Staff's greeting visitors, selling last minute gifts,
The cold winds are whistiling, pushing snow into drifts.
I'm the Director, and, yes, I'm working, too,
Time's really fleeting - there's so much to do.
I was phoning, e-mailing (though not entering data)
When my spirits were lifted by Greg's "cyber Santa".
So here's now my wishing, to all and to each:
Good holidays, happiness and, most of all, peace.

Linn Keller


Greg Koos wrote:

> >A Little Byte Music
> >(Virtual St. Entropy, IX)
> >
> >'Twas the night before Christmas, the season of wonder:
> >Not a creature was stirring throughout the rotunda.
> >Far up in the museum, I was feeling *non grata*,
> >Facing my computer and mountains of data.
> >
> >The director had called me and ordered in haste:
> >"All of the data must, pronto, be based!"
> >So alone I keyboarded, in lab coat and cap,
> >Wishing I'd time for a long winter's nap.
> >
> >The stockings were hung by the chimney with care
> >(At least, on my web page, they were virtually there,
> >As was the chimney, as was the heat.
> >A trick of programming, and that's no mean feat)
> >
> >When all of a sudden, there arose such a clatter
> >I opened up Windows, hit ALT-DEL-GRAYMATTER.
> >The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
> >Looked almost too real to be pixels aglow.
> >
> >When what to my poor red-rimmed eyes filled the screen
> >But a miniature sleigh that could scarcely be seen.
> >With a small animation so jerky and faint
> >I knew it was Nick, the old holiday Saint.
> >
> >More rapid than email his coursers they came,
> >While he gestured (no sound card) and called each by name:
> >"On Fortran*!  On SELGEM*!  On Taxir* and Cobal*!
> >On C+*, on FOCUS*, we're here to a-MUSE* all!"
> >
> >I tried fast to exit (I could run but not hide!),
> >When down the virtual chimney St. Nick did slide.
> >
> >He was dressed all in red with a boot and reboot;
> >He spoke not (no sound card) but went straight to his loot.
> >From his bag he drew punch cards, a disc like a platter,
> >And an amber-screened monitor with keyboard that clattered.
> >
> >With his 1200 bps modem and those floppy discs
> >I knew I was looking at Second Hand Nick's.
> >And his programming language, so much yadda-yadda
> >I knew if I used it I'd database >nada.<
> >
> >"I can't use these," I whimpered, "they're not worth my per diem."
> >He looked up and mouthed "Well, this IS a museum!"
> >"Please, Santa," I pleaded, "I need automation,
> >How else can I process all this information?"
> >
> >"Not to worry," shrugged Santa, "no need to panic,
> >It's simply a question of applied informatics!"
> >And then, as I watched, both stunned and elated,
> >Like DNA my data were all replicated.
> >
> >Instead of data entry for many long nights
> >Santa soon filled my hard drive with millions of bytes.
> >I knew my director would love it, of course,
> >He coveted data, whatever the source.
> >
> >I leaped to my keyboard to do a report
> >But the whole program crashed with a sudden retort.
> >The hardware was outdated, the software was fried
> >The monitor was flashing "Access Denied."
> >Of all of the data that Santa bestowed,
> >There wasn't a bit of it I could download.
> >
> >Then laying a finger inside of his nose
> >Old Nick sneezed as up the virtual chimney he rose.
> >He leaped to his sleigh, to his team gave a chuckle
> >And then they were gone--boot, belt, and buckle.
> >But I heard him exclaim, not without aplomb,
> >"Merry Christmas to all--from Santa-dot-Com!"
> >
>
> Merry Christmas and Happy new year to all - including grinches!
> Greg Koos