COLUMN: Space travel reminder-Bring your plush football
If everyone in this country could remember that we drive on the right side of the road and apply this rule to everyday movement, people would stop walking into me. Generally, when moving from one location to another, most people subconsciously align their bodies on the path in a fashion that resembles driving. This is why we have neither heard nor seen any head-on shopping cart collisions at busy grocery stores. Thank goodness. I hate to see Marshmallow Mateys and pickled okra spilled all over the floor.
Inevitably there are some folks who like to disrupt this established pattern by walking wherever they dang well please. To those people I say, “Look out!” I’m tired of dodging out of the way of others, and I hate those awkward moments when the infractor simultaneously swerves the same way I’m going, and then we both switch back at the same time, only to revert to the initial problem. It’s like some sort of a modern American ritualistic dance of inane stupidity.
On one occasion, this lame sequence repeated itself several times until I walked right into some dude. Henceforth, I will walk a straight line, and since I’m bigger than most people and have extensively studied physics, I’ll repeat, “Look out!”
In consultation with Blaine and John, my newly organized posse, I decided that either we will have to “eliminate” those who continually get in our way, or move to some remote location where this problem will not occur. Since we are wholly unprepared for public lynchings (John forgot the rope at home) and don’t have cool costumes yet (Blaine is still obsessed with pirates), we may just have to pack up and leave. Arrrrrr.
Coincidentally, there is a large surplus of land on the moon for sale, and I’m pretty sure no one annoying lives there … yet. In 1980, Dennis Hope found a loophole in the 1967 U.N. Outer Space Treaty, which allowed him, as an individual, to claim ownership to the moon and all the planets in our solar system. He submitted a formal declaration of ownership to the United States and Russian governments as well as the United Nations and on Oct. 22, 1980 celebrated “The Lunar Day of Independence.”
Hope’s declaration begins in a very interesting manner, and I’m not making this up:
“This is to inform the sovereign planet of, Earth, that, Dennis M. Hope, is now and shall ever be known as, ‘THE OMNIPOTENT RULER OF THE LIGHTED LUNAR SURFACE.’ Mr. Hope will here-in-after, also have the exalted title of, ‘THE HEAD CHEESE.’ Any and all further transactions in regard to, real estate planning, development, and further exploration of the lighted lunar surface will be done at the advice and consent of, ‘THE HEAD CHEESE.'”
Since 1996 the Head Cheese has been selling plots of land to anyone who wants to stake a claim to a small part of the moon. For a mere $20, you can buy an acre of moon land, but the Lunar Embassy, Dennis Hope’s company, gives so much more. Along with a deed, you get sent a copy of the Lunar Constitution with accompanying Bill of Rights, a lunar map to figure out where your land is located, a copy of the official Declaration of Ownership, and it all comes in attractive silver packaging.
The silver packaging alone is enough to whet my astronomical appetite, but I still feel uneasy purchasing land on the moon. Many questions in my head have been left unanswered like, “Can I still build a bass pond?” or “Does it cost extra for high-speed Internet?” Most people probably just question the availability of travel to the moon, but I have faith that one day the space between the earth and our lunar companion will be littered with numerous galactic yellow cabs, driven by dudes name Amir.
I guess the fear of discovering large, vengeful space organisms can be a concern, but any impending attack by aliens can probably most easily be resolved using anything NERF. Not many people know this, but NERF is actually an acronym for “Nuclear Extraterrestrial Retaliation Firearm.” Luckily, after an early recall, Hasbro created human friendly “non-toxic” versions of their products, so don’t worry.
Failing a toy bombardment, I’ll just resort to walking into the aliens that get in my way – well, at least until Blaine and John finally get their act together.
Garrett Wheeler is a graduate student studying electrical engineering. I never get any e-mail about my column, because nobody reads this, but in case you do, send something to wheel@cc.usu.edu.