It takes all kinds, you know.

Does it?

Damn.

Are you sure we can't leave her kind behind?

Nope.

You want space you're going to have (forgive me, Jeanne) space hippies.

I mean 'hippie' in the not-mean sense of course.

My God, is there nothing the Robinsons won't do to glom on to Heinlein for their own self-promotion? Now it's Jeanne, hijacking the Heinlein Centennial event to push her dance recital in space. She's a dancer, you see. And she wants to dance in space. Because dance is the universal ultimate expression of the human spirit. And space is the ultimate frontier. And of course space is more than just exploration, and science, and turbopumps...it's about dance! Or something.

And get this: we're all just neurotically attached to the gravity well of a planet. Neurotically. Attached. To a planetary surface. WTF? What would Newton say?

Newton would no doubt be harsh in his condemnation of such lunacy. For his part, Heinlein must be spinning in his grave to know that this couple have become his self-appointed literary heirs and the advocates of his memory. Since that crappy book he wrote from Heinlein's notes came out, I suddenly find myself filled with revulsion on seeing Heinlein's picture (as on the Centennial site), and having no desire to ever read another Heinlein story again...indeed, wondering why I ever thought they were good in the first place. Thanks, Spider, you asshole, for ruining Heinlein for me with your lousy judgement in accepting such a challenging commission, and your utter lack of competence as a writer in carrying it out.