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.
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It wasn’t just that I grew tired of being a click slave in the Facebook mines, but I also didn’t like what it was doing to my mind. What *was* it doing to my mind? That’s a bit complicated.