This evening I had a tête-à-tête with a large wedge of watermelon.
I won’t bore you with the stream-of-consciousness details (after all, that’s what Facebook status updates are for), but suffice to say, I began pontificating about how I am a graduate student / conspiracy theorist, which I suppose is redundant.
My thoughts turned to my recent trip to D.C., where my boyfriend and I had the occasion to visit the Air and Space Museum.
Only a few years ago, after some cocktails at the Paradise Bar and Grill in my native Pensacola, our party repaired to the beach. Gazing at the stars, someone brought up the fact that man had likely never been on the moon. I was incredulous. Of course a man had been on the moon. The media showed us so.
With this late-breaking insight in mind, the Air and Space Museum was a bit hard to take seriously (granted, I’m keeping an open mind about the whole American flag on the moon thing). It didn’t help that the displays reminded me of my school science projects of yore; think Styrofoam balls spray painted and suspended form the ceilings with push pins and fishing wire, shoebox dioramas (ok, they were a bit larger), and a model airplane that I swear was covered with Saran Wrap.
I turned to my boyfriend and asked if had heard the whole it-was-filmed-in-the-desert-there’s-no-wind-on-the-moon conspiracy. “Yes,” he remarked. “A friend of mine wrote his entire thesis about that.”
When we returned home to my sister’s cushy digs, I asked her opinion about the whole man-on-the-moon thing. My sister, an unwavering modernist, gave me one of her perplexed, are-you-slow looks, as if I’d just suggested we eat dinner at KFC. Of course, her blank silence screamed, why would the government lie?
I recommended she see Wag the Dog (I know: irony), and without further ado, we commenced with eating some fresh beet ravioli that she scored at the Dupont Farmers’ Market.
Anyhoo, this one’s going out to all you conspiracy theorists and Stuart-Hall-loving grad students.