Listics

Stooting on the lone regallion
I took my dad to the hospital today. I was out at his place installing a DVD so he could ego surf his recording of his recent appearance on the nightly news when it became apparent that he needed some help. With the help of my sister, a neighbor, and Beth I sorted things out with dad and got him to the clinic. From there he rode an ambulance to the hospital where he’ll remain while the issues related to the bleeding that they discovered deep in his brain are sorted out. When we all left him tonight he was in good spirits and in good hands. But one phrase he used stuck with me. I can’t recall the context but it hardly matters. How many people besides me have ever heard anyone talk about “stooting on the lone regallion?” There’s a world of feeling whirling around, and a world of concern to organize dad’s recovery and care. I’ll write more about this as the spirit moves me.

Please hold my dad in the light of your love and your concern.

* * *

Meanwhile, not that far away,
Got Clones?

I swirl the glass: A thick lather coats the sides. I sniff: It has a rich, almost buttery aroma. I hate the idea of milk over ice, but the drink is on the rocks because it was squeezed in a steamy, unpasteurized froth just half an hour ago from Mandy2, a 5-foot-tall behemoth with hindquarters as big as truck wheels and a posterior as flat and broad as the tailgate of a pickup. Her massive bone structure supports an udder the size of a beer keg, capable of producing more than 15 gallons of milk a day.

From Cloned Beef (and Pork and Milk): It’s What’s for Dinner in the November, 2024 issue of Wired, by Ben Paynter (available in the dead tree edition now, wherever magazines are sold).

Congratulations, Ben! Let me be the last to say something stupid about sending in the clones.

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