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From The Teacher List - "I heard about this from my friend Michelle Huot, in which her colleague, Michelle Goodale, was a participant. Geodesic domes are made of interlocking geometric shapes--often triangles. Because loads are spread over many triangles, these domes are especially strong. Often made of aluminum bars and plexiglass, they're also light compared to ordinary domes."
In an e-mail I replied that I started Cheeses of Nazareth (which lives on in a truncated form courtesy of the Internet Archive) circa 1996 in a vain (as in conceited) attempt to attract public attention to my writings. This was before blogs existed.
I turned to blogs about four years ago. My first blog, Agog, was a social experiment formulated while teaching seventh grade social studies.
Today I blog out of frustration. Out of a sense of duty. And, of course, because I'm vain.
I've trusted Bill Moyers for as long as I can remember. Now, he's issued a timely clarion call to the nation. It's a long read, but worth it. Here's the crux -
The people out across the country on the front lines of this fight have brought the message down to earth, in plain language and clear metaphors. If a player sliding into home plate reached into his pocket and handed the umpire $1000 before he made the call, what would we call that? A bribe. And if a lawyer handed a judge $1000 before he issued a ruling, what do we call that? A bribe. But when a lobbyist or CEO sidles up to a member of Congress at a fundraiser or in a skybox and hands him a check for $1000, what do we call that? A campaign contribution.
The Digital Universe, a network of information portals, is being touted as a Wikipedia alternative. According to the press release, unlike Wikipedia, all content will be written or verified by experts.
The splash page looks inviting. My old (1997) Mac can't handle the site, however, so you're on your own.
I won three dollars today on the Powerball so I drove over to Coas Books looking for Nabokov's The Defense, but they didn't have it, so I browsed the few titles there and, after reading the first paragraph (below) of his autobiography, Speak, Memory, I almost bought in, but changed my mind when I thumbed through Pale Fire.
The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness. Although the two are identical twins, man, as a rule, views the prenatal abyss with more calm than the one he is heading for (at some forty-five hundred heartbeats an hour). I know, however, of a young chronophobiac who experienced something like panic when looking for the first time at homemade movies that had been taken a few weeks before his birth. He saw a world that was practically unchanged - the same house, the same people - and then realized that he did not exist there at all and that nobody mourned his absence. He caught a glimpse of his mother waving from an upstairs window, and that unfamiliar gesture disturbed him, as if it were some mysterious farewell. But what particularly frightened him was the sight of a brand-new baby carriage standing there on the porch, with the smug, encroaching air of a coffin; even that was empty, as if, in the reverse course of events, his very bones had disintegrated.
Oh, to be able to express my bones in such manner!
The hook - "It's 2054, and nine out of every ten people around the world now use surrogates—remote-controlled artificial bodies—to do everything. Work, fight, hang out, eat, even sex can all be performed through the usage of surrogates." The comic.
The movie? The videogame?