I know I promised an amazing conclusion involving make-out parties in thatched-roof cottages, but it was a lie. It usually is.

The Story So Far

"Reminds me of Mars," the pale young man said as the heavy treads of the stubby, armored land-crawler crunched to a halt at the edge of the precipice. The sepia-toned plain that had been trying to choke him to death with its dust for the past two revolutions had finally relented here to an only slightly more interesting ruddy shale that spanned across the valley to the mountains, hazy in the mid-cycle heat.
"Mars? How in Corruption would you know, kid?" The driver shook his arms out of the bulky, shoulder-length guiding gloves and pulled his goggles up. He peered at the young man with red-rimmed eyes. "You one of those nuts that think we've been there?"
"No," the young man said, peering back at they way they'd come. A plume of dust was a rising stain against the sky. It was heading towards them. He grabbed his pack and climbed over the side-shield onto the tread. "We have not been there. But we have pictures." He sat down, glanced again at the faded decal with curling edges that described the disembarking protocol, and slowly lowered himself the remaining meter to the ground. The older man laughed and jumped down. Dust leapt up angrily.
"You’re talking about the Mars Freedom Rover? Brother, you should have been entertaining me with these fairy tales when we left the Territories. Did Little Paul show 'em to you in his family photo album?"
The young man squinted up at him. "President Shrub does not take much time to socialize with us. Frankly, I don't think he even knows what we do in the Privileged Research Division."
The older man stiffened. "You’re a PR? I mean, um, you’re a PR, sir?"
"Formalities are not necessary, least of all out here. Your service has been of great help. I apologize for any inconvenience I may cause you." The young man shouldered his pack and turned towards the edge of the valley.
"No trouble at all, sir. Always happy to help the Guided Republic…did you say ‘may cause'?" A rumbling in the distance punctuated his question. Behind them, a much larger vehicle was chewing towards them like an armored caterpillar. "A Mauler? What in Corruption is the Militia doing out here?" He turned back to the young man but he was already gone over the edge, crumbling down the steep precipice in a sliding crouch. When he reached the bottom he broke into a stumbling run, his pack bouncing wildly on his back. Back on the rim, the older man slumped against the tread of the land-crawler and buried his face in his hands, and waited for the awful machine to come for him.

The setting sun was painting the sky with purples and reds when the young man reached the river. He knelt down by its edge, wincing. He dipped his canteen into the brackish water. When it was full, he opened a compartment on his belt, removed a pill, and dropped it into the canteen. It fizzed violently. After peering into the opening, he added another. "I hope you brought enough for the rest of the class," someone said. He whirled around, raising his canteen like a weapon. The water gurgled furiously as it splashed onto the dirt. A woman was smiling at him in the dim light. She wore a long robe the color of the sand. Her hair was shining black marbled with streaks of grey. She put her hands up like a child playing Militia and Robbers. "Whoa, calm down. You got me. I yield to your superior waterpower."
He lowered the canteen. "Who are you?"
"You’re wandering around on our land, so why don’t you tell me who you are first?"
The young man stiffened. "This land belongs to the Guided Republic."
"This Reservation belongs to us. The Guided Republic gave it to up so we wouldn't bother them with our heresy. Fair trade, I say. Now tell me what I’m supposed to call you. I’d like to know the name of the first person to try to hydrate me to death."
His dry, cracked lips tried to twitch into a smile but he bit it back. "I am Suik."
"Oh, I love the old names. Call me Becky."
"Becky?"
"Short for Bekenglar. I told you I love the old names." Suik stared at her. "Well, we’d better get going."
"Going?"
"You’ve come to see the village. You’ve come for the Clay."
Suik started to protest, but couldn’t think of a lie. He was still new to deception and was already developing an intense dislike for it. "Yes."
"Shall we off, then? Or are you planning on purifying the whole river?" She spun neatly on her heel in imitation of a Militia serviceman and began an exaggerated march along the river. Suik looked back the way he’d came as the last sliver of sun slipped behind the horizon. He shivered, screwed the cap onto his canteen, and hurried after her.

The walk was not long. The village was a shock to Suik. The houses (he was hesitant to refer to them as that) sat unceremoniously in a clump around an afterthought of an inlet. Most of the rectangular structures were barely taller than he. Walls of red clay and poles supported a roof made of bundled brush. Some kind of animal skin sat atop like a collapsed hat and a single entrance gave a toothless, gaping mouth to each. It was a far cry from the gleaming, antiseptic towers of the Privileged Research Facility.

Next episode: "Thatch-Roof Make-Out Party"

Coffee. Cigarettes. Hexadecimal Genome. And an ice cold brew for when I'm done.

Let's write a fucking story.

I'm going to make a shirt that says "Every Day is Science Friday" with maybe a dinosaur fighting a caveman on it or something equally scientific. (Because for a caveman to fight a dinosaur one of them had to have invented a time machine and gone back or forward in time in search of a worthy opponent.)

(Obviously.)

Your results:
You are Spider-Man

Spider-Man 80% The Flash 75% Green Lantern 75% Superman 70% Catwoman 65% Robin 62% Wonder Woman 62% Supergirl 62% Iron Man 60% Batman 50% Hulk 35%

You are intelligent, witty, a bit geeky and have great power and responsibility. Also you have too many ferrets and a hydrogen tattoo.

Click here to take the "Which Superhero are you?" quiz...


It's uncanny!

That could be my superhero theme: the mighty ferret. I kinda am like a ferret. Given the chance, I will sleep sixteen hours a day and hop around chittering accomplishing absolutely nothing for the remaining eight.

Ben Bova spoke at ASU today. It was at the little writing house we have on campus, a quaint little two story cottage nestled among some trees in one of the campus's larger patches of grass. I was shocked at the number of attendees; perhaps fifteen people. I sat on a big comfy couch directly across from Dr. Bova and munching on an assortment of (free!) snacks.

I think he thinks I don't believe in global warming because I made a disgusted face when he talked about it but that was because I had eaten a grape that had gotten hummus on it.

It was an excellent experience. I think I asked him at least 6 questions (redeeming myself, I hope, after the grape incident.)

After that, I went to the store to pick up a wireless keyboard and donated money again, this time to National Public Radio. As Eek the Cat would say: "It never hurts to help."

Today was a good day.

Here I go trying to do good things.

I donated a bit of the green stuff to Jaden's effort to combat diabetes, represented in the above picture by Venom. You can too, if you really want to. She is so very close to her goal.

I've been selected (by the highly competitive electronic equivalent of entering my name into a hat) to attend a conference on human rights this weekend. I'm pretty excited and also a little intimidated since I'll be following in the footsteps of such great men and women as Jarod Sibbitt, Mahatma Ghandi, and that girl who did that thing. What's her name...Jaden, I think. Yeah.

I'm not sure what I'm getting into but maybe I'll be able to better focus my efforts in making a bit of a difference.

At least I'm sure I'll be in excellent company.

I've always wondered where October comes from. I wasn't paying much attention at the end of September; the short months tend to throw me off. Maybe next year.

My old pal Gabe has helped me put together a new computer, or as he affectionately refers to them "a machine." I'm thoroughly pleased with the results. He and I went to an auction where a round, fast-talking cowboy-hatted guy decided that my hand motions, facial tics, and vocalizations were superior to all other bidders. This happened enough times for me to piece together most of what I'd need.

So here I am.

I have a lot to do tomorrow. I shouldn't even be up this late but I took a long nap this afternoon. Life is so hard.

I ordered a Sony Reader. Should be here in the beginning of November. I've decided to hollow out a book and keep the reader inside so to the casual observer it will appear that I am constantly reading To Kill A Mockingbird. Which I very well may be.

I saw Michael Chabon speak. He's quite a guy. Seems like a big kid, if not a slightly effeminate one. His voice reminds me of Kif from Futurama. He read an excellent short story and commented throughout on the writing process. Fun and educational.

I have my own short story to write in the next couple of weeks. I have the germ of an idea. Let us pray that the penicillin of sloth does not kill my budding culture. Or something.