To Whom it May Concern . . .

With the recent close of the shuttle program, my mind has been dwelling on NASA and the impact it has had on my life and on the country as a whole. I'm a letter-writer (in case you couldn't tell), and when I get fired up about something, I want to reach out to the people involved and express myself. Sometimes it means writing an angry letter of protest, and sometimes it's about gratitude. This is definitely the latter.

My friend Maggie works at Goddard Space Flight Center, and I sent the letter to her with a request that she post it for her workmates to see. She went a step further and posted it on the Goddard Blog, Blueshift. Thanks, Maggie; I hope you and your co-workers read this and know that you are appreciated. I mailed a hardcopy to Johnson Space Center in Houston as well, and I hope they read it there too.

Here's the text:

To the Men and Women of NASA:

I do not know how to start this letter. It is difficult to put into words what I’m feeling right now, but I started this damn letter, so I’d better give it a try.

I remember when I was a little girl, my mother and I would sit and watch the shuttle launches on tv. She would smile when one got off, and say, “Your grandfather used to work for NASA at the University of Chicago.” It made me so proud. There was a time, before I realized that math is hard, that I wanted to be an astronaut myself. I think every kid of my generation wanted that at some point. Most of us grew up to be doctors or lawyers or actors (like me), but unlike most, I never stopped looking up at the heavens and dreaming.


As I got older, my interests matured with the rest of me. “Apollo 13” came out when I was fifteen, and I watched, rapt, and then bought Captain Lovell’s book and devoured it. I would listen to news reports about NASA missions and saw the ISS being built. I saw nations work together in the vacuums of space, nations that had once had missiles of war aimed at each other, and sometimes still did. And, I started to realize that this awesome thing, this adventure of space exploration, was becoming something largely ignored. The shuttles still went up, but the news relegated them to the end of their broadcasts. NASA turned into little “human-interest” pieces. People stopped looking up the way they used to, dreaming of the stars and marveling at the feat of space travel, the courage and the wonder of it, the incredible achievements we had made and were still making.


I got excited about Constellation. I read about the new Orion capsules and the new LEM, looked at the designs for the new space suits. I cheered when I saw the new lunar vehicle roll by the President’s pavilion at his inauguration. I hoped for a time when we would return to the moon and outward, when we would blaze new trails again. And, I felt the disappointment of the Augustine commission report, and the budget cuts that followed.


I want to express my heartfelt and sincere gratitude to all of you, to all the men and women of NASA who have dedicated their lives to this greatest of adventures. You captured the imagination of a little girl glued to her tv, watching the roar of the Saturn rocket taking another mission into the air. I cried in 1986, and again in 2003, my horror just a fraction of what you all must have felt, and still feel, over Challenger and Columbia. I celebrated in 2009 with the Anniversary of Apollo 11, elated to get to meet Buzz Aldrin and one of my personal heroes, Jim Lovell, when they spoke in Chicago. I felt my heart pull as Charles Bolden cried while he spoke at the anniversary and the retirement of the shuttle program, and announced where each vessel would come to rest.


I have laughed, I have wept, and I have hoped, all the while looking up into the sky.


I know in the months and the years to come, NASA will go on, and it will change. Soyuz craft will take our men and women into space for a while, and one day perhaps Atlas rockets will lift the Orion capsules there from a Florida launch pad again. Mission Control will be a quieter place for a time. The ghosts of Gemini and Apollo, and of the shuttles, will sometimes outnumber the people there. But, I will still look up into the sky and wonder. I will still dream of a time when we will walk again across the face of the moon, and travel onward. And, I will never forget the bravery and the incredible fortitude of all of you, past and present, who have taken us to the stars.


So much time is spent talking of the hardware of the space program: the shuttles, the capsules, the rockets, the station. But, NASA is not made of hardware. It is made of people.


After my grandfather passed away, my mother found commendations he had received for his work with NASA, hidden among his things, awards and thank-yous he had never even spoken of. He was humble about it all; he had just been a small part of a larger program, working on experiments and data, not even in Houston or the Cape, was only present for one of the launches (a highlight of his life). He had done it not for gratitude or lauds, but for the science, for the discovery. He had not seen it as so very extraordinary, what he did. But, my mother told me a story of one day when she was a little girl. He had taken her into the lab on a Saturday morning; he had needed to check on an experiment, and she tagged along. While she was there, he came over and handed her a copper ring, telling her to hold it. A few minutes later, he came back and took it, placing it back on a shelf. He had looked at her, seriously, and said, “Now your fingerprints are going to Mars.”


Space belongs to the world, and the world will continue its exploration. But, for so many years, it has been so very personal for us as Americans. NASA is people, each doing their job quietly, without thanks, making sure our astronauts get home, working together to learn about the vast reaches that extend beyond our little blue planet. As this era ends and we all hope for a new one, I just wanted to say that you are appreciated, you are remembered for all that you have done.


This letter doesn’t say everything I wish it could, and it doesn’t say any of it very well. But in the end, I suppose all it really needs to say is: thank you.


Thank you.

My grandfather (striped shirt) in the 1960's. Looks like a Gemini capsule in the background.

Me meeting Buzz Aldrin in 2009.

Grateful . . .

Atlantis has landed, marking the end of the shuttle era, and the beginning of a much quieter period for NASA.

Thank you, Atlantis, Discovery, Columbia, Challenger, and Endeavour. You will be missed.

Going Up to the Spirit in the Sky . . .

Update: Atlantis has had a perfect launch, and is now in orbit around Earth. She will rendevous with the ISS on Sunday, for STS-135, dropping off supplies. Yeah, I cried a little. 'Cause I'm just that big a geek;)

Today (if the weather holds out) marks the final flight of the Space Shuttle program. The program turned 30 this year; it was begun in 1981. 135 flights, 33 for Atlantis (counting today), 20,830 orbits around the Earth, and $196 billion. The shuttles took the lives of 14 astronauts, but launched the Hubble telescope, helped end the Cold War and establish better international cooperation, and enabled us to build the Space Station. Some would call the program a mistake; in fact, one NASA administrator did. But others would say that it was cheap at twice the price. After today's launch, it will be at least three years before Americans are launched into space again on their own soil. We will become passengers instead of pioneers.

It is a sad, exciting, hopeful, historic day. We remember the past and look to the future of space exploration. Godspeed Atlantis. And, we thank you.

Last Dance . . .

Shuttle Endeavour launched successfully this morning, making its very last trip into space, and marking the second-to-last shuttle launch ever. Endeavour was supposed to make its final flight on April 29th, and the Obamas had turned out to see it, along with Shuttle Commander Mark Kelly's wife, Gabrielle Giffords. Unfortunately, as often happens with launches, things did not go according to plan (blame a faulty fuse box), and the launch was postponed. Everyone waited with baited breath to see it lift off this morning, and even Rep Giffords was able to come back to the Cape and see her husband off.

While the future of the program remains cloudy, Kelly had this to say before leaving earth in Endeavour for the last time: "It's in the DNA of our great country to reach for the stars and explore. We must not stop. To all the millions watching today, including our spouses, children, family and friends, we thank you for your support."

As of Monday, Endeavour had logged more than 116 million miles, circled Earth some 4,500 times, spent 283 days in space and carried 170 people, including the last two people to fly a space shuttle for the first time. It will be retired just a few miles from me at the California Science Center in Los Angeles, and I look forward to seeing it in person many times in the years to come.

Thank you, and Godspeed

Today, the 30th Anniversary of the first shuttle launch, NASA announced where each of the retired space shuttles would be living out the rest of their lives, on display for all of us to get a chance to see a vehicle that has traversed the depths of the outer reaches:

Atlantis will go home to the Kennedy Space Center.

Endeavour will go to the California Science Center in Los Angeles (and, you'd better believe I'll go visit!)

Discovery, the most-flown shuttle, will go to the Smithsonian.

And Enterprise, the prototype shuttle, will go to the Intrepid Sea, Air and Space Museum in New York.

The end of the Apollo program saw the beginning of the Shuttle Era, and from 1981 to 2011, NASA has sent human beings beyond the reach of this planet inside the world's first reuseable space vehicle. The shuttle program has made possible further innovations, like the ISS, and has paved the way for a truly International Space Program. Yes, there were tragedies, and we will never forget Challenger or Columbia. But, as the Shuttle Era comes to a close with Endeavour's final flight, we thank these remarkable craft, and the remarkable people who put her into space again and again.

It was really something to see Charlie Bolden, veteran astronaut, shuttle crew, and NASA administrator, get choked up as he thanked the crowd gathered at Kennedy Space Center for applauding, saying ,"It's been a tough day." For them, it must be like saying goodbye to a member of the family, one that kept you alive in the vacuum of space, and returned you home safely.

"Houston, we've had a problem."

Liftoff of Apollo 13 mission at 13:13

Today marks the 40th anniversary of the Apollo 13 mission, made famous in the minds of most by the film starring Tom Hanks, but the true story was even more dramatic than Hollywood could have made it.

At 55 hours, 55 minutes into the mission, after the crew of Jim Lovell, Fred Haise and Jack Swigert had just completed their broadcast to Earth and were performing a few routine maintanance procedures, the number two oxygen tank exploded. Within seconds there were warning lights all over the CM, telling them their main power was failing and they were drifting irratically as they vented their breathing oxygen into space through a huge hole in the side of the craft. They were 200,000 miles from home, hemorrhaging oxygen, losing power, and facing death.

It is truly astonishing that in spite of the many obstacles they faced throughout the next days, everything from dimishing water supplies, rising carbon dioxide levels, a freezing spacecraft, illness, and almost no sleep, the three men on board managed to stay pretty calm and do the job they needed to do: keep themselves alive and get back home."You don't put that in your mind," Lovell said. "You don't say how slim they are but rather how you can improve the odds." And on the ground, there were hundreds working towards the same end, so many more than any Hollywood movie could show. These people worked round the clock to save the crew, and they were always aware that if one more thing went wrong they could lose them to the cold desolation of space.

Against all odds and thanks to the tireless efforts of NASA, Grumman (who built the LEM that kept the men alive), North American (that built the CM), and everyone else who ever worked in and around the spacecraft and the incredible skill of the crew, the Apollo 13 capsule splashed down in the Pacific Ocean, never having landed on the moon, but safe home at last.

This month, the Adler Planetarium in Chicago has a series of moon-themed events; Lovell, Haise, and Gene Kranz, the flight director for NASA during the Apollo 13 mission, were on hand Monday to commemorate the mission. If you live in the Chicago-area, stop by. I encourage you to read Jim Lovell's book, Lost Moon, which details everything that happened during those few days and everything they did to get those men home; it's a fascinating and exciting read.

And, remember to keep looking to the stars.

"We just lost the moon."

Ares rocket test flight

This is a really sad day for space exploration.

A long time ago, one man threw down a gauntlet and challenged a nation to stretch itself further than many thought was even possible. He declared, boldly, that man could reach the stars and walk on the face of the moon, and that we could do it in less than ten years.

And, we did.

We went on to acheive the stuff of science-fiction, building a huge station in space, jetting around on tethers, sending explorative robots to other planets. We continued to dream, because we could, because we had been taught from the beginning that all we truly needed to do was set the goal and we would go about finding a way to achieve it. We would build new vehicles, stations, a moon base, go to Mars . . . anything was possible.

Then came the Augustine Commission. And the recession. And a President's sliding approval ratings. And, everyone stopped looking up.

The decision will be announced Monday that NASA will get an additional $5.9 billion  over the next five years, but it has to cut Constellation. No new Ares rockets, which NASA has been developing and testing for years. No new Orion capsules, designed like Apollo but made to fit eight astronauts instead of three. No moon base. No plan for Mars, which is made nearly impossible with the cutting of the Constellation program. We are instead asked to rely on commercial space programs, where we must trust the safety of something NASA didn't build or test, which we will essentially buy tickets on, turning our astronauts into passengers, in order to continue advancing the human endeavor of space exploration. We will extend the Space Station until 2020, but sacrifice our ability to venture any farther than our own orbit.

And what's worse, our children may learn to stop wishing for anything more.

We have descended from an age of intrepid explorers, brave men and women who risked their lives because they believed we could keep pushing out, further and further, and in discovering such alien landscapes would add indelibly to the human condition. Now, we are reduced to counting pennies and losing jobs and dreams, and that is a very sad thing indeed.

A Night with Jim and Buzz . . .

Image courtesy Adler Planetarium

On Wednesday, July 22nd, the Adler Planetarium of Chicago hosted an event at Northwestern's Chicago Campus, celebrating the 40th Anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing. Dr. Buzz Aldrin and Captain Jim Lovell came and talked with an audience of about 700 about their experiences in space during one of the most exciting times in human history. The talk was moderated by Craig Nelson, author of the recent book Rocket Men: The Epic Story of the First Men on the Moon , and there was even some time at the end for questions the audience had submitted.

I arrived very early, meeting up with a friend, and fellow space-head, Chris and his father. We hung around outside Thorne Auditorium while the Adler people decided whether or not they were going to let us in; it was not the smoothest, best-run event I've ever been to, but I give the harried girls who herded us around an A for effort;) About 6:30 they let us in to get seats, and we quickly claimed the closest row to the front that we could get; there were about six rows in front of us that were reserved for trustees, big-tickets donors, and VIP's (there were a few other astronauts there, identifiable by the gold pin on the lapel!) Buzz's wife Lois was there too, sitting right up front. I didn't feel too bad about sitting behind these people; we were dead-center, so much so that it felt like they could look right at us as they talked (though in a darkened theatre they certaily couldn't have seen us!).

The talk got started a little late and it was a packed house, not a seat empty. Nelson was a congenial host, and clearly very knowledgeable about his subjects. He professed being as awestruck to be in their presence as the rest of us; all 6'5" of him seemed a little trembly, to be sure;) The back-and-forth got going then, and let me just say: brilliant. To listen to these two men talk was one of the true highlights of my life thusfar: incredibly intelligent, witty, gentlemanly, and passionate, they were such a joy to listen to. Very different in the way they answered questions, too: Buzz tended to be long-winded and would sometimes stray from the topic a bit, though his meanderings were always interesting, but Jim was funny and usually concise, explaining complicated subjects like hypergolic fuel and sub-lunar orbit with the same ease as he showed when ribbing his colleague and friend (Buzz is a PhD from MIT with a very different background than Jim, who came to NASA as a test pilot. This was a source of some friendly jibes throughout the night). There was, indeed, a lot of laughter throughout, as the men told anecdotes, one thing spurring on another remembrance. They were fascinating and incredible men, but I was left with the sense that you could sit down to a family dinner with them and it would not feel out-of-place (but what a dinner that would be!)

There were no pictures allowed inside the auditorium; Adler was taping and photographing, of course, so I'm sure they'd rather we buy their version of the evening;) Still, Chris managed to snap a few very quick shots at the end, as we all jumped to our feet to applaud, an ovation that lasted several minutes.

Craig Nelson is there on the far left, Buzz is in the center in the blue suit (with a very bright tie!), and Jim is on the right.

I don't want to play favorites, but Captain Lovell has been a hero of mine for some time. His courage and determination, his regular beginnings and incredible achievements, and his graciousness and charm are a real inspiration for me. He was rejected from the astronaut corps once for a hinky medical test result (bilirubins? really?), but kept shooting for his dream of space, and ended up having more time in space tthan any other man by the end of Apollo. Someday, if I'm very lucky, I hope to truly meet him, shake his hand, invite he and Marilyn to dinner, anything; it would be a real honor to know Jim Lovell.

It was ceratinly an honor to be in the presence of Buzz Aldrin; the book signing, though poorly organized, was still pretty amazing. I had this whole speech prepared for when I got up there, hoping to tell him what an honor it was, how much NASA and the space program means to me, etc, etc, but . . . right as I got up there, this other guy who'd been hovering nearby starts toalking to Buzz, stealing my moment. I wanted to strangle him (my BFF B says I should have tracked the guy down afterwards and yelled at him). Oh well. All I managed at the end of that was a quick, "Dr. Aldrin, it's a real honor." I think he might have even looked at me, too;) Still, in spite of that, it was an amazing experience, and that book is getting framed with this picture.

The whole thing has gotten me to thinking about getting more involved. I've always said that if I ever get famous I'm going to set up charities and foundations for the things I'm passionate about . . . but why should I have to wait? There are plenty of programs and things started by ordinary people who see a need and fill it; you don't have to be famous to promote a cause you believe in. What about women in space, and women in science and math?

What do you think, dear readers? Do you think a foundation that encourages girls to pursue math and science,with an eye towards becoming astronauts, is a good idea? What would I call it?

Still on the moon . . .

. . . I should say, over the moon;) Last night was amazing and incredible, plain and simple. Getting to hear two of my personal heroes talk about one of the most exciting times in human history was an unrepeatable experience. Both astronauts were funny, fiercely intelligent, personable, and absolute gentlemen; I found myself wishing I could take them out to lunch and just pick their brains, just let them talk about whatever they wanted for as long as they wanted to talk. It was just amazing.

I'll post again when I have a few more pics to post; there was no photography allowed during the talk, but the friend I was there with sneaked a few shots at the very end, during the standing O. The above pic is me getting my book signed by Buzz; the smile on my face tells it all, I think;)

Simply an unforgettable night.

Ordinary Supermen . . .

The year is 1966. Veteran astronaut Jim Lovell, who had previously flown in the endurance mission of Gemini 7 with Frank Borman, is paired up with Edwin "Buzz" Aldrin for the final flight of the Gemini program, Gemini 12. This is Aldrin's first flight, and it's a doozy: they will have to dock with an unmanned Agena spacecraft to prove that orbital docking of two spacecraft is possible. Without a successful mission, Apollo, waiting in the wings, becomes uncertain, as does the possibility of making it to the moon. So, on November 11th, facing problems with their radar and relying heavily on visual sighting of the Agena, Lovell and Aldrin pave the way for Apollo and accomplish their mission objectives: all in a day's work for the astronauts, but groundbreaking for manned spaceflight. They did not see this in terms of historical significance; this was just what they were called to do. Gemini 12 splashed down in the Atlantic on November 15th, and the Gemini program was over. The astronauts shook hands, and wondered what was next for each of them: would either of them be amoung the first men to go to the moon? It would be years before they would find that out, but for that moment in 1966, all was well in the world.

Aldrin and Lovell onboard the Wasp carrier after recovery, November 1966

Each man, as it turned out, would have a further role to play in NASA's, and indeed humanity's, history: Three years later, Buzz Aldrin, LMP for Apollo 11, became the second man to set foot on the moon; Lovell, CMDR Apollo 13, survived the first disaster in space when an oxygen tank in his service module exploded and he and his crew had to fight to make it home alive. Lovell watched Aldrin take his first steps on the moon from his home in Houston, and Aldrin watched and listened to Lovell struggle to make it home just two years later from the same place. Neither saw the other as heroes, nor did they see themselves that way; they were coworkers and friends lucky enough to take part in one of humanity's greatest adventures.

Buzz Aldrin (left) and Jim Lovell (right)

This evening, the Adler Planetarium of Chicago is sponsoring an event to commemorate the 40th Anniversary of the Apollo 11 Moon Landing, and Buzz Aldrin and Jim Lovell will be speaking at Northwestern University's Thorne Auditorium. I was lucky enough to get a ticket, and it promises to be a rare experience indeed: two men bound by common and extraordinary experiences, speaking humbly about their reminiscences of one of the most incredible periods of human history. Ordinary Supermen. If I get to shake their hands, I may never recover.

"One Small Step for Man . . ."

Photo courtesy NASA

Forty years ago today, man set foot on the moon. All across the world, people were glued to their television sets as we achieved the impossible, and we were filled with a new sense of hope and brotherhood. Today, I salute everyone who sets an extraordinary goal and does whatever they can to reach it, even if it sits out in the stars.

Where were you when the historic moon landing took place?

We Choose to Go to the Moon . . .

Forty years ago, mankind achieved what had, up to that point, only been possible in the realm of science-fiction: we walked on the moon. On July 20th, 1969, Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin stepped out of their LEM, the Eagle, and onto the lunar surface, and humanity was forever changed by the experience. After a very cynical and progressively pessimistic decade, people everywhere were filled with wonder and a new faith that anything truly was possible. Apollo 11, in spite of ridiculous odds and a deadline no one thought could be met, had fulfilled JFK's promise when he said, "We choose to go to the moon."

Once again, we live in a time where wars rage in almost every corner of the globe, children starve, pollution and climate change choke our cities, and people focus on every salacious foible and tabloid incident in the news. We are cynical and jaded, too angry, too exclusionary, too victimized.

And yet, we also live in a time where we are connected to other people by a thousand tiny threads, where news is instant, we can see our friends from across oceans with the push of a button, and can talk to anyone anywhere at anytime we wish. Technology expands our lives by leaps and bounds, and once again anything we choose is possible. We need to step back in wonder once more at our achievements, as people did 40 years ago, glued to their black-and-white television sets and awestruck that a human being was standing on the surface of another planet. We chose to go, and in a testament to what we are capable of even in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds, we succeeded. When we work together, we can do wondrous things. That was truly the giant leap mankind took that day, and to honor what we acheived with Apollo 11, we should remember that again.

Nothing is impossible, even peace in our time, or an end to hunger and disease, and freedom for those oppressed.

After all, we chose to go to the moon.

*Go to We Choose the Moon.org for a real-time recreation of the Apollo 11 mission, including Mission Control/Spacecraft transmissions, progress tracking, restored video and audio of the landing, and more. Apollo 11 "launches" in just under 24 hours; be a part of those historical moments once again.

Rocket Experience . . .

Making of Buzz Aldrin's Rocket Experience w/ Snoop Dogg and Talib Kweli from Buzz Aldrin

Holy cow. This is from FunnyOrDie.com, and was recommended to me by a fellow Spacehead (a term I just made up for NASA junkies like myself;). I have never thought of Buzz Aldrin as a comedian. Legend, hero, astronaut, second man to set foot on the moon: yes. But comedian? Rapper? Not my first guess. I am changing my opinion right now.

In celebration of finally getting tickets for a talk with the incomparable Buzz and Jim Lovell (another incredible astronaut, commander of Apollo 13 and an all-around great guy), and for the 40th Anniversary of the Apollo 11 moon landing, I give you: Buzz Aldrin. Rocket Man Rapper.

We're not looking at the stars . . .

We just finished a successful mission to repair and refurbish the Hubble Telescope, releasing it this morning after the very last time human hands will ever touch it. We performed five long space walks. We even had the Mission Commander tweet as they launched, and they are blogging about the mission continuously. Atlantis will land back on earth soon, and STS-125 will be over. And hardly anyone will be paying any attention.

At some point after the first men landed on the moon in 1969, we here on this little satellite stopped thinking spaceflight was cool. Why is that? When did going outside our atmosphere and floating around in the vast depths of space become routine? When did the ISS get boring, or walking on the moon become mundane?

As some of you readers might know, I have always been a space-geek. Being raised in a family of science-fiction nerds helped, of course, but my grandfather actually worked for NASA, and I like to think my fascination comes from a deeper, geneological place. I have watched most of the launches over the years (when I can), and have gobbled up every documentary and several books on the history of man's quest for space. I can actually tell you what a lot of the positions at Mission Control do, and what those silly-sounding acronyms stand for. I am waiting breathlessly for the first Constellation Missions, and the debute of the new Ares I rocket, designed to one day take men to Mars.

But, over the years I have observed with dismay as people's interest has flagged in NASA and its international counterparts. Stories about shuttle launches are shunted to the end of a news broadcast, if mentioned at all; the only time NASA usually gets a mention is if they are getting their budget cut once again. On Capital Hill, people wail and shake their fists at the billions spent on such luxuries as building new crew capsules so we can retire the ailing, aged space shuttle, putting together return missions to the moon, and getting ourselves and our technology ready for eventually going beyond our own little orbit and exploring the rest of the solar system. NASA recently scrapped plans to build a moon base that would have made a Mars mission easier, due to budget cuts.

People, space is cool, and the men and women who are brave and intrepid enough to explore it are heroes. We cannot forget that we are citizens not just of this planet, but of the universe. Think of all we have learned just in the last fifty years because we were ballsy enough to step up to the plate and say we could do something, even if we had no idea how. We have a Space Station that represents nearly unprecedented cooperation between international agencies, fully-functioning and making discoveries everyday. We have a telescope that can take pictures of other galaxies. We have stood on the surface of another planet, and we may yet do so again one day. We have the technology to not just explore, but to live in a place that experiences earth-rise every morning. I'm telling you, space is cool, and we should be paying more attention.

What if the Wright Brothers had given up because they couldn't afford to build another plane? Or worse, what if they had flown, and nobody cared about it?

Learn more about the Space Program here: NASA Homepage

Watch incredible documentaries and read books about the history of the Space Program: From the Earth to the Moon, In the Shadow of the Moon, Space Odyssey: the First 40 Years of Space Exploration, Magnificent Desolation

"We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars." --Oscar Wilde