Liar liar pants on fire

Even when I told the H-Bomb that I'd have the text of this Mars project written today, I knew it was a lie. As the words formed in my mind, I knew it was a lie, and as they somehow made it past my lips I nearly laughed out loud.

I don't have a natural interest in Mars. I can't tell you why that is. I have no natural interest in space exploration whatsoever (which makes my affection for Star Trek: The Next Generation all the more misplaced). When I think of humans in space, my innards go all cold with terror and this sense of bewilderment comes over me.

I'd like to take this moment to blame my father for making me watch Important Films as a child. I don't think he noticed that I was only seven when the Very Important Film 2001: A Space Odyssey was on TV for some reason. (I believe I was even younger when I somehow got trapped into a viewing of The Birds.) Cripps and I were particularly vulnerable to my father's Important Film moments. Dan didn't have the stamina. And Tom was high somewhere. I think Cripps and I would try to out-cool each other by watching these movies with my dad. I thought it was doubly impressive that I was a mere tot compared to Cripps.

I'd also like to blame my mother for watching those boring-ass Nova shows on PBS. Again, I would try to show everyone my incredible maturity by sitting through these shows without yawning or fidgeting. It was a matter of pride. I always felt like I had bested some clever enemy if I made it all the way through, as though I'd survived 13 consecutive days of Chinese Water Torture.

I'm trying to summon a bit of that moxie now. When I get these assignments I think, "Oh, I wouldn't choose to research this, but I'm sure I can find something that interests me." I remember opening up the cover sheet for this assignment. I groped for my usual reassurance. I found nothing.

Mars. Hoo boy.

Allow me just one more moment to spread blame, if you can muster the patience. I find the NASA websites unimpressive. The information is scattered and written with deadpan exactness. I have no personalities to draw on, no stories from which to elaborate, no thrill of discovery to propel me forward. I somehow can't force a chipper tone while telling 4th graders that we've sent rovers to Mars because scientists are pretty sure we've ruined our planet and we might need a back-up plan as Armageddon approaches.

Anyone else I can blame? Ah yes! I blame The Yankees and El Nino, and the Bush administration. Will alla y'all get off my back so I can write this ding-danged thing? Christ in a bucket...