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As I called a phone number to entangle myself in yet another theological program, I noted how odd the number looked. I feel like I just called for a Wildfire Alert. [Not even Anne Robinson reads your favorite tech-thriller, idiot.--ed.] Well, as usual, she's free to be gloriously wrong. The story of the fictional Rudolph Karp reminds me of the little excerpts of Polanyi I've read. I'm inspired by thinking about those scientists who have the guts to say the consensus is wrong, because they reasonably believe they're right. [I wish we could ask Chrichton if he had Polanyi in mind when he created Karp.--ed.] Me, too. Wait, hold on. [Looking something up] Sheesh, a whole family of intellectuals! I love intellectuals. Let's just call them 'curious people.' There is a sinful kind of curiosity, a vain kind, but that's not what I mean. When you need to know something to make sense of your reality, (and it can be known) what can you do but pursue it, really? I'm just going to have to read Personal Knowledge before I die or my brain turns to watery, useless goo. [You're about to note that another towering intellectual happened to be Catholic.--ed.] Why? You just did it for me! [I hate my life.--ed.] Cheer up, dude. You still have Jack Collins (though he's not 10% the fundie you are). [You were right to tell those papist seminarians how blessed they'd be to have him for a teacher.--ed.] He's worth at least 5 Rahners and 10 McBriens, easily. "I'll take Jack for the block, Tom."

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