Friday, April 28, 2006

Flight 2347 LAX to DIA

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm Cindy, I'll be assisting you today along with our other flight attendants Mark and Keri. This will be a full flight, so I want to encourage you to take the first available seat. Assuming the captain isn't in one of those passive agressive moods where he punishes us for his own problems, we should be getting underway on time.

Hi there everyone, this is Captain Stevens. Looks like we should have a pretty smooth flight ahead of us and the weather in Denver is mostly sunny. Some people call that partly cloudy, but I think it's important to put a positive spin on things, unlike certain flight attendants who can never see past the negative and want to forget all the good times.

Ladies and gentlemen, as you can see the captain has turned off the seatbelt sign which you may assume means you're free to roam about the cabin. But I can personally attest that this particular captain is somewhat controlling and even though he said you could roam about the cabin, he'll probably get jealous and angry if you do. I'd stay seated with your mouths shut and focus on counting the minutes until you can get out of here. And then I'd call that nice guy you dated in college who went on to be a doctor. That's what I did and I'm very, very happy.

Hey guys, Captain Stevens here. Looks like we're going to be hitting a few bumps ahead. Not that that's any reason to panic and run away, I mean, rough patches are part of life, am I right? So if you're not the type to turn tail and give up at the sight of a little turbulence I suggest just hanging out in your seat and we'll come through this just fine, together. Together.

Ladies and gentlemen, we will be coming through the cabin with beverages and snacks momentarily. Normally I'd offer beer and alcohol for an additional charge, but we seem to be out today, which is odd because the plane is always fully stocked and only the flight crew has access before we're on board, but whatever, I guess it will just have to remain a mystery. Big mystery.

Hey gang, we're starting our descent into Denver and should be on the ground in the next half hour or so. Of course, sometimes descents go faster, sometimes it feels like the bottom just drops out and you're in free fall, sometimes you find your girlfriend and your copilot in your bed eating the last slice of your birthday cake and you feel like you're going to fall right through the floor. But not today. Today I predict a smooth landing.

Ladies and gentlemen, on behalf of the airline and your crew I want to welcome you to Denver International Airport. I know it looks like we've arrived, but our captain does have a serious problem with commitment and I wouldn't put it past him to just sit out here idling for say, I don't know, three years, while all the other planes get to take off and come in looking all pretty in their dresses and making little planes and having families. And then, if God forbid, we did something to try to wake the captain up, to remind him that we were still here, well he'd probably just take off again. So I know it looks good right now, but let's just see how this is going to play out before we get too excited. I'd hate to see you all get hurt.

Well guys, I guess this is it. We had a good run, right? Not that bad. Heck, there was a lot of good, wasn't there? But for now I guess it's goodbye. Unless you want to stay. Unless maybe you decide you want to come back. Because in spite of whatever problems we may have had, I think we're good together. I think we work. So come back, will you? Please? Because honestly, it's not going to be the same without you. We know you have choices when you fly, but we'd be so happy, and so ready to take our relationship to the next level if you just chose us. Until then, please enjoy your stay in Denver.


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Wednesday, April 26, 2006

Brief Appeal To Jonathan Franzen, David Foster Wallace, And Aimee Bender

Hey Guys,

Big fan. Huge. Really.

Just wondering if you might be amenable to halting your writing careers and moving on to something else. Anything else. Gardening is something that people do. Also knitting. Or maybe quality control for an industrial chemical manufacturer. It's totally up to you.

I don't know if you're sports fans, but maybe you've seen someone hit a home run before. And then maybe you've seen the pitcher, who was just doing his best and really trying to do a good job, you've seen him take off his hat in frustration and then hang his head in defeat as the hitter makes that run around the bases and humiliates him. Well, that's what it's like for the rest of us charged with arranging words for a living every time you guys publish something. At least in baseball the pitcher can plunk the next batter. Who do you suggest I plunk?

So listen, you've had your fun. You've expanded and challenged minds. You've entertained and empowered, blah, blah, blah. But some of the rest of us, we have any number of bad habits to service and we certainly can't do it on the salary we're getting from Arby's. So what if you took your talents to one of those other fields I suggested and left writing to us hackier folks. I'd thank you. I know my girlfriend would thank you. And I'm sure that countless self delusional wannabes around the country, nay, the world, would thank you.

So ask yourself - would it really be so hard to stop? Wouldn't you like to grow your own veggies? Make your own hats? Insure the quality of dangerous chemical compounds?

Thanking you in advance,

Kyle

p.s. despite retiring, if any of you wants to do a blurb for my new book, I'm totally on board.

Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Incredible 3br 2.5bath - History Meets The Future

Are you looking to break out of the cookie cutter? Well, Welcome Home!

This utterly unique property marries a fascinating history with futuristic features you won't find anywhere else. Reconstructed nearly fifteen years ago (full disclosure, the previous structure did disappear into some sort of highly localized vortex) on lushly forested acreage once belonging to an exclusive pagan ritualisim and social club, this charming home has features you'll be hard pressed to find elsewhere. The kitchen comes fully equipped with self opening and closing cabinets and doors as well as a lively and occasionally talkative refrigerator (don't worry, mostly it just moans and it's never said anything that would offend junior's ears). You'll find hardwood floors throughout with periodic rolling tides of a delightful deep red liquid to brighten things up. Hate to feel alone? You'll find the home's rotating cast of gravitationally unencumbered characters (yes, they're included!) will make you feel cozy and accompanied all day and night. And feel free to turn Fido loose in the large backyard. It's a virtual treasure trove of archeological delights including bones, sacrificial altars, and pagan temples, all tucked neatly under a bed of soft Kentucky Bluegrass.

It simply must be seen to be believed!

Sellers are highly motivated and will entertain all offers. Please give a 30 minute courtesy call before visiting the property. Should you encounter the 'bleeding' floors or walls, please make an effort not to track anything onto the front deck, it's new. Also, should the home threaten you in any way, likely with the booming voice of a demon calling himself Mefisilies, or quickly moving objects (possibly sharp), it's best not to show fear. Just announce in a calm and firm tone that you have an appointment and that you'd appreciate a modicum of cooperation. In almost all cases that's been effective. Also, please do not let the cat out.

Don't let this one get away!

Monday, April 17, 2006

Ted

My other head is named Ted. That was not my doing. That was Ted’s doing. That’s pretty much the problem in a nutshell. Ted is the kind of head that would name himself Ted the head.

The doctor says that this is a fixable situation. He says that there’s technology and procedures. Ted doesn’t hear any of this because I bought him an Ipod and he listens to music while the doctor is describing how we could remove Ted’s head from my body and make me just like everyone else. I could have one body and one head. It could all be mine.

Ted likes country music and songs about the stars. He hums to himself while we talk about incisions and sutures. He whistles when I ask how long it will take to heal.

The doctor says he thinks we should really give this some thought first, that it’s not reversible, that it’s somewhat extreme. He says that some might look on our situation as a blessing. Something special. A team. If we’re having problems, maybe we want to see a counselor. I tell the doctor that I’ve been trying to become a vegan for the last eight years. Ted, however, is addicted to barbecue. He likes sausage and ribs and his steaks cooked rare. I ask the doctor if he knows what it’s like to share his stomach with someone else. He says he doesn’t.

We schedule the surgery.

Ted asks how the appointment went. He’s under the impression that this is all related to my veganism, which in some technical way it very much is. I tell him it went well and he’s satisfied with that. Ted is satisfied with whatever you tell him. He’s a sucker, which is why we own a lot of kitchen gadgets and have changed long distance carriers so many times. It’s also why Ted can’t watch TV late at night or answer the phone anymore.

What are you thinking about?

This is one of Ted’s favorite questions.

Nothing, I tell him, even though it’s not possible to think about nothing. Even thinking about nothing is thinking about something. But Ted never questions this.

Oh, he says. I was thinking about my favorite color. Do you know what my favorite color is?

Your favorite color is blue, Ted.

It sure is. It sure is. Blue, he says while licking his lips as if it’s something he can taste. Blue.

***

Elise is French. Her hair is straight. Her nails are long like garden tools. When we have dinner she sends things back until they are exactly the right temperature.

This duck should be 167 degrees.

This salad needs to be 14 degrees cooler.

Her tongue is very, very sensitive. When she kisses me she can read my mind.

You are thinking about something, no?

I check to make sure that Ted is asleep. When she drinks properly chilled wine, Elise tells wonderful stories about herself and her travels and stupid people who don’t even realize they are stupid. These stories put Ted to sleep because he is not sophisticated.

I saw the doctor, I say.

Elise raises her eyebrows. Her fingers unfurl across the table and get mixed up in my own. Yes?

I’ve set a date. For the, I lean in and whisper, surgery.

Elise brings her lips to my ear and takes in a breath like she’s going to say something. Instead I feel her magical tongue brush against my earlobe and I vibrate like a guitar string.

She pulls back and licks her lips, deciding something.

Almost perfect, she says.

The vibration in my core stirs Ted to life.

Well, hey E-lise. How’s dinner?

Almost, she says again without acknowledging Ted at all. As long as she looks at me I can never look away. If she decides I should stay at this table for eleven months, three days, and six hours, her eyes will be enough to keep me.

***

Ted wants his party at Chuck E Cheese. He doesn’t even ask what the party is for. Since it is a going away party I allow it.

All of the neighborhood kids are there. They love Ted. Brice, Kenneth, Tyler, Andy. They all think Ted is so funny. I’ve tried to explain to them that there’s more to life than being funny. There’s work and success. Assets and finances. Books and politics. And living with Ted is no easy task, I’ve told them. But they don’t understand because they’re only kids and kids don’t understand anything. As soon as they do, they stop being kids.

I let Ted play in the ball pit for almost an hour. I let him waste money on video games and air hockey. He eats almost a whole pizza by himself, one covered in layers of greasy cheese and ground meat. I can feel the pizza mix with the lentil soup I ate before the party and I feel sick.

This is the last time I will ever eat pizza, I think as Ted takes another bite.

At the end of the night Ted takes all the tickets he’s collected and spends them on a stapler. It’s a tiny stapler that wouldn’t hold three sheets of paper together. I try to tell him that we already have a stapler, one that, in addition to being functional, probably cost less than what we spent in order to win this one. I try to steer him towards the big lollipop on the grounds that it’s at least useful for its intended purpose. But the economics of the situation mean nothing to Ted. He wants the stapler. So at the end of his going away party Ted comes home with a very small, very expensive, and utterly useless stapler.

***

My house is my house. It’s not Ted’s house. I paid for it with money I got from doing my job. I got that job with my degree. And I earned that degree with the facts and figures that I stuffed into my head. Ted’s head is just along for the ride. So Ted’s head doesn’t get to make decisions.

I’ve meticulously collected and arranged everything in my house. It flows. Things complement one another. There’s a sense of purpose, of intent. It is a sanctuary. I have pictures of it on my desk at work the way other people have pictures of their children. It calms me to look at them. It fills me with pride. It’s very nearly perfect.

Except for one little spot.

It’s a spot near the top of the wall in the bedroom, the spot Ted stares at when I lay down to read. To keep him from complaining incessantly and asking how soon we could turn out the light I decided to let Ted decorate this little space. Ted thought about it for several weeks, looked at paint samples that I had suggested, looked through catalogs. At night I could almost feel him imagining the possibilities. I admit to being briefly hopeful about his decision. Then one day as I was rushing through the mall Ted cried out that he saw what he wanted. And since then there’s been a poster of Garfield the cat eating a tray of lasagna on the wall of my otherwise perfect home.

When Ted looks at it he giggles, and then within minutes he’s asleep.

The poster should have made it possible for me to read in peace. Instead, I often find myself distracted, my eyes picking at it like a little scab, going over and over it so that it never heals, never fades, never gives up my attention. Often I turn out the lights in frustration, but even in the darkness I know it’s there.

I’m looking forward to taking it down.

But tonight I’m not distracted. Tonight my reading has engrossed me. The materials outline the procedure in detail. They say that it’s remarkably simple. The head is removed. The nerves are clipped. The wound is sewed up. When it’s over I will have a scar. That’s all. Just a scar.

Hey. What does cranial amputation mean?

I look over and discover that Ted is awake, his eyes squinting as if looking into a sunset as he tries to make sense of the words and pictures in my hands.

Nothing. It’s just work stuff. Go back to sleep.

His eyes drift back over to his poster. He giggles. His lids droop and seal.

That’s Ted. Too innocent for his own good. Too trusting to survive. I’m helping him, I think. I’m protecting him from a world he’s not equipped to handle. This is mercy, I think, for both of us.

What do you think Heaven is like, Ted suddenly asks without opening his eyes.

I don’t believe in Heaven, I say. I think this life is all there is. That’s why each of us must do what’s necessary to live it to the fullest.

Ted doesn’t respond and suddenly I find myself staring at the Garfield poster. Frustrated, I turn out the lights.

Then, from the darkness Ted says, I think it’s probably a very pretty blue.

***

I’m intentionally vague about what we’re doing. Lying there, I keep thinking that Ted will ask more questions, but he doesn’t seem the least bit worried, not the least bit suspicious. They draw some dotted lines with a felt tip pen where they’re going to cut. They put a big X on Ted’s forehead to make sure they know which head to take and which head to leave. Ted laughs when they draw the X. He says it tickles.

I see the doctor through a window. He’s in the other room washing up, getting ready. I begin to feel nervous. Ill. I want Ted to ask what’s going on. I’ve spent hours preparing my explanation, now I feel the need to hear it again. Not for Ted, but for myself. But Ted doesn’t ask.

The doctor comes in hidden behind layers of plastic and rubber. His voice is the only thing familiar.

Are we sure?

I make a decision. I decide it’s up to Ted. I decide that if Ted wants to stay I will let him. All he has to do is ask. But still he doesn’t say a word. And in the end I can’t forgive him for that. If Ted can’t speak on his own behalf, if Ted isn’t interested enough to wonder what’s happening, then I will not feel guilty. I will not be responsible. I wait and I wait and the nurses wait and the doctor waits. Everyone waits and Ted only smiles.

Finally, I nod. We’re sure.

The doctor turns to someone. That someone presses a button, turns a dial. I begin to feel heavy. My limbs sink into the bed, my muscles let go of my bones. The weight tips my head to the side and as my eyelids give way, I find myself staring at Ted. There is a giant X just above his eyes drawn in blue marker.

Then the world feels like it gets sucked up by a vacuum, pulled away as I try to hold on. The last thing I remember is Ted smiling at me.

Goodbye, is what he says.

***

At dinner Elise kisses me.

Perfect, she says again and again.

Meat no longer sneaks its way into my stomach.

At work I’m no longer interrupted by silly questions, not embarrassed in meetings. My boss tells me that he’s eyeing me for a promotion.

The neighborhood kids stop coming by. Even on Halloween, when I turn on the light and have a bowl of candy waiting, they all stay away. By Thanksgiving I’m sick of all the leftover chocolate and I end up throwing most of it out. I realize I never really liked chocolate. It was Ted’s thing.

When I visit the doctor he says that I’m healing very well. He says he doubts there will be much of a scar at all.

There is, however, the issue of disposal.

Disposal?

What would you like us to do with the… removed item?

Oh.

I end up taking Ted home in a jar. I think it’s a jar. I tell them to put the jar in a box, and even though I keep thinking I will, I never open the box. I take it on faith that Ted is inside.

On a Sunday afternoon in the fall I take the box to the park and I dig up a hole in a place I think Ted would have liked. I put the box inside along with Ted’s stapler and I say a couple things. I say that Ted liked country music and that he was very na├»ve. I say that the neighborhood kids miss him, and that while he was not that bright, he was also not that bad. I want to say that I miss him, because I think that’s an important thing to say. But the truth is, the scar is almost healed. The evidence is almost gone. By the time I cover the box up, it’s almost like Ted never was never here at all.

That night Elise rakes long fertile rows in my back and makes love to me like an adult. We hold each other and she says that she feels like a cigarette, but neither of us smokes. Instead, we just lie there tangled up in one another. Two bodies. Two heads. The silence tries to fuse us together, presses on us like an ocean crushing a submarine. But it never quite works. We end up staying ourselves.

Elise looks at Ted’s poster on the wall and wonders when I’m going to take it down.

It’s hideous, she says.

Tomorrow, I say.

But when tomorrow happens, I leave the poster right where it is.

Monday, April 10, 2006

Letter From Me To The Team Responsible For Paper Sack Lifetime Entries

Hey gang, kudos all around. Really. I've gotten some swell compliments regarding your work, and you know how I feel about compliments. I love them! A couple people have asked how on Earth I come up with this stuff. Of course, I didn't mention anything about your little group being locked up in that tiny room, but I want you to know that when I said, 'I guess it just comes to me', what I meant is that it just comes to me from some talented and starving individuals who are desperate to see sunlight.

But enough of the ego stroking. Lord knows, there isn't room in that cell for any big heads, am I right? There's also a couple issues I want to touch on right quick. The first is production. Now, all of you know that in order to be released from the various nets or cleverly disguised holes that you stumbled into you each agreed to create three entries a week for this site in perpetuity. Yet, lately I'm told your work has been slightly erratic: posting at odd times, or missing days altogether. Partly this is my fault. As you may have heard, the Learjet needed new upholstery last month and when the bill came for your gruel rations, I just didn't think I could swing both. But I'm back on track this month and hopefully you're eating a big bowl of gruel as we speak and there are no hard feelings. As an added incentive, if you can power through another year of entries I'm willing to get each of you a spoon. Will they be shiny? You bet!

Your minders tell me they've been hearing some 'concerns' about living conditions. When are we getting hot water? How soon will the latrine be finished? Are the shock collars really necessary? Let me remind you that asking questions really won't help you get these entries done. And should you fail to get the entries done, I don't think there will be any confusion over whether or not the shock collars are necessary. But I'm sensitive to your concerns. Just last week the 'return' button on my plasma TV remote stopped working, meaning that in order to get back to the last channel I was watching I had to manually enter the channel number. I'm sure you can imagine how frustrating that was. But you know what? I persevered. I entered those numbers. I watched my shows (the Sopranos are just great, just great). And I think I'm a little bit better person for the adversity. So the next time you find yourself thinking, 'what year is it?', or 'when is the gruel coming?', just remember, this is all building character. When you look at it that way, you'll probably feel like thanking me for those leg irons. Not necessary. Just keep up the good work.

Secondly, I've been thinking about frogs lately. I'd like to see more frog related content on the site. Also, paperclips. Do something funny about paperclips. Beavers, lasers, they were cute the first time, but now... I'm over it. Maybe a fake press release about a frog. Or a letter from a paperclip. I don't know, I leave it to you guys as you've got much more time to think on these things than me. But if you can do a frog and paperclip related post in the next month that gets me to smile, I'll arrange to have the sunshine let in for an hour, hour and a half. How about that? I'm sure your wheels are turning already.

Well, look, I just wanted to say good job while at the same time laying out a veiled threat of bodily harm in the event that you don't shape up, so I'll let you get back to work. If we get any more good reviews and make sure that you're all allowed to share in the glory. Until then, keep writing and conserve your oxygen.

Many thanks,

Mr. Kyle

Minders, you may now seal them back in.

Friday, April 07, 2006

Possible Reasons Your Prayers Were Not Answered

Hi there. I'm in the prayer complaint department and we're constantly hearing from the faithful who are upset that their prayers seem to go unheard or unanswered. The following is a brief list of things you can think about to improve your the odds of making your prayer successfully heard and potentially acted upon.

1. Which God are you praying to?
As you know, there are a number of world religions, and most of them are mutually exclusive. So if you're not praying to the proper God, you're just talking to yourself, and that's silly. I'm legally unable to name the proper God, but I can tell you that praying to the wrong one is the number one mistake made by most people. If you're too lazy to sort out the one true faith, perhaps begin a regimen of praying to all possible Gods (though this will upset some of the Gods) as a way of covering your bases.

2. Are you praying or wishing?
A prayer is a search for answers, guidance, relief, or strength. It is not a request for a new Xbox. Also, prayers are not directed at birthday candles or twinkling stars. That's Disney's department, not ours.

3. Style counts.
As you can imagine, we hear a lot of prayers. A lot. Imagine getting billions of letters everyday. Even if you could read them, wouldn't you be more likely to respond to the ones that were well written, on nice paper, and completely legible? Prayers are the same way. We've heard it all. Twice. So getting your prayer noticed requires you to be inventive. Think before you pray. Is this the most interesting way to phrase this? Am I just wandering off on a tangent and talking about my day before finally saying thanks and good night? Would my prayer be better if I set it to music or accompanied it with a laser light show? Just remember, if you want the big cheese to put some time and effort into a response, the least you can do is pretty up the request.

4. Is your prayer sports related?
God has no interest in sports whatsoever. Unless it's curling. Women's curling. Otherwise you're just talking to yourself. Often on national TV.

5. Did you pay for postage?
Used to be that a simple Amen would get your stuff up here, but times are changing. In an effort to cut down on frivolous/sports related prayer, we've found ourselves forced to start charging. The prices are still in flux (it's an emerging market) but the going rate is roughly one kind word or deed per prayer. That's it. Help that lady across the street. Tell that guy his pants are on backwards, and your stylish, well written, non wish prayer will get to the proper authorities (assuming, obviously, that you've chosen the proper religion). It's pretty cheap when you think about it.
Also, doughnuts are an acceptable payment. Krispy Kreme. Left on the front porch, Santa Clause style.

Monday, April 03, 2006

Astronaut

Dear NASA,

I was just wondering if you needed any Astronauts. I guess it's probably a stupid question, but I figured, hey, if you don't ask, you'll never find out.

Dave

Dear Dave,

Funny enough, we were just talking about taking out an ad. Usually we go through the military and scientific community, but whatever, they're kind of square. You're not square are you? Send a photo of yourself in a jockstrap with a pair of those waterwings floaties on your arms to prove otherwise.


NASA


Dear NASA,

No way! That's so awesome! To answer your question, I'm not square at all (see photo). Does this mean I qualify? Do you need a resume or anything?

Dave

Dear Dave,

No resume necessary. You're photo was perfect, just what we're looking for. Do you have access to any liquefied oxygen and/or plutonium? That would really speed things up.


NASA


Dear NASA,

Um. No. I wouldn't even know where to look for stuff like that. Maybe I should come down to your place and we can talk about it.

Dave

Dear Dave,

Don't come down. It's squaresville here, trust us. We'll send you everything you need. Watch your mailbox. Or possibly for a tractor trailer. Probably it will come on a tractor trailer.


NASA


Dear NASA,

Got your package. Must say, not exactly what I was expecting. I did get a rocket. It's big, but you know, not that big. They look bigger on TV. Also, I was under the impression you could get in them. I'm almost sure I've seen that before. This one just has a large velcro patch on the side. I guess that's supposed to connect to the velcro on this suit you sent? Speaking of, the helmet, again, no expert, but looks a lot like a fishbowl that's just been duct taped to the suit. Did I get the right stuff? Also, were there supposed to be instructions besides: light fuse, grasp rocket tightly?

Dave

Dear Dave,

Regarding your perceptions of the equipment, we're not made of money over here, not anymore. As you may know, space research was initially greenlighted under the theory that the moon was made of diamonds and would be a great base station for a super exclusive fat camp (did you know you weigh 1/6th what you weigh on Earth up there?) but neither of those theories really panned out. So, yeah Dave, budget cuts. Welcome to space in the 21st century. We kind of hoped this wouldn't be an issue, but you're sounding suspiciously square about the whole thing. Maybe we should have picked someone else.


NASA

Dear NASA,

I'm sorry. I was just curious. I'm really excited. Really. I quit my job and told all my neighbors and everything. They like totally can't believe it. Really. They're actually in a state of disbelief. Not a single one believes me. Funny huh?

Dave

Dear Dave,

You ride that fireball into space and leave a nicely charred bit o' backyard and we guarantee that will shut the neighbors up. Seriously, we're proud of you Dave. This will be your finest hour. Also, we mailed you a satellite. The thing that looks like a jambox. If you wouldn't mind launching that? Much appreciated. Oh, and if you could get a friend or neighbor to paint the letters USA on your back before you light that fuse, well, it would be good advertising for the program. We think this is going to be the beginning of something special Dave. You're a real pioneer. Pi-o-neer! Best of luck, Dave. Do us proud.


NASA


p.s. you are so totally not square.

Dear Dave,

Saw the launch on the news yesterday. As you know, there's always some kinks to work out when you're trying to get a new program off the ground (no pun intended). Who knew they could just tip over like that once they were lit? To our credit, you have to admit we did a hell of a job with that velcro. Looked like you were fighting pretty hard to detach while that thing was moving around the backyard. Anyway, we're totally willing to send you another rocket when you get out of the hospital. And if you don't feel up to it, we understand that too. Honestly, most of the people who've been to space say it's only so-so. Now, and we hate to even mention this, the news said something about you retaining a lawyer. We're not sure what that's all about, but given our budget constraints we're sure you wouldn't want to sue us. That would just get ugly all around, Dave. This was a mutual thing, Dave. No one side is more at fault than the other just because one side designed and tested the rocket. The important thing is: we have photos of you in a jockstrap and waterwings, Dave. There, we said it. We don't want to have to use them. Please don't make us.


Speedy Recovery!


NASA