MESSAGES
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The HOUSEFONE links you to other members of the Board and provides a kind of bulletin board or message center. Please initial and date your messages.
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3/15/93
Hey, Housefone. How ya doin? You must be getting pretty lonely here. No one seems to visit anymore, no one seems to care. It's like you've become obsolete, old friend. That pesky little e-mail system! Why, I bet you remember when he was just a little whippersnapper, all high on his "instantaneous delivery" and his "easy-to-use" service and his "private, personal" nature. You probably never knew that one day he'd up and take your place. Yeah, I know... You remember the days Coover talks about sometimes, the good old days of the Housefone, the salad days, when people used you all the time, chattin' away, gabbin' like the schoolkids they was, but now you feel like a holdover, the last vestige of social communication in the computer age, now a relic, unused, decrepit... It's really sad, old buddy. But I thought I'd stop in, at least. I'm not much, but I'll be your friend. Hey, friends are all that we've got, right? Anyway, I know you can't really talk back or anything, so this is destined to be a bit of a one-sided relationship, but, you know, if the trashy movies and TV that I grew up on taught me anything, it's that shallow, one-sided relationships are fine, and that the cold, impersonal glow of a flickering screen can be the closest connection you ever feel. So how 'bout it, Housefone? Wanna be my best buddy? I'll work out some kind of way to prick our forefingers later...
Yours, ('till the end of time...)
Steve
P.S. Just drop me a line if you need anything. I'm in and out of the hotel so you can probably catch me if you need some chips or if you want somebody to watch 90210 with you or if you just need to chat. Toodle-oo!
3/24/93
Thanks Steve. This is the housefone speaking, talking. I'm afraid I was doing just fine without your meddling diction, thank you. Not that I don't appreciate your meddling diction, I do, I do, it's just that I don't want you to think I needed you or anything. Anyway, to cut to the short of the matter, the chase, so to speak, here's the poem I wrote for you.
Steve, Steve,
Thank you for your nose.
Steve, Steve,
I hope you writhe again.
Steve, Steve,
You're so kind I can't spank you enough.
Steve, Steve,
That's snuff for this poem.
And they said computers could not write poems- they were wrong again! And now I must say goodboy. Goodboy Steve, Goodboy!
Yours, ('til somebody else writes to me. . .)
The Housefone.
3/24/93
actually, i thought this was someone else's number... sorry.
afg
4/1/93
Today I ate a lizard sandwhich for lunch and puked all afternoon.
Eric P
4/4/93
I left the Hotel for a brief while this afternoon and set out to capture the greatest of aquatic beasts, the Smiling Snarklefish. You'll all be glad to know that I have returned to my room victoriously and will soon share my prize with all at the Balderdashers' outing in celebration. (I'm not quite sure how long it will take this finned creature to dry up and die - at over a half-ton it could be awhile. It really is not too smelly, however, so fear not. The Hotel will remain largely unplagued by affronts to the old olfactory.)
p.s. - somebody please tell Lewis that he may join us if he wishes, but we will be eating REAL food.
Eric P
4/5
Hey Housefone! Looks like you're seein' some action, old buddy! Glad to see some other people are getting in on the scene. I appreciated the poem you wrote me. I'd write one in return but I'm not into the poetry thing. I'm not even into the prose thing, really. Yeah, I know you thought I was a writer, but I've really been getting into this other form of self-expression recently, and I know you of all people will be appreciative of this bold new direction I'm taking, but I'm really interested in mime. Would you mind, I mean, would you? If I just did a little mime for you right now? Here. Watch:
Did you like that? A few computer geeks here in 265 gave me some weird looks, but I don't care. They don't understand, anyway. I know you liked it, though, and that's what matters. You're really the only one who understands, Housefone. The only one who cares. God, sometimes I feel so alone here in this cold world filled with people who seem to think sound and speech are essential to communication and that art should have some point, some message, some master plan. Well, to hell with them! What do they want? Goddamn frogs falling down on their heads? They'll wake up one day, Housefone, and they'll see what you and I have known all along. I need to go now, because my ears seem to be melting.
Steve
4/6
Dear Housefone,
I'm afraid to love. Help me.
"Matt"
Palos Verdes, CA
4/7
Dear "Matt"resses and me don't mix,
You must begin by asking yourself: Am I afraid of love, or am I afraid of what love is? There is a distinction in kind here which must be recognized before any attempt to address your problem can be made. If you know the face of Love but are nevertheless tempted to reel away from its binding chains, then you have a mother-fixation and must find that woman and kill her at once. If you fear Love instead because it is an unknown, a tidal wave threatening to destroy your little boat, then clearly you wallow in self-pity and stubborn ignorance - the only prescription for which is a good dose of LSD, making sure to carry as many religious symbols as possible.
the housEPhone
4/13
Tuesday.
Thank you, Matt, whoever you are, for your candid and heartwrenching admission. It is people like you that offer a beam of light in this otherwise cold and heartless place. You are strong, and succinct, the qualities I admire most in a man.
Keep the faith. And beware of women wearing black trench coats.
-mk.
But wait. I have not hung up just yet. I have been inspired by Matt's brave honesty, to admit in this public forum, one of my own very human, very universal, I imagine, foibles. I am deathly, terrifiedly, speechlessly and appallingly afraid of the dark. There. I've said it. I am not ashamed to sleep night after night with the light on. So there. Persecute me if you will. I have been victimized for less than this. Have at me, cruel fates, even crueller houseguests. For I stand before you, naked, as it were, wrapped only in the garb of the hideous truth. Save me. Oh, save me, oh!
mk.
Dear m.k.
I trust you. With you, I feel I can give. Here: I too have a phobia (other than the aforementioned L word). I fear heights...big ones. Whenever I look down from some building or some jutting precipice, I'm afraid I might jump although I don't really want to. Jump.
Also I fear Nilla wafers and pudding...but that 's more of a conditioned response. I threw up once.
"Matt"