Inkwell: Authors and Artists

    

So many amazing, amusing, and thought-provoking conversations can be found
on The WELL. Some samples from them can be found here.
  

    

From the Generation X <genx.> Conference:
"Open letters"

Response #2 (puffball)

Dear Persons Driving In The Far Left Lane Coming Off 80 West At Fifth
Street,

My desire to merge into your lane from the 2nd-to-left lane is not, in
fact, part of a colossal daily conspiracy to make you miss the light
and arrive home late, to be fought tooth & nail as a heroic battle of
wills and micron-sized gaps between your front bumper and the next guy,
but simply that I want to make a fucking left turn on 5th to go to my
HOUSE and have not been able to change lanes until now.  Though I am
sympathetic to the extent of your enormous frustration given your
belief in this conspiracy you (collectively) display, in light of the
real situation maybe you wouldn't mind not being a dickhead for five
seconds of your miserable life and letting me in.  And whilst those
obscene gestures, dirty looks and mute yelling may seem proportionate
if, in fact, the whole world was out to get you, since it's not they do
seem a little embarrassing, don't they?

Perhaps this note should be displayed on one of those big flashing
boards that everyone ignores down by the exit, hmm?

 Yours, Walter

PS You, yes, you, on Friday, in the minivan reading your notes off a
piece of paper on the steering wheel while talking on your cellphone
and not looking at all at the road, full marks for letting me merge in,
but I am afraid you get docked several million points for nearly
crashing into me owing to your deep concentration on those very
important notes.  Perhaps reading AND driving in heavy traffic is not
such a good idea.

     ********************************

As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    


From the San Francisco <sanfran.> Conference:
"Barriers for the Golden Gate Bridge"

Response #830 (name withheld for privacy)

I've listened, and read, and pondered, and listened and read and pondered
some more. For me - and mind, I don't mean to come off as callous - the
numbers just don't add up. There are, regrettably, a handful of lives lost
every year on the GGB. If we tracked down and modified everything that took
just that many lives every year, we'd live strapped in an egg crate,
cushioned with foam.

I keep coming back to a moment I remember from a night I spent in Venice,
walking those endless bridges and canal sidewalks. We walked down one path
that gradually descended right into a canal! Here it's a sidewalk - a few
steps later, it's underwater.

I was struck by how matter-of-factly it was allowed to be that way. No one
shrieking about danger to children, no obnoxious expensive system of detours
and bright-light warning signs to protect pedestrians and thus the city,
nobody looking out for hopeless dumbasses. Sure, it's dangerous. The water
level goes up and down, leaving slick green goo in its wake at low tide. You
could slip right in, and lord knows what you would catch in that water.  And
probably, at some point, someone has done just that.

"Hey, life's a risk," that old unguarded sidewalk seemed to say, "be sure to
watch out for yourself." And that pleased me immensely.  Suicide is so sad,
so tragic. I tried it as a teenager, and have been tempted to several more
times in my adult life. It's not a mental place I want to revisit. But I'm
pragmatic about it: my death would be a terrible hardship for that handful
of people near and dear to me. Were I in that place again, I wouldn't want
precious city or state resources spent to alter the GGB on my behalf. There
are too few of me - of them, I guess I must say now - to justify that level
of spending, plus the inevitable alteration of a superb landmark.

And I never expect any family member of a successful suicide to see it the
way I do.

        *********************

As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    

From the Cooking <cooking.> Conference:
"Kitchen Gadgets"

Response #1677 (pbs)

My grandmother had the mother of all your Kitchenaids. It was a mixer that
stood about three feet high. It stood on its own custom made, by Hobart no
doubt, cabinet. The cabinet was fitted with about leventy-seven different
attachments. One of the attachemnts that I exumed from the basement when we
moved in to her house in 1962 after she died was a cedar ice cream freezer
bucket. It made the best damn French vanilla.

Anyway, the switch was about four inches long. The end of it was notched
with three notches. There was a little lever, the actual switch, that fitted
into the notches. The speed was selected by where the big switch was when
the little switch clicked into a notch. I wouldn't be surprised if they got
the mixer when they moved into the house in 1929.

While I was in college or grad school the damn thing broke. I called
Hobart in whatever town is their headquarters because that was the
manufacturer and the name was on the manual which was still in the drawer.
It was Sunday. Someone answered the phone! They wanted to know what model it
was. Somehow they no longer had any data on this thing. I surmise that I got
someone in their industrial division. Having a 24 hour phone watch for the
users of sixty gallon mixers makes sense.

We followed up on Monday with Iowa Electric Light and Power's Small
Appliance shop. Amazingly enough Hobart no longer had any replacement parts.
I'd worked with the Small Appliance guys during one summer vacation. When
they came out to bring it back and to deliver the bad news to my mother I
happened to be home.

I said, "The electrical part of the switch (which was what was broken)
doesn't really matter as long as the gear shift part still works. Why not
put a regular toggle switch some where and we can turn if off there and
shift gears by hand in the regular place."

It came back a few days later with a little bent steel panel with one toggle
switch in it. They'd made a label, "Smith Special", and put it on the panel.
They had to send two guys in the truck to carry the thing up the stairs it
weighed so much. I think it used the same size bowl as the K5 does.

   ************
As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author. 
  

    

From the Singles <singles.> Conference:
"You know you're single when ..."

Response #1100 (divinea)

I AM brave, rocky. I never knew it till one day a couple of years ago,
shortly after Himself wandered off.

My toilet ERUPTED. I have never seen anything like it. Think Old Faithful,
with ****. I have no idea what my daughter flushed...but she blew. I turned
off the water, emptied the unit, got the plunger and busted my butt trying
to get it opened up. Nothing. Got the snake, snaked it, nothing. Got the
power auger from my plumber neighbor. Got it fixed. Feh. Swabbed the entire
room with bleach, showered with bleach, and so on.

Walked out into the kitchen barefoot, wearing a towel, and spotted a wolf
spider the size of an SUV mere inches from my foot. I'd rather have found a
cobra -- spiders BOTHER me. I slammed a jar over it, put some clothes on,
took it outside and let it go (resisting the impulse to scream, break out in
hives or simply go bowling).

Went to the store, bought a six of Guinness, came home. And found another
one in the bathroom, even bigger. Dispatched him with a large rubber mallet,
which was in the top of my toolbox, and within reach.

Went out to my lawn chair, cracked a bottle of stout, put my feet up. All my
neighbors wandered over (they can smell an open beer).

And here came my daughter, grinning ear to ear, to bellow out the back door,
"Mom, you will NOT BELIEVE IT. There is a cute little mouse taking a nap on
the porch!!! Come see, you guys!!!".

Yup. Dead rodent. On my sittin' porch. With audience.

Put him in Himself's cherished ridiculously expensive double boiler, took
him to the trash.

Drank more stout.

And my daughter went off to preschool the next morning, and shared the
entire story- poop, naked Mommy, tarantulas, and dead rodent. Bless
her little heart. Judas.


   ************
As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    

From the WELL News <news.> Conference
"Picture of the Day"

Response #834 (flanagan)

i had a delivery last night, the dad is an elvis impersonator; and when the
baby was born, after i got her all nice and swaddled, i handed her over to
daddy, who was sitting on a stool up next to mom at the head of the OR
table. he held his little girl up next to mom and then he started singing in
this quiet perfect elvis voice 'wise... men... say... only fools... rush...
in ...' and sang the whole thing; you could have heard a pin drop in the
OR, it was one of the most beautiful things i've seen in all my days and
nights of nursing. not a dry eye in the house.


    ****************************
As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    

From the Style & Fashion <plumage.> Conference
"Sweaters... can you *ever* have too many?"

Response #165 (editrix)

For me, it would be weird to have five black sweaters the same age. I'd
either be watching them grow grey and pilly all together like a pack of old
ladies. Or some would remain forever youthful because I never wore them,
while others would age prematurely because they were loved too much, and
then they would rise up and shred the ice queen pristine black sweaters with
their homemade barbs of wire hangers.

And that would be weird.

    ****************************
As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    

From the Pets & Their Owners <pets.> Conference
"How is your pet today?"

Response #873 (kath)

Reminds me of a time my son's hamster got loose in a three story
house. Actually there were two incidents. With the first one, we had no
experience to draw from and made some feeble attempts at luring her
back in the cage. This seemed not to work and we were not optimistic at
getting her back.

The second evening of her absence, I was in the second floor bathroom,
relaxing in a tub of warm water, and could hear my son wailing at the
idea that his beloved pet was gone. I got out of the tub to console
him, reached over for my robe, which had been hung on a hook by the
door. As I put an arm into a sleeve of the robe, this furry hamster
fled from the inside of the sleeve, where she had been nestled, running
down my wet torso to get to safety.

I screamed, jumped back in the tub, sure I had been attacked by a rat.
My son ran to the bathroom in time to catch his sweet pet, who, in her
fear of being shaken from hiding,  managed to fall into the trash can.

The second incident found us with more experience and more heart. This
time, my son built a little "staircase" of books with a small enough
rise between books that a hamster's little legs could navigate. He
sprinkled a trail of food on each level and propped a tilted coffee can
at the top, with more food in the can. During the night, we heard the
can hit the floor to upright itself, and our little furry one dropped
into the can after the last of the food. Viola!

We have photographs of the ingeniously made staircase leading to the
coffee can. Much better than the sleeve experience.


  ******************************

  As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    

From the Outdoor Adventures <outdoors.> Conference
"Car Camping and Similar Endeavors"

Response #695 (static)

My VW bus was coming out of the shop, an advanced birthday was
happening and I just wanted to get away by myself for an overnight.

The designated companion pouted to come along, even though she was a
bit unsure of the whole 'camping' thing as well as any logic in
traveling in a rusty, 35-year-old VW camper.

Many people take their holidays in August. School will be back in
session shortly, and this is the last couple weeks of camping 'amateur
hour' just before the family campers leave, the campgrounds clear out
and the Scrub Jays breathe a sigh of relief. First off, however, one
must find a site.

I was again reminded of this hard fact: There are no sites to be had.

Between Memorial Day and Labor Day, any campsite within 300 miles of
the San Francisco Bay Area fills on Friday at about noon and doesn't
empty out until Sunday afternoon.

Campsites along the coast have been reserved since the Carter
administration and campsites close-by a bit inland are either filled or
just too flocking hot for any camping or relaxing. Even Bluebelly
lizards take August off.

Thanks to the internet, one can now check for available campsites
online. In August, one can quickly check to see how many campgrounds
are completely filled, congested or miserable, with possible the
exception of desperate campsites near Needles, Barstow and Stinking
Creek, all places that are best avoided in August.

There is a heirarchy of campgrounds: The National Parks (such as
Yosemite) are generally filled except when they are flooded or on fire.
Even if you could get a site, they have loud children, grumpy bears
and vanloads of Christian youth groups in them. National Parks are best
avoided.

Forest Service Campgrounds are next. They vary quite a bit in
wonderfulness, mosquitos and shade. All the ones within a reasonable
driving distance were filled this weekend; infested with raccoons or
pimply Christians.

The State Parks are generally wonderful, (despite the fact that they
are staffed by pissy Park Rangers who hate old VW busses) but any
California State Park campground with surf, shade or scenery has been
booked for many months. To make matter worse, the raccoons are actually
in charge in many of these campgrounds and many of them are armed.

I was beginning to get worried. I had to show my non-camping companion
what the whole VW Camper compulsion was about and I didn't want to
subject her to shrieking children, severe sunburns, raccoons or pit
toilets on her first campout. (This time. Pit toilets are next. Baby
steps...)

We settled upon San Lorenzo Park in King City, which is part of the
Monterey County Parks system. Not reservable on the Reserve America
system, County Parks are usually unknown. Sometimes they are quite
nice. (Usually they are not, but sometimes they are)

This particular one has hot showers, clean toilets, lawns, a koi pond
and a free T1 connection. The fee is $20 a night.

We were assigned a level site with plenty of shade, quite near the
showers. The sites on either side of us remained vacant.

After we pulled into the level site and I sent the companion on a walk
with the dog while I set up camp. I made sure that the table was set,
the tablecloth was just right and that the kerosene lamps were filled.

I charcoal-grilled burgers and steamed corn on the cob for dinner.

That night I made the perfect campfire (thanks to a dry box of Hot
Wood brand firewood and an Army surplus fire starter tablet). We looked
at the stars and drank red wine.

In the morning, I fixed scrambled eggs with home fries and decent
coffee with half & half for breakfast. We watched coveys of California
quail scamper by our site.

The bus ran (more or less) trouble free. We returned along the coast,
taking time to wander the beach in Moss Landing and later stopping off
in Santa Cruz for lunch.

She has asked when our second campout is.

   ************************

As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    

From the Writing for Work or Fun <writers.> Conference
"And to think that I saw it on Mulberry Street . . . "

response #799 (erinbow)

This weekend James and I were in a drugstore, hunting something down.
A few feet away a young man was studying the condoms with a look that
said, alternately, "this doesn't phase me," and "please god don't look
me in the eye."

It's important for the rest of this tale to know that I'm pregnant
enough to look like a ship under sail. Strange people - not just
strangers, but strange people - touch my belly in public.

Watching the poor fellow struggle with his decision - why *are* there
forty varieties of condoms, anyway? - I had a huge urge to sail up to
him and say "don't get the Trojans, no matter what you do." I confided
this urge to James, in a discreet murmur. As I should have foreseen,
James thought it was too good a chance to pass up.

The poor man turned beet.  And I had to beat James about the head a
bit.  But it was still the best part of the weekend.

   ************************

As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    

From the Music <music.> Conference:
"Songs that somehow provide comfort after a hurricane"
Response #57: (rlr)

How about songs that bring comfort during a hurricane?

Last year, during Hurricane Jeanne, I think (there were so many I
can't remember), I was holed up with my 20 year old daughter and her 25
year old boyfriend, and my 19 year old nephew, who was living with
them at the time. They were living in a really ratty mobile home, and I
was the safest place to go. We sat here for about 5 days with no
electricity or water, living out of the cooler. I had a battery
operated radio/cassette player, for listening to the news. The night
the storm came through, we all sat up, you really couldn't sleep with
the howling winds and the aching trees. I decided to go through my old
cassettes, and I came across Miles Davis' Kind of Blue. I had bought it
about 15 years ago, and didn't get it, but hadn't gotten rid of it. It
was so extravagant to choose to listen to music on batteries, but I
decided what the hell.

My nephew is a trumpet player, and my daughter's boyfriend Tommy is a
drummer. The three of us just sat mesmerized in the dark, with a
propane lamp throwing eerie shadows that seemed to match the noises
outside. I am telling you, the trees made noises. And we were all so
into Miles. We all got it, at once.

My basset hound Hank was sitting next to my daughter's boyfriend, and
did his trick of standing up on his hind legs. Tommy finally took
Hank's paws and began playing air drums with them. Hank just absolutely
melted into the music of Miles Davis. I was sitting in the middle of a
hurricane, with no power, watching a basset play air drums quite well.

I'll never hear Miles Davis the same. Kind of Blue has become
hurricane music for me.
  

    

From the San Francisco <sanfran.> Conference:
"On the Bus Again - Take another ride on Muni"

Response #92  (achiappanza)

 Today on the 1 California:

 I'm sitting next to the window and a large man, probably
 50's with a grey pompadour and southern European descent
 sits next to me.  He's got the kind of build that makes you
 think he may well have been Fabio-stunning a couple decades
 ago.  And he's wearing what appears to be a weight lifter's
 uniform, complete with kneepads, Olympics-style.
 Dialogue, starting with him:

 - May I sit here?
 + Sure.  Are you going wrestling somewhere?
 - No.  Kickboxing.
 + Kickboxing?  (Clearly too massive for kickboxing.)
 - Yes.  I fight people from all over the world.  All over the
 galaxy.  I have a license to kill.
 + Really?
 - Yes.  Humans are not good fighters.  But Martians are.
 + Where are you from?
 - I am from all over... Italy, France, United States.
 I am God.  I'm from everywhere.  I came here in 1947
 and some people thought I was Jesus Christ.
 But I'm not; I'm God.
 + Well what are you doing here?
 - I am fighting creatures from all over the galaxies.
 I am also bringing sunshine because sunshine helps clean
 up all the pollution. If I did not bring the sunshine,
 the pollution would kill everyone.
 + I suppose that's not very productive if you're God.
 - Yes.  I have responsibilities all over the galaxies.
 + Have you met Frank Chu?
 - Who?
 + Frank Chu.  He carries signs showing that he too knows
 about the galaxies.  Maybe you should compare notes with him.
 - Is he a big shot?
 + He knows about the galaxies, that's all I'm saying.
 -  Does he have bodyguards?  I have hundreds,
 thousands of bodyguards, all beautiful women.
 Of all races and colors.  I used to have more white
 women, but they got eaten by martians.
 + I don't know about the bodyguards, but he's not
 dead.  That oughtta count for something.
 - He can't be a big shot if he doesn't have lots of money.
 + What difference does money make to one who hops the
 galaxies?  I gotta think that doesn't matter all that much
 in the grand scheme of things.
 - I only talk to big shots.  You should see the beaches
 on places like Venus and Jupiter. They're just like the
 south of France.
 + Venus I can see, but Jupiter's pretty cold.  At
 least it was the last time I was there.
 - When I go to Jupiter I look at the sun and bring
 more sunshine.
 + Say, why does God need to take MUNI?
 - Do you know how many flying saucers there are out
 there, waiting to shoot me down with laser beams?
 + Ah, so you're on MUNI to protect yourself from being
 seen and targeted.
 - There are a lot of flying saucers out there.
 + Are you saying that God can be killed by a laser
 beam?
 - (Gets up for his stop, mumbles something nonsensical
 about the dangers of laser beams.)
 +  Watch out for the laser beams!

  ************************

As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    

From the Cooking <cooking.> Conference:
"Rice - Two Billion People Can't Be Wrong"

Response #1069 (wiggly)

  Is this the best rice?
  Is this just fantasy?
  Caught in a landslide
  No escape from technology

  Open your eyes
  and get a Zojirushi

  I'm just a poor boy
  I need no gadgetry
  Because I'm easy come, easy go,
  Water high, burner low
  Anyway the rice boils
  Doesn't really matter to me,
  To me

  Mama, just cooked some rice
  Thought she'd made it perfectly,
  Sure that everyone would see
  Mama, dinner's just begun,
  But now we've gone and boiled it all away

  Mama, oooh
  Didnt mean to burn the rice
  If guests demure and leave it for the morrow
  Carry on, carry on, as if nothing really matters

  Too late, our friends have come
  Sends shivers down my spine
  Will they think the rice is fine?
  Goodbye everybody-Ive got to go
  Gotta leave it all behind and serve the rice
  Mama oooh- (any way the rice boils)
  They don't want the rice
  I sometimes wish we'd never made it at all

  I have to tell you that I love my Zojirushi
  Use a pot! Use a pot! You don't need another gadget
  Cooking rice is frightening
  Stovetop works like lightning for me!
  Fuzzy logic! Fuzzy logic!
  Fuzzy logic! Fuzzy logic!
  Fuzzy logic makes me glow
  Magnifico-oh-oh-oh!

  Oh I'm just a poor boy,is it worth the bankroll?
  He's just a poor boy, trying to fill his rice bowl
  Spare him his rice from this monstrosity!

  Easy rice, hefty price - will you let me go?
  You want it! No! We will not let you go!
  Let him go!
  You need it! We will not let you go!
  Let him go!
  We love it! We will not let you go!
  Let me go!
  Will not let you go!
  Let me go!
  Will not let you go!
  Let me go-oh-oh-oh
  No no No NO NO NO NO!

  Oh mama mia mama mia
  Mama mia let me go
  Beezlebub has a cooker put aside
  For me, for me, for ME!!

  So you say I'll make perfect rice on the first try
  So you think you'll persuade me, convince me to buy
  Oh baby, rice just ain't that hard baby
  Just gotta get out, just gotta get right out of here

  Rice is really simple, anyone can see
  Making rice is easy
  Your logic's far too fuzzy to me

  (any way the rice boils)

   ************************

 As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    

From the News <news.> Conference:
"Thanks"

Response #8 (flanagan)

when i found out my brother Michael, that's James Michael Flanagan of
Boston, Massachusetts, lately of San Clemente, California, had suffered a
heart attack at the end of a distance run, a regular little 6 mile run, 52
year old healthy guy-  it was a shock and it didn't make any sense, really.
he was in vegas, on business, and got back to his car and it hit him out of
nowhere, and it was big.  Someone was right there and saw the instant it
hit.  He only took the time to ask Michael if he was alright, and when
Michael said, yeah, it's just gas; the guy said no it's not, your color is
terrible, we don't have time to wait for 911, get in my car now, i know
right where to go and we're going.  Michael got right in.

The guy called the hospital, which was just five minutes away, got the ER,
said "i am in my car headed to you and will be arriving in four minutes with
a witnessed heart attack, be ready to receive him." and they were.  outside
the doors of the ER, with a gurney, oxygen, monitor, portable defib, doctors
and nurses, and they bypassed the ER and took him straight to the cardiac
cath lab, where they were also waiting for him.

i found out the next morning.  the cardiac cath procedures didn't work, he
needed open heart surgery, and i made it there before that.  he did great.
an *amazing* surgeon.

but what is the most amazing thing in the story is the guy.

when michael called me, to tell me this had happened, and that he was in the
hospital and how he got there, and that he was waiting to recover from the
hemorrhage (4 unit bleed) he'd had during the angioplasties so he could
undergo open heart, I got together just a few of the photographs he's sent
over the years, as he's traveled everywhere on earth, just about, every
country, visiting every UNESCO World Heritage Site he could get to, hundreds
of them-  I took a few of them and put them in an email asking my friends
and his to keep him in their thoughts.

Just about all of those thousands and thousands of air miles over the years
were flown on UAL.

Who was it that was the quick thinking, life-saving passerby guy in Las
Vegas, that saved the life of James Michael Flanagan?  He didn't stick
around, or leave his name, we didn't know.   but tonight Michael got to talk
to him, and this fellow's an Irishman, and he's a UAL pilot.

Michael's met his real true guardian angel, and he's an Irishman with real
wings.

thank you, thank you, thank you, Irish UAL guy, thank you thank you thank
you, for saving my brother's life.

   ************************

 As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.
  

    
Wow.  Great story.
  

    

From the News <news.> Conference:
 "The Weather Report"

 Response #158 (susanpeck)

this isn't exactly weather - but I'll attempt to make it relate...

...beacuse of the mild winter we're having ("mild winter" being a
relative term) there are a lot of moose in town. This morning I opened
my front door to go start my car (at the ungodly hour of 5a) to find a
young moose laying peacefully at the foot of my front steps. It had
been dining on my leftover halloween pumpkins. My dogs dashed out as
they always do when I open the door and then followed a comical scene
of me trying to reign them in and push them inside, me slipping on the
ice, the moose being startled, and my 16 year old deaf almost blind dog
being oblivious to it all.... she wandered right up to the moose and
sniffed it. fortunately it was a young and mellow moose, and it did not
stomp my old girl into a smudge. The moose was contentedly munching on
my hedge when I left.

    ************************

  As seen on The WELL, quoted with permission of the author.