Forty-five years ago, Neil Armstrong took “one giant leap for mankind.” A momentous occasion by anybody’s reckoning. In the intervening years, our species has visited its satellite merely a handful of times. (Well, handful if you’ve got six fingers, I guess.)
And while everyone is busy celebrating this incredible anniversary, I’m left to scream “Where the hell is my moon city?!” Seriously! Like just about everybody back in the sixties and early seventies thought Apollo was only the beginning. First, the moon, then Mars, then it’s a Star Trek world! With flying cars and space vacations and teleportation!
What the heck happened? I want to be able to go to the airport and say, “One ticket to the moon, please” and have them say, “Do you have your moon visa?” And I’ll say, “Of course!” And they’ll say, ” Have you been inoculated for moon fever?” “Oh, yes, of course.” And then I’ll get on the hover walkway and go to the terminal where the space-stewardesses will show me to my rocket chair and off to the moon I go! Three … two … one … blast off!!!! Zzzzzzooooooom! Whoosh!
C’mon! They promised! I saw it on The Jetsons and Josie and the Pussycats in Outer Space and Ark II and stuff. Come on, people! Get with the program! I want cheap, affordable space travel for all and I want it YESTERDAY!
At least give me my personal jetpack like that guy on In The News had once. I – I saw it. On TV.