I guess this falls under the header of bemoaning gravity...

I've decided to unleash my noxious opinions on the world once again. I wrote and sent the following letter to the Denver Post, although it's mainly an exercise in snideness so I don't think they'll publish it. Oh, well then again, I guess that's what you get with under 200 words.

I look upon Bush’s Supreme Court and FEMA nominating practices as a great opportunity. I’m hoping that if I do him some favors and walk his dog Barney a few times and tow the leash, I too will be able to rise stratospherically in government. Specifically, I’d like to be made director of NASA. Among my many notable qualifications, I have presided over the launching of a number of rockets and created extensive models of the solar system. That I was ten at the time is immaterial.

I'm independent, so don't worry, I'm an equal-op disher-outer. More important than politics, though, I'm wondering if any of my old model rockets are around somewhere. I never got a chance to hack up a quadruple D-engine and see how high those babies can go. If I was director of NASA my first act would be to get the Chief Rocket Scientist to go run over to Hobby Lobby and then we'd set that sucker up at Cape Canaveral and have the loud speakers count down and have it all monitored by mission control. Shwish! The scientists would all think it was a hilarious joke for a second, until they found out that I had decided to spend NASA's budget on inventing New Tang (TM) and having a year-round Hefnerian carnival in the G-force accelerator and astronaut pool training facility (on a technicality fulfilling Congress' requirement for X number of launches by creating a next gen model rocket fleet).

Oh, and if you're wondering about going back to the moon. Yes, I should go. You guys stay here and get it worked out amongst yo'selves. Really, you guys. For the last time.