself. "You see, the moral of this. . ." "Ahem." I coughed, barely able to contain myself. A smug grin spread over my face. I had him! "May I?" Uncle Thaddeus look non-plussed, then motioned for me to speak with a grand sweep of his arms. I smiled again to myself. Finally, I was going to beat him at his own game. "The moral of the story, of course, is this: A Penny urned is a Penny saved." Bobby smiled, the light of truth finally dawning upon him. "Hey, you're right!" Thaddeus reduced us both to silence with a single nod. "Close, my boy, but," He paused to sit his still-smoking cigar in a nearby ashtray. "No stogie. You see, your moral is a good one, and partly true, but it doesn't quite capture the essence of the story." "Oh C'mon!" I was starting to get annoyed. I had him, and he knew it. I'd finally beaten him at his own game. "Hear me out." He smiled, a merry twinkle dancing through his eyes. "The Shag Gydo'Gians hadn't been paying attention. I said it was half-an-hour 'til noon when the terrorists attacked. That wasn't altogether true, though it was from their standpoint. You see, they'd crossed a time zone only hours before, but failed to take that into account. It was actually 12:30 PM when the terrorists had boarded their ship, half an hour *after* they were to have dumped the urn. If they'd been on time, Penny would have been forced to go down with the ship." Uncle Thaddeus winked at us, on a roll now. "You see, if the Shag Gydo'Gians had been better clock-watchers. . ." He paused, plucking his cigar from the ashtray. Things grew hazy as he sucked on the end of the Royal Cuban, billowing out a stream of smoke, then stepped through it. "Suffice it to say that a switch in time saved Stein." I groaned with defeat, barely able to discern my uncle's crowning smile through the gauzy screen of smoke.   Get a Life Copyright (c) 1993, Robert McKay All rights reserved Get a Life by Robert McKay Gardner's thin form moved through the empty streets. ELO had once done a song about "Night in the City" - that was the time and place now. He was not downtown - that forest of skyscrapers and their winds did not interest him - but he was fairly near it. He could look up and see the tallest buildings tearing at the low clouds that scudded overhead. On these cold, damp, raw nights, it was not a pleasant task to move through the darkened streets of this neighborhood. Yet it was the task Gardner had set for himself. He was lightly bundled for the night, wearing a black turtle-necked sweater, jeans, and a battered pair of running shoes of indefinite brand. His face carved a path before him, its marble features sharp. His hands were thrust in his pockets; had he withdrawn them, they would have been surgeon's hands, long, slender, and dextrous to a fault. Small beads of condensation glistened on the wool Gardner's sweater and rested on his hair as it swept back over his collar and partway down his ears. A spangle of crushed diamonds glittered as these drops passed under the rare streetlight. Turning a corner, Gardner spied a figure a block away, on the next corner. His pace remained steady, but his head came up and his nostrils flared. He had been seeking someone such as this. Her clothing was outrageously unsuited for the weather; the short skirt provided no protection at all, and the low cut of the neck must have chilled her thoroughly. Working no doubt out of sheer necessity, she was forlorn and alone on the corner, at an hour when most traffic had ceased. Gardner approached. He saw as he drew near that the woman was not as young as she dressed, or to be more precise, had aged more than her clothing was designed to lead people to believe. A hard and unrewarding life had clearly been hers, for the lines had gathered around her hard eyes and the too-heavily made up mouth. "Whatcha want, honey?" the woman asked, mercifully popping no bubblegum. "You," replied Gardner, firmly taking her elbow. "You are all I want." * * * The patrol car cruised by the alley, the passenger cop idly shining his spotlight down the length of the cluttered passage. "Hey, stop!" came the voice through the window that was slightly open to allow cigarette smoke to be sucked out. "There's a body in that alley!" The car stopped with a flash of brake lights. Thrown into reverse, it came slowly back until the light could shine down the alley again. Inside, the driver was patient. "Are you sure it was a body? I mean, there's drunks sleeping in these alleys even in winter, with the snow and ice on the ground." "I'm sure. It wasn't lying down like it was asleep. It's position was - there it is!" The doors of the car popped open and the two officers climbed out, stuffing batons into the rings on their belts, and making sure their guns were loose in the holsters. They approached the figure lying in the muck and wet of the alley. Shining a flashlight on the figure, the driver of the car saw a woman, dark roots showing under the hard blond of her hair, her dress only slightly disarranged, her skin beaded with the mist that was falling. "Is she dead?" "I dunno." The passenger crouched beside the body, his hand feeling for the carotid pulse. "Feels like it. No pulse, and cold as an ice cube. I guess we gotta call this one in as a DB." "All right, I'll make the call. You start marking off the scene." An hour later, as the coroner's wagon pulled out, a detective finished scribbling in his notebook. He'd been taking information from the first two officers on the scene, the occupants of the patrol car that still stood near the mouth of the alley, its lights now flashing garish tints over the crumbling brickwork. The officer before him - the driver of the car - cleared his throat. "Say, sergeant, did the ME say what killed her?" "He said he didn't know for sure, but it looked like she just died. No cause. She just . . . died." * * * An office in the suburbs. Computer terminals winking on as secretaries, programmers, data entry people, and others come in for the day. Among them, a man who looks like youth personified - though a youth that is not quite sunny, not quite wholesome. Gardner's suit was black, with a white carnation in his lapel. Many envied him the Porsche he drove today, as well as the Jaguar he had driven the day before. Gardner passed through the outer office to his sanctum, where he flicked on his own array of monitors. There were a few minutes before the phones would begin their day- long ring - time to scan the monitors with something approaching leisure, time to pull off the coat and hang it carefully on the rack, time to scan some papers left on the desk. Gardner signed one letter, initialed two reports, and chucked the rest in a basket to be filed. He wouldn't notice when the papers were removed from his desk; the phones were beginning their serenade, and the monitors were one by one coming to scrolling life as price quotes displayed themselves. One monitor, placed squarely above the array and centered above the top row, was devoted to headline news - local, national, and international. Gardner's scanning eyes moved over it as they moved over the rest of the display, taking into account reports of unrest in Turkey, a bombing in London claimed by the Provos, a new oil strike in the Russian Republic, a ranch merger in Texas. He noted the picture of a face on this monitor - a face he knew. The hair was dark in the picture, taken from police files. The lines were slightly less prominent, but he recognized the woman he'd met last night. She had been found dead in an alley, about three hours after he'd seen her. Gardner held the phone to his ear with his shoulder and continued his conversation, while tapping on computer keys with two fingers and blinding speed. * * * Gardner's house rested on its lawn with suburban typicality. The cars in the drive, however, denied the standard suburban mold, quietly displaying money. Gardner had lived in the house for 12 years, never bothering to move to a better neighborhood as his bank accounts grew. In the back yard, the pool sat dry. It had not been filled since Gardner bought the house - he never swam. He'd never covered it, either, and the collection of leaves, grass, twigs, and other litter on the bottom was threatening before very long to rise up and create new land. When it did, the grass that grew on it would be as immaculately manicured as the lawn surrounding the vacant pool. Inside, Gardner, on this Saturday, lay along the sofa. The sun outside glared around the edges of dark shades fully drawn. In the corner, the television flickered, an old black-and-white movie playing. Gardner's attention was not on the movie, however; his nose was stuffed into a book. The doorbell rang, an incongruous sound in the air conditioned dark of the house. Gardner quietly laid his book down, marking the place with a strip of hammered gold. The bookmark had been made for him, and the price had been paid in cash. Striding to the door, Gardner's dark jeans and black short-sleeved shirt made his pale skin gleam. At the door he grasped the knob and pulled. On the concrete step outside, a delivery man sweated in the summer heat. Gardner smiled slightly. "You Gardner?" asked the delivery man. "Yes." "Package for you." He held out the package and thrust his clipboard at Gardner. "Sign on line number 35." Gardner laid the package on a small table by the door, and scrawled his signature. "Is it hot enough for you?" "Oh, yeah. I'm glad this is my last delivery - I'm about to melt." "Why don't you come in and have something cold to drink? I have water, of course, and some Cokes in the refrigerator." "Sure, why not?" The delivery man stepped inside, wiping perspiration. "Boy, if it gets any hotter, they'll have to haul icebergs down from the north pole!" Gardner closed the door behind the delivery man. As he turned to follow the visitor, his eyes glowed red in the dimness of the entry. The next morning, the delivery man's body was found in his van three miles out in the country; the medical examiner could determine no cause of death. * * * Gardner sat comfortably at the table. Facing him was a mirror that, he knew, concealed a room with someone watching and listening. Across the table from him was a sweaty detective, who chewed Wrigley's with much fervor and no class. He had just bustled in, 20 minutes after Gardner had been shown into this room by a uniformed cop and told someone would be with him shortly. The detective flipped through a folder. Without glancing up, he asked, "You know why you're here, right?" "I am being held for questioning in the case of a suspected homicide." "Yeah." The detective looked up for a moment. "You musta gone to some fancy college, the way you talk." "Is that a question? If it is, I submit that it is hardly material." "Yeah, yeah." The detective closed the folder and looked straight at Gardner. "You of course know where you were when - those questions have already been asked. So I won't waste our time asking again. I'll ask another one. What do you know about the death of Jeffry Sulman?" "Who was he?" "He delivered a package to your house two days ago. It took us a while to discover this. Someone had balled up the list of stops and tossed it into a pasture. We were lucky some cow didn't eat it." "Were there any fingerprints on the paper?" "Only Jeffry's. You can bet, buddy, that if we'd found yours you'd be in jail right now." Gardner smiled coldly. "I suggest, officer, that you release me. Clearly that paper hadn't been wiped off, or it wouldn't have the driver's fingerprints on it. And it most certainly didn't have my prints on it, or, as you said, I would be in jail. You have no grounds to hold me." "Yeah, we got grounds. We know that the guy was alive when he got to your place. That was his last stop, and he delivered a package, which you signed for. You're the last person we know of who saw him. So you're a number one suspect, and that's grounds." "Are you prepared to place me under arrest?" asked Gardner. "We're thinkin' about it, yeah. We'll let you know. Now, do you have anything to tell me?" "Only this. I did not kill Jeffry Sulman. I do not know who did. And if I am not either placed under arrest or released within a few hours, I will contact my attorney and file legal action against the appropriate parties." The detective stared. "Oh, yeah? We'll see." He rose. "Don't go anywhere." The door closed behind the policeman. It was locked, of course; Gardner had no doubt of that. He looked straight at the mirror. A slow smile came over his face, and for a moment, his reflection ceased to appear. * * * At work, comments were going around about Gardner's appearance. No one dared broach the subject in his presence - his tongue could cut like the finest razor - but the office was rife with speculation. Over the past six months he'd aged dramatically. His patrician face had grown lined, and had fallen in alarmingly. His hair was both thinning and graying at an abnormal rate, and his hands were shaky. His voice, once clear and powerful, was now a scratchy parody of what it had been. Age spots were breaking out in legions, more each day, and Gardner's gate had gone from a vigorous stride to an elderly shuffle. No one knew why. That is, no one besides Gardner knew why. His life was draining away. He'd lived for a long time on borrowed energy, and now, forced by police attention to restrict himself and draw on that stored vitality, he was consuming himself. Just as the body of a man deprived of food will, eventually, turn on itself and burn muscle tissue in the vain struggle to remain alive, so Gardner's life had turned on him, killing him by inches to avoid death by yards. Gardner had known of his situation for some time. He'd known that, after having been released for lack of evidence in the case of the dead delivery man, the police had instituted surveillance of his house, his job, and his person. He had to compliment the police on their capacity for discretion, for the officers were not obtrusive and would have been missed by someone less vigilant and capable. But they were there, and for six months they'd hovered over him like vultures, waiting for a slip, a move, a word or gesture that could link him with the delivery man's death. The strain was, literally, killing him. As he shuffled out of his office at the end of a fall day, Gardner knew that he must either recharge himself, or die. He could last, at most, another couple of months. After that he would be too weak to move, too weak to reach out for the life he needed even if it were brought into his reach. He had to act, or die; he had no other choice, and the observation of the police had to be circumvented somehow, for die he refused to do. He'd waited as long as he could, hoping the authorities would give up, but they had not. Tonight, then, he would slip out of their sight. That night the plan went into motion. Standing before the full- length mirror in his bedroom, Gardner smiled a faint echo of the cold expression he'd long used - and his image faded out of the mirror. He hobbled out of the room, switching off the light as he did so. Proceeding toward the back door, he wavered, became translucent and then transparent, and finally was a mere shadow of iridescent mist dancing in a small shaft of moonlight coming in around the drawn shade. The sliding glass door came open a crack, and the mist exited. The door remained open. The spindle of shaky mist passed slowly over the grass, and filtered through the cedar fence that surrounded the yard. It moved slowly down the alley, startling a cat as it staggered - if mist can stagger - by the feline's crouching place. The mist passed out of the alley into the street, and disappeared in the glare of a streetlight. * * * The patrol car cruised the downtown area. The skyscrapers towered into the clear air, the crisp bite of fall swirling around them in the perpetual wind created by any collection of massive, upward-springing structures. The car's spotlight moved over doorways, sometimes illuminating a security desk, where the occupant would wave at the car before returning to his monitors and his cheap novel. No winos were in evidence tonight; they tended to keep to the back ways of downtown in good weather, coming out onto the main sidewalks only when it grew cold and it became more imperative to make a pitiable impression. The cops in the car knew that some of these homeless people were genuinely homeless, trying desperately to find a way out of the gutter. They also knew that most were derelicts, winos, addicts, and other flotsam who cared not what dismal shore they were cast upon, as long as they were left alone when comfortable, taken in by a shelter when it got cold, and tossed enough cash to buy the next bottle or needle or bag of powder. The patrol car turned a corner, leaving the downtown buildings behind and coming into an area of crumbling brick where the structures were older, lower, and less hygienic. The car cruised this area, noting that the hookers had for the most part been allowed to go home by their pimps. A few pushers hung out, carefully doing nothing suspicious while the car was in sight; as soon as the cops disappeared around a corner, the officers in the car knew, the traffic would resume with a vengeance. The officer riding as a passenger shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He must be getting tired - he thought he'd seen a small mist emerge from an alley and for a moment, before it was swallowed by the glare of an electric lamp, faintly resemble an old man. * * * An hour later, on the same street, a powerful man strode along. His stocky form was well suited to his business, which was carrying and using concealed weapons. His bulky shoulders and chest made the hiding of a pistol in a shoulder holster rather easy. He had good eyes, quick reflexes, and no conscience. He was wanted for several petty crimes, and was suspected in a couple of murders. As he walked down the sidewalk, he had a purpose, for he had been hired to break up, permanently, a floating book that had not bothered to obtain the authorization of the local gambling entrepreneur. As the man passed a dark doorway, a sparkle appeared behind him. He made a few more steps, and then the sparkle materialized into the form of a tottering old man. The trembling hand reach out and seized the gunman's shoulder; the hired man whirled, in these circumstances his hand diving into a pants pocket for a switchblade. The old man smiled, a slow, chill movement of his lips that held no mirth. It was a cruel, hungry smile, one that made the hired man think vaguely of death, and of where he would rather be at the moment. The cracked voice of the old man was a mere whisper in the night. "I believe you'll do. You are eminently vital, and that is precisely what I require." "Mister, I don't know who you are, or what you're doing, but you'd better just back off. I'm ready for whatever you're offering, and frankly, old-timer, I don't think you're ready for much of anything." "Oh? Perhaps you're right. On the other hand . . ." Suddenly the old man's hand darted to the thug's temple. The hired man jerked, trying to avoid the touch, but he wasn't quite fast enough. The bony fingers touched, clung, and tightened. Those fingers actually held the thug upright, while the old face leaned close, the eyes, now glowing a molten red, glaring into the man's face. And, as the hired gunman slowly weakened, sagged, and finally collapsed to the ground, the old man straightened, brushed back his now-black and thick hair with both hands, and strode away with the energy of one who is only middle-aged. On the sidewalk, the gunman lay, nothing showing how he had died. * * * Gardner killed twice more that night. Each time he grew younger in appearance, more vital in his actions, more deadly. His cruel fingers latched onto the temple of a wino lying in an alley and a priest coming home from administering last rites, and as the leering eyes bored close, drained the life from them. Gardner sucked the life he needed from his victims, and left them where they fell, for the coroner to finally decide that the deaths has no discernible cause. As he straightened from the last kill, that of the priest, the patrol car came around the corner just a block away. Engrossed in his work, Gardner's attention had been focused away from his ears, and he had not heard the engine or the tires on pavement. The officer in the passenger seat happened to fling his spotlight on the patch of sidewalk where Gardner still half-crouched over the priest's body. Gardner froze, startled. The car accelerated, and the loudspeaker called upon Gardner to remain where he was and make no sudden moves. He complied. Straightening slowly, he stood over the body as the car pulled up next to him and the two officers climbed out, their hands resting on the butts of their weapons. "What are you doing here?" asked the driver. "Minding my own business, officer, as I suggest you mind yours." Gardner's voice was cold with controlled fury. His eyes glinted a faint red, the fire banked in their depths. The passenger from the patrol car had been examining the corpse. He now stood, drawing his gun. "This man is dead. Please put your hands on top of your head and turn around." The fire in Gardner's eyes grew more evident, but he complied. His reflection appeared in a storefront window, and the driver of the car was puzzled to see that reflection smile, though it was a hunter's smile, not the gesture of a man who is amused. And then, as the officers approached to cuff the suspect, the reflection vanished in an instant. The split-second of reaction was all Gardner needed. Whirling, he lashed out with a clubbed fist at the nearest officer, the driver, whose handcuffs went clattering into the street. The officer's blood and brains spilled onto the street as he fell, his skull shattered; he fell solidly, like a tree. The other officer, just out of Gardner's reach, fired his weapon. The full clip, at such short range, took Gardner in the chest. The policeman could see the impacts shake Gardner, could see the holes appear in the black leather of Gardner's jacket, but could discern no blood or pain. And then Gardner, taking a step forward, swung. The officer ducked, and Gardner's fist grazed the top of his head. The cop dropped as if poleaxed. Gardner turned, and as he stepped slowly away, swirled into a dense bank of glittering mist that rose into the air and passed from view. The stunned officer recovered. Gardner was never seen again. Within two weeks, three unexplained deaths had occurred in a city 200 miles to the south.  A Christmas Tale Copyright (c) 1993, Franchot Lewis All rights reserved A CHRISTMAS TALE by Franchot Lewis Tina hears the thumping noises of her grandmother's footsteps and she begins to predict the future. The footsteps mean that her grandmother is agitated again, and Tina is about to get yelled at. Tina's facial muscles twitch and she feels a churning in her stomach. She hunches her shoulders, sinks down in the sheets, and tries to hide, so to become a tiny, little lump in the bed, hoping to be invisible. She sucks in her breath as she hears the footsteps in the hallway out side the bedroom door. She fears that she can't - but knows she must continue to stay in her grandmother's house. But, how can she? She feels, she can't and be afraid this way? She skulks about the house, moves in every shadow she can find. She avoids eye contact with her grandmother and tries to avoid anyone who comes to her grandmother's house. This is a fretfully, worrisome, way to stay alive until her parents come for her. To her young mind, it seems like she has been living afraid forever. Already, she has spent three weeks living in her grandmother's house. She is convinced that everything in the house, including the furniture, is determined to subdue her. The ugly walls want to smother her. When she goes to bed she can hear her grandmother moving about, and she worries that her grandmother's friends might come sneaking into her room. To hide from them, she slides down in the bed under the blanket and covers her head. She prefers the darkness under the covers. She dreads sleeping with her head uncovered, making herself an easy target in the glow of the night light her grandmother keeps on in the room, for her, her grandmother says. She thinks the light is there for her grand mother and her grandmother's friends to spy on her. . She worries: What if her parents never come back? What if they know how hard their little girl finds living in her grandmother's house, and they don't care? She wonders. Certainly, they will return. After all, she is their daughter. Their only child. They know how horrible life is with the grandmother. Her mommy called the woman "an old bag". Her daddy called the woman "an old busy body". They placed her in the woman's house because there is no place else for her to go. How could she survive if she didn't have her grandmother's house as a place to stay until her parents's return? The house is a roof. The house is shelter, four-walls from the cold outside. It is too frightful a thought to think, yet she knows it could easily happen. Any day, her grandmother could explode and kick her out before her parents returned. She knows of her grandmother's terrible temper. Her mommy told her of the time the woman exploded violently. When her mommy was a little girl, her mommy was a pretty girl with long bangs. Her mommy was very proud of those bangs, and spent hours admiring them and herself in the mirror. Well, the woman asked her mommy to do something that her mommy didn't do and so as punishment, the woman sat down in a chair, grabbed her mommy and using clippers cut off her mommy's bangs. Her mommy cried and screamed. Her mommy said the tears came like rain. After her mommy told her that story, Tina disliked the old woman thoroughly. Sleeping in the old woman's house is a particularly hard ordeal for Tina. Tina has bangs like her mommy had as a little girl. And, Tina has seen that gray straw-like wire peeping from under the old woman's wig, and feels that the old woman is probably jealous of little girls' bangs. She has seen her grandmother without the creams and preservatives the old woman puts on her face. She glimpsed that moldy face in all its horror going into the bathroom early one morning last week, and she trembled and sneaked away, quietly, back into her room so that the hag face old woman wouldn't know that Tina has seen the ugliness. Tina just knows, the old woman doesn't like her. The old woman gives Tina shelter, and feeds her, but stares at her while she eats like she is stealing food. She trembles as she thinks further of her grandmother and her grandmother's friends. She heard them talking. The first week after she came, she heard her grandmother talking about her to another fat old lady, a friend of her grandmother's. Tina's head aches at the thought of being talked about. Her mind fills with the awful memory of her of getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom to pee, and of hearing her grandmother down stairs talking about her like she is a thief. "I can see, I'm going to have problems with that grand daughter," her grandmother said. "When she gets up some size she's going to be a bitch ..." A bitch, the old woman called her. Tina mumbled. Her grandmother, calling her a nasty name in the middle of the night, hurt. Tina wondered what names her grandmother must be calling her during the day. She listened, feeling pain and fear, but sort of,[ kind of], glad that she woke up to catch her grandmother in the act of disrespecting her. Tina felt that there was no reason why she should try to be nice to the old woman. The two old bitties were telling one another of how hard it is now-a-days to communicate with grand children. Her grandmother said, "I do every thing for that child I can: I cook for her, I lay her clothes out, make sure she has clean socks and underwear, I leave them on the bed ..." Tina was horrified. Her grandmother was discussing her underwear! Tina felt as though her grandmother was discussing executing her. "That child's always winding and complaining," Tina's grandmother said. "Saying, we don't do it like that in my house, we don't cook like that, we don't make it like that." Tina listened. Her grandmother's fat friend made a snort like a pig. It sounded to Tina as if the old women were either snacking or drinking. Tina's grandmother said, "The child's always winding about I don't do this right, or that, in my house, I felt like telling her to get the hell out of my house." "You didn't?" the fat friend asked. "I felt like it," Tina's grandmother replied, and both of the old women laughed. Tina eyes began to tear. They were now laughing at her. She was angry, so angry that she turned around and knocked over a broom that her grandmother had unintentionally left in the hallway at the top of the stairs. She became terrified that they would discover her easedropping. She cowered for a moment, standing still in fear, but they hadn't heard the broom fall, they hadn't stopped their laughter and chatter. Tina thought that there have to be places where she could go where staying out of the way until her parents returned wasn't so difficult. She wondered why her parents sent her to her grandmother. She was a good child. She didn't think that she could have done anything to merit this punishment. She wondered why her parents were being so mean to her by taking so long to return. They weren't mean like her grandmother. They wouldn't leave her unless something was to matter, unless they had no choice. She wondered: What were they supposed to do? They had to leave her somewhere, where she could sleep and eat. She doesn't blame her parents, and thinking about them only makes the wait longer. She has told herself often that she won't think about them, that they will come when they will come. She is a big girl and not a baby. She won't cry. She will fend for herself, with and against the old woman, until her parents return. So far, she has managed to get through three weeks. She feels certain that soon it will be the day that her parents will return. Her parents will be with her like they always were, and it will be like it has been always since she can remember. She just knows that soon they will come for her and take her home, and like last year, they will take her out to a big lot where there is a happy, smiling man with red hair and a green coat. In his lot is all the Christmas trees in the world. They will buy a big one, take it home and set it up with sparking lights and bright ornaments. They will sing together, spend plenty of time together. She will watch her mommy cook. Her mommy will cook and cook and she will eat and eat. In the three weeks she has been at her grandmother's house she hardly ate. When she does, she eats very little. Her mommy will come home and Tina will eat and eat and get some meat on her bones. Her daddy will lift her up, and then will ask her to show him her strength. She will flex her muscles, showing him the good use her body puts to her mommy's cooking. Her daddy will hug her, and her mommy while holding her, and she will squeeze, tight, against them both and feel safe and loved. She hunches down to sleep, hopeful that there won't be too many more nights before the morning daylight will bring the return of her parents. She hears her grandmother coming into the room. She holds her breath and waits for the old woman to leave. A long moment passes, but not long enough. Tina's grandmother sits on the bed and pulls the covers off Tina's head. Before Tina can speak, she cringes. Her grandmother flips on the room's light, and the brightness of a hundred watt bulb floods into the child's eyes. Her grandmother laughs, "Caught you by surprise?" Tina decides to yawn. "Sleepy, sleepy head?" her grandmother ask. "Didn't you hear somebody rummaging around downstairs?" Tina jumps up out of the bed as if she doesn't have time to get up without jumping. "Mommy and Daddy!" she screams. Her grandmother's face freezes. She looks unable to speak. She holds her breath, hoping to find words to say to the child. Before the old woman finds a single word, Tina is off the bed and is running down the stairs, happily skipping steps as she hurries. Tina is downstairs scurrying around, through the whole downstairs, running this way and that, and calling to her parents to come out and get her. She runs from one room to the other for ever so long. She thinks that her parents are playing hide and seek. Finally, she stops. Her grandmother is now downstairs. She asks her grandmother, "Where is my mommy and daddy? You said they be here?" Her grandmother tells her that she is mistaken. Her grandmother does not try to stop her when she inches away and huddles in a corner, behind the big Christmas tree her grandmother has set up. The tree is tall, almost as tall as Tina's daddy. It has silver bulbs that shine and many flashing bright, red and yellow and blue lights. There are boxes under the tree, wrapped in bright shiny paper and filled with many things. On some of these boxes is written Tina's name. Tina does not look at these boxes, nor does she look at the many other gifts her grandmother has sat unwrapped about the room. Tina stares in the direction of the floor as she inches herself even further into the corner. Her grandmother tells her, "I would wake up your mama, very early, on Christmas morning like this, while it was still dark outside, as soon as Santa Claus was gone, and she would come running down those steps, her face all lit up, her mouth squealing ... And she would attack the stacks of boxes with her name on them, and seeing her my face would fill with light and joy I would squeal too ..." Tina says, "My daddy's gonna pick me up." Her grandmother sighs, "We've explained this. You know where your parents are?" Tina does not reply. Her grandmother asks, "What did you tell me? That they were in church sleeping?" "My daddy's going to get me, take me in his car, and we're going home." "They are gone, but we're not alone, we're safe and alive". Tina lifts her chin. She looks up at the Christmas tree at its tallest point, at the lighted angel at its very top. "Yes," she hears her grandmother say, "Your mama and daddy are in Heaven with God." Tina snaps, "They're going to pick me up, they're coming for me!" Tina's grandmother's patience snaps. "If they are, you let me know, because I don't want to be here when they get here, because they're dead, " her grandmother was frowning. "They're dead and they aren't coming back." Tina's eyes waters and her grandmother flinches as if struck by a piercing pain, and then another, as Tina began to cry, " You, ugly, old thing, I want to be with my mommy." "Damn, " the old woman fusses. "I've no business keeping you, I'm too old to raise another child." Tina is about to poke her tongue at the old woman, then she sees something that the old woman has kept hidden from view: tears. Tina's old grandmother is crying. "Baby, baby," the old woman bawls and holds out her arms toward the child. Tina stops her own crying and takes a cautious step toward the old woman. Suddenly, Tina finds herself pressed into the old woman's sagging chest. She feels the wet face of the crying old woman pressing next to hers. She smells the woman's perfume, all musty and hard to take, unlike her mommy's sweet, pleasant scent. She is about to pull away from this foreign chest and run back into a corner when she hears the old woman sob, "I loved your mama, and I love you."  ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Poetry ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Triad Copyright (c) 1992, Tamara All rights reserved Triad Transitions permutate existance To live, to die, to be reborn is the privilege of life's dance tho the veil is old and worn the shedding of masques is a timeless rite unbourne To die is a painful task if the choice is a matter of chance To Life! A toast...unasked. (written online now....by Tamara...(c) 1992)  Do-Wop Copyright (c) 1993, Patricia Meeks All rights reserved Do-Wop Do-Wop, Beep, Bop, Bop, Do-Wop, The trumphet blairs and your foot starts to tappin, Do-Wop, That big band sound, starts to make things happen, Beep, Bop Do-Wop, The other foot joins, and your fingers start snappin, And before you know it your up and dancin', Swingin' and a turnin' to that triple step time, It's that 50 's era a startin' to make you smile. Doop, da do da Do-Wop, Da-Do, Da-DAAAA, DO-WOP!  Buzzing Floor Essence Copyright (c) 1993, Kurt Becker All rights reserved "Buzzing Floor Essence" Amid voices murmuring soft in tones into nes- tled phones: warbled then shouldered with a half-shrug quickly cradled with a plastic click, Ships of pudgy people bellowing sails walking in- vestments suit- able for their offices, Under rectilinear clouds suspended glowerings in a chip-board matrix the heads in empty doldrums float bobbing lightly cycloids over a mazing sea of truncated cubes - Foot strides sloshing in their holds liquid cargo coffee.  A Silver Shaft Appeared at the Temple Copyright (c) 1993, Jim Reid All rights reserved A silver shaft appeared at the Temple shining among the gold. Did it appear overnight like a Spring mushroom, or was it there much longer - hiding? Anomaly, or portent? I wonder... I prayed for a sign that I might know: Does this foreshadow the end of the present, or perhaps the beginning of the next? Silence. I searched the temple carefully. More silver where once only golden gleamed. Silver on the crown and the crest, too. And the golden shafts are thinner now - worn away in friction with time. When did I stop growing up and start growing old?  Sailing the Seas of Cyberspace Copyright (c) 1993, J. Guenther All rights reserved Sailing the Seas of CyberSpace version 1 by J. Guenther (dedicated to & inspired by Jess M. and Ken D.) In the rocking seas a ship sets sail over their billowing waves and frosty tails; Its wooden hull, its mast so frail, it sails so fast with the nightly gales; I can read her words and see her smile across the seas of CyberSpace; Amongst the games and lengthy files, I think I can see her shining face; Through the seas of CyberSpace, our ships find a friendly dock; And though the days demands more haste, our ships ignore the ticking clock; But we surrender to our crew, and must submit to the annoyed alarm; The night has blanketed our ships two, and the morning stars have stolen its charm; My ship, oh ship, with its grimy rust, readies for its course homebound; Good night, good friend, and you can trust that tonight a friend you have found.  ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ ú ú   ÜÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ     ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ ú   ßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛß . S u n l i g h t T h r o u g h     ÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛ T h e S h a d o w s (tm) ú   ß ßßßß ú O n - L i n e   . ú ú   . . (214) 620-8793 v32 v42bis   . ú ù   ú . . . ú   ù   . . . . . . .   . º ú                     .   º   ±  ú   ³ . ±  ú   . ±  . ±  . ±    . ±  . ±  . ±  ±    ±  ± ±  ±    Û  ±     Û  ±  ±  ±       JD'93 ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Humour ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Freud on Seuss Copyright (c) 1993, Josh LeBeau All rights reserved Freud on Seuss a book review by Josh LeBeau _The Cat in the Hat_ by Dr. Seuss, 61 pages. Beginner Books, $3.95 The Cat in the Hat is a hard-hitting novel of prose and poetry in which the author re-examines the dynamic rhyming schemes and bold imagery of some of his earlier works, most notably _Green Eggs and Ham_, _If I Ran the Zoo_, and _Why Can't I Shower With Mommy?_ In this novel, Theodore Geisel, writing under the pseudonym Dr. Seuss, pays homage to the great Dr. Sigmund Freud in a nightmarish fantasy of a renegade feline helping two young children understand their own frustrated sexuality. The story opens with two youngsters, a brother and a sister, abandoned by their mother, staring mournfully through the window of their single-family dwelling. In the foreground, a large tree/phallic symbol dances wildly in the wind, taunting the children and encouraging them to succumb to the sexual yearnings they undoubtedly feel for each other. Even to the most unlearned reader, the blatant references to the incestuous relationship the two share set the tone for Seuss' probing examination of the satisfaction of primitive needs. The Cat proceeds to charm the wary youths into engaging in what he so innocently refers to as "tricks." At this point, the fish, an obvious Christ figure who represents the prevailing Christian morality, attempts to warn the children, and thus, in effect, warns all of humanity of the dangers associated with the unleashing of the primal urges. In response to this, the cat proceeds to balance the aquatic naysayer on the end of his umbrella, essentially saying, "Down with morality; down with God!" After poohpoohing the righteous rantings of the waterlogged Christ figure, the Cat begins to juggle several icons of Western culture, most notably two books, representing the Old and New Testaments, and a saucer of lactal fluid, an ironic reference to maternal loss the two children experienced when their mother abandoned them "for the afternoon." Our heroic Id adds to this bold gesture a rake and a toy man, and thus completes the Oedipal triangle. Later in the novel, Seuss introduces the proverbial Pandora's box, a large red crate out of which the Id releases Thing One, or Freud's concept of Ego, the division of the psyche that serves as the conscious mediator between the person and reality, and Thing Two, the Superego which functions to reward and punish through a system of moral attitudes, conscience, and guilt. Referring to this box, the Cat says, "Now look at this trick. Take a look!" In this, Dr. Seuss uses the children as a brilliant metaphor for the reader, and asks the reader to re-examine his own inner self. The children, unable to control the Id, Ego, and Superego allow these creatures to run free and mess up the house, or more symbolically, control their lives. This rampage continues until the fish, or Christ symbol, warns that the mother is returning to reinstate the Oedipal triangle that existed before her abandonment of the children. At this point, Seuss introduces a many-armed cleaning device which represents the psychoanalytic couch, which proceeds to put the two youngsters' lives back in order. With powerful simplicity, clarity, and drama, Seuss reduces Freud's concepts on the dynamics of the human psyche to an easily understood gesture. Mr. Seuss' poetry and choice of words is equally impressive and serves as a splendid counterpart to his bold symbolism. In all, his writing style is quick and fluid, making _The Cat in the Hat_ impossible to put down. While this novel is 61 pages in length, and one can read it in five minutes or less, it is not until after multiple readings that the genius of this modern day master becomes apparent.  Top Ten List Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Top Ten Ways To Tell You're Having a Really Rough Day In BBS Land ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ 10. SysOp changes your handle to "Ima Leech" 9. Microsoft releases Windows NT, and you're happy 8. Psych 101 paper gets juxtaposed with alt.sex file from Internet 7. President of local computer user group marries your sister 6. FIDO doesn't like your front-end mailer - and neither does Spot 5. Your wife finds your GIF collection 4. National debt pales in comparison to your upload/download ratio 3. You find your *wife's* GIF collection 2. Chastised by angry RIME conference host for being off topic 1. Artificial Intelligence program won't hot chat you  Cartoon Law of Physics ---------------------- Cartoon Law I ============= Any body suspended in space will remain in space until made aware of its situation. Daffy Duck steps off a cliff, expecting further pasture land. He loiters in midair, soliloquizing flippantly, until he chances to look down. At this point, the familiar principle of 32 feet per second per second takes over. Cartoon Law II ============== Any body in motion will tend to remain in motion until solid matter intervenes suddenly. Whether shot from a cannon or in hot pursuit on foot, cartoon characters are so absolute in their momentum that only a telephone pole or an outsize boulder retards their forward motion absolutely. Sir Isaac Newton called this sudden termination of motion the stooge's surcease. Cartoon Law III =============== Any body passing through solid matter will leave a perforation conforming to its perimeter. Also called the silhouette of passage, this phenomenon is the speciality of victims of directed-pressure explosions and of reckless cowards who are so eager to escape that they exit directly through the wall of a house, leaving a cookie-cutout-perfect hole. The threat of skunks or matrimony often catalyzes this reaction. Cartoon Law IV ============== The time required for an object to fall twenty stories is greater than or equal to the time it takes for whoever knocked it off the ledge to spiral down twenty flights to attempt to catch it unbroken. Such an object is inevitably priceless, the attempt to catch it is inevitably unsuccessful. Cartoon Law V ============= All principles of gravity are negated by fear. Psychic forces are sufficient in most bodies for a shock to propel them directly away from the earth's surface. A spooky noise or an adversary's signature sound will induce motion upward, usually to the cradle of a chandelier, a treetop, or the crest of a flagpole. The feet of a character who is running or the wheels of a speeding auto need never touch the ground, especially when in flight. Cartoon Law VI ============== As speed increases, objects can be in several places at once. This is particularly true of tooth-and-claw fights, in which a character's head may be glimpsed emerging from the cloud of altercation at several places simultaneously. This effect is common as well among bodies that are spinning or being throttled. A `wacky' character has the option of self-replication only at manic high speeds and may ricochet off walls to achieve the velocity required. Cartoon Law VII =============== Certain bodies can pass through solid walls painted to resemble tunnel entrances; others cannot. This trompe l'oeil inconsistency has baffled generations, but at least it is known that whoever paints an entrance on a wall's surface to trick an opponent will be unable to pursue him into this theoretical space. The painter is flattened against the wall when he attempts to follow into the painting. This is ultimately a problem of art, not of science. Cartoon Law VIII ================ Any violent rearrangement of feline matter is impermanent. Cartoon cats possess even more deaths than the traditional nine lives might comfortably afford. They can be decimated, spliced, splayed, accordion-pleated, spindled, or disassembled, but they cannot be destroyed. After a few moments of blinking self pity, they reinflate, elongate, snap back, or solidify Corollary: A cat will assume the shape of its container. Cartoon Law IX ============== Everything falls faster than an anvil. Cartoon Law X ============= For every vengeance there is an equal and opposite revengeance. This is the one law of animated cartoon motion that also applies to the physical world at large. For that reason, we need the relief of watching it happen to a duck instead. Amendment A ======================= A sharp object will always propel a character upward. When poked (usually in the buttocks) with a sharp object (usually a pin), a character will defy gravity by shooting straight up, with great velocity. Amendment B ======================= The laws of object permanence are nullified for "cool" characters. Characters who are intended to be "cool" can make previously nonexistent objects appear from behind their backs at will. For instance, the Road Runner can materialize signs to express himself without speaking. Amendment C ======================= Explosive weapons cannot cause fatal injuries. They merely turn characters temporarily black and smoky. Amendment D ======================= Gravity is transmitted by slow-moving waves of large wavelengths. Their operation can be witnessed by observing the behavior of a canine suspended over a large vertical drop. Its feet will begin to fall first, causing its legs to stretch. As the wave reaches its torso, that part will begin to fall, causing the neck to stretch. As the head begins to fall, tension is released and the canine will resume its regular proportions until such time as it strikes the ground. Amendment E ======================= Dynamite is spontaneously generated in "C-spaces" (spaces in which cartoon laws hold). The process is analogous to steady-state theories of the universe which postulated that the tensions involved in maintaining a space would cause the creation of hydrogen from nothing. Dynamite quanta are quite large (stick sized) and unstable (lit). Such quanta are attracted to psychic forces generated by feelings of distress in "cool" characters (see Amendment B, which may be a special case of this law), who are able to use said quanta to their advantage. One may imagine C-spaces where all matter and energy result from primal masses of dynamite exploding. A big bang indeed. ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ ÃÄ¿ ³ Information ³ ³ ³ ³ ³ ÀÄÂÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ  There are several different ways to get STTS magazine. SysOps: Contact me via any of the addresses listed in CONTACT POINTS listed elsewhere in this issue. Just drop me a note telling me your name, city, state, your BBS's name, it's phone number and it's baud rate, and where you'll be getting STTS from each month. If your BBS carries RIME, Pen & Brush Network, or you have access to the InterNet, I can put you on the STTS mailing list to receive the magazine free of charge each month. If you have access to FIDO, you can file request the magazine. If you don't have access to any of these services - or do but don't wish to use this option - you can call any of the BBS's listed in DISTRIBUTION SITES and download the new issue each month. In either case contact me so that I can put your BBS in the dist. site list for the next issue of the magazine. (Refer to DISTRIBUTION VIA NETWORKS for more detailed information about the nets) Users: You can download STTS each month from any of the BBS's mentioned in DISTRIBUTION SITES elsewhere in this issue. If your local BBS isn't listed, pester and cajole your SysOp to "subscribe" to STTS for you. (the subscription, of course, is free) If you haven't any other way of receiving the magazine each month, a monthly disk subscription (sent out via US Mail) is available for $ 20.00 per year. Foreign subscriptions are $ 25.00 (american dollars). Subscriptions should be mailed to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Addison, Tx. 75234 U.S.A.  * Special Offer * [ Idea stolen from Dave Bealer's RaH Magazine. So sue me. ] Having trouble finding back issues of STTS Magazine? (This is only the fifth issue, but you never know..) For only $ 5.00 (count 'em - five dollars!) I'll send you all the back issues of STTS Mag as well as current issues of other magazines, and whatever other current, new shareware will fit onto a disk. Heck, I'll even send you a *registered* version of my shareware program, Quote! v1.4 (a random quote generator) What could be better than that? Just send your $ 5.00 (money order or check please, US funds only, made payable to: Joe DeRouen) to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 U.S.A. Tell me if you want a high density 5 1/4" disk or a high density 3 1/2" disk, please. (The following form is duplicated in the text file FORM.TXT, included with this archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Enclosed is a check or money order (US funds only!) for $ 5.00. Please send me the back issues of STTS, the registered version of Quote!, and whatever else you can cram onto the disk. I want: [ ] 5.25" HD disk [ ] 3.5" HD disk Send to: ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ Submission Information ---------------------- We're looking for a few good writers. Actually, we're looking for as many good writers as we can find. We're interested in fiction, poetry, reviews, feature articles (about most anything, as long as it's well-written), humour, essays, ANSI art, and RIP art. STTS is dedicated to showcasing as many talents as it can, in all forms and genres. We have no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative concepts, and unique execution of those concepts. The only payment we can offer for your articles, stories, and poems is that of exposure. As STTS grows, we expect it to reach markets through- out the USA, Canada, Europe, Japan, and parts of ASIA. Through the distribution system we're using, the possibilities are practically limitless. The copyright of said material, of course, remains the sole property of the author. STTS has the right to present it once in a "showcase" format and in an annual "best of" issue. (a paper version as well as the elec. version) Acceptance of submitted material does NOT necessarily mean that it will appear in STTS. Submissions should be in 100% pure ASCII format. There are no limitations in terms of lengths of articles, but keep in mind it's a magazine, not a novel. Fiction and poetry will be handled on a pure submission basis, except in the case of any round-robin stories or continuing stories that might develop. Reviews will also be handled on a submission basis. If you're interested in doing a particular review medium (ie: books) on a full-time basis, let me know and we'll talk. ANSI art should be under 10k and can be about any subject as long as it's not pornographic. We'll feature ANSI art from time to time, as well as featuring a different ANSI "cover" for our magazine each month. In terms of articles, we're looking for just about anything that's of fairly general interest to the BBSing world at large. An article comparing several new high-speed modems would be appropriate, for example, whereas an article describing in detail how to build your own such modem really wouldn't be. Articles needn't be contained to the world of computing, either. Movies, politics, ecology, literature, entertainment, fiction, non-fiction, reviews - it's all fair game for STTS. Articles, again, will be handled on a submission basis. If anyone has an idea or two for a regular column, let me know. If it works, we'll incorporate it into STTS. Writers interested in contributing to Sunlight Through The Shadows can reach me through any of the following methods: Contact Points -------------- The Internet - My E_Mail address is: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org RIME - My NODE ID is SUNLIGHT or 5320. Send all files to this address. (you'll have to ask your SysOp who's carrying RIME to send it for you) Alternately, you can simply post it in either the Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner conference to: Joe Derouen. If you put a ->5320 or ->SUNLIGHT in the top-most upper left-hand corner, it'll be routed directly to my BBS. Pen & Brush Net - Leave me a note or submission in either the Poetry Corner conference, or the Writers Conference. If your P&BNet contact is using PostLink, you can route the message to me automatically via the same way as described above for RIME. In either case, address all correspondence to: Joe derouen. WME Net - Leave me a note or submission in the Net Chat conference. Address all correspondence to: Joe Derouen. My BBS - Sunlight Through The Shadows. 12/24/96/14.4k baud. (214) 620-8793. You can upload submissions to the STTS Magazine file area, comment to the SysOp, or just about any other method you choose. Address all correspondence to: Joe Derouen. US Mail - Send disks (any size, IBM format ONLY) containing submissions to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 U.S.A.  Advertising ----------- Currently, STTS Mag is being "officially" carried by over 35 BBS's across the nation. It's also available via Internet, FIDO, RIME, and Pen & Brush Networks. 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 three different formats: 1) Regular Advertisement --------------------- We're accepting business advertisements in STTS. If you're interested in advertising in STTS, a full-page (ASCII or ASCII and ANSI) is $20.00/issue. Those interested can contact me by any of the means listed under Contact Points, elsewhere in this issue. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($ 100.00) the sixth month is free. 2) Feature Advertisement --------------------- 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. 3) BBS Advertisement ----------------- 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 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.  Contact Points -------------- You can contact me through any of the following addresses. Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS (214) 620-8793 12/24/96/14,400 Baud InterNet: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org Pen & Brush Net: ->SUNLIGHT P&BNet Conferences: Any WME Net: Net Chat conference PcRelay/RIME: ->SUNLIGHT RIME Conferences: Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner US Mail: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 U.S.A.  You can always find STTS Magazine on the following BBS's. BBS's have STTS available for both on-line viewing and downloading unless otherwise marked. * = On-Line Only # = Download Only United States ------------- BBS Name ........... Sunlight Through The Shadows Location ........... Addison, Texas (in the Dallas area) SysOp(s) ........... Joe and Heather DeRouen Phone ........... (214) 620-8793 (14.4k baud) (Sorted by area code, then alphabetically) BBS Name ........... ModemNews Location ........... Stamford, Connecticut SysOp(s) ........... Jeff Green Phone ........... (203) 359-2299 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Lobster Buoy Location ........... Bangor, Maine SysOp(s) ........... Mark Goodwin Phone ........... (207) 941-0805 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (207) 945-9346 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... File-Link BBS Location ........... Manhattan, New York SysOp(s) ........... Bill Marcy Phone ........... (212) 777-8282 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Poetry In Motion Location ........... New York, New York SysOp(s) ........... Inez Harrison Phone ........... (212) 666-6927 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Archives On-line Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Pellecchia Phone ........... (214) 247-6512 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 406-8394 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... BBS America Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Jay Gaines Phone ........... (214) 680-3406 (9600 baud) Phone ........... (214) 680-1451 (9600 baud) BBS Name ........... Bucket Bored! Location ........... Sachse, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Tim Bellomy Phone ........... (214) 414-6913 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Chrysalis BBS Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Garry Grosse Phone ........... (214) 690-9295 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (214) 783-5477 (9600 baud) # BBS Name ........... Collector's Edition Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Len Hult Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... New Age Visions Location ........... Grand Prairie, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Larry Joe Reynolds Phone ........... (214) 264-8920 BBS Name ........... Old Poop's World Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Sonny Grissom Phone ........... (214) 613-6900 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Opa's Mini-BBS (open 11pm-7am CST) Location ........... Plano, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Marshall Phone ........... (214) 424-0153 (2400 baud) * BBS Name ........... Texas Talk Location ........... Richardson, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Sunnie Blair Phone ........... (214) 497-9100 (2400 baud) # BBS Name ........... User-2-User Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... William Pendergast and Kevin Carr Phone ........... (214) 393-4768 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 393-4736 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Right Angle BBS Location ........... Aurora, Colorado SysOp(s) ........... Bill Roark Phone ........... (303) 337-0219 BBS Name ........... Ruby's Joint Location ........... Miami, Florida SysOp(s) ........... David and Del Freeman Phone ........... (305) 856-4897 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Pegasus BBS Location ........... Owensboro, Kentucky SysOp(s) ........... Raymond Clements Phone ........... (317) 651-0234 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Badger's "BYTE", The Location ........... Valentine, Nebraska SysOp(s) ........... Dick Roosa Phone ........... (402) 376-3120 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Megabyte Mansion, The Location ........... Omaha, Nebraska SysOp(s) ........... Todd Robbins Phone ........... (402) 551-8681 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Aries Knowledge Systems Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Waddell Robey Phone ........... (410) 625-0109 (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 ........... 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 ........... 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 ........... Channel 1 Location ........... Cambridge, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Brian Miller Phone ........... (617) 354-3230 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (617) 354-3137 (16.8k HST) BBS Name ........... Bubba Systems One Location ........... Manassas, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Mark Mosko Phone ........... (703) 335-1253 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Arts Place BBS, The Location ........... Arlington, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Ron Fitzherbert Phone ........... (703) 528-8467 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Pen and Brush BBS Location ........... Burke, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Lucia and John Chambers Phone ........... (703) 644-6730 (300-12.0k baud) Phone ........... (703) 644-5196 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Sidewayz BBS Location ........... Fairfax, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Paul Cutrona Phone ........... (703) 352-5412 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Anathama Downs Location ........... Sonoma County, California SysOp(s) ........... Sadie Jane Phone ........... (707) 792-1555 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... InfoMat BBS Location ........... San Clemente, California SysOp(s) ........... Michael Gibbs Phone ........... (714) 492-8727 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... 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) United Kingdom -------------- BBS Name ........... Hangar BBS, The Location ........... Avon, United Kingdom SysOp(s) ........... Jason Hyland Phone ........... +44-934-511751 (14.4k baud) Portugal -------- BBS Name .......... B-Link BBS Location .......... Lisbon, Portugal SysOp(s) .......... Antonio Jorge Phone .......... +351-1-4919755 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Mailhouse Location ........... Loures, Portugal SysOp(s) ........... Carlos Santos Phone ........... +351-1-9890140 (14.4k baud)  STTS Net Report Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available through FIDO, INTERNET, RIME, and PEN & BRUSH NET. Check below for information on how to request the current issue of the magazine or be put on the monthly mailing list. FIDO To get the newest issue of the magazine via FIDO, you'll need to do a file request from Fido Node 1:124/8010 using the "magic" name of SUNLIGHT. INTERNET To get the newest issue via the internet, send a message to FTPMAIL@CHRYSALIS.ORG and include as the first line in your message (or second, if the system you're using forces you to use the first for the address like) GET SUNyymm.ZIP where yymm is the current year and month. Example: This issue is SUN9311.ZIP. After Nov. 1st, the current issue will be SUN9312.ZIP, and so on. Easier than that would be to request being put on the monthly mailing list. To do so, simply send a note to Joe.Derouen@Chrysalis.org asking to be put on the STTS mailing list. If you're a SysOp be sure to tell me your BBS's name, your name, your state and city, the BBS's phone number(s) and it's baud rate(s) so I can include you in the list issue's distribution list. RIME To request the magazine via RIME, ask your RIME SysOp to do a file request from node # 5320 for the current issue (eg: SUN9311.ZIP, or whatever month you happen to be in) Better yet, ask your SysOp to request to be put on the monthly mailing list and receive STTS automatically. PEN & BRUSH NET To request via P&BNet, follow the instructions for RIME above. They're both ran on Postlink and operate exactly the same way in terms of file requests and transfers. I'd like to thank Garry Gross of Chrysalis BBS and David Pellecchia of Archives On-line for allowing me to access the Internet and Fido (respectively) from their systems.  End Notes Copyright (c) 1993, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved STTS Magazine seems to be constantly changing and evolving. This issue, we decided to shelve the monthly contest and in it's place add a humour section. (arguably, the monthly contest was humour at it's finest, so perhaps nothings really changed after all) The magazine seems to be getting more and more exposure, having recently been picked up by a BBS in the United Kingdom and two in Portugal. We've become international! Hopefully as it becomes more and more available to the public at large, we'll get more and more responses to things like surveys, submission requests, and monthly contests. Feedback is important, and, well, vital to any creative process. If you have any comments at all, please direct them to me via any of the pathways described in CONTACT POINTS elsewhere in this issue. Your notes will be answered, guaranteed. Cheers! Joe DeRouen, Halloween 1993