Jan 16, 2017 By Ron Cichowicz 4 min read

I’m hearing a great deal of talk lately about Mars — the planet, not the quaint little Pennsylvania town. And what I’m hearing has me more than a little concerned.

To begin with, if I understand the plans being offered both by our government and some wealthy entrepreneurs, we’re not talking about a quick flyby or a brief stopover like we did with the Moon, where we landed, planted a flag, hit a golf ball, debunked the “green cheese” myth and left behind a bunch of NASA space junk. Instead, we’re actually talking about colonizing Mars, moving into the neighborhood permanently, maybe even opening a Walmart. Can an NFL expansion team be far behind?

The whole idea has me concerned and more than a little perplexed.

Just about everything I know about the other planets in the solar system comes from pop culture. (OK, maybe I should have paid more attention in science class, but that ship sailed a long time ago.) For example, television, and in particular “Third Rock from the Sun,” taught me our relative position in the solar system and to be eternally grateful we don’t live on Mercury. (If you think global warming is an issue for us earthlings, imagine the hot feet and air conditioning expense endured by the average Mercurian.)

I also know from the movies that Mars is considered the angry red planet, that “Mars Needs Women’ and that “My Favorite Martian” looks a lot like Ray Walston. (Boomers will get that last reference.) Conversely, Venus is likely ruled by Amazon-looking women and their leader resembles the recently deceased Zsa Zsa Gabor, circa 1955.

So my first question is, why Mars instead of Venus? The only thing I can figure is that Mars seems like a more macho planet, a real challenge for our engineers and astronauts, the majority of which still are men. So we want to first conquer a real “guy” planet where it’s hot, rugged and barren (much like Cleveland in July) and where we don’t have to worry about tracking in any dirt since it’s all dirt.

But that won’t last. Not long after our arrival, public outcry will insist, if Mars is going to be accessible to many, it needs to be more of a vacation spot, sort of a Club Med for those who really want to get away from it all. So we’ll spend a lot more taxpayer money on creating greenhouse gases, growing plants, regulating temperatures, importing wildlife, hanging curtains and making sure we can get cable TV.

Before long, Mars will be the new “in” place to visit, immediately ruining the local economies of Hawaii, Las Vegas, even the Laurel Highlands. Vacationing on Mars will be all the rage. One piece of good news: as we regular folks are able to afford it, we can load the family into the Dodge Mini-Rocket and make the trip on our own, guys won’t ever have to ask for directions because, well, there’s nowhere to stop. That’s why they call it outer space. There’s nothing there, not even a CoGo’s.

The bad news is, if you do get lost on the way to Mars, I’m not sure even Siri can help. Look, if you make a wrong turn on the way to Virginia Beach, maybe you end up in Delaware. But veer off course on the way to Mars and, like the Robinson family, you end up forever lost in space. Imagine decades driving around the Milky Way with your significant other glaring at you and saying “I told you we should have made a left at that first asteroid” every 10 light years. And I don’t want to think about how many bathroom breaks you’ll have to make. In zero gravity, that can get pretty messy.

Eventually people will move to Mars for good and, before long, they’ll quit acting like earthlings. Take my brother-in-law. He left Pittsburgh for a job in New Jersey a few years ago. Now he says “soda” instead of “pop” and when he asks for a glass of water, it sounds like whadduh. Eventually, these Martians will pollute that planet and decide they need to relocate again — to Neptune, Saturn or even every school boy’s personal favorite, Uranus.

I for one am against all this. But then, being a native Pittsburgher from south of the Monongahela River, I don’t even like driving to the North Side without a Sherpa guide and at least two days provisions.

Ron Cichowicz is a western Pennsylvania-based writer and humorist. Contact him at roncichowicz@verizon.net.