Slightly Off the Mark

Moonshots and Butter Brickle

If you asked me as a kid what I wanted to do when I grew up, I had an immediate answer. No hemming and hawing between plumber and proctologist, no sir. It had been clear since I watched the first Apollo Moon landing at 9 years old, on a black and white console TV:

I was going to be science officer on a starship.

Yes, I was aware the position didn't actually exist at the time, but we'd just landed on the moon! By the time I entered high school we'd have a city on Mars, and by the time I graduated college I'd be shipping out to explore the galaxy. I already had a blue sweatshirt with a logo on it, and a Spock haircut.

It wasn't the same logo, but what the heck; and as long as I kept that haircut, I wouldn't have to worry about interested girls distracting me.

Which is why I gave up the haircut in middle school, but never mind.

Back then it seemed obvious our future was in space. Why? Well, the example of Europeans continuing to explore the Americas after Columbus (or the Vikings) is problematic--although if they hadn't, I wouldn't be here. Still, the Native Americans themselves once followed the path of exploration:

"What's over that next hill?"

"Food, maybe? I see there's a glacier coming up behind us, so maybe we should check it out."

By high school manned space exploration seemed a thing of the past, but I was still optimistic of humanity's future in space. I signed up for every science class my school offered, starting my freshman year with what was called General Science. I excelled, earning an A+ and a certificate of merit. I wanted to take Physical Science next, but the only opening on my sophomore schedule was Chemistry.

My science teacher cautioned me that maybe I shouldn't jump ahead so fast. I ignored him. My science teacher was very smart. I wasn't.

As a kid I had every Apollo related toy, including this one.

Because, you see, going into space takes math. Lots of math. Taking Intro to Algebra in my freshman year taught me my proficiency in math was, well, not proficient. In fact, I stunk at it. But what the heck, science isn't all about math. How much math could there possibly be in chemistry?

And that's how I learned I would never be a science officer.

Science is cool, it really is. It's just that some people can do science, and some people are better off watching other people do science. Now we have Artemis returning to the Moon, several decades too late even if I was good at science. With my prostate, I'm better off not being in a place where peeing is a challenge, anyway.

(No, I'm not going to debate anyone with the idiotic idea that the Apollo missions were faked. That myth has been busted over and over, and I spend most of my time on social media trying to avoid stupid arguments.)

This, by the way, is an anime character named Artemis. My household was nuts for Sailor Moon.

But should we go back to the Moon, with all the expense, with so many problems on Earth? I mean, we've been there. Once we invented chocolate ice cream, was there any point in inventing Butter Brickle?

Maybe that's a bad comparison: I hate Butter Brickle. But humanity is never going to be wiped out by a five mile wide scoop of frozen Butter Brickle, or for that matter a super volcano made of cheese, which would at least smell good for an instant before our nose hairs burned. The technology used for Butter Brickle isn't likely to bring great new inventions and products to the masses. Also, to be honest, there's no joy of discovery from exploring Butter Brickle, unless it's your first birthday party.

So I'm going to say yes, it is worth the risk and expense to explore space. Not just for the science and economic benefits, but also for the pure joy of discovering things. We could easily find the money by zapping government waste with a big Butter Brickle colored space laser.

After all, how do we know there's not some new kind of chocolate out there?

Our books don’t involve space travel—yet. But there’s bound to be something for everyone else.

· Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/-/e/B0058CL6OO

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Remember: It was discovery that brought us the ability to print books in the first place.

Happy National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week!

It's Photo Wednesday! Which I just made up. Only it's not--in this case it's mostly Meme Wednesday, which I also just made up, although I'd imagine I'm not the first. Somebody should make a meme about that.

So instead of my photos, I'm posting images about what I like to call Dispatchers Week, because National Public Safety Telecommunicators Week really doesn't roll off the tongue.

I spent over three decades as a full time dispatcher, and now I'm a part time dispatcher until our books start pulling in, oh, five figures. Should happen any minute now.

When I came back, one of the first things I noticed is that we now have a dispatch goose, who tends to change clothes a lot and goes by the name Gertrude. No, I don't know why.

I think most of my coworkers are glad to have me back, so I can teach the newbies about puns and inappropriate humor. Or, it could be because we're shorthanded at the moment. It turns out we're supposed to do this job 24 hours a day--who knew?

How do I keep going? Ibuprofen and Mountain Dew.

When I first started in the emergency services, some 45 years ago, I was told I'd never make it in the business if I didn't drink coffee. In the time since, I've had exactly one cup of coffee, at a winter mobile home fire when the temperature was below zero. I'd have drunk antifreeze, if it was hot enough. These days, most of the other dispatchers don't drink coffee either. I have no explanation for this, although when you pick up a 911 call and someone immediately screams in your ear, that tends to keep you awake for awhile.

Anyone in this business can tell you there are, indeed, stupid questions. But here's the interesting thing: Often the person who calls in and apologizes for wasting our time, then spends five minutes trying to convince us it's nothing, has a legitimate complaint. People who ask stupid questions usually have no idea we're pretending to shoot the phone while listening to them.

This is exactly why our moods, like our shifts, can veer in any direction in an instant. Except when we have visitors. When people are watching, nothing happens.

It's one of the most important jobs there is, because we're the first first responders. If we don't take the call, none of the other first responders know to respond. Unless there's a fireball on the horizon, or something.

So thank you for your dedicated work, dispatchers! With you in mind, there's a minor character in my Storm Chaser series who is, indeed, a night shift dispatcher. You can tell by how grouchy he is.

Fires and other emergencies tend to pop up a lot in our books, both fiction and nonfiction. Check us out!