Unless you spent this past week in a coma, under a rock, in a subterranean cave hidden under the sea, you heard about two moon-related news stories: the passing of astronaut Neil Armstrong and Prince Harry’s naughty party in Vegas.

If you think it disrespectful to connect these stories through a cheap pun about “moon shots,” bear with me. I believe that hurtling through space in a souped-up tin can, landing on a distant celestial object, and going out for a stroll with nothing but a puffy suit to protect you, was such a brave act–and the man who did it was such an outstanding human being–both the act and the man can stand a little ribbing. Continue reading “Two Moon Shots and a Trojan Horse Chaser” →