Steve Landeene was a ball of fire for Spaceport America and its biggest booster. He’ll be hard to replace.
What kinder prospector allows to the papers as how he’s discovered a gusher? Shoot. That’s moxie.
I ain’t gonna get too excited until they kin fit laser fusion, nickel-plated, into mah holster.
Whew, howdy, me and Widowmaker sure coulda used one of them things, mah spurs always melted on reentry.
It would not be amiss for the gentlemen of Masten to indulge in uproarious celebration, though if I may, these distances are best expressed in inches. Thank you, gentlemen.
I’m out in Texas this week. I was surprised to see that a little bit of the future had finally arrived. Jetpacks cannot be far behind. (more…)
Them are some purty concepts. Of course, conceptually, there’s a feller out there that’s as tough ‘n ornery as Pecos Bill, but I ain’t met that feller yet. Conceptually, folks are smarter than cattle, but ain’t none of my longhorns paid me tuition for the privlige of bein’ herded.
Put this one in the “credit where credit is due” file. The Obama Administration’s new blue-ribbon commission on overhauling the space program is superb.
You kin eat beef but you caint eat national prestige.
After the Clinton Administration took it away from ’em in the arly 90s, it ‘pears the flyboys in the Air Force is sidling back to the idear of reusable spacecraft, ones that can go up and come back down again and up again and down again. Wull, don’t ask me, boys. What I puts in arbit stez in arbit.