Two generations after destruction rained down upon America’s cities, the population is scattered into small towns. Cities are forbidden by law, as is scientific research.
Rumors abound of a secret place known as “Bartorstown”, where science is untrammelled by interference or hatred. A youth named Len Colter, developing an unhealthy thirst for knowledge exacerbated by the discovery of a forbidden radio, sets out on a long road. During this journey, he will change his mind many times before determining the correct direction for himself, and the benighted America in which he lives.
I’m around half done with my grandmother’s photo album. Here are some more highlights.
This looks to be the oldest photo in the album. These are my great grand parents Oscar and Elfrida, both born in Sweden, married in Fargo, ND, March 24, 1906. She passed away a few days after my grandmother was born. Continue reading “Even more photos”→
Some yammerwit asked me what law Hillary broke by placing classified State Department material on her private and unsecured server. 18 U.S. Code s. 793 – Gathering, transmitting or losing defense information reads at paragraph (f): “Whoever, being entrusted with or having lawful possession or control of any document, writing, code book, signal book, sketch,…
I recently got hold of my grandmother’s photo album. Well, one of them anyway. This one seemed to have the most photos and the widest range of photos. I started scanning them this weekend as the holiday weekend is extremely slow with no camps or students around and all but essential personnel not working.
I just love working with old family photos. One of the things I’ve been surprised by is how flimsy many of these old photos are. Notebook paper seems sturdier. Most have a name or place written on the back, but it’s hard deciphering the handwriting at times. Some have no information so I have no idea who the photo is of. It’ll probably take me a few weeks of working steady to get through all of the album. In other words it’ll probably take all summer of doing it a little here and a little there.
Here are some of the highlights so far:
This is my paternal grandfather ‘Bud’. He was born in December 1923, so I’m guessing this was taken in the spring of 1924.
My review of Douglas Preston and Lincoln Child’s TheIce Limit
The largest known meteorite has been discovered, entombed in the earth for millions of years on a frigid, desolate island off the southern tip of Chile. At four thousand tons, this treasure seems impossible to move. New York billionaire Palmer Lloyd is determined to have this incredible find for his new museum. Stocking a cargo ship with the finest scientists and engineers, he builds a flawless expedition. But from the first approach to the meteorite, people begin to die. A frightening truth is about to unfold: The men and women of the Rolvaag are not taking this ancient, enigmatic object anywhere. It is taking them.
Ben Martin and Clay Ferguson have got a tough job. In Car 56 — “Beulah” — they patrol the super-highways of a future that might have been. Along with Medical-Surgical Officer Kelly Lightfoot, they help keep an insane road system as safe as possible.
Here is a startling and excitingly realistic portrait of regular folks in a future extrapolated from a time when technology was changing at an explosive rate. What if highways just got bigger and bigger, cars faster and faster? How could such be patrolled, when crashes, jams and road rage are the norm?
The answer is an elite paramilitary corp. These dedicated officers, trying to keep reign on a crazed vehicle culture with sixty foot long tank-like patrol cars with 25mm cannon, cranes and full medical suites.
Nominated for a Hugo Award, Code Three is a gripping tale for all fans of “If This Go On” stories.
I saw this article at the top of my Yahoo! Newsfeed. And since it involves my home state I thought I would check it out. I fully expected an uninformed hit piece with a very liberal slant. Lo and behold, they actually put the information needed into the article.
Those with no driver’s license, can get a non-driver state ID allowed at the polls from the motor vehicle department for free.
And this isn’t something you can only get a few days of the year either. Any day that the office is open, you can pick one up. And they are good for years, just like your Drivers License. At some point before the election I would think you might be coming into town. If not, you’re probably not coming in to vote either. If you can’t get a ride from a neighbor or family member who drives, they do have a bus on the rez as well. There’s an office in Rolla, there’s another in Rugby, and another in Minot. It’s actually more inconvenient for the people living in Bottineau than the people living on the rez.
If the free ID card is too expensive to invest in, you’re simply looking for attention rather than solutions. We’re not talking onerous rules and regulations here. We don’t even have voter registration. Quit playing the victim card. Quit being an attention whore. Get off your ass and go get your free ID.
EDIT: Oh dear lord, someone in the comments of the article pointed out that Norquay has a pack of cigarettes sitting on the table next to him. Perhaps prioritizing isn’t a strong suit in his life. Because if he has money to spend on something like cigarettes, he really shouldn’t be complaining about how he can’t afford to get the six miles (yes, 6 whole miles) from Belcourt, in the middle of the Turtle Mountain Reservation to the DMV in Rolla, to pick up his free ID.
My review of the short story Ratskiller by Robert A. Hoyt
… Long before the bird reared its ugly beak, there was beer. And lots of it.
In the humble world of alley cats, Tom has everything he needs: interesting enemies, a long list of girl cats who’d like to scratch his eyes out, and enough beer to make sure his repressed memories and his mysterious destiny stay repressed.
Until Wild Rat microbrewery shuts down.
To restore his favorite beer to its former glory, Tom will have to fight prissy bureaucrats, streetwise alley cats, and Broxton’s most barbaric rats. And behind it all, an evil so great that even Broxton’s most hardened rodents dare not squeak of it.