I just want to add that I'm wondering to what degree nonchalance is a defense mechanism for astonishment.

You saw it right here, ladies. The summbitch above and I hung out, beginning around 16-17 years ago, and I don't think I've seen Dante for maybe 13 years, now. Now he's replying to my posts on Hubski and I'm, like, "I shall choose to spend about 12 hours to reconcile this information."

There was me, Apollo Junior (pseydtonne), Nighthawk, Don Cerebro, Consuela, Toasted, Buzzbomb, the guy with the guitar who's name I've misplaced for a moment, Seventh Trimester, and The High Mistress of Mosh.

(Or more specifically, a bunch of anarchists given a few hours of airtime on WHRW 90.5 FM on the campus of Binghamton University.)

Now about 4 years ago I was at an unmentionable social gathering where I was oxidizing large amounts of ethanol prepared by Maker's Mark. And I look across the room, and I see someone. I stare, and he stares, and I cock my head to the side, and he does the same, and I say:

"Don Cerebro?"

And he was, like, "Phox?"

It was like the scene where everybody's Data figures out which Enterprise Worf belongs on and he snaps back into the parallel universe he belongs to. In some other reality I've continued without seeing Andy in that room, and in that universe the Borg are EVERYWHERE.