Actually, it IS Rocket Science



Mooning

“Hey!  You guys!  There’s a lunar eclipse tonight!”

“Oh… wow… That’s just amaaaaaazinnnnnnng.”

“No, really!  We’ll be able to see a shadow of the earth over the moon tonight.  This is so cool!”

“Did you not catch my sarcusiasm?  I said that was amaaaaaaazziiiiiiiinnnnnnnnnng.”

“Sarcusiasm’s not a real word.”

“Neither is my excitement for the lunar eclipse.”

_________

If anyone ever wants me to write for a sitcom, there’s my attempt at doing so.

________

No.  No, I don’t think I belong in that profession, either.

The truth is there is, in fact, a lunar eclipse tonight.  But there is also a sort of crappy fact that a lunar eclipse never garnishes the same amount of excitement as its varsity football team, boinking-the-head-cheerleader, dumb-as-rocks-but-still-lunchroom-royalty step-brother, the solar eclipse.

Lunar eclipse: Aw, you guys caught me blushing!

Solar eclipse: I will destroy you and your hope of any future legacy.

Case in point:

You don’t need to be taken out of class for a lunar eclipse.

You don’t need a shoebox with a pencil hole in it to watch the lunar eclipse.

If you were an emerging civilization before the invention of modern science, you wouldn’t think the lunar eclipse was the sign of the end of the world.

And so on and so forth.

So I feel for ya, Lunar eclipse.  You’re the geek in this scheme of poorly broken down social stigma analogies.  You’re that kid who eats tuna at lunch and smells like gross fish for the rest of the day.  The one who wears sunglass strap holders to support your eyeglasses.  The 14-year-old that still trick-or-treats by themselves.

You just need to loosen up.  Otherwise you’re going to end up one of those carpet cleaner guys who gets so caught up in your work that you turn every various client’s rug stain into a CSI investigation.

Spoiler alert:  it’s usually kool-aid cherry or wildberry punch based.

_______

Not that it’s completely related, but one time about 5 years ago, I read about a low-flying meteor shower that was luckily enough going to be within EXTREEEEEEEME visual foci to my town (it’s within the realm of “cosmos” as far as I’m concerned, so I’m comfortable combining the two topics in one post).  I was also beginning to see a guy who I was crazy about and eventually became my Chicago compatriot, and so I invited him over to come see it with me.   We had decided to meet up early, catch some dinner, and move out to one of the respective areas around the outerbank levee so we could get away from the light pollution of the city.

The first 2/3rd’s of that plan worked out perfectly.

We got out there and noticed, to our absolute dismay and probably a realization that I was a COMPLETE idiot and didn’t count on there being any restraints designed for keeping morons like me out from scaling the man made hills meant for keeping water from flooding the land or anything else dumb like that, that there was a veritable musical ledger of barbed wire leading up to the pinnacle of the hill.  5 lines of angry metal borders.

And I thought, “COOL!  A LADDER!”

So I grabbed our provisions out of the back of my car and formulated a plan that was absolutely BRILLIANT.

“Okay, what you’re gonna do is climb the wire first.  Then I’ll throw the stuff over to you, all right?!  Then I’ll climb over, and we’ll make it up the hill.  Yes?  YES?  OKAY!  YES!  ON WE GO!”

Would you like to bet how long it took before someone was injured?

I guess that wouldn’t be very fair to judge considering I didn’t have a stopwatch on me.  But it was within a minute, I promise you. Divide your winnings accordingly.

The culprit was, not surprisingly, one of the spikes from the barbed wire that we were attempting to ascend.  And the target was somewhere around his knee.  The fella was a trooper, though, and came back down, simply explaining, “Um… I don’t think this is such a great idea.”

“Noooooo!!… Really??”

“Uh.  Yyyeeeaaahh.  I just cut myself.”

And then he exposed his now bloody knee.

And I suddenly felt like a bad, very, very bad person.  These are the things that would get me put away for spousal abuse, had we been married.

We rushed home where I inspected and cleaned up his now dark brown, caked up ruddy knee.  We debated on whether or not to go to the hospital for a Tetanus shot, which he eventually pooh-pooh’d but we both decided if he woke up in the morning with any feelings of tension in his jaw that he would seek help immediately (thank the all-knowing unknown we never became parents together, at least especially at that point) and he went home.

I eventually found out from other friends that the meteor shower was obscured by too many low lying clouds, which somehow justified our failed excursion, as far as I was concerned.  And luckily enough the area we sought out had explicitly clean barbed wire.  Or maybe he now has some new metallic wielding powers that even Stan Lee couldn’t imagine.  But I doubt it, otherwise I’m sure he would have made our delays on the Chicago train commutes much less infuriating.

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