Posthuman Blues

The anticipated storm has yet to hit. In fact, it's warming up. The result is ubiquitous icy slush with the consistency of mucus, like Kansas City itself is dissolving into the undifferentiated "gray goo" of nanotech disaster scenarios. Nasty stuff. And dangerous; I stepped out of the coffeeshop and immediately fell on the sidewalk (somehow managing not to drop either of the books I was carrying). Thankfully, since everyone was at home cowering and/or watching the Super Bowl, there was no one there to see me. For all intents and purposes, the Plaza is a ghost-town awash in cytoplasmic goop: silent, gray and dripping.

I finished "Skeptics and True Believers." Read the review here.