Author: gulley

Seize the Day

On the Road with Wally: Part 76
by Wally

You just never know what life’s gonna throw atcha…

I had been planning on going to the Klamath Falls rally for a while, and when my buddy Brian called and said he was going to be headed to LA that weekend, and would I like to go, the coincidence was undeniable. These rallies are basically just an excuse to ride to a specific destination to be able to stand around and chew the fat with other BMW motorcycle owners, drink some beer, and camp in an exotic location – like the infield of the Oregon Institute of Technology track.

So we took off on Friday evening, and made it over the Cascades and into Sisters, pitched our tents in the city park, and slept fitfully ‘till morning. We breakfasted in Bend, and made it into Klamath Falls by mid-morning. I pitched my tent, we looked around a bit, and then as Brian wanted to get back on the road, we motored out of town in a southerly direction. After lunch, we parted ways, and I continued on a big loop around Mt. Shasta, to point back at K Falls, where a BBQ Chicken dinner and the beer tent with all sorts of conversation awaited me. Unfortunately, I chalked up some Bad Karma points when a bird zipped out in front of me, and committed suicide on my right-hand turn signal stem. “Yuck – sorry Mr. Bird,” I muttered, as I slowed enough to allow his carcass to drop off.

I carried on, and after the next gas stop, the 1974 R75/6 was just not running right. I had been trying to keep my eyes and ears on the carburetor adjustment, since I was flitting about between 3000 and 5000 feet, and I’m trying to learn to hear the perfectly Zen spot for engine optimization. But it was just not happy; so I pulled over in Macodel at a Texaco/convenience store, parked it in the shade, and tried playing with it a little more. Left side was fine, but right side wasn’t even firing – I’ve got spark, I’ve got fuel, but it doesn’t want to run on the right hand side. Bah, humbug…perhaps it’s overheated – this is the longest and hardest I’ve ever run this bike…(not to mention the spooky bird incident on this side) so I’ll give it a break, and go get a drink.

As I’m standing in front of the drink cooler, I start to see an aura. Now, I’ve had three migraines in my past, so I recognize this for what it is. This is not a good development, I think, but I know I might be able to power through it with the wonder drug of caffeine. So I start scanning for the iced tea, but the aura has progressed to the point that I can’t even make out the drinks two feet in front of my nose. “That looks like beer, there won’t be tea in there,” I think…and the next thing I know, I’m lying on my back in front of the aforementioned beer cooler, there’s an EMT leaning over me, and I’ve got oxygen in my nose. The ambulance arrives a few minutes later, and before I know it, I’m again on my way to Klamath Falls, but this time in the back of an ambulance.

Grand Mal Seizure is the diagnosis. In the hospital, they give me a CT scan, and start me on a Dilantin drip. Nothing obvious shows up in the scan, but it’s obvious to me that something vigorous happened…by the next day my calves, jaw muscles, shoulders, and thoracic spine are all sore. I’ve since found a sizeable bruise on my left tricep, and a scrape on my right forehead. My memory was also gone for a while; it was tough to remember the answers to simple questions while I was in the ambulance. I end up (literally) across the street from the rally site, and after spending most of Saturday night in the ER, I am released to go crash (not literally) in my tent.

Any family history? Nope. Overheated? Well, it was a warm day, but nothing outrageous. Flashing lights? Not really – I had gotten out of the woods, and into the Klamath Basin by this point. Dehydrated – maybe, but both Brian and I had picked up water earlier in the day, and were making it a point to drink some at every stop. Canned meat? Maybe – I had a Reuben for lunch, which is unusual for me. My brother the doctor says I might never know the cause. But now I’m forbidden to drive for 60 days, I’m on a nightly 300 mg dose of Dilantin, and thankful that I work for Tri-Met, the local bus/light rail transportation agency, because it’s a lot easier to get around.

On the bright side, I took the train back to Portland, and it was a beautiful ride – all hail Amtrak. And I got a good salsa recipe from one of the emergency room doctors. And I’m learning how to be assertive in asking for rides.

I’ve had an EEG, which pointed to focal epilepsy in the frontal left lobe of my brain. I also had an MRI, which showed an anomaly in the right rear lobe of my brain. To the untrained eye, this looked big – I asked the doctor what it might be, and further tests have just added to the mystery. Non-vascular, but non-invasive – a benign tumor, basically. I have three options: wait and do more tests in six months, do a biopsy (which leaves me with a small hole in my skull), or do full on brain surgery and get it out (eeek! this involves me being partially awake). I’m doing the wait and see approach for now.

Do I think I’ll develop the confidence to ride motorcycles again? That’s a big question mark. Speaking of which – the 74 BMW is still down in California, at the local fire station. I’m planning on having a friend drive us down there this weekend, with the trailer that I just bought two weeks ago(!), in order to pick it up and bring it back. Then what happens? Who knows…

It just goes to show you that you never know what kind of curve balls life is going to throw at you. I am a lucky man – if I hadn’t been stopped, fiddling with the carburetors, I’d probably be dead. I’m really going to make it a point to appreciate life more, and be more loving, kind and positive to people.

I originally wrote this up in order to share with friends, just to be more efficient in my emails. Paracelsus convinced me to shoot for a wider audience. If you get anything out of this, go and tell your loved ones how you feel about them. Do just one thing you’ve been putting off for a while. Make it a point to enjoy the sunset tonight. And always remember: carpe diem.

John Lynch, artist

Wally is a close friend from high school. You may remember his elegant description of a Coke can getting flattened in Nevada during the last installment of Travels with Wally back in May.

Wally’s back, and he’s got an even better story this time around. But don’t take my word for it. Read about the carburetor that saved his life.

Also, we’re thrilled to have a Web premiere showing of the paintings of John Lynch, an artist currently working in California.


Finally, Paracelsus has made some changes to his index page that should make it a little easier to find that special back issue you’ve been trying to track down. Collect ’em all! Also featured in this listing are all the authors that Paracelsus has sponsored in this space, including not only the illustrious Wally, but also Anne Onnamus, Gecko,
Ortelius (winner of the cool signature image award), Pandora, and three-time contributor St. Frank.

And now, on with the show.

Why Paracelsus?

We here at the Star Chamber wish you all a pleasant winding down of summer. Sad though it is to admit it, the end is nigh. All you autumn-lovers can gear up and get giddy, but I think I’ll take a nap from September to next April.

Four years after appropriating the name of an obscure sixteenth century physician, Paracelsus has finally decided it’s time to explain why. Perhaps this is because the good doctor gave us alcohol, or at least its current name, and therefore he deserves at least an explanation. Al-kohl used to be the name of black eye paint, but for mysterious reasons he decided to apply the name to spirit of wine instead.

Here’s mud in your eye.
Continue reading “Why Paracelsus?”

Nuts

I don’t know much about computers, but I know opportunity when I smell it.

Too many people have been getting rich on this internet thing, and I can’t wait anymore and let it pass me by. So last week I answered a want ad on MonsterCareers.com, quit my job at the Sporty Shoe, and took the train to Boston. Naturally, Mr. Perkins was upset, since he was losing his best salesman. But sometimes you have to think big and explore your options.

The interview at Soup4U.com! is all set for tomorrow, and I think I’ve already got a place to live lined up. At the EarthyFoods SuperMart in Cambridge I met a nice woman named Eileen who has a room at her house that just opened up, real cheap. I’m really looking forward to eating healthy organic food from EarthyFoods. Not like the junk I used to eat back home in Connecticut.

June 16

Something funny happened this morning. The cabby who drove me to the interview was raving on and on about his rabid right-wing politics (“We need gun control! We need rent control!” He was all about control). Then, as we pulled up to the building, a funny feeling came over me. For some reason I can’t explain, I knew the next thing he was going to say would be true — I knew it with all my heart. It was like the voice of God. Just before I get out of the cab, he looked back and said, “Nice shoes, kid.” “Is that all?” I asked. He said, “If you want to make money, you need nuts.”

The interview went well enough. Naturally I had to be a little inventive about my marketing background, because who would give me a marketing job if they knew I had never had one before. How hard can it be, anyway? I think I sold them when I went on and on about how much I love soup. Every time I wanted to say “shoe” I just substituted “soup.” Simple! Internet startup, here I come!!

June 24

I got the job! I’ve settled into a routine in my new life here in Cambridge. I got the room at Eileen’s house. She lives with her boyfriend Colin, who happens to be from Hartford like me. I don’t think he likes me. He spends all his time trading old jazz records on eFlea.com (the online flea market auction site), but he says his true calling is ear-foot reflexology. It took me a while to figure it out, but it works like this: ear reflexologists understand your whole body by examining one ear. Foot reflexologists do the same thing with your foot. Ear-foot reflexologists can tell how you are by examining the tiny part of your ear that corresponds to your foot. Colin was really annoyed by the time he was done explaining it. When the FedEx guy showed up with a package for him, he jumped up and ran out of the room. Eileen gave an eyes-to-the-ceiling shrug and whispered “Pisces,” like that explained everything.

I headed out to EarthyFoods for some more groceries. Man, the food there is expensive! They don’t even have Froot Loops. I settled for Macrobiotic MegaMuesli and KarmaCow whole free-range milk. Next week I’m going to the BulkyMart. I’m tired of granola and leftover soup.

June 26

Work is going pretty well, except for my boss Mark yells at me a lot. I don’t think he likes me. My marketing job ends up being mostly lots of trips to KopyMat and OfficeWorld, and since I don’t have a car I’m spending a lot of money on cabs. I sent an email to a customer today where I forgot to put the exclamation point on “Soup4U.com!” and Mark lectured me for like an hour about how I personally am wrecking his stock options and how they only hired me because of my shoes, but it was a big mistake. This is the first I heard about the options. I’m not sure if I have any or not. I’m still trying to figure out how they work.

When I got home, Colin was getting another FedEx shipment, and he kind of snorted at me and stomped upstairs. My milk had been removed from the fridge and dumped into my dirty clothes basket. There was a little note taped on the empty carton that said “MILK MAKES MUCUS!!!! THERE CAN BE NO MILK IN THIS HOUSE!!!!”

Eileen took me aside and said she was sorry she hadn’t told me they were strict ovo-lacto intolerant vegetarians. She also told me that even though she works at a copy store part time to pay the bills, what she really wants to do is own a health foods store and practice ayurvedic neuro-linguistic homeopathy. It took me a while to figure it out but she has all these little bottles of what looks like water that she says can change your mood. She gave me one labeled “Quixotic hope.” It tasted like water to me.

July 15

Mark got fired yesterday, because Gary the systems guy figured out that his whole hard-drive was nothing but naked pictures. My new boss, Ed, likes me even less than Mark did, as far as I can tell. I asked him about the options thing, and he screamed “Is money all you can think about at a time like this, Shoe-boy?!” I heard from Gary that he has a lot of options.

When I got home, I tried to make small talk with Colin. He was very grumpy because he was expecting a FedEx shipment. I asked him how the foot-ear thing was going, and he said “Ear-foot! It’s ear-foot reflexology, you milk-drinker!” Pisces, I guess. Anyway, he agreed to look at my ear for a while. It was very calming, and after a minute of probing my ear lobe he made a surprised “hmmmph!” noise, gave me a sharp look and said “Do you have any stock options?”

August 12

Still no options. I don’t think I can get rich if I don’t have options, but I’m not sure. Gary told me that Soup4U.com! almost got bought out by the vertical food portal StuffYourFace.com, but the deal fell through because they got bought by VerticalFoodPortal.com. Now the KopyMat people won’t let me in the door anymore because our company stopped paying the bills. I had to go across town to the KopyKing, but my old boss Mark was working the counter there, so I kept going until I got to KuckooForKopies where Eileen works. Only she wasn’t there.

I found her when I got home. She looked completely distraught, like she had been crying for hours. She had caught Colin with the FedEx guy that afternoon. He swore he was doing a quick reflexology session, but I guess that didn’t explain what they were doing when she found them. I felt bad for her, so I said, “Why don’t you take one of those little drinks of yours so you can cheer up?” She kind of sobbed and said “It’s just water! I just pour water in there and write stuff on the label!” I was thirsty so I drank down one called Karmic Bliss.

August 18

Howard, the CEO, called us all in this morning and told us that Soup4U.com! was folding. He said that SoupySales.com had been first to market, and we never got into the game. I thought he was going to give us our paychecks, since I hadn’t been paid in a month, plus I had a wallet-full of cab receipts, but he just said “Sorry, there’s no money left. That’s it.” After the meeting, I went up to Howard and asked him straight out about the options. He laughed a little and said “There’s no more company… that’s it. Go home!” but I kept after him. After a while he said sure, he’d give me some options if it would make me feel better, and he sat down at his desk and wrote something up for me. I was too shy to ask him to explain to me how it all worked, but at least I got my options. I can figure it out later.

September 20

I decided to go back home. On the cab ride to the train station I had the same cabby as when I first showed up in Boston. I asked him if he remembered me, and he said, “Sure, you’re the kid with the nice shoes who stiffed me last June. Didn’t I tell it to you straight?” Mr. Perkins was sure glad to see me (just in time for the back-to-school rush), plus I was back in Hartford for only a few days when I saw a notice in the business pages: “Nuts2U.com acquires resuscitated Soup4U.com! to make dining megaportal Soup2Nuts.com.” It took me a while to figure it out, but my options are looking better all the time.

On the road with Wally

Part 42: Signs of Soda
by Wally

We were one sunrise away from watching the reddish glow of the evening sun color the rim of the Grand Canyon, and one sunset away from the first light of daybreak over Zabriske Point, in Death Valley. We were smack dab in the middle of Nowhere, Nevada.

Not to say there isn’t much of anything in Nowhere. Au contraire. George had been enlightening me to the wonder of the alluvial plains that exist here in Nevada. With no rain to wash it all away, all the material that sheds from the tops of the mountains here falls to the bottoms. And stays there. It creates a nice, gradual, slope of residue, once seen (and identified), never forgotten. In fact, on the way out of Death Valley the next day, we were basically driving straight up the alluvial slope for 45 minutes, avoiding tarantulas that darted across the road. But that’s another story.

No, here in the middle of Nowhere there was two-lane blacktop, lots of sand, and some scrubby desert vegetation. (and probably Wile E. Coyote, although he was much too wily to be seen. Unlike Wile E. Tarantula — again, another story.) And Sky. Big Sky. Sky that made Montana jealous. Big, dramatic, desert but-it’s-lookin’-like-rain, and not wimpy pacific northwest micro-rain, but slam it down, cats and dogs, southern summer thunderstorm rain.

A Sky that was so dramatic that George pulls over and comments, “Man, will you just look at that Sky.” Which is one of the things that makes George a good travelling companion — he’ll stop and smell the sagebrush. We hop out and stand agog at the beautiful sunlight spreading through the high dark cumulus. Menacing, yet beautiful. Alone, we appreciate.

An unnatural sound clatters through our meditative silence as a lone Coca-Cola can rolls down the highway. We stand even more amazed, because we’re in the middle of nowhere, almost back to nature, soaking up the desert landscape, the gorgeous almost-sunset and are jolted back to reality by a singular token of civilization, intruding on the road-runner-esque landscape. Our heads both swivel comically to the right, as the can, seemingly out of nowhere, rolls down the double yellow line in the middle of the blacktop. It almost feels like we’re in some weird commercial, but lacking the requisite camera crew and pretty graphics.

Then an even more unnatural sound blasts us both from our left as an 18-wheeler thunders unexpectedly around the bend and thrusts itself into our view before our startled inhales are completed. Its mammoth wheels roll over the can, crush it, suck it up and around, crush it again and fling it out behind, a crumpled, flattened token of what was once the perfect shape, the wheel, the cylinder, the rolling reminder of civilization… now just a flat piece of aluminum on a lonely Nevada highway.

As fast as it came, the juggernaut is gone. We both stare dumbly in stunned amazement at the coincidence of us, the can, and the rig. A collective “Whoa” settles among us.

“Let’s roll”, sez George. I couldn’t agree more.

Moving time

Does it bother anybody else out there that after you mess up your room, the next thing you do is clean it up? You see the problem: they both go up. This means the room keeps going up and up forever, as though rising on an endlessly telescoping hydraulic lift. Eventually something has to give way and topple. It’s unnerving.

The signs of millennial collapse are everywhere.

For Paracelsus this year, spring cleaning is giving way to summer moving. As the new owner of a house (he’s upgrading), he has to clean up the old apartment, pack up his belongings, and then set them up in the new place. He’s not sure if he’s up to the challenge. “Cheer up!” you may advise him, but a mild fear of heights has him wondering if things will ever calm down again.

To help us all stay down-to-earth, Wally, a great good friend of Paracelsus from Way Back When, tells us a story this week about rolling down the highway.

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By the way, were you aware that you can now read your favorite Star Chamber pieces on a PalmPilot?

Peanut Press is now selling a compilation entitled

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The Star Chamber Answer Man

Spring has come at last to the editorial offices here at Number One Star Chamber Place, and not a minute too soon. We didn’t have a particularly tough winter here, but the thinly rationed sunlight of winter can cast a seasonal affective pall over even the mildest weather. Once the sun gets a chance to smear on the light in great thick greasy slabs again, it’s amazing how cheery the old place gets.

This week we turn to one of our regular features, the Star Chamber Answer Man, in which curious readers of the Star Chamber from all around the globe try to stump the indefatigable and eponymous man of answers.

Continue reading “The Star Chamber Answer Man”

Meeting the Little Man

The Ides of March notwithstanding, Paracelsus has some happy news to share. For the tax year 1999, he gets to claim a dependent, along with the corresponding deduction.

Meeting the Little Man

My son was born at 11:33 PM on March 3, 1999, and I had a front row seat. He emerged, after two and a half hours of painful pushing, spindly and blue and remarkably quiet. Not quiet enough to worry any of the medical professionals in the room, but quiet enough for me to say, “Come on, let’s hear you cry, little boy! Make some noise! Let’s hear you cry!” And he did cry, small surprised yelps between what seemed to me long silences.

Some hours before, while my wife was in the middle of her labor, we had heard the sudden sound of a baby crying loudly coming down the corridor from another delivery room. That child’s powerful anguished crying stirred my emotions as I anticipated the imminent birth of our baby. It also served as a benchmark for the noise I expected my child to make. But when his time came, he didn’t make much noise. I was certainly amazed by the event of birth, but when I looked at his face, he seemed even more so. Who can blame him?

Here’s something that was on my mind a lot in the weeks leading up to the birth: I had no idea how I was going to handle labor and delivery. I’m pretty squeamish when it comes to blood and I’m somewhat inclined to get vertigo. I go completely pale and limp when I give blood. I was, therefore, visited by embarrassing visions of me passing out right as my wife needed me to support her leg or encourage her or massage her back or cut the baby’s umbilical cord. This is the canonical image of father as comic relief. Sitcom dad.

As the labor progressed, I could see that I was doing okay, which was an enormous relief. (Note to other expecting dads with similar concerns: don’t let your blood sugar drop. A strategically consumed PowerBar works wonders). I had expected everything about the labor experience to be utterly surreal, as though the air were going to be a different color and the people were going to move in slow motion. But for the most part, it was a long boring day. Cinematographers spoil us by having us believe dramatic moments are necessarily accompanied by music and lighting effects. In truth, everything looked normal—the sky was blue, the Cambridge traffic surged steadily by—except when I looked at my wife flat on her back trying to push a baby through her pelvis. That part didn’t look normal.

At the moment of birth, my attention moved rapidly from the baby to my wife to the doctor and around again. It was hard for me to focus on anything very clearly. I was prepared for, in fact I was expecting to feel, an overwhelming rush of love for the infant to engulf me, since I had so often heard this to be a part of other parents’ birth experience. But that’s not what happened to me. The experience of watching my wife go through so much pain, the detachment that came with watching the agony and the bloody viscous messiness of birth, and my watching the nurses and doctors for cues about things kept me preoccupied. I was still acutely aware of my own performance; was I a good father? Was I upholding my part of the deal in the delivery room? Would the nurses think of me as a goofy sitcom dad? I was glad I hadn’t keeled over, but I was still monitoring myself to see if I was asking the right questions, observing the things that needed to be observed: episiotomy, vacuum-assisted extraction, placenta, umbilical cord, stitches, intravenous Pitocin drip. Fascinating stuff, really.

It took a long time to come down from the heightened tension. It took a while for me to realize, in a direct visceral sense, that this was indeed my own child.

small-foot

He landed in my arms first, immediately after being weighed—his grip reflex was strong enough for them to have a hard time prying him off the scale. Even with the baby in my arms, he didn’t feel like mine yet. He felt like a strange little visitor, an alien who, having stopped by, seemed just as likely to go back where he came from. He was bigger than I expected, long-limbed, and his startle reflex was an awkward unhappy buglike dance. How could he possibly have fit inside my wife’s belly?

And suddenly there he was, swaddled and laid up in my arms. To look at him, I could see that he didn’t mean to be the cause of so much drama and pain. He looked dislocated, surprised to be pulled from his comfortable lodging. He must have had a throbbing headache. His left eye was swelled shut like a prizefighter’s. With his right eye he gave me an unfocused questioning look: what did I mean to do with him? He squealed and snuffled softly.

A vivid image came to my mind, an image of a lonely railway station late at night. I was meeting, in the shadow of an empty departing train, this scared disoriented little man. He clutches a spent one-way ticket in his tiny fingers. He has absolutely nothing else. He can’t go back where he came from. He doesn’t speak my language, he is shivering with the cold, and he needs so much help. This is when the tension and detachment finally begin to melt away. This is when the tears come pouring. Come with me, little man. I can help you.

Y-No-K

TIME: 2 BC, late Wednesday afternoon

PLACE: The house of Gaius Tullus DeGustibus, in the northern suburbs of Rome, near the new Circus Maximus Mall.

[the phone rings]

ANTONINUS: Hello?

PROBONO: Hello there… am I speaking to Mr. Gaius T. DeGustibus?

ANTONINUS: [haughtily] No, this is his slave, Antoninus. May I ask who’s calling?

PROBONO: Yes indeed, my friend. Tell Mr. DeGustibus that Claude Probono is calling with some very important news about his future.

ANTONINUS: Certainly, sir. One moment. [he exits and returns with DeGustibus]

DEGUSTIBUS: [pulling on a robe, talking to Antoninus] I don’t remember anyone by that name. [picking up the phone] Hello?

PROBONO: Greetings, Mr. DeGustibus. My name is Claudius Probono, but please, call me Claude. I’m wondering what plans you have to deal with the impending Year Zero problem.

DEGUSTIBUS: The what?

PROBONO: The Year Zero problem, sometimes known as the Y-No-K problem. Do you have any plans to mitigate the vicious effects of this calamity on your lovely household at [sound of shuffling papers] 23 Pantheon Path?

DEGUSTIBUS: What on earth are you talking about? I’ll have you know I was just getting an olive oil rubdown from my slave when you called and—

PROBONO: I certainly understand your annoyance, Gaius. Can I call you Gay?

DEGUSTIBUS: You may call me Mr. DeGustibus.

PROBONO: I certainly understand your annoyance Mr. Gaius, and I wouldn’t bother you if I wasn’t trying to save your household from ruin and despair. Now isn’t that worth an interrupted salad job?

DEGUSTIBUS: I beg your pardon! What’s all this about ruining my house?

PROBONO: Gaius, let me begin with a simple question. What year is this?

DEGUSTIBUS: This is the year 2.

PROBONO: And what year comes after that?

DEGUSTIBUS: [impatiently] Why, the year 1, of course. Where are you going with this line of inquiry?

PROBONO: And what’s the year after that?

DEGUSTIBUS: Hmmm. Well I… [genuinely puzzled] Hmmm. I suppose no year at all. The year naught. No year. Hmmm. Yes, I suppose I never thought of that before. I’d gotten so used to counting down the years, I never gave much thought about what would happen at the end.

PROBONO: [triumphantly] EXACTLY! Do you think the Roman Federal Credit Union will pay you interest that year?

DEGUSTIBUS: [beginning to show some doubt] I expect so… it’s probably nothing that a public sacrifice wouldn’t fix.

PROBONO: I wouldn’t count on it, Gaius. Their tabulation systems are going to Hades in a handbasket. How long is the year zero, would you say? And how would you write a zero, anyway?

DEGUSTIBUS: Well it’s a matter of… I would… [giving up in frustration] it’s this damned numbering system! All X’s and V’s! This country can put a man in Britannia; you’d think we could figure out a way to write zero.

PROBONO: Think of the aqueduct running dry because of faulty calculations, Gaius. No Roman Meal bread at the Pigglius Wigglius. No water at the bath-house, the vomitorium shuttered and deserted—

DEGUSTIBUS: [growing increasingly horrified] Please stop it! Oh what can I do?

PROBONO: [urgently] Well, if you act today, I might be able to put you on our Zero Risk Survival Plan. I can set you up in a lovely gated compound in the mountains near Switzerlandium. We’ll bury a year’s supply of wine and freeze-dried olives on your property and provide you with some board games and a highly-trained security force to drive off the Flintstones and Visigoths.

DEGUSTIBUS: The who?

PROBONO: You don’t read the paper very much, do you Gay?

DEGUSTIBUS: What board games do you have? And what about my art supply store in Capitolium and my cat, Nero? Oh, it’s making my head spin.

PROBONO: You’ve got to stop thinking about clinging and start thinking about cashing out and saving your skin! And by the way, we offer a wide assortment of popular games, including backgammon, Candyland, Nails and Crosses, and Gladiator, the new hand-to-hand action figure combat game.

DEGUSTIBUS: Oh! I’d better start packing now. [loudly] Antoninus! Antoninus! Is my good toga still at the dry cleaner’s?

PROBONO: Gaius, I’m going to call you back with the details tomorrow. In the meantime, if any Centurions should ask you what’s going on, let’s just keep this our little secret, okay? [He hangs up]

[Cut to the offices of Veni Vidi Fleeci, Year Zero Consultants. Probono, hanging up the phone, turns to his co-worker Edwardius Pluribus Unum]

PROBONO: [shaking his head] I’m telling you, Ed, this Y-No-K gig is going to make us rich. You just call them up and reel them in. Year zero indeed. Sweet Jesus!

UNUM: Who?

PROBONO: Nothing.

UNUM: [after a pause] Tell the truth, Claude. Are you worried about this stuff really? You know, that whole world-is-ending mass-hysteria thing?

PROBONO: Naah, not a chance. But if there is any trouble, I’ll be ready. I am going to take all this money and buy myself a great big country estate south of here and watch the whole big mess blow over.

UNUM: Oh yeah? Whereabouts?

PROBONO: Sweet little beach spot called Pompeii.

Published by Peanut Press

Newsflash: You can now read your favorite Star Chamber pieces on a PDA.

Peanut Press is now selling a compilation entitled

The Star Chamber, Writings from the Web which can be downloaded for convenient reading on a palmtop platform.

Check out our exciting

excerpts from the book, and then take home a few copies today!

Why Y2K?

Why indeed. Some say that, after centuries of fretting needlessly about these regular rollover dates, the human race has finally given itself a problem worth worrying about, that we’ve manufactured a terrible reality from our own nightmares. Some say that the Y2K problem is itself a biological software glitch programmed into our brains by some overworked demigod ages ago. Some people positively salivate over good apocalyptic omens, and this is the likeliest suspect that’s come along in a long time.

Temporal chauvinism tells us we’re special, but Paracelsus has the distinct feeling that we’ve seen this all before. And as in all times of great human crisis, there’s someone waiting to profit from the situation.

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