I have been feeling this way inclined for some time now, but I blame my latest bout of angst firmly on Felix Baumgartner, that Austrian daredevil, spacetravelling nutjob, who jumped from the egde of outer space to earth. As one does sometimes. Flippin' mad, he is.
The first thing I did on seeing the white-suited man who can jump footage was scold him mercilessly through the televisual set for being so damn irresponsible. Everyone knows it's just lunacy to have Red Bull before you have your Corn Flakes. Honestly, I don't know where his head was. The second thing I noticed was how that crazy gravity thing is still working just ticketyboo. And they said it wouldn't take off.
And after that I was just utterly pissed off that my life doesn't consist of intergalactic hot air balloon rides or random hurtlement through the atmosphere at 1,000-ish kilometres over the speed limit or the fact that there is never any doubt or vague concern whatsoever about whether my parachute will hold up until I get to the printer in my workplace. Felix may be flippin' nuts, but at least he's living it and loving it. Or maybe he was just a bored public servant in a past life.
The only reason 58 billion people watched the "show" anyway was because there was a chance of Felix's brain exploding during The YouTube's live(ish) feed. Maybe I have more in common with him than I think.
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| I heart this photo. |
Speaking of outer space and things not being where they ought, one of NASA's retired space shuttles rolled through the dodgy streets of one of the newly treeless, gang-ridden, ghetto regions of Los Angeles on its way to a museum to begin its new life as an oversized dust catcher.
I'm surprised the shuttle made it through the 'burbs without being tagged by young hooligans. The ultimate graffiti challenge. I can't look at these shuttles without wondering how all that gaffer tape stays stuck on its nosecone. There are many reasons I don't work at NASA, and that little thought bubble is presumably one of them.
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