Suffering from a bad case of plutoids.

I love things astronomical. Feeds the sci-fi geekery woven into my soul. Land an astronaut on Mars? Meh, OK--nice start. After cities on the Moon, permanent stations at the Lagrange points and a newer, bigger version of Hubble to scan the cosmos with.

Yeah, OK--after we get our budget in order.

I even wanted to be an astronomer once, but my mathematics teachers started tossing the alphabet into the mix, needlessly confusing the elegant simplicity. My genius (seriously) friend Steve Gibson should have developed cauliflower ear in 8th grade, given all the time he patiently tried to explain algebra to me over the phone (he might be an atheist, but he's earned saint credit for that). After a brief rally in trigonometry, I gave up the ghost in pre-calculus. Time to join the wordslinging world.

Anyway, I still have a telescope and long for a deck-mounted version at my future non-light-polluted estate (working name: Chartwell West) in the Upper Peninsula. I can't explain stellar phenomena, but by Obama I will look at them.

All of this is a needlessly long prologue to explain that while I admire astronomers, I think they need to hire some wordslinging consultants from time to time.

Like this time.

"PLUTOIDS"?

Sounds like something I need a prescription for. Perhaps a topical cream. Not to mention a whole lotta euphemisms.

I know the IAU has a plucky Rebel Alliance battling Pluto's demotion, and ironically, I think this is probably the best news they could hope for. Now every science teacher in the English speaking world will join the rebellion, lest they hear the Beavisesque snickering for months on end.

"He said 'plutoids.'" "Yeah yeah yeah--plutoids!"

Oh, and here's an article on the naming of the tenth planet, Eris.

Old Solarism--a stand for sanity.