Forty Wasted Years

The Eagle landed forty years ago today. It felt like the end of the beginning. It was the beginning of the end.

The last Apollo missions were killed to pay for welfare checks and cheese from Wisconsin, (Yes, that would be Mondale and Proxmire.) Then it was morning in America. Band aid the shuttle, tanks and tax cuts instead of a spare weathersat, and Bermuda took a hurricane hit on twenty minutes notice because the eye in the sky was shut. Every single Reagan revolutionary should be ashamed.

Now the oil is salad shooters, the rare earths are wiis, and the geeks who could have built starships are manipulating the market for Goldman Sachs. Could we recover? Dunno. Does anyone under fifty care? Doesn’t look like it.

I’m writing meaningless code to pay for my farm. I love the farm. It doesn’t make up for the missing dream.

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