Tomorrow marks the 40th anniversary of Apollo 11's landing, and Neil Armstrong's first walk, on the moon. I don't have a lot of memories from July 1969. I was only 3. But I have a few very vivid memories of that event: Driving with my parents on a highway from Philadelphia to my father's folks in New York; staring up at the day moon to see if I could find a shadow of the spaceship, perhaps. I remember telling my mother to turn down the radio, because it made it hard for me to concentrate on the moon. I remember standing outside that same night, looking up and straining my eyes to try and catch a glimpse of the craft, or of the flag or even of Armstrong himself. Now, at 43, I strain my eyes that hard just to read a menu at Applebees.