I wonder where the urge to travel to the moon comes from. Being up close and personal with the power over tides, moods, and werewolf schedules is appealing. The need to lug your own air around in order to keep breathing could provide a sense of accomplishment. Feeling those pounds melt away without all the bother of dieting is certainly tempting, though the necessary accessorizing would be time consuming and cumbersome. Is it the whiff of danger, or a desire for that utter silence lately available nowhere on earth? I bet it's the silence. Now I want to go too.