The View from Here

It's 2 a.m.

Well, at least thats what my phone tells me. It honestly has no idea what time it really is, at least not in relation to my current geographical location. The same can be said for my internal clock. I don't know if I'm ready for bed or ready for lunch. I'm wide awake, though, and am listening to the calming sounds of a female Opera singer serenade me with shapeless and melodically erratic cantatas; a sort of juxtaposition with that simple angelic voice and pure harmonies from the symphony supporting her. My mind and brain are open...

Restlessly, I shuffle in my airplane seat to attempt two things: comfort and maximum view out of this can-sized porthole this aircraft calls a window. I know we're somewhere over africa, and have been since we left London, essentially traversing the length of the continent. But I can't see it. It's shrouded by darkness and cloud cover. Cloud cover that, incidentally, harbors a violent storm, rife with brilliant pecks of lightning. Periodically, the cloud cover breaks and reveals a darker expanse; a glimpse of the terrain below, void of any telltale signs of life. No little patchy dots of pale orange light, no lit highways meandering around the countryside like life-giving veins. Just pure darkness. The scene is striking enough, though, because just above the horizon, the iconic Orion constellation sprawls across the sky, all its features clearly distinguishable by the naked eye. Betelgeuse in all its ruby glory, the nebula's boundaries clearly defined and the hunter's legendary belt casually askew - as it's been for eons. Orion reclines lazily over the turbulent African cloud cover, delighting in the sporadic pulses of lightning emanating from within the haze.

I'm trying to imagine the presently grayscale country below the storm... Soaking in the downpour, this is most likely one of the more fertile regions of Africa, where the bright orange deserts make way for deeply-hued green rain forests. Is there some out-of-touch civilization praying to the appropriate god for protection from (or perhaps gratitude for) the torrent? Is the deluge giving much-needed relief from a drought or war-torn landscape? Are there communities in this part of Africa at all? Maybe this light show is sitting over a part of the continent only inhabited by a fragile ecosystem oblivious to the human pillagers that will undoubtedly rape its virgin Eden one day.

It's humbling to fly. It's humbling to view our beloved planet from such altitudes, under myriad conditions. Even to the unlearned, the layman, the amateur - it gives us perspectives on our topography and ecosystem that our brains were never meant to process. It's especially humbling to fly at such a blinding height over a land like this. What I know is savage, underdeveloped and often primitive below is almost mocked by the stark contrast of the order and beauty of the night sky I see above. It's views like this that make me realize how fragile and unimportant our lives are; how lucky we are to be programmed to appreciate and cherish the beauty and harmony of this intricate planet we call home. I use the word "programmed" because I believe we are encoded with the innate love and admiration of the Earth's beauty that goes beyond a pretty angle or a bright color - it's a link to our pre-historic beginnings.

That notion is reiterated, reinforced even, when I think of how witnessing these phenomena awakens in me a desire to share this experience. I wish there was someone I loved by my side right now watching the same scene, taking it in, feeling that link that takes us both back millions of years. Inciting awe and wonder that no other stimulus can incite. And inexplicably inciting another elusive phenomena between us - Love.

London

London.

I can't describe how it felt to spend the day in London. Superficially, I can tell you that it was a cool 50 degrees (Farenheit, for us Yanks) and the was mostly cloudy and spitting tiny droplets of precipitation on my hoody - an article I was so glad to have remembered to pack.

Stepping up from the Underground for the first time into Picadilly Circus, I felt instantly a part of the bustle. Young and old moving to and fro at varying paces, some mindlessly sauntering by the statues in the square, others practically jogging to reach their next destination, all a part of the city. I was surprised at how the scene made me nostalgic for a time I've never known. Suddenly, I was pining to be a part of a bustle! I wanted to saunter or jog to a park or a loo. Perhaps it's because, growing up in Houston, being a part of the bustle means sitting in traffic.

Since we only had about 7 hours to see the city, my team decided to take on of those iconic red double-decker bus tours. It was a smart move. Not only did we get to see a long list of landmarks and tourist destinations, we got to maximize our time in that weather. Weather to many would seem dreary. But as someone from a currently record-breaking temperature, draught-riddled Houston, the climate was welcome.

The backdrop was ever so striking as well. Buildings new and old - every single one of them to the brim with character. I found myself selecting a window or a doorway with my eyes and trying to imagine the story of the people who lived, or perhaps officed there. What were they like? Rich, poor, busy life, simple life? thoughts like this of course led to me picturing myself in such a town. Could I fit in? Could I get used to the pace of life in a city  so diverse and rich with history? The answer is I don't know - but I want to try.

The more I see of this world, the more. I want to see of it!  There is so much out there to experience, to explore, to live

Homemade Spacecraft

Anyone want to try this?

Clear Skies and Blurry Photos

My first-ever telescope arrives this Wednesday and wouldn't you know it? After weeks of uncharacteristically crystal clear skies, living near the coast finally rears its head and throws humidity and cloud cover our way. I hope it clears out so I don't have to wait even longer to start playing with my new toy.

I found this handy site that forecasts handy attributes of the sky. The "Seeing" row indicates times that are ideal for stargazing. And the "Darkness" row measures relative darkness of the overall sky. According to this, the darkest hour really is just before dawn (right now, at least), just after the moon sets.

The sky was so clear a couple weeks ago that I was actually able to see and photograph (using a telephoto lens on my dSLR) Jupiter and one of its moons, Ganymede. Through binoculars (if I could hold them steady long enough - this was after a glass of wine) I could clearly see both bodies. I set up my dSLR on a tripod to photograph the two and this is the best I could get:

10-7-2010, 9:02 p.m.

I know it's grainy. And out of focus, and overexposed, etc. It was the best I could do given my equipment! (Incidentally, it was the very evening before I decided to buy the telescope.) The picture on the bottom left is another shot taken right before the one on the top. Interestingly, although there's a blur from me hitting the tripod, the bodies are clearer - and there's even a little streak coming from Callisto. On the right is a scientifically accurate software render of the formation of Jupiter and its brighter moons at that exact time that same evening. (Io is the moon at the 2:00 mark close to Jupiter.) Not too shabby if you ask me. I sincerely hope the telescope and astrophotography kit arriving this week can do better. Stay tuned...

One Planet's Trash is Another Planet's Great Enlightenment

We are a messy, messy planet.

I'm looking around my immediate area (my desk at work - don't tell...) and I see months-old stacks of documents, an empty cup from lunch, a pen cap, about 30 paper clips and a Kleenex I don't remember using (to whom does this belong?? gross.) My point is - we're messy. Everywhere we go, we litter and pollute, even if unintentionally.

This is also true of our presence in space. Take a look at this.

View in Full Resolution for the full effect.
Source - NASA

This is an artist's rendering of our planet, seen from a considerable distance (duh), with exaggerated graphics representing all the Earth's known and plotted satellites. Most of these are man-made, obviously, and are still very much functional and necessary to maintain our technological climate. The objects you see in the picture that aren't satellite-shaped aren't stars - they represent debris. Debris includes dead spacecraft, boosters, lost equipment, shrapnel from spacecraft collisions, etc. The debris isn't inherently dangerous to us on the ground. If it were to plummet toward the surface of the planet, most of it would burn in the atmosphere.

Disclaimer: I'm not ranting against space pollution. I'm not proposing we go up there with a bunch of trash bags and those pointy litter-poker sticks you see when people do community service on TV. I am, however, pointing out how relevant it is and how interesting it is to think about the effects it has on the universe.

It seems unlikely that a 2 foot wide by 3 foot tall space shuttle piece-gone-awry would wreak any stellar havoc. It would disintegrate if it ever came anywhere near a star or another planet's atmosphere. But it is interesting to think about what effects a larger, more resilient chunk might have on a distant alien ecosystem. Granted, it would take hundreds of thousands of years before it might get close enough to do so, but still an interesting thought. We litter the heavens with little or no consequence to us. But it could potentially shake an entire civilization - culturally or physically - in a distant corner of the galaxy someday.

Thought for another day: The space litter also presents an interesting scenario. Just as we've seen the planet become overrun with holes-in-the-wall strip malls and crappy, poorly built apartment complexes and office complexes that never see anywhere close to 100% capacity, at one point the skies won't be able to take any more litter! The ionosphere will become so littered that we'll see hundreds of collisions light up the night sky like tiny fireworks. (Neat for us - every day July 4th!). But potentially deadly for further space exploration teams. Today, there are measures in place to deal with, and even remove space debris. See the Whipple shield. It seems to me, though, that the less we can spend (time and money) on counter-measures and debris retrieval techniques, the more we can spend (time and money!!) on actual missions. Come on guys, I've got my PJs and toothbrush ready for my first night on a newly colonized Mars.

Source - Wikipedia

We put out all kinds of mess on this stinky planet. The Search for Extra Terrestrial Intelligence (SETI) sent out a signal in 1974 straight into space (at the Messier 13 globular cluster, to be precise) from the newly commissioned Arecibo radio telescope. It was primarily a ceremonial act, but it does make you stop and think - what would I do if I received this signal? I imagine I'd be a wildly different species with a wildly different technology to receive and interpret it so it would probably make little sense to me. BUT consider the organized structure of it - it would almost certainly clear up the question I'm sure my civilization still holds with a resounding "NO! We are NOT alone!" I really hope I'm alive the day Earth receives its very first unequivocally alien signal. What an exciting idea! Or consider a lost alien space ship crashing down on our home turf (perhaps it's already happened? :D)

From this perspective, space debris isn't such a bad thing... We cant' answer the eternal question for ourselves, let's do what we can to answer it for someone else! The more crap we send on its merry way into the cosmos, the more likely an alien civilization will someday discover that we were actually here. It's disheartening to consider our magnificent planet may never be stumbled upon while we still exist on it. Or that an asteroid could rip it to shreds, essentially obliterating any trace of our diverse cultures and species. We should be putting more debris out there! As counterintuitive as it feels (like raking leaves down the storm drain) we should be making every effort to make our indelible mark on the universe.

Go deeper: There is actually a group out there that hold this same credo. Name? Operation Immortality. A group of - let's face it - nerds (I cast NO judgement!) who are compiling a hard drive with digitized DNA of themselves and other nerds (again, sign me up!) for a good hard toss from the keel of the International Space Station. I might be posting more about these guys in the future...

Initiate Launch Sequence...

It's official. I just bought my first-ever telescope.

Ok so it's not my FIRST ever... When I was wee, I had this little gray plastic one that I never could figure out how to use to observe the heavens, but it made for many an interesting evening watching neighbors' daily goings-on.

I've always had an interest in what lies beyond our planet, and an undeniable geekiness that must manifest somehow. It wasn't until this Summer that I realized I could actually do something with that interest. And use my geekiness for good. I had the serendipitous experience of being in the middle of nowhere, far away from big city lights, when our planet was bombarded with thousands of meteorites - a meteor shower caused by the passing by of a comet. The views of the night sky were breathtaking. I'd never had the opportunity to view it with such clarity and contrast. One striking feature divides the dome right down the middle like a giant seam - the Milky Way. Two bright, gnarly bands of gunk sandwich a dark, even gnarlier band of gunk. We've all heard of the Milky Way but it wasn't until I could really let its beauty soak in that it occurred to me to actually figure out what it is. If you don't know, allow me to enlighten you...

Simply put, it's our galaxy. The brightest point of which is the galactic core - the center of our galaxy. Our galaxy is thought to be whirlpool shaped. Giant stellar arms swirling around a center point. From our perspective, it's hard to map such an expansive structure, but astronomers generally agree that it consists of four main arms (from outermost in) The Sagittarius arm, the Perseus arm, the Scutum-Crux arm and the Norma arm. Our solar system lies within a spur of the Sagittarius arm known as the Orion spur. The reason the band is split down the middle by the darker band is that in between the arms lies giant collections of dust - particles of god-knows-what (I'm sure someone knows, I just don't want to look it up right now) obscuring our view. The Sun's gravity causes objects to orbit it far beyond the reach of the outermost planet. Still, we occupy a infinitely small space when you consider our galaxy alone is said to be 100,000 light years across. There are billions of stars in billions of galaxies across the universe. That's pretty hard to fathom. Fathoming makes my brain hurt.

The purchase of my telescope is a step in the direction of discovering for myself what is out there and seeing it first-hand instead of looking through endless pictures that - let's face it - all look the same. Though since I'm on a budget and still very much a novice, I didn't splurge on a high-powered telescope. (They totally have an $80,000 one.) The one I bought will allow me to see the moon, the planets, the Sun, and of course bright chunks of the Milky Way. Also, it's red. VROOM! So until I can afford to splurge on the upgrades and some flames decals on the side, I'll stay in our galactic neighborhood and observe what I can about the diverse cast of characters that make up our solar system.