And somewhere between the lurkers and the noisemakers lie some prairie dogs
like me, usually down in the burrow, and occasionally looking up and
sniffing around. About those chisels: I always put the handle in the canvas
pouch so that the blade was sticking out and I could see the blade, and get
the one that's the right size and see if it needed sharpening.

At 10:44 PM 10/16/2000 -0400, you wrote:
>Oh, please don't take me off BP for lurking!
>
>By which request, of course, I am no longer doing so... sort of like Oolon
>Colluphid's proof of the non-existence of God.
>
>However, in this dimension, Cod definitely exists. Would it help to ask
>Shaman to intercede with Cod?
>
>Hmmm... do we have a Trinity here?
>
>I don't mean to lurk... only a bazillion messages a day were too many, and
>in Digest mode you lose the spontaneity of firing off a blast whenever you
>see a message that cries out for reply. And I can understand if some feel
>they have little to say. Most of the traffic seems to be produced by about
>a dozen repeat offenders, some of whom have caustic wits and don't
>hestitate to use them. Understandable if some people prefer to be
>bystanders.
>
>As for the signal to noise ratio, sure, sometimes the noise becomes
>excessive; like anything else, there are good days and bad days. But all
>work and no play makes Jack or Jill a dull (and rusty) chisel, to say
>nothing of curled sandpaper. And who better to understand this than the
>similarly afflicted? Just like any other support group.
>
>I rather liked Ruth's simile of being dropped like a water balloon. Reminds
>me of my college days.
>
>Don White
>Associate Lurker
>Preservation Lurkbook