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- forb (forb) n. an herb
other than grass. [from Greek phorbe fodder, food, from
pherbein to graze.]
John and Gina Mai
are on vacation this week.
Please check back later.
This week's donation goes to:
"This is a fine game, whether played individually or
with the original game. Definitely delve into the past a little
further with this new game of paradox and time travel. And while
there, pick up a tasty treat." -- Wayne
Tonjes, reviewing Early
American Chrononauts at the GamingReport.com
lost a very dear friend this week: Aslan, our oldest and most
important cat, has taken his final nap.
I vividly recall the first time I met Aslan. It was 18 years
ago, back when I was just starting out as a programmer
at NASA. My wacky co-worker Kristin Wunderlich had just gotten
a cute little kitten she'd named Aslan, and she brought him in
to work one day to show him off to everyone. I remember walking
down to her office to see where she was hiding this little gray
fuzzball: she'd set up a special little nook for him inside one
of the drawers of her big gray government desk! He was only there
that one day, for a few hours after lunch, but it made a big
impression on me. Who was this zany woman who would bring a kitten
to the office? Little did I realize then that I would someday
marry that wonderful wacky girl, and that Aslan would in turn
become my cat as well.
Of course, I have many other happy memories of this most excellent
cat (and some not so pleasant ones, like the time when he had
a big fight with my cat Iggy, during which Aslan bit my hand
and I had to go to the Emergency Room to get a couple of stitches).
Perhaps my favorite Aslan memory is simply the nightly tradition
he had of climbing onto your chest when you were lying down on
your back and "bonking" his face against your chin.
He was so sweet! We shall all miss him very very much.
Although we're all terribly sad about the passing of such
a dear friend, we also remind ourselves that he lived a very
full and happy life and departed with contentment and dignity.
We've all had plenty of time to say goodbye. Towards the end,
it was clear that his time was nearly up, but even after he became
terribly thin and frail, he was still able to move around with
surprising agility. He kept climbing the stairs to take naps
in all his favorite spots around the house, right up until his
final, peaceful nap in one of his all-time favorite places: a
final nap ended around sunrise today. This evening, we buried
him in a corner of our backyard. We planted a pussy willow tree
over him, so that Aslan can nourish new life as it grows above
him. In the springtime, the tree's buds will look like his fur.
When the tree gets tall, it will fill in a hole in the sky that's
been there ever since we had that big dead tree removed 3
Goodbye, Aslan. You will live in our hearts forever.
to being alive!
||It would seem as though the design for my card
has been used, without my knowledge, consent, compensation, or
credit, as the basis for a game called Search,
Ponder, and Play! released by a Mormon-oriented publisher
called Covenant Communications. But hey, at least it's getting
good reviews! :-)
||"We seem to have convinced young people
that binge drinking is safer than smoking even a little marijuana.
54.4 percent of 12- to-17-year olds said they considered it a
'great risk' to their health to smoke any amount of marijuana
once or twice per week. Only 38.5 percent saw great risk in binge
drinking once or twice a week. Policy has come completely unhinged
from reality. Despite a tripling of marijuana arrests since the
Nixon era, marijuana use has skyrocketed while officials pick
through the data for encouraging snippets and ignoring the big
picture. Worse, they find reason to cheer at figures suggesting
that we may be driving kids away from a comparatively benign
drug toward one that is far more lethal."
-- Bruce Mirken, "Dressing
||"This current American juggernaut is the
mightiest empire the world has ever seen, and it is absolutely
immune to the individual. Short of violent crime, it has assimilated
the individual's every conceivable political action into mainstream
commercial activity. It fears only one thing: organization. That's
why the one thing that would have really shaken Middle America
last week wasn't 'creativity.' It was something else: uniforms.
Three hundred thousand people banging bongos and dressed like
extras in an Oliver Stone movie scares no one in America. But
300,000 people in slacks and white button-down shirts, marching
mute and angry in the direction of Your Town, would have instantly
necessitated a new cabinet-level domestic security agency." -- Matt Taibbi, "The
60s Are Over!"