Word: planetful
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...part of the control, and the control group is dead. Thus, with an infinite gain associated with a successful experiment, I must believe that the 20 dollars a month utility loss that I will suffer is just buying me a ticket in the highest-stakes lottery on the planet: a chance to see the heat-death of the universe...
Recent scientific developments have lowered the cost of a manned mission from over $20 billion to only $10-12 billion--well within the University's means. In addition, all of the tools necessary to send a group of Harvard students to the Red (soon to be Crimson) Planet exist nearby. We have some of the best scientific thinkers right here on campus, and we have hundreds of acres in Boston to build rockets, erect test Biospheres and perfect equipment...
Imagine the science faculty Harvard could attract by offering them almost unlimited lab space on another planet. Imagine the draw on the Crimson Key tours. And--I'm amazed Rudenstine didn't think of this--imagine the untapped fund-raising potential of offering donors their own colonies or even a trip to Mars themselves. Plus, it's a good place to send the remaining vestiges of Radcliffe, since Harvard seems so eager to get rid of them...
This singer-guitarist writes songs that have the lost, lonely feeling of the last drunk left in a dive bar at closing time. White is a country singer, but not necessarily from any country on this planet: several of the songs on this album were produced by members of the trip-hop band Morcheeba, and drawing from that group's spirit, the tracks beep and buzz and whir like UFOs zipping across a prairie sky. There are a couple of meandering stretches where the disparate elements don't quite come together, but any CD that features titles like Handcuffed...
...boredom would seem ineluctable. Nothing seemed fun. Nothing seemed worthwhile. Every book was tortuously slow. Every song was criminally banal. Every movie crawled. The sparkle and shine had been sucked out of life so completely that my world came across as some fluorescent-lit, decolorized, saltpetered version of the planet I had known before. And my own prospects? Absolutely dismal. I would sit in that one-bedroom Nishi Azabu apartment and consider this sorry career I had embarked upon, these losers I associated with compounding the very long odds that I would ever amount to anything. It really seemed there...