You know for some reason I’m just thinking how lucky we were that you HAVE to wear a spacesuit on the moon. Because otherwise there’s this whole thing about, OK, first man on the moon, what should he wear? Is this a formal occasion, or is a place with billion-year-old dust more of a casual affair? (Billion year old dust, boy there’s a Dyson ad waiting to be born, I’m sure.)
In fact, because he’s in the suit – and because it was the Sixties – it de-emphasizes the whole fact that he WAS a man to begin with. But today, you’d HAVE TO SEND A WOMAN, you sexist pig. Oh yeah. And she’d have to be wearing those big clunky shoes on the bottom because the other ones are bourgeois and besides would probably sink her butt-deep into the Moon Dust anyway. And oh yeah she’d have to be black, too. Yeah, today we’d have to send a black woman to the moon and she would be wearing those shoes, and the first words from the moon would be whatever the hell she wanted, because she’s not going to have The Man stuffing words in her mouth. Not since Rosa Parks. And Reverend Al would be SO all over it. That man will give a speech to a security camera.
I’m not sure where I’m going with this, but I did leave a trail of bread crumbs so I can find my way back. Unless McGehee ate them, in which case I’ll just take a cab home. Thank you for your time.