From: mdw@theory.TC.Cornell.EDU (Matt Welsh)
Subject: The Lesser of Two Weevils
Organization: Cornell Theory Center
Date: Fri, 9 Oct 1992 00:18:27 GMT


The Lesser of Two Weevils

Mistaken for a butterfly, the large sandy region about 100 kilometers
south of the Grand Canyon has been of interest to horticulturists and
philologists alike for the past decade. I visited this region wearing
nothing but a navy blue bathrobe on morning in a fit of desert-lust. 
I was fond of calling my revelations among the dunes my "Gospel to
Old Sarajevo" which went well with the indigenous life forms of the 
surrounding area. I attempted to make detailed schematics of yet-to-be-
invented electronic equipment in the sand with my big toe, and failed
miserably, proving that Erich Von Daniken's "Chariots of the Gods?" 
was utterly bogus. This was, to put it mildly, the sum total of my 
plans and aspirations for my mature independent life, and after this
experience I gave up all other career goals and distilled water. Beer
for breakfast, orange juice for dinner... I sustained myself on a
liquid diet, and was able to successfully avoid Carnation Instant
Breakfasts and all of their derivatives and offshoots despite the hoards
of junk mail arriving at my doorstep daily, from such obscure publications
as "Liquid Dieting Weekly" and "Sippers Digest". I imagined that the latter
was some kind of sick pun and threw it in the pun recycling bin along
with the others.

Fortunately I had recently purchased a Discman and could go walking,
bungee jumping, or swimming while listening to my favorite tunes. Music
became the prime central focus of my life, and as I merged it in more
and more with daily activities such as reading, sleeping, and chemotherapy
it became especially pertinent that I not have any interruption in
between CDs, or even songs. Before long I had embezzled enough from my
employers to procure a shiny new 5-CD turntable Discman, complete with
shuffle mode, track programming, theft protection, mind-reading, and more.
It required its own diesel fuel power supply, carried along by my trusty pet 
beaver Chewie (yet another sick pun, I'm sure), and the CD player itself
had a sleek nylon carrying case that fit nicely on my back. Optionally
I could find a few friends or loved ones to haul my new set of Polk
Audio sub-bass drivers instead of using the pedestrian headphones, the
portable music sound system of the past. The one problem I had with my
friends carrying the speakers was I could never get them to stay put in
one relative position on either side of me, and the stereo effect was 
repeatedly being lost mid-stride. That and the occasional stifled complaint
about the weight of the damn things, which also provided further distraction.

But all in all, it was a veritable substitute for the bourgeois concept
of a home entertainment system-- on the go. My diet made it necessary either
walk or hangglide whereever I went. And yet, through all of the ambiguity
as to my real objective, it was with small difficulty that I coerced my
housemates that a domesticated pet vulture would make a delightful proxy
for our telephone and long-distance service. After giving the matter
thought I set the wheels in motion, and before long all messages were
relayed to us par avion, if you will, duly provided by our new vulture.
We also trained her to snatch the mail, screeching, from the hands of
the petrified mailman every morning. There was little we could do about
the infrequent death threat notes, tied to rocks, pitched through the
window-- of course, we did put up a sign requesting that all such 
correspondance be handled through "the proper channels", that is, by
the vulture. Some people are so rude.


mdw
but so am i
-- 
Matt Welsh    mdw@tc.cornell.edu        +1 607 253 2737
Systems Programmer, Cornell Theory Center
  "Yow! Up ahead! It's a DONUT HUT!!"
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