One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
by Scott Hardie on March 11, 2007
Ah, Newsweek. You deliver a comprehensive cover story about the current state of evolutionary theory, barely slipping in a quick nod to the cultural debate, in an article that sticks wisely to the science. What do you follow up with as the B story in this week's science section? Unlocking your psychic powers.
One Reply to One Step Forward, Two Steps Back
Logical Operator
The creator of Funeratic, Scott Hardie, blogs about running this site, losing weight, and other passions including his wife Kelly, his friends, movies, gaming, and Florida. Read more »
R.I.P. Harry
It's been a melancholy weekend since learning of the passing of a family friend. Fifty years ago, Harry and my mother went on a date. They didn't quite click, but she liked him enough to introduce him to her best friend, and sparks flew between them that soon led to marriage and a lifetime of gratitude to my mother for introducing them. Go »Love, Scott
Today is my mother Joan's 70th birthday. I wish her all the happiness in the world, but the occasion brings me feelings of guilt, for I have nothing to give her. Partly that because of bad timing, since she's on a cruise with her boyfriend Andy at the moment. Go »Stepson
She hasn't come out and told me yet, but it seems pretty clear that my mom is engaged, or at least planning to get married to her boyfriend. I wish them both happiness, especially my mom after eleven solitary years as a widow. This is great news for both of them! Go »R.I.P. Bob
My friend and former co-worker Bob, who provided us with jerky at GooCon: Siesta Key, recently passed away of a sudden illness. He was a quirky dude, occasionally given to hostile pranks, but usually a delightful and friendly presence whenever he saw you. I don't know how much his service in Vietnam warped him, but he definitely wasn't like anyone else I knew, prone to making weird jokes and unexplained connections between ideas. Go »R.I.P. Mom
You were so still in your bed when I could finally sit down beside you, a few hours after the facility notified me that you had died. I hadn't seen you be that peaceful in years, your eyes not scanning the room for clues, your hands not turning over each object in front of you for endlessly repeated examination. I whispered to you the most urgent and most precious things I had to say, the secrets and atonements and wishes foremost on my mind. Go »
Lori Lancaster | March 13, 2007
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