Genus

Care of "Asimov Laughs Again," page 179.

It was extremely unusual for a Foy to be dying on earth. They were the highest social class on their planet (which had a name that was pronounced - as nearly as earthly throats could make the sounds - Sortibackenstrete) and were virtually immortal.
Every Foy, of course, came to a voluntary death eventually, and this one had given up because of an ill-starred love affair, if you can call it a love affair where five individuals, in order to reproduce, must indulge in a yearlong mental contact. Apparently, the Foy had not fit into the contact after several months of trying, and it had broken his heart - or hearts, for he had five.
All Foys had five large hearts and there was speculations that it was this that made them virtually immortal.
Maude Briscoe, earth's most renowned surgeon, wanted those hearts. "It can't be just their number and size, Ray," she said to her chief assistant. "It has to be something physiological or biochemical. I must have them."
"I don't know if we can manage that," said Ray Johnson. "I've been speaking to him earnestly, trying to overcome the Foy taboo against dismemberment after death. I've had to lie to him, Maude."
"Lie?"
"I told him that after death, there would be a dirge sung for him by the world-famous choir led by Harold J. Gassenbaum. I told him that, by earthly belief, this would mean that his astral essence would be instantaneously wafted back, through hyperspace, to his home planet of Sortib-what's-it's-name - provided he would sign a release allowing you, Maude, to have his hearts for scientific investigation."
"Don't tell me he believed that."
"Well, you know this modern attitude about accepting the myths and beliefs of intelligent aliens. It wouldn't have been polite for him not to believe me. Besides, the Foys have a profound admiration for earthly science and I think this one is a little flattered that we should want his hearts. He promised to consider the suggestion and I hope he decides soon because he can't live more than another day or so, and we must have his permission by interstellar law, and the hearts must be fresh - Ah, his signal."
Ray Johnson moved in with smooth and noiseless speed.
"Yes?" he whispered, unobtrusively turning on the holographic recording device in case the Foy wished to grant permission.
The Foy's large, gnarled, rather treelike body lay motionless on the bed. His bulging eyes palpitated - all five of them - as they rose, each on its stalk, and turned toward Ray. The Foy's voice had a strange tone and the lipless edges of his open mouth did not move, but the words formed perfectly. His eyes were making the Foyan gestures of assent as he said,
"Give my big hearts to Maude, Ray. Dismember me for Harold's choir. Tell all the Foys on Sortibackenstrete that I will soon be there - "

Care of "Asimov Laughs Again," page 179, a very worthy read.

Newb!

My wife has been fired.

I have finally gotten a degree (associates). And IBM (a company that I've always liked) has a life sciences division that would be happy to have me after I wrap up my certificate.

This all amounts to mixed feelings. I shall hence bury myself in the latest expansion for "The Sims 2" and ignore it.

Go me!

Faire days

With a title like that I should probably post about marijuana abuse at renfests, but I shall save that until I have some experience or at least observation regarding the topic.

No, today I speak of the odd quest I have, almost obsession, with proving my Native American Lineage.

Here's the problems:

My family really didn't keep much in the way of records.
Native Americans didn't necessarily have records.
Geneaology is hard (after a point)
and
I'm lazy.

My obsessiveness is interesting. You give me a possible lead (say, "that's buried in the Dawes.") and I'll pursue it through 400 pages, and I'll go back to double check.

But it takes me about 2 years since I seriously started looking for proof of my ancestory to bother finding out what the requirements for joining a tribe are.

Turns out they're pretty simple (for the Cherokee... I hear other tribes are different). Have an ancestor on the Dawes. The Dawes Roll, named after the Senator that oversaw its production, lists the names of a bunch of Indians that bothered to show up. It was supposed to be everyone in the "civilized tribes", but what are the odds?

At any rate, I've got one. The hard part now is proving it. I'm no where near where most of my family is, so mostly I have to wait until they provide paperwork, near as I can tell. I can poke them, prode, whine, cajole, and possibly bribe... but I can't walk down to the department of records and get stuff. I'm also pretty broke right now (a good reason to continue my quest... I want help going to school). It should put me at something like 1/32, which is low... but it might be enough.

Thoughts?

Da Po-lees

Some might think that I'm referring to an NWA song by that title, and note the missing word with some alarm.

Yep. But it's not official. And it should end with an "ed".

I'm also concerned about my friends out LA way that still haven't returned phone calls, but it's not as immediate as what's going on in my house (go figure).

Stay tuned.

Woohoo!

A few days back someone in class called me an "old freak."

My response was, "you haven't met my father!"

Of course, when I really do get old I'll water the lawn in my boxers while wearing a flamingo. Seeing as how I've gotta keep up my end of the bellcurve so that others can be "normal."

Don't thank me, I'm just doing my job.

Damn!

Physics.

I love theoretical Physics. I can talk all day about the stuff. Especially the quantum and astro- stuff. That's good warm science. That stuff makes me want to run around in my underwear outside in the rain.

The laws of motion, on the other hand, are kicking my ass. Especially the actual math part of them. Word/Story problems. As you may have noticed, my posting has slowed tremendously, and it won't get much better during the semester. Or Christmas break. And probably not the Spring.