Tagged: space
On Measuring the “Speed” of “Not-Space”
If you think that anyone whose profession is anything actually to do with astrophysics is eye-balling “not-space” out there in outer space, you’re foolish and not to be trusted.
I haven’t kept up with the the improvements in monitoring “not-space” (by which I mean to capture everything that is literally not empty space, like rocks and “processes” such as stars), but here is a short history, followed by a picture from a popular science book from the early 1900s on the topic.
Can you picture holding a small prism in such a way to cast a rainbow on the wall or floor? Good. Now please do the same with a second prism. Thank you. Now measure the difference between the two rainbows, as intricately and completely as possible. That is how “scientists” actually determine what the “not-space” is, how fast it is moving, and how far it is from us etc.
Here’s the example from a real astrophysicist.

This is from Sir James Jeans’ The Universe Around Us.
To be sure, no one is watching bright spots with their naked eye, videos of bright spots with their naked eye, looking through telescopes for a long time, or anything like that when determining anything about “not-space” in outer space.
Re-Learning Biblical Hebrew While Keeping an Eye on Starship Flight 10
Seriously, could my life be more interesting?
Why learn Biblical Hebrew? Well, as the scholars put it 100 years ago, to avoid being a “helpless plaything” in the hands of biblical critics. The Bible is always under attack. If you don’t know how to work with the original languages, you are not on solid ground.
Why watch Starship Flight 10? Well, because it’s incomparably awesome and beautiful to watch and incomparably compelling and poignant to contemplate.
The Good Fallout From The Space Bimbos’ Expensive Selfie
Before they had their fun, would you have been aware that there is a formal program called, “Commercial Space Astronaut Wings Program”? I hadn’t given it much thought, as on this topic I am generally awestruck immobile by yet another instance of uncanny synchronization of unrelated technology jumps. Can someone please explain how virtually every human being is able to view, in stunning HD, videos of the now weekly commercial rocket launches? Using Resurrection Sunday as a backdrop, we might say that it seems like physicists care more about letting others watch their work than religious zealots ever did.
I digress.
Regarding “astronaut” more broadly, it was always obvious to me what this meant, because as a former USAF pilot, I went to training with a guy that had a career goal to become an astronaut. Given my then (and still) adoration of AF pilots, his goal didn’t seem out of reach—indeed he seemed to be completing the exact right steps at the exact right time. If anything, I learned that I would never be an astronaut because I hadn’t even believed I was in the running until, after meeting him, I considered that if I was in the same training as him, surely I was at least had better chances than everyone else not in USAF pilot training.
So the definition for Commercial Space Astronaut Wings Program is: “Crewmembers who travel into space must have ‘demonstrated activities during flight that were essential to public safety or contributed to human space flight safety.’”
And that is still pretty weak as definitions go, imho. (And the bimbos would, under the most generous definition of “human space flight safety”, need to say, “I earned my Commercial Space Astronaut Wings!” Under no circumstance does the English language allow for them to be called Astronauts.)
But now we know. And that is a good thing.
And So It Begins, Again
Just when you thought the legacy media might finally be getting a clue, SpaceX loses a Starship and there is blood in the water for the Left’s propaganda machine.
The obvious curiosity is, “Is Musk up to the challenge of being hated?” Second to that one, “Will imprecatory chants towards SpaceX have effect?” And, if so, “Does the Left own their alignment with the devil?”
Up until DOGE, he was generally beloved.
Here’s what I know from all my reading—specifically from Machiavelli’s The Prince: Leaders must avoid being hated.
We shall see.
Shaking My Head/Nerd Alert!, A Review of A Brief History of Time, By Stephen Hawking
The Spiderman of physicists, Stephen Hawking, introduces the second edition of his book with, “The success of A Brief History indicates that there is widespread interest in the big questions like: Where do we come from? And why is the universe the way it is?”
Just past halfway through the book, in his chapter titled, “The Origin and Fate of the Universe”, he suggests, “The whole history of science has been the gradual realization that events do not happen in an arbitrary manner, but that they reflect a certain underlying order, which may or may not be divinely inspired.”
In the final chapter (before the Conclusion), he writes, “We would then be able to have some understanding of the laws that govern the universe and are responsible for our existence.”
In the final paragraph of the book (excluding three brief and meaningless portraits of Einstein, Galileo, and Newton) he suggests, “However, if we do discover a complete theory, it should in time be understandable in broad principle by everyone, not just a few scientists. Then we should all, philosophers, scientists, and just ordinary people, be able to take part in the discussion of the question of why it is that we and the universe exist.”
Firstly, for context, the second bestselling book in that chart is—self-help/dating/pop-psychology. Third is a cookbook. In other words, while I love that Metallica’s Black album is the bestselling album since certain record-keeping data began, while I think they deserve all possible head-banging praise from us mortals, the number two is Shania Twain. Put another way, Mr. Hawking got his 15 min of fame, surely. But his staying power is yet to be seen—and I wouldn’t bet on it. Additionally, “pity” is a very real motivator. My money says give mobility of limb back, and the Brit’s wouldn’t have paid to see the five foot man-eating-chicken carnival act.
Next, close as you look, you will find no written record of a belief that life unfolds arbitrarily. Instead, you will find people have always believed in order—but they got the order wrong. Pointedly, then, Hawking and contemporary physicists are in nowise special. They’re just doing their best like everyone before them.
Thirdly, “govern” and “responsible for” are not synonyms. You want to tell me that the sensation when an elevator starts up and the sensation of being stuck to the ground are indistinguishable? Great. But the idea that the aforementioned sensation(s) are responsible for my being is laughable. Get outta here!
Lastly, no, thank you. This idea that I have to wait upon “my betters” (or anyone) to finish their navel-gazing before I can opine as regards the nature of existence is just silly. Telescopes and microscopes are cool. But truth is not some distant or small object.
Previous authors, like Einstein, Jeans, and Eddington, among many, many others, wrote in order to explain what they were doing. Hawking, conversely, writes to announce his conclusions. The effect of their books could not be more striking.
It reminds me of the time I met an unmarried Major while I, too, was single (though a lowly First Lieutenant) in the Air Force. He was such a loser. He did precisely what he wanted all the time—and loved every minute of his life. Nobody liked him. He had no friends. To add one dollop of paint to the portrait, I’ll share this. When we drove around the base in Iraq in the big van, he would lie down on a bench seat for fear of the enemy targeting him because he was a Major. The point is not his earnestness, the point is the unhinged-ness. Anyhow, I recall thinking, immediately after meeting him, “I must get married.”
Likewise, had I read Hawking before Einstein, Eddington, and Jeans, and their predecessors, I would have never picked up another popular physics book. As it stands, my foundation is unshaken (thankfully) and the topic still interests me. But Hawking does not.
Should you read this best-seller? Nope. Life is too short. Start with Einstein’s The Evolution of Physics.
“First Robot”, or “Explore Space to Deal With Death”, A Review of First Man, by Damien Chazelle
Movie-wise, I’ve still been on a TGM kick, especially at work, and so it was only natural that my boss (also a pilot) was shocked that I hadn’t seen First Man.
“When I heard they didn’t show him planting the flag, I just lost interest,” I explained.
Well, he told me it was just great and must-see viewing for a pilot. “I can’t believe a pilot wouldn’t want to watch that movie.”
So I watched it.
And like all “inspired by real events” movies, they couldn’t just leave well enough alone.
To be clear, there is no record—at any level, to include hearsay—that Neil Armstrong throws his dead daughter’s bracelet into a moon crater.
In the film, we watch, not a man, but a machine train and train and train and then launch for the moon. Maybe the director saw the problem here.
“How can we have a movie called ‘First Man’ and then show that it was a cold, calculating psychopath that NASA launched to the moon?” we can almost hear him asking.
But the answer to this problem is to fix the portrait (or title), not insert a definitively make-believe event.
In short: Tell the Truth!!
From my perspective, I wanted to know—and I thought the movie was wanting to tell me—why Neil Armstrong was the first man to land and walk on the moon. Specifically, why Neil Armstrong was chosen and why Neil Armstrong had what it takes to know that he should be first.
I know I’m better than most of mankind at achieving goals and completing tasks correctly etc. But I also have been around other dudes that I couldn’t hold a candle to. Neil Armstrong seems to have never experienced the latter. He only knew that he was the man. Absolute confidence. Unbridled certainty.
It’s remarkable.
It’s worth a million dollar film being commissioned.
But it’s also worth getting right.
Our culture seems to struggle with the idea that adults still want things. That adults still can have desires. A movie like this bears this out. It doesn’t know what story to tell. The story is not about “look how he couldn’t be both a good dad and a good man.”
Neil Armstrong wasn’t a good dad! Oh em gee! Damn him to hell!
Does anyone else still believe that a good adult can be precisely what a child (and a nation) needs?
Broadening, does anyone else still believe that an achieving adult is precisely what a family and a nation needs?
We’ve become bedazzled by the idea of sacrificing individual achievement in order to help some version of the helpless masses.
Sorry, but my achievements do help them. We don’t need to scrap NASA in order to feed people.
Your desire to stop my achievement is called “envy” and is sin straight from the pit of hell. JS Mill showed me this. You should learn to see it too.
In any case, between First Man and Ad Astra, I’m not persuaded. Men don’t need the death of fathers and daughters to propel them to greatness. They just need…
And that’s it. The heart of the matter. What do men need to propel them to greatness? Do you know?
That is Patently Untrue–A Review of Matt Damon’s Opening Claim in The Martian Trailer
From his dissection of the card player’s hands in Rounders, to his dissertation on clubbing baby seals in Good Will Hunting, to his explanation that he knows which vehicle in the parking lot is most likely to have a gun in it in Bourne Identity and more, in just about all of his films Mr. Damon has proven he can memorize and deliver long, dry, and yet convincing speeches that seem like they might trip up other acting professionals. And that’s fine and dandy. I like those movies and I like his characters in those movies. But I don’t know if anyone likes to hear what he has to say after he clocks out, and it seems like the two are beginning to merge. Recently, he’s starred in films that sacrifice entertainment value in favor of agendas, films like the one about fracking. Soooo dramatic. And they’re probably filled with science. Again, whatever.
A year or so ago a couple handed me the book The Martian because they knew I had applied to be an emigrant to Mars. I read it and reviewed it here. This book is now a major motion picture. And all of this is very interesting to me and probably every other independent author, as its author published the book by his own self years before it got picked up by a major publisher and now Hollywood. It looks like Mr. Weir self-published it in 2011, three years before the big boys picked it up in 2014. So it seems that five years after self-publishing a quality book any one of us could watch A-listers act out our story on the big screen. That’s neat. Anyhow, back to the point. The book has nothing to do with making a statement about “every culture” of humans. Anyone that disagrees with this is flat out wrong and I would argue hasn’t read the book. And yet somehow (I picture a lot of whining and temper tantrums and threats to walk out of the room) Matt Damon opens the preview to what looks like a fantastic new space movie with this bogus notion that every culture has a basic instinct to help each other out. I can buy every human does on an individual level. There’s books about that. But the simple fact is there are plenty of cultures who don’t rescue people who find themselves stranded on Mars or mountain tops or the side of the highway. What’s worse is there are plenty of cultures who actively believe in kidnapping people for money or political statements. These cultures are generally those not labeled The West.
I buy and promote the truth that if we’re talking about the level of the soul, then we’re all just people making our way through this world and will more times than not help each other when able. But it is not true that in groups (cultures) we’re all the same and without quantifiable, measurable differences that can be labeled “better” or “worse”–no matter how hard we wish for it.
Mission Commander Stevenson
The planet’s Earth-like gravity had an unexpected welcoming effect on Mission Commander Stevenson as he stepped out of the craft. This was the forty-first world he had visited on this particular eighteen month mission. He hadn’t shared with anyone yet that it would be his last. He was sixty-four years old and while his mind was never sharper, his body was starting to say no.
NASA probably expected him to call it quits sooner rather than later, but he knew they would be sorry to see him leave. Not the first mission commander to make a career of exploring new galaxies, he hoped he would prove to be the most steadfast. He had personally stepped foot on six hundred thirty-five extraterrestrial worlds. Not one of them contained life.
Oh, sure, he had had plenty of R and R back on Earth between missions, but it was all beginning to wear on him. As evidence of this, to a person, all the other astronauts could even deliver his famous “one complaint” speech–accent and all–verbatim.
Month thirteen, almost to the day, he’d say, “For someone as fortunate as me, someone who has seen the glory of the cosmos up close and in person, to complain would be criminal.” The imitator would then pause, just like Stevenson always did. “But I am human. I do have my own thoughts. And if I had to pick one thing that I would change about the program, it would be the gloves! I have spent over half my life feeling the inside of a pair of gloves. Every celebratory hug we’ve had after discovering we got a chance to live on after opening the door, every rock I’ve lifted, every flagpole I’ve planted, every tool I’ve used, everything has felt the same. I just wish something could be done about that.” Every newbie expected the speech to end at that point and just about interrupted the old man as he continued undeterred, which made it all the more amusing for everyone else. “I miss the feel of a woman, the feel of a Christmas tree, the feel of not quite warm enough shower water. Most of all, I miss the feel of dirt–my dirt.”
As he looked back for the others to join him on the ritual first walk around the new world, he unconsciously reached for the fastener on his glove.
Review of The Martian, by Andy Weir
Finally there’s proof that I’m not the only one with Mars on the brain. Originally published as an ebook in 2009, Andy Weir’s The Martian was destined for broader horizons. Recently picked up by Crown Publishing (a subsidiary of Random House Publishing), it spent a handful of weeks on the NY Times Bestseller list earlier this year. Must be nice.
Weir’s first novel is all heart. And by heart, I mean comedy. Maybe that sets the wrong tone. Beginning again then. The book is all Watney. Mark Watney is the first astronaut (we all know there’s going to be one) to be stranded on Mars. And The Martian, first and foremost, is about Mark Watney. From the opening line, to the last page, Weir’s development of Watney through how he handles the obstacles that present themselves to him as he attempts to live on Mars acts as the life-giving oxygen necessary to sustaining his life on Mars.
The critics (really anything you’ll read about the book) frequently laud Weir’s attention to detail and eloquent grasp of the science behind traveling to and living on the red planet. But that’s not what kept my attention. (Like I have any way of verifying any of the story’s science anyhow.) What I do know is that I enjoy the feeling I get as bursts of unexpected air come out of my mouth or nose. And this book causes plenty of that. It’s a weird feeling, the feeling that accompanies laughing at unmoving text. But it is as enjoyable as any other feeling I can think of.
If you’re like me, you probably won’t rush out and buy the book based on a recommendation. But you might pick it up off the bookstore shelf and begin reading it. Here’s what you need to know as you begin to feel guilty for reading so long and hurriedly put the book back before anyone can claim that you must now purchase it because you’ve read too much of it: despite the opening chapters, the book is not just a diary. I started chapter’s four and five with a bit of a groan because while funny and interesting, it was a little too much Mark Watney. Then chapter six arrived in a much welcomed third person omniscient point of view. From there on out, it is a nice balance between the two.
In the end, it is a page-turner. It is funny. And its theme is hope. If you have any interest in one of those three things and are space-curious, read it.
Mars One Rejection Letter (well, email…technically)
If you’re on your computer, it’s best to set the tone with a little mood music: open in new tab.
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Dear Mars One applicant,
Did you know US astronaut Clayton Anderson was rejected by NASA for its astronaut training program 15 times, yet in 2007 he boarded the Space Shuttle Atlantis for a trip to the International Space Station. He proved anything can happen and no door is ever completely closed.
You, and just over 200,000 other aspiring astronauts around the world, took a bold step in applying to be one of our first heroes to leave Earth permanently for a new life on another planet. We cannot thank you enough for your daring effort.
At this time, we’ve made the decision to reduce our applicant pool down to just over 1000 and your application has been declined. Let’s talk about what that means.
This is not the end of your dream. We will be reopening the application process for you at a date to be determined in 2014. We want you to seriously consider re-applying. Each and every applicant, including yourself, who was not chosen in in this initial round, will have many other chances to re-enter the selection pool and try again. Don’t give up.
If you’re wondering why you’re applicant was put on hold, please review the selection criteria here. This is the criteria we used when considering your application.
Our goals are the same – human life on Mars and advancing humankind’s evolution as a multiplanetary species. Let’s continue our mission together!
Regards,
Mars One Selection Committee
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What do you say? Should I keep applying? I say…Yes!