Take Me to Your Labeler

By Rick Horowitz

I want to name some rocks.

I want to step out onto virgin soil, trek the trackless vistas under coral skies. I want to sidle up to every pebble, stone, bump and boulder on my way and say to each in turn, "You're Barnacle Bill. You're Yogi. You're Scooby Doo. You're Casper."

I want to name some rocks.

I want to tag some terrain. I want to cruise across the countryside at a steady half-an-inch per second, gazing left, gazing right, cozy in the knowledge that any time I want to, I can point my finger and say, "I dub thee Huckleberry Hound." Or "Johnny Appleseed." Or "Mighty Mouse." Or "Tweety."

Why should Sojourner have all the fun?

I'm not asking for much, really I'm not. I can skip the virgin soil, if you want to know the truth. If the vistas already have a track or two before I get there, I can live with that.

Coral skies would be nice, though. If I could keep the coral skies, that would be kind of cool. But it's not a deal breaker.

And I certainly don't need any multi-million-dollar program with launchers and landers and press conferences every afternoon. If millions of people want to punch me up on some Web site and see what I'm doing while I'm doing it, that's their business; there's no telling what millions of people will find interesting.

No kibitzing, though. No second-guessing. The whole idea is that I get to do it -- I get to point and pronounce and declare. They get to watch.

I just want to name some rocks.

I'm thinking vacant lot. Mars would be fine, but a vacant lot would be closer; I can christen to my heart's content and still be home for lunch.

I used to think, back before Sojourner, that a vacant lot wouldn't work, that I'd have to find a place with rocks the size of mountains; those are the kind of rocks people put names to. My neighborhood is short on places with rocks the size of mountains, let alone rocks the size of mountains that someone else hasn't already named.

I used to think I'd have to go someplace exotic to find the right kind of rocks. You're talking big bucks. You're not talking home for lunch.

But that was before Sojourner. Now I see it totally differently. You don't need rocks the size of mountains. You can put names on rocks the size of soup cans.

I can handle that. I'm sure there are vacant lots around here with rocks the size of soup cans. I'm also sure most of the people around here haven't figured it out yet: If you can name rocks the size of soup cans on Mars, you can name rocks the size of soup cans right here on Earth.

All it takes is a little imagination -- this one's "Paul Bunyan," that one's "Flipper," this one's "Linus," that one's "Betty Boop" -- and they're yours forever. I mean mine. I'd better get started.

I'm still working on the coral skies.

7/11/97