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</o:shapelayout></xml><![endif]--></head><body lang=EN-US link=blue vlink=purple><div class=WordSection1><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><b><span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Tahoma","sans-serif"'>>…</span></b><span style='font-size:10.0pt;font-family:"Tahoma","sans-serif"'> <b>On Behalf Of </b>Adrian Tymes<br><b>Subject:</b> Re: [ExI] this one is for the prime hipsters<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p><div><p class=MsoNormal>On Fri, Nov 22, 2013 at 11:29 AM, spike <<a href="mailto:spike66@att.net" target="_blank">spike66@att.net</a>> wrote:<o:p></o:p></p><div><div><blockquote style='border:none;border-left:solid #CCCCCC 1.0pt;padding:0in 0in 0in 6.0pt;margin-left:4.8pt;margin-right:0in'><p class=MsoNormal>What happens<span style='color:#1F497D'> </span>when one is no longer worthy to be a geek? Does one get declared cool?<br>Evolution forbid.<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoPlainText><a href="http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2013/11/prime/all/">http://www.wired.com/wiredscience/2013/11/prime/all/</a><o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p></blockquote><div><p class=MsoNormal><o:p> </o:p></p></div><div><p class=MsoNormal style='margin-bottom:12.0pt'><span style='color:#1F497D'>>…</span>There exist such things as cool geeks, who are not mere posers in either circle.<o:p></o:p></p></div><div><p class=MsoNormal><span style='color:#1F497D'>>…</span>You know, if you wanted some mental explosives. ;)<o:p></o:p></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'>Adrian I am feeling a strange mixture of emotions which could perhaps best be explained using an imaginary scenario. Spouse calls, Honey come straight on home after work today, oookaaaaay Shweethaaaht? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'>Whenever she is doing Bogart, you know what she has in mind, so quitting time, you hustle on home, come in the back door, make a few preparations, walk in to the living room: Shweethaaaht, I’m ho…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'>SURPRIIIIiiii…yi…yi…yi… exclaims about twenty of your closest friends as they leap out from behind the furniture, and you are standing there in nothing but a big old boner.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'>In my particular case, for literal accuracy, I would be standing there in nothing but an old boner. But in any case, you manage to stammer, Hi everybody, mind if we hold the party until I… uh… put on some actual… clothing? And would you mind averting your mortified gaze? And so forth.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'>One might feel an odd mixture of embarrassment, understandable under the circumstances, at one’s presumption, and for having revealed oneself in such a way, but this emotion would be an odd mixture of embarrassment with a pleasant and exciting anticipation of fine companionship for the evening with old friends you perhaps haven’t seen in months, and who have never seen you, or at least that much of you. Assuming of course they don’t flee as soon as you leave the room.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'>A math geek friend posted me about this prime discovery some time ago, but I presumptuously tossed it aside, with a dismissive and presumptuous comment “Oh right, I am so very sure that is correct. What’s the date on that story, April first?”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'>Now it sounds like it is true. But it completely blows my mind that it could possibly be so. I don’t see how it could be true. It changes everything! But I anticipate with a mixture of contrite embarrassment and excitement learning about it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'><o:p> </o:p></span></p><p class=MsoNormal><span style='font-size:11.0pt;font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif";color:#1F497D'>spike<o:p></o:p></span></p></div></div></div></div></div></body></html>