How’s Uranus?

Posted on April 1, 2020 by Curmudgeon-at-Large

Never one to shirk from gutter humor in times of stress and anxiety, I was amused to read a recent article from Popular Science that “…our image of Uranus hasn’t advanced substantially beyond the featureless blue beachball captured by Voyager 2’s vintage instruments in 1986.”

Uranus blog

Uranus is an odd planet. Where others spin, Uranus rolls, tipped on its side with its poles pointing generally toward or away from the sun. Its magnetic field is bonkers too, offset from the planet’s center and tipped at a wild 60 degrees to the side. Planetary astronomers are blind to that magnetic field from Earth, although the Hubble Space Telescope can occasionally catch an indirect glimpse via Uranus’s auroras—which can shine far from the poles.

Last year, while combing through NASA’s archives of the Voyager 2 mission, two planetary scientists noticed something earlier analyses had overlooked—a blip in Uranus’s magnetic field as the spacecraft cruised through a magnetic bubble of sorts. They spotted a special 60-second long section of Voyager 2’s 45-hour flyby where the magnetic field rose and fell in an instantly recognizable way.

They deduced that it might be a plasmoid. Plasmoids are charged globs of atmosphere blown out into space when the solar wind whips around planets. Losing such blobs can dramatically transform a world over a long period of time, and studying them can provide insight into how planets live and die.

The Voyager team initially assumed the magnetic wackiness was linked to the Uranus’s belly flop position, but when the spacecraft flew by Neptune (which stands up straight) three years later it saw the same apparent mismatch between the planet and its field. Now researchers assume that something about the worlds’ inner workings must set their magnetic fields apart.

The article was titled:

“Uranus blasted a gas bubble 22,000 times bigger than the Earth.”

In other words:

Uranus farted!

Love in the Time of Coronavirus

Posted on March 15, 2020 by Curmudgeon-at-Large

I see that our ‘crack’ U.S. Government, after its leader, President Rump, proclaimed coronavirus to be a hoax, has reversed itself and declared a national emergency. A task force, under the superlative direction of cardboard cutout Vice President Mike Dense, gives us reassurance that everything is under control provided we take safety precautions through abstinence and prayer.

coronavirus image

Nonetheless, despite consulting the world’s foremost experts on diseases and epidemics – people like Laura Ingraham, Tucker Carlson and Rush Windbag – the government’s task force has a glaring omission in getting citizens through this crisis:

What do I do when run out of toilet paper?

Well, I am here to help.

First, that usual question – paper or plastic? My own preference is paper. Plastic has a number of issues, not the least of which is slipperiness. Besides, aren’t you environmentally concerned and using paper or your own bags to cart items from the grocery store?

So, paper. And where do we get unused paper? Most of us have stopped reading the daily newspaper and few of us use writing paper. And, truth be told, your environmental concerns do not rise to the level of replacing plastic bags. On the other hand, we tend to order online and get delivery by – cardboard paper! Yes, I know that it does not have the silky-smooth quality of your store-bought ultra-smooth Charmin’ or the plushness of Quilted Northern but – hey – we’re in a crisis here so we have to accept these challenges.

And what happens when we have neither plastic nor paper? Nature, in the form of trees, provides us with an abundance of leaves. I would seek out large leafed hardwoods – Sycamore or Red/White Oak – over small leafed varieties or softwoods. And I really don’t want to tell you about the experience one poor fellow had when reduced to using pine needles.

Your Letter of the Twelfth Inst

Posted on March 10, 2020 by Curmudgeon-at-Large

Seemingly all written exchanges – by email or Twitter or other electronic device – have eradicated the art of Victorian letter writing. To that end, I re-post my attempt with apologies to all Victorian letter writers.

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Great Balderdash, Falls-on-Potomac

November 22, 1871

My Dearest Friend:

In re your letter of the twelfth inst, I am shocked to realize that a great misfortune has occurred wherein my last post has somehow conveyed to you unnecessary hardship in its reading, the poorly administered cause of which is entirely my fault. Believe me when I say that such an unfortunate and distressful outcome is the last emotion I wish to express and even now as I write these words causes me great distress to think that there has been a misunderstanding whose result may break that mutual bond so lengthily constructed and for which I have the most sincere and foursquare concern.

No scurrilous knave, unspeakable cur, enterprising rogue or devious scoundrel could have erected such a formidable barrier to our friendship as has occurred by a simple whim, a mere fancy, a jot so insignificant as to be inconveniently overlooked and misplaced within my last missive and by whose existence has the modest incivility of this slight action been overshadowed with the enormous barbarity of my inadvertent words, the resulting outcome of which has placed our relationship in such precarious jeopardy and confers upon it a deed most foul.

I do hope that the undertakers for the incomparable and advantageous design of the speedy and safe conveyance of letters and packets (under a pound weight) to all parts of the cities, high roads, streets and suburbs thereof will have ordered their messengers, who collect such letters at any of the places aforesaid, to promptly discharge their duties and rapidly transport my reply of deepest regret to you. ¹

Lest I be remiss, let me redress my words. When I stated that you have the capacity for drawing liquid out with your mouth, I was only admiring your demonstrative skills to pull on something irresistibly, like the pull of the Sun on the planets or the Moon on the tides. When I wrote of you in a way that implied irritation or annoyance, I dare say I only meant to call attention to your unerring ability to discomfort others by your incomparable talent in presenting indisputable and irrefutable facts in excruciating detail. And, of course, my reference to your origins was not to cast aspersions on your genealogy but was by way of comparison a measure of your originality and uniqueness.

If, after all my aforementioned efforts to postulate my remonstrance and articulate my deepest remorse, you remain steadfast in your resentment and cannot be mellowed by the earnestness of my words nor by the long-standing nature of our relationship, I must then, with all due respect, retract my apology and repeat my original contention that you still suck, you insufferable bastard!

These words notwithstanding, I have in this, as always, the honor to be, very respectfully, your most humble and very ob’t. serv’t.,

¹ From William Dockwra’s 18^th century advertisement in the Mercurius Civicus as presented in JaneAustensWorld.

The Perversity of Inanimate Objects

Posted on February 18, 2020 by Curmudgeon-at-Large

I re-posted an earlier topic entitled Fix it; Break it. Naturally, as soon as I did it, the inevitable happened. The inanimate objects in my house revolted and struck with perverse and unerring timing. Here’s the follow-on post which, once again, applies.

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They’re at it again. I wrote an earlier post on the unerring ability of all inanimate objects in and around your house/condominium/apartment to break on cue with a perverse spontaneity when you least expect it.

I had been overdue on giving a party for a group of party-going friends and finally, recognizing their raised eyebrows and scornful looks as I greedily sampled their food and drinks at their gatherings, I agreed to host one of my own. Two days before the start of the party – too late to cancel or find a repairman – the refrigerator decided to stop working.

The refrigerator could have chosen any time it wanted to break; for example the start of a quiet week or a day AFTER the party when I didn’t need to fill it in preparation for the festivities. But no, it knew my plans, recognized the instant of no return and – POW – just stopped working. In reality, it had been sitting there patiently waiting for just the right moment to break down. Let’s see – he’s made the invitations, he’s got all the groceries, bags and bags of ice and – NOW! – time to stop working.

I know that you think I’m anthropomorphizing, giving animate thought to a bunch of inanimate metal, wood and plastic. I’m telling you that all these devices are evil incarnate. I fully expect to wake one morning and find myself in an appliance nightmare. I’ll be a cross between Mickey Mouse in The Sorcerer’s Apprentice and Bill Murray in Groundhog Day. All the appliances, one by one, will rise up against me.

Suddenly, the alarm clock will wake me by ringing, then shouting and then scampering away on two little feet and smashing itself into the opposite wall. The shower head will rise from its own hook, twist itself up like venomous viper and start spitting hot water at me. The toaster will overheat and burn; the TV will spontaneously turn on, get brighter and brighter and explode. The phone will ring non-stop and run away when I approach it. The dishwasher will overload with suds; the dryer will spin out of control; the coffee machine will grind itself to bits; the vacuum cleaner will chase me across the living room; the ceiling fan will spin at top speed until it pries itself loose from its mount. In an act of desperation, I will cover my eyes and ears while cowering in the corner, whimpering to have them all stop until I’m met with dead silence. Slowly and carefully, I open my eyes, scan the room and then close them again in relief.

Phew, it’s all been a bad dream.

Suddenly, the alarm clock will wake me by ringing, then shouting and then scampering away on two little feet and smashing itself into the opposite wall….

Fix it; Break it

Posted on February 7, 2020 by Curmudgeon-at-Large

I had to get one of the many and never ending house repairs done the other day. It demonstrated one of the immutable laws of nature – the fix it, break it phenomenon also known as the conservation of repairs. Newton’s third law states that for every action there is an equal but opposite reaction. Inanimate objects follow this law with a perverse vengeance. If you are foolish enough to attempt your own electrical, mechanical or plumbing repairs and succeed in saving a hundred bucks, the objects in your house will rise up en masse, failing in rapid succession until you have spent ten times that amount on repairs and repairmen.

I unwittingly fixed a leaking toilet one day only to find a nearly flooded basement two weeks later because my ejector pump broke. After a panicked call, my plumber, Fast Eddy, shows up, explains how bad the problem is, fixes it and relieves me of enough cash so that I can stop worrying about my next car, my next vacation or newer underwear. In fact, Fast Eddy said that he had a similar problem in one of his houses. One of his houses? My plumber has more houses than I do! I fully expect him to show up the next time in a repair van that is a combination Hummer and pimpmobile wearing thousand-dollar Max Armani coveralls.

I am, suffice it to say, not mechanically inclined. The chances of me successfully conducting a major repair to my house are about as great as a dog reading a book. I feel that, if scientists can believe in black holes, dark matter and exploding galaxies, I can believe in the self-curative powers of inanimate objects by constant incantations, prayers and, in extreme circumstances, human sacrifice. Is it too much to ask them to break down during weekday hours when repairmen cost less? To wait until after all the guests at a party have departed? To agree upon a breakdown schedule that will not drain me of my life’s savings or require a second mortgage?

If only it were so. Inanimate objects have their own laws:

	Newton	Inanimate Object


1	An object at rest stays at rest and an object in motion stays in motion.	An object at rest breaks when you put it in motion; an object in motion breaks anyway.
2	The acceleration of an object is directly proportional to the magnitude of the net force.	The acceleration of an object’s break is directly proportional to your inability to pay for it.
3	For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.	For every fix, there is at least one break.