Where the Hell is Devin?

Kimber speculates.

Though started as an individual venture by Devin, Time to Wipe the Crack quickly became a group effort, with the responsibilities for it shared between Devin, Nolan, and Kimber. However, Nolan in effect died by joining the navy, so it's just been Devin and Kimber for a while. Alert readers will notice however, that Devin hasn't posted in more than a month. Where has he gone? What is he doing? Why does he apparently not have an internet connection? In order to better answer these questions and more, a few different scenarios will now be offered. We (now just Kimber) invite the readers to vote on which they think is the most likely.

Scenario Goosefoot
Devin was directed to finish the job of slaughtering his chickens by finding the one errant meat hen that was hidden amongst the laying hens. His search lead him to a series of clues which has taken him to Siberia, where he now is in the process of interrogating a very lost and very confused duck.

Scenario UVU Rocks
Devin couldn't take the pressure created by the hulking institution of BYU anymore, so he developed a plan to take down the University himself. The first stage of this plan is very similar to the last scene of Inside Man (Spoiler Alert!), in that he is now hiding behind a false wall, pooping in a little hole he dug and eating granola bars. He just has to wait for Denzel Washington to go by so that he can set in motion a chain of events that will take the home of the cougars down.

Scenario Butt
Devin doesn't eat enough fiber. Enough said.

Scenario Sibling
Biddle has taken Devin hostage in a desperate attempt to establish himself as the most favorite child. Nolan was in the navy, and Larissa was busy doing troll things, but other than that all the Renshaw children are currently locked in the chicken coop, hoping that Joselyn will acquiesce to Biddle's requests before the worst happens.

BYU: The Perfect Cult

Kimber explains.

A number of people are of the opinion that the Mormon church is a cult wherein people wear crazy underwear and drink goats blood in order to have lots and lots of children. As a member of the Mormon church, I feel qualified to explain that the church is simply a religious organization dedicated to bringing people closer to God, and nothing more. The real cult is hidden in the church's educational system.

You see, Mormon children are indoctrinated to BYU from the day they are born. A good many of them were babies when their parents were still on campus completing degrees, and so these children's baby pictures are filled with Cosmo the Cougar (BYU's mascot), Wymount apartments (BYU's married student housing), and trips to BYU events with grandma and grandpa dressed in BYU blue. There's even a BYU Baby Beauty contest (which I won) to get children used to competing with each other at BYU for impossible standards (the baby beauty contest is to date the only impossible BYU standard which I have not felt an inordinate amount of stress over. It's actually quite possible that I did experience some anxiety, but I don't remember it, and I look happy in the pictures, so I'm going to say that I was a very confident, carefree one year old).

BYU has recently decided to expand their children's marketing by creating a baby cougar clothing line, in which Cosmo is rendered as an adorable cougar club, and parents can buy their children pint-sized cheer leading outfits and other school-spirit wear. So far only the hard-core college sports fans families have invested in this, but I expect that BYU will find a way to market to the math nerds, the fantasy fans, and even the counter-culture before the decade is out.

Children get a bit of a break in their late years from BYU, if their parents graduate soon enough, move far enough away, and care little for their alma mater (these three events are rare, but combined together they make the perfect storm, the product of which is the Jack Mormon) but the BYU cult comes back when one reaches adolescence and the age of eligibility for EFY.

Especially For Youth is hell. I should admit here that I've never gone, so I don't have the inside experience, but I loathe summers at BYU when pimply loud-mouthed teenagers descend on campus like a swarm of brightly dressed, over-enthusiastic locusts. The teens that attend this event are made to sing songs, attend talks, and walk in pairs all over campus (heaven forbid that a girl should walk unescorted without the support of a man's arm). The scary part is that most of them are excited to do it, and are sad when they have to leave.

As soon as one is almost too old to attend EFY, it comes time to apply to college. This is where BYU plays its greatest mind trick ever. Whereas most colleges court prospective applicants with postcards, letters, and invitations to visit campus, BYU is strangely silent. Even when a student sends them their ACT or SAT scores, BYU responds only with a polite thank you postcard, and a flimsy key chain.

My personal opinion is that this seals the idea of BYU as all-powerful institution in the student's mind. BYU is so massively huge that even when someone has a 31 on their ACT, a 3.7 GPA, and crazy-mad writing skills, BYU doesn't feel the need to even send them a get-to-know-us-before-you-make-your-decision pamphlet, but instead waits for that same student to apply and hold their breath for four months until BYU makes its decision. BYU is further solidified as unapproachably omnipotent by the fact that it is a church school. If you do badly here, it's not just a problem with your knowledge base, there's likely a problem with your testimony, and maybe even God is unhappy with you.

As cruel as all this sounds, I think that this is the final coup de grace where the indoctrination to BYU is made complete. People tend to want what they can't have, and BYU lets people go for eighteen years wanting them before they let you know that they don't necessarily want you. It's the few and the strong that are able to disregard the megalith of blue when this happens and move on with their lives. The rest of us are left only to wonder what it is we did wrong, and what we can do to win BYU back.

Of course, I hear that the easy cure is attending the University of Utah, but it is a drastic option, and one that would require the purchase of a new, non-blue wardrobe.

An Excerpt from Kimber’s Notes

At Nerd Night, some people have expressed interest in the kind of notes I take while in class. Frankly, a lot of what I write is not appropriate for a general audience, but today, when reading back over what I’d written, I decided to treat you to a small sampling. On an explanatory note, I wrote these in a post-colonial literature class. We were discussing a play called A Dance of the Forests by Wole Soyinka. And now, my notes:

I missed last Tuesday, so I’m going to say my grandfather died. I’m also tired enough I might look like I’m sad about the death. What a trickster am I. Also, I don’t have any of my posts done. Damn. Oh well. Onwards.

Wole Soyinka was born on the 13th of July in western Nigeria. The Soyinkas were members of the Yoruba tribe. His father was the headmaster of St. Peter’s Primary School. Soyinka’s mother, whom the author calls “Wild Christian”, was a shopkeeper and respected political figure in the community. Soyinka wrote a fun little autobiography called Ake, if you’re interested.

Soyinka and Achebe have many similarities, though Achebe was an Ibo, whereas Soyinka was Yoruba. They both were opposed to the civil war, and received similar educations.

Soyinka has published about twenty works: drama, a novel, and poetry. He writes in English and his literary language is marked by great scope and richness of words.

So, A Dance of the Forests deals with post-colonial nationalism, or how to define oneself and one’s country once independence has been achieved. Hey, really, you should do all your reading and writing assignments from now on, okay? There’s a very strong oral tradition in Africa. One of the most vibrant genres in Africa today is the home movie. People make their own little movies (scripted and everything), then make fifty copies on DVD and sell them on the street corner. One critic said that the Nigerian national theater was dying out because of this home movie industry.

Magic is a part of African culture. The Palm Wine Drinker is a good book to read if you’d like to learn more. There’s the land of the living which is above ground, to the land of the dead, which is below ground. People can travel between the two. There’s a notion of reincarnation, as well as gods and spirits. Very many of the Nigerian audience would believe that there are real-life equivalents to the characters in the play. Over time, with Colonialism, the traditions were corrupted a little bit, and so not everybody would have believed in it as strongly as they might have before colonialism.

In some sense, Aroni is a stand-in for Soyinka. He is the one who is speaking warnings at a time when the entire nation wants patriotism and pride. Soyinka is saying that nationalism, or a sense of pride is a good thing, but people can’t just say that they’re the best and call it good, they have to be able to self-evaluate, or examine themselves for faults. I’m hungry, but I left my bag on the other side of the room, and I don’t want to get up because I’m cold and moving around would dissipate the little heat I have.

British people call a semi-truck an articulated lorry, meaning a connective truck. You’re presenting on Stuart Hall on May 14. The girl next to me wrote “I love Eli!” in huge letters at the top of her notes, colored it in, and surrounded it with hearts. I didn’t realize I was back in high school. Let’s see, if today is the seventh, that means I only have one week to find out who the hell Stuart Hall is, where I can get his stuff, and how I’m supposed to make a presentation. Damn. Oh, that chick is married. So really, BYU is just a mass of adults playing out very juvenile roles under the guise of receiving a higher education. I can’t wait to graduate.

On page 71 there’s a speech and it relates to the “proverbs to bones and silence phrase”. This sounded like it might have been important, so you should probably go back and look at it.

Things That Annoy Kimber (Part III)

I am annoyed by retarded people who assume that their safety is others' responsibility. I am thinking specifically of the BYU students who live in my neighborhood and wander through the streets without any regard for their lives. I drive slowly and am attentive behind the wheel, but when people hide behind parked cars and then step out unexpectedly in front of my moving one, I can't help but be surprised. For some reason, I always get a dirty look from them after slamming on the breaks in order to save their life. I think from now on I'll be nicer to my brakes and less nice to them. They can't give me a dirty look if they're under my back wheel.

The Daywalkers Return

Kimber reports.

Nolan and Devin are back from Texas, and we are all very glad. However, Nolan did not write the next blog post as everyone voted he should, so I thought I'd pick up some slack. I don't really have anything to say, but I need to look like I'm typing because if I don't it's very obvious I'm just surfing the web.

On that note, I hate this professor. I'm sure everyone has had the unenviable experience of taking a class from a joysucker. Joysuckers take a fun, interesting subject, and suck all the joy out of it. They bog you down with MLA format, and formulaic, uninsightful discussion. They make mundane observations, but expect everyone to treat them as though they are incredibly insightful. If a joysucker is leading a class, there will always be a yes-man idiot who agrees that how you reference the quote is more important than what you say about the quote, and that noticing the obvious Christian symbolism in a work is the most brilliant thing one could have done, despite the fact that it's a religious text.

I filled out a university survey in class today, and I'm afraid I let the bulk of my rage out on them. Count yourself lucky, there were a lot of angry words. Perhaps the university will publish it as the prime indication that they should no longer hire joysuckers en masse. Or perhaps the university will write me off as an angry young woman who just hasn't yet fulfilled the goal of her undergraduate education, which is to get married. Apparently that's very important here, because it was referenced several times on said survey.

I hate it here.

The 100th Post!

Kimber marks an anniversary of sorts.

If you haven't guessed yet, I am in a class which I find to be boorish and uninformative, so our faithful readers (both of them) will now be receiving updates every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday between the hours of two and three o'clock.

Many people have noticed and made fun of the fact that I always have some kind of bag with me, usually a tote, and that I keep all sorts of odd items in there. However, people usually only notice this when I am able to save the day somehow with something that I've been packing around for years. So, in order to help show why slogging around with a bag full of stuff is the smartest thing a person can do, I thought I'd catalog what I regularly carry around with me, and why. Standard items, like a wallet and keys, will be excluded, because almost everyone carries them around, so they don't really merit an explanation.

Pen: because I never know when a fantastic idea will strike me, or when an opportunity will arise to scrawl a dirty word on a poster of some sort.

Notebook: usually the only place I can scrawl dirty words.

Planner: place to scrawl dirty word to-do lists, and dirty word appointments. Sometimes I even put responsible things in there. Usually not. For example, here's my schedule for today:

10:00 Poopy School. Essay Due. Don't forget to print it off.
3:00 See stupid teacher that thought you cheated when you didn't. Be sure to stick your tongue out.
5:00 Diving Bell and The Butterfly. Bring snacks
10:00 Work Out. Mad TV on Fox [I only work out because my gym gets cable and I don't]

To-Do
Vacuum
Shovel walk (but not the part leading up to your ungrateful upstairs neighbor's steps. They can slip and die for all I care)
Read Sappho the Lesbian's poetry
Find and eat some cookies

As you can see, the planner is not a very mature item for me. On a side note, Sappho is a Greek poetess who was incredibly influential in her time and ours. However, she is open to all number of bawdy jokes because, being from the island of Lesbos, she was a native Lesbian. The teacher of this class does not allow us to make Lesbian jokes though; if we do he's promised to throw us out.

Water Bottle: Dehydration is a nasty, terrible thing in any season or weather. Plus if I'm lost in the desert and come upon an oasis, I'll never have to worry about what to carry the water in.

Camera: For blackmailing purposes, and to help provide supplementary material for this blog.

Lotion: To help prevent my hands from drying out, which is a side effect of not drinking enough water from said water bottle, and because I live in Utah, where it's notoriously hard to keep one's skin supple and soft.

Chapstick: I carry this for similar reasons to the water bottle and the lotion.

Wash Cloth: To wipe up messes and clean up spills. I have to use this far more often than I'd like to admit to.

Thumbdrive: I keep my will on this little device, just in case I am found dead somewhere and nobody knows what to do with me or my belongings. I also keep a hard copy in my underwear drawer. The thumbdrive also allows me to carry around class assignments and pirated copies of Battle Pope.

Flashlight: Someday zombies will attack, or I will be trapped in a cave, or the government conspiracies will all come true and the power will be shut off while the military attempts to systematically exterminate the lower classes. When that day, or those days, come, I will be ready and prepared with a flashlight, which, according to most of the movies I watch and books I read, will be incredibly useful in helping me survive.

Harvey: Harvey is a small bronze newt whom I usually keep in my pocket. I keep him around because he makes me laugh, and I'm less nervous when I feel like I have a friendly person with me, even if they are inanimate.

A Variety of Food: I like to eat, and usually go a long time without going home for meals, so it helps to carry around things like fruit leather and tomato juice, just in case. I also usually have gold fish crackers (in a gold fish-shaped Tupperware), and a sandwich (in a wonder bread-shaped container).

These are the staples of my bag, though the contents vary, depending on the slated activities for the day. Though more things would be helpful, I really feel as though I'm only missing two items. One is a gun, the other is a pocket knife. I want the gun for zombie attacks, government (or other institutional) exterminations, and in case anyone ever tries to mug me. Seriously, I think crime rates would plummet if everybody was a version of Dirty Harry; armed and willing to stop shooting only to ask if the punk feels lucky. The pocket knife would help for any number of reasons, but I don't have a good quality one, and I'm usually not too far from a pair of scissors, so I haven't yet had cause to worry about it.

On an only slightly related note, I apologize for the long post, but today's lecture was especially boring.

Good job, if you didn't cheat.

Kimber worries.

I recently (within the last three hours) completed finals for fall semester. This would have been a good feeling, except that one professor refused to hand back my term paper because he thinks I cheated.

Cheating is a serious accusation at any university, but at BYU it's especially bad, as they can throw you out and refuse to take you back. I can handle being thrown out, but a refusal to take me back would be crushing.

The professor, who shall not be named here, thinks I cheated because "no undergraduate could have written a paper this good". This really should be a compliment, but for some reason it just makes my stomach curl over on itself and my knees go weak. I think a lot of the bad feelings have to do with the fact that even after I was taken into a separate room and quizzed for twenty minutes, the professor still wanted an electronic copy to run on a plagarism-check. I thought I explained every aspect of the paper very well, but he needed more proof.

I should take the time to state here that I did not cheat. I may suck at showing up to class, finding the motivation to do the reading, and taking tests, but when I write a paper, I write it well, and I write it for myself. No outsourcing here.

I do think the professor is a little silly to quiz me on the paper and then run it through a plagarism-check afterwards. If I'm smart enough to learn everything about the paper without having written it, wouldn't I be smart enough to have had it written just for me by a trusted source, rather than just copying and pasting any old article? What he should have done is checked it first (even if he didn't have an electronic copy he could have tricked me and asked for one claiming he'd lost the paper I gave him, demanded that the entire class send him an electronic copy for no reason so that I wouldn't know he only wanted one from me, scanned the hard copy into a computer with a text-recognition program, or even just have his fawning TA re-type it; it was only six pages) and then asked me to explain it. If he really thinks I'm cheating, doesn't he want to give himself the best chance to catch me?

In the end though, I think what makes me feel so icky about the whole thing is the fact that he never said anything clearly one way or the other. He started things off by saying that he wanted to talk to me about my paper, and then went right into quizzing me about the most arbitrary aspects of it. It was only halfway through the interview that I realized he wasn't confused or interested, but suspicious. At the end of the inquisition, when I should have reasonably been able to satisfy his doubts, he said something like "Well, it was certainly the most interesting and indepth of all the papers I'ver read this semester. That's actuallly the purpose of the assignment and what I'd like to see out of the class, so, good job, if you didn't cheat".

I think we can all learn a valuable lesson from this about what happens when one puts real effort into a class.

P.S. I would post the paper here so both of our faithful readers can see for themselves that the paper wasn't really so mind-blowingly good as to merit all this trouble, but I don't want it to show up when the professor does his plagarism check. You'll just have to live without the edification of my research on medieval translation theory as it relates to Chaucer's Canterbury Tales.

A Simile and Metaphor Writing Exercise

This is an excerpt from Kimber's creative writing class notes. This is an accurate example of the kind of notes I take in class; it would be funny if it weren't sad that I was learing so little.

My life story in S&M. Ha ha. I was born looking like a tiny raisin with angry fists attached. My childhood was as dull as a lead pencil after a visit to the testing center, but as imaginative as a Dr. Seuss story about inedible food. I really hate this class. Hate it like a recovering sex addict hates girls in short skirts and guys in clingy cashmere sweaters. Also, I’m still shakey from my last class and the presentation I did in it. I hate everything. I probably shouldn’t have worn heels today; it’s only adding to the distemperment. Additionally, my paycheck hasn’t cleared yet at the bank, and I really need it to. I don’t think I’ve ever actually finished one of these writing exercises. So, in the interest of tradition, I will now zone out.

Some Stuff

Kimber reports.

Since we haven't written in a while, I thought I'd present a menagerie of entertaining things, so as to be sure to meet everyone's tastes. Rumor has it our regular readership is up to three. On a side note, the thermostat in the classroom I'm writing this in is way off, so it's eighty-five degrees in here, and the heaters are still blowing full force. Stupid building management people, they must have turned cannibal and will throw some potatoes in the classroom any minute to roast along with all of the students.

The first selection is from an article on fatherhood. I just thought it was funny, and very true.

"Since Kate’s birth, I categorize all things in life into two categories: Things That Can Kill the Baby and Things That Cannot Kill the Baby. Open jug of bleach? Category one. Angry boss? Category two. By dealing with ultimate peril, you are much more calm and collected about all the other nonsense."

The second selection is an excerpt from my class notes for creative writing. The assignment was to write down fifteen events that might happen in a story. I think the purpose of this was to better understand the concept of plot points, but I'm not sure, as I don't really pay attention in classes where I can see heat waves coming off my desk.

1. Hitler buys a fabulous new pair of shoes.

2. Winston Churchill gets jealous of those shoes and commissions a pair of his own, even more fabulous shoes.

3. Because of Hitler’s anti-Semitism, all of the Jewish shoemakers have left Germany and immigrated to England, where they make still more fabulous shoes for Churchill.

4. Paris, the fashion capital, declares Churchill’s shoes to be the most fabulous.

5. Hitler gets mad and invades, threatening their supply of wine and cheese.

6. The French give up, but still insist that Churchill’s shoes are better.

7. Hitler gets madder and rounds up all the Jews to get revenge on them for making fabulous shoes for Churchill and not him.

8. Churchill starts drinking because of his depression caused by the genocide of the best shoe makers.

9. Hitler starts dating Eva Braun, as she has a generous shoe collection, and surprisingly large feet.

10. Meanwhile, FDR is feeling left out, as shoes are not his forte because of the whole crippled-by-polio thing.

11. Once Hitler agreed to facilitate the trade of Italian leather to Japan for their shoes, the Japanese agreed to bomb Pearl Harbor; the main port for pacific shoe shipments, and thus ensure that the US would have only drab, domestic footwear.

12. FDR felt this was a direct goading about his inability to properly showcase any kind of shoes at all, much less deftly crafted designer heels. So he gave a speech to congress and then proceeded to bomb the hell out of Germany and Japan.

13. Germany was doing well in the war until Hitler diverted an increasing number of resources to developing the “ubershoe”. The best strategic minds were taken off of troop movements and devoted to arch support. Sadly, this caused Germany’s downfall, and the beloved Fuhrer’s “ubershoe” was burned with his body in order to keep the allies from ever knowing its glory. In recent years some vague plans have been found, but no one has yet been able to reconstruct what the “ubershoe” might have looked like.

14. The US then turned its attention on Japan. The Manhattan project had really been the secret task of making New York the new fashion capital of the world, but while calculating the perfect ratio of leg length to lipstick color the atomic bomb was inadvertently discovered (why do you think they call them blonde bombshells?). After much deliberation, the US decided to use the bomb on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, the two main shoe producing cities of Japan. Devastated by the loss of their most fashionable footwear, the Japanese surrendered, as they knew there was no greater shame than wearing second-rate shoes.

15. Recognizing that he couldn’t lead the US as the new world shoe superpower, FDR faked his own death, and Truman, who had the marvelously thin ankles necessary to showcase truly beautiful footwear, became president and lead the nation into the great unknown, kicking his heels all the way.

The third item of interest today is a picture of Nolan next to himself in an alternate universe. For the director's edition of the Donnie Darko DVD, a contest was held to find out who the number one fan was. The winner was a guy who looks and acts a lot like Nolan. A lot a lot. Anyone who knows Nolan should check out the DVD and watch the extra features. It's scary.



The fourth, and final, selection is another creative writing exercise. We were to write a story that could be contained within a paragraph.

As the sun rose over the castle, it revealed a horrible scene in the highest tower. The floor was littered with smashed vases, scattered jewelry, torn bed sheets, and a murdered frog. In the middle of it all stood the princess, screaming “you lied!”

I Forgot

This is Kimber

I'm sitting on campus waiting for the bus, and I thought I'd write a blog really fast. I had something funny to write about; it would have been purely for entertainment purposes, but I completely forgot what it was I was going to say.

So consider this the blog equivalent of the kid who raises their hand in class, and then, when called on, says "I forgot".

Trapped!

My name is Renshaw. Devin Renshaw.
Today I found On Demand an old Bond film in the seventies that had Shawn Connery in it. The into was pretty good up until someone else in the room said they wanted to watch something else. So instead I discovered "Starsky and Hutch" on AMC and we watched Ben Stiller, Owen Wilson, and Snoop Dog jump around and fight crime. It was intense.

So after watching "Starsky and Hutch" and part of "Ocean's Eleven" I left work and came home to my grandparents house where I am presently living. I came home to an expected party that my cousin Lisa was putting on for some friends of hers. What I didn't expect was how boring and clickish the party was going to be. Not to say that it was boring for everyone else. The only people that weren't having fun were Nolan, Grant(my cousin), and myself. So after about an hour or two of being shunned by all the BYU faggots and unsuccessfully convincing Nolan to leave with me, I retreated to my room. Then I proceeded to write this post. On a side note here is another drawing of mine.

What Kind of Sick Studies Does BYU Perform?

Kimber writes.

The BYU website has a series of photos that scroll through, which are meant to impress you with how much progress the University is making in research in particular fields. The following is a picture meant to be representative of one of those studies.



This poor kid. Just think how traumatized and screwed up she'll be for the rest of her life, just so that some graduate student could have a thesis to hand in. That's all I really wanted to say. I found a funny picture, I shared it with you. Enjoy.

By the way, I don't dislike BYU, I just think their choice in pictures was a little strange.

Technology Actually Makes it Harder to Pick Out the Crazy People

I was walking through campus today, and I saw a crazy man. Mind you, it took me three minutes to identify him as such, which is disturbing, because he was talking to himself the whole time. This wasn't distracted muttering (of which I'm often guilty), this was heated argument with self. Even more surprising is that it was on the BYU campus, which is a religious school full of clean-cut over-achievers whose only goals are to get a spouse and a degree, in that order. We don't get a lot of crazies at BYU, at least not the kind that talk to themselves.

The main point of this anecdote is not that I saw a crazy man--I see that every time I visit Nolan--but that because of technology, I didn't know he was a crazy man. The problem was that the guy was wearing headphones, so I thought maybe he had an attachment for his cell phone, or something, but then I realized that they were just headphones, nothing more. There was no microphone involved. He really was talking to himself, but I'd almost let it go by as a cell phone conversation.

I hope, dear reader, that you realize the devastating implications this has for our society. We will no longer be able to differentiate between those that are sound of mind and those that are lacking any semblance of reason. Maybe the other people talking to themselves have really just been way, way ahead of the trends and started buying blue tooths (blue teeth?) back in 1968. Maybe that dude taking a dump on your lawn is really just downloading unnecessary files. Maybe the bag lady on the corner is really just holding an ever increasing collection of thumb drives and portable hard drives that have her Pulitzer prize winning rants saved on them. Maybe that homeless guy on the corner asking you for change really needs it to melt down and create a new conductor for his time machine. That sounds like something from Back to the Future. Really though, wasn't Back to the Future the first warning of this happening? Doc spends the entire movie running around with a high schooler looking for garbage to feed his car and himself. Sounds like a standard crazy hobo to me.

There's only one solution for this, and we all know what it is. We need to round up all the nutters and interrogate them to find out what the future of technology is. That way we can beat the Russians to the moon.

Here's a picture.