I love space. I love all things space-related, especially anything to do with our space program in the 1960s. I thought those guys were ballsy as hell, strapping themselves inside a tin can that sat on top of thousands of pounds of rocket fuel. Anything at any point could go wrong, but they still took the risk because they believed the reward would be worth it. I’m not worthy to breathe the same air as them. I think our planet is a fragile little ball of stuff floating around in the inky black void of space, and I wish we as a species took better care of it. It’s the only home we’ve got, at least until we manage to colonize other planets or hell, even the moon. Carl Sagan was very right — we’re all made of starstuff. Our very essence makes up the stars, the planets, the asteroids, the meteorites, even this very planet. Treat it well. It is us, and we are it.