(no subject)

Our heating is broken. My dad put a rocket under the builder to get our wood-burning stove delivered. Unfortunately it won't fit in the chimney. They're hammering it to try to fit it in. They'll break it and we'll all die of carbon monoxide poisoning!

A thought I had

'Space opera' isn't science fiction, actually; it's future fantasy, parallel to the sort with taverns and elves and magic swords. The tech is, in the Clarke phrase, sufficiently advanced to be magic, when it ins't all handwavium anyway. And it's not likely to lead to any book-burnings by rabid fundamentalists, either, because it doesn't actually mention the word magic. Hhm.