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a disjointed Sunday

Woke up at 0430 due to some transient pain in the groin and couldn't get back to sleep; wound up re-reading Quartered safe Out Here, playing Civicrack and listening to classical music. It's strange: I find these days that Christmas pop music annoys me no end, but I don't mind choral arrangements of the classic Christmas hymns or instrumental versions of the same. Anyhow, I spent the rest of the morning farting around on the computer and eventually ran out of steam around 1130. I don't nap often, but today seemed like a good day for it. Hopefully it won't completely screw up my sleep cycle.

D.C. cop brings gun to a snowball fight. Seventeen police forces in the District, and the DC police manage to find the most retarded of the lot. Go figure. (Instapundit)

I guess I picked a bad time to stop drinking. Coffee, that is; a few years back I cut down on coffee because I thought all the caffeine was messing me up. Bad idea, apparently, although I think my diet and lack of exercise would have gotten me to the state I'm in sooner or later anyway. (Ibid.)

I saw people out walking today, although it was hard to tell whether they were walking in the streets or on the sidewalks. Maintenance came to shovel out the steps and sidewalk to my building, but I stayed inside anyway. Nothing to go out for, really.

Decided to forgo the apocalyptic delights (sic) of Lucifer's Hammer and instead delved into my collection of Analog issues from the 70s to find Robert Silverberg's Shadrach in the Furnace, a story about the personal physician of Genghis Mao IV, ruler of the plague-wracked Earth of the 21st century through the Permanent Revolutionary Committee. Genghis Mao is old, and sustained through organ transplants; his personal physician, Shadrach Mordecai, is linked to him through telemetry implants that keep him aware of the Chairman's biological processes. Shadrach also supervises the three projects by which Genghis Mao seeks immortality: one that will translate the Chairman's mind into a robot, another that will regenerate his brain cells, and a third that will transplant the Chairman's mind into another human. It's a fascinating story, and I remember thinking at the time how much different it was from all the New Wave stuff Silverberg had written for Galaxy and other venues in the 1960s and 70s. It still feels that way, and I still like it immensely.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
darksumomo
Dec. 21st, 2009 04:49 am (UTC)
I think I have those same Analogs in my bedroom in my mom's house. And, yes, Shadrach in the Furnace is my favorite Silverberg novel. Also, the pandemic in that story was eerily prescient. Imagine airborne AIDS on meth and steroids, and that's organ rot.
wombat_socho
Dec. 21st, 2009 04:21 pm (UTC)
That was a good time to be an Analog subscriber, the 1970s. Ben Bova was a great successor to John W. Campbell, Jr., and I wish he's stuck around longer as editor.
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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