Does your soldier girlfriend have ice in her veins? No, just plastic.

Okay, fine, or his. But the phrase tends to be applied more to women, doesn’t it? A cultural thing: men are cool, women are cold. Except, of course, when we’re not. And anyway, I’m digressing. Already!

There’s a scientific thriller published way back in ’98 called The Blood Artists, in which the lack of clean blood for transfusions plays a large part in motivating the protagonists. Chuck Hogan’s certainly not the only writer to have pointed out this ever-worsening shortage, nor to postulate that the creators of a workable alternative would be due worldwide admiration.

This isn’t being presented as that so-desired alternative, just a sort of a stop-gap, and not yet workable even as that, but it might be a step forward. For all I despise the propaganda aspect that sparked my heading—war zones?—still, I got a kick out of the idea of plastic blood. And the idea that a sample of the blood will be on display in a museum...

Well, let’s just say it’s a good thing I’d put down my latte before I read that line. The laptop does not appreciate liquid caffeine. Hmm. Wonder how it would feel about plastic blood? Though I don’t think I’ll make the experiment.

Plastic blood. Okay, maybe it’s a sign that my usual interest is tending closer toward obsession than usual, but I can’t help wondering: would it feel different in the veins? Be cooler? —temperature-wise, I mean. Would it flow differently, have any effect on normal function? One of my favorite fictional male romantic leads was largely plastic (Asimov fans will know just who I mean), but my favorite parts of real men most definitely are not. Latex exteriors, now and again...

pxj

(Meant to put this up a couple of days ago, but I got distracted by the need for promotions, about which I shall no doubt do some ranting soon.)