Archive for the ‘Sports’ Category

Spring Training With New, Improved Poets

16 Mar


Poets In The Nuthouse


Date: Sat Mar 16, 1996 7:20:39 AM America/New_York

I like my early mornings. Up at 4-5. Down by seven-thirty to ten. Hopped in front of RadixNET at four this morning. Still cranking out personal letters I try to write AT LEAST once a year to distant offline family and friends, and it seems to be becoming a spring event for me. I like that too.

Of course all this great insight is generated on a machine manned by a jobless mess of a mind, neat as an anomaly hepped up on verbs but as cluttered as a Saharan sandstorm when faced with the prospects of doing what I do and making money for it. I would have to specialize. I don't want to specialize. I like doing just what I do, from where I do it and for why. My studio, or my room, is my favorite spot on earth, given the fact my tools mark the spot. Everyplace else comes with strings attached, costs too much for what I want out of the situation, and generally just sandbags my progress here at the Bitterzone Terminal.

Here all things can be co-opted and adopted with grace, and be repackaged less spiked with all the garbage my mindshifts through when identifying my own path through the corridors of everyone else's mindbeckoning turfstride preservations. But I also realize that left to my own devices I would soon be recognized as a hermitage breed of steffenwolf who has already been rejected from the herd, and must make his own way, alone and in strength, and I already am I suppose, for you see, we are generally if not the last ones we are certainly not the first ones to know ourselves for who we truly are, despite the recorder being on board in some kind of airplane black box we call gray matter. Even Jesus depended on feedback to ascertain his own identity.

Emoting from my home of hearts I can emphatically jaw at any detractor who claims I have underachieved, but then I also realize in a fit of royal promise that I have not yet begun to fight, and I do indeed plan on achieving my share of the promised land, and this is I suppose because one should never rest on laurels or quit striving. At all this I concur, so why make oneself miserable with imaginary timelines and outside agitation? There is nothing else to say but practice what you preach Gabriel, practice what you preach.
Although you have not responded to my last two notes, and I just discovered Prodigy's shakeup of our world, you had stated you were a busy bomber these days, and your mail has not bounced back, so I presume your account is still open, and I'll hear from you soon enough. I keep thinking what my highschool physics and chemistry teacher told me when a couple of years after I graduated I revisited her class. I told her I was striving to be a writer. She stared into my eyes with her mean Mama D (Dressler) eye as if I had suggested a rascal life of indolence and sloth, and said as just a matter of fact, "You've got to contribute something to this world. Making a difference. That's what it is all about."

In the beginning I assumed that this some some great profundity I was being cautioned to note. Now I realize that however valid her statement, very few of us do not contribute to the general running grammar of the global regime, and had I decided to become a chicken farmer (which was my sustaining job at the time), or a writer of dirty jokes, or even War and Peace, what am I, and whom do I blame for my failures to bring forth world peace or cease world during class. All told I took four classes under her in my junior & senior FBHS years. I never LOST an argument, but often enough I could admit to a draw. She had a handful of smart kids. Her elder son was an engineer at Cape Canaveral. She brought one of his first hand-held computers to school. He paid the government $950 for a calculator topped out with algebraic functions in 1972 they now sell for ten dollars, or can't give away. Her daughter Julie, two years older than me, was whizzing through MIT. But the fact that I had an active intelligence prompted her and all my teachers to nominate me for scholarship competitions and I made captain of my school's It's Academic team. All this and I never went to college. Something broke down in my system, or else I will yet make something out of my life I can stand back and be proud of. Emoting from my home of hearts I can emphatically jaw at any detractor who claims I have underachieved, but then I also realize in a fit of royal promise that I have not yet begun to fight, and I do indeed plan on achieving my own share of the metaphysical promised land, and this is I suppose a product that one should never rest on laurels real or imagined nor ever quit striving, and the ends justifies the means when the means need no justification except to fools. In all this I concur, so why make oneself miserable with imaginary timelines and outside agitation? There is nothing else to say but practice what you preach Gabriel, practice what you preach.

Sure hope we don't lose E-mail contact. It's time for another headline, Poets Stymie Bombers 2-0, in eleven innings...


No BBM In '96 For Fats

14 Mar


Strong Finish To Year


Date: Thu Mar 14, 1996 10:41:50 AM America/New_York

Well Space, it seems this question has been answered for me by Prodigy in some new sleeker look. I checked in today, and was twice greeted with a screen informing me that BBM, and also the World Wide Web were not available on Prodigy for Mac and DOS users, that's you & me, right? Windows 1.1 (or above I presume) is their targeted customer base. Also read news that they will soon be offering 28800 bps service, finally, two to several years after most. I'm not up to this new scramble. Too busy in Mac domain, and can't afford another language right now.

Different moths are drawn to different flames. I'm just an idiot who likes to scribble and draw pictures—love as life the expressions of mathematics and imaginative gestalt. Truth and Projection. Radically uneducated, but having sponged off passionate and well-promoted thousands of terrabytes the world offers as proof of its own existence I feel qualified to speak for myself despite my madness in choosing to describe tragedy unfurled.
Will miss you guys this season, but you know when I'm in, I'm in all the way, so I'm made my choice. These are MY Nuthouse woes played out:

Haven't seen you inbox my box lately, but since I was able to access Prodigy from your A account & password (flaw I guess in memory when I tried to use the C), I figger you're still whizzing around. Me too. Not enough time in the day, OR night, although I've been keeping a whimsical and strange rotation of hours, so irregular they've even begun to affect Sue's long established snooze & rise routine. She's getting up nearly everyday one to two hours earlier than she ever has in twelve years, or her life I think is a more accurate description. But getting tired earlier, not much has changed in her afterwork mode which I suppose you're looking forward to your own come spring in your new car. We just discovered a potential problem with our Dodge van which by the way tumbled past 100,000 some 280 miles ago. Last night I went out for a KFC fix, our first in ages. The oil light kept flashing on and holding in deceleration and idling stops while flickering off during acceleration and steady speed routines. Sue said the light never came on this morning when she drove to work. Uhm... she declared a rather easy drive home last night, so here we are now having to deal with some mechanical mystery.

I'm already plotting to go to the Maryland or Delaware sea this year, something I rarely want to do but am writing it into my script as perhaps this year something I can call a therapeutic adventure. As a child growing up along coastal Georgia I was raised on the ocean's secrets, and never cared that much for it other than as some passing stew until I could get back home to my own. Pencil in this recurring dream I have of tidal waves I am in, or trying to escape from with a crowd of friends and family, and you know the beach is just not the beach in my mind. Different moths are drawn to different flames. I'm just an idiot who likes to scribble and draw pictures—love as life the expressions of mathematics and imaginative gestalt. Truth and Projection. Radically uneducated, but having sponged off passionate and well-promoted thousands of terrabytes the world offers as proof of its own existence I feel qualified to speak for myself despite my madness in choosing to describe tragedy unfurled.

We fool ourselves and occasionally try to stretch further away from the flame which warms and integrates us, but disaster is soon nearby snickering as always, and a faith away from where we're at we tell ourselves. Committing to an infant, or even a toddler, even after two years of struggle, still remains dear to me, however far away it seems right now.
Got to make some money, though, and keep us, and, if all things were equal, an adopted child of our own, in American minimums, or at least pumping something of value to a tribe I'll never know but have seen what they will see, and it's all the same whether they thank me for alerting them to the alarming things which inevitably must come to pass before the last nickel is placed around my neck, stamped into my shoulder, and as a fingered one questioning Dylan's queue, stapled to my chest, or whether I die in dust or am raised in battle among the bloodily avenged, does it? I think it does. And so I am forced to recognize each journey for what it is, complex dancing. Because soon it will be time for me to throw off this minimum wage I have carried. I am working on a business plan to present to America Online. They promise seed funding, technical staff, hardware support, and free advertising to someone who is both evangelist and entrepreneur, idea man and project manager. This is my shot. It's time to go for it. Wish me strength and energy. I think I can pull this gig off. Some of my friends and wife does also. Now, DO I?

Yeah, that adopting thing. I am gut emphatic and serious as grits but Sue is miles away, claiming insurmountable financial distress, and I suspect a declining energy level, mine as well, although I am six years younger than she, but obviously I can't do it without her. Nothing I say can really move or disprove her off her current charms and so I'm not going to chafe over this one. I gave up the idea to the heap of things never mine to shine some 22 years ago when I first was stunned with the realization of my sterility, and tentatively again when Sue and I first began peeling layers off our well wrapped personhoods some 12 years ago until we have become family, a more closely defined family than we can admit exists anywhere else in the universe. All else is slightly foreign, dangerous, and loads of work better spent propping what what we already have. We fool ourselves and occasionally try to stretch further away from the flame which warms and integrates us, but disaster is soon nearby snickering as always, and a faith away from where we're at we tell ourselves. Committing to an infant, or even a toddler, even after two years of struggle, still remains dear to me, however far away it seems right now.


Expense Of Always Dragging A Larger Burden Today Than Yesterday

04 Mar


Expense Of Yesterday's Burden


Date: Mon Mar 4, 1996 10:50:14 AM

Hey Space, been in a whirl, can't seem to get enough done to satisfy myself, or others who don't seem to know what it is I'm doing, not that I'm too complicated to figure out. Guess I'm gonna have to make a decision here real soon about BBM.

How is it with you, Space? Do you take your work home with you, or are you indeed a clockpuncher with the grand psychological effect that at the end of the shift, you've done all you were supposed to do, no carryover, no related stress. Both Sue and I live lives seasoned by the neverending pile of things to do at the worklevel that relaxation rarely is anything but an already defeated attempt at escape. But it is NOT escape because tomorrow will bring the same piles of unfinished business, and piles more today will plunge through the turnstile. And so the psychological expense of always dragging a larger burden today than yesterday will take its toll. This is my general psychology. It is not Sue's, but the bastardization of standard office practices, some beneficial to her but most of them arbitrary and despotic tugs from boss millionaire unable to stay on budget keep her strings taut with anxiety as financial manager of the hired guns lobby she has been at for nine years.

Anywaze, there just don't seem to be enough hours in the day, and enough of me to go around.

I'm sort of getting in the mood to manage.


More Eclectic Than You Appear In The Mirror, Madame

29 Feb


Myhouse Madame


Date: Thu, 29 Feb 1996 05:36:58

What the fuck you thick as a brick why you put goddamn car dealers and sports on your webb page?

Alane Hartley

Who are you? And why dear sir, uh, Madame, do you profane my domain with idle gossip not worth the cheese between the Strong Magellan and Weak Nicodemus toes on your left foot? May Rasputin have mercy upon you. Perhaps you should swear off cars and sweat, by knowing them no more, and just stick to virtual razzmatazz. You wear it well. Or at least as well as Madonna slipping fast into quicksand.

I would like to think you were more eclectic than you appear in the mirror, but then again I have always been the dreamer slumming around with the impossible dream. Am I reading too much between the lines, or are you asking me for sexual favors? Your language, why so hostile. Why are ypu even on my site. Does Russell know? This sort of cybertrash street talk will only take you so far. You'll have to finish the job yourself.

Just got off the phone with Jennifer. She called at 3:30 in the morning from New York where she's finishing up her doctorate in social anthropology. Again we vigorously feasted on the mesmerizing similarities our inner paths seem to portray. She swore her love for me yet again, and I knew it was true. And I do love a good dip in the river. Watersports anyone?

Yours in Everlasting Rope,


UMass Minutemen Colonialized Yet Again

25 Feb


Kentucky Wildcat fan?


Date: Sun Feb 25, 1996 6:04:20 PM America/New_York

Another NCAA basketball season is winging straight toward tournament time. My perennial fave since the Rupp era, Kentucky looks good for another title. I recall fondly the Monday nights I would slip into my snazzy new '76 Camaro parked out in front of the apartment in Smyrna GA to listen to Kevin Grevey and the boys take out the SEC schedule, the play by play bouncing off the clouds on the AM band. Hometown sports, cool stuff. I used to go to Marietta highschool games, even following them to the state championship down in Macon when Dale Ellis was a sophomore. He was certainly the star of the team, had a soft touch, but even with what I considered a savvy eye, I never pegged him as one who would succeed as the star and journeyman in the NBA that he became, and he's still on some current roster, isn't he? I had a younger brother and sister attending MHS, but I went to the games alone just for the thrill of basketball.

And now it seems the George Washington Colonials have UMASS all figgered out. Four consecutive upsets over two years, and two the only losses suffered in their new gym! Love stories like that. Puzzling and provocative—these types of achilles heels tales. Seems I recall UCLA was always having some 25 or 35 game winning streak stopped by near cellar dweller Oregon, or perhaps Oregon State back in the 70s. An overmatched Tennessee squad would invariably stop Kentucky for many years, the Dan Issel years if I recall correctly. Oh well, jumping thru old basketball memory hoops as I read a condemning essay on the new "Big Mac" or "candy bar" baseball move to interleague play written by Warren Goldstein. He charged me up by pointing out that this was an idea of the folks who precipitated and lost every labor dispute in the past 20 years, all the while proclaiming their exclusive control over the national pastime. He calls it tempting when you're hungry, tastes good for the moment. Kids like it better than adults. It doesn't fill you up, doesn't have any nutritional value, and it's pretty bad for you. He calls it the rampaging standardization and homogenization of modern life in exactly the same way as fast food does. The new schedule will begin to erode the distinctions between the two leagues, the history smudged, merged, until simply a single league. He throws in a few more metaphors like shopping mall, Disney's silly approach to its new ownership role, interleague play being the junk food of spectator sports, and cloudy references to myth cloning as a bad thing, emphasizing that somehow the loss of drama attached to the uniquenesses of time, and flavors of the notions, and physical places of traditions, are all lost to a high level of saturation when baseball joins contemporary culture in which too many things already look alike and taste alike. Perhaps you saw the piece.

Have you thought anymore about nailing down your sports idols we can honor in shrine beneath your own Richmond smiler snapshot I'll scan in? And words to the effect you would want to inspire? I'd want a photo of the hero, so that we could keep the symmetry of the page as sort of a shared investment into our space on the Net. We could probably make it a Nuthouse web site, and promote our BBM teams. Remember that I designed team uniforms for the visual effect of imaginary vendorships and logos in '94 & '95 for my own amusement It was good clean fun, and if enough people were involved, I know everyone would get a kick out of it.
Also read an article advocating the District of Columbia being retroceded, or ceded back to Maryland. It was a rather long detailed look at the many obvious advantages serving all concerned entities and really gave little space to the drawbacks, but as he asserted there are no real obstacles, simply mass-produced political song and dances not worth an ounce of phony truth.

I'm gonna dedicate a Web site to this issue. Fun and games time again as Gabriel speaks out. Rep. Ralph Regula (R-Ohio) has introduced a bill to accomplish this plus follow-up legislation by the Maryland legislature accepting the return of the territory. I've long been an advocate for this retrocession. Wonder if I get a decent enough site built that I can turn this into a staff position for myself. Start a lobbying firm. Or preferably, a webmaster role in my own dedicated web server. Hey, is it still possible? Maybe it is, maybe it's still not too late to get suited up to hit the field. Yep, I want to put that on my short list of things which would bring me pleasure if only I had the time to do everything else I'm planning to do, in that breeze you were talking about. Yeah, I like it fast and furious at times and succeed, but am mostly stuck in the slow deliberate lane I share with Baby Sue, and that works just as well for both of us until the tides change I suppose.

Had composed a slick graphic signpost for our old Colossium site, but I'll have to retouch it for the new place I called SPORTSONG. Hope to kickoff an opening night web debut complete with women and red wine to bring all my multifaceted themes into focus as I intend to snatch a few dozen megabytes into cyberspace from here real soon. Still in the baby steps stage in page architecture but am working up and have already prepared about thirty or so backgrounds I'll work in, and go from there, dropping in text and other pictures. links and ftp notions, e-mail generators, maybe, who knows, even launch some scheme for WWWebbing into the wall poster artform and CD-ROM leagues managed with buttonclicks and virtual dollar accounts some say is the future of the more global economy, with equal glee and dark portentions. But those latter phases of my project are probably still a few years down the road unless miracles are still looking for me. Have you thought anymore about nailing down your sports idols we can honor in shrine beneath your own Richmond smiler snapshot I'll scan in? And words to the effect you would want to inspire? I'd want a photo of the hero, so that we could keep the symmetry of the page as sort of a shared investment into our space on the Net. We could probably make it a Nuthouse web site, and promote our BBM teams. Remember that I designed team uniforms for the visual effect of imaginary vendorships and logos in '94 & '95 for my own amusement It was good clean fun, and if enough people were involved, I know everyone would get a kick out of it. Even more stimulating than posting notes from Prodigy's Dugout Club I guarantee you. It shouldn't take too much money (not more than a couple of hundred dollars) and some insightful instruction to get to and feel comfortable in the environment yourself. Oh well, I just noticed this thing's gotten longgggggg.............


Musical Chairs, Modem Speeds, Death In The Family

24 Feb


Beauty In The Pieces


Date: Sat Feb 24, 1996 8:36:16 AM America/New_York

Space, yeah, it's great to have some music around once in a while although I have pulled stretches where I've done without for a year or so, back around 1979-1980 when I was 24-25 and in my I-am-not-of-the world self-deprivation stage, even refusing to host ID or keys, dumping all my photographs off to those I mistakenly thought cared. Even now although we bought our first CD player, a little box similar to the one you described although we only paid a close-out sale price of $125, it was a $225 level configuration by Sanyo, this past September when I was doing all my fencemending and outdoors painting (forever etched in my associative memory), I don't really listen to it that often during the day or night hours I am working. But I seem to demand musical accompaniment as soon as the first swig of beer slurps down the guzzle though. "Uhm, is there some innate connection AFTER ALL to the sex, drugs, rock thing?" he opines to himself trying to remain quasi-rhetorical.

I suppose you've been preoccupied as of late. I usually get a response from you a day or two after I've written, but two notes and several days later, no Space. Uh, but it could be your machine is playing you for the fool again. I see where 28,800 bps modems have dropped to less than a hundred bucks. Now THAT sounds like a good investment for you. You could then dazzle yourself with your newfound speed, and might not get kicked off Prodigy so often, but that's only speculation. I was always have trouble getting or keeping a clean and functioning connection with my former service provider (Clarknet), so I switched and after only the first week I can, without reservation, admit that I am satisfied with an improvement with the Radix feed. You might try some alternate 2400 baud phone numbers in your area. I know in my early modem months I found that the DC number was always busy or corrupted, so I changed my dial-in preferences to northern Virginia and southern Maryland, and never had any trouble after that on Prodigy or America On-line.

This morning is the first sunny DC day in a week, and coincidentally I feel fully recovered from a weeklong depression of uncertain cause. All I know is I felt glued to the earth's crust with lead instead of iron coursing through my veins, and an urge to stuff myself with food. By the way I weighed recently, and have broken back over the 270 mark, having gained all 29 pounds I lost last year, and am now threatening to go back on the smokey rope diet I've been off for six months now, as Sue resists my logic. Also claiming psychological corridors of my mind this week was the death three days ago of my mother's sister Kitty of that cancer she was diagnosed with six months ago at the age of 52. A great loss of a much loved aunt, but because of my embittered feud with my mother, the morning she called to supplement my sister's info on last rites, I only said two words to her: NO (as in I'm not going to the memorial service), and BYE, as in goodbye. I felt like a shit, not even attempted to stammer through a condolence speech, but my anger at her is so intense right now, I could only think of my feud. She did not push her efforts beyond a couple of pieces of information, and I am content although obviously somewhat guilt-riddled to allow the our last few episodes to exist just as they occurred. I'm thinking now that I actually never got around to clueing you to what has caused what I am considering an irreparable rift between us, but will procrastinate even longer because it seems that all I do is whine about some great tragedy in my life or another. Geez, where is the exit ramp?


Mardis Gras Will Snort My Dollars Like Rubles

07 Feb


Mardis Gras Simulator


Date: Wed Feb 7, 1996 9:56:54 PM America/New_York

And Space, don't forget to consider the alternative E-mail suffix. TEll me whether to use CCGS84B, C, or whatever, so that you will know which box to look in, and I'll know which address is still valid. Meanwhile, thanks again for the Prodigy spin. Be sure to let me know when BBM starts rumbling, but I can tell you now, I'll decline to rejoin Prod if they can't get me hooked up at a faster speed that 2400. I've got the hardware. They've got the local access numbers. Duh, what's the problem?

I downloaded from the Internet today a GIF of the 1953 Mickey Mantle Topps card. Who is your all-time baseball hero, sports hero in general? Perhaps we can devote some Web space as a shrine. Your guy. My guy. But we can collaborate more expansively on subject matter once we have successfully hitched our wagon to a GeoCities URL address.

Was invited down to Mardis Gras by one of those unsavory faux friends I've told you about. He moved down there last September, and called me collect twice (the first time Sue refused to take the call) to tell me about it. Funny thing was I had been seriously pursuing the thought of bouncing down to New Orleans for the festival just to get away for awhile, following up on those earlier notions I'd had about Sue and I needing some "space" in order to spruce up the spice between us a bit, but now that I am faced with a direct challenge to my whimsicality, I am buckling at the knees, tossing off excuses left and right why I should stay put. The strongest being that there are too many vultures (leeches, uh, did I say friends?) here to leave Sue alone to fend off. Maybe I'm afraid she'd have more fun than I would. Or maybe I don't trust this hapless bozo to make my stay in the French Quarter anything but more aggravating than sleeping on a damned park bench would be, and you know, hotels will snort my dollars like rubles. So what's it all worth at this point?

Have too much to do just where I'm at right now, and that's the bottom line, have too much to do right where I'm at right now. So I'll call Mouse back and tell him maybe next year we'll both come down. Yes, maybe next year. As it is today I'd stumble around lost without Sue, and that's the sum of all things in my life presently, despite the lures and worst collusions of my evil twin within.


Albeit The Data Was Jersey Cold

07 Feb


Space Movements


Date: Wed Feb 7, 1996 8:07:31 PM America/New_York

Space, well I blew into your account, and probably left a mess of mousedroppings all over the place. On the upside, I only spent 5-8 minutes in the CORE therefore billable areas. The remainder of the time I browsed through the 14,400 kps & Macintosh 3.1 software nodes, but let me give you a rundown on what I did & why.

First I stole into the BBM, found it dormant as relating to the 1996 season. From there I peeked into your mailbox where I found the note I sent earlier in the day after my own service provider's E-mail system had been down for over 36 hours. The note is somewhat dated because I went ahead and plunged into your pool, testing the waters, and discovered that s-t-u-p-i-d does not work with your secondary account numbers. But that was no problem. It's just the E-mail (i.e. CCGS84C, or whatever) address that we need to try and reestablish a web site with GeoCities. If I go ahead and try to homestead another GeoCities sports site for our mutual fun, and there's no code breakdown like the last time, then all you'll have to do is check your auxiliary mailbox (C, I reckon, since I recall you used C for your AL BBM persona a couple of years ago) and retrieve the GeoCities password they will provide so that I can access the site I establish.

That said, I then began to plunder. Caught in a flaw and a flipflop of Prodigy software I found myself locked into a scheme where I was forced to choose a local 14,400 bps access number. I had intended only to research the numbers, write them down for future reference (which I did) and exit. but on this particular screen I could not exit without leaving what I'll embarrassingly call mouse droppings. Actually I suspect that you won't be affected by this maneuver of mine since Prodigy wrote over its pref files on my harddrive. In fact I think I have done this before, and it just hasn't worked properly. When I dial up, the screen says I am connecting at 14,400 but by the time I am fully connected, a message pops up saying I am logged in at 2400, and shucks ain't there a world of difference in those two speeds!

After I escaped that crises, I ventured over into another free zone hawking the new Macintosh software v3.1. Now that I've left the scene of the crime I think I am indeed already running that version on my machine, but Prodigy being as lame as it is, left no records of its version number on its software as is traditional in the Mac environment. so I'm not able to verify yea or nay. So the saga continues as I choose rather than taking ninety minutes to download the code at the sluggish 2400 baud rate I would simply have them mail it to me. When I clicked that button I was confronted with the standard Prodigy order form which of course had your personal information already filled in, albeit the data was Jersey cold.

So I hacked myself and my vitals over your own, and pronto, I should receive in 2-3 weeks some dead software I am probably already running. Sorry I've greeted your generosity with all this technobabble. You should come out unblemished, but I just wanted to put these events on record just in case you step into quicksand the next time you try to log-on.


Winter Grips As Seahawks Contemplate Relocation In Anaheim

06 Feb


Promises Kept


Date: Mon Feb 6, 1996 12:12:42 PM America/New_York

Well Space, what's there to say but mo snow mo snow mo the time this winter has passed into spring it could be the heaviest snowfall ever recorded. It's the third highest now, and only a couple of inches behind the second ranked. The Winter of 1996 has affected everywhere except Florida in terrible proportions, and I suppose California has had an easy time this go round, no floods, earthquakes, or the like.

Meanwhile, I hear the Seahawks may fly south to Anaheim. Good grief! While Clinton can step up to the plate and disembowel the once quite anarchistic Internet where speech and all forms of expression were at the domain level as free as vapor in flight by his signing of the dumbing numbing Telecommunications bill designed solely to let children and corporate Disneyspeak rule yet another roost, he sweats not a bead as the obscene gestures the sportsworld spews across the social fabric of our land go unchecked. After all business is business, and big business is the only voice that counts in this country. You heard I suppose recent news about AOL arbitrarily, and without any investigation at all, bouncing some fifty year old breast cancer survivor off the service because some new E-mail censor program detected that she wrote a note which contained the alpha characters b-r-e-a-s-t within it while seeking to start a support group for survivors of the illness. Meanwhile a quick dip into the chatroom node of AOL and one is immediately avalanched by the sheer volume of sexually-oriented groups advertising without camouflage every sort of deviation ever articulated by flesh and arousal seekers.

And the kicker is that most of these groups and chatrooms are initiated by and populated by the so-called innocent children. The median age by some estimates may be sixteen years old at times. Besides, the last time I looked "community standards" was the prevailing criterion determining what passed as free speech and what could be condemned as "obscenity". The chatrooms, which service at any given hour on the clock, tens of thousands of sexual predators and willing participants are defiantly a community where standards suggest anything goes. I am witness to this. And that New Jersey gay murder involving a fifteen year old? Have we banned telephones? Why not force ATT and the rest of the industry to install voice and language monitoring devices on either every gadget they produce or at every switching station in the country?

I root not for the sheer craziness advocated by some of your left wing rascals (radicals), but this generalized suppression of activities that innocently enough rage within whole majority populations is too addled an idea to warrant the puffed up attention a few hypocritical would-be do-gooders take upon themselves as worthy causes to help get them reelected by powerful (yet hypocritical) PACS and other powerful lobbies who seem to have more money than righteousness to begin with. Does this segue into the John DuPont tale. All the money he splashed on the local police force to protect his spread, and all the while he's as crazy as a goat, and now a murderer. Oh well, go figure.

Is your password still the six-letter synonym for dumb? I haven't yet tried to take you up on your offer to browse Prodigy on your dime, but I could actually appreciate your generosity in helping convince myself that I indeed want to bury my fat self into BBM for another season. Not having folowed the sports pages I'm clueless, but I guess spring training is fast approaching so I need to get a move on a decision here real soon.

Still waiting to hear about your ski day, but until later…


Madness, Dynasties, Chicken Soup, And The Underdog Factor

30 Jan


Circus of Extremes


Date: Mon Jan 30, 1995 5:27:49 PM America/New_York

Well Space, what's this I hear on the tube about that strange Seattle weather? This has been some wicked winter from the earliest going. Done that ski thing yet? Never had the urge myself, water or snow, although I grew up on the coast and had cousins who were what one might call river athletes, and since I've been in Washington I've declined several invitations to join a group of friends on the slopes. Guess my sense of physical adventure is not very striking if it doesn't include a ball and scorekeeping. Sorry the Steelers couldn't pull it out. In fact, I ended up watching the only first half which was thirty game minutes longer than I'd planned, but as soon as the halftime festivities rolled in, I rolled off the sofa and headed back to my work. Without a strong allegiance to either squad I discovered myself silently pulling for Pittsburgh, the underdog factor I suppose, although as a once vocal now dormant NY Yankee, Notre Dame, Green Bay Packer football, and U of Kentucky basketball fan since childhood as I gnawed my way into sports knowledge with a definitive yearning for my own place among a dynasty's giants, I am just as more apt to dismiss an upstart team in favor of the "best" team as not. But Dallas is now Steinbrennerian, football following the lead of baseball, and sports allegiances as I knew it and loved it is a thing of the past. But you know, Adolph Rupp recruited year after year with powers other schools could not hope to match. There has never been a level playing field. But as fans, while we worship the past, we fear changes lest we lose our own identification with a patch of life which indeed was NEVER stagnant or just the way we would like to remember it.

But this is old song and dance for us. We've nearly exhausted the subject, although I would certainly like to publish some our our correspondence on our WWW site if we can ever get that GeoCities sysop to respond because like I said before there is no way to reapply with your current E-mail address because we are already seeded a spot, and the computer kicks out any reapplication when using CCGS84a....Hey, just had a brainstorm! You've got secondary alpha suffixes, 84B,C,D,E available to you, right? We could probably try one of those and succeed. There is no valid explanation why the original homesteading failed. Their computer just registered some code improperly, discharging what can only be considered an anomaly, locking us into an address on the frontside, but also locking us out because their computer failed to issue you a password because it jumbled your E-mail address on the backside of the procedure. It's worth a shot. I'll await your word.

Still sick with this infection now ten days old. It's not a cold, it's not flu, but some sort of viral infection in my throat. Need antibiotics but don't want to waste time two-stepping with some inept HMO doctor. I went for a full physical two months ago and was astonished that the doc gave me a clean bill of health. I definitely suffer from anxiety tensions and food-related chest & neck/head pains. He suggested they were symptoms of my MADNESS. This was my first visit to this man since I only go to the doctor about once every five years, and our insurance plans change three times that often. I was very detailed in my family and personal health histories, and from all this he assessed that I was tainted with madness! Not that he was far wrong, but he was a general practitioner, an old hispanic man with a crippled left leg, and after chatting with me thirty minutes on a very positive and articulate day for me, he renders my chest pains and neck pains real but irrelevant because they are merely extenuating circumstance derived from my mental anxieties. Yes but why after every meal do I get a rush of pains in the back of my neck? Anyway, to cut to the bottom line, I feel that physicians, in this country at least, in their we-are-the-healers-arrogance despise and dismiss patients who genuinely and without coy sheepishness try to discuss intelligently the mysteries of one's own health, and with my outward appearance and my penchant for avoiding doctors in general (thus no routine billing for them), they are prone to pat me on the shoulder and send me out the door with nothing more than a word to exercise, I'm still young, et cetera et cetera. I could go on about this but the Prodigy mailreader might not, so until later.



"Ignorance and virtue suck on the same straw. Souls grow on bones, but die beneath bankers' hours.""