I’m out at Midway Field with the Minnesota Atheists, and as you can see, we have seized control of the local baseball team.
It’s the start of the fourth inning, and the score is 0-0. I think the problem is that Amanda Knief and Greta Christina are not cheering the team on — they were lured away to the concession stand by the siren call of fried cheese curds.
The atheists must win!
This is Thunderdome, the unmoderated open thread on Pharyngula. Say what you want, how you want.
Status: UNMODERATED; Previous thread
A small fraction of the Horde gathered at Women in Secularism 2, and they dismounted long enough to stand for a portrait.
Mount up again, we’ve got a world to conquer!
Amongst the debris left over from last night’s late ruckus in my hotel room, I find in my possession many empty wine and beer bottles, a quarter of a fifth of vodka, one set of mysterious keys and a Shelley Segal CD. Look for me at the conference and I’ll return them to you.
Except for the clutter, the room is surprisingly tidy and undamaged. You atheists really have no idea how to trash a hotel room, do you?
He’s still dying of cancer, but it’s good to see a godless heathen like him still finding happiness in his life.
Discovering the sheer extent and depth of the feelings people have expressed on the message board over the past two weeks has been truly astounding.
I feel treasured, I feel loved, I feel I’ve done more than just pursue the craft I adore and make a living from it, and more than just fulfil the only real ambition I’ve ever had – of becoming a professional writer. I am deeply flattered and touched, and I can’t deny I’ve been made to feel very special indeed. At the same time, though, I’d like to think that it’s like this for every author, to a greater or lesser degree; we’ve each engendered more love out there than we think we have, and it’s only the fact that I’ve been able to pre-announce my own demise that has allowed me to realise my portion of that love in full while I’m still around to appreciate it.
Now I’m thinking…I’ve never met him and I guess I never will now, but I should send him a note of appreciation. We’re all alone in this world except when we’re not, so making the effort to touch another human being is rarely wasted.
(Also…cancer sucks.)
If I impulsively set up a Google+ hangout at 8pm my time (in about an hour), would anyone join it? I might try it anyway, just because. To talk about whatever.
Absolutely nothing of any significance was said. We just had a pleasant evening of social chit-chat.
Dave Munger ran the race. His perspective might be unexpected.
Just days after announcing a slowdown to deal with his cancer, Roger Ebert dies. Of cancer.
I am officially declaring this an April Fools-Free Zone. No foolin’.
My grumpiness might contribute to that, too. I ended up with an utterly miserable redeye flight from Seattle to Minneapolis — I landed at 5am. I’m still traveling to get home (I’m on a stimulant break right this instant), and as soon as I get there, I’m going in to work. Expect surly snarliness, world, until my labs are all over, I’m truly home, and I’m crashed into unconsciousness on my bed.
