We did notice the little bump-outs in all the window frames for every passenger's personal camera.
And let me clarify before anything gets derailed: I don't begrudge
anyone the enjoyment of their resources. If one has the money to pay for this kind of ride, by all means, go for it, and enjoy. Cruise around in your souvenir SUV, have the complimentary chapagne, and show your shiny flight suit selfie to all your friends.
But
do not try to convince me that a three-hour air-conditioned plane ride, culminating in a single, rocket-powered parabolic hump for 60 seconds of weightlessness (before scrambling back into your seatbelts) puts you
anywhere near the same category as Neil Armstrong, et al.
For the last 50 years, people have had to work
incredibly hard, master a host of complex skills and knowledge, and sacrifice far more than their time, to earn the title of "astronaut." Now we're apparently in the brave new era of people simply purchasing it like a fashion accessory.
And
that's where I call bulls[pace].