Deep Purple Prose

Raul strode through the dark night, his way lit by twinkling stars as if the gods at some celestial concert were all flicking their lighters at the same time in appreciation of the drum solo-like beat of his boot heels against the pavement, occasionally accompanied by the steel-brush-on-a-cymbal sound of a splash as he kicked through a puddle, the plip-plop of water dripping from leaves like someone playing staccato on a two-note piano gone flat, and the wind blowing a bluesy tissue-paper-on-comb harmonica through the trees.

That’s one of the many entries in the latest Bulwer-Lytton bad-writing contest.

Enjoy.

[via Kathy Kinsley]

Another Anniversary

It’s been seven years since TWA Flight 800 went down off Long Island, another investigation that, in my opinion (as well as in that of many others) didn’t really resolve it. Scott Holleran wonders if it was (perhaps like Oklahoma City) another jihadist terrorist strike on US soil that the Clinton administration found politically inconvenient.

Space Progress Report

My new Fox column is up. As part of commemorating this week’s Apollo anniversary (and remember it’s only three more shopping days until Evoloterra Day), I have some observations on where we stand in spaceflight, midyear. There’s a lot of retreads from the past few days, but some new stuff as well, not to mention a Simpsons reference.

Thirty Four Years Ago Today

Apollo XI lifted off from Cape Canaveral. Here are Mike Collins’ pre-launch thoughts:

I am far from certain that we will be able to fly the mission as planned. I think we will escape with our skins, or at least I will escape with mine, but I wouldn’t give better than even odds on a successful landing and return. Fred Haise (the backup astronaut who had performed the pre-launch CM switch positions) has run through a checklist 417 steps long, and I have merely a half-dozen minor chores to take care of— nickel and dime stuff. In between switch throws, I have plenty of time to think, if not daydream. Here I am, a white male, age 38, height 5 feet 11 inches, weight 165 pounds, salary $17,000 per annum, resident of a Texas suburb, with black spot on my roses, state of mind unsettled, about to be shot off to the moon. Yes, to the moon.

Biting Commentary about Infinity…and Beyond!