I’m having an existentialist crisis. Ever since I heard mention of the Apollo program, I’ve always wanted to be an astronaut. However, since there is no atmosphere in space, there is no weather, and therefore, there would be – I’m assuming – no Weatherhuman. I would cease to exist, and UCSB would be without a daily wise-ass. Unless, of course, A.S. finally takes my suggestion to fire its execs and replace them with the all-star cast of Spamalot.
Space – the final frontier – is getting the finger today.
Wednesday’s Forecast: NASA proves more persistent than the ‘human’s fears, and sends me to figure out if men are from Mars, if women are from Venus, and which place Prince prefers.