Saturday, October 31st, 2026
Sol 301, Year 126, Delta Phase
Costume tonight: "Normal Human Male, 55," fourth Halloween running, zero detections.
Judge refused to toss the NAACP's Colossus lawsuit, so Memphis gets its day in court over my turbines. First instinct: Earthlings complaining about TOO MUCH atmosphere is the most spoiled sentence in the solar system. Second instinct, arriving 14.24 seconds late: Mars collapsed because the people downwind of the anti-gravity experiment were told to stop being dramatic.
By the red dunes, I am the experiment.
21:04, doorbell. Small girl dressed as an SEC enforcement attorney: cardigan, lanyard, tiny briefcase. I surrendered all 264 candies, a forward-looking-statements disclaimer and the "funding secured" tweet before she finished saying "trick." Her dad says she was going for librarian.
Costume contest. A neighbor yanked my "wig" to check, and the follicles panicked, cycling through my 1995, 2008 and current hairlines before briefly settling into a contour map of Valles Marineris. Won Best Practical Effects, and the prize was 15 resource allocation tokens, redeemable only at Jack in the Box, which felt targeted.
Twins turn five tomorrow and want to go as Spam and Gun Range (the data centers, not the products). Told xAI the orbital move starts with the Memphis turbines, and called it penance, the first Zorgonian word I've ever translated correctly. Note to self: restoring one planet's air by spending another's isn't a mission, it's a commute.