SILICON SOAPWARE wafting your way along the slipstreams of the Info Highway from Bubbles = Tom Digby = bubbles@well.com Issue #122 New Moon of December 11, 2004 Contents copyright 2004 by Thomas G. Digby, with a liberal definition of "fair use". In other words, feel free to quote excerpts elsewhere (with proper attribution), post the entire zine (verbatim, including this notice) on other boards that don't charge specifically for reading the zine, link my Web page, and so on, but if something from here forms a substantial part of something you make money from, it's only fair that I get a cut of the profits. Silicon Soapware is available via email with or without reader feedback. Details of how to sign up are at the end. ********************* In these days of rampant fears of what various and sundry terrorists may be plotting even as I type this, I wonder if the Homeland Security people have thought of recruiting Santa Claus. After all, according to at least one song about him: "He sees you when you're sleeping, He knows when you're awake. He knows when you've been bad or good ..." so it's obvious that he has the necessary surveillance capabilities. One possible sticking point might be how Santa's definitions of "good" and "bad" compare to the Homeland Security people's. I suspect there may be differences, especially in the area of political disagreements. But even so, I would imagine that in general plotting to blow up people who aren't soldiers or otherwise directly involved in combat would count as "bad". So even if there are lots of non-terrorists on Santa's "bad" list, being able to pretty much eliminate anybody on his "good" list as not being a terrorist would be a big help. ********************* There was an article in a local paper with a headline about "traffic calming" measures being taken in certain residential neighborhoods that are popular routes for commuters. That phrase makes me think of a street lined with eastern-religion monks or gurus or whatever sitting there in their orange robes, playing meditation music on sitars. Would that really help? I kind of doubt it, and besides, that's not quite what the people who made up the term "traffic calming" seem to mean by it. But it's still an amusing mental image. ********************* Last year a family I know had a party on Christmas Eve, and we got to talking about how they do Christmas Morning with their children. Their custom is for the children to be given a starting time, such as 6 or 6:30 am. They have to stay upstairs until that time, but once the time comes they're free to go downstairs and start opening whatever gifts they find under the tree and in their stockings. That is quite different from the way my parents managed Christmas morning when I was a child. We would wake up at some fairly early time that was determined by some sort of unspoken agreement (perhaps triggered by the sounds of one person getting up?), and gather in the central hallway. Then we would sing "Jingle Bells" as Dad would open the door and lead us out into the living room where the tree was. After a brief period of individually going through the unwrapped presents that Santa had left around the tree during the night, we would start a more structured thing of opening the gift-wrapped items from under the tree. Most of these were from one family member to another, although a few were "from Santa" to one of the kids. This was done one present at a time, with Dad acting as a Master of Ceremonies to decide which gift would be opened next. Thus everybody watched everybody else opening things, and the morning's fun was sort of spread out over time. So how did your family do Christmas (if they did) when you were a child? ********************* One thing I've noticed is that the Christmas season is a time you're more likely to hear lots of what I tend to think of as non-rock instruments on the pop-music stations. During most of the year those stations are dominated by guitars and drums and synthesizers and such, but during the holiday season you're more likely to hear trumpets and French horns and harps and chimes and a variety of other instruments. Enjoy the variety while you can. ********************* Would a medical clinic specializing in obesity be a hazardous waist facility? ********************* One group of poets I know of rents space in a church building for their monthly readings. Most months they meet in one particular room, but every December they meet in a smaller room in another building, because the church is using the regular room to feed and house homeless people. I think they're supposed to be back to normal for the January reading. Now part of me is thinking that for the homeless, "back to normal" means back to sleeping in alleys or under dumpsters or whatever after being given temporary shelter for the holiday season. Something better than that ought to be possible, but I don't know how to bring it about. I don't think it's a problem any one person can solve. Can it be solved at all? ********************* I'm reminded of an item I read in a recent (Nov/Dec 2004) Mensa Bulletin. The writer was reminiscing about an experience he had in college. There was this professor who was pretty much a general object of ridicule, mainly for his physical appearance and for walking with a limp. The students the writer hung out with felt they didn't need to really study for his courses (organic chemistry) because their fraternity had files of old exams so they could study just the test questions rather than really learning the material. Then the writer happened to ask the professor's daughter to some big dance or something, without knowing of the relationship until it was too late to back out. So there he was on the night of the dance, sitting in the professor's living room waiting for the daughter to finish getting ready, when he noticed a couple of framed documents: Military commendations for heroism in WWII. So he read them as he was waiting, and that somehow gave him new respect for this man, and he was able to communicate that new respect to his classmates, who in turn passed it on to future classes through their fraternity. This was presented as a tale with a happy ending, but it got me to thinking about society's values. Why should someone who had killed half a dozen men get more respect for taking those lives than for learning enough about a complex field like organic chemistry to teach it to others? True, the killings were only part of a series of heroic acts done while severely wounded (which is where he got the limp), and thus could exemplify a spirit of doing what needed to be done and never giving up, but there's still the question of why that particular episode was considered so worthy of remembering. It can probably be explained in Darwinian terms: By surviving the attack and living to raise a family, he was passing on his genes. And even had he later died from his wounds, by killing enemy soldiers and helping his men survive he was helping pass on genes that were more closely related to his than the genes of the enemy. So humans may be genetically programmed to value that type of heroic act. But it still leads the old hippie in me to wonder if what has been handed down to us in our genes is always what we really want to hand down to our descendants. ********************* At a recent Christmas party we were going around reading poetry and stories and such, and it occurred to me that my story about "How the Porcupines Learned to be Teddy Bears Again" felt kind of appropriate to the season, even though it doesn't have an explicit holiday theme. It just sort of felt like it belonged there amidst talk of Peace on Earth and loving families and the like. It's a bit long to include here, but you can read it at http://www.well.com/~bubbles/TeddyBear.html ********************* I was noticing that as of this Christmas "The Christmas Cat" (see below) will be thirty years old. That's longer than most real-world cats live. Along toward the end of 1974 the phrase "Christmas Cat" had somehow taken root in my brain. I kept trying to figure out a way to make it into a song or something, but nothing seemed to want to come. Then on Christmas Eve I was at a Christmas party at a Los Angeles area coffee house called "The Wampeter" (see below). Along about midnight there was a lull in the conversations when I didn't have anybody to talk to, and then all of a sudden the basic plot of the piece just sort of popped into my head. I don't know where the idea came from. Did something somebody else said trigger it? Or had my subconscious been working on it all along, with this somehow being the right moment to unveil it? I grabbed a piece of blank paper (the backside of a flyer?) and wrote a first draft right then and there, in the small hours of Christmas morning. Did I tell anybody about it at the time? Did I read it or show it to anyone? I don't recall. I do recall that the Epilogue came years later, because it hadn't felt quite right to just leave the wicked millionaire sitting there all scratched up, even if he was wicked. So that's how that piece came to be. ********************* It looks like this issue of SS will have more poetry than usual. I think that's partly because I have a couple of pieces that I traditionally do for the holidays, and partly because the story of how one poem came to be triggered memories of another I'd sort of forgotten about. And a reminder: Just about all my poetry is up in my Web site. If you forget the URL just do a Google search on whatever words or phrases you can remember, and chances are good it'll show up in the search results. ********************* IN MEMORIAM WAMPETER COFFEE HOUSE DEPARTED THIS WORLD JULY 1976 I keep expecting them to send a crew To extract Melrose Avenue And sew up the hole it will leave. After all, With no place for me to go to The street has no further reason to be there. Thomas G. Digby written 0415 hr 9/17/76 typed 2300 hr 9/21/76 entered 1650 hr 2/27/92 ********************* Comes now the time for the traditional reprinting of THE CHRISTMAS CAT Once upon a time in a village In a little mountain valley in Borschtenstein Lived a wicked millionaire Whose hobby was foreclosing mortgages And sending people out into the snow. He also took great pride in having The best Christmas decorations in the village. Also in this same village In the little valley in Borschtenstein Lived a poor family Whose mortgage, which came due on Christmas, Was designed to be impossible to pay off. The Christmas weather forecast was for snow And the millionaire's eviction lawyers were waiting. Now this wicked millionaire In the valley village etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, Also had the monopoly on Christmas trees To be sure of having the prettiest Christmas decorations In the whole village. Thus the poor family had nothing at all To put their presents under. Now by chance it so happened In that village in etcetera, etcetera, etcetera, The wicked millionaire had evicted his cat Because its ears and tail were the wrong color And it hadn't paid its mortgage. And the poor family had taken it in And given it a home. So just before Christmas When the Good Fairies asked the animals of the village About people in need and deserving of help The poor family got the highest recommendation. "We will help them!" said the elves and fairies, "They won't have to worry about that mortgage And they'll have the prettiest Christmas decorations in town!" The mortgage was really not much problem: If the millionaire couldn't throw people out into the snow He wouldn't bother throwing them out at all. So the elves spoke to the North Wind and they agreed: No more snow to throw people out into. Some people in the village would have liked snow to play in But agreed the sacrifice was for a good cause. Christmas trees were more of a problem: They had already given them out to other needy families And there were none left at all. They rummaged around in forgotten corners But not a Christmas tree could they find. Then someone had an idea: "Let's decorate their cat!" While one of the elves who spoke Feline Worked out the details with the cat The fairies flew around gathering decorations: Borrowed bits of light from small stars nobody ever notices, Streamers of leftover comet tails, And other assorted trinkets From odd corners of the universe. So the poor family gathered around their Christmas cat And sang songs and opened presents And had the happiest Christmas imaginable While all agreed they had the prettiest decorations The village had ever seen And the millionaire's eviction lawyers Waited in vain for snow. So that is why, to this day, In that valley village in Borschtenstein, It never snows Unless the eviction lawyers are out of town And every year the millionaire tries to decorate a Christmas cat But gets nothing for his pains But bleeding scratches. EPILOGUE: While overnight miracles are rare outside of story books, Even those who learn slowly do learn. So keep checking the weather reports for Borschtenstein. If some Christmas it snows there You will know the millionaire has given up being wicked And has found a truer meaning Of Christmas. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ May you have the happiest Yule/Christmas/Hanukkah/Solstice/Whatever imaginable! Thomas G. Digby ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ first draft written 0115 hr 12/25/74 this version edited 2320 hr 12/14/86 ********************* The Birthday of the Light On the Christmas morning comics page Two people slogging through the crowds of shoppers pause to ask one another "Isn't this all supposed to be somebody's birthday?" Yes, it is. This is the birthday of the Light. Different people see the Light differently: To many the Light is a babe in a manger, A child destined to grow into a great teacher and healer, Bringing the light of love to a world lost in darkness. To others the light is the light of freedom, Seen in the miracle of a lamp burning Far longer than its meager supply of oil should have lasted After the conquerors were driven from the Temple. And still others celebrate winter sunlight Bringing the promise of springtime And reminding us to look at endings As opportunities for new beginnings. But even though we see the light differently And hold different days in this season sacred to it, Let us all look into the light together To see opportunities for new beginnings For a world of freedom and healing and love. Thomas G. Digby written 1230 hr 12/25/91 entered 1905 hr 12/25/91 ********************* HOW TO GET SILICON SOAPWARE EMAILED TO YOU If you're getting it via email and the Reply-to in the headers is ss_talk@bubbles.best.vwh.net you're getting the list version, and anything you send to that address will be posted. That's the one you want if you like conversation. There's usually a burst of activity after each issue, often dying down to almost nothing in between. Any post can spark a new flurry at any time. If there's no mention of "bubbles.best.vwh.net" in the headers, you're getting the BCC version. That's the one for those who want just Silicon Soapware with no banter. The zine content is the same for both. 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