Posthuman Blues

Speaking of places I try to avoid: I actually entered George Brett's last night. I'd pegged Brett's as a haven for unrepetent jock-sniffers, but was pleasantly surprised. For a sports-themed restaurant it's downright austere, and the espresso was good.

"Elizabeth" and I met up with an engineering professor who holds a patent for a biometric sensor that can differentiate between living and dead fingertips. He's working his way up to a machine that can discern living and necrotic retinas. Essentially, what this means is that workers at secured facilities won't be able to kill a fellow employee and then use his or her fingertip or eyeball (disembodied or otherwise) to gain unauthorized access. Happening stuff.