Also in this issue:

For those of you who have missed your regular perv fix, Sister Squat returns in the nick of time with lessons to be learned from The Amazing Maleeni. 

Sister Aspen attempts the impossible.  She explains the mytharc.  Now, now -- try to restrain those muffled snorts of laughter.  She does a darn good job! Plus she wrote a nifty poem.  If you still have questions after this, go ahead and send me your "Stump Sister Aspen" queries and we'll see if she can address them.  She may refuse, but it's worth a try, right?

La..Dee..Da.. tackles more CHarc territory (why yes, we do think clothing and hairstyle are profoundly integral facets of The X-Files, thank you) -- this time delving into a sadly overlooked section of The Blessed One's closet.

Will Chish and Leah go to hell?  Find out in Ask Sister Autumn ... Kara Zod has a unique twist on "the cute little red haired girl" with another terrific
Karatoon ... Don't miss the OBSSE mailing list's hilarious "Great Orison Debate."  (Who says we don't know how to self-parody?) ... Sister Lauren gives royal treatment to the fractured fairytale genre with "Mulderpunzel"  ... and don't forget to read all the important Fest and Marathon updates and news.

Thanks as always to our wonderful contributors!  Until next month....

E D I T O R S
Paula R
Autumn Tysko

D E S I G N   &   G R A P H I C S
La..

R E G U L A R   C O L U M N I S T S
Kara Zod
CathyB
Sister Squat
Brother Pilgrim
Sister Lens-of-Science

C O N T R I B U T O R S   t o  No. 32
Sister Aspen
Sister Les
Minor Shannon
Kirby
Les
Serin
Steph-Tacs
Miss Sister Bryn
Mandy
Lauren
Sister Skull
Sister June
Loa
Meredith

Thanks to Haven and GAWS for image assistance
 

News for the OBSSEsed is a monthly publication of The Order of the Blessed St. Scully the Enigmatic

February is a busy month in the Abbey. Not only are we busy hashing out the details for the upcoming FEST and Marathons, but we've got reasons to celebrate as well. It was three years ago this February that the original OBSSE website premiered in 1997. So, in addition to February 23rd being that wonderful fictional character that we all worship's thirty-sixth birthday, its a birthday of sorts for the Order as well. Put on your party hats and celebrate. FOX even decided to schedule sweeps episodes to celebrate along with us. It is because of us, right?

Operation Crazy Quilt

This is Operation Crazy Quilt  month. Operation Crazy Quilt is the OBSSE project to thank Ms. Anderson for her portrayal of Scully, the character that brought us together in this crazy place we call the Abbey.

Guidelines for submissions have been posted at the website, but we're flexible and open to suggestions. The deadline for submissions is February 29th so get to work so we can get this off to Ms. Anderson in a timely fashion!

The Vagina Monologues are OBSSEsed

The The Vagina Monologues in Los Angeles are coming right up on us. The show, which Gillian is performing in, plays February 16th and there is a huge OBSSE contingent going from what I can tell. Watch this newsletter next month for wild tales of what is sure to be a memorable time.

Maybe he was kidding, maybe not. But whatever the case, it got me thinking about a growing, irritating trend on TXF. Yes, I'm speaking of the Era of the Celebrity Guest Star.

Way back when, when The X-Files was a cute little cult show made by some weirdos up in Canada, series creator Chris Carter stated that, though a number of well-known showbiz folks had expressed interest in appearing in guest roles, he didn't want to allow that for fear it would undermine the show's credibility and take people out of the moment. It was an admirable goal. Funny as it may sound for a program that deals straight-facedly with toilet monsters and invisible elephants, when I started watching it was the realism that first drew me. Mulder and Scully appealed to me, initially, not because they were pretty or cool, but because they were dumpy and unglamorous (the first episode I ever saw, Darkness Falls, impressed me with its willingness to get its stars good and schlubby). 

Just as Maestro Carter had intended, a crucial element of the realism
factor was the guest cast. They looked, God bless 'em, like actual people instead of made-up performers. They looked as if they'd just shown up on the set in the middle of their lives. There was nothing slick or polished about them. Older performers had wrinkles. Younger ones had bad hair. Of course there's always going to be some level of attractiveness when a person is cast in a television role, but these looked like the people you might see hanging around your town, instead of the ones you saw hanging around town in Beverly Hills or at Central Perk.

And they were good. That's a generalization, but there have been so many standout performances from people I'd never heard of before. Christine
Willes as Karen Kosseff was so gentle and believable with Scully in
Irresistible that I practically wanted to sit on her lap and cry. Nick Chinlund made my skin crawl as Donnie Pfaster. And the one-shot roles --
quietly freaked out Mrs. Budahas in Deep Throat, Tom Colton the asshole personified in Squeeze, freakishly sympathetic Gerry Schnauz
in Unruhe. And the larger, recurring ones -- Rebecca Toolan as Mrs.
Mulder, Steven Williams as X, William B. Davis as CSM, Pat Skipper as
Bill Scully. Many of these people have distinguished acting credits. None, however, were "celebrities" when they were cast on the show, and all have put in performances of rock-solid believability. 

The believability began to be compromised once in a while, however, as
the show went on. Exhibit A: Two of David Duchovny's past or current
squeezes, Maggie Wheeler and Perrey Reeves, and his best friend, Jason Beghe, were featured in seasons 1 and 2. I really have no idea how much casting influence the actors have, but I don't imagine it's a
coincidence. No harm done, though: I've pretty much blocked out Born Again so I can't really comment on Maggie Wheeler's performance; I
thought 3 was a fairly silly episode, despite the nice angsty bits, so if I felt Perrey Reeves's role was fairly silly too it's probably not her fault; and yes, I realize the irony of my having been drawn by the realism of Darkness Falls, the same episode that Jason Beghe is quoted as describing as "just a vehicle for me to go up and hang out with Duke." It obviously didn't bother me at the time, so while buddy-casting is possibly not the most impartial way to do things, it doesn't have to be disruptive.

Moving on to Exhibit B, then: Glen Morgan and James Wong, particularly
in their Season 4 "Hey, carry on, you two, the rest of us will be over
working on Millennium, let us know if you need us for anything" stage. After they returned from their failed Space: Above and Beyond experiment, actors from that show started popping up on The X-Files: Tucker Smallwood in Home, Rodney Rowland in Never Again -- and Kristen Cloke in The Field Where I Died. That's where the trouble started for me. I had (and continue to have) a big problem with the fact that this extremely pivotal character episode -- in which it is revealed that Mulder is more tightly bound, cosmically speaking, with Cloke's character than he is with anybody else, including Scully, which in my mind is a gigantic dramatic cheat -- was written, largely, because Morgan thought his girlfriend Cloke did cool voices. I won't go on an anti-TFWID bender now; let's say that I am NOT a fan of this episode and leave it at that. And if it could have been avoided had Morgan not been so gung-ho to cast Cloke (who of course also showed up in a recurring role on Millennium the next year when M & W took that over), well, that would have been just peachy with me. (Don't get me started on how Melissa Scully, also a Morgan/Wong creation, was originally intended to be a love interest for Mulder -- aiiiiiiieeeee, the potential cheesiness is mind-boggling.)

So far, though, none of these actors were particularly well known when
they were cast. Perhaps their presence was a little distracting to people who knew all the ins and outs of the show and all its cast and crew, but to the less-focused the illusion that they were real people instead of transplanted Guest Stars remained intact. But <affecting Hard-Boiled Noir Narrator voice> that was before a little town called Hollywood changed all that. 

First there was Mimi Rogers (also a friend of Duchovny's) as the
instantly annoying Fowley. She arrived in cattiness, and in cattiness she departed. Yay. I was ever so delighted when she took it in the gut in The End, figuring she was a one-time deal. Ah, but it was not to be.

Exhibit C: Hollywood and all its devilish influence. I was a bit dismayed when I saw the roster of famous faces slated to star in X-Files: Fight the Future -- why did we need Blythe Danner, Martin Landau, and Armin Mueller-Stahl? Had Chris Carter forgotten about the "no distractingly famous guest stars" thing? But it was the movie, a sort of special occasion; one had to draw in the non-fans somehow; and they had a huge budget and all that, so why not blow some of it on expensive pseudo-celebrities. They had all that product-placement money from the Intrigue, after all. And so they did, and it was Decent, at least enough so to justify a sequel. So, fine and dandy. 

But there we were, back in L.A. for Season 6, and along with Mulder's
and Scully's ever slicker and more disagreeably trendy clothes and hairstyles, the celeb casting thing got out of hand. Way out of hand. First off, Mimi Rogers as Fowley hadn't been killed off as I'd assumed but was still around, conspicuously resembling Mimi Rogers and giving me unpleasant flashbacks to The Rapture, and basically being a big walking, whining, hooterlicious plot device from hell. We had Wendie Malick, of
all people, as an A.D. Oh, but it went on -- not one but TWO Saturday
Night Live alums, Michael McKean and Nora Dunn, were in Dreamland 1 and 2, and very Saturday-Night-Live-ish the episodes were too. Then we
had another double bill of familiar faces with Ed Asner and Lily Tomlin
in How the Ghosts Stole Christmas, and yet another SNL-er, Victoria
Jackson, in Rain King. Then there was The Adventures of Brisco
County Jr.'s Bruce Campbell in Terms of Endearment, one of the Two
Guys from the Pizza Place in Tithonus, Carol Burnett's daughter Carrie
Hamilton (not strictly a celebrity, I know) in Monday, Michael McKean
yet again in Three of a Kind, ER desk dude Abraham Benrubi in
Arcadia, and even Jesse L. Martin, well-known from his performances in
Rent and his recurring role as Ally's object of twitchy obsession on
Ally McBeal, in The Unnatural. The show began to remind me of the
Batman movies (come on now, did that last one really NEED George
Clooney, Chris O'Donnell, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Uma Thurman, Alicia
Silverstone, Vivica A. Fox, AND supermodels Elle Macpherson and Vendela? Is it really any wonder the franchise has become something of a laughing stock?).

Now, it's not that I objected to the performances of any of these people
(nope, not even Victoria Jackson, who I thought did fine as Sheila -- I
liked "Rain King," so sue me). Some of them I thought were fantastic in
their roles -- Jesse L. Martin, for one. It's just that their presence was, just as the wise surfer had predicted oh so long ago, distracting. Why cast Wendie Malick (of whom I happen to be quite fond, having enjoyed her for years on Dream On), for example, as an assistant director of the FBI when everybody knows her as that model on the sitcom? Why not cast an UNKNOWN 40-ish brunette instead who wouldn't have made me forget what went on in that entire scene because I was scratching my head trying to figure out what the heck she was doing there? Hell, go really crazy and cast someone who DOESN'T look like she could plausibly be an ex-supermodel -- I'd guess most assistant directors of the FBI probably don't anyway. There was a time when TXF seemed to understand this.

There have been plenty of times when I've felt this type of "stunt" casting has worked fine. Darin Morgan in particular seems to have a flair for writing episodes with specific people in mind that work beautifully -- Peter Boyle in Clyde Bruckman; Charles Nelson Reilly in Jose Chung. Two more extremely stunt-y roles in that episode were the Men in Black played by Jesse "The Body" Ventura and Alex Trebek, and I happen to think those were fantastic. I also thought Darin himself was perfect as Eddie "I dunno, it's like Dutch or something" Van Blundht. Another example of opportunistic casting is Sheila Larken as Mrs. Scully -- if I didn't know she was the wife of then-producer Bob Goodwin, I'd have thought they combed the earth to find her. So there are always exceptions.

But if you think about the implications of getting carried away with this name-brand casting, you get some scary possibilities. If they were casting the show today, with all of Hollywood's glorious B-list at their disposal, would they pick craggy-faced Canuck William B. Davis for the menacing Cigarette-Smoking Man, for example? Would they be able to resist the temptation to cast some moderately well-known Hollywood denizen who would make the kids chuckle and say "Hey, lookit, it's -- " Would we be subjected to, say, George Hamilton as the face of pure evil? Tony Randall? Sherman Helmsley? And how about the rest of the cast -- Charlie Sheen as intense, brooding Mulder; Christina Applegate as bright-eyed youngster Scully; Mr. T as Skinner and Ethan and Uma as Krycek and Marita?

Maybe not. The good people in X-Files land have had the sense to cast
some great people even with all the opportunities to go the cheese route
that L.A. offers. I dug the weasely Spender look-alike in Dreamland. Dr. Ngebe in The Sixth Extinction kicked ass. I liked everybody in The Goldberg Variation so much that I can almost forgive David Cassidy and the New Jersey mother in Rush. All in all, though, it still feels as if they're going a little overboard with the celeb casting. And I venture to say that Tea Leoni and Garry Shandling, who are both household names AND close acquaintances of the Dukester, would be a tad much to take. The idea holds just about as much interest for me as watching Duchovny family vacation slides, so if it comes to pass, maybe I'll just skip it, stick in a Season 1 tape, and enjoy the bad hair, the cheap suits, and the glamour-free Canadian extras prancing merrily in the rain. Just the way I like it.

Devout nuns ISO Fest roommates. Ability to blend the perfect 'rita a plus.

In preparation for next month's Fest Registration frenzy you may want to work out rooming details in advance.  This year we have several different options, so I would advise you to come up with alternate plans in case your first choice is unavailable.  We have two deluxe condos, four standard condos, two deluxe cabins, one standard cabin and several motel rooms reserved.  Remember, please DO NOT call McQuoid's until after registration.

For pictures and more details see www.mcquoids.com

The costs listed below are the totals for staying Thurs. through Sun.

• Deluxe condos (10 people)--$815

• Standard condos (10 people)--$740

• Deluxe cabin (6 people)--$535

• Standard cabins (6 people)--$465

With the fear of intimate automotive retaliation hanging over me, I dusted off my resume, looking for thing that I am qualified to discuss. Supposedly.  Anyway.  The word "genetic" caught my eye.  Genetic. Gene.  GENE!  Hey, I know something about genes!  It says so right on my CV.  Here, I'll show you! ... uh... well, maybe later.  Call me.  I'll have it couriered right over.  Really.

This month's scary science word is from about a million different episodes over the last seven years: GENE.

GENE | a specific sequence of nucleotides in DNA or RNA that is located in the germ plasm usually on a chromosome and that is the functional unit of inheritance controlling the transmission and expression of one or more traits by specifying the structure of a particular polypeptide and especially a protein or controlling the function of other genetic material.

Pretty simple, eh?  Great.   See you next month, then.

What?  Shoo, I tell you!  Shoo!

Ok, I'll be honest.  I read that definition (from the terrific archive of
scientific knowledge Ask Dr. Scully  and my overwhelming response was a resounding ... Huh?  A what?  With a what?  What the hell does all that mean anyway?   And how am I going to explain it in my fancy-pantsy prose so that I look smarter than everyone else?

Crap.

Back to altavista, where I started by researching "GENE" and ended up
distracted by endless pages of internet porn search results.  Again.   I hate it when that happens.

So anyway, a GENE.   It's kind of a directional tool.  No, really.  Simply
put, if a strand of DNA is a highway system, genes are the roadmaps (and we all know how important those are, right?).  GENES sit on chromosomes and direct the development and function of the organism: hair color, height, propensity for drilling holes in one's skull, that kind of
thing.

The GENE sits there and directs the development of the organism like your JV field hockey coach doing team assignments.  "You there!  You're hair.  You on the left?  You're going to be part of the eye.  You're blue.  BLUE!  Don't forget that.  It's important. ... You, over there?  You're a b-cell. A B cell.  No, 'B.'  'BEE!'  Like 'boy.'  I don't care that you don't know what that is, you're it.  No, this is not up for discussion.  Go!"  And so on.  It's a difficult job, particularly with all the 'designer gene' jokes floating around.  Everybody's a comedian.

So that's it.  GENE.  This month's scary science word.   Stay tuned next
month, when I'm going to review 'Hanson's Disease' which is, based on my preliminary <ahem> 'research' some kind of mental and aural disorder
particularly targeting pre-pubescent girls temporarily let loose in Strawberries with mommy's credit card.  Or something like that.

In 30 years time, between watching TV specials about the Backstreet Boys'  rehab experiences, you'll probably catch a few XF reruns. You'll think about  your box of X-Files videos in the attic. Some of you may think - how silly  of me! But as you have moved on, you'll probably long for those days.  Wouldn't it be nice to have something to bring you back to the turn of the not-millennium? To the feeling of wet trout slapping against you! To those perverts at #obsse making you laugh far into the night while most normal people were  long asleep! How you went into therapy with Dr.K after Scully shot that Puh-faster guy! Bouts of Panspermia! To a place where words like "tic tac," "ignorant slut," "neener," "prancy" and acronyms like "SRE" and "TETDNSIN" became staples of your everyday vocab. How you never looked at a bee sting or a nosebleed the same again.

So who is 'Most Prancy'? Most likely to join Mensa? Find out in the OBSSE Yearbook.

During the month of February, the OBSSE mailing list members will be polled on different categories. Everyone will be encouraged to respond to the polls, contribute member profiles, pictures and accounts of various OBSSE events around the world, and anecdotes about their favourite memories of life in the Abbey. Whether or not you've been an OBSSE member for two years or two days, you are welcome to contribute.

Who's the biggest chat pervert? Sister Rania (of "The Official OUSFH Test" fame) will be polling you on your favourite chat moments. Sisters Mandy and Skull will be polling you in such exciting categories as "Most Wrong Haired" or "Most likely to have a hole drilled in their head."

In charge of graphics design is Minor Shannon. When she's ready to tamper with...er... use your pictures, she'll let you know where to send 'em.

If you have any questions or would like to help out, please e-mail me. Thanks everyone!

You know the drill - for this month's poll give us your idea of a good caption for the picture below.

Dear Sister Autumn,

I have a question that I think you might find interesting.  You're aware, of course, that in Small Potatoes Scully's pants just sort of...well...vanished.  Sister La.. pointed out to me that in The Episode That Dare Not Speak Its Name, Scully's pantyhose performed a similar feat in magically reappearing.  My question is this--do you think the lower half of Scully's body is some sort of clothing-related Bermuda Triangle?  Or do you suppose she just moves really really quickly when matters of love and lust, shall we say, come up?

Lauren

----------

Dear Princess,

I was with you right up until the Bermuda Triangle hypothesis which, quite frankly, sounds a little bit like something Mulder might come up with. He probably wishes the lower half of Scully's body was like this, but that is neither here nor there. I think the real problem is that you were listening to Sister La.. again when she was talking about... that episode. I know, I know, she's ALWAYS talking about that episode and coming up with her little "theories" to explain away the pantyhose, but this is not the answer. You see, in Small Potatoes Scully had that roaring fire going and she just got really, really warm. So, forgetting she actually had company for once in her life (and given the fact she'd had something to drink) she misheard the lyrics to the song playing on the stereo as "it's funny how pants slip away" and quickly shed them to cool down. Luckily she only uses her powers for good unlike those nasty Rush kids. Either that or the editor screwed up. Take your pick.

Dear Sister Autumn, 

I've had quite a problem for almost a year now, and I'm hoping that you in your infinite wisdom will help me solve it. 

There is a girl at the gym where I work out that is prancy beyond belief.  She is so prancy, in fact, that she makes the WHPBD look like a freakin' Marine.  Now, I've been surrounded by lots of prancy people in the past, but never to this extent.  And the worst part of it is that for some freakish reason, she is always at the gym at the same time that I am, and, she is always directly in front of me on the treadmill when I am on the Stairmaster. 

How can I better describe her pranciness?  Well, she's a very thin girl, and she literally bounces on the treadmill while she runs.  Her ponytail flips back and forth like a...well, like a pony's tail, and she wears pastel t-shirts and doesn't sweat at all.  She even does her stomach crunches in a very prancy fashion.

Now, this wouldn't be a problem at all for me except that I cannot escape her pranciness.  Oftentimes, I consider not going to the gym for fear of being surrounded by her pranciness.  What do you think I should do, Sister Autumn?  At first I thought this was a selfish problem and that I should deal with it on my own, but I worry that her pranciness is infectious and that maybe I'm not the only one concerned about it at the gym.  What if we all start prancing?  What if I suddenly have no control over my hair flips while I'm on the Stair Master?  What if my sweat starts smelling like Luv's Baby Soft?

I'm thinking about staging an intervention to stop her from wearing pink scrunchies and prancing instead of jogging on the treadmill.  Do you think this is the right thing to do?

In turmoil,

Sister Rania
---------- 
Rania,

Pranciness is not something you can catch or we'd all be in trouble after being exposed to Prancapalooza at FEST. I'm afraid that people are either born with the prancing gene or not. Some wisely are able to sublimate their wayward desires, others, like this woman you mention, and the Wrong Haired Prancy Body Double herself, are beyond help. However. Rania. You are not fooling anyone. What I am concerned about here is you. I find it hard to believe that you always being at the gym at the same time as this woman and always being near her to witness the spectacle is a big coincidence. The detail in your letter of her various ways of "prancing" make me wonder if watching others prance is not something you secretly enjoy. In fact I heard that just the other night one of your fellow sisters caught you playing that Hamsterprance commercial over and over and over on the VCR squealing with delight. Needless to say your request to switch rooms to be closer to Sister Jean and her sequins has been denied. And Rania? If I catch you at the Elmoprance site, the only intervention you have to worry about is your own.

Dearest Autumn, who shines as brightly as the planet Venus in the night sky, who is a paragon of patience and decorum, who would never, ever participate in a super-secret Elder plot against the Quiet Prancers who happen to be planning Fest '00:

It was an inauspicious way to begin 1999. I had just moved into my mother's basement after a disastrous year sharing an apartment with a woman I had been friends with since 1982. (A hint to all the sibliren out there -- you should never have to say 'No sex on my living room furniture'). I wasn't expecting much from 1999, but what a year it turned out to be. 

As of today's date (1-4-00) it has been 366 days since my first in-person contact with any other member of the OBSSE. Oh, that glorious day when those of us here in Minnesota gathered to watch "Terms of Endearment." 

Well, the ep left a lot to be desired, but the company did not.

In the past year, the friendships begun that fated night have grown and deepened. In fact, last month, Cherish (aka Synnova) and I began sharing an apartment. Being it was December and we are both good OBSSE sisters, we decided to make a Scullyangel for our tree. 

Actually, Cherish first made one for the small tree she brought to work. It was perfect. Scully shone over the matte black bulbs on the tree and the gift wrapped Mulder under it.

When it came time to make the angel for the 6' Scotch pine in our living room, imagine our distress to discover we had used the last latex glove to make the angel for the smaller tree. Now, we could have cheated and just moved the angel from one tree to the other, but we had painted the second angel red and really wanted the glorious red-suited Scully on our full size
tree. 

So we improvised... And found that a condom (lubricated)  worked perfectly for the skirt of the Scullyangel. 

Now for my question: TETDNSIN notwithstanding, and being that our Saint has had very little contact with latex of the non-glove variety, was this heresy? (And I mean OBSSE heresy, I've already been booted out of church for asking one too many questions at catechism class when I was 12).

I wait with breath that would be bated if I could bate my breath for a month.

Sister Leah, the improbable ninja

(I'm running two letters together. You'll understand why.)

Dearest Autumn, whose demurity, integrity, intelligence, virtue,
reputation and ability to make just decisions is paralleled only by St.
Scully herself,

This Christmas, while decking the halls, my roommate (Sis Leah) and I,
being good little nuns, decided to make a St. Scully tree topper. As a
practice run, I made one for my mini-tree at work, much to the delight
of my co-workers. To give our tree at home additional yuletide cheer, we
decided to use a handpainted redsuit!Scully.  Halfway through the creative process, we realized that we had exhausted our supply of latex gloves, so Leah, in a fit of either ingenuity or blasphemy, decided to improvise and use a condom to make the skirt.  The finished product was gorgeous-the twinkling lights reflecting off of the lubricated surface cast an ethereal glow over the entire living room.  But, now that the holidays are over and I'm no
longer blinded by the luminance of our little craft project, I'm starting to doubt her actions:   Was this wrong? Would Saint Scully approve of this sort of snapping on the  latex? Is Leah going to hell?

Chish

----------

Notice gentle readers that while Leah uses the word "we" for this little craft activity Chish places the blame clearly on Leah's shoulders. However that is neither here nor there as far as I am concerned (though Leah might find it interesting). I mean given the fact that Chish is after all the one known around the Abbey as nonmoviewording cherubic and condoms are after all used for nonmoviewording there could be some default blame placed right there as well. Well, it is logical to me.

Anyway.

Chish. Leah.

I've thought long and hard about this. Seeing as though this is probably the closest The Blessed One has been to a condom in a long, long time I think we can let this lubricated transgression slide, but don't start getting cocky because of this or I'll prick your bubble so fast your head will spin.

Dear Sister Autumn, Who No Longer Has to Lug That Nasty Fish Around Since Getting the Auto-Trout (tm),

You may have noticed that I've managed to totally resubmerge myself in the OBSSE mailing list after the hellidays. However, I seem to have stepped over my usual boundaries and now I'm afraid that the Sibliren think that I'm some kind of spur-wearing, beer guzzling, sex-crazed, foul-mouthed leather freak.

I fear that no one will talk to me at the next Fest.

What can I do to recover my reputation as the quiet wallflower of Fest '99?

Keeping a socially acceptable distance,

Sister Beer
----------

Dear Sister Beer,

Don't worry. No one really believes the guzzling part.

BTW, nice chaps.

Dear Autumn, who is cool and all that,

I know that "dream interpretation" isn't in your job description, but I need sage advice and I've got nothing to lose.

See, this morning, I had a dream I was playing Scrabble with my older brother Jonathan.  I was the first person to go, and to my delight, I could spell "Travelers," which has way too many letters to work, but it was a dream so work with me.  I added up my score (which was something like 98--I got the double word score AND the triple word score to boot), but soon after I completed my turn, I woke up with the most AWFUL cramps.  This morning sucks.  Please let me know what this means. 

Sincerely,
Kinda bitter about the whole experience
----------

Dear Sister Bitter-Tacs,

Travelers? I think you know EXACTLY what it means without me telling you. Do I really need to point out why your actions were Unusually Suspect? The real problem in this dream was your greed. If you'd rightly given yourself Zero Sum for that word there would not be a problem. Frankly, given the transgression I'm surprised the cramps did not last 3 days.

O Sister Autumn, most wise and demure, etc. etc. etc.!

This may not be the most appropriate of questions, but I don't know who else to turn to.  I'm sure you have heard the rumors surrounding the production of the movie "Hannibal." Many people are suggesting that the Earthly Incarnation of our blessed Saint Scully should play the part of Clarice Starling now that Jodie Foster has decided not to.  I am not one of those people.

I think it would be a terrible, terrible thing to encourage unenlightened 
people to think of Dana Scully as Clarice Starling's lesser sister.  Believe 
me.  I have experience with these people, and the superficial similarities 
between the two women have already confused them.  It's terrible to see that happen.  Clarice is all right, but she can not hold a candle to Dana Katherine Scully, she of the enigmatically raised eyebrow.  Beside that, the critics will crucify any actress who dares to step into Jodie Foster's shoes.  It doesn't seem to be a good career move.

The problem is that I have always been very supportive of the acting careers of the EI and her co-star outside of "The X-Files," in part because I think that's what She-Who-Weilds-the-Machete would want.  Now I'm very confused.  The question of What Would Scully Do has become too surreal for me to successfully answer.  I want to support the Earthly Incarnation because she is indeed a wonderful, talented actress, but I can't bear to think of her playing Clarice Starling.

Autumn, please advise me.  Am I wrong to feel to this way?  Should I offer some sort of penance?  Am I just in need of serious medication?  (With me, that's always a possibility.)

Befuddledly yours,
Mari
----------

Mari,

As the point is moot why worry about it? 

Oh, and don't believe every internet rumor you hear.

Also, I'd op for the medication given the choice.

dear auntie sister autumn,

just a quick question...is the cell phone that comes with the scully PI toxic if swallowed?  no reason for asking.  really.  i'm just uh...curious.  yeah.  no
need to mention this to my mother or anything.

oopsie,
little sister sarah g.
----------

Sarah,

I would assume not since my cats have eaten three of them and two of the flashlights. So, not to worry. Hypothetically. This too shall pass. Just don't go shoving them up your nose, OK?

Dear Sister Autumn, (Oh God, not again...)

First off, I have to say that Sister CC's massive missive did NOT, so to say, "conjure me back up." I simply assumed you would have printed my last letter explaining my self-discovery of the faults of that silly "Dana Scully = Danu, Celtic Goddess" theory I had, and that would be fine and dandy. (At this point I'm sure people can't believe that I do not indeed print every single letter you write me. In fact, I bet some feel, much like myself that you've written at least one letter for every column since the beginning of time.) But I also spent the Month of December with other problems I feel that need to be addressed to your wisest sage attention.

(Even though you think I can be magically conjured.)

First off, while Hunting down a John Lennon/Jeremy Hillary Boob, Ph.D. "Yellow Submarine" figure set (no comment) at Toy R Us to accompany the George & Paul (no comment) sets I got for Christmas, I discovered that they had a huge collection of Saint Scully Action Icons heavily discounted at $3.99 each. Well, having not gotten the Antarctic WinterFun!Scully Action Icon with silly "Alien Deep Freeze" accessory, I decide to plunk down an extra $4. It was when I opened the package that I discovered something odd: The Antarctic WinterFun!Scully Action Icon was taller then the fashionable Office Scully Icons I already had (and paid $14 and $6 each, mind you)!!  Sure enough, when scaling each Saint Scully Icon with a ruler and an estimated scaling of the Ditching Punk figure still encased in its plastic package for future sale to some lust-crazed Duchovnik, the WinterFun!Saint Scully is the equivalent of five normal scale inches taller than Saint Scully and is actually almost as tall as the Punk PornMeister figure! Puzzled, I tried figuring out what happened. Well, the idea that the Bumbling Mulder had actually rescued some Hybrid St. Scully in the Alien Incubator, leaving the Real Blessed One to Sail Away off into Space and allowing the often ridiculous & poorly produced Sagas of the Saint of the recent few years DID pop up for a second, but remembering your advice from November, I quickly dropped this thought. (Quickly? I find that hard to believe.)

So the theories now stand at:

1) One of the artists at Todd McFarlane Toys (makers of said Saint Scully Action Icons) assigned to crafting this lovely facsimile of the Fantastic Forensic Fed was more accustomed to making imaginatively endowed Super heroines in tight spandex, and thus made an error in dimensioning the Original Saint Scully Icon before shipping it to the Mold Makers. (You got all this from the height of a doll? Um, I mean no comment.)

2) Chris Carter, the Creator of the Saga sadly put Frank Spotnit-witz in charge of relaying the proper dimensions of the WinterFun!Saint Scully Action Icon to Todd McFarlane Toys. (Oh, I see. Frank Spotnitz, president of 1013 productions and assistant in charge of making sure doll dimensions match between different models...)

So which of these last two is more plausible?
(Did you simply consider that maybe one doll had higher heeled shoes?)

SECONDLY, Another Christmas gift caused a bit of concern regarding the Philosophy of The Blessed One. In the forward to a weird fantasy fiction anthology "Cthulhu 2000" (featuring writers such as Harlan Ellison, Roger Zelzany, and Poppy Z. Brite), there was a reference to noted Astronomer Allan Dressler. In a Scientific American article entitled "The Creatures of Hyperspace," he stated that in the next hundred years or so, Science will reach the absolute limits of being able to answer those seemingly impossible Cosmological questions such as "What Happened Before the Big Bang," "What's Beyond the Known Universe," and "How in the heck did John Shiban get a job with 1013?" Namely, Questions that can Never be answered. Yet, the teaching of St. Scully indicate that in Science are Found all the Answers to our questions.

So what gives?

(Try this on for size. "Nothing happens in contradiction to nature, just in contradiction to what we know of it.")

Sure, we all know that St. Scully has a degree in Physics (and rewrote Einstein), but this guy has a bloody doctorate in Astrophysics as opposed to a mere Bachelor's degree.  Why would he make such a statement unless it had some inkling of the truth, particular due to the fact it was in Scientific American as opposed to let's say Omni. (Because he'll be dead in 100 years and no one can prove him wrong?) After all, The Blessed One investigates weird crimes as opposed to the vastness of the universe. Crimes, no matter how bizarre, all have to have a perpetrator, whether it's wacked-out mutants, secret government powers, aliens, or even little green body fluid-sucking flying bugs. Before Big Bang...who knows? Past the Visible Universe... Who knows? Jon Shiban as XF producer...Who wants to know? 

So are there Cosmic Questions That can NEVER be Answered by Science or Not? Or has this Astronomer dude been spending too much time staring at the Wrong Heavenly bodies (namely, NOT the Earthly Avatar of the Blessed One)?

Perhaps this second question should be addressed to Sister Lens of Science as she handles the Scientific Explanations for the Order while you dish out the wisest of more Personal advice to us unworthy Brothers and Sisters of the Order. (Lensie, you owe me for handling this one.)

Thanks in advance,

Brother RJ, who confesses he only did well in 1 of 3 Physics classes (Heat, Light, & Sound) 
----------

RJ. To quote a great song from Romeo Void: "Never say NEVER." And  no, the rest of the song does not apply.

 

by Lauren  Once upon a time a beautiful Scientist went searching through an allegedly enchanted forest hunting for SRE-able events.  Armed only with her extraordinary courage, protective chest padding, and a sharp machete, she penetrated deep into the forest. Suddenly she heard a melodious voice begin to sing, "who's the black private dick who's a sex machine with all the chicks..."  She followed the voice until she came to a tower in a clearing.  "SHAAAAFT!"  the voice crescendoed.  Our Scientist winced.  Maybe the voice wasn't quite as melodious as she thought. Our Scientist heard the unmistakable sound of hooves approaching, and thought it might be wise to hide behind a nearby fruit tree.  A he-witch came to a stop on a speckled steed, and leapt off the horse in all his bare-chested, saggy glory.  He minced over to the tower and shouted, "Mulderpunzel!  Mulderpunzel!  Let down your ugly ties!"  From the sole window of the tower, a rope of garishly colored ties dropped towards the ground.  The he-witch groaned and grunted his way to the top.  From her vantage point below the tower, our Scientist heard bits and pieces of the conversation.  Words like, "flashing lights", "they were ABDUCTED!" and "dodger dogs" buzzed through the air like giant unidentified flying objects from space--no, wait, like the Knights' top secret catapult test materials.  Our Scientist was intrigued.  'A-ha!' she thought, 'Finally, I am mere steps away from the elusive SRE-ables!' The Ugly Rope of Ties was once again cast out of the tower, and the he-witch sort of slid/sort of jiggled his way down.  Our Scientist waited prudently (Prudent is as prudent does, she always says) until the he-witch rode off in all his bare-chested glory, then tiptoed to the tower.  "Mulderpunzel, Mulderpunzel, let down your ugly ties!" Mulderpunzel, sitting in the tower dribbling ye olde basketballe with one hand and giving himself a new, shorter hairdo with the other, found himself intrigued by this new voice.  "The truth is out there," he muttered, "and it apparently likes my ties."  He unwound the Ugly Rope of Ties and threw it out the window. Suddenly, climbing in his bedroom window appeared the most extraordinary Scientist he'd ever seen!!  She rose to all of her five-foot tall glory, looked around the teensy tower room, and said, "Mulderpunzel, it's me.  I have come to bring you SREs." They talked long hours into the night, and by the time she had finished explaining the way the world REALLY works, Mulderpunzel was not only scientifically enlightened, but deeply in love with the Scientist.  The Scientist, although she knew that Mulderpunzel was ye olde Punke and not worthy, felt some form of affection for Mulderpunzel as well.  She promised to return to him later in the week and bring him a liverwurst sandwich and some root beer.  Or maybe iced tea, depending what was available at the Stoppe and Shoppe. The next day, as Mulderpunzel continued snipping away at his unruly hairdo,  he heard the old, saggy he-witch call to him--"Mulderpunzel, Mulderpunzel, let down your Ugly Ties!"  And because Mulderpunzel always said Trust No One, but never ever actually trusted no one, he threw down the Ugly Rope of Ties.  The he-witch came huffing and puffing up the Ugly Rope of Ties and struggled through the window.  "Ugh, He-witch, can't you please put a shirt on?"  Mulderpunzel begged, shielding his eyes,  "at least my true love, the Scientist, has enough sense to wear her protective chest pads.  Even to bed." The He-witch flew into a rage at the discovery that Mulderpunzel's irrational soul had been corrupted by a rational, scientific thinker.  He cast Mulderpunzel into the desert, but not before he took away Mulderpunzel's Cellular Scribe.  The He-witch then settled into the tower to await the return of the Scientist.  Like sundialwork, our Scientist returned right exactly when she told Mulderpunzel she would. "Mulderpunzel, Mulderpunzel, yadda yadda yadda.." she called out.  The Ugly Rope of Ties came through the tower window once again, and she shimmied up the outside of the shaft like lightning.  She hopped into the room and gasped in surprise, the sandwich and stein of what may or may not have been iced tea rolling underneath the dresser.  The horrible He-witch faced her instead of her definitely appreciated but not necessarily beloved Mulderpunzel! "So," he mumbled, lighting forest leaves wrapped in parchment and inhaling, "you're the rational one." Our Scientist became filled with righteous indignation.  "Did you smite my Mulderpunzel?  DID YOU SMITE MY MULDERPUNZEL?" "I'll tell you," muttered the He-witch. "TELL ME!  TELL ME!"  our scientist shrieked, but not in a girly way.  Instead of telling her, though, the He-witch tossed her out the window, where she landed in a big old thorny bush.  The thorns pricked her eyes, causing a thoroughly rational, unsupernatural blindness.  She picked herself up, dusted herself off, and set out to find her way out of the forest and into some sort of treatment, science's attempt at exorcism. For two long years Mulderpunzel wandered through the barren desert, searching for his one in 4,500 (keep in mind this was a long time ago and populations were significantly lower what with plague and all).  Our Scientist, meanwhile, found no cure for her malady and decided to hit the road in search of SREs elsewhere. During his mindless wandering, Mulderpunzel bumped into our Scientist, but was at first too wrapped up in himself to realize what was going on or who she was.  Lucky for him, the Scientist was a bit quicker.  "Mulderpunzel, it's me.  Where are you?"  she asked, reaching out.  He let out a girly shriek on realizing that at last he had found his true love and began to bawl like a baby.  Two imperfect tears dripped into our Scientist's eyes which caused her own tear ducts to water in response.  Her own tears, long unshed as she was a private kind of girl, leapt out of her tearducts, did full twisting double back somersaults, and landed in her eyes with minimal splash.  Her sight was restored!  She jumped for joy, then turned the full power of her restored vision on Mulderpunzel.  "Thank God you've let your hair grow," she said.  He leapt into her arms and vowed never to leave her side again, no matter how tempting the urge to ditch became.  They lived as happily ever after as rational thought will allow.

Pull up a dental chair, secure your own mask, making sure that gas flow has started before assisting any children and get comfortable, as Il Pilgrino asks the musical question, "What the hell do I need more then 4 teeth for, anyway? Spares?"

Greetings Sibliren, and welcome to the first installment of Dr. Pilgrim's 3D House of Assistant D.A.s. I am Dr. Pilgrim, your host.

It just so happens that you have dropped in on Il Pilgrino and myself on Correspondence Day, when we catch up on answering all those letters and death threats that come into the FFTower. Some of them are pretty routine.for example a request from Ted Kaczynski, written on Hello Kitty stationary, asking Seymour Little Feather if he'd take over that little defense attorney chore for him. The inimitable Mr. Little Feather has already given me his answer to forward.sadly he just hasn't the time. Fast Eddie's plate is quite full at the moment. First off are his ongoing efforts as part of David Duchovny's legal "Dream Team" in his ongoing suit against Fox (the current legal argument being put forward by the team being "I want more money and if you don't give it to me I will hold my breathe until I turn blue.I HATE you, I HATE YOU!!" Lead Counsel Johnnie Cochran wanted to go with "Carter's a twit, you must acquit" but was outvoted.). The other project taking up his time is of course his continuing efforts as marketing tsar of the L'Oreal Jersey Devil cosmetics and lifestyle enhancers collection. 1999's biggest sellers were Jersey Devil Spray-on Body Moss and the Basically Bestial eye shadow three-pack (Fatty Soot, Aged Bone Marrow and Interesting Fungal Infection), with exciting new additions expected in 2000 (How does the thought of "Jersey Devil Millennial Mutations: Home Plastic Surgery Kits for the Woman Who Wants a Change" grab you, hmmmmm?). Therefore, I sent poor old Ted Fast Eddie's rejection note along with the autographed picture of SpicedRum in her "Virtual Cat Suit" that he had asked for ("You dah BOMB, luv and smoochies, SpicyFF"). It's always best to stay on the good side of a former customer.

That brings me to the main item on my "To Do" list today, which is to write, along with Il Pilgrino the Tot of Terror an open letter to the aforementioned David Duchovny concerning the possibility of an 8th season. The last time we composed a father/son letter was about a month ago when we sent Il Pilgrino's Holiday Wish list wrapped around the hoof of a certain Reindeer who shall remain nameless (but just between us, that Prancer has ALWAYS gotten on my nerves anyway.nasty bushwhacking animal). 

At any rate..without further ado.

Dear David..

You may not remember me, but I was the father of the baby that EMT workers pried off your ankle at a recent charity event. At the time his Au-Pair was busy trying to get the members of Barenaked Ladies to sign her, um.well.it was an accident. I hope they were able to stop the bleeding, and that you received your Hugo Boss loafer that we returned via your agent. The tassel was already gone when Il Pilgrino.um."borrowed" it. 

Myself and the Infant Terrible would like to take advantage of our somewhat traumatic acquaintance with you (He still drools whenever I let him watch Red Shoes Diaries.and that's BEFORE the action starts) to give you some advice concerning your upcoming decision about continuing with the X-Files for one more season.that is, for season 8. 

As I see it, you have the following reasons to continue as Mulder.

• Two words - David Caruso. 
• You'd have to buy your own Flow-Bee if you leave.
• Federal law mandates that there can only be one washed up TV personality per family, and this is a census year.
• They already cast Charlie's third Angel so you're too late.
• Most video outlets bought two copies of Playing God for rental and ended up over stocked.
• Baywatch has been on for 12 years Dave.Count em.TWELVE. And Hasselhoff doesn't even know what STATE Yale is in.
• Costar with Minnie Driver as much as you want David, but I have SEEN Matt Damon.and you are No Matt Damon, Mr. Duchovny.
• Leaving a top TV show to record syrupy pop ballads and live and die on the talk show circuit has already been done by David Soul AND John Stamos.for god's sake try and be more original.

• If you leave the X-Files, you'll lose all the fawning web sites, screaming fan adulation, hero-worship and celebrity attention that you hate so much..

Thanks for your time, and sorry again about the tetanus shot.

Yours,
Dr. William Pilgrim and son

NEXT MONTH ON DR. PILGRIM'S 3D HOUSE OF ASSISTANT
D.A.S:  Well Manicured Woman's Guide to Phile-Style .Tips on
Paranormal Etiquette for the Scullyist On The Go ... and what exactly IS Hemofacial Plastic Surgery?

The Professor was there continuing his research of the sexual dynamics of Human-Yak relations, which resulted in his best selling self-help books such as Men are from Mars and Yaks are from Wherever They Damn Well Please and Better Sex through Musk. Tragically, when Young Dr. Pilgrim was 13, his father was tragically killed along with the better part of the East German Women's swim team in a tragic Yakking accident. His mother had also died tragically when he was but a babe, succumbing to a severe attack of
death, stranded high in the Himalayas far from a Dairy Queen, so with no family save for his Sherpa blood brother, who would tragically go onto a career as Ric
Ocasek, lead singer of The Cars, Pilgrim marched through SE Asia humiliating Red Chinese patrols who had been sent to capture him at any cost by the ruthless Tong crime queen Saigon Sui.

Once in the United States, Pilgrim completed his doctorate from the University of Texas El Paso, and
then, after his young and vivacious girlfriend was killed by agents of Saigon Sui, still seeking to
capture the brilliant young man to work on her sadistic mass origami scheme, Pilgrim went into hiding. It was while masquerading for two years as Cinnamon, the mysterious and flamboyant lover of hard drinkin', hard lovin' rodeo star Rusty Cargill that he first met NancyFF, who due to one overdue library book too many was masquerading as hard drinkin', hard lovin' rodeo star Rusty Cargill. The rest is history.
 

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