follow the bouncing ball
In case that Nostradamus thing is still bothering anyone, it gets solidly debunked here. The quatrain was written by a student a few years ago, to demonstrate how a sufficiently vague prophecy could predict anything. (Thanks Ginny.)
And lo, it's my freshman roommate the tennis star. (Bob.) Not that we really shared the room; he was usually over at his girlfriend's place (not his current girlfriend, who is apparently John Wayne's granddaughter), so I was free to lurch around the dorm room and drink vodka, shirtless, at three in the morning. (Thanks Christine.)
Because busy hands are essential, expect in the coming week:
1) A redesign.
2) A metameat photo gallery.
3) An entirely new collaborative site with an entirely new domain name.
There is a Hand to turn the time
Though thy Glass today be run
Till the Light that hath brought the Towers low
Find the last poor Pret'rite one...
Till the Riders sleep by ev'ry road,
All through our crippl'd Zone,
With a face on ev'ry mountainside,
And a Soul in ev'ry stone...
