Sunlight Through The Shadows Volume II, Issue 2 February 1st, 1994 Welcome........................................Joe DeRouen Editorial: Violence In America.................Joe DeRouen Staff of STTS............................................. >> --------------- Monthly Columns ---------------------<< STTS Mailbag.............................................. Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS News..................... The Question & Answers Session............................ Answer Me!.....................................Liz Shelton My View: The Destruction of Good Music.........Todd Miller Choosing a Monster BBS.........................Gage Steele Upcoming Issues & News.................................... ÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿÿ Advertisement-Channel 1 BBS >> --------------- Feature Articles --------------------<< A Panacea of Cheezy Movies (MST3K)......... L. Shawn Aiken The Appearance of Vampires in Fiction.........Robert McKay Interview: Seth Able Robinson..................Joe DeRouen ÿ Advertisement-Exec-PC BBS >> ------------------- Reviews -------------------------<< (Movie) Schindler's List.....................Bruce Diamond (Movie) Blink................................Bruce Diamond (Movie) In The Name of the Father............Bruce Diamond (Music) Other Voices..Rooms/Nanci Griffith.....Joe DeRouen (Music) Antenna/ZZ Top.........................Liz Shelton (Book) Winter Moon/Dean Koontz.................Joe DeRouen (Book) Nightmares & Dreamscapes...............Kathy Kemper ÿ Advertisement-LORD Game Tournament! >> ------------------- Fiction -------------------------<< A Dark Red Valentine Story, Sort Of.........Franchot Lewis The Serpents Embrace.......................Daniel Sendecki A Close Encounter of a Different Kind.....Sylvia L. Ramsey Slow Dance..................................J. Harlan Pine Still Among the Beeblers......................Robert McKay Too Long.......................................Gage Steele A Chance Meeting in the Park...................Joe DeRouen ÿ Advertisement-T&J Software >> ------------------- Poetry --------------------------<< Only Words I See..............................Mike Slusher Dragons.............................................Tamara Backlit...................................David M. Ziegler You..........................................Sylvia Ramsey Pride.........................................Mark Denslow His Eyes....................................Patricia Meeks In the West....................................J. Guenther Diety Dwells Within........................Thomas Van Hook House Cat..................................Albert Johnston Young Man On a Fence, 1967.................Daniel Sendecki ÿ Advertisement-Integrity Online BBS >> ------------------- Humour --------------------------<< Top Ten List...................................Joe DeRouen How To Get a Computer Nerd Into Bed............Joe DeRouen >> ----------------- Information -----------------------<< How to get STTS Magazine.................................. ** SPECIAL OFFER!! **..................................... Submission Information & Pay Rates........................ Advertiser Information (Businesses & Personal)............ Contact Points............................................ Distribution Sites........................................ Distribution Via Networks................................. Guest End Notes: Love......................Heather DeRouen   Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine Vol II No. 2 Feb. 1994  Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü Ü   ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ßÛßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßÛß   From: ³ Dallas, TX ³ ¯¯¯ÄÄßÛÄÒÄÄÄÖÄ¿ÄÒÄÂÄÖÄ¿ÄÛßÄ>   Joe DeRouen ³ February 14th ³ ¯¯¯ÄÄßÛĺÄÄĺijĺijÄÇÄÄÄÛßÄ>   14232 Marsh Ln. 51 ³Valentine's Day³ ¯¯¯ÄÄßÛÄÐÄÙÄÓÄÙÄÓÄÙÄÓÄÙÄÛßÄ>   Dallas, TX. 75234 ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ßÛ USA 29› Ûß   ßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛßÛß             To:   STTS Reader   123 Generic Ave.   ÛßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßßÛ Anytown, USA 10101   Û HAPPY Û   Û VALENTINE'S DAY Û   ÛÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÜÛ   JD   Welcome Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows magazine! In this issue, as well as in the future, STTS will strive to bring you the best in fiction, poetry, reviews, article, and other assorted reading material. STTS Magazine has no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative concepts, and the unique execution of those concepts. STTS wouldn't have been possible without the aid, support, and guidance of three women: Inez Harrison, publisher of Poetry In Motion newsletter. Her's was the first electronic magazine I ever laid eyes upon, and also the first such magazine to publish my work. She's given me advice, and, more importantly, inspiration. Lucia Chambers, publisher of Smoke & Mirrors Elec. Magazine and head of Pen & Brush Network. She gave me advice on running a magazine, encouragement, and hints as to the kind of people to look for in writers. Heather DeRouen, my wife. Listed last here, but always first in my heart. She's proofread manuscripts, inspired me, listened to me, and, most importantly, loved me. Never could I find a better woman to live life by my side, nor a better friend. Now that that's said and done... Again, welcome to Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine! I hope you enjoy it. Joe DeRouen  STTS Editorial Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved As I write this, President Bill Clinton's state of the union address is but a few hours old. Mr. Clinton spoke eloquently, clearly, and with great insight. I'm not a democrat. I never have been. Nor am I a republican. I vote for whomever I feel can do the best job. In 1992 I voted for Bill Clinton and, thus far, haven't been disappointed. President Clinton spoke of the decay of America's moral fiber and philosophies. He hinted at several solutions, but didn't really come up with a feasible end to the problems. Who could? Whatever mess we've gotten ourselves into (and it IS a mess) it's going to take a lot more to get us out. Perhaps we need to look deeper into the problems. We can see the effects - the LA riots, last year's Dallas Cowboys victory parade fiasco, the shootout and subsequent fire in Waco, gangs killing one another on the streets, carjacking and drive-by shootings. But what caused it? Certainly not television. Sen. Paul Simon and Janet Reno (to mention but two) seem to want a scapegoat, and television is it. They seem to believe that with lessened violence on the small screen and viewer discretion warnings that America's seeming lack of respect for human life will up and vanish. It isn't going to happen. Television, as does movies, reflect what the public wants to see. If we didn't want it, they wouldn't put it on. It's that simple. As a culture, we thrive on John Wayne Bobbitt's severed penis story. We adore the drama of Tonya Harding's battle to clear herself of Nancy Kerrigan's attack. We lust to learn more of Michael Jackson's alleged molestations of children. They put on what we want to watch. Television doesn't corrupt. People do. Change what we want, and television changes to reflect that. We can't blame the source on the end result. It just doesn't work that way. It isn't the guns, either. I'm all for gun control, but I'm convinced that it's really too late for it. If there wasn't the violence, there wouldn't be the guns. Taking away guns is really only tackling the expression of the problem and not the problem itself. Knives kill, too. People will always find a way to kill. And it isn't drugs. To be sure, drug use (and theft to buy drugs) involves itself in a tremendous amount of crime. But if it wasn't drugs, it would be something else. Remember prohibition? It was alcohol then. To be honest, I believe in drug legalization. But even that wouldn't stop the violence. If it isn't television, if it isn't guns, if it isn't drugs - what is it? That's what we need to ask ourselves. We need to ask ourselves, both individually and as a culture, a lot of hard questions. We want to hear the worst of those around us. Why? Perhaps to better ourselves. Perhaps to prove that they, too, America's larger than life pop icons, are merely human. Maybe it's a form of self-hate, loathing what we feel we've become and feel powerless to stop? Why do we vote Bill Clinton into public office and, when he proceeds to do everything that he said he would do - more so than the last twelve years of presidents - we lambast him and tear him down? Why do we want the underdog and, when we get him, abandon him to the wolves? Why are we, as Americans, so unforgiving of even the slightest flaws in our neighbors, flaws we know we have in ourselves? Why would we rather hurt our own people than trust the man across the street? Why do we value life so little that we'll walk away as a stranger is beaten or raped on our own street? Why do we hate instead of love? And why is it that if we DO choose to love we're looked down upon by those who sneeringly chose hate as their totem? I could ask a thousand more "whys". Why is it "cool" not to give a damn? Why is it okay to hate someone who's different than you are? Why are we afraid to ask these questions? I don't have the answers. I wish I did. But I'm NOT afraid to ask the questions. We must all ask the question, of ourselves, of each other. And we mustn't be afraid to learn the answers. Above all else, we must not be afraid to change. Indeed, we must embrace change. We must look into ourselves and see us for what we truly are. If we don't instill good, solid values into our children, no one else will. We must decide for ourselves what these value are to be. No one, not even a President, can decide this for you. If America wants to survive, if we want to stop killing our brothers and sisters, stop hurting those we love, the violence needs to end. How? I don't know. But to paraphrase a line from a song by the much-misaligned Mr. Jackson (whom I refuse to believe is guilty before proven such, despite whatever out of court settlements is made) we need to start with the man in the mirror. It has to start there. Joe DeRouen, Jan. 1994  The Staff and Contributing Writers of Sunlight Through The Shadows ------------------------------------------------------------------ The Staff --------- Joe DeRouen............................Publisher and Editor L. Shawn Aiken.........................Fiction, articles Heather DeRouen........................Book Reviews Bruce Diamond..........................Movie Reviews Liz Shelton............................Answer Me Columnist Gage Steele............................Monster BBS Columnist Tamara.................................House Poet Joe DeRouen publishes, edits, and writes for STTS magazine. He's had poetry and fiction published in several on-line magazines and a few paper publications as well. He's written exactly 1.5 novels, none of which, alas, have seen the light of publication. He attends college part-time in search of that always-elusive english degree. In his spare time, he enjoys reading, running his BBS, collecting music, playing with his five cats, singing opera, hunting pseudopods, and most importantly spending time with his beautiful wife Heather. L. Shawn Aiken dropped out of college when he realized that they couldn't teach him the two things he wanted to do, live successfully, and write. He had to find out these things all by himself on the road. Thus he became a road scholar. After spending his life hopping country to country, state to state, he now feels confident in his abilities and is working on his literary career. His main endevour is to become successful in the speculative fiction area, but he enjoys writing all forms of literary art. Heather DeRouen writes software for the healthcare industry, CoSysOps Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS, enjoys playing with her five cats, cross-stitching, and reading. Most of all, she enjoys spending time with her dapper, charming, witty, and handsome (not to mention modest) husband Joe. Heather's help towards editing and proofreading this magazine has been immeasurable. Bruce Diamond, part-time pseudopod and ruler of a small island chain off the coast of Chil‚, spends his time imitating desk lamps when he isn't watching and critiquing movies for LIGHTS OUT, his BBS movie review publication (now syndicated to over 15 boards). Bruce started reviewing movies for profit in 1978, as part of a science fiction opinion column he authored for THE BUYER'S GUIDE FOR COMICS FANDOM (now called THE COMICS BUYER'S GUIDE). LIGHTS OUT, now a year old, is available through Bruce's distributor, Jay Gaines' BBS AMERICA (214-994-0093). Bruce is a freelance writer and video producer in the Dallas/Fort Worth area. Liz Shelton works in an office all day, but by night she pokes around on her computer (to include a large portion of BBSing), and practices her guitar (she needs a LOT more practice). Liz likes to write when she gets the notion, as long as she doesn't have to be too serious. Gage Steele, illegitimate love child of Elvis Presley and Madonna, has been calling BBS's since the early seventies. Having aspired to write for an electronic magazine all her life, Gage is now living the American dream. Aged somewhere between 21 and 43, she plans to eventually get an english degree and teach foreign children not to dangle their participles. There is very little known about Tamara, and she prefers to let it remain that way. She's a woman of mystery and prefers to remain hidden in the shadows of the BBS world. (Enigmatic, don't you think?) Contributing Writers -------------------- Mark Denslow...........................Poetry J. Guenther............................Poetry Albert S. Johnston.....................Poetry Kathy Kemper...........................Review Robert McKay...........................Fiction Patricia Meeks.........................Poetry Todd Miller............................My View J. Harlan Pine.........................Fiction Sylvia Ramsey..........................Fiction Daniel Sendecki........................Fiction Mike Slusher...........................Poetry Thomas Van Hook........................Poetry David Ziegler..........................Poetry Mark Denslow is a student at Saint Chrles Borromeo Seminary in the Religious Studies Division in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. He is working toward his Cerificate in Religious Studies and Roman Chatechetical Diploma. He hopes to be admitted to their Master of Arts Degree Program after completing the Cerificate and Diploma. He enjoys Poetry, Genealogy, Computing, and Religion. Grant Guenther, sometimes known as J. Guenther, confesses to be from a long-lost Martian colony, but in-depth investigations reveals that he was born and raised in a small but well-to-do community called Hartland in Wisconsin. A senior, he has written several collections of poems, and won many awards from his high school literary magazine, including 1st place for poetry and short-short fiction. He is the editor-in-chief of the school newspaper and writes as a humor columnist (or at least he thinks so). Albert Johnston survived twenty years of indiscretion + twenty years of trying to get my karma straight. Forty years total. He feels like he's the same person he was at 18, he just moves a lot slower. He has two teenage sons, which should put him in line for some sort of citation. He and his wife have been on a joint voyage of discovery for the last 18 years. His main means of providing for his family at this time is supervising a rag tag band of fugitive diesel mechanics at the Dallas Area Rapid Transit, aka DART, in Texas. He's been doing this for about ten years, but still hasn't decided what he wants to be when he grows up. A trained economist, Kathy Kemper spends much of her time away from ordinary business pursuits. It could correctly be stated that she has 'gone to the dogs' as a great deal of her time is spent with her Border Collies. These dogs dominate her life (or at least try to). She is the officer of several organizations and a free-lance writer who has actually been published and paid for her works. Kathy is new to the world of BBSing but seems to enjoy it greatly. She has yet to decide what she wants to be when she grows up. Robert McKay was born in Hawthorne, California, one of the few native Californians in existence. He calls the area north of Goffs home, though he currently lives in Marlow, Oklahoma, and has in fact lived in Texas and Oklahoma since 1980. The setting for several of his stories comes from the desert west of Needles, where he grew up. He has one wife and two daughters, meaning he's seriously outnumbered in any argument. He writes mostly science fiction, with some horror thrown in - Lovecraftian horror being his favorite, followed by non-conventional vampire stories. He's been published in three elecmags - Sunlight Through the Shadows, Smoke & Mirrors, and Ruby's Pearls - and is currently waiting on the publication of two science fiction novels on disk. Considering herself a "closet writer" Tricia Meeks has spent most of her life writing stories and poetry that no one ever sees ...until now! Inspired by her friends, she has finally screwed together her courage and let her poetry be exposed to the public realm. Outside of writing, Tricia is a professional psychic, sings at Karaoke Clubs and has dance for 20 years of her life. Her other interests include camping, karate, reading, playing the keyboard occassionally, BBSing, working in finance, and spending time with her dog and cat, Ringo & B.J. and riding her horse Sudanna in Waxahachie. She is single and has lived in Dallas all her life. Todd Miller is new to this writing thing. Originally from Canton, Ohio he now resides in Dallas, Texas. His favorite pastimes include collecting Grateful Dead shows, watching bands play, listining to music, and watching football. He is not currently in college but is ready to go back. His main goal is to find the "new" music before anyone else and become rich. Harlan Pine has lived in many differant places owing to the fact that his father was in the Air Force. He currently resides in North Texas by choice. Besides writing romantic vignettes, he also enjoys exploring the relms of Dark Fantasy. He is currently working on a novel and several short stories. This is his first sale. Daniel Sendecki is a young, emerging, Canadian writer who lives in Burlington, Ontario. Currently, Daniel is pursuing his writing interests at home but intends to study literature at McGill University, in Montreal, Quebec. Michael Slusher is not a writer. The fact that he's been published once or twice is not his fault. Blame the editors. What he might be is a computer geek with a weird penchant for modems and all that they get connected to. He signs his paycheck over to America On-Line each month and the phone company knows how to find him, despite how well he hides. He generally can be found wherever fans of Mystery Science Theater 3000 dwell (MSTies, they call themselves) and runs Deep 13, a BBS devoted to fans of the cable TV show. A major change in his life, scheduled for March '94, will cause him to be looking for a new job, home, and life. Wish him luck at botsnak@aol.com Thomas D. Van Hook, sargeant in the USAF and part time demigod, is stationed somewhere in northern Europe. Due to the many warrants out for his arrest and psychotic acquaintances, he has asked that his precise location be kept anonymous. He and his wife Kathy spend much of their free time investing in the diaper industry due to a tiny Elfling that was laid upon their doorstep....recently dubbed Corey. In an effort to escape such bondage, Tommy has taken to haunting various castle- ruins, playing tag-you're it with certain ugly porcine creatures, reading SF and gracing his friends with poetry. His poetic style is marked with a characteristic honesty and directness that ranges from the dark and brooding to startling reflections of life. David's first poetry was a small collection that he gave away to a few friends. He then started writing Satirical Prose and found it a great stress reliever. He lives in Sacramento with his wife Gloria and two cats. They spend a considerable time traveling which gives him fodder for the keyboard. Writing to David is a kind of cleansing it is something that when he has to do it he has no choice. By the same token, he couldn't write on demand if you put a gun to his head. 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 STTS Mailbag Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved [Each month, we'll pull a letter or two out of our mailbag and see what we wind. We reserve the right to edit for clarity and space, of course. All letters will be answered, though may not necessarily appear between these electronic pages.] Joe: Well, it's about time I wrote you a note concerning SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE SHADOWS. It's a good, solid entry into the world of electronic magazines, and I'm not just saying that because you publish my work, feeble as it is. Thought I'd take some time to reflect on the December 1993 issue, starting with "Yule," by Brigid Childs. Brigid does a great job of explaining holiday symbols as derived from pagan times (her "Halloween" article in the October issue was equally informative), but I still find myself yearning for more. I would have liked a treatise on *how* and *why* the early church incorporated the pagan symbols, the historical hue-and-cry that arose from both sides over the appropriation, and the present-day deniability that certain born- agains, Pentecostals, and Holy Rollers (fundies, tonguies, and rollies, according to a friend of mine) have attached to these self- same symbols. But that wasn't the point, was it? I'm looking forward to Brigid's piece on the vernal equinox, sure to appear in your March issue, right? (Hint, hint.) "State of the Art For Awhile": I started on VIC-20s, too, but never got into the online community until my C-64 and its "blazingly-fast" 1200 baud modem. One point in your article that I'd like to pick at, though: you state your wife's company bought her a Twincom 9600 modem, then a paragraph later you say that lightning paid a visit to *your* Twincom 9600 (after you had appropriated it for the BBS). Already taking advantage of Texas' community property laws, hmmmm? Survey -- Movie reviews only placed sixth out of nine categories? Maybe I need to spice them up, somehow . . . start reviewing adult movies, perhaps, or .fli, .gl, and .dl files from adult BBSes. Wotta ya think? Movie Reviews -- Remind me to proofread, willya? Thanks. CD Reviews -- Yer startin' ta sound like a PR flack, Joe. Gonna go work for a record company soon? Wendy Bryson's review of the Vince Gill CD was too short, though -- it gave me no real flavor for the album. Book Reviews -- Okay, you've given me a taste, but for some reason, I'm not compelled to read JUMPER. Robert's piece, on the other hand, has some meat to it, with something to say about STAR TREK books. I'll disagree with him on one point, however: ST novels are regarded as canon by some people who like the subgenre -- all you have to do is visit any of the echomail ST conferences to see that many, many people regard the novels (*and* the comic books) as canon. The same thing is happening to STAR WARS -- a publishing industry has appeared, and the Timothy Zahn books are being treated as canon, to the point that many readers think the Zahn trilogy will be the basis for the next movie trilogy, despite Lucas' repeated denials. Some people just carry a good thing too far. Poetry -- My favorite poems this issue are "Personal Notes in Black Mirrors," by Michie Sidwell, for its layers within layers, and "Mi'Lord," by Patricia Meeks, for its unabashed romanticism. Fiction: "Airborne," Robert McKay -- Fascinating idea of an alternate society, but the story seems little more than a technical study in aircraft repair and crisis management. I would have liked more about the society itself, especially its economic structure. How did the residential flyers pay for refueling and other dirt-based resources? (And what happened to the "5 or 6 hours of fuel" the ship had left? Could another tanker really have been topped off and rendezvoused with them in time?) "The Squirrels," L. Shawn Aiken -- An amusing little vignette. "Do Not Mock The Suicide Attack Squirrels," indeed! "The Caravan," A.M. Eckard -- I'm speechless. I never thought elecmag fiction could get as good as this. Eckard has a talent for rendering an "otherwhere" feeling that's almost equal to Ursula K. LeGuin, Jack Dann, or Gene Wolfe. The simplicity of the prose (the sameness of sentence structure is annoying, despite the effect Eckard is trying for; another trip through the word processor would have helped) belies the richness of idea and understanding of atmosphere that speaks to Eckard's future publishing success. Next to Gage Steele (whose prose is sorely missed this issue), A.M. Eckard is SUNLIGHT THROUGH THE SHADOWS' most talented find. Keep up the success, Joe! Yer bit-buddy, Bruce Diamond Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS News Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved STTS BBS is ran on TriBBS v5.1 software (registered, of course), a 33Mhz 80386 DX computer, two IDE hard drives (120 meg and 170 meg), a Zoom 14.4k Fax/Modem, and a VGA monitor. Soon, it'll be hooked up via a LAN to a 50Mhz 80486 DX with half a gig of storage space. It's run on one phone line, and the number is (214) 620-8793. At some point in the near future, we hope to add another node as well as a 28.8k Fax/Modem. One last thing - it's entirely free. Donations are accepted (so far, I've only received three) but you can't buy higher access. Access is completely, 100% FREE. STTS BBS carries 30+ doors (games and information), a good deal of them registered. We also carry four networks (RIME, Pen & Brush Net, World Message Exchange, and PlanoNet) as well as a large file area. The file area specializes in electronic magazines (carrying the entire back issue run of several!), texts on all subjects, and shareware text adventure games. Of course, there's also a wide variety of other programs to be had, including BBS doors, telecommunication packages, arcade/adventure games, offline mail readers, and more! Additionally, STTS BBS is a support BBS for TriBBS software and carries just about all the programs available out there for TriBBS. STTS BBS is also a regional HUB for Pen & Brush Net (P&BNet) as well as a HUB for World Message Exchange (WME). Lastly, we're a member of the American BBS Association. About 70% of the callers are from Texas, as it's a Dallas-based BBS. The other 30%, however, are from just about everywhere else. Oklahoma, California, Virginia, Oregon, Kansas, Illinois - you name it. We've had several people from Canada and the UK call as well. Most of the long distance callers are SysOps calling to download STTS Magazine every month (those that don't get it through the net) but there's several "just plain users" who call to participate in the message base or download files. Each month, we'll discuss additions and upgrades to the BBS as well as new door games added, nets or conferences added, and just general news about the BBS. We'll divide it into two sections - BBS News and Net News. With that said, away we go . . . BBS News: Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS is going to sponser a Legend of the Red Dragon tournament! That's right, Seth Able's popular LORD game will be used for the first in a series of game tournaments. Entry fee into the tournament is $10.00/per person, and the winner receives $25.00 in cash as well as mention in these electronic pages. Everyone who enters receives access to the soon-to-be-installed second, private note. Download LORDCONT.ZIP for more details, or look for details on STTS BBS or write to Joe DeRouen via any of the avenues mentioned elsewhere in this issue under CONTACT POINTS. I've added a couple of new doors to the BBS. The Lost Lands (by David Cooke) is a wonderfully inventive role playing game in the best tradition of the old Infocom text adventures and Dungeons and Dragons. It'll soon join the growing list of registered doors on the system. The Online Legal Advisor (registered!) also joins the list of door games and information doors. The most popular download for January was SUN9401.ZIP, the January issue of this magazine. Number two was RAH9401.ZIP, Dave Bealer's wonderfully funny humor magazine. Number three was MCI.ZIP, a text file explaining MCI's new PC Connect plan. The fourth most popular file was STTSINFO.ZIP, an old file explaining the concept and execution of STTS Magazine. Fifth most popular was SM9401.ZIP, Lucia Chamber's Jan. issue of Smoke & Mirrors magazine. Four of the top five download were literature-related. Our callers know quality, that's for sure! The top five local message writers were 1) Joe DeRouen, 2) Shawn Aiken, 3) Tommy Van Hook, 4) Heather DeRouen, and 5) Robert McKay. Not counting myself, Tim Bellomy contributed the most uploads, followed by Alissa Harvey, Don Bird, Sara Levinson, and Danny Grider. Net News: We've now got STTS Magazine conferences on both Pen & Brush Net and RIME. Check 'em out! (SysOps: Please consider picking up these conferences. On RIME, the channel number is 448. On P&BNet, IF you're using Postlink, it's 1108. If you're *not* using Postlink, ask your HUB SysOp) We've also added several new conferences from WME (thanks to finding a local HUB, Tim Bellomy's Bucket Bored BBS) as well as a few from RIME. As always, STTS BBS carries the full line up of Pen & Brush Net conferences. The top five netmail message writers were 1) Lucia Chambers, 2) Joe DeRouen, 3) Robert McKay, 4) Brian Whatcott, and 5) Michael Gibbs. The top five requested files via any of the nets on STTS was 1) SUN9401.ZIP, 2) P&BPOST.ZIP (info packet on P&BNet), 3) RDRM30.ZIP (ReadRoom v3.0 reading door), 4) SCRABFAQ.ZIP (text file on everything you ever wanted to know about Scrabble), and 5) LITES29.ZIP (issue 29 of Bruce Diamond's movie review elec. magazine LIGHTS OUT). All in all, January was a great month for the BBS. If there's anything that wasn't covered in this column that you'd like to see covered next month, drop me a line.  The Question and Answers Session Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Each month, we'll ask a (hopefully) interesting question to users on various nets and BBS's across the world and include the best answers we get in this column. This month's question: "What's the most romantic thing that you've ever done?" (Or ever had done for you or had happen to you) February is the month of St. Valentine's Day, so what better question to ask then that? The original message and responses are reproduced here in their entirety, (Minus some quoting of the original question) with the permission of the people involved. ======================================================================== STTS Magazine readers, The question for the QUESTION AND ANSWERS column in the Feb. issue of STTS Magazine is: "What's the most romantic thing that you've ever done?" (Or ever had done for you or had happen to you) As always, good answers will be printed in the Feb. issue of the magazine. They may be edited for clarity (ie: quotes of this message taken out) but will otherwise remain intact. By answering this message, you give permission for STTS to publish your letter. Thanks, and keep reading! Joe DeRouen ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 554 of 554 Date : 01-05-94 22:48 Reply To: 550 Confer : Poetry & Prose From : Tommy Van Hook To : Joe Derouen Subject : Feb. Question ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The most romantic thing that has ever happened to me: I had just gotten off of work (it was Spring Break '84, my Senior Year in High School) and my girlfriend had just come to pick me up and bring me back to her place (she was a Junior at LSU-Shreveport) for the night. I was expecting a quiet, dark apartment where I could crash and sleep for a couple of hours, since we were planning on going to the Rocky Horror Picture Show at 2 a.m. We walked in the door and on the table was a (now cold) home-cooked meal. In the center of the table was a rose in a vase. Tied to the vase was a heart-shaped balloon that read "Happy Anniversary Sweetheart". We had been dating for one year at that point, and it had totally slipped my mind. --- þ MegaMail 2.10 #0:Sometimes I wonder if you are who I am. ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 39 of 43 Date : 01/06/94 07:25 Reply To: 36 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Grant Guenther To : Joe Derouen Subject : Feb. Question ------------------------------------------------------------------------ The most romantic thing I've ever done...well...i never really had the chance to be truly romantic (see girlfriend for more details) but I think that the most romantic thing I did was make up the story of the red and white rose and tell it to her after Homecoming night. The story goes similar to this: two yellow roses (there were only yellow roses then) really loved each other, one became deathly ill, the other tore out its pedals and bled over it (in the right words it's romantic) so that the dying rose would live. And it did--it became saturated in blood and turned red and lived eternal. The other became white (because is lost all of its blood) but lived eternal, too, because it was willing to sacrifice its life for its love. --that's the long and short of the story... ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 42 of 44 Date : 01/06/94 14:28 Reply To: 36 Confer : STTS On-Line Magazine From : Lisa Tamara To : Joe Derouen Subject : Feb. Question ------------------------------------------------------------------------ I remember a evening that my lover and I set aside just for the two of us.....we'd been dating for quite a while at the point and knew all the little details that made life special......we shopped for days ahead of time looking for our favorites foods , set aside the whole evening, turned the phone off....There was one particular dress I had that he really loved.....We even made a compilation tape of some wonderfully romantic music and played it while we dined.....by candlelight... Everything was slow and easy.....hours were whiled away in conversation, massage, making love and more conversation....we didnt have to rush because we knew it was our time.... ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 8 of 8 Date : 01/07/94 01:36 Confer : Coregroup From : Lucia Chambers To : Joe Derouen Subject : Question and Answers ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Most Romantic Event: there have been so many Joe, it's hard to choose which was the Most. A close second would be the time I was out with a friend on his boat, and after some Long Island Bay navigational disasters, we found ourselves in Zach's Bay - a very secluded area of shallow water and many tiny, sandy islands. We ate the most delicious crab salad off each other's stomachs and arms, and then washed up by going skinnydipping.... Perhaps the Most Romantic event was when my husband proposed for the fifth time, on his knees and in the middle of Montauk Highway; later we toasted our future by drinking champagne and feeding each other strawberries during a bubblebath by candlelight. If these are too racy to print, let me know. There are others which are almost as romantic but much more "proper." --- * Pen and Brush * (703) 644-5196 * PostLink(tm) v1.11 PANDB (#1742) : P&BNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 16689 of 16782 Date : 01/07/94 11:01 Reply To: 16391 Confer : Writers From : Robert Mckay To : Joe Derouen Subject : Feb. Question ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Bought flowers for my wife on occasion - or was it my arranging for a church wedding (finally!) to be performed on our most recent anniversary? Neither of us are terribly romantic in the usual sense of the word. --- þ QMPro 1.01 11-1111 þ The Point of Know Return ÄÄKansas * Pen and Brush * (703) 644-5196 * PostLink(tm) v1.11 PANDB (#1742) : P&BNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 17144 of 17185 Date : 01/09/94 09:12 Confer : Writers From : Sylvia Ramsey To : Joe Derouen Subject : Feb. Question ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Joe, My husband and I just celebrated 34 years of marriage. We were both youngsters when we married. We had a whirlwind courtship and eloped because we knew my parents would say no. Ten years and two children later, we decided to celebrate our anniversary by getting married again! We did. Only this time, we had a church wedding. Long gown, tux, the whole ball of wax including a reception. Our two sons were part of the wedding party. It was funny because my husband was more nervous than he had been when we had eloped. His best man had to help him dress because all his fingers became thumbs. Later, when our youngest was in the third grade and they were talking about family in class, he informed them that he knew his parents were married because he was there. I often wonder what that teacher thought; but, the boys thought it was fantastic and that was all that mattered. Years later when my son married, he and his bride chose to be married in the same little chapel for the ceremony. I thought that was quite a compliment. This may not be the kind of romantic story you're looking for; but, in my book it ranks right up there in the top ten! ----Sylvia --- þ QMPro 1.50 42-7046 þ A hug warms the day and puts a smile in the heart. þ TNet 3.90 ÷ P&BNet - The Imperial Palace 706-592-1344 ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 7579 of 7673 Date : 01/07/94 17:36 Confer : Net Chat From : Glenda Blackwell To : Joe Derouen Subject : romance ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hey there Joe: Here is my answer for romance: Sitting in front of a warm fire, with a cold bottle of champagne and enjoying love just looking at each other and gentle touches. Scented Candles burning, and slow soft music playing is all anyone needs for a wonderful romantic evening! Glenda * OLX 2.1 TD * The best way to appreciate something is to be without it! --- þ TriNet: Rising Star * Jacksboro,Tenn * 615-566-9778 ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 17498 of 17573 Date : 01/13/94 17:46 Reply To: 17144 Confer : Writers From : Lyn Rust To : Joe Derouen Subject : Feb. Question ------------------------------------------------------------------------ This isn't so romantic as it is sexy. And you have to understand that a day without onions is for me like a day without oranges is (was) for Anita Bryant. ('Anybody here remember her? Never mind.) When I was young and sexy and living single in Chicago, it was a tradition that I spend New Year's with my longtime girlfriend, Jeanne in Ann Arbor (whom I've mentioned before on here). I'd take the Amtrak train in the afternoon and it was a pleasant and often adventurous 5-hour ride. One New Year's Eve afternoon, I met a cute fellow on the train and we began talking. He was *very* cute. He was so cute that during the course of our conversation, he told me he worked as a model for Playboy Magazine in their fashion layouts. That's how cute he was. We were getting along pretty well (attracted to each other, actually) and I learned that he was going to his hometown to spend New Year's Eve with his family and didn't have any other plans for the night. It turned out that he was getting off the train either one stop before or one stop after--I don't remember anymore--Ann Arbor, certainly within easy driving distance of Jeanne's house, so I gave him her phone number and asked him to call after I'd cleared it with Jeanne for this stranger (he could have been an ax murderer!) to come over to her house. Jeanne and her then-husband, Richard, the U of M professor, had been invited to a New Year's Eve party and had been planning to take me along. But Jeanne, she of the "so-many-men-so-little- time" mindset, was delighted with my changed plans. Before departing for the party, she busied herself making a fire in the fireplace, turning the lights low, putting on some lushly romantic music, and creating a wonderfully appealing tray of hors d'oeuvre. I must mention here that Jeanne is Scandanavian, and she is exceptionally creative when it comes to serving what I call "snackies" or hors d'oeuvre. She can make the most tired leftovers look like a Gourmet Magazine illustration. The tray she placed on the coffeetable in front of the fireplace was beautiful. So Joe Blow or whatever his name was (I don't remember that anymore either) arrived, introductions were made, and Jeanne and Richard left for their party, Jeanne giving me an "'atta girl!" wink as she left, eager to hear all the details later. So "Joe" and I commenced our evening and I could see that he was very appreciative of the hors d'oeuvres. I was too, and while eyeing longingly several 1/4-inch thick slices of perfect white onion, I uncharacteristically disciplined myself to ignore them. (I can eat an onion the way most people eat an apple, and I do so nearly everyday.) After all, who knew what might happen later in the evening?, and I didn't want to olfactorily offend my would-be lover. At some point in our conversation and snacking by the fire, Joe bent his body forward over the coffeetable, and with such grace and elegance rarely seen in a man's movements, in the middle of a sentence, exquisitely casually reached with his fingers for one of the onion slices, and pausing momentarily between his words, took a perfectly round semicircle bite out of it (his teeth were as gorgeous as the rest of him!) chewed blissfully for a moment, then blithely continued talking. I had been thinking all along, "Will we or won't we? Should I or shouldn't I?" When I saw him eat that onion, I think my G-spot started vibrating. That was foreplay enough for me! I happily joined him in eating several slices of the onion, then later happily joined him in bed. The next morning, Joe shared a most amiable breakfast with Jeanne and Richard and me, then went back to his family, and I never saw him again. But I can tell you--onions and men brave enough to eat them in front of a pretty woman are a great combination! BTW, I met my husband of 20 years, B, over an onion . . . but that's another story. :) --- þ SLMR 2.0 þ Look out! I've got a V.32 bis and I know how to use it! * InfoMat BBS (714) 492-8727 -=- READROOM & Exhibit A Support * PostLink(tm) v1.11 EXHIBITA (#1153) : P&BNet(tm) ======================================================================== ======================================================================== Number : 572 of 577 Date : 01/15/94 15:42 Confer : Poetry & Prose From : Tim Russ To : Joe Derouen Subject : Feb. Question ------------------------------------------------------------------------ Hi Joe, Several years ago my wife shared with me that she had a need for more romance in our marriage. I thought I was romantic enough already. I honestly couldn't understand what she wanted. Being the logical computer oriented type I asked for a definition of romance. The entire conversation fell apart at that point because the terminology she used was based in emotions while the terminology I understood was based in logic. She finally just sighed and said, "That's ok, honey. I love you and it really isn't killing me. You are somewhat romantic already." I knew that she was hurt. I could see it in her eyes and that really bothered me. So, privately, I began asking friends, associates and co-workers for a good definition of romance. This went on for nearly three weeks. Poor ole Tim looking for a logical way to understand one of the most emotional things in life. Everyone that knew me thought that this was sad. The ladies became frustrated because they couldn't seem to define romance. Most of the guys thought I was an idiot for even trying to be romantic. But I couldn't give up. My wife had a need! Finally I found an answer from a very unexpected source. One of the ladies I worked with was a bitter old alcoholic prune. She kept to herself and argued with everyone. She was one of the most cantankerous people I have ever met. I had avoided asking her because I *knew* she would not be able to give me an answer. I asked another co-worker for a definition of romance when she happened to be in the office. When the other lady couldn't answer the question she piped up. "Romance is nothing more than putting your feelings into action." I couldn't believe it. And it was so simple too! I went home that night and hugged my wife. I told her that I was going to take her out to dinner and we would paint the town red. She just smiled and told me it wasn't necessary. Three weeks I had been trying to figure out what she needed! Didn't she understand what I had gone through?! She laughed when she saw the look on my face. It seems that she had heard about my quest for understanding and had been keeping track of my progress. To her, she said, that quest was the essence of romance and her life was now much happier. Tim * QMPro 1.51 * Be patient with everyone, but above all, with yourself! --- þ TriNet: TriNet: North Central BBS: (317) 662-2543: Marion, In. ======================================================================== As always, I'll now attempt to answer my own question . . . One day in 1990, my wife and I were feeling depressed about something or other. We decided not to let it get us down, and decided to go do something we've always wanted to do - visit the local wildlife park. We hopped in the car and went. The park (closed now, so I won't mention it's name) was in Grand Prairie, at the outskirts of town. The ride there was pleasant, and we talked and enjoyed one another's company. We bought some feed from the caretakers (after paying our way in) and set out to visit the animals. It was great! Antelopes, deer, monkeys, giraffes. Certainly nothing like visiting the zoo, but these animals were all free and out in the open, able to do as they please. We fed several animals, and my wife managed to fed a giraffe who somehow got his neck down to our car window. The whole day brought us closer together and let whatever troubles we were experiencing fall away for a while. I still remember that day. The park is gone now, but the memories are forever ours. A close second would be when, around Christmas time, I came home from my first day at a new job to find my wife waiting for me wearing nothing but a big red bow. But that's a story for another time . . . Happy Valentine's and thanks for reading!  ANSWER ME! Copyright (c) 1994, Liz Shelton All rights reserved ANSWER ME! by Liz Shelton Did you ever have a question about your computer or some software, and you just didn't know where to go to find the answer? Well, in this column I'll be attempting to clear up any questions (big or small) that any of you may have. I'm not claiming to be an expert by any means, but I am resourceful and I'll do whatever necessary to find an appropriate answer for any questions relating to computers, software, or general BBSing. Here it is, my first official ANSWER ME! column. I had tons of question just flooding in. Well, a couple anyway, and good enough to kick off my STTS debut. At least I didn't have to waste any time deciding which ones to use. Dear Liz, I'm a closet computer geek. I LOVE spending hours upon hours at the keyboard. It's my thing, my gig, my hobby, what I live for! Problem is, my girlfriend is jealous of my relationship with my computer. She says it's unnatural, and that she should come first in my life. Is she nuts or what? This may not be the kind of question you were expecting to address, but ANSWER ME! anyway. Virtually yours, Perplexed in Plano Dear Perplexed, You're absolutely right. This ISN'T the kind of question I was expecting, but needs must as the devil drives, and I had to have SOMETHING to write about. I was execting an EASY question, like "Would you please explain the basic principle of binary code?", and instead I have to deal with complexities of human relationships? Ugh. I've been on both sides this type of issue, and while I'm not near as possessed with techie stuff as you are, I do know how involved and time consuming it can be. First, I have to wonder how you two ever got together to begin with. But since you did, and you obviously care enough about her to question her sanity, I'd say a compromise would be in order. People are more important than things, aren't they? Well, aren't they? No matter what you say, they really are! Honest! And while I generally don't trust, or relate to people who aren't interested in computers, I'd have to say that most probably the answer to your question is no. Consider yourself answered, Liz Private to Sad in Seagoville: Attempt another connection. If the handshake is successful, she's yours, if she drops carrier, it was never meant to be. Liz You may direct any questions to me at Sunlight Through the Shadow's BBS, Pen & Brush Net, RIME, WME, or via Internet (liz.shelton@chrysalis.org). Send me some work to do so I won't have to bug Joe for another column!  My View: The Destruction Of Good Music Copyright (c) 1994, Todd Miller All rights Reserved [Each month, a reader/writer is offered the opportunity to give his or her viewpoint on a particular topic dear to them. If you'd like the chance to air *Your* views in this forum, please contact Joe DeRouen via one of the many ways listed in CONTACT POINTS elsewhere in this issue] The Destruction Of Good Music by Todd Miller As we start a new year, the main question in my mind is: What bands will the radio destroy this year? Thanks to MTV and the force behind FM radio, there is really no good underground music anymore. Don't get me wrong, I am proud a lot of bands got the attention they deserve, but a lot of times I don't like what all the attention does to the bands. Eddie Vedder of Pearl Jam stated at the MTV music awards back in September, "If it was not for music, I would of blown my head off." I kind of feel the same way. I can think of many times when I was depressed, pissed off, or just sick of everything when music helped me get through it all. But now, I can't even listen to most of the bands that helped me get through my "rough" times because I got so sick of hearing them on the radio or seeing them on TV. I would not be suprised if in two months we will start hearing Jeremy or Runaway Train on a muzak system at the doctors office. For example take Metellica. I can remember back in the mid-eighties if you listened to them you were considered the lowest scum of the earth. Now all of the "jocks" and "preps" who thought I had an I.Q. of -5 just because I wore a Metellica T-shirt are walking around with the whole Metellica wardrobe known to man. Now Metellica are making all of these videos for MTV (something they vowed they would never do) and producing their albums with Bob Rock who is known for the Bon Jovi and Cinderella fame. I would not be suprised to hear a whole album of love songs by Metellica sometime in the next year. Another example is the whole "Seattle sound" group of bands. Yeah, I still do like quite a few of them, but I have a great fear that many of them will sell out in the near future. As sad as it is, if it was not for the death of Andrew Wood from Mother Love Bone, a lot of people would not know who Pearl Jam, Nirvana, Soundgarden, or Alice In Chains is. Mother Love Bone was the founder of the "Seattle sound", and after the heroin overdose of lead singer Andrew Wood, surviving members of the group started Pearl Jam. Then along comes Eddie Vedder, the so called speaker of the whole "grung" movement. As I stated, I still like a few of the Seattle bands, but I fear what might happen after MTV and FM radio pushes it a little to far. I don't feel any of the Seattle bands have sold out, it's just that there is a whole new group of bands coming out because of their somewhat Seattle like sound. Some of these bands include Stone Temple Pilots (San Diego's answer to Pearl Jam), Dig (out of Boston, some say the next Nirvana), Urge Overkill from Chicago, and the Smashing Pumpkins out of Chicago. I like these bands, but it seems every five minutes the radio or TV is playing one of them.. But as I asked in the beginning of this article, who is the radio gonna destroy this year? Your guess is as good as mine, but I have a couple guesses. Watch out for the band Green Day out of Berkeley, California. The underground favorite for years have signed with Warner Brothers and is expecting a debut album out on February 1. They have the pop/punk sound and I expect MTV to destroy them by the end of the summer. Another band is Dig out of Boston. As I stated before, a lot of people are saying they are the next Nirvana. And you know what that means, MTV playing them every five minutes. And last but not least is Smashing Pumpkins out of Chicago. Sure MTV is playing them now, But I expect in about six months they will go on a summer tour and MTV will sponsor it and all you will hear will be the Smashing Pumpkins. Who knows what will happen this year, hopefully not what I stated.  Choosing a Monster BBS Copyright (c) 1994, Gage Steele All rights reserved What exactly IS a "Monster BBS" anyway? The definition is unclear, but when you find one it's obvious: a large number of nodes, disk storage measured in Gigabytes rather than megabytes, and several CD ROMs. A Monster BBS should also be well-rounded; a variety of interests should be represented. Numerous (registered) doors, a comprehensive online chat system, many different networks, shareware distribution sites and technical support are all key examples of the well-rounded system. Each month we'll take a look at a different Monster BBS to help you choose the best overall system for you. Monster BBS: Springfield Public Access, "SPA" Software: TBBS v2.2 Main Number: (413) 536-4365 Location: Springfield, MA SysOp(s): Matthew de Jongh and Linda McCarthy Established: February, 1990 Aprox. Size: 16 phone lines (13 high speed) 10 Gigabyte (24 CD ROMs) Access Fee: Optional for full access Notes: ASP BBS, 1993 Boardwatch Top 100 BBS No. 34 Rating: 87/100 Online Experience ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ The new user login and questionnaire were brief and quite easy to fill out. SPA's administrators are more concerned that their new caller is able to see the screen properly, and save the boring, legal aspects for another time. Submenuing made for mostly painless navigation. Twice, I found myself in an area I hadn't wanted to be, but pressing one key allowed me to back out (either to the last menu, or to the Main Menu). I was not able to find a System Bulletins Page, or equivalent. Some options were unavailable without subscription. Though I was informed of this in a pleasant manner, I did wonder why such options were displayed to me at all. The most notable of this being the Online Chat feature, something referred to in their advertisements (which further claimed 'no fees' for access). The file areas are well kempt, and well ordered. Not a simple feat for any SysOp, but especially not so when the system shows over 125,000 files currently available for download. Alternate Operating System files, including Amiga, Mac, and OS/2, are easy to locate in their very own areas. Files of specific interests, such as Sound-related and GIFs, are likewise segregated, adding to ease of system use. Online games, and there were more than 25 from which to choose, are categorised by type (i.e. Trivia, Word Games, etc.). Of the ones offered, one was RIP graphics-based and one adult-oriented. In a submenu called DEMOs, SPA allows their callers to help testdrive online games that have not yet been registered. Internet (Usenet), FIDO, and Adultlinks NetMail services are available on SPA. For those counting the minutes on a long distance carrier, you can choose to read and reply to your mail offline by using their QWK/REP mail packet door. Although I was given 45 minutes to peruse the system, my connection was cut short. Quite abruptly, too, as there was no warning before the dreaded 'NO CARRIER' message displayed. I tried calling back three times, only to get to the login prompt, have the system freeze, and dump me again. As I shut everything down, I remembered reading something in their System News (a file shown not long after my initial connect) that they'd crashed a few nights before. Pros ÄÄÄÄ Painless new caller registration. Voice Support. Submenuing. RIP graphics capable. Non-IBM files available. Numerous Doors and NetMail subs. Association of Shareware Professionals BBS. Cons ÄÄÄÄ 'No fees' untrue. Possibly unstable system. Garish ANSI menu colours. Numerous typos throughout the system I don't think SPA is quite established as a 'Monster BBS,' yet, but they do deserve their strong placement in the BoardWatch Top 100. If given another year to tighten up a few odd loose ends, I wouldn't be surprised to see them rank higher. This four year-old system could, and should, do better.  Upcoming Issues & News Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved THIS ISSUE... Special Valentine's issue! Several of the fiction pieces and poems are romance related and are sure to bring a smile to your face and a glow to your heart. This issue also welcome L. Shawn Aiken to the staff. Shawn has had some really great stories and articles in the last couple issues, and has a excellent article on the television show MYSTERY SCIENCE THEATER 3000 in this issue. It's definitely an article to check out, even if you've never seen the show. This issue has more fiction than ever before. It's a trend we hope to keep living up to! Check out the interview with Seth Able Robinson, creator of the popular LEGEND OF THE RED DRAGON and PLANETS: THE EXPLORATION OF SPACE BBS door games. This interview is the first in a planned series with various people in and out of the BBS world. Gage Steele makes her triumphant return to STTS this issue with a fiction piece (TOO LONG) and a new monthly column, CHOOSING A MONSTER BBS. Check 'em out! NEXT ISSUE... The March issue issue will begin the long-awaited, long-promised round robin fiction story. We promise, it's the March issue for sure. FUTURE ISSUES... Look for more monthly columns as well as guest editorials and more ANSI art.   ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³  110 Nodes * 4000 Conferences * 30.0 Gigabytes * 100,000+ Archives ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÛÛßßßßßß ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßßßÛÛ ÛÛßßÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßÛ ÛÛ ÛÛßßßßßß ÛÛßÛÛ (R) ÛÛÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛÜÜÜÜÜÜ ÛÛÛÛ ÛÛÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛ Û ÛÛ ÛÛÛÛ Ü ÛÛ ßßßßßßßß ßß ßß ßß ßß ßß ßßßß ßß ßßßß ßßßßßßßß ßßßßßßß ßßßß °°°°°°°° * Winner, First Dvorak/Zoom "Best General BBS" Award °°°°°°°° * INTERNET/Usenet Access* DOS/Windows/OS2/Mac/Amiga/Unix * ILink, RIME, Smartnet* Best Files in the USA * Pen & Brush, BASnet.* 120 Online Games * QWKmail & Offline Readers* Multi-line Chat Closing Stocks, Financial News, Business/Professional Software, NewsBytes, PC-Catalog, MovieCritic, EZines, AbleData, ASP, 4DOS Huge Windows, Graphics, Music, Programming, Education Libraries ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ Channel 1 Communications(R) * Cambridge, MA * 617-354-3230 14.4k ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ °°°úfasterúbetterúless expensiveú°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°° "Best Files in USA"° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Feature Articles ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ A Panacea for Cheezy Movies Copyright (c) 1994, L. Shawn Aiken All rights reserved A Panacea for Cheezy Movies by L. Shawn Aiken As a child in the 70's I would drag myself out of bed on Saturday mornings and watch Scooby Doo, Pebbles and Bam Bam, and the Grape Ape. But the real fun came after the cartoons. Saturday Sci Fi Theater it was called, and once a week I would revel in the sights of Godzilla smashing Tokyo, vampires turning into bats, and brave astronauts shooting at martians in deep space. It was my favorite form of entertainment. Then Star Wars came out. My world shattered. I realized that science fiction movies could have plots. They could have good dialogue. They could have special effects where you could swear you were seeing the real thing. I realized Godzilla was nothing but a Japanese guy in a rubber suit. I saw the strings holding up the fake looking vampire bat. I understood that you could not fire a revolver in a vacuum. Depressed and embittered, I turned my back on b-movies. One day in early 1992 while I was channel surfing, I came upon one of these old movies. It was "The Amazing Colossal Man", the story of a man named Glen, who, through a nuclear accident, grows to tremendous proportions. But something was wrong. There was a silhouette of theater seats across the bottom, with three figures sitting there. But they were not just sitting there, they were cracking jokes about the movie. But more than that - they were fighting back. I was intrigued. Later I found out its name - Mystery Science Theatre 3000. My mother had told me about it. She thought she had inadvertently turned the television to a religious channel and stumbled upon Christians pointing out evil things in movies. What she had thought was the silhouette of a devil was in fact Crow T. Robot, one of the stars of the show. The devil's horns turned out to be a lacrosse mask, Crow's "ear devices". The premise of the show is this: Two mad scientists, Dr. Forrester and TV's Frank, become angry with their janitor, Joel Robinson, so they shoot him into space. Aboard the "Satellite of Love", Joel is forced to watch cheesy movies while the Mads monitor his mind and try to break him. To help him keep his sanity, Joel builds two robots, Crow and Tom Servo, and together they assault the movie of the week with their lightning comebacks and scimitar wit. In fact, in a two hour episode, they come up average of 700 comebacks. That's over five a minute. But It's not just the sheer volume of jokes in each episode - it's the quality. Whether dealing with bad monster flicks to 50's beatnik movies, they're always loaded with ammunition. During the wonderful gem Rocket Attack USA, Joel notes, "I never thought the end of the world would be so annoying." While watching the film Rocketship XM, Crow makes a log entry for the stars, saying, "Dear Diary: Well, we're all going to die and it's my fault. Our fiery demise is imminent, but at least I have my health, knock on wood." And in the stinkburger Earth vs. the Spider, Tom Servo lets us know that "no spiders were squished, stepped on, flushed, or made to suffer any emotional distress during the making of this film. One spider did die of old age; we have two letters from doctors confirming this." Joel Hodgson created the show back in 1988 for KTMA, a UHF station in Minneapolis. He also played the Mad's victim, Joel Robinson, from it's beginning until late 1993. After 22 shows had been made the concept was sold to HBO, who put it on their fledgling network, Comedy Central. The staff left KTMA and formed an MST3K production company called Best Brains. The show has become so popular that the network airs it every day for almost 24 hours a week. Joel recently left the show to pursue other things. Mike Nelson, the head writer for the show, replaced Joel as the Mad Scientists' new victim. One MST3K fixtures is Turkey Day. The first episode of MST3K was aired on Thanksgiving, 1988, and it has become an annual event. Each Thanksgiving, Comedy Central airs 30 or more hours of the show in a row, to the delight of the fans and to the scourge of their football spectating relatives. Above all, the high point of the show is it's fans, commonly referred to as Misties. There are some 50,000 "official" fans. They have a tool that Trekkers of the 70s could only have dreamed of - computer networks, allowing them to range far and wide in their quest for like-minded people. Mike Slusher, known as Bot Snak and the Sysop of the Deep 13 BBS, describes them thus, "MSTies are the greatest people I know. I know that sounds trite, but it's true. they seem to be very warm and loyal to each other and have boundless enthusiasm for everything MST." Misties can be found on many networks throughout the country and the world. CompuServe has perhaps the most Misty activity, but there are Misties on America On-Line, GEnie, NVN, Internet, Prodigy, and the burgeoning People Together Network. Many Misties were scattered to the wind when Prodigy raised its rates in the summer of 1993, and as Mike Slusher said, "Prodigy was good for it's sheer number of messages, but it was ruled by evil dictators that would always ruin the fun." Misties can also be found on many local BBSes, their messages being echoed through nets such as RIME and WME. Why do people "become" Misties? Perhaps Chris Cornell, a Misty know as Sampo, explain it best. "I'm a MSTie, and unafraid to admit it, for two reasons. First, because in more than 30 years of watching TV, and 10 years of reviewing it professionally, MST3K is the single most intelligent, thoughtful, positive, elegant and side-splittingly funny comedy series I have ever encountered. Period. Second, because the more I meet and talk to other MSTies, the more I discover what an utterly charming group of people they are. I have a saying: "I never met a MSTie I didn't like." And when I do meet somebody irritating who claims to be a MSTie, I'm not surprised to discover, later, that they really could care less about the show and are just a hanger-on. It's happened over and over. The show attracts the nicest class of people: intelligent, sweet, polite and always very funny." These "on-line" Misties have always yearned to know their pals behind the computer screen better. They've exchanged photos, they've had small Misty parties, but as of yet, nothing has compared to the MSTieWeen party of 1992. Rockclimber, also know as Laura Kelley, described to me how it came about in an interview. There were some plans for a convention in the late fall of 92, but those plans petered out. Then Debbie Tobin, know as Kim C. on Prodigy, decided to have a MST Halloween Party at her home in Edina, Minnesota. A Comedy Central employee named Naomi who frequents some of the computer networks was contacted about it. Laura said that they were "hoping for maybe a bag of Doritos, or maybe a party platter," but Naomi said that they might be able to do more. Best Brains had not made any intros for the upcoming Turkey Day Marathon, so they decided to film the party instead, and let the party be the intro. And they catered the event. There the Misties were, dressed up in Halloween garb, meeting face to face and being broadcast to America at the same time. It was a sight few will forget. So, I have found goodness in b-movies after all. Well, perhaps not goodness, but a good way to look at the badness, and make it good. Isn't that what life's all about. If they hand you lemons, just make lemonade. MST3K BBSES Deep 13 - (215) 943-9526 (Levittown, PA) Sysop, Mike Slusher Satellite Of Love BBS - (513) 563-0759 (Cincinnati, OH) Sysop, Bob Poirier Satellite Of Love BBS - (619) 487-0690 (San Diego, CA) MST3K Publications BrainFood - BrainFood, C/O Rock Climber, 2252 S.E. Holland St., Port St. Lucie, FL 34952 Crow's Nest - Crow's Nest, PO Box 3825, Evansville, IN 47736-3825 Digest Digest - Digest Digest, 953 Rose Arbor Dr., San Marcos, CA 92069-4584 MST3K Manifesto - C/O #12888, 6216 N. 23rd Street, Arlington, VA 22205 The Appearance of Vampires in Fiction Copyright (c) 1994, Robert McKay All rights reserved *The Appearance of Vampires in Fiction* A short essay by Robert McKay Copyright (C) 1993 by Robert McKay One of my favorite novels is *Dracula*, the classic by Bram Stoker. I once owned a copy, before 10 moves in as many years proved the saying that "Three moves are as bad as a fire" in disposing of what Dickens once called "portable property." I intend to own a copy again. I also like the 1930 movie version of *Dracula* directed by Tod Browning and starring Bela Lugosi (by the way, Lugosi's accent was genuine; he was a Hungarian, from the same general area as the historical Vlad Tepes and the fictional Dracula who is partly modeled on Tepes). Liking both, I also notice some discrepancies between the two, including the appearance of the count. In the book, he is a big man, sporting a heavy moustache and longish, thick hair. Lugosi's Dracula was not small, but neither was he the massive creature de- scribed by Stoker. He did not possess either the hair or the moustache of the Count in the book, and the distinguishing feature that has stuck with me for years, the "hairs in the centre of the palm", were absent from Lugosi's por- trayal. And it is the 1930 movie Dracula that we remember, spoof, and write about, and which influences our vampire fiction to this day. I am a sometime writer of non-traditional vampire stories. They do not completely break with tradition, but they do depart from it in some respects. For instance, "Memoirs of a Reluctant Vampire", previously published in *Sun- light Through the Shadows*, presents a vampire who is essentially Joe Average - even something of a nerd - who is snared while leaving a pizza parlor and who now uses a pocket knife to open the vein. Others I have written, and which are still (at this writing) seeking publication present the vampire as a loving wife; or a figure who terrorizes a town, flaunts his crime before the authorities, and then easily escapes; or who takes the life, without touching the blood - this one also escapes after a scuffle with police officers. Per- haps the most non-traditional aspect of my vampires is my sympathy - I'm all in favor of the vampire. This is fiction, of course; I do not believe that such creatures actually exist, and if they did I would be decidedly in favor of their extermination. But in my writing, I am sympathetic to the undead. And yet, I find that Browning's *Dracula* haunts my descriptions. While Stoker's Count is not all that indistinguishable from ordinary mortals in most circumstances, Browning's is - although he appears on the streets of London unremarked, which is rather strange in view of his outlandish getup. Stoker's Dracula is sufficiently normal-looking to gain no more notice than as an un- usually large and muscular man with odd superstitions and a strange affinity with wolves in his first appearances; Browning's Dracula is Borg-pale, with a hairstyle that is strange at best, odd clothing, and eerie mannerisms. I do not, I hope it will be assumed, dress my vampires in Lugosi-type out- fits. Indeed, only one of them - the loving wife - has any sort of connection to Stoker's Count, and that is not very significant; her connection is more closely to what Vlad Tepes might, in my opinion, have been had he actually been a vampire, and is in fact the daughter of that hypothetical undead Tepes. I do, however, find that they have some characteristics in common with the Lu- gosi portrayal. They all have aquiline features. They all like to dress in dark clothing. They all - with the exception of the wife -comb their hair straight back. They all have paler-than-normal skin. None -fortunately, I think - have a Wallachian or Transylvanian accent, though in the wife's case it must be assumed that during her early life (which was, though this is not stated in the story, completely normal, she having been born before her fa- ther's transformation) she did possess such an accent when speaking in lan- guages other than her native tongue. Why, since I am so dedicated to the untraditional in vampire stories, am I so bound, even unconsciously, to the basics of the Browning/Lugosi model? Why is this true of most who write on vampires? I can't speak for others, but I can speak to some degree for myself. I say to some degree because, quite frankly, I am neither trained for nor terribly enamored of the deep analysis that is currently in vogue in literary criticism. I do not care, for instance, for that school of literary comment which persisted, and perhaps still persists, in seeing J.R.R. Tolkien's Sauron as a picture of Hitler in spite of Tolkien's repeated and vehement denials that he ever intended any such symbology. I prefer to think that most writers are like me - they may have some symbolism, some "hidden" message, in their work, but they also, like me, want to communicate something clearly, and therefore neither do nor can bury it deep in symbols and figures and dark mysteries. I believe that the reason for the clinging nature of the standard vampire type - varied though it might be from author to author in some respects - is simply that the Browning/Lugosi collaboration was done so well. Granted that the 1930 film did not faithfully reproduce the story of the book (not that, to my knowledge, *any* Dracula film has done that). Granted that it has its flaws, especially in light of modern special effects and movie-making tech- niques. Still, the direction by Browning and the acting by Lugosi were mas- terful. The film was so well done in these regards that it has left an indel- ible imprint on our common knowledge regarding not just Count Dracula, but vampires in general. Just when the craze for visible fangs, pointed hairlines, strange accents, and other Browning/Lugosi creations began I don't know, nor do I particularly care, since my desire is entertainment, not esoteric knowledge of trivia. But it must have begun early. I was born in 1960, only 30 years after the film was made, and as far back as I can remember, these were already settled fea- tures of American vampire lore. At Halloween during my youth, as today, cos- tumes recreated the image of the film. So I grew up, and children then and before grew up, and children today are growing up, thinking that the word "vampire" is synonymous with the Count Dra- cula created by Bela Lugosi and Tod Browning and released in 1930. Few, un- fortunately in several senses, have actually read *Dracula*, and are therefore completely ignorant of the Count that Stoker created - a count that in physi- cal appearance (expect perhaps for size) was a close match to descriptions and portraits of Vlad Tepes. Instead, we integrated into our cultural mythology a Dracula, and a vampire legend, that is only 63 years old, as compared to the centuries-old legends of eastern Europe that Stoker combined with myth and fact about Tepes to create his character. Can this be reversed? Perhaps, though I strongly doubt it. Just as the myths of Santa Claus and "Play it again, Sam" are ineradicable parts of our culture, so the Browning/Lugosi Count Dracula has been indelibly imprinted on our collective frame of mind. However, it would be well if we who love hor- ror, and more particularly those of us who enjoy vampire stories, would do our best to not cling too strongly to this image. Who knows - in 100 years, we may by our influence have managed to bring the collective view of Dracula and his ilk back to something more closely resembling the original conception.  Seth Able Robinson Interview Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Each month in these electronic pages, we'll be presenting an interview with someone important to the BBS world or just to the world at large. This month, we'll be talking to Seth Able Robinson. Seth Able Robinson is the author of the very popular LEGEND OF THE RED DRAGON and PLANETS: THE EXPLORATION Of SPACE BBS door games. I conducted this information via e-mail on Seth's BBS sent back and forth over a period of about a week. Joe DeRouen: Tell us a little about yourself, Seth. Where were you born? How long have you been programming? Are you married? Seth Able Robinson: Ok.. I was born in Hunington Beach, California, in December of 12/06/74. (Yes, I'm 19 now) My family later moved to Oregon, where I have lived ever since. When I was 10 I knew I wanted to work with computers after only watching a few Star Trek episodes. My parents finally helped me to get a computer by looking at a campsite and getting a Commodore 16 as a prize. JD: What did you think of it? SAR: I was elated! I studied the manual and started writing programs immediatly! (The single cartridge it came with didn't hold my attention very long, so what choice did I have?) The only problem was that I could not save what I did. So you can imagine how happy I was when I found a data-cassette under the tree that Christmas! Anyway, from there I just kept upgrading machines & equipment. JD: When did you first release LORD? What is LORD 3.02 like compared to the original version? What improvements? SAR: I released LORD on my Amiga BBS when I was 14. I ran a small BBS. (Same number & name as the one I run now) I wrote LORD for one reason. So people would call my BBS EVERY DAY and use the message bases. I had a few games but none that were 'right'. Some had no time limits, (I only wanted people playing for 10 minutes so that they would have plenty of time to read messages) but most games were just blah. So I wrote LORD. After experiencing lots of success on my system, I realized I needed to create an IBM version - Amiga BBS's were/are very rare. Since I didn't have an IBM Computer to write it on I wrote LORD 1.6 at a friends house on a 386-16 with a meg of ram. I was able to get my hands on Turbo Pascal, I had used C on the Amiga and I could see that they were very simular, just different keywords and such. JD: How long did it take you to learn Turbo Pascal? SAR: It took about a month of going over late, and staying late, to learn Turbo Pascal and write LORD 1.6. (Heheh, I didn't know what ALPHA or BETA testing was back then..So revisions came fast and furious...(Not much has changed I guess?)) In time I was able to buy my own IBM with registration money. This was really great for me! I was finally being able to program at home! So I released 2.1 IBM, which was the first version that was better than the Amiga one. JD: What do you think about the shareware concept? SAR: I learned Shareware is like a snowball, picking up more and more users as it rolls across the country - I suppose a better analogy would be Shareware is like a disease. Always spreading and reaching more people. JD: Sounds painful! Where did the names of the monsters and weapons come from in LORD? SAR: Hehehe, a few of them are from favorite books and authors. I really respect the fantasy writers that can make me stay up all night to finish their book. Most of the enemies and such, are my own creation, sitting around with friends making things up. One enemy I should mention is "Rude Boy". This creature is from a 128 RPG I created a long time ago which LORD is loosely based on. I don't know why, but I love this guy. "Rentaki's Pet" is from a weird dream I had. JD: Why did you install yourself as the bard? Do you enjoy women fighting for your attention? SAR: Er, the truth is I never expected my game to go any further than my own Amiga BBS. I created it kinda personalized, for fun. So he is part of the game now! I am flattered when I get fan mail from females, it's always nice to be noticed. JD: What about Planets? Tell us a little background information on that? SAR: Planets: TEOS is a very different game than LORD - Rarely do people LOVE both these games, usually they like one much more than the other one. TEOS requires a bit more strategy, and is more a thinkers game, where LORD is a bit more a Hack N Slash. Both games require strategy, but TEOS requires a but more learning before you become good at it. JD: Which is the most popular of the two? SAR: LORD is by a long shot. Of course, LORD has been around a lot longer, Planets: TEOS was only released last year and a lot of people have still never even heard of it. JD: Do you plan any updates to Planets: TEOS? SAR: I'm thinking about this. I want to come up with some truly inovative ideas to make this game even more unique - and fun. I don't want to create a new version merely because people want RIP and Multi-node support, I want to add to the game. JD: Are you working on any other games? Do you plan to release any other games in the future? SAR: I'm working on several different ideas now - Doors, local games, and even games that are not shareware. Right now, a Local VGA RPG is in the planning stages. This allows so much more personlization, character development and graphics...You lose the fun of killing real people, but the total experience should more than make up for that loss. JD: What kind of money are you making from your games? SAR: Plenty. I'm completly supported by LORD alone right now, but I know I need to take this 'bonus' time and use it to create something that will return profits a year or two from now...(The time it takes to be 'spread'). JD: How long has your BBS been up? Tell us about your BBS? SAR: The Darkside (Tales From The Darkside inspired this btw) has been up for 5 or 6 years now. It's always had a very active message base, and that is what I'm most proud of. JD: What software do you use? What's the #? (etc.) SAR: I run Renegade. We've got two high speed nodes, and are adding more. We have over 2000 users and 3 packed out LORD games! The Darkside (503) 838-6171 (Both lines) JD: Do you register (other people's) doors for your BBS? SAR: I would if I ran any. I do register any util or game or anything I use, and think is a quality product. JD: What door games do YOU play most? SAR: I LOVE Trade Wars! I loved 1.03, and I love V2.0. I don't mean to brag, but I've blown up a few traders in my time! I think it's the best door ever created, bar NONE. JD: What're your overall plans for the future? SAR: I don't know... Stay free, make Robinson Technologies into a household word, and I hope I never create a game that *I* wouldn't like. JD: Thanks for talking to us, Seth. Do you have any closing comments? SAR: Oh...I'm not married. I love Mortal Kombat 1 & 2, I like to surf, (yes even the Oregon Coast) golf, play basketball, ride horses, stay fit and go places to think. (I love living so close to the ocean!) One last thing - My education - I thought it might be important to let you know that I have never been to school. I was homeschooled, by a great mom. Woah! I almost forgot to plug my new version of LORD, V3.02. RIP and multi-node support are a few additions to this wonderful game. JD: Anything else? SAR: NEVER STOP PLAYING GAMES! JD: Thanks a lot, Seth. Good luck with LORD 3.02 and all your future endeavors! ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Seth can be reached by anyone via the following methods: DarkSide BBS: (503) 838-6171 (both lines) FIDO NET MAIL on Field Of Dreams BBS (Not MY BBS!) Mail Seth Able at 1:3406/13. You can also FREQ the latest versions of both games by using the magic names of LORD and PLANETS from the above address. Compuserve: 73502,2755 The most current release filename for LORD is LORD302.ZIP The most current release filename for PLANETS:TEOS is PLAN112.ZIP ----------------------------------------------------------------------- Þ°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±ÝÞúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúúÝÞ ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿2400bps &  (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 ÛÜÜÜÜÛÛÜÜÜÜ v.FC 28800(414) 789-4500  ÝÞ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÙÝÞÝÞ þ Exec-PC BBS is the largest LAN and microcomputer based BBS in the world! ÝÞ þ 280+ dedicated phone lines - NO busy signals - 24-Hour accessÝÞ þ Over 650, 000 files and programs - DOS, Windows, OS/2, Mac, Unix, Amiga ÝÞ þ Lightning fast - Search 20,000 files in 2 seconds with Hyperscan feature ÝÞ þ Over 42 CD-ROM's online - Scan all of them at 1 time for keyword sÝÞ þ Special Apogee games, Moraffware games, and Adult file areasÝÞ þ Extensive message system with QWK compatability - Also, Fidonet areas! ÝÞ þ Online Doors / Games / Job Search / PC-Cata log / 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 yearÝÞúúúúúúúúúúúú CallútheúBBSúforúaúFREEútrialúdemo,úandúFREEúdownloadsúúúúúúúúúúúúÝÞ °±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±°±²Û²±Ý ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Reviews ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ Lights Out Movie Reviews Copyright (c) 1994, Bruce Diamond All rights reserved ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ SCHINDLER'S LIST: Steven Spielberg, director. Steven ³ ³ Zaillian, screenplay. Based on the novel by Thomas ³ ³ Keneally. Starring Liam Neeson, Ben Kingsley, Ralph ³ ³ Fiennes, Caroline Goodall, Jonathan Sagalle, and Embeth ³ ³ Davidtz. Universal Pictures. Rated R. ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ Spielberg's first "serious" film, THE COLOR PURPLE (1978), met with mixed box office and critical success when it was released; for my money, it was his best artistic effort (some critics would argue for JAWS, 1975, or DUEL, 1971) until SCHINDLER'S LIST. Spielberg was known mostly as an image-driven director before COLOR PURPLE, blatantly pushing the audience's buttons without a nod toward subtlety. In this respect, he would never advance into the first tier of American directors (peopled with the likes of John Ford, Howard Hawks, Alfred Hitchcock -- although Hitch started as a British director, he became the quintessential American director throughout the sixties -- Francis Ford Coppola and Martin Scorsese). Critics advanced theories (too mired in popular culture, not enough depth in "traditional" cinema, etc.) concerning Spielberg's so-called superficiality, and attributed the same faults to conspirator- in-entertainment, George Lucas. To a very small extent, they may have been right; even with THE COLOR PURPLE, Spielberg's button- pushing became evident, especially through comic moments (Oprah Winfrey striding purposefully through a field of corn, a shiner covering one eye; her husband's slapstick confrontation with their roof) and in scenes of high emotion (Whoopi Goldberg standing on the porch, straight-razor gleaming in her hand, torn between shaving Mister -- Danny Glover -- or slitting his throat). Spielberg was still married mostly to the image then, in such a way that it occasionally overrode his story sense. Witness Shug's rousing spiritual number at the end of the movie, complete with traveling choir, as she leads the way from the beer house to the church for Mister's funeral. Shug's "salvation," represen- ting as it does Whoopi's salvation and the healing of the town's schism, really makes no dramatic sense as staged, because the emotion of the moment overshadows what the movie is really about: the defining of African-American roles as a free people in the early part of this century. The image of that traveling choir, and the music, is about as stirring as you'll find in a Spielberg movie (it moved me to tears on first viewing), but it sews disparate people, emotions, and messages into too neat a bow, giving the movie a happy ending it really shouldn't have aimed for. (I'll only mention Spike Lee's criticism of the scene as "happy darkies down on the farm" long enough to partially agree with him.) SCHINDLER'S LIST is another case, completely. Here, Spielberg is dealing with his own pain instead of someone else's. (More than one critic of COLOR PURPLE has called that previous film as one white man's apology for 400 years of slavery, but again, that criticism shoots wide of the mark). SCHINDLER'S is an intensely personal film, and for all of that, it is also an immensely entertaining one. Perhaps entertaining is an odd word to use in conjunction with a film concerning the Holocaust, especially a film that shows the brutality of that event in gut- wrenching details. Realize that I'm not speaking of comedy or the frivolous nature of a Hollywood thriller here (you want an insulting version of the Holocaust and WWII, just rent the screamingly awful SHINING THROUGH, a 1992 piece of dreck that starred Michael Douglas and Melanie Griffith). SCHINDLER'S is entertainment of the first magnitude: a gripping human drama that clocks in at three hours and 20 minutes while barely feeling that it's over two plus change. Spielberg has managed to reawaken the Nazi monstrosity and show it to us in such frighten- ing detail that a new generation of movie-goers will have a hard time forgetting that the Holocaust really *did* happen. Spielberg's visual and manipulative magic (so blatantly obvious, yet thrilling in JURASSIC PARK) is still present, but here it serves the story rather than overshadowing it. Scenes that seem to be pure Spielbergian invention (a boy hiding in a latrine cesspool as Nazi stormtroopers sweep through the camp; a frighteningly-vulnerable scene in the camp showers) are based on reality and only spiced by Spielberg's cinematic "reality." SCHINDLER'S is just further proof that the horrors of real life can transcend anything we can imagine. Real horror is never cathartic; instead it's depressing, sickening, and most times beyond our comprehension. SCHINDLER'S LIST portrays Oskar Schindler (Liam Neeson) as he was, with no apologies: opportunistic, egotistical, and demanding. He was a man used to the finer things in life and found a way to further his fortune at the expense of others. He approaches Isaac Stern (Ben Kingsley) with an idea for a factory, totally funded by Jewish money, since Jews could no longer run businesses in occupied Poland, and staffed by Jewish workers, the cheapest labor around. Schindler rationalizes the business deal, stating that it will provide a means for Jews to remain employed, thereby delaying their "resettlement" into the camps, and it will also provide Jews with a source of black market goods -- pots and pans -- that they can, in turn, trade for the essentials like food and clothing. We later see that the occupied territory has a thriving black market (Schindler obtains his wardrobe and other items of luxury through street contacts), so there is some truth to his words. By presenting Schindler in this seemingly-sympa- thetic light, Spielberg has opened himself up to criticism that he means for this war profiteer to be regarded as a hero who had only the best interests of the Jewish people at heart from the very start. And by presenting Schindler as this shining knight, the naysayers contend, Spielberg unfairly confers sainthood on him, reducing the Jewish plight to a mere power struggle and trivializing their efforts to survive. That is a cynically shallow reading of Neeson's portrayal and Spielberg's complex presentation of the turmoil within Oskar Schindler and how it mirrored the turmoil around him. You'd have to be blind to regard Schindler as a saint from the time he proposes the business deal; throughout most of the movie, constantly refers to his workers as "*my* Jews," reducing them to the equivalent of machinery, as anonymous and interchangeable as the tools they work with, and he's constantly embarrassed when confronted with his workers' problems on an individual basis. "Never do that to me again," he warns Stern, after the bookkeeper/plant manager brings an elderly worker to Shindler's office so the old man can thank the German for his job. The confrontation with his own conscience (essentially, Stern acts as Schindler's conscience throughout much of the film) unnerves him and serves to remind him that he has an obligation to these people, an obligation to keep them as safe as one person can in war-torn Europe. Schindler's inner growth and acceptance of his ultimate responsibility seems to occur in inverse proportion to the depravity around him. His first full awakening to the horrors Germany is visiting on central Europe comes when he visits a fellow SS officer, Goeth (played with disturbing intensity by Ralph Fiennes) at an Austrian concentration camp. Goeth represents the absolute worst in the Nazi character: he shoots prisoners at random from his balcony, more for his own amusement than anything else. Goeth's hypocrisy disturbs Schindler more than the man's cruelty -- while he guns down Jews by day, he professes his devotion to his Jewish maid (Embeth Davidtz) by night. When "his" Jews are rounded up for the camps, Schindler finally takes action and owns up to his conscience. He and Stern put together a list (the titular list) of Jews that worked in the factory, and then go beyond their original list in an attempt to save as many people as possible. Everything that Schindler has done to make his own life comfortable is now in turn laid on the line to save his workers. Goeth as a character bothers me. Though based on reality, I can't help but consider Goeth an almagamation of Nazis, serving as the representative for all of the Third Reich's sins. As such, he comes across as more monster than man, and harder to relate to on a human level. Of course, we've all heard stories of Nazis as bad as, and worse than, Goeth, but the on-screen depiction somehow passes our saturation level for cruelty, to a point where we can become inured to the character's depravity. I don't know where the fine line is, nor if Spielberg really could have presented Goeth in any other way, but after a fashion the character began to join the ranks of the storybook Nazis so prevalent in Hollywood movies about WWII and the Holocaust. Perhaps I'm the only one who reacted this way to Goeth, but after his third scene of sniping from his balcony, he seemed at one remove from the heart of the problem and he became a stereotype. I'm still in awe of Steven Spielberg's achievement. SCHINDLER'S LIST is one of the best films of 1993, and is, indeed, one of the best films of the past few years. Spielberg's use of black-and-white imagery goes beyond the usual reasons for the form: portraying the world in shades of gray, even during a time when the world seemed polarized into black and white; lending an historical/documentary feel for the subject matter (which the intense, hand-held camerawork also augmented); or even to just make an artistic statement with light and shadow. Spiel- berg has recreated his family history (not literally, but the film feels that personal) and captured a point in time when the utter ruthlessness of humanity helped create some of the race's truly shining moments of individual grace and honor. As a people, we have all been to the heart of the fire, and we are stronger, and hopefully, more compassionate for having been there. RATING: 10 out of 10.  Lights Out Movie Reviews Copyright (c) 1994, Bruce Diamond All rights reserved ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ BLINK: Michael Apted, director. Dana Stevens, screen- ³ ³ play. Starring Madeleine Stowe, Aidan Quinn, James ³ ³ Remar, Peter Friedman, Bruce A. Young, Paul Dillon, ³ ³ Matt Reith, and Laurie Metcalf. New Line Cinema. ³ ³ Rated R. ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ Boy, howdy, was I wary of this thriller. The publicity had all the earmarks of the done-to-death "body parts controlled by previous owner" plot (… la THE HAND, 1981, starring Michael Caine, and directed by *Oliver Stone*!; and the equally-bad BODY PARTS, 1991), a plot that I find dubious, at best, to construct a movie around. (Following the "logic" of films like these, you'd want to screen *every* blood transfusion you get, to make sure your heart won't be pumping criminal intentions with every beat; it's a ludicrous premise, and I've yet to see a successful film made from it). Well, I was pleasantly surprised to find that BLINK contains a fairly-original hook, and is a well-crafted thriller, at that. Emma Brody (Madeleine Stowe), blind from age eight thanks to her abusive mother, receives new corneas and new perception of life, thanks to a talented doctor and a thoughtful donor. (Remember the donor angle, it comes up again later.) She's apprehensive about the operation at first, and that anxiety be- comes well-merited when Brody unknowingly becomes the only witness to a terrible murder that occurs in her own Chicago apartment building. The case throws her together with a rough- and-tumble cop, played by Aidan Quinn, who doggedly pursues the case even though his only eyewitness was blind just six short weeks before the incident. Their relationship (and yes, gawd help us, they do fall into each others' arms after a while, never mind the ethics of the situation; I'm tired of this easy violation of professional ethics that pervades film, but that's another soapbox for another time) marks the bedrock of reality that everything else in BLINK eddies around. It's a relationship based on a sharp perception of real life: they argue, they complain, they even give and receive compliments in an offhand, uncomfortable manner, so natural that you could believe Stowe and Quinn were "hooked" together in some way. Speaking of hooks, the side effect of Brody's eye surgery is what makes Detective Hallstrom's (Quinn) job so difficult: not only does the world drop in and out of focus for most of the movie, but Brody suffers from a malady called perceptual delay. Essentially, the character suffers from a visual image lag, as her doctor explains; what she sees one moment may not clearly register until hours later. When Brody sees the killer on the stairs of her apartment complex, she mistakes the blurred image for the building manager. It isn't until the next morning that she realizes she saw an intruder. That, and the mysterious sounds she heard coming from the apartment above her are what sends her to the police. As the plot thickens, Hallstrom discovers the killer is a serial murderer, and somehow, the donor of Brody's new corneas is connected. That's revealing a bit of the surprise, but it won't ruin the movie for you, because there's so much more to it than that. Eventually, you may not find yourself actually caring about the motive behind the murders, but the killer himself, and the visual tricks (some employing computer effects, especially "morphing") will keep you jumping with practically every scene. As an added kick, Hallstrom and Brody have a connection before the case even begins, as shown in an opening scene that'll either have you howling or turning up your nose in distaste. That one scene will either sell you on Quinn's character, or make you give up on him. Of course, for me, the inclusion of Emma Brody's job as a fiddler in an Irish bar band is just an added perk to a satisfying thriller. RATING: 6 out of 10  Lights Out Movie Reviews Copyright (c) 1994, Bruce Diamond All rights reserved ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿ ³ IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER: Jim Sheridan, director. ³ ³ Terry George and Jim Sheridan, screenplay. Based on ³ ³ Gerry Conlon's autobiography, PRESUMED INNOCENT. ³ ³ Starring Daniel Day-Lewis, Peter Postlethwaite, Emma ³ ³ Thompson, John Lynch, Corin Regrave, Beatie Edney, ³ ³ and John Benfield. Universal Pictures. Rated R. ³ ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ So where does real cruelty exist? Is institutionalized cruelty inherently eviler than random acts of guerrilla warfare and/or terrorism? Ask a member of British government, you'll get one answer; ask an IRA terrorist, and you'll get the polar opposite. Caught in the middle is the apolitical, petty thief Gerry Conlon (Daniel Day-Lewis), who happens to be of the wrong nationality, in the wrong place, at the wrong time. When the IRA blows up a London pub, killing five people and wounding dozens more, Conlon and three of his mates are tagged as the scapegoats, sentenced to life in prison with no hope of parole. Also caught in the government's web of deceit and false accusations are Conlon's father, Guiseppe (Peter Postlethwaite), amongst other family members. If this hadn't actually happened, you'd probably find yourself shaking your head over the alleged improprieties attributed to the British government. Indeed, you'd say to your- self, who could believe that a self-declared democracy would *knowingly* punish innocent people, especially *after* they learn the truth behind the incident? Something like this happens only in countries like China or Russia, right, where civil rights are routinely trampled under the State's hobnailed boots? It can't happen in 1974 London. Wrong. It can, and it did, and what makes it even more reprehensible is the British government *covered up* its own ineptitude, its own *crimes*, for 15 YEARS. In a way, justice was eventually served, but not for everyone concerned, and not as far-reaching as it should have been (according to the final text that appears on-screen). No matter where you stand on Ireland/ England relations or the official status of the IRA and its political arm, the Sinn Fein, you'll find yourself outraged that a supposedly free country can run roughshod over an individual any time it wants to. Without getting onto a soapbox, I hasten to add that it happens in this country, too -- and all too often. Daniel Day-Lewis has got to be one of the ten best actors working in film today. He molds himself so *perfectly* to the role he's portraying, subsumes himself so completely into his character, that you can't imagine anyone else in the part. Day- Lewis breathes life into characters that are already multi- dimensional, that's how talented he is. Practically anyone with a modicum of talent can make a one-dimensional character come to life (witness nearly any role that the classically-hammy William Shatner takes on, even aside from Captain Kirk), but to take such complex, diverse roles as Christy Brown in MY LEFT FOOT (1990), Hawkeye in LAST OF THE MOHICANS (1992), Newland Archer in THE AGE OF INNOCENCE, and Gerry Conlon in the film under discussion (per- haps the roughest and most blue-collar of the four named roles) and make every one of them a distinct person is the work of a true artist. Watch Day-Lewis as he ages Conlon from an aimless street punk to a bitter, determined adult, wise to the ways of those in power and wary of those who wield it. His very bearing, how he carries himself, the purpose that comes into his stride and into his stare, make Gerry Conlon that much more real, and his plight that much more painful. Almost as astonishing is Peter Postlethwaite as Conlon's Da, a man caught up in the confusion of his son's celebrated arrest. The screenplay twists convention and fact by pairing father and son in the same prison cell, but what we learn about their relationship, and how adversity actually strengthened it, couldn't have been depicted any other way. It's a brave story- telling choice, based on fact and an existing autobiography as this movie is, but it works. In fact, it may have worked too well, in that after the initial set-tos about their situation, Conlon Senior and Junior become almost otherworldly in their solidarity and respect for each other. Surely, the real-life Conlon analogs still had their disagreements, but after Guiseppe falls ill in prison, the movie shows nothing but sweetness and light between them. The smoother relationship allows the movie to focus more on Gerry's discussions with the lawyer who eventually takes on their case against the British government (played a little *too* intensely by Emma Thompson), but it does show how distorted even a right-minded film like IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER can become. You might be surprised that even though this film seems like a diatribe against the British government, the IRA is portrayed in an unflattering light as well. I was pleased with the presen- tation of cold fact, rather than the patriotic banner that the story could have easily metamorphosed into. IN THE NAME OF THE FATHER is even-handed in its indictments, and eminently watchable for its compelling story of wrongs committed and made right. RATING: 9 out of 10  Lyrical Leanings Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved OTHER VOICES - OTHER ROOMS Nanci Griffith Elektra Entertainment 1993 OTHER VOICES - OTHER ROOMS is basically an inverted TWO ROOMS - CELEBRATING THE SONGS OF ELTON JOHN & BERNIE TAUPIN. Instead of many different artists singing John & Taupin's tunes, folk singer Griffith tries her hand at recreating several different entertainers works. It really doesn't work. To be sure, the album has some highlights. Griffith sings BOOTS OF SPANISH LEATHER as well or better than Bob Dylan ever did. The song seems inspired, and she carries it through with typical Griffith flair and style. Unfortunately, this performance doesn't often repeat throughout the album. There are a couple of other highlights in the seventeen-track CD - Nanci's intrepretation of Ralph McTell's FROM CLARE TO HERE and Townes Van Zandt's TECUMSEH VALLEY, to name two - but the album lacks her usual freshness and sense of exhuberant energy. If you're a Griffith fan, you should check this one out. Even if you don't think much of it, it's part of the collection. If you've never listened to Griffith before, you might do better checking out 1988's LITTLE LOVE AFFAIRS or 1989's STORMS. Both these albums showcase the tremendous talent that is Nanci Griffith, and thus far seem to be the pennacle of her career. After listening to OTHER VOICES - OTHER ROOMS, I got the sense that this was but a transition in Ms. Griffith's career. A pause, if you will. Keep an eye on her - there's more yet to come from Nanci Griffith. My score, on a scale of one to ten: 5  Music Review Copyright (c) 1994, Liz Shelton All rights reserved Music review Liz Shelton Antenna by ZZ Top RCA 1993 It's been a while since we've heard from my favorite little power trio, ZZ Top. And worth the wait it was. The "little ol' band from Texas" has done us right and showcased what makes us love them so much. Gibbons jams on this one, and gives us a little of that "Fuzzbox Voodoo" that has been the staple of the ZZ Top's music mystique. If you're a fan of the later ZZ Top releases, (Recycler, Afterburner, Eliminator) you'll love this one. I personally would like to see them stretch a bit more, or even further back (say, back to the Deguello days). But the boys still know how to rock and roll in fine fashion. All of this considered, I give them a hefty 7 1/2 on that 1 to 10 scale.  Book Reviews Copyright (c) 1994, Heather DeRouen All rights reserved WINTER MOON Dean Koontz Ballantine Fiction $6.99 (US), $7.99 (Canada) I've only read two Dean Koontz books in my life. MR. MURDER and his new one, WINTER MOON. If his other offerings live up to the standard set by these two, I'll be a fan for life. At first set in LA, WINTER MOON tells the tale of police officer Jack McGarvey, his wife Heather, and their son Toby. It also tells the tale of Eduardo Fernandez (father of Jack's first partner Tommy, who was killed in the line of duty over a year ago) who lives in a secluded part of Montana, setting up a beautiful point-counterpoint comparison between the two areas and the lifestyles inherent in each. Within the first few pages, Jack is gunned down by a hot hollywood director high on PCP. His second partner is killed, as is the owner of the service station where the violence took place. Only Jack and the owner's wife manage to survive. Jack, minus a kidney and suffering a spine fracture, is forced to spend many months in recovery and rehabilitation. A light in the woods calls to Eduardo Fernandez, in far off Montana. Eventually he heeds the call, and a fight for his life has begun. Jack continues to fight for his own life in the hospital, as both destinies draw inexorably closer and closer together. Jack recovers physically, but the mental scars still haunt him. In his absence, Heather turns their house into a virtual arsenal armed with everything from pistols to the micro uzi that wounded her husband. As their bills surmount and the deceased director's parents and fans proceed to make a martyr of the dead man, their situation spirals towards bleakness. Nearly out of money and with little prospects for getting more, a fateful inheritance couldn't come at a better time. Hundreds of thousands of dollars and an estate richer, The McGarvey's head for the country life of Montana . . . I won't tell you about the light in the woods, nor will I tell you of the McGarvey's encounters in Montana. Suffice it to say that Koontz's talent lies in making the hackneyed new again, in breathing exciting new life into old themes. This is definitely a book worth checking out. The ending is actually a surprise but one that doesn't come out of left field, something unexpected in today's horror market. And I won't spoil that ending here. My score (out of a possible 10): 8  Book Reviews Copyright (c) 1994, Kathy Kemper All rights reserved NIGHTMARES & DREAMSCAPES Stephen King Viking Publishers $27.50 (at this writing available only in hardback) To say I'm a Stephen King fan would be an understatement. In fact he is one of only three authors who have the distinction of being those that I purchase in hardback. I absolutely refuse to wait until the more affordable and less space restrictive paperback arrives in print. Nightmares & Dreamscapes is the third short story collection of King's. However, it has the dubious distinction of being his least attractive book. This isn't the traditional literary criticism of King's works in which reviewers often find him overwritten. This is the critique of one who has all of his books, and has read them all--most many times. Nightmares & Dreamscapes is one I don't plan to re-read. The old King is present in "Nightmares", the characterizations are full and well rounded; and the horror is explicit with his usual plot twists and ironies. Yet there remains a difference, in this book, our ordinary worlds are once again disturbed by the master of his craft, but one is left pondering the question "why"? That is not to say that everything in the book is unenjoyable, it isn't. In fact there are a couple of stories that stand out well. One is entitled "The End of the Whole Mess". Here an intellectually gifted person discovers that Texas is the most violent state (per capita) in the union, but that even here exists a "calmquake". An area where violent crimes drop dramatically. This area is centered around La Plata which is close to Waco. Given the tragedy that occurred in that town just last year, perhaps another location would have proved more beneficial. However, King could not possible foresee the future (or could he?). This scientist is able to ascertain that the peaceful feelings people have for one another is literally "something in the water". What he fails to realize until after he has concentrated the stuff and distributed everywhere is that there is an appalling side effect. Two other stories that rate mention are "The Doctor's Case" which is solved by Sherlock Holme's partner, Dr. Watson; and "Head Down" which contains no horror or remarkable twists. It is merely the analysis of a season of his son's little league experiences. In fact, although it isn't typical King, I enjoyed the insight in this historical piece much more than the other stories in the volume. The book ends with notes detailing the writing of each of the stories. I always find this part interesting--a sort of mini look into the convoluted mind of Stephen King. The last story, which appears after the story notes, is a Hindu parable which is incredibly thought provoking and also unlike the typical King. For those that are looking for classic King, this isn't the book to purchase. And, while I recommend it on other merits to readers, I still suggest one wait until the paperback is released. My score (out of possible 10): 6.5 Sunlight Through The Shadows presents: L e g e n d o f T h e R e d D r a g o n T o u r n a m e n t ! ÜÜÜÜÜÜ Call STTS BBS atßßßÜÜÜ ÜÜÝ ÜÜÛÛÜÝ (214) 620-8793 andÜßßÝÝßÞÜÜßßßÛÛßß Ü download LORDCONT.ZIPßÜÜÝÛÜßÜßÜÛÛÛÛÜ ßÜ for more detailsÞÞÜÛÜÜÛÛßÞÛÛßÛÜßÜß ßÛÜÛÛÛßßÛÝÛÝÛÛÛÛÛßÛ  ßÛß ÛßÛÛÜßÛÛÛÛÛÛßÜCash prize of $25.00 Ûß ÞÛÝÛÛÛÛÜÜÜßß ßÛfor the Winner! ßÛßÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÛÜ ß ÜÛÛÛÜÜÛÜÜÛÛÛÝÜ ÜÜÜÛÛÛßÜÛÛßßÛÛÛÜÛÛßÛÜ ÜÜßßßÜßßÜßÜßßßßÜßßßÛÝßÜÞÜÛ Ü Ü ßßßß Û ßÜ ßßßßÛÛÜÜÛÛÝ ÝÝßÜÛ ÛÜßÜÜÜÜÜ Ü ÜÜÜ ÛÛ ßßßÞÛÛ Ýßßßß ÝÛÛÛÛÜßÜßÜÜÛßßÜßÜÜÜ Ûß ÜÜßÜÜ ß ßß ßÜÜÛßÜÜÜ ÛßßßßÜÜÜß Üßßß ÜßÜÝ ßßßßÛßÜßJD ßÜÛÜ ßß 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  A Dark Red Valentine Story, Sort Of Copyright (c) 1994, Franchot Lewis All rights reserved A DARK RED VALENTINE STORY, SORT OF (c)Copyright 1994 by Franchot Lewis "Billy! "Uh?" "Billy." "What?" "What you gonna do with that gal?" "I -" "I mean, Billy, we got one room in the shack back home, one room and that's all. No space." "Jess, Well ..." "Well, what Billy?" "Don't know, I reckon, Jess." "Don't know?" "I ain't ask her that." "Well ... I reckon you should have." "I thought, Jess." "Thought about it, have you?" "Sure, some." "I reckon, before you brought a female back from town, you had ought to have asked me, and I don't recollect hearing you talk to me 'bout bringing one back." "Listen, Jess -" "Listen? I'm listening." "She ain't my gal." "She ain't? She looks about like somebody's gal. She's as young as you, but I hope not as stupid. What she's doing here?" "She done followed me." "A fancy woman in pantaloons followed you?" "How you know she got on pantaloons?" "I looked." "What? Jess? She got a blanket over her. What you mean?" "I mean the blanket slipped down before she pulled it up in her sleep." "Jess, you better leave her alone; she's not a regular gal." "I'll say. I prefer my females in petticoats not pantaloons. She appears to be on the mannish side." "She done killed a man." "Who she killed? Her husband? Boy friend?" "She done shot Mad Dog Dugan down dead." "Her? Ha!" "Don't laugh. The town folks back there think I done it." "You?" "I tell you, Jess." "Let me tell you, Billy. Some folks who you bring up since they were young'n, after their maw and paw died, whose neck and ears you've wiped, like to brag and boast 'bout things they make up 'cause they're too young to tell proper lies." "And let me tell you, Jess. Some old coots who you stays with 'cause they're too dumb to run a ranch by themselves -" "Billy, why don't you hush? Most of what you know, and that ain't half of what I've tried to learn you, came from me." "Ha!" "Who learned you how to ride? Who?" "You." "How to shoot?" "You." "And you can't shoot worth a damn. And, why come you stand there spouting off a lot of do-do about folks in that town saying you shot down Mad Dog Dugan?" "Jess, they do." "Huh? Somebody -" "The girl! You woke her up." "Billy, who's there with you?" "Miss. Elsie, Ma'am, this is my uncle -" "Billy, I wish you would keep our kinship secret. Ma'am, I'm Jesse Johnson. You don't have to get up." "I'm up now - want to be to meet you." "Ma'am, we're out of Texas, on our way back home." "Say, a Texas gentleman?" "I done sold our cattle and we didn't get much money for them, that's why we're camped outside of town. I let Billy go into town 'cause he's a young'n, who needs a little hay for his donkey every once in a while. You understand my drift?" "I was just being polite." "I'm thinking, a lady like you have something else on her mind than politeness." "Such as, Uncle Jess?" "Quiet, young'n." "My uncle don't have much manners." "Few men do." "Miss, don't you have something to ask old Jess? A question?" "May have, Mister. I can't remember right now. Probably isn't important. In the meantime while I remember, I gotta go take a pee. Be right back. Don't you boys peep." "Why?? At a woman in pantaloons? Never! And the boy won't either." "Jess." "Huh?" "Over here." "What? I can't hear you. What is you whispering 'bout?" "You gonna hurt her feelings, talking to her like that." "What? You knows I got a bad ear, Billy. If you gotta whisper, come around to my good ear." "She's a lady, Jess; you can't talk to her like that." "Did she hear how she talked to me? Did you? About going to take a pee? No female says anything like that to a man." "Stop calling her a female, she's a lady." "So, you fancy her? A gal in man's pants?" "You can be polite to her?" "What is this female? A fancy woman in disguise?" "Cool it, Jess." "What good is a fancy woman on our spread? There's nothing there but us and the land? We're a hundred miles from folks. We're right smack in the middle of the badlands. We've got untamed In'juns. We've got Mexican bandits, and white men who are bandits, thieves, bushwhackers, cattle rustlers. And we got other bad things, varmints of all kinds: rattle snakes, prairie dogs, vermin and I don't mean just the four-legged kind. And what do we need with a fancy woman? If there is a fight, a fancy woman can't run. She can't fight. Sure, she might want to and stand by you, but she'll get hurt." "It ain't like that, I want to help her." "Help her? What can she do for you? What? Oh, maybe she do know how to feed a young boy's donkey." "Jess -" "Listen, boy. Maybe, she knows how to do whatever, but how long can you do that? Who's gonna drive them cows? Who's gonna keep off the varmints? The prairie dogs and the bandits? Her? Boy, you're thinking with your little dong dang, with your tiny, little boyish brain." "Stop! Hush! Jess, hush, or I won't talk to you again." "Lordy -" "Hush, Jess, please. She's back." "How's this for gentlemen? Dear Lord, aren't they a handsome picture of Texas manhood? I took my pants down and not one peep. I have never had so little attention, and I have always wanted to have the attention of a couple of men from Texas. Come on, Billy, make me feel good, did you have a little peep?" "How come you ask that?" "Jess." "Don't no lady talks like that. Why do you think we'd do such a thing to you?" "You see a lady? " "Hell, I would crawl down to the Red River on my belly like an old white worm on its way to be a fish's supper before I would disrespect a lady." "Mister, I'm not worth the trouble. I am not your lady." "I know you ain't mine." "I'm nobody's lady. I am a whore." "A what?" "Elsie, don't put yourself down." "Billy, I'm a saloon whore. I'm nothing but a whore." "You told me, you told us." "An honest female... You're one honest female ain't you?" "Yes, Mister." "I hope the boy's ears aren't stuffed with wax, or tar, or deafness." "I don't want your nephew." "Good." "Jess -" "I'm through talking tonight. I'd do me better to get the bottle out of the saddlebags and hit the sack with it." "Yeah, good night, Jess." "Night, to you and to the woman." "Don't worry about Jess. He's good and gentle, almost like a maw." "You should listen to him." "Tell me, how you like me?" "That's some smile you've got." "Why don't you kiss me again, Elsie, like in - and make me feel real fine?" "No." "Why?" "I don't kiss." "What? You did." "How many women do you know?" "Hundreds." "How many women have you talked to before me?" "Lots." "Sure." "It's true." "Billy, am I not a pretty sight for your eyes to see?" "Yelp." "There's a bright moon, almost like the kerosine light in a parlor. And your uncle's gone to sleep. It's just you and me awake. I'm in pantaloons. They're so tight. You see more of me than a woman is supposed to show a man she's not married to. Almost like I'm naked - you see my butt like it is naked almost; the pants are pressing against my privates too. What are you thinking, Billy? Yeah, I'm a real pretty sight for you, and all you want is a kiss? Billy, warm me up, I'm getting cold standing here like this." "Holy cow, you sure know how to -" "Hurt?" "I feeling mighty good right now, let me hold you, there ..." "What you heard about me? Heard I was a good whore? The best gal doing in the Wet Dollar Saloon? You believed it. Boy, oh boy, and Lord God, you sure knows how to get a whore's tongue really going." "Cheee - Stop talking." "No. I won't. I've got to keep telling you, I am a whore. "Hush." "Don't start with me. I am wrong for you." "Hush." "I'll hurt you, I know. I always hurt and get hurt. Let me cut out. Let go. Come on, Billy, let me go. " "Elsie." "No." "Please." "Just let me breathe a sec." "Elsie." "You cut out, drop me off in Abilene. There's a town and a saloon. I can survive in Abilene." "Town is no place to be. It's unclean: smoky, dusty, keeps in the musky smells." "Your Uncle tells you that." "It's true. Town is no place for anybody especially for a lady." "God, a'mighty, I fixed myself temporarily, to the biggest greenhorn I done ever rumped. Come on, Billy, don't get sick on me. Baby, make me not hate you." "Elsie -" "Here it comes, Billy." "What comes?" "Why I shot that son of a bitch. I wanted to kill the bitch for screwing me without paying me. That son of a bitch took from me real good." "That's behind us, Elsie." "Us?" "Yes, us." "God. That's it." "Yes." "I shot that creep for not paying me my money, my pay that I was owed for balling him. That's the truth." "Feel better now for telling me something I knew?" "Hell, Billy. If I ever wanted a man, I would take you over any man, any time. But men aren't worth a damn; they sure in hell haven't been worth a damn to me." "Why did you follow me?" "Cowboy, you won't stop, until you get a preacher and get me married? You're just too dumb to let us drop our drawers and start romping together, with no words said, no promises, no mumbling, nothing, but rutting, and that's all?" "If I had me somebody like you, I would -" "Damn, Billy, with the face you got and that smile, you could have any nice girl you want. What am I? Your first? Tell me? You know, I know?" "I've been with girls." "And they were no good, right? Billy, I am a whore who shot a bad man, a wrong thing for a man to have happened to him, being shot by a woman and a whore to boot. The whore would get driven out of town, out of every town, dead, if it gets known. What can I do out of town? Die? So I tried to convince you that you shot the bad man. You were drunk, but not convincible. Do you have anything to drink? Does your uncle have anymore whiskey?" "Nothing to drink but water." "Give me that, I'll drink a whole canteen of that. Prepare myself." "For what?" "Going on alone. You're too sweet, you don't know what women are like." "I do." "You've never had a woman before this morning in town." "If you're planning on going on alone, I gotta tell you, I ain't gonna let you." "How's a nice, soft boy like you gonna stop me? The best you can do is to ask me nicely not to." "It's the best way." "I shot that bad man as he came into my room to take me again. Shot him, then made believe that you shot him, told townspeople you did. When his partner came around to bushwhack you, I shot his partner in the back, to save you. I couldn't let him assassinate you. I was supposed to have set you up for him to kill, and I sat him up, because I pulled you into something you need to get out of. You're so young." "Hush." "God, man. You got me hot and I'm gonna tell you. It ain't that I'm gone soft, not yet." "Sure am glad you told me; you like me." "I been wanting to go to Abilene for so long that I stuck myself to you, a wrong damn thing too. I was just afraid to stay in that town, afraid of what I might say or do, if another man tried to take me without paying. Since I put the blame for him on you, people didn't think nothing of me picking up and following you. Dugan pretended he owned me. Nobody liked him, nobody much cared about him." "Hush." "No." "You just want to get me to stay off you. I could go all my life and find nobody better than you to be with me. My Uncle Jess, is right, I'm a born know nothing but I know -" "Look, Billy -" "Hush, I know you ain't my lady, not yet. But look here what I got for us: Plans. I done filed on me some acres adjoining Jess's place. You can run cattle there, and you can do more. Grass grows there, soft grass. I even took in some acres that include an old brook. Jess is an old cuss, but he's not stubborn. He'll help me build you a house with a bed, a proper bed, with a goose downs pillow that belonged to my maw. You're have a comfortable place to lay your head while we grow old together." "How would you like that!" "I would like it fine, real fine, Elsie. But, if you want to go out there and waste your life in Abilene, you're have to whop me first." "What?" "We need a place to lay our heads down at night." "Sure, and be naked, cuddle and rut on top of a blanket. I can give you that now, a time like you would never believe." "Hush." "Billy, I asked nobody to be born -" "Nobody gets asked." "I'm telling you something, don't interrupt." "Enough talk." "I asked nobody to be female in this Hell, I'm telling you that." "Hush." "I have never loved a man, I can never love a man." "Hush. Don't waste your time talking. Just sit down with me, and we'll be quiet and wait for the sun." "You sure you haven't talked to a woman before?" "I have many times." "Sure. I am not a woman, I'm a whore." "You are worth something." "Holy sh-, man. I have never had nobody ever speak to me like this." "Like you got feelings?" "And I'm fixing to shoot you. I can feel it building up inside me like something I have no power over. God, Billy." "Where you going?" "Lord!" "Come on, Elsie. Shoot, where you going?" "Most men don't want you to talk to them and they sure don't want to ask you questions, or know that you can think to answer them, or that you can think -" "Elsie, stop, talking and feel what I am feeling for you, please." "I know how to survive, say alive." "Elsie, hush." "No." "I won't let you go." "Billy, see this: my gun. I'm going." "No, Elsie." "Stop!" "Elsie." "Lord, I've had men talk to me like you, and God, but none as sweet as you. But, deep inside, I know it amounts to nothing." "No, Elsie, I want you." "Stop. I'm gonna shoot you. Billy, now, stop!" "Shoot me, Elsie? Kill me? You can't." "I'll wound you!" "No, now, hush." "Billy!" BANG! BANG! "Billy, oh Billy!" "Billy, I heard shooting. Billy, where are you? Boy, I'm too old to be wandering around in darnation. Billy ..." "Billy!" "I'm coming." "What was that shooting?" "Somebody shooting in the air?" "You?" "Jess, wait for us in the camp." "Where did you wander off with her?" "She's out there?" "By herself?" "Yeah." "Where? Over that way? Billy? God, what is she doing out there? On foot?" "I froze and let her run off, but - "She shot the gun?" "I gotta catch her." "What? She run away from you? On foot?" "I gotta track her." "In the dark? You're a natural egg sucking fool." "You gonna really like her, Jess." "In the dark? You're chasing her in the dark?" "Yelp!" {END}  The Serpents Embrace Copyright (c) 1994, Daniel Sendecki All rights reserved The Serpents Embrace by Daneil Sendecki In the eyes of those driven by thirst, the gently rolling dunes of the humble Sahara must have appeared more welcoming than the parched and blaring enormity of the flatlands, which, broken and jagged, lined route seven all the way to the filling station. This desert was kin to all deserts. Endlessly, in all directions, lay silence. There was no sand here, only a thirsty, shattered crust. When the wind blew, it kicked up nothing but a dry, blistering heat. Splintered and popping under the searing sky lay a ribbon of forlorn asphalt which carved incessantly through the desert. It was called route seven. It was through this emptiness that the Pilot rode, wrenching and shattering, hewing and hacking, the placid air. His steed, a Mac truck, and each of it's antique wheels whined indignantly as they navigated a bend in the road. But once the rumbling truck disappeared, the silence would once again descend upon the indifferent desert and stretch calmly toward the towering sky. In the minds of the peasants, those incredibly simple folk who lived on the edge of the flatlands, those who lined the boardwalks and stood stupid with amazement as the Pilot rolled into town atop his mount, the Pilot was neither malevolent nor benevolent, but the source of immense awe. Countless miles of broken road separated the Pilot from the town of Abraxas, a shanty town, on the outskirts of the flatlands. Moreover, the truck, empty now, needed gasoline. As always, there was hope. And then there was the filling station. Abraxas would have been a one stoplight town - had the magic which had once kindled the lamps not gone away. There were a bootfull of buildings, the tallest of which was two stories, and four streets, running from the asphalt of route seven like veins. Indeed, the town of Abraxas clung to route seven like a tumor. One day-cycle had passed since the Pilot had slipped from his cab into Abraxas, but it may as well have been a week, as both month and minute wore the same face as they passed over this archaic, yielding, desert. The truck came to rest in the center of town. Once there had stood here a cenotaph, but it had since fallen, leaving only it's pedestal. The air was as cold as an outlander. Stealing into the shadows of the boardwalk, the Pilot left his truck to brood over the remains of the statue. Besides the cenotaph there was a livery and a granary. A general store lay on the other side of the route. None of the buildings were well kept, weathered and squalid, bent from the torrid sun and moon. Sardonic show tunes spilled from a dusty clapboard building, which bounced and writhed in tune like a wineskin full of mice. A fading sign proclaimed that it was a "Hostel & Grill". The Pilot stepped from the shadows of the boardwalk into the light of the saloon. The crash of billiards assaulted the Pilot. A round man clumsily pounded the teeth of an antique piano that had long since rotted. "Have you any gasoline?" the Pilot cried over the clamor of the saloon. Eyes turned from card games, beer mugs, and harlots to the Pilot. The bat-wing doors swung lazily in the wake of his entrance. "Petrol?" he demanded inquiringly. A pair of well-worn jeans, a faded denim shirt, and spit-polished boots were all he wore - save the holster that hung from his hip and the six iron that lay asleep inside. A haggard man stood and the a few notes escaped the piano. Grimacing, the man spoke. "We've none of your poison," then almost muttering, "madman." The Pilot's mid - not his eyes - turned toward the reassuring weight of the six iron that lay against his hip' his eyes remained stolidly fixed on the weary man. "Have a seat." the Pilot prompted. The haggard man, whose lips writhed as if each movement pained him, stepped forward. Effortlessly, the Pilot woke his Pistol, pulling breech and bore from their bed and startling the gun into consciousness as hammer struck primer, and gave the gun tongue. The man, gutshot, doubled over and stared at the Pilot, glassy eyed and incredulous. "Mmmmfuuu..." the man gurgled. Hand at belly, he fell to the floor. A pink fold of his entrails slid out from between dirty fingers. The Pilot sauntered towards the bar and the floorboards groaned as each, in turn, bore his graceless weight. The saloons patrons filtered out. Nervously pouring a glass of whiskey, the barkeep kept a disdainful eye on him. "Put me up for the..." the neck of the bottle chattered against the lip of the glass. Rocking his palsied weight from foot to foot, the barkeep began to dance a jig completely unaware. "A room for tonight, you old fool." "We've no room." The saloon keeper's eyes lit upon the man whose intestines slowly cooled on the floor. Sighing, he took a tarnished key from his pocket. The Pilot mounted the stairs. Relieved, the barkeep sighed. Slowly, night returned to the comforting arms of silence when, with a clap that made the barkeep howl, the looking glass behind the bar cracked frightfully and crashed to the floor. "Your whiskey," the Pilot hissed, "is weak." Having hurled a shot glass through the mirror, the Pilot retired to his room. Only when the Pilot disappeared did the barkeep realize, abashed, that he had soiled himself. Upstairs the Pilot slept soundly. Out here, amid the harrowing flatlands, stood the castle of the blacksmythe's fairy tales - the filling station. The road undulated and twisted on indefinitely before the grill of the grunting truck, finally succumbing to the horizon and heavens. The filling station stood defiantly off in the distance. The Blacksmythe was an old man - surprising, since he had been exposed to the rigors of the flatlands - a wild shock of silvery hair fell over his eyes. He, like all other town folk, had a genius for superstition which made him thickheaded. His apron was the tired color of a bleeding sunset. "Pilot?" it was the Blacksmythe. Uninterested: "what?" "The flatlands aren't a safe place." The Pilot sighed. "Is that so?" "Ayuh." And it probably was, to this dumb specimen at least. The trailer protested with a shrill scream of rust as the Pilot swung it shut and secured the hitch. "Ther're hazards along the way," the Blacksmythe ejaculated, "it's not a safe outing to make lonesome. No sir!" "Hazards?" The Pilot stopped. His eyes narrowed. "What kind?" "Draguns!" the Blacksmythe blurted. Upon hearing this the Pilot stepped into the cab, turning his back on the 'Smythes gibberish. He spoke in torrents of fear and awe and wonderment. "All along route seven there're draguns! Scaly and hid-yus. Ayuh!" Spittle flew from his lips as he shouted. "They spit petrol from their snouts and crawl along the ground on their bellies!" The roar of the Mac's engine interrupted him if only for a second. "Flames leap from their lips! They wait! Ayuh! They wait in ambush all along... Beating their wings against the sand." Dawn had come, a streamer of bruised light that encompassed the horizon amid the 'Smythes ravings. "Calm yourself." the Pilot said. Slowing his flailing arms, the Blacksmythe complied. He glanced up at the Pilot sheepishly. The Pilot looked down at him from his cab. "Do you know of any gasoline?" Mortified, he stared at the Pilot. "Well?" "There is a filling station. Many leagues away. Ayuh! There is!" At this, the Pilot slowed. "A filling station?" he echoed. He frowned and his brow wrinkled. "Ayuh!" the Blacksmythe nodded. "But beware! It is where the draguns feed and nest. I've heard tales of them suckling from the utters that grow from the ground. They feed on fire and stone and steam. Ayuh! From the center of the earth." The Pilot had heard enough. "They spit poison! Petrol!" He shot the fevered Blacksmythe before he could take up his frantic dance again. The report rang through the town. It's echo muffled only by the hoarse moan of the truck as it shuddered into gear. The Pilot drove away, leaving the weary saloon patron and the fevered Blacksmythe to the mortician and the town of Abraxas to the scarred desert morn. The Pilot felt no remorse. The filling station certainly was just another of the 'Smythes rambling's. The station, however, lay with great conviction on the west side of route seven. A simple, squat hovel with a low hung roof and sand beaten walls- the imperceptible naked color of wood. The day began to bleed night. Soon, unnoticed it would inevitably hemorrhage and the gore of darkness would splatter over all. The sky was still a grave purple when the Mac - empty and exhausted - came to rest by the filling station with a wry belch and died. The air was tombstone cold. Two red towers of rubber and glass thorax stood statistical in the dusk. The Pilot guessed that these were the utters on which many a "dragun" had suckled. The simple building and the two tired tin soldiers at steadfast attention in front of it had not fallen into disarray. The world about them was falling apart, and they were dumb to it. The Pilot started towards the gas pumps. The hard packed dust left no footprints. The ancient pumps stood one and a half men tall. Each wore a glass thorax crown and arms of rubber which were broken and rotted. Rusting nozzles hung by the giants sides like cramped, arthritic hands. Both pumps were painted cherry red and although they were old, old, they spelled promise to the Pilot. In the dying light of the day, the Pilot took the hand of the gasoline pump and, like a child leading another, brought it towards the truck. With fevered anticipation, he unscrewed the gas cap and thrust the compliant nozzle into the tank, hoping that it would spill it's petrol. Nothing. The Pilot was unstirred and observed his predicament with removed awe. It was as if he was watching himself from far, far, away. He dropped the nozzle and it's rotting arm to the ground. He started back towards the second pump, realizing that the last pump, insanely identical to the first was his final hope. The Pilot again observed the ceremony, lifting the nozzle of the pump from it's housing, bringing it carefully towards the truck, fitting it into the tank and praying for the sudden rush of fuel. Night was all over the desert. It covered everything in it's darkness. It cooled the day's fever. The Pilot lay crumpled on the ground, the rotting arm of the pump coiled about him in a serpents embrace. The ancient gas pumps held no fuel. The Pilot waited for the dragons under the night sky. The constellations rose over a desert that had once known life, but had since perished.  A Close Encounter of a Different Kind Copyright (c) 1993, Sylvia L. Ramsey All rights reserved A Close Encounter of a Different Kind by Sylvia L. Ramsey You hear stories about people having encounters during the nighttime with strange flying objects. These people tell how overwhelmed they were by the experience. I can't say that this story has anything quite so glamorous as UFO's; but, sometimes things happen that are very much a part of our very own world that are just as overwhelming as visitors from outer space. This is a true story and none of the names have been changed to protect the innocent or the guilty. If you are going to fully understand and appreciate this strange encounter that happened in our present day advanced technological society, a little background is needed. There are still places (a few sprinkled here and there) in our country that have retained all the flavor of an age many have never experienced. I often feel like a time traveler in today's society because of my background. I'm not "old" (however, my granddaughter may disagree) and many of the people my age never experienced the same world as I. I guess you might say I'm an oddball in my own generation. The reasons for it were quite beyond my control. My parents were married for twenty-two years before I was born (and I was the first and last)! Talk about a generation gap, it was like being raised by grandparents! Now, I marvel at all the things my father experienced throughout his lifetime and taught me. Imagine being born in the late 1800's and living until 1986. Think of all the things that man created during that time that has become part of our daily lives. When I do, it almost boggles my mind. Anyway, you get the picture of my parents. The next image you need to set the scene for this encounter is where it happened. Imagine a small, quaint house resting, nestled among the pine of a secluded valley in the foothills of the Ozarks. It's a simple house, not designed by a architect or built by a contractor; but, the trees for the lumber were cut, the boards were sawed, and it was built with the owner's hands. It began its humble life as a home with only one room without windows or doors in November of 1932. The spot it sat on was carved out of the wilderness far from roads or neighbors. It was a symbol of hope and faith for a future during the dreary days of the depression. It was built by two young people who believed in themselves and each other. People who had traveled and explored their world for the first ten years of marriage. They had seen the world and decided it was time to return to the place they had known as children, settle down, and begin to invest in their future. They had accumulated very little material possessions during their days of exploration. They began their new adventure with very few of the things we take for granted in today's world. But, they believed enough in themselves to start building a house and begin a new business when their world was in a state of darkness. The dreary days of the depression ended. The house grew room by room and the business grew to be a very successful one. The two were happy and content; but, eventually the two young people became three. This was when I enter their lives, just when they had grown accustomed to being a couple without children. My father always wanted a son; but, that was not in his future, he got me instead. However, I may as well have been a boy while I was growing up. I became the son he had always wanted, and I was his buddy. Instead, he taught me all the things he had hoped to teach to a son. He knew the forest and the land, and he taught me what he knew. We fished the numerous streams located near our home, hunted together, and did what most father's and sons usually do. My father taught me to respect the land, and its creatures. He taught me to hunt for food and not kill for the sake of killing. He taught me to "see", "hear", and appreciate the beauty that surrounded me. My father saw a day coming when a haven such as ours would be as valued as a rich man's mansion. He chose to preserve a small area of his land as a refuge for his family and all the living things that depended on just such a refuge. This place would be a legacy to his grandchildren and his great- grandchildren. They would be able to know a little part of the world that existed when he was young. I inherited this small mecca and I have made sure that his wishes have been carried out. It will go to my son and then to my eldest granddaughter. It has been a haven for us to escape the fast paced world we live in today. A few years ago, when my husband became disabled, we lived in the house for about six years. The back of the house faces a small brook with a hillside full of pine, maple, wild cherry and dogwood trees. My husband loved the outdoors; but, because of his illness was limited in how much he could get out. We decided to build a screened in porch on the back of the house so he be outside during the daytime when I was at work. The back porch became a place to spend the early evenings. We would watch the little valley change from a bright cheery haven to a mysterious realm of sight and sound as the shades of dusk encircled it in its arms. We soon discovered that the back porch was a place for a variety of activities. We enjoyed it so much we decided it was a good place for our exercise bike. It wasn't long before we, also, discovered that the hillside in front of us was a source of entertainment. Almost every evening we watched deer casually stroll across the hillside as they nibbled at tender leaves and grass. Sometimes there would be four or five deer together. On other evenings, wild turkey would be spotted. It seemed as if our little valley had become a refuge for a variety of wild animals that were being pushed out by the growing population that had cleared away the forest that has once covered the area. The presence of all the animals prompted us to put grain and other treats out for them to eat. The next summer, we began to notice that the wildlife population was increasing in number and variety. The animals quickly learned they had nothing to fear from the two humans who shared their sanctuary, and they began to visit our backyard. We were invaded by deer, turkey, opossum, wild duck, and a variety of other animals and birds. We took the invasion in stride, enjoying the chance to observe all the wild creatures. However, one morning after I arose from my bed and took my morning coffee to the back porch to enjoy the sights and sounds, I walked into a disaster area. Something, or someone, had invaded our back porch and played havoc with everything. It had been vandalized. I disposed of the things that had been destroyed and straightened the rest. I couldn't imagine who or what had committed the dreadful deed. The next morning, the porch was in the same condition. I cleaned it up again. This became a pattern, and needless to say, I was beginning to get tired of it. There wasn't a lock on the door to the porch; but, the door had to be opened to get in. Who or what was doing it was a puzzle. The first time it happened, I could believe it to be the results of a prank; but, not every night! It had to be an animal. How an animal could open the back door and come in, I didn't know. My husband and I became determined to find out. We began our quest by leaving the porch light on at night. It didn't help. Whatever was getting on the porch wasn't afraid of it and the destruction continued. We decided to set guard and solve the mystery. One evening, after we had grown too tired to watch the porch anymore, my husband thought he heard a noise. He got out of bed and very carefully went to the door that led to the porch. He was gone only a few seconds when he returned and motioned for me to accompany him. I started to ask why; but, he shushed me to silence. We tiptoed together like cat burglars as we made our way to the back door. We very carefully peeped out. I couldn't believe my eyes! I saw one of the strangest and most amusing sights I had ever witnessed. Sitting on the seat of the exercise bike with paws on the handlebars was a raccoon that looked big enough to be a small bear. He wasn't only nice and fat, he was long. He had to be large to reach the handle bars of that bicycle. The raccoon looked as if he were contemplating how to reach the pedals so he could ride it. We simply stood frozen, staring in amazement. Then, the humor of the sight began to take hold of us. He didn't see us watching him until we began to shake with silent laughter that was about to erupt into loud guffaws. When he realized that he was not only being watched by two strange creatures who were obviously laughing at him, he calmly, arrogantly, climbed down off the bicycle. He took his time as he sauntered to the door. He walked with a haughty air seeming to be aware that his privacy had not only been invaded; but, he appeared to be insulted by the behavior of the two creatures who were so rudely laughing at him. Once out the door, he paused, looked back at us as if to let us know what he thought, and slowly disappeared into the darkness. By this time, my husband and I were reduced to tears of laughter. For some strange reason, I was fascinated with this bold creature and became obsessed with the idea of seeing him again. So, for several nights after the event, I sat on the bench in our back yard, located just outside the porch door, and watched for the raccoon to return. I just knew he would be back and I was going to make sure I saw him. I had no idea what I was going to do when I did, I hadn't thought beyond just seeing him again. Three nights passed and there was no sign of the creature. I was beginning to think our laughter had either scared him off for good, or, had insulted his sense of dignity far too much for him to chance a return. But, I didn't give up. Finally, my vigil was rewarded. One evening as I sat quietly watching, I caught a glimpse of something moving in the shadows off to my far left. I knew instinctively that it was the same raccoon. He didn't look nearly as large in the shadows as he had that evening he was on our porch. I waited patiently, watching the small figure circle around until he was directly in front of me and was only about fifteen feet away. I watched as he checked out an old trash can we kept to use when we cleaned out our car. It didn't take him long to decide that he would find nothing to eat in the can. He turned and began walking straight toward the door of our back porch . . . and . . . me. I sat still, frozen by fascination combined with a growing sense of apprehension that began to overtake me. All the things my father had taught me about the dangers of wild animals came flooding back into my consciousness. I had time to move, to run; but, I didn't. My obsession to observe this creature overrode all caution and I sat like a statue where I was, tempting fate. The animal kept advancing closer and closer. The tension and the thrill I felt grew with each step he took toward me. I was beginning to feel a need to bolt for cover. He was no more than five feet away, it seemed like two. He stopped. He raised his head, our eyes locked for a moment. Then, he slowly, very deliberately walked directly at me as he maintained eye contact. The tension within me was growing with each step he took. He began to look bigger and bigger the nearer he came. I felt I could stand the tension no longer as he moved within no more than three feet of where I sat. I felt the urge to move, to speak, to do something. Again, the need to watch this fascinating creature kept me from running or yelling. I had to watch him. I didn't want to scare him away, so, to relieve some of the tension, I merely changed the position of my feet. My movement, caused the raccoon to come to a sudden halt. By the time he stopped, he was close enough that I could have reached out and touch him. He stood up on his hind legs and looked me straight in the eye. Standing, he was nose to nose with me. He looked bigger than ever. I became the object of observation as he tilted his head side to side looking me over. There was look in his eyes telling me that he was planning to analyze this strange creature at an even closer distance. I had no idea what he might do if he got closer. I thought about us laughing at him and thinking he may want revenge. As he stood there in the soft light I could almost hear him thinking. I observed a change of expression in his eyes from one of curiosity to one of determination. I didn't know what he was going to do, and I didn't want to find out. The hairs on the back of my neck were tingling as fear began to creep over me. The fear grew and the knowledge that I didn't want the raccoon any closer overwhelmed me. I wasn't sure what to do. If I were attacked, my husband would never hear because he was watching the ballgame on the television. Visions of a headline in our local paper flashed across my mind, "Local Woman Attacked by Large Raccoon." Still, I didn't run or yell. Instead, I did one of the craziest things I have ever done in my life, I addressed the raccoon as if he were a person and said, "Hello, there! What are you doing?" Again, he looked into my eyes, turned his head this way and that as if he were trying to understand my words. For a moment, I thought he was going to come at me and my body stiffened again. Instead, he lowered himself on all fours, slowly turned his back to me, and majestically strolled into the night without ever looking back. In my mind, I could almost hear him chuckle. The raccoon had gotten his revenge. I waited and watched several nights after our encounter for him to return. He never did. I think he had experienced all the contact with humans that he ever wanted. I still wonder what would have happened if I could have remained still and quiet. I guess I'll never know; but, it's an experience I'll never forget, and somehow, I don't think he will either.  Slow Dance Copyright (c) 1994, J. Harlan Pine All rights reserved Slow Dance by J. Harlan Pine It is not the memory, but the memory of the memory that matters. Truth isn't an issue, and starting over is not a possibility. The memory of the memory--the moment--will be with me forever. Long after old age has settled within my bones and memories begin to fade, this one will remain vivid--sharp--as the night I experienced it. Light from the room streamed outward silhouetting her in a Man Ray aurora of color and movement. The light from the street lamp--stark, white, piercing--forced her features into sharp contrast of light and shadow. Standing in the doorway, half turned to enter or leave, (her petit frame providing little obstacle to the others who came or went) she spoke to someone I couldn't see. She brushed short auburn hair from her eyes, and though I couldn't hear her voice, a thrill shot through me when she smiled at what was being said. I stood staring at her while people passed me on the street. Her beauty illuminated the night and I basked in its glow. I studied her, as might a Renaissance master, and memorized every line of her face. Her gaze turned my direction, eyes locking with mine. Black, white, exploding color filled my vision, engulfing my world view with loveliness. In the stare she said, 'you are cold and alone. Come let me give you comfort.' In the stare I replied, 'I cannot. I must not.' The non-instant--eternity long, however brief--passed when she focused on someone or something behind me, my presence never acknowledged. Embarrassment flooded me that I'd been staring, but in that brief fantasy moment when sparks had and hadn't passed between us I'd heard the sound of her voice speaking my name with tenderness and desire. I'd known the soft rose petal taste of her lips on mine. I experienced the electric thrill of love. The moment disappeared, gone cold as grate ashes in the morning when I realized she'd not even seen me; that nothing had passed between us. She turned, entering the room. I turned, leaving before I'd even arrived. The moonlight, soft only minutes before, bathed the world in stark shades of gray. It washed what little color the city had offer in its bleach. Every crack and crevice, yawning chasms done in miniature, lay in wait for the unwary wherever the eyes might linger. The dirt and grime coating the city, easily ignored by day became glaringly obvious in the night. It cloaked the city in winter clothing, preparing it for coming storms. A vain shield against the bitter, cruel cold winds whose touch rattles and chills the bones. I walked. Wandering aimlessly along the empty--bustling--streets, I tried to recapture the feelings that had so fleetingly passed through me. Her image, brief that I'd seen it, I called up with ease. But instead of an alluring picture--soft shades done in oil--I received a whitewashed canvas--cold and barren. The sparkles that had so illuminated the night remained elusive--yet tantalizingly close. I rounded a corner and found my feet had brought me back full circle, echoing the pathways of my thoughts, to stand once again before the door I'd seen her in. What had I felt? Could it be fleeting infatuation? A pretty face in the crowd easily replaced by the next one I should stare at? Or maybe it was simple carnal lust, the fourth Deadly Sin? And after having entertained it in my heart, was I now consigned to the Second Circle of Hell? Or perhaps it was truly love that had suddenly filled my world. A thin razor line of difference separated the three that had been debated by brilliant--lost--poets through the ages, and who was I to second guess them? I stared at the door unsure of what to do and confused by my feelings. Should flames that caught so quick in the dry kindling of drought be entertained? Nurtured, would--could?--they bank and warm the lost soul? Or, in a furious flash, would they instead destroy everything about them in pain and agony? Stranger Love had too long abandoned me, not that she'd ever courted me with any passion. I doubted that I would truly recognize her unfamiliar features should she come traipsing through my life. Would she come to sow the seeds of joy, or instead try and reap of harvest of pain and despair? Both were in her domain, her choice--arbitrary. I gave into the insistent prodding of Mistress Love and walked through the door. I saw her instantly. She sat alone, along the wall, moving gently with the music. The soft melodies played by the big band, Moments In The Moonlight, distant and far away, permeated the fabric of the room. It expanded, moving beyond the walls until I felt sure the whole universe must be filled with the gentle notes that spoke of love. The singer made love to the microphone lost in his own world. His voice blending without stitch with that of the sax and trombone, transported willing patron past the tissue thin barrier of time, past the expanse of memories and moments, bringing us all back to 1941. I tarried in the shadows, indecision twisting at my stomach. Should I approach her. What would I do, what would I say? Could I say anything, should I force my legs to travel the distance between us, or would my tongue tie itself in Gordean knots and strangle me? The song ended, and I found myself walking toward her. I reached her table as the band started up again. "Would you like to dance?" I asked. She looked up and again our eyes met. Fantasy or reality, I thought I caught a glimmer of recognition. Blood rushed to my face--embarrassment returning from my earlier stare. I lost the next words, opening my mouth then closing it again. Leave, I told myself. I knew I should flee while I still had the chance--before she had could respond. If she was kind it would be casual words of dismissal that would wound or kill me. It not, I would be utterly destroyed. But, leaving now would keep the fantasy intact. An unrealized dream is better than a shattered hope. Before I could mumble an apology, she nodded and smiled. Taking my hand she led me to the dance floor. There we moved in a slow waltz to the music. We held each other loosely and through her dress I felt the soft, warm curves (delicate and tender) of her body. Her perfume was of lilacs, her eyes, a soft gray-blue. Words caught in my throat. I wanted to know her name, where she was from. I tried again, but she smiled sadly and shook her head, silencing me with that simple gesture. She was correct; words were unnecessary. For this moment in time, we had each other, and nothing else mattered. We danced that dance and into the next without stopping. She looked deep into my eyes--deep into my soul. I met her gaze while sweet summer scents surrounded us. We moved--lost,found--letting the music transport us where it willed. Without flinching, as I had so many times in the past, I let her look deep within me. Though I'd never had the courage to do so before, I too tried to peer through her eyes to her soul, and was confused by the images I found there. There was an echo of pain and loneliness. Overlaid in fresco, the passions of life sparked and shone forth brightly. Confidence had been painted over doubt and indecision, but the former bled through in places. Seeing what was there, I suddenly wondered at the images I must surely be giving. There was nothing but negativity within my soul, and none of the goodness to hide it. Shamed I tried to turn away. I attempted to stop the dance and leave before I made a bigger fool of myself than I already had. My life, compared to hers, must be a mockery of unrealized dreams, and shattered hopes. How I knew this, I don't know, but I knew it. And I knew I had no right being with her. She held on tight, not letting me go. "Dance with me," she said softly. Her voice was just as I imagined it would be. Soft and musical. "You should be dancing with another. I'm not right for you." "Maybe, but I chose to dance with you. Do you truly wish to stop?" "I...I don't know." "Then hush, and dance with me." I did, and we continued to move about the floor in silence. At times we held each other loosely staring in each other eyes. Other times we danced close together, her head on my shoulder, moving as one. Lost in time, I don't know how long we moved together, but it was over far too soon. The last song ended and she held me close. "You can make it prim, proper," she murmured in my ear, "or passionate." She pulled away. "The choice is yours." Before I could ask her what she meant, her lips briefly brushed mine. Then she walked away. I followed her to the door. I didn't know what to think or say. She turned just inside and said, "Life is a slow dance." She left while I stared in uncomprehending confusion. She spoke in riddles and I didn't know how to respond. I walked out the door, but she was nowhere in sight. I started the long walk home. The night air was chilled and moonlight still washed the colors away. Where had she gone, and what had she meant. I stopped in an all night diner for coffee, and tried to sort through my thoughts. Confusion so fogged my brain that I almost failed to see the lady sitting at the far edge of the counter. I shared the diner with her alone. I stared at her, while she gazed out the window. Color began to seep back into the world, starting with her. She shifted and i quickly looked away, only to have my gaze wander her way again moments later. Should I? I wondered. Then another thought intruded--Could I? In my mind I heard a soft musical voice. 'Shape it to your will and waltz through life, else die broken by the wall.' With those words, the room exploded with warmth and light, and I knew that I could. Taking my cup, I moved to the end of the counter. "May I join you?" The lady looked up and into my eyes. I returned the gaze without hesitation or fear. She stared deeply for moment, then smiled. "It would be a pleasure," she said. The mysterious lady with her riddles I never saw again. She'd disappeared into the night leaving behind a memory. --END--  Still Among the Beeblers Copyright (c) 1993, Robert McKay All rights reserved *Still Among the Beeblers* by Robert McKay Dedicated to Zach Klein and Bill Lich: They invented the title *** *** *** Operations can be frightening things. Surgeons are not ordinary doctors; they've not splint-and-pill men. They don't run family medicine clinics and write prescriptions for Billy's cough. Surgeons cut people. What surgeons do would be torture if performed on prisoners of war; when done to a seriously ill patient, it's medicine, and we're glad to have it. But it's not a pleasant thought to know that tomorrow a surgeon will cut open your skin, slice down through muscle tissue, and generally wade through your innards. Harry was not thrilled. Tomorrow was his day. He was due, he supposed - he'd been waiting all this time for the chance to get the problem taken care of, but now that it was here the fear had risen with devastating force. He didn't care to be cut open and then pasted - or stapled or sewn - back together. Cut and paste was what one did to text, not people. But a bad heart was something that couldn't be gotten around. And if the chance came to correct the problem, it was foolish to turn it down. For all the fears and worries, it was better to be cut on and have the improvements made than to go through life wondering when the ticker would quit. For now, Harry sat in his darkened room, pecking away. Georgia lay in the bedroom, sleeping. In order to cut down on the phone bills, Harry called late, and then, because the pull was so strong, sat up till even later answering the mail. Computers, modems, offline mail readers - these were wondrous tools that had opened up a whole new world. If he didn't make it out of the operating room, he'd miss this more than anything. * * * Harry stretched, careful to avoid pulling on the sutures that still held skin together. The operation had been a success. The surgeon had done his gruesome work with great skill and, Harry suspected, a touch of sadistic pleasure. The new valve functioned superbly; Harry hadn't felt this well in years. Georgia had noticed the difference, too - and had assigned him a list of "honey-do" jobs that increased in difficulty as his recovery proceeded. Harry had complained, and complied. At least he *could* do them, now. He turned his attention back to the monitor. He looked again at the words glowing on the screen: "So, Harry, how'd it go? Still with us, or did you decided to migrate? :)" A brief message, but warming. People he'd never seen cared as much about the heart and the operation and the outcome of it all as much as did people he'd been seeing every day for 20 years. Tears didn't come easy, but come they did. Harry angrily wiped his arm across his eyes and reached for a Kleenex. Men didn't react this way; maybe it was just the pollen or something. He pulled the keyboard closer, and pecked out his reply: "Yep, I'm still among the beeblers."  Too Long Copyright (c) 1994, Gage Steele All rights reserved Too Long by Gage Steele I lift the chilly plate from its shelf in the refrigerator and slam the door shut with my heel. Bluish plastic wrap crinkles and puckers, having been sealed and resealed too many times around the dinner ware. Beneath the plastic lies what's left of my birthday cake, the dancing letters are smeared, illegible. I tug the covering away, wad it up and hum it at the overflowing garbage bin. It lands with a wet slap against two day old coffee grounds and sticks there. The cake is stale, I warn myself, but somewhere inside, something has to know this for certain. I dip my forefinger in the brown frosting and lift a glop to my lips. The underside is palatable, but a fine layer, the topmost, crackles on my tongue. I spit it out into the sink, tasting, faintly, mould. A vase of roses stands on the counter next to the sink. The flowers are dead; petals litter the area, brown like the cake. A whispery spring breeze flits through the open window, rousing the ruined bouquet to a gentle hiss. I pick up the vase and stare at the roses for a moment, once, so beautiful, now made ugly by time. My arm arches, swooping over the sink, over the lip of the window and hangs, frozen, briefly. And then, I let the vase fall to the ground below.  A Chance Meeting in the Park Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved A Chance Meeting in the Park by Joe DeRouen Sam fed the pigeons every day, without fail. Today was no exception. The sun shone down through the trees in accompaniment to the warm gentle breeze of summer, but all Sam noticed were the pigeons. A large stone dolphin spat water into the sky, some of it splashing out of the fountain onto the grass surrounding it. None of it mattered to Sam. He continued to feed the birds, the world around him but a foggy, meaningless haze. At least until SHE came into view. She sat on the park bench across from Sam, reading Newsweek magazine. She crossed her long legs and Sam could almost hear the rustle of silk underthings. Her tight red dress clung to her like a hungry pigeon to popcorn, and her long, delicate red hair brushed across her face in the wind. Cool eyes of blue gazed out, taking in her surroundings. She couldn't be a day over thirty. Her skin was a light creamy peach, unblemished by the ravages of the world. A moment later, her surveillance finished, she went back to the magazine. Sam was forty. He'd been married once, but his wife had left him some ten years earlier. He'd been BORING, she said. She'd wanted adventure, and Sam couldn't give her that. Good old Sam, she'd said. Good old Sam was good for sitting around the house, going to church on Sundays, taking in a movie now and then. She'd wanted something more, so she'd left. He'd dated sporadically since then, though no one ever really piqued his interest. He'd had his career, and that was that. He'd been at Miller Accounting firm for nearly twenty years, and had managed to rise to assistant manager. He didn't need a woman. Didn't need a woman? Who was he trying to fool? He'd managed to fool himself for years, but deep inside he knew he didn't want to be alone. She turned her head away from the magazine, laughing as a pigeon pecked Sam's grey loafers as if to say "Hey, we're hungry!" Politely ignoring the moment's indiscretion, she went back to her magazine. Sam tossed a bit of seed to the pigeon, enough to get it to give up it's assault on his feet. Sam's hair was turning grey, almost matching his loafers. He was getting old. He really wasn't happy at Miller Accounting, but what else did he have? He didn't have a wife, and he probably never would. Certainly no one would ever go out with HIM. Definitely no one like the lady in the red dress across from him. He couldn't help his gaze as it wandered to her, caressing her form like the gentle rays of the sun touching the morning dew. He could imagine how she saw him: old, out of shape, short brown hair starting to grey, his lusterless blue eyes paling in comparison to her own. Why, she probably wouldn't have noticed him at all were it not for that hungry pigeon. If he asked her out (now THERE was a laugh!) he'd get turned down flat. He imagined it would go something like this . . . "Er . . . excuse me, ma'am. I couldn't help noticing you, and . . ." "Yes?" "Er.. It's awfully nice weather we're having today, isn't it?" Sam shuffled his feet, feeling more nervous than he had in years. "I suppose it is. Did you need something, mister?" The woman in red asked, looking annoyed. "Well, as a matter of fact yes. Do you come here often? I've been in this park every day for over ten years, and I've never seen you here before." "Look, mister - If you need something, ask it. I'm on my lunch break, and I haven't got long. I have to be back to the office in about fifteen minutes, and I really want to get a start on this new Dean Koontz novel. Do you need something or not?" She gazed cooly up at him, icy eyes with a hint of danger. "Well . . . Would you like to go out sometime?" He asked in a rush, the words coming out between ragged breaths. "With YOU?" The woman laughed, then turned her attention to her novel. And that's where the fantasy ended. At that point, she'd laugh, rise to her feet, and stalk out of his life forever. If there was even a chance she'd say yes, he might do it. Might actually ask her out. There wasn't a point to doing something that would only cause you heartache, was there? His thoughts were interrupted by her movements. She folded the Newsweek magazine into her purse, stretching languidly across the green metal park bench. Soaking in the sun's warm breath, she sighed, smiling up to the sky. Reaching in her purse, she pulled a shiny-covered paperback book out. Dean Koontz's TWILIGHT'S LAST GLEAMING. Sam's mouth dropped in shock. He couldn't be psychic, could he? He didn't believe in that sort of thing. She must have had the book out before, and his subconscious had picked up on it and used it in his fantasy. Makes sense. He was spending far more time than he should thinking about this woman. He'd have to get back to the office soon himself, and why ponder over what you can't have? Besides, even if she DID agree to go out with him - and that would never happen - he'd find some way to bungle it up. His thoughts seemed to lose focus, as he fantasized about how his dream date might go . . . "I'm glad you agreed to go out with me, Kelly. I've been going to this restaurant for years, and they serve the best pasta I've ever eaten." "I'll do anything once, I suppose." Kelly yawned, surveying the restaurant. It was dimly lit, and looked as if it hadn't changed in the last ten years. She instantly hated the place. "Umm . . . Well, would you like to order now?" "We might as well. I have to wash my hair tonight, so let's order something quick." "The linguini in red clam sauce is really great!" Intoned Sam, with an exuberance he didn't feel. This wasn't going at all well. "Well . . . Great. I'll have that, then." "Would you like some wine? This red wine is delicious." Maybe this was going somewhere after all. Maybe the wine would relax her. He tried to steady his shaking hands as he began to fill her glass. "Sure, I'd love some . . ." She smiled for the first time at Sam. The wine sloshed over the edge of the glass as Sam's attention wavered to her smile. "Oops!" He yelled, loud enough to draw the attention of half the room. "Let me . . ." Reaching for a napkin, he managed to knock the full glass of red wine into her lap. "Eeek!" She screamed, leaping to her feet. "All over my new silk dress! dammit, I KNEW I shouldn't have come!" Yes, he'd bungle it up for sure. There was no doubt in his mind. He hadn't been on a date in longer than he could remember. Why, he'd probably forgotten how! If it wasn't the wine, he'd say something wrong or forget to hold her chair for her, or something. The rest of the world lost to the novel, her eyes danced through the pages as Sam's eyes once again fell upon hers. She shifted in the bench, as if sensing her admirer's gaze. Her black leather purse tumbled from her lap to the ground below, revealing gold-embossed initials: KM. In one swift motion, the purse was recovered and she was once again buried in Koontz's prose. Sam's eyes popped out of his head. KM? Her name was Kelly in his fantasy. He couldn't have seen the purse; the initials had been facing away from him. He shook himself, as if to force some sense back into his tired frame. His imagination was working overtime. He must have seen the purse after all, or just had a lucky guess. Besides, even if he WAS blessed with a premonition of some sort, what did it matter? The premonition was bad. His fantasies ended up with him wearing a liberal amount of egg on his face. What good was that? She placed the book face down on the bench, then rose to her feet. Stretching, her form pushed fully against the confines of her dress. Her black pumps showed off her well-developed calf muscles, as she smiled into the distance. Taking a deep breath, she found the bench again and went back to her book. Sam's eyes caressed her body longingly. She was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, even more so than his ex-wife. Almost imperceptibly, his surroundings once again seemed to fall away and his mind was elsewhere . . . "Kelly, will you marry me?" "Sam . . ." She looked away from his eyes, focusing on a point beyond him. They'd been dating for two years. He'd asked her out and she'd actually gone, and, even more amazing, enjoyed herself. They'd continued to date off and on, never committing, but growing closer. "Kelly, I love you." "You know, that's the first time you've said that." "Well, I DO. I've loved you since I first saw you. You are my heart." He started to cry, swept away by the emotions he felt inside him. "Why did you take so long to tell me?" She found his eyes, reaching out to touch his cheek. "I knew you cared for me. Dating anyone this long has to mean something. But you've only kissed me a handful of times. You've never come into my house. You've never made love to me." "Kelly!" Sam blurted, looking away. "I've wanted to, lord knows I've wanted to. Kelly, I've been so scared. I didn't want to scare you off. I didn't want to lose you like I lost Sara . . ." "I'm not her! I'm me, dammit! Never once have you held me, never once have you taken me away for the weekend. Two years, Sam! I kept waiting for you to do something - anything! - but you wouldn't." "I was scared!" His tears fell freely now. "You're so beautiful. I wanted you so much, I was afraid I'd lose you. That day I met you in the park, I was terrified to ask you out. I managed to do that, somehow, but I've been scared ever since. It took me so long to find you, I didn't want to lose you." "Sam . . ." Tears came to her eyes. "Sam, if you'd only said something sooner. All this time . . . I've loved you, I've wanted you to love me. You wouldn't even commit to dating exclusive." "I haven't dated anyone." He said stiffly. "I've never looked at another woman since I met you. I haven't wanted to." "Why didn't you SAY something, Sam?" "Kelly . . . If you don't want to marry me, we can wait. We'll take it slow . . ." "Sam, there's someone else. I didn't want to wait! He asked me to marry him. Yes, Sam, he ASKED. And I accepted! That's why I asked you to meet me here. To tell you." He felt as though his heart had just died. "It's Gary, from your office. Isn't it? I knew he had his eye on you . . ." The world seemed to snap back in place, and Sam was on the park bench again, pigeons all around him. The fountain was pumping water into the air, creating little rainbows in the sun. Kelly - No, he reminded himself, the woman in red - was still reading. His thoughts were his own again. "Kelly!" Shouted a thirtysomething man in a grey pinstriped business suit, about thirty feet from the center of the park. His blonde wavy hair didn't blow in the wind, as he walked briskly towards the woman in red. Kelly? His thoughts raced, his heart pounded. The world around him seemed to come into focus, defining, gaining a crystal clear edge. The fog was gone, replaced by a sharp awareness. He felt his muscles act of their own accord, as he rose from his bench. "Hey, Gary." She called, a voice so sweet it sent chills through Sam's soul. "How was the business trip?" He'd lost so much already. Sam stepped away from his bench, as thoughts and images raced through his mind. Thoughts of his wife pleading with him, of a childhood lost, years at a dead end job. Chances not lost, but never taken. Decisions sidestepped in favor of fear. In an instant, he made a decision. "Kelly?" Asked Gary, nearly upon them. "I was wondering, if you're not busy . . ." "Excuse me." Smiled Sam, quickly putting himself between Kelly and her advancing officemate. "Kelly, could we . . . talk?" "Sam?" She asked, finding his eyes. She smiled. 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GoodUser T&J Lotto T&JStat TJTop30 Environmental QT Video Poker Announce Bordello! Money Market Bordello T&J Raffle RIP Lemonade AgeCheck Strip Poker RIP Voting Booth ...and more coming! 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 Only Words I See Copyright (c) 1993, Michael Slusher All rights reserved *** Only Words I See *** How can I tell you my feelings when you're so far away? The feeling inside is emptyness I have so much to say. I saw you on my video screen when you wrote your words to me. I heard your voice in my ear last night it almost set me free. Now I've got this pain inside and it's tearing up my soul. You may not see my pain inside but it won't leave me whole. You're not here, neither am I. I'm not there and I don't know why. Who are you, my mystery love? When will you show your face? I need to see your eyes, my love and gaze far into that place that place only you know... will make me cry. Daily I try to remind myself that you're just a fantasy. I try to be casual and light but you move me too deeply. Sometimes I tell myself you are playing a predator. This victim of a hungry heart is laid out on the floor. If I knew what's in your mind I might be able to cope. Without your honest feelings known I really have no hope. You're not here, neither am I. I'm not there and I don't know why. Who are you, my mystery love? When will you show your face? I need to see your eyes, my love and gaze far into that place that place only you know... can make me cry. I called you on the telephone when you were too busy. I kicked myself for hours that night obsessed so foolishly. Your love is yours to keep or give not to be casually thrown. Who am I to want your love or take it as my own. You could not love a phantom voice or words typed on a screen. I've found my love living far away and your words are all I've seen. You're not here, neither am I. I'm not there and I don't know why. Who are you, my mystery love? When will you show your face? I need to see your eyes, my love and gaze far into that place that place only you know... it makes me cry. (c) 1993 Michael Slusher  Dragons Copyright (c) 1994, Tamara All rights reserved Date sent : Mon 19 Dec 88 12:11 You imagining, being, feeling closer than before, better and better my love Dragons are mythical creatures or so I've been told. Yet each night I think of one whose love has given me the reality of being loved and maybe more importantly the essence of seeing myself as worth much more than gold. Can you love what mythos says is real? Can hearts trancend the barrier of altered states of truth? I don't know - but of one thing I am sure I love a dragon in this reality. Dragons are mystical creatures as far as I can tell. Each night I dream of one whose love has given me the passion I'd been missing and maybe more importantly the interchange of human love that's worth much more than gold. Can you see what love says is real? Can we trancend the barrier we built before we knew I love you - but of one thing I am sure I love a dragon, and get this, he loves me. Written online by Tamara (c) 1988  Backlit Copyright (c) 1992, David M. Ziegler All rights reserved BACKLIT A shadow outlined against a screen. Out of touch and searching for I know not what. Someone whose broken with shattered dreams. Dialing outward into the night. A sound of static and that welcome whine. A bright warm greeting, a password line. Welcome friend we do not care. what you have done, with whom, or where. In this world of ascii and modems and such. We do not feel, or cry, or touch. We can sit here lonely in our revolving chair. Telling lies to the folks out there. We can live in a fantasy of games and talk. About Star Trek or` puters or how to use a wok. In our world of magic there is no pain. no warm fuzzys, no sun, no rain. We sit wishing for other dreams. Of human contact, of life of dreams. Locked in our rooms with our own little dream. Our profile backlit by the computer screen. (c) DAVID M ZIEGLER 1992  You Copyright (c) 1988, Sylvia Ramsey All rights reserved You When I am with you Space is limitless, and Time is without meaning. When I am with you, Love explodes, into Flowers like music on Vibrating notes rising To a crescendo! When I am with you, The highest heights Can be scaled, Fear is non-existent. When I am with you, The farthest distances Even to galaxies unknown Are but stepping stones To ecstasy. We are lovers eternal, Who can be parted for only Brief moments in the River of time. When I am with you, Is to love, Is to live, Is to be.  Pride Copyright (c) 1993, Mark Denslow All rights reserved Pride the void between you and me is too great for me to see the beginning and the end I should have said to you, "Wait!" for you were my only good friend I know now I could have been wrong I was the disillusioned one that was the price I paid for this song it is all said and done where were you when I needed you? gone away with your strong pride you left because you knew I could have completely died when you were there for me I was whole I miss you dearly with all my soul  His Eyes Copyright (c) 1989, Patricia Meeks All rights reserved His Eyes by Patricia Meeks She looked into his golden eyes where once there had been fire, laughter and desire, and as she looked deeper, under the surface of once was, the fire changed to sadness the laughter to tears and the desire to loneliness. She wondered why the things that were had come to pass from what was... And as she wondered she began to search even deeper, Until at last her eyes saw pain, deep and hurting, barely discernible in the burnished flecked gold. She was drawn to that hurt, for she had known it herself, a pain that slowly tore at her, that she recognized as her own. And because she knew the pain inside him, even though it had burned her once, when once was, she still was compelled to reach out. Her hand drifting in the air, to softly land, ever gently against the solid thumping. . . Of his heart . . . the source of his hurt. Her heart thumped in rhythm with his as it pumped warmth that spread through her body to her open fingers, and gently because she knew the pain was deep, she gave her warmth to him in peace, placing it ever tenderly . . . Against his heart, warming the coldness of his pain. And she watched as the warmth spread to his eyes, as once again they began to smile, the sadness changed to fire, the tears to laughter, and the loneliness to desire. And she smiled also knowing that once was and what were had become now.  In the west Copyright (c) 1993, J. Guenther All rights reserved In the West by J. Guenther I can't see her, in the western horizon, but I scan my eyes to the setting sun wondering what she is doing, and hoping my heart is with her.  Diety Dwells Within Copyright (c) 1994, Thomas Van Hook All rights reserved Diety Dwells Within By Thomas Van Hook 3 Jan 1994, 22:30 Bedford, Texas Throughout the ages Of limitless time Man has wondered And looked to the sky In times of crisis When needs arise Man has prayed Staring to the sky For unanswered prayer Such shaken faith Man curses the Gods Shaken fist to the sky Such selfish desires Unfettered pride Man seems never To look inside We are merely a reflection of the potential for Diety dwells within us all... ...written with help from Lisa Tamara.  House Cat Copyright (c) 1994, Albert S. Johnston All rights reserved House Cat I You know, that animal's so stupid that I once saw her take a flyin' jump off the top of the vent-a-hood to catch a moth. Middle of the kitchen, a straight drop of over 6 1/2' to the floor. Well, she landed on her feet, walked away and oh yeah, she caught that moth. She played with it for a bit before it died. Then she ate it. II You have to watch the children whenever they're around. They are not to be trusted. The woman is affectionate but rarely to be seen; she is good to sleep on, though. The man is somewhat of an enigma. He can be kind or cruel, whatever his mood dictates, distant or familiar. He feeds me and I suppose I put up with him more than I might otherwise because of this. The dogs are allowed in when the sun goes down. They offer some entertainment but more than anything else the smell of outside. Albert S. Johnston (c) 1994  Young Man On a Fence, 1967 Copyright (c) 1994, Daniel Sendecki All rights reserved Young Man On a Fence, 1967 -------------------------- It seems there was a time you climbed, scampered over the fences that your father built. Turning your back, leaving the bureaucrats and diplomats to their fence sitting They gaze incredulously after you as you scampered down the hillside laughing, screaming, giddy with relief as the bramble bushes bit into your ankle; tumbling. However, out of necessity? circumstance? age? You took up your fathers vain pursuit. Now, stooped over, cursing, driving rusty nails into rotting fenceposts I can see the contmept and loathing in your movements and assure myself that you would (if everything wasn't so gray) drop your hammer and leave others to set up parameters and drive fenceposts into the ground And tumble through the bramble just as you did after this photograph was taken on a black and white day in 1967. I stole this from an old, yellowed photo I keep in my wallet. ÚÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ¿³ I n t e g r i t y O n l i n eA NEW Wave of Technology ³ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´³ The most advanced system in the northeast, Integrity Online features a true ³³ graphical user interface (GUI) that's exceptionally fast at 2400 bps. It's ³³ point and click access to a ll your favorite features: an abundance of great ³³ Shareware and Public Domain software [hot-off-the-press], innovative message ³³ and discussion areas with the ability to include fonts, emoticons, and music  ³³ in messages! Some of the best online multi-player graphical entertainment ³³ in the online community is waiting to be played by YOU! NewsBytes News Net, ³³ PC Catalog, online periodicals , chat and teleconferencing, Internet E-Mail ³³ at NO additional cost, plus much, much, more!³ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´³ 16.8kbps ZyXEL Modems240 0 Hayes and Cardinal ModemsVoice Support ³³ (518) 370-8758(518) 370-8756(518) 381-9294 ³³³³ Internet E-MailDial one of the numbers above [no greater than 19200 ³³ roo t@integtel.comon the high speed lines], and follow the directions. ³ÃÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ´³ Integrity Online * P.O. Box 9523 * Schenect ady, NY 12309³ÀÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÙ ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Humour ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  Top Ten List Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Top Ten Proposed Movie Sequels For 1994 ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ 10. Remains of the Day II: Aww Mom, Leftovers Again? 9. Free Willy II: Sorry, We're All Out - Come Back Tomorrow 8. Sequel to The Firm - The Slightly Out of Shape 7. Wayne's World III: The End of The World Is Nigh 6. Sequel to The Man Without a Face: The Man Without a Penis - The John Wayne Bobbit Story 5. Indecent Proposal II: For a Million Dollars, I'll Do It Twice! 4. The Last Action Hero II: Well, Maybe Not The LAST Action Hero . . . 3. Sleepless in Seattle II: Abusing the Tranqualizers 2. Sequel to The Pelican Brief - Porcupine Panties 1. Honey, I Ate the Kids  How To Get a Computer Nerd Into Bed Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved How To Get a Computer Nerd Into Bed What To Do When The Chips Are Down It's nearing Valentine's Day. Your husband (or wife) has been on the computer for three months straight. His communication of late has been nothing more than incomprehensible ramblings about the internet or Apogee's latest game. You'd like a little romantic attention for a change, but don't quite know how to go about getting it. Sexy lingerie, a romantic dinner, artsy porn movies - nothing you do or say seems to work. We at STTS magazine have compiled a helpful list of phrases and ideas that just might do the trick! Use them sparingly, and with discretion. Above all, use them wisely. Good luck, and let us know how it all turns out. We're praying for you! Phrases that will turn him/her on ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ How about a little time sharing? Would you like to try a manual entry? My response time is shorter than an ELF. I run on AC or DC. I'll trade you my software for your hardware. I'm a member of Aslib. Want to try my back-up equipment? How about a digital search? Boot my system! Mind if I run a cylinder scan on you? Let's push our upload/download ratio to the limit! Wanna see my dedicated port? You can have direct access if you want. How about a flip-flop? Your LSP really turns me on! Like to see my head rotor? Let me try your joystick Kiss my system! I'd love to FTP your file! You'll always be LILO in my system. It's time to log in. Warm boot me all night long! Massage my input. Wanna twiddle my mouse? I've also got a slow mode. I'm gonna Telnet your brains out! I'm programmed for parallel processing. I'm into RAM. RIP me into shreds! Let's advance the state of the art. Like some digital timesharing of my TTS? Wanna play Artifical Intelligence Hot Chat? Clothes that will drive him/her wild ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ White shirt with plastic pencil case in pocket T-shirt with rock group on front White socks Worn out running shoes Shiny suit pants Hawaiian shirt 12-point wingtips Carry a briefcase Food to stimulate him/her ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ Warm Coke Twinkies Szechuan food Week-old pizza Oreo cookies Lukewarm coffee Selected reading to whisper in his/her ear ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ On circuit operation (read as if lecturing): "The input signal is impressed on the grid of the voltage amplifier tube, T_1. This signal is amplified and appears across R_1 after experiencing a 180' phase shift." On common polyphase rectifier circuits: "A three-phase, delta-wye circuit, sometimes known as a three-phase, half-wave rectifier circuit, has the disadvantage of giving a large ripple voltage in the output circuit." If all else fails, try this wining line: "I = {E \over X_T} \quad{\rm where}\quad X_T = X_{c1} + { X_{c2}X_{c3} \over X_{c2} + X_{c3} } + { X_{c4} X_{c5} X_{c6} \over X_{c4} X_{c5} + X_{c7} }" Last but not least, a romantic line from the internet: "To: FTPMAIL@Chrysalis.org GET SUN9402.ZIP" If none of this has worked so far, you're probably out of luck. Our advice: get a new spouse. Do something that only your spouse could really appreciate - upgrade. ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² Information ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²² ²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û²±°²±° °±²Û²±°Û²±°Û²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²²Û°±²Û°±²Û²±° °±²Û°±²Û²±° ÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄÄ  There are several different ways to get STTS magazine. SysOps: Contact me via any of the addresses listed in CONTACT POINTS listed elsewhere in this issue. Just drop me a note telling me your name, city, state, your BBS's name, it's phone number and it's baud rate, and where you'll be getting STTS from each month. If your BBS carries RIME, Pen & Brush Network, or you have access to the InterNet, I can put you on the STTS mailing list to receive the magazine free of charge each month. If you have access to FIDO, you can file request the magazine. If you don't have access to any of these services - or do but don't wish to use this option - you can call any of the BBS's listed in DISTRIBUTION SITES and download the new issue each month. In either case contact me so that I can put your BBS in the dist. site list for the next issue of the magazine. (Refer to DISTRIBUTION VIA NETWORKS for more detailed information about the nets) Users: You can download STTS each month from any of the BBS's mentioned in DISTRIBUTION SITES elsewhere in this issue. If your local BBS isn't listed, pester and cajole your SysOp to "subscribe" to STTS for you. (the subscription, of course, is free) If you haven't any other way of receiving the magazine each month, a monthly disk subscription (sent out via US Mail) is available for $ 20.00 per year. Foreign subscriptions are $ 25.00 (american dollars). Subscriptions should be mailed to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Addison, Tx. 75234 U.S.A.  * Special Offer * [ Idea stolen from Dave Bealer's RaH Magazine. So sue me. ] Having trouble finding back issues of STTS Magazine? (This is only the eighth issue, but you never know..) For only $ 5.00 (count 'em - five dollars!) I'll send you all the back issues of STTS Mag as well as current issues of other magazines, and whatever other current, new shareware will fit onto a disk. Just send your $ 5.00 (money order or check please, US funds only, made payable to: Joe DeRouen) to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 U.S.A. Tell me if you want a high density 5 1/4" disk or a high density 3 1/2" disk, please. (The following form is duplicated in the text file FORM.TXT, included with this archive) - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Enclosed is a check or money order (US funds only!) for $ 5.00. Please send me the back issues of STTS, the registered version of Quote!, and whatever else you can cram onto the disk. I want: [ ] 5.25" HD disk [ ] 3.5" HD disk Send to: ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________ ________________________________________  Submission Information ---------------------- We're looking for a few good writers. Actually, we're looking for as many good writers as we can find. We're interested in fiction, poetry, reviews, feature articles (about most anything, as long as it's well-written), humour, essays, ANSI art, and RIP art. STTS is dedicated to showcasing as many talents as it can, in all forms and genres. We have no general "theme" aside from good writing, innovative concepts, and unique execution of those concepts. As of January 1st 1994, we've been PAYING for accepted submissions! In a bold move, STTS has decided to offer an incentive for writers to submit their works. For each accepted submission, an honorarium fee will be paid upon publication. Premium access to STTS BBS is also given to staff and contributing writers. In addition to the monthly payments, STTS will hold a twice-yearly "best of" contest, where the best published stories and articles in three categories will receive substantial cash prizes. These changes took effect in January of 1994, and the first twice-yearly awards will be presented in the July 1994 issue. Honorariums, twice-yearly cash awards, award winners selection processes, and Contributor BBS access is explained below: HONORARIUM Each and every article and story accepted for publication in STTS will received a cash honorarium. The payment is small and is meant as more of a token than something to reflect the value of the submission. As the magazine grows and brings in more money, the honorariums will increase, as will the twice-yearly award amounts. Fiction pieces pay an honorarium of $2.00 each. Poetry pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each Non-fiction* pieces pay an honorarium of $1.00 each You have the option of refusing your honorarium. Refused funds will be donated to the American Cancer Society. Staff members ARE eligible for honorariums. * Non-fiction includes any feature articles, humor, reviews, and anything else that doesn't fit into the fiction or poetry category. TWICE-YEARLY CASH AWARD Twice a year (every six months) the staff of STTS magazine will meet and vote on the stories, poems, and articles that have appeared in the last six issues of the magazine. Each staff member (the publisher included) gets one vote, and can use that vote on only one entry in each category. In the unlikely event of a tie, the winners will split the cash award. Winners will be announced in the July and January issues of the magazine. Anyone serving on the staff of STTS magazine is NOT eligible for the twice-yearly awards. Twice-Yearly prize amounts -------------------------- Fiction $50.00 Non-fiction 25.00 Poetry 25.00 The winner in each category does have the option of refusing his cash award. In the event of such a refusal, the entire sum of the refused cash awards will be donated to the American Cancer Society. STTS BBS Staff members and contributing writers will also receive level 40 access on Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS. Such access consists of 2 hrs. a day, unlimited download bytes per day, and no download/upload ratio. A regular user receives 1 hr. a day and has an download/upload ratio of 10:1. Staff and contributing writers also receive access to a special private STTS Staff conference on the BBS. LIMITATIONS STTS will still accept previously published stories and articles for publication. However, previously published submissions do NOT qualify for contention in the twice-yearly awards. Furthermore, previously published stories and articles will be paid at a 50% honorarium of the normal honorarium fee. RIGHTS The copyright of said material, of course, remains the sole property of the author. STTS has the right to present it once in a "showcase" format and in an annual "best of" issue. (a paper version as well as the elec. version) Acceptance of submitted material does NOT necessarily mean that it will appear in STTS. Submissions should be in 100% pure ASCII format. There are no limitations in terms of lengths of articles, but keep in mind it's a magazine, not a novel. Fiction and poetry will be handled on a pure submission basis, except in the case of any round-robin stories or continuing stories that might develop. Reviews will also be handled on a submission basis. If you're interested in doing a particular review medium (ie: books) on a full-time basis, let me know and we'll talk. ANSI art should be under 10k and can be about any subject as long as it's not pornographic. We'll feature ANSI art from time to time, as well as featuring a different ANSI "cover" for our magazine each month. In terms of articles, we're looking for just about anything that's of fairly general interest to the BBSing world at large. An article comparing several new high-speed modems would be appropriate, for example, whereas an article describing in detail how to build your own such modem really wouldn't be. Articles needn't be contained to the world of computing, either. Movies, politics, ecology, literature, entertainment, fiction, non-fiction, reviews - it's all fair game for STTS. Articles, again, will be handled on a submission basis. If anyone has an idea or two for a regular column, let me know. If it works, we'll incorporate it into STTS. Writers interested in contributing to Sunlight Through The Shadows can reach me through any of the following methods: Contact Points -------------- CompuServe - My E_Mail address is: 73654,1732 The Internet - My E_Mail address is: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org RIME - My NODE ID is SUNLIGHT or 5320. Send all files to this address. (you'll have to ask your SysOp who's carrying RIME to send it for you) Alternately, you can simply post it in either the Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine, Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner conference to: Joe Derouen. If you put a ->5320 or ->SUNLIGHT in the top-most upper left-hand corner, it'll be routed directly to my BBS. Pen & Brush Net - Leave me a note or submission in either the Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine conference, the Poetry Corner conference, or the Writers Conference. If your P&BNet contact is using PostLink, you can route the message to me automatically via the same way as described above for RIME. In either case, address all correspondence to: Joe derouen. WME Net - Leave me a note or submission in the Net Chat conference. Address all correspondence to: Joe Derouen. My BBS - Sunlight Through The Shadows. 12/24/96/14.4k baud. (214) 620-8793. You can upload submissions to the STTS Magazine file area, comment to the SysOp, or just about any other method you choose. Address all correspondence to: Joe Derouen. US Mail - Send disks (any size, IBM format ONLY) containing submissions to: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 U.S.A.  Advertising ----------- Currently, STTS Mag is being "officially" carried by over 80 BBS's across the United States. It's also being carried by BBS's in the United Kingdom, Canada, Portugal, and Finland. Unofficially (which means that the SysOps haven't yet notifed me that they carry it) it's popped up on literally hundreds of BBS's across the USA as well as in other countries including the UK, Canada, Portugal, Ireland, Japan, The Netherlands, and Scotland. It's also available via Internet, FIDO, RIME, and Pen & Brush Networks. Currently, STTS has about 10,000 readers worldwide and is available to literally millions of BBSers through the internet and other networks and BBS's. If you or your company want to expose your product to a variety of people all across the world, this is your opportunity! Advertising in Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available in four different formats: 1) Personal Advertisements (NON-Business) ----------------------- Personal advertisements run $5.00 for 4 lines of advertising, with each additional line $1.00. Five lines is the minimum length. Your ad can be as little as one line, but the cost is still $5.00. Advertisements should be in ASCII and formatted for 80 columns. They should include whatever you're trying to sell (or buy) as well as a price and a method of contacting you. ANSI or RIP ads at this level will NOT be accepted. Business ads will NOT be accepted here. These ads are for non-business readers to advertise something they wish to sell or buy, or to advertise a non-profit event. BBS ads are considered business ads. 2) Regular Advertisement (Business or Personal) --------------------- We're accepting business advertisements in STTS. If you're interested in advertising in STTS, a full-page (ASCII or ASCII and ANSI) is $25.00/issue. Those interested can contact me by any of the means listed under Contact Points. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($125.00) the sixth month is free. 3) Feature Advertisement (Business or Personal) --------------------- We'll include one feature ad per issue. The feature ad will pop up right after the magazine's ANSI cover, when the user first begins to read the magazine. This ad will also appear within the body of the magazine, for further perusement by the reader. A feature ad will run $50.00 per issue, and should be created in both ANSI and ASCII formats. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($250.00) the sixth month is free. 4) BBS Advertisement (Business or Personal) ----------------- Many BBS SysOps and users call STTS BBS each month to get the current issue of STTS Magazine. These callers are from all over the USA as well as Canada, Portugal, the UK, and various other countries. Advertising is now available for the logoff screen of the BBS. The rates are $100.00 per month. Ads should be in both ASCII and ANSI format. We're accepting RIP ads as well, but only for the this advertising option. If you purchase 5 months of advertising ($500.00) the sixth month is free. Advertisement Specifications ---------------------------- Ads may be in as many as three formats. They MUST be in ascii text and may also be in ANSI and/or RIP Graphics formats. Ads should be no larger than 24 lines (ie: one screen/page) and ANSI ads should not use extensive animation. If you cannot make your own ad or do not have the time to make your own ad, we can make it for you. However, there is a one-time charge of $10.00 for this service. We will create ads in ASCII and ANSI only. If you absolutely need RIP ads and cannot create your own, we'll attempt to put you into contact with someone who can. Contact Points -------------- You can contact me through any of the following addresses. Sunlight Through The Shadows BBS (214) 620-8793 12/24/96/14,400 Baud CompuServe: 73654,1732 InterNet: joe.derouen@chrysalis.org Pen & Brush Net: ->SUNLIGHT P&BNet Conferences: Sunlight Through The Shadows Conference or any other conference WME Net: Net Chat conference PcRelay/RIME: ->SUNLIGHT RIME Conferences: Common, Writers, or Poetry Corner US Mail: Joe DeRouen 14232 Marsh Ln. # 51 Dallas, Tx. 75234 U.S.A.  You can always find STTS Magazine on the following BBS's. BBS's have STTS available for both on-line viewing and downloading unless otherwise marked. * = On-Line Only # = Download Only United States ------------- BBS Name ........... Sunlight Through The Shadows Location ........... Addison, Texas (in the Dallas area) SysOp(s) ........... Joe and Heather DeRouen Phone ........... (214) 620-8793 (14.4k baud) (Sorted by area code, then alphabetically) BBS Name ........... ModemNews Location ........... Stamford, Connecticut SysOp(s) ........... Jeff Green Phone ........... (203) 359-2299 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Lobster Buoy Location ........... Bangor, Maine SysOp(s) ........... Mark Goodwin Phone ........... (207) 941-0805 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (207) 945-9346 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Northern Maine BBS Location ........... Caribou, Maine SysOp(s) ........... David Collins Phone ........... (207) 496-2391 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... File-Link BBS Location ........... Manhattan, New York SysOp(s) ........... Bill Marcy Phone ........... (212) 777-8282 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Poetry In Motion Location ........... New York, New York SysOp(s) ........... Inez Harrison Phone ........... (212) 666-6927 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Wamblyville Location ........... Los Angeles, California SysOp(s) ........... John Borowski Phone ........... (213) 380-8188 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Archives On-line Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Pellecchia Phone ........... (214) 247-6512 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 406-8394 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... BBS America Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Jay Gaines Phone ........... (214) 680-3406 (9600 baud) Phone ........... (214) 680-1451 (9600 baud) BBS Name ........... Blue Banner BBS Location ........... Rowlett, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Richard Bacon Phone ........... (214) 475-8393 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Bucket Bored! Location ........... Sachse, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Tim Bellomy Phone ........... (214) 414-6913 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Chrysalis BBS Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Garry Grosse Phone ........... (214) 690-9295 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (214) 783-5477 (9600 baud) # BBS Name ........... Collector's Edition Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Len Hult Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 351-9871 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... New Age Visions Location ........... Grand Prairie, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Larry Joe Reynolds Phone ........... BBS Name ........... Old Poop's World Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Sonny Grissom Phone ........... (214) 613-6900 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Opa's Mini-BBS (open 11pm-7am CST) Location ........... Plano, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Marshall Phone ........... (214) 424-0153 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Texas Talk Location ........... Richardson, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Sunnie Blair Phone ........... (214) 497-9100 (2400 baud) # BBS Name ........... User-2-User Location ........... Dallas, Texas SysOp(s) ........... William Pendergast and Kevin Carr Phone ........... (214) 393-4768 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (214) 393-4736 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Deep 13 - MST3K Location ........... Levittown, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... Mike Slusher Phone ........... (215) 943-9526 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Beta Connection, The Location ........... Elkhart, Indiana SysOp(s) ........... David Reynolds Phone ........... (219) 293-6465 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Bill & Hilary's BBS Location ........... Elkhart, Indiana SysOp(s) ........... Nancy VanWormer Phone ........... (219) 295-6206 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... FTB's Passport BBS Location ........... Frederick, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Karina Wright Phone ........... (301) 662-9134 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... The "us" Project Location ........... Wilmington, Delaware SysOp(s) ........... Walt Mateja, PhD Phone ........... (302) 529-1650 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Hole In the Wall, The Location ........... Parker, Colorado SysOp(s) ........... Mike Fergione Phone ........... (303) 841-5515 (16.8k baud) BBS Name ........... Right Angle BBS Location ........... Aurora, Colorado SysOp(s) ........... Bill Roark Phone ........... (303) 337-0219 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Ruby's Joint Location ........... Miami, Florida SysOp(s) ........... David and Del Freeman Phone ........... (305) 856-4897 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... PUB Desktop Publishing BBS, The Location ........... Chicago, Illinois SysOp(s) ........... Steve Gjondla Phone ........... (312) 767-5787 (9600 baud) BBS Name ........... O & E Online Location ........... Livoign, Michigan SysOp(s) ........... Greg Day Phone ........... (313) 591-0903 (14.4 k baud) BBS Name ........... Pegasus BBS Location ........... Owensboro, Kentucky SysOp(s) ........... Raymond Clements Phone ........... (317) 651-0234 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Puma Wildcat BBS Location ........... Alexandria, Louisiana SysOp(s) ........... Chuck McMillin Phone ........... (318) 443-1065 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Badger's "BYTE", The Location ........... Valentine, Nebraska SysOp(s) ........... Dick Roosa Phone ........... (402) 376-3120 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Megabyte Mansion, The Location ........... Omaha, Nebraska SysOp(s) ........... Todd Robbins Phone ........... (402) 551-8681 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... College Board, The Location ........... West Palm Beach, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Charles Bell Phone ........... (407) 731-1675 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Treasures Location ........... Longwood, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Jim Daly Phone ........... (407) 831-9130 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Flying Dutchman, The Location ........... San Jose, California SysOp(s) ........... Chris Von Motz Phone ........... (408) 294-3065 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Aries Knowledge Systems Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Waddell Robey Phone ........... (410) 625-0109 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Doppler Base BBS Location ........... Baltimore, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Dan Myers Phone ........... (410) 922-1352 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Port EINSTEIN Location ........... Catonsville, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... John P. Lynch Phone ........... (410) 744-4692 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Puffin's Nest, The Location ........... Pasadena, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Dave Bealer Phone ........... (410) 437-3463 (16.8k baud) BBS Name ........... Robin's Nest BBS Location ........... Glen Burnie, Maryland SysOp(s) ........... Robin Kirkey Phone ........... (410) 766-9756 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Chatterbox Lounge and Hotel, The Location ........... Penn Hills, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... James Robert Lunsford Phone ........... (412) 795-4454 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Signal Hill BBS Location ........... Springfield, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Edwin Thompson Phone ........... (413) 782-2158 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Exec-PC Location ........... Elm Grove, Wisconsin SysOp(s) ........... Bob Mahoney Phone ........... (414) 789-4210 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (414) 789-4315 (9600 baud) Phone ........... (414) 789-4360 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... First Step BBS, The Location ........... Green Bay, Wisconsin SysOp(s) ........... Mark Phillips Phone ........... (414) 499-7471 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Lincoln's Cabin BBS Location ........... San Francisco, California SysOp(s) ........... Steve Pomerantz Phone ........... (415) 752-4490 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Uncle "D"s Discovery Location ........... Redwood City, California SysOp(s) ........... Dave Spensley Phone ........... (415) 364-3001 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... File Cabinet BBS, The Location ........... White Hall, Arkansas SysOp(s) ........... Bob Harmon Phone ........... (501) 247-1141 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Starting Gate, The Location ........... Louisville, Kentucky SysOp(s) ........... Ed Clifford Phone ........... (502) 423-9629 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Darkside BBS, The Location ........... Independence, Oregon SysOp(s) ........... Seth Able Robinson Phone ........... (503) 838-6171 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Last Byte, The Location ........... Alamogordo, New Mexico SysOp(s) ........... Robert Sheffield Phone ........... (505) 437-0060 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Leisure Time BBS Location ........... Alamogordo, New Mexico SysOp(s) ........... Bob Riddell Phone ........... (505) 434-6940 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Base Line BBS Location ........... Peabody, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Steve Keith Phone ........... (508) 535-0446 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... High Society BBS Location ........... Beverly, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Chuck Frieser Phone ........... (508) 927-3757 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... SoftWare Creations Location ........... Clinton, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Dan Linton Phone ........... (508) 368-7036 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Extreme OnLine Location ........... Spokane, Washington SysOp(s) ........... Jim Holderman Phone ........... (509) 487-5303 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Silicon Garden, The Location ........... Selden, New York SysOp(s) ........... Andy Keeves Phone ........... (516) 736-6662 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Appomattox BBS, The Location ........... New Lebanon, New York SysOp(s) ........... Dan Everette Phone ........... (518) 766-5144 (14.4k baud dual standard) BBS Name ........... Integrity Online Location ........... Schenectady, New York SysOp(s) ........... Dan Ginsburg, Jordan Feinman, Dave Garvey Phone ........... (518) 370-8758 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (518) 370-8756 (2400 baud) BBS Name ........... Tidal Wave BBS Location ........... Altamont, New York SysOp(s) ........... Josh Perfetto Phone ........... (518) 861-6645 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Casino Bulletin Board, The Location ........... Atlantic City, New Jersey SysOp(s) ........... Dave Schubert Phone ........... (609) 561-3377 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Revision Systems Location ........... Lawrenceville, New Jersey SysOp(s) ........... Paul Lauda Phone ........... (609) 896-3256 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Hangar 18 Location ........... Columbus, Ohio SysOp(s) ........... Bob Dunlap Phone ........... (614) 488-2314 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Channel 1 Location ........... Cambridge, Massachusettes SysOp(s) ........... Brian Miller Phone ........... (617) 354-3230 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (617) 354-3137 (16.8k HST) # BBS Name ........... Arts Place BBS, The Location ........... Arlington, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Ron Fitzherbert Phone ........... (703) 528-8467 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Bubba Systems One Location ........... Manassas, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Mark Mosko Phone ........... (703) 335-1253 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Pen and Brush BBS Location ........... Burke, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Lucia and John Chambers Phone ........... (703) 644-6730 (300-12.0k baud) Phone ........... (703) 644-5196 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Sidewayz BBS Location ........... Fairfax, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Paul Cutrona Phone ........... (703) 352-5412 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Virginia Connection, The Location ........... Washington, District of Columbia SysOp(s) ........... Tony McClenny Phone ........... (703) 648-1841 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Imperial Palace, The Location ........... Augusta, Georiga SysOp(s) ........... Michael Deutsch Phone ........... (706) 592-1344 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Zarno Board Location ........... Martinez, Georiga SysOp(s) ........... Tim Saari Phone ........... (706) 860-7927 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Anathema Downs Location ........... Sonoma County, California SysOp(s) ........... Sadie Jane Phone ........... (707) 792-1555 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... InfoMat BBS Location ........... San Clemente, California SysOp(s) ........... Michael Gibbs Phone ........... (714) 492-8727 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Cool Baby BBS Location ........... York, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... Mark Krieg Phone ........... (717) 751-0855 (19.2 baud) BBS Name ........... T&J Software BBS Location ........... Jim Thorpe, Pennsylvania SysOp(s) ........... Tom Wildoner Phone ........... (717) 325-9481 (19.2 baud) BBS Name ........... Systemic BBS Location ........... Bronx, New York SysOp(s) ........... Mufutau Towobola Phone ........... (718) 716-6198 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (718) 716-6341 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Paradise City BBS Location ........... St. George, Utah SysOp(s) ........... Steve & Marva Cutler Phone ........... (801) 628-4212 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Straight Board, The Location ........... Virginia Beach, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... Ray Sulich Phone ........... (804) 468-6454 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (804) 468-6528 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... TDOR#2 Location ........... Charlottesville, Virginia SysOp(s) ........... David Short Phone ........... (804) 973-5639 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Valley BBS, The Location ........... Myakka City, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Larry Daymon Phone ........... (813) 322-2589 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Syllables Location ........... Fort Myers, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Jackie Jones Phone ........... (813) 482-5276 (14.4k baud) # BBS Name ........... Renaissance BBS Location ........... Arlington, Texas SysOp(s) ........... David Pollard Phone ........... (817) 467-7322 (9600 baud) # BBS Name ........... Second Sanctum Location ........... Arlington, Texas SysOp(s) ........... Mark Robbins Phone ........... (817) 784-1178 (2400 baud) Phone ........... (817) 784-1179 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Dream Land BBS Location ........... Destin, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Ron James Phone ........... (904) 837-2567 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Hurry No Mo BBS Location ........... Citra, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Roy Fralick Phone ........... (904) 595-5057 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Tree BBS, The Location ........... Ocala, Florida SysOp(s) ........... Frank Fowler Phone ........... (904) 732-0866 (14.4k baud) Phone ........... (904) 732-8273 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Legend Graphics OnLine Location ........... Riverside, California SysOp(s) ........... Joe Marquez Phone ........... (909) 689-9229 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Locksoft BBS Location ........... San Jacinto, California SysOp(s) ........... Carl Curling Phone ........... (909) 654-LOCK (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Image Center, The Location ........... Ardsley, New York SysOp(s) ........... Larry Clive Phone ........... (914) 693-9100 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... SB Online, Inc. Location ........... Larchmont, New York SysOp(s) ........... Eric Speer Phone ........... (914) 723-4010 (14.4k baud) Canada ------ BBS Name ........... Canada Remote Systems Online Location ........... Toronto Ontario, Canada SysOp(s) ........... Rick Munro Phone ........... (416) 213-6002 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Encode Online Location ........... Orillia Ontario, Canada SysOp(s) ........... Peter Ellis Phone ........... (705) 327-7629 (14.4k baud) United Kingdom -------------- BBS Name ........... Hangar BBS, The Location ........... Avon, England, United Kingdom SysOp(s) ........... Jason Hyland Phone ........... +44-934-511751 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Pandora's Box BBS Location ........... Brookmans Park, England, United Kingdom SysOp(s) ........... Dorothy Gibbs Phone ........... +44-707-664778 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Almac BBS Location ........... Grangemouth, Scotland, United Kingdom SysOp(s) ........... Alastair McIntyre Phone ........... +44-324-665371 (14.4k baud) Finland ------- BBS Name ........... Niflheim BBS Location ........... Mariehamn, Aaland Islands, Finland SysOp(s) ........... Kurtis Lindqvist Phone ........... +358-28-17924 (16.8k baud) Phone ........... +358-28-17424 (14.4k baud) Portugal -------- BBS Name .......... Intriga Internacional Location .......... Queluz, Portugal SysOp(s) .......... Afonso Vicente Phone .......... +351-1-4352629 (16.8k baud) BBS Name .......... B-Link BBS Location .......... Lisbon, Portugal SysOp(s) .......... Antonio Jorge Phone .......... +351-1-4919755 (14.4k baud) BBS Name ........... Mailhouse Location ........... Loures, Portugal SysOp(s) ........... Carlos Santos Phone ........... +351-1-9890140 (14.4k baud) South America ------------- BBS Name ........... Message Centre, The (Open 18:00 - 06:00 local) Location ........... Itaugua, Paraguay SysOp(s) ........... Michael Slater Phone ........... +011-595-28-2154 (2400 baud) SysOp: To have *your* BBS listed here, write me via one of the many ways listed under CONTACT POINTS elsewhere in this issue.  STTS Net Report Copyright (c) 1994, Joe DeRouen All rights reserved Sunlight Through The Shadows Magazine is available through FIDO, INTERNET, RIME, and PEN & BRUSH NET. Check below for information on how to request the current issue of the magazine or be put on the monthly mailing list. FIDO To get the newest issue of the magazine via FIDO, you'll need to do a file request from Fido Node 1:124/8010 using the "magic" name of SUNLIGHT. INTERNET To get the newest issue via the internet, send a message to FTPMAIL@CHRYSALIS.ORG and include as the first line in your message (or second, if the system you're using forces you to use the first for the address like) GET SUNyymm.ZIP where yymm is the current year and month. Example: This issue is SUN9402.ZIP. After Mar. 1st, the current issue will be SUN9403.ZIP, and so on. Easier than that would be to request being put on the monthly mailing list. To do so, simply send a note to Joe.Derouen@Chrysalis.org asking to be put on the STTS mailing list. If you're a SysOp be sure to tell me your BBS's name, your name, your state and city, the BBS's phone number(s) and it's baud rate(s) so I can include you in the list issue's distribution list. RIME To request the magazine via RIME, ask your RIME SysOp to do a file request from node # 5320 for the current issue (eg: SUN9403.ZIP, or whatever month you happen to be in) Better yet, ask your SysOp to request to be put on the monthly mailing list and receive STTS automatically. PEN & BRUSH NET To request via P&BNet, follow the instructions for RIME above. They're both ran on Postlink and operate exactly the same way in terms of file requests and transfers. I'd like to thank Garry Gross of Chrysalis BBS and David Pellecchia of Archives On-line for allowing me to access the Internet and Fido (respectively) from their systems. End Notes Copyright (c) 1994, Heather DeRouen All rights reserved Well, it's 5:30 p.m. on February 2, 1994. The weather outside is quite chilly, but, thanks to the miracle of central heating, it is quite warm and cozy inside. I am writing this column on the request of my beloved husband, The Editor, so if you like it, send lots and lots of praise to him for his choice of end notes writers for this month. What exactly does one say in an end notes column? Something about an end... a completion... a termination... a dropped carrier... a finish... buttocks??? I guess I'll just pick one and go with that. This month's magazine has dealt mostly with everyone's favorite subject for the month of February - LOVE!!! The one thing on earth that is both as perennial as the grass and as elusive as the title to a song that's going through your brain. Without it, we're but hollow realizations of the fully actualized persons that we are capable of being. As I write this column, I realize that I never got around to answering my husband's question for the month of February - "What is the romantic thing that you've ever had happen to you?" I've had difficulty answering this question because almost 5 years of marriage to him is the most romantic thing that I've ever had happen to me. I can single out dozens of individual events that have transpired over the past 5 years, each of them extremely romantic, but none more or less romantic than the event that went before it, because each of them was laden with love. I hope that this month's issue has reminded those of you with a special romantic interest how precious the gift that you give one another every day is, and to encourage those of you without a special romantic interest that, whatever heartaches you have endured, keep trying. It's worth it. Peace and love to all of you. Heather DeRouen