Tuesday, December 3, 1996

An old friend sent me a copy of the Good Times Virus warning a few
days ago.  Here's what I send to everyone who sends me that warning:

There is no such thing as the Good Times Virus.  Unless you want to
call the panic distribution about the thing itself a virus--and it
seems to be working as novice users of the Internet continue to pass
on the message about the virus that isn't.  And now you've got the
virus.  Not only that, but you are almost a year late.  Top notch
novices have been spreading that message for nearly a year.  So do us
all a favor and don't pass on that message... please?

Actually, there is a Good Times Virus.  It clogs up the pipes on the
Internet every time you and thousands of others decide to send the
warning about it to friends and colleagues.  THAt'S the virus!  That
you send copies of it around, and your friends and collegues read it
and panic and send it on to another 100 or 1,000 friends and others!
And their time is taken up reading your message--as well as the disk
space on the computer of their ISP, and their personal computer. And
then they pass it on, ad infinitum.  That's why, after more than a
year of warnings, the durn thing is alive and kicking.  And you got it
and then infected others. So, puuuullllleeeeeeezzzzzzz! Send this
message along to your friends and colleagues.

Virus Hysteria 1996:

     http://www.kumite.com/myths

And here's his response to my sending him the above:

From: P To: rgardner@MIT.EDU Date: Tue, 3 Dec 1996 01:12:03 -0700
Subject:

Dear Self righteous old friend,
      Since as a medical student I have far better things to do than
to waste my precious time responding to the take-my-word-for-it,
blabbering teachings of an undiscovered guru I should probably stop
here, but I won't.  I don't know what it is about you, Richard, but
you manage to flaunt the severity of your self-righteousness with
remarkable detail even through such an absurdly placid and two
dimensional medium as E-Mail!  Somehow I feel like I should pull my
pants down and get ready for a good spanking as Father Richard has
been annoyed by the stupidity of one of those imperfect beings again!
I mean really, Richard, get real!  The context is the reality of bozos
who roll out of bed every morning, sip their coffee and engineer yet
another virus, for the lack of having anything marginally human to do.
And reports of the infiltrations of their products into government,
corporate and educational settings with thousands of dollars worth of
damage and lost time/data are not further extensions of this hysteria
you allude to as they are reported outside cyberspace.  I have lost
precious files due to such "Hysterics" while simply exposed to the
computer systems at my school.  And now with the reality of an
exploding Internet, the sky is the limit for the proliferation of the
manifestations of malicious intentions!
	Now, have I lost any sleep over this caveat that I received
some time ago?  No.  Is my mailbox bursting from junk flatulence? No.
Are false alarms not a possibility?  Sure they are.  Do I care?  No.
Do I harrass the mailman for bringing sunday fliers and First Class
junk mail to my door day after day?  No.  Is mail delivery in this
country any slower than normal becasue of the likes of Ed McMann and
his Clearing House Sweapstakes garbage?  Absolutely not.  Is he
wasting trees?  Yes.  Did I waste precious resources sending you
entirely in good faith what came my way?  Well, I thought perhaps that
the answer was no but on second thought, the answer is yes, my damn
precious time!
	In short, PLEASE DO ME A FAVOR and explore your keyboard for
that most ellusive of keys that once found has great magical powers; I
think it is called DELETE and from now on try to excercise a
self-limited judgment in the confines of your own perception without
condescendingally selling rhetoric.  Delete what fails to appease your
enlarged frontal lobe and stop playing Internet Police; the job
posting 'aint up yet!
	And in closing, If you must write, write something with at
least a balace of trash and decent regard or don't write at all! I
happen to care about you as a human being and a friend of past and it
is greatly disturbing to be acosted by you through E-Mail as your lone
installment of correspondence.

                                                Sincerely,
                                                P-----

P.S.  Sorry, your advertising of intellectual prowess will not be
forwarded to mere mortal at this time.  Please try again.


Wednesday, December 4, 1996

Harvard Square Post Office...

Give me a sheet of 32 cent stamps, I ask the postal clerk.

Do you want flowers or love, the clerk asks.

I pause...

A tall, attractive, dark-haired woman to my left pipes in with a
question/statement, Oh, you can get either love or flower stamps!?

I turn to the clerk and say, give me the flowers, they are a lot
cheaper.

The tall woman smiles, and seems to be at a loss as to exactly how to
continue the conversation.  Or is that just wishful thinking on my
part?

Sunday, December 22, 1996

Party at Laurie's. Hosted by Jackie and Laurie. The former is about 7
months pregnant. I learn her birthday is February 8, same as me and
Stacey and Jules Verne. She was wearing a sort of work, outdore shirt
that reminded me of Adele--who I recollect wearing something similar
when pregnant.

Well, it turned out to be a competition between about 20 gourmet
cooks--all of whom tried to outdo each other with incredible food.
Most notable were the candied pears and the peanutbutter chocolate
cake, which, unbelieveably, was made mostly with tofu. You would never
have known unless I told you!

Guess who ate too much?

Tuesday, December 24, 1996

"Have you finished your Christmas shopping?"

No. That's the short answer.

I don't do any Christmas shopping. As an Absolute Reductionist I
recognize this as simply me being in a culture where that is the
social norm. This too will pass.

Wednesday, December 25, 1996

I listen to the Tiny Tim story on the radio.  It reminds me of the
version my Junior High School class made a few years back.  I had one
speaking line but was given the assignment of doing all the sounds. It
seemed to be universally agreed that if anyone could find a way to
make all the necessary supporting audio... it would be me.  I have no
idea why that was so.

Thursday, December 26, 1996

Arising later than usual I go downstairs to get the mail and Boston
Globe. Across the street, and on a second floor balconey there are
three teenagers-two girls and a boy. One of the girls, who lives in
that building, waves to me. A moment later the other girl waves.  The
boy doesn't seem to notice what happened. The first young woman lives
there with her parents--who, it seems, work at the bank where we have
accounts. I saw the mother there a few days ago.  She looked very
familiar for some reason. I kept looking at her and asking myself why
do I know this person. The next day, or maybe two days later, I saw
the whole family, mother, father, daughter, leave the bank. They are
custodians there.

Friday, December 27, 1996 email from RP

Date: Fri, 27 Dec 1996 12:16:45 -0500
From: P
To: adl@xensei.com
Subject: Ho ho ho

Hope you aren't frozen solid up there...

It's supposed to be 70 degrees here this weekend.  It's shirtsleeve weather 
right now.  (From my office window as I sit here working I can see other 
people outside in shirtsleeves.  No first hand knowledge.)

Sent you an article on Bonobos monkeys and how they handle aggression.

What do you hear, if anything, from friends overseas? I had a dream
last night about FH.  Something to do with the holiday season -- it
had elements of that Grampus monster film they sent down while we were
on Gomera.

==MWA==

R