Spite presents:   Astronauts Are Boring, Bring On The Geeks! by Bradford Contemporary (One of two versions). "The good old days weren't always good, and tomorrow ain't as bad as it seems." -- Billy Joel. October 29, 1998 -- Living in the past is entertainment for the weak. Today, when the 77-year-old astronaut John Glenn achieves his greatest heights by flying into orbit for the second time in his career, a blubbering nostalgic audience in America will reach a new low. The relentless desire for the "good 'old days" -- an unhealthy, unrealistic mentality in itself -- will have reached the pinnacle of its absurdity. Besides, is being an astronaut such a big deal? I respect the space program, but an astronaut is a guy who's job was done first and better by a chimp. Sure the astronauts risked their lives, which I agree is an act of sacrifice for their country. But no more than every man who enlists in the army, or becomes a policemen in a big city. In fact, it's less noble since being an astronaut brings celebrity, fame and wealth. Some sacrifice! The real heroes are the rocket scientists, who figured out under massive political pressure how to successfully lift tons of metal above the earth. They shut themselves up in a libraries for their entire adult lives so they could memorize physics and help America win the space race (whatever that means). Let's give the guy who designed the heat shield a Time Magazine cover, what do you say? The official reason for Mr. Glenn's mission is to explore the effects of space travel on aging, but everyone knows that's a load of crap. He's up there because NASA wanted to have its brightest star, who first circled the globe in 1962, cast a spotlight of goodwill on the space program again. Much of the public has agreed, saying that America desperately needs true heroes, and that Mr. Glenn is one such man. Come to your senses, America. Although Mr. Glenn seems to be a responsible, pure-hearted fellow, riding the world's greatest roller coaster does not make him a national hero. It makes him a symbol, and one that is kept alive only by frequent infusions of distorted longing for a Camelot that could never exist. But even if John Glenn were that kind of hero, and America really did need his inspiration again, is it really necessary to put his body in a kettle drum and hurl him above the atmosphere? Couldn't we just have an over-hyped television special featuring the original flight? Perhaps a massive public relations campaign to celebrate the anniversary of his first orbit? Of course not, that is no longer enough. People who long for the past are desperate to repeat it, especially the baby boomers of the 1960s. Loved Woodstock? Have another one! Miss the Beatles? Hey, they'll put out another album! Charmed by Kennedy the adulterous president? Bill Clinton has stepped to the plate! Never mind that cultural events can truly exist only in their own time, or that attempts to make them again produce really crappy results. Things were just so much better then, it seems, that we must, we absolutely have to have them again. In short, why worship John Glenn? Because he is like, so sixties, man. Even more disturbing than some people's respect for Mr. Glenn's new flight is their anger at people who do not agree. Tell your friends and co-workers that you think John Glenn is a jerk, and most likely you will be greeted with a suspicious stare, checking you out for your Pinko-Commie-sympathizer card. What IS this phenomenon of national peer pressure? It seems every month, America finds a new hero to revere or villain. And never halfway. We either COMPLETELY WORSHIP the former, or ABSOLUTELY DESPISE the latter. We all LOVED Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa; we PASSIONATELY HATED the Unabomer; we all CRIED OURSELVES TO SLEEP about Princess Diana. Resist that consensus (as Spite does, each and every time) and you'll find a scarlet letter sewed to your clothes the next morning. For example, in 1991, when America and NATO put troops in the Middle East to force Iraq out of Kuwait, a guy walked around my college dorm floor with a handful of "Support Our Troops" flyers. With a very solemn air, he asked each of us to put one on our door. Actually, he didn't ask, he just handed them to us, as if it were understood. When I handed it back and mentioned I wasn't sure if I supported the war, he turned to me with an icy stare, as if I had turned over codes for the D-Day Invasion right into the hands of Adolf Hitler. With my usual lack of backbone, I quietly took a flyer and tacked it on my door. I'm no activist. I'm sure I knew more about who was dancing on Club MTV that month than what was going on in Saudi Arabia. And of course I didn't want any soldier to be hurt. But even my slight mention of dissent at that time was met with condemnation. I can't imagine what people who actively opposed the Vietnam War must have gone through. Mob mentality is mob mentality, whether it calls for blood or praise. The same weird national energy that commands you to cry when some sports hero breaks a hundred-year old records could turn right around and be the energy that commands you to burn a book. So as John Glenn soars above us, please forgive me if I do not shudder with pride and long for a better time gone by, and wish that the country could have more men like him. All I see in the fires that power that rocket ship is the passion of a country tired of listening to people who do not agree. Bradford Contemporary lives across the street from a construction site that begins work at 6:30 am. There's a slightly less serious version of this. Spite Home | Bile Cabinet Post A Message