December 28th, 1976-
Schmieds was packed that snowy night, most of them from Schloss Kaserne where I also was assigned. The tight alleys and cobblestones looked like tunnels. I had only been in Butzbach for a week and in Germany for two. The unit was in the field, so I hadn't actually reported yet. A guy named Frank said "c'mon, let's hit the strassen ." The whole scene is burned into my memory. The densely snow packed walk, the Licher bier, and Frank telling me his stories. He was being kicked out for having a heroin addiction. I was to find out as time went on just how much of it there was around there. Not for me, though. I preferred a little bubble-gum black hash and music on the jukebox. I remember feeling sorry for Frank. He had soulful eyes and a broken heart, but certainly not from being kicked out of the army or for being a junkie. More likely because he had given up on even caring...
December 28th, 1976- Schmieds was packed that snowy night, most of them from Schloss Kaserne where I also was assigned. The tight alleys and cobblestones looked like tunnels. I had only been in Butzbach for a week and in Germany for two. The unit was in the field, so I hadn't actually reported yet. A guy named Frank said "c'mon, let's hit the strassen ." The whole scene is burned into my memory. The densely snow packed walk, the Licher bier, and Frank telling me his stories. He was being kicked out for having a heroin addiction. I was to find out as time went on just how much of it there was around there. Not for me, though. I preferred a little bubble-gum black hash and music on the jukebox. I remember feeling sorry for Frank. He had soulful eyes and a broken heart, but certainly not from being kicked out of the army or for being a junkie. More likely because he had given up on even caring...
The leader of the Galactic Survey Unit #5 speaking to the Galactic Survey Commander via encrypted trans-dimensional light beam.
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"They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"Meat. They're made out of meat."
"Meat?"
"There's no doubt about it. We picked several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed them all the way through. They're completely meat."
"That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars."
"They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines."
"So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact."
"They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines."
"That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat."
"I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in the sector and they're made out of meat."
"Maybe they're like the Orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage."
"Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take too long. Do you have any idea the life span of meat?"
"Spare me... Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the Weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside."
"Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads like the Weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through."
"No brain?"
"Oh, there is a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat!"
"So... What does the thinking?"
"You're not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking. The meat."
"Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!"
"Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you getting the picture?"
"Omigod... You're serious then. They're made out of meat."
"Finally, Yes. They are indeed made out meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years."
"So what does the meat have in mind?"
"First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the universe, contact other sentients, swap ideas and information. The usual."
"We're supposed to talk to meat?"
"That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio. `Hello. Anyone out there? Anyone home?' That sort of thing."
"They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?"
"Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat."
"I thought you just told me they used radio."
"They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat."
"Omigod... Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?"
"Officially or unofficially?"
"Both."
"Officially, we are required to contact, welcome, and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in the quadrant, without prejudice, fear, or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing."
"I was hoping you would say that."
"It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?"
"I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say?" `Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?"
"Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact."
"So we just pretend there's no one home in the universe."
"That's it."
"Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you have probed? You're sure they won't remember?"
"They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to them."
"A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat's dream."
"And we can mark this sector unoccupied."
"Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?"
"Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again."
"They always come around."
"And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the universe would be if one were all alone."
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The author is Terry Bisson, and his story originally appeared in OMNI Magazine. It was nominated for a Nebula Award. If you don't know what a Nebula Award is then you've missed some of the best reading in twelve galaxies.
Ground into flour (you can purchase quinoa-based pastas and crackers at many grocery stores)
Another way to get quinoa into your diet is to pop it like popcorn. You donât need to use oil; dry-popping the seeds in a hot, covered saucepan will produce a nutty, toast-like aroma and flavor. Just keep the pan moving, so the bottom seeds donât burn. You can use the popped seeds to add crunch to salads or in granolas or energy bars.
What about sprinkled on donut holes? Did you ever think of that?
Ground into flour (you can purchase quinoa-based pastas and crackers at many grocery stores)
Another way to get quinoa into your diet is to pop it like popcorn. You donât need to use oil; dry-popping the seeds in a hot, covered saucepan will produce a nutty, toast-like aroma and flavor. Just keep the pan moving, so the bottom seeds donât burn. You can use the popped seeds to add crunch to salads or in granolas or energy bars.
What about sprinkled on donut holes? Did you ever think of that?
Ground into flour (you can purchase quinoa-based pastas and crackers at many grocery stores)
Another way to get quinoa into your diet is to pop it like popcorn. You don’t need to use oil; dry-popping the seeds in a hot, covered saucepan will produce a nutty, toast-like aroma and flavor. Just keep the pan moving, so the bottom seeds don’t burn. You can use the popped seeds to add crunch to salads or in granolas or energy bars.
We used to eat a bunch when my wife was diagnosed borderline diabetic. I like it...The red is the best for you but the black probably tastes best...Mix them up and give them a try.
Ground into flour (you can purchase quinoa-based pastas and crackers at many grocery stores)
Another way to get quinoa into your diet is to pop it like popcorn. You don’t need to use oil; dry-popping the seeds in a hot, covered saucepan will produce a nutty, toast-like aroma and flavor. Just keep the pan moving, so the bottom seeds don’t burn. You can use the popped seeds to add crunch to salads or in granolas or energy bars.
Food scientists and startups are trying to make meat more ethically appealing by growing it — cell by cell — in a lab instead of on a farm. Even some vegans support so-called "clean" meat. But can lab grown meat overcome the dreaded "yuck factor?"
I can't wait to try it. I fully support the effort to eliminate raising millions of animals for slaughter.
Food scientists and startups are trying to make meat more ethically appealing by growing it — cell by cell — in a lab instead of on a farm. Even some vegans support so-called "clean" meat. But can lab grown meat overcome the dreaded "yuck factor?"
Because I'm sure there are people here now who haven't enjoyed this...
laprincessa wrote:
Meat Imagine if you will... The leader of the Galactic Survey Unit #5 speaking to the Galactic Survey Commander via encrypted trans-dimensional light beam. ———————————————————————————————————— "They're made out of meat." "Meat?" "Meat. They're made out of meat." "Meat?" "There's no doubt about it. We picked several from different parts of the planet, took them aboard our recon vessels, probed them all the way through. They're completely meat." "That's impossible. What about the radio signals? The messages to the stars." "They use the radio waves to talk, but the signals don't come from them. The signals come from machines." "So who made the machines? That's who we want to contact." "They made the machines. That's what I'm trying to tell you. Meat made the machines." "That's ridiculous. How can meat make a machine? You're asking me to believe in sentient meat." "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. These creatures are the only sentient race in the sector and they're made out of meat." "Maybe they're like the Orfolei. You know, a carbon-based intelligence that goes through a meat stage." "Nope. They're born meat and they die meat. We studied them for several of their life spans, which didn't take too long. Do you have any idea the life span of meat?" "Spare me... Okay, maybe they're only part meat. You know, like the Weddilei. A meat head with an electron plasma brain inside." "Nope. We thought of that, since they do have meat heads like the Weddilei. But I told you, we probed them. They're meat all the way through." "No brain?" "Oh, there is a brain all right. It's just that the brain is made out of meat!" "So... What does the thinking?" "You're not understanding, are you? The brain does the thinking. The meat." "Thinking meat! You're asking me to believe in thinking meat!" "Yes, thinking meat! Conscious meat! Loving meat. Dreaming meat. The meat is the whole deal! Are you getting the picture?" "Omigod... You're serious then. They're made out of meat." "Finally, Yes. They are indeed made out meat. And they've been trying to get in touch with us for almost a hundred of their years." "So what does the meat have in mind?" "First it wants to talk to us. Then I imagine it wants to explore the universe, contact other sentients, swap ideas and information. The usual." "We're supposed to talk to meat?" "That's the idea. That's the message they're sending out by radio. `Hello. Anyone out there? Anyone home?' That sort of thing." "They actually do talk, then. They use words, ideas, concepts?" "Oh, yes. Except they do it with meat." "I thought you just told me they used radio." "They do, but what do you think is on the radio? Meat sounds. You know how when you slap or flap meat it makes a noise? They talk by flapping their meat at each other. They can even sing by squirting air through their meat." "Omigod... Singing meat. This is altogether too much. So what do you advise?" "Officially or unofficially?" "Both." "Officially, we are required to contact, welcome, and log in any and all sentient races or multibeings in the quadrant, without prejudice, fear, or favor. Unofficially, I advise that we erase the records and forget the whole thing." "I was hoping you would say that." "It seems harsh, but there is a limit. Do we really want to make contact with meat?" "I agree one hundred percent. What's there to say?" `Hello, meat. How's it going?' But will this work? How many planets are we dealing with here?" "Just one. They can travel to other planets in special meat containers, but they can't live on them. And being meat, they only travel through C space. Which limits them to the speed of light and makes the possibility of their ever making contact pretty slim. Infinitesimal, in fact." "So we just pretend there's no one home in the universe." "That's it." "Cruel. But you said it yourself, who wants to meet meat? And the ones who have been aboard our vessels, the ones you have probed? You're sure they won't remember?" "They'll be considered crackpots if they do. We went into their heads and smoothed out their meat so that we're just a dream to them." "A dream to meat! How strangely appropriate, that we should be meat's dream." "And we can mark this sector unoccupied." "Good. Agreed, officially and unofficially. Case closed. Any others? Anyone interesting on that side of the galaxy?" "Yes, a rather shy but sweet hydrogen core cluster intelligence in a class nine star in G445 zone. Was in contact two galactic rotations ago, wants to be friendly again." "They always come around." "And why not? Imagine how unbearably, how unutterably cold the universe would be if one were all alone." ———————————————————————————————————— The author is Terry Bisson, and his story originally appeared in OMNI Magazine. It was nominated for a Nebula Award. If you don't know what a Nebula Award is then you've missed some of the best reading in twelve galaxies. I laughed so hard, I just HAD to share this.
