February 1, 2003

columbia: 1981 – 2003

7 astronauts die as shuttle breaks apart

Colonel Rick Husband; Lt. Colonel Michael Anderson; Commander Laurel Clark; Captain David Brown; Commander William McCool; Dr. Kalpana Chawla; Colonel Ilan Ramon.

“Human spaceflight is a passion.”

When I was a kid all I wanted to do was be an astronaut. During the bus ride to school would I philosophize with my first grade girlfriend on space. I read books on all the planets. I wrote reports on space. I wished I was Spaceman Spiff. I made dioramas of space stations. I bought posters of galaxies and nebulas from the science museum. I built model rockets. I went to Space Camp in Florida. I toured NASA. I listened to Space Hog. I got Stephen Hawking’s book for Christmas. I tried to take an astronomy class post-secondary at the U of M Twin Cities, but because of traffic could never get to class on time and had to drop it. I drink sweet draughts of Cowboy Bebop. I dream.

I have since found a few terrestrial interests to make life down here interesting in the meantime, but I still yearn to one day float above it all in my own craft. The only way to get to that point, where the average windsurfing instructor can take day trips into orbit and be home for an evening session on the river, is to continue in the direction we’re going in spite of disaster.

“We will find it and fix it.”

Spaceflight is a risky business, and stuff like this has happened before without even nicking our fascination with space exploration. Apollo I, Challenger, now Columbia. Astronauts know the risks yet are willing to blast off anyway. It’s human. We strive for the unattainable. We climb mountains and cross oceans. All we can do now is learn from what happened and keep shooting for the stars, because two things have to happen in my lifetime or I promise, here and now, to be the gol’ darned crankiest grandfather to ever be strapped to his rocking chair:

1. I get my own spacecraft.

2. Man walks on Mars.

We mourn for today. In memory of those we lost this morning, we start on #2 tomorrow. It might not be the rational thing to do, but it is the human thing to do.

The complete text of Bush’s speech, courtesy of Spaceflight Now.

Happy Fun Pundit has the speech that Bush should have given. I agree entirely.


the silverfish goes…

Let’s try one of those egg timer thingies again, as the last one was kind of fun and I really, really want sleep now. Sleep good.

A silverfish just welcomed me back home to the apartment, at a good 2:50 in the morning. Got back from the after-party that took place after our gig (with Indefinite Particle Article) at Pizza Luce. People enjoyed themselves thoroughly, and the music flowed sweet and strong like the blood of Mount Olympus.

The last few days in Duluth have been foggy. I’m a sucker for winter fog. I like how it frosts everything up right nice like those spray cans of fake snow you can get around the holidays. The irony of those cans is that they carve little tiny holes in the ozone every time you use them, so one day, because of those cans, there will BE NO SNOW! And the only snow you’ll be able to see is the snow that comes from the can, but when you use the can you’re just ensuring that we’ll never ever ever ever see snow again!

Today was quite a long day. Homework, classes, photo-editing, 2 1/2 hours in a practice room memorizing parts for tonight’s gig… but after it all I got to chill in a house stocked with hippies and patchouli and hand drums. For some reason all the lights weren’t on in the house, so a few people ended up twirling and dancing in the dark in the next room.

It was also kind of strange, as in the darkness I could just barely make out the gossamer threads that held the group of people together. Like, how you know that two people know each other, but as the evening unfolds and you listen in on conversations and witness interactions, you are often surprised by how many people know each other. Like when your separate circles of friends start to mingle, you may think, “Oh, this could be bad because these people don’t know each other…” Strangely enough, you often discover social overlapping that you never considered. The circles manage to spin together without your steady hand.

I’ve got one minute. Perhaps I should mention what the silverfish said when I got home. Well, that’s an interesting story, but it-


January 31, 2003

wild party girls caught on tape

Ya want it? You want damning proof that Iraq is lying? The Bush administration says they got it.

Electronic intercepts by the NSA are considered the most jealously guarded of all U.S. intelligence secrets and government officials are normally loath to even refer to their existence for fear of tipping off targets and drying up invaluable sources of information.

But in this case, officials said, the intercepts are so damning and dramatic that officials say their release outweighs the potential harm?especially given the increased likelihood that the United States will shortly be launching an invasion of Iraq anyway.

“Hold onto your hat. We?ve got it,” said one U.S. intelligence official familiar with the evidence gathered by the NSA.

I wish he had said “Hold onto your butts,” instead. That would have been damn cool, givin’ the ol’ hat tip to Jurassic Park like that.


sense the taint

Set aside the next ten minutes of your life and check out Something Awful’s Photoshop Phriday. Today? Recalled Foods. You’ll find most of these products in the new ‘tainted food’ aisle at Cub.

Tainted food: Helping undergraduates and the local poor fill their gullets with red tide starfish and rotten yams.


January 30, 2003

the mouse goes…

Ok, let’s try something. Let’s see what happens when I’m quite stressed out and it’s only the second week of school and I’m feeling like I really do nothing but run around and fill out petitions to make sure I actually graduate when I graduate…

Let’s see what happens when I clock the current time: 10:43. Let’s see what happens when I lay off the delete key and allow myself only FIVE MINUTES to hack out something. Ready? Let’s do it.

So last night our Friend Commander Keane decided he had to leave for Tuscon, Arizona, so we threw a little party at his place. Normally an event of little public significance, except in the Commander’s case he lives in a TENT. A canvas wall tent, twenty-five minutes out of Duluth, in a forest, next to a clearcut, on public land. I have crazy friends, I do, as the Commander lived there with two other fellows. The Hobo and the Jon.

The Hobo has hobo gloves and surly hair that sticks out every which way. The Jon built an outhouse and a wood box (as it gets 19 below in their tent so they need a stove and tons of wood to keep the place warm) but he built them both out of the same plans! The same blueprints! He’s an architect! A one-man comedy team! One act Charlie!

So I ask the Jon if he ever accidentally craps in the wood box instead of the outhouse because they both look the same. He said never. Never accidentally. On purpose? Sure! There was a mouse that lived in the wood box but didn’t live in the outhouse and one day the mouse woke up in The Jon’s sleeping bag and the Jon went AUUUGGGHH!!!! So he came home from school that afternoon (as just because you live in a canvas wall tent doesn’t mean you don’t have to go to school) and there was the mouse stuck by its little tiny legs in a frozen pail of water. So Jon gets a hammer and cracks the mouse good and hard into the ice, and it shattered and went skrit and a little nugget of blood came out.

(Right now I’m having trouble doing the math, and figuring out if I need to stop typing now. What did I say, 10:43? Now it’s 10:49. Umm… That’s… er… SIX MINUTES! WHOOPS!)

SKRIT!


January 29, 2003

world news rodeo

Leave to to the wires to print the news. The news that matters.

“When I have visitors, they sleep there with the fresh scent of toothpaste,” Kolpakov, 36, told The Saginaw News for a story Tuesday.

Creeped out yet? The rest is complete proof that the cold war is over.

A woman who says she bought magic wands from a self-described psychic to erase negative thoughts says $5,400 of her money was all that disappeared.

It’s not that she’s a sucker that makes this interesting. It’s that it happened in Bethlehem. I always thought Jesus would be reborn a spunky teenage girl pop singer. Perhaps the Son of God is a phony psychic, instead.

Lies, Lies, Lies! All I hear are lies! Funny. I thought today they would be lining up those lost mason jars of anthrax and heaving sledgehammers at them. Meanwhile, Bush wants to throw a kegger down at the U.N. on the 5th, at which he’ll get everyone sloshed enough that he can reveal new evidence for the case against Iraq, without anyone actually remembering anything the morning after. Allies are all for partying. France and Germany are still busy pissing their pants and might not RSVP.

And just for fun, here’s a picture of a clown.


sotu tofu

Lileks is up with his review of the State of the Union Address. The speech is part one in a four-part series. SOTU, Bush/Blair, Powell before the U.N., War Time Live from the Oval Office. Collect the whole set.


January 28, 2003

like super glue for the evening jitters

What do aircraft wings, capitalism, rodents in Finland, and human hearts all have in common? Why are socialism and benevolent dictatorships such appealing economic and political philosophies, but so prone to corruption?

Steven has the words. Steven always has the words. If a day comes when Steven doesn’t have the words I’m going to brace myself for the moon to drop into the ocean and the earth to spin into the sun. Just like South Carolina sixth graders, Steven’s writings manage to hold reality together.


January 27, 2003

sticky q & a

I really don’t know what to make of this. The leaders of all anti-war countries are running around, calling for Baghdad to cooperate fully with the weapons inspectors. That’s all they got. What if Baghdad doesn’t cooperate? What if Baghdad hasn’t been cooperating for twelve years? What if Baghdad lied on their dossier and didn’t account for everything? What if Baghdad has committed a material breach?

Germany, France, Russia and Canada said the arms experts needed more time, as did Secretary-General Amr Moussa of the 22-member Arab League and states neighboring Iraq.

“We are of the opinion…that the inspectors will get more time for their work,” Schroeder told journalists in Berlin.

At a later news conference after meeting Brazilian President Luiz Inacio Lula da Silva, Schroeder said: “We are both of the opinion that nobody has the right to undertake any kind of action without a decision of the Security Council.”

Chirac, who discussed the issue with Schroeder by phone, echoed his call and urged Baghdad to give the inspectors “full and entire cooperation.”

Germany’s Joschka Fischer, also attending the EU foreign ministers’ meeting in Brussels, said: “War is no alternative. I think one can conclude that the inspectors are doing a great job which should definitely go on.”

There the answers stop. They only have answers as far as it would supposedly take to prevent a U.S. attack. Besides war they have no answers beyond the actions that have been unsuccessful for years; for the last two months. I really wish other world leaders had better things to do than get on the phone with Saddam and tell him to please play nice, pretty please, with sugar on top. Resolution 1441 was Iraq’s last chance to voluntarily disarm. They blew it.

It’s like a bad porno. A weapons inspector knocks on Saddam’s door. Saddam answers.

“Oh. You’re not my regular milkman.”

“…”

“Please, come inside.”

“…”

“Here, let me help you with that.”

“…”

“Oops.”

Iraq had every chance to avoid a war. Every chance for twelve years. How, you ask? Well, there is this…

QUIT FUCKING LYING.

Meanwhile, the British Foreign Secretary says Iraq is making a charade of the inspections, Kofi Annan calls for more party games, Colin Powell says Iraq is running out of time, Australia’s Prime Minister says Iraq is in material breach, and Daschle is asking for hardcore proof.

He’ll get it, but he won’t get it until a few days before the war starts. We need to get the proof out to sway the public (and the world), but we need to do it in such a manner that it won’t give Iraq any upper hand in the war. As soon as Iraq knows what we know they can piece together where that information came from, kill the persons responsible, and relocate the weapons. They could also figure out, from what we know, what we don’t know and use that knowledge against us.

It’s a sticky business. If Washington comes forward with hardcore proof they could make a compelling argument to the world for military intervention, and lay to rest all this craziness (though, from the other side, it would just replace it with another brand of craziness). However, if they reveal too much too soon they risk losing the war to win the popularity contest. Well, we won’t lose the war, certainly, but it could get a hell of a lot messier as a result. It’s all cost/benefit analysis.

Watch carefully what Bush says tomorrow. If we get specifics, we’re going in soon. Very soon.

The full text of Hans Blix’s statement to the U.N.


the warehouse chronicles

Well now, that was some lucid dreaming. It all started with me and some friends, who were driving a van across the country. We heard rumors of an abandoned warehouse in the neighborhood we were tooling through, so we drove up at night to check it out. We ran around inside with flashlights and eventually I ended up in the basement. I found a neat cup (it wasn’t the Spirit Valley Days cup that I got last year, and it wasn’t the matching Spirit Valley Days cup that I got a few weeks ago, but I did look around the basement trying to find them), and soon the sun was coming up and we needed to get out of there.

We needed to get out of there now! In the sunlight we could see that the warehouse wasn’t abandoned after all, and there were lots of racks of blinking lights that I suppose were supposed to represent networking routers or something. As we were running to the van my friend saw the cup, and said that he wanted one, too.

“Dammit, we don’t have time! The workers are going to be here any minute!”

He wouldn’t listen to reason so I dashed back in the warehouse. I slid down a rack of employee work shirts (they were an ugly green color, and I considered putting one on so I could blend into the approaching crowd) to the basement. I found the cups, but they were all covered in green paint and malformed, so it was really hard for me to find one that was decent. For some reason, a mug I got while on the Hopkins nordic ski team was there, too. I started browsing some terra cotta pots, and then remembered I had to get out of there now!

I guess it was Saturday so the workers never showed up, but once I got back to the van the mud monsters emerged from the basement. They were these huge black dripping things and moaned a lot, nevermind the fact that they were made out of mud. The only way we could defeat them was to burn down the warehouse, but attempts with gasoline didn’t work. Dear god, the enemy is immune to gasoline! What is one to do? My father showed up and turned on all the gas mains, filling the warehouse with a wavering, groovy-smelling atmosphere. He set up the furnace to spark in 150 cycles, which to us translated to just enough time to hop in the van and drive away.

It took us quite a bit longer to escape than expected, as Homer Simpson showed up and had to have his say in things. Eventually we found ourselves at the top of a cliff, watching the warehouse and mud monsters explode into a messy oblivion.

I had another dream after that, but the details are a bit sketchy. It ended with Mazataka as the cruel and ruthless head of a trans-global multi-national corporation. He was pasted up on billboards everywhere, wearing a North Face jacket and Oakleys with yellow lenses. He was holding a Coca-Cola bottle.