Ahwahnee, Majestic, planet, not a planet. Does it make any difference? For some people it’s a big deal. For me, not so much, but if I can just get investors for my hotel on Pluto, I can make the people who care very happy.
As we edge toward the third decade of the 21st century, I have decided that it is time to forge ahead with a new literary genre — the forgetoir, a record of all the things we’ve forgotten or, at least, are trying to forget.
There is no English Academy, like there is for French, to protect our language from Philistines. So I’m saying it here: if I ever say in seriousness that I have found a great new lifehack, please shoot me. There’s nothing left worth saving.