Planetary Protection

I just attended a seminar called Planetary Protection: Policies and Practices.  It was not quite as boring as it sounds.  They have the best bumper sticker ever.  "Protecting all the Planets all the time!"

This would have been a great seminar had it been in Colorado Springs or San Diego.  I am sure that all the people enjoyed coming to Cocoa Beach.  I enjoyed the Courtyard and the free food and drink.  I also enjoyed the speakers.  There were seven presenters and thirteen participants.  I think it was a nice trip for the presenters and they just happened to be giving a seminar while vacationing. 

Believe it or not, there is a group of people looking out for not just this planet but all of the asteroids, moons, satellite worlds or other planets.  It is a theoretical game and they take it seriously.  Carl Sagan  kicked of the mathematical probabilities some years ago.  There are probabilities of accidental  contact, of transference of viable spores and subsequent infection.  Someone calculated the probability difference between a slow decent to Mars and a quick descent and how much sterilization of the craft will occur on each approach.  They also calculated the probability that an organism(spores) would be transferred to Martian surfaces and the probability of those surviving  to produce life on Mars.  If the risk is greater than one chance in ten million, you have to clean your space craft better.  The entire Mars Rover, this last one they sent up was the size of golf cart.  There was 135 thousand square feet (three football fields) of surface area that could contain viable spores for contamination.  It all has to be cleaned to a density of less than 1 spore per cubic centimeter.  The entire craft could only have about 500,000 spores on it for launch go ahead.  500,000 spores can quite easily fit side by side on your little fingernail and a spoonful of dirt could contain a million spores.

So lets just say the other planets are safe.  An organism capable of reproducing would have to survive the cleaning, the trip in a radiation filled, oxygen less space for a year, then land on Mars without being burned up and land in some place with water, grow, replicate and then Propagate.  There is about as much chance of that happening as our government actually doing anything important.  I am sure Saturn is safe also. 

But lets be clear, they have a great bumper sticker, a good presentation and ethics on their side.  Unfortunately, they are a government agency and are covered by a treaty with the United Nations.  I am sure at one time that meant something also.  But now it is just non-absorbent wiping paper.

Dilusional

The more I think about it, the more I like the word delusional.  Whenever someone calls someone else "delusional" I find myself chuckling.  Actually, being delusional can be a very serious problem.  An altered version of reality is scary for the non-delusional.  All politicians are delusional.  They take a class in it.  I knew a guy that regardless of the argument you put forth to disprove his statement, he would just repeat his position louder.   Many people said he was delusional but he was actually a stupid bonehead that enjoyed arguing.  

I remember my dad explaining someone as delusional.  It had to do with a football or baseball coach friend of his.  Dad got all serious and said, "I think he is delusional!"    I Actually think being deluded is becoming the normal state.  It may have always been that way except now with all the tweets, wired news and blogs such as this one, peoples opinions or delusions are expressed.  I am sure Southerners thought Abraham Lincoln was delusional.  Martin Luther was considered a delusional madman to most of his day.  My dad was fairly grounded.  His only delusion was trying to play fair and expecting others to play fair.  He was a radical, I know.

The guy that has been walking the length of Cocoa Beach almost daily for forty years is most likely delusional.  I wonder what his parameters are.  Is he governed by time, distance or foil heads from Meepzorp?  There was another guy that wore shorts three sizes too small and would ride a broken down old bike from Cocoa over the bridge ten miles to somewhere east of Eden.  At least he did not wear a super hero costume because that would have made in NUTS and delusional.  The Mohawk guy on the three wheeled bike may have been deluded but that would be the least of his problems.  He talked to stop signs, yelled at red lights, would not look at a human being and sometimes wore a skirt with no pants.  Maybe he was from Scotland.

The best parts about delusions are that they are comfortable and usually not dangerous.  They could be considered major tenants of our personality.  My little bubble of security is very cozy. 

Sanity

The other morning I was getting out of the shower and I heard a strange noise outside the window.  I glanced out and I saw a huge tornado, like the one in "The Wizard of Oz" coming directly toward me.  Of course I was mistaken and it was just the trunk of a palm tree.  This is not the first time I have thought a tornado was coming in my bathroom window. 

If I am sane or not sane cannot be determined by one palm tree tornado but there are indicators.  I watched a movie yesterday called "Proof" with Gwyneth Paltrow and Anthony Hopkins.  Sanity was a main theme and I concluded that being sane or not sane is not the issue.  Being useful or not useful is the true measure of usefulness.  You can be sane and completely useless or the reverse.  enas dna sselesu.  When I was at football practice, the coach asked a kid why he ran all the way across the field to try to tackle someone when his job was to stay where he was to prevent a reversal play.  The kid said, I don't know, I just had to attack someone.  He also said the Northern Lights were the result of God peeing on a rainbow.   That kid never was very useful on the football field and he was most likely not insane. 

I have insane thoughts all the time.  I wonder how we would run if we had three legs.  There are millions of different types of creature but none of them have three legs.  Some have one leg (snail-foot) and some like the Kangaroo seem to use the tail to sit on but that would be a second butt and we thought we had problems.   I saw a frog with three legs.  One of them went to a restaurant I guess.  The frog would hop, roll, croak and then steady himself and hop again.  What if when you shook hands with someone you did not like, you could not let go until you apologized for the transgression.  I read somewhere that the only books you get to read in heaven are the ones you gave away on earth.  I have given away a few books since hearing that phrase.  What if the only food you could eat in heaven was the food you gave to the poor while on earth.  Remember that book about the five people you will meet in heaven.  I thought about the five I would like to see in heaven.  That girl and her sister in the convertible BMW, I will give up four people for those two.  I would like to spend some time with Benjamin Franklin or Mark Twain.  Annie Oakley or Amelia Earjart would also be cool.

That tornado taught me something about sanity.  Like my supposition of a real tornado, sanity is fleeting and relative.  An autistic savant can be screwier that a bat's mustache but they can love and be loved.  There are some people and we all know them that seem very sane but also extremely un-lovable.  I drew a picture of a horse with no neck.  It sort of looked like a rhinoceros but when I draw a picture of a rhinoceros it looks like Pennsylvania.  I did draw a picture of a man with a wooden leg named Smith.  So what was the name of his other leg? (Mary Poppins)  One of my most favorite ridiculous sayings is  "Don't throw the baby out with the bath water".  This was explained that when water was drawn from a well or in short supply, everyone in the family used the same water for a bath and by the time it got down to the baby (last) the water was so dirty you may not notice a baby in the water.  The child would have drowned if you did not notice a big lump in the bath.  " Dang it Earl, was that a baby I saw going out the window?  Aw shit Helen, that is the second baby we lost this spring.  Someone should invent something to prevent that." 

Momma used to say Crazy is as Crazy does!  For sure.  Enough said.

SAS

I recently developed an allergy or sensitivity to spicy food.  I now, without a more graphic description, develop diaper rash whenever I eat the wrong foods.  I am still learning which foods but I am sure it is spicy stuff.  I have frequently had adverse reactions to cinnamon.

Recently on a very muggy day, I took a walk and irritated my (SAS) swamp ass syndrome.  The discomfort was not noticeable to the outside world and I figured I would just stay quietly in the well-dehumidified office and stick it out for the rest of the day.  I would get home and treat the area accordingly.  Trouble came calling about two thirty PM.  There was a problem with a loaded truck and the cargo had to be moved to another truck for delivery.  I being the supervisor, was called to coordinate unloading and the reload of another truck.  We would have plenty of help so I just would supervise.  I could stay in the shade and not sweat. 

I grew up enjoying sweat.  I loved the way sweat would cool me off in a breeze.  Sweat pouring off of my back was a sign of a job well worked.  Sweat, with all its salt and bacteria is a main ingredient of swamp ass and sure to inflamed the area.  Walking was difficult as I arrive at the truck.  One-Hand Louis was there will Big Joe.  We called him One-Hand because he was always standing around with one hand in his pocket. He would do most things with one hand in his pocket.  Him and Big Joe worked well together because Louis would tell Joe what to do and Joe would do it.  Big Joe was about six foot eight inches tall, knock-kneed with long hair and a wonderful half smile on his face.  He was one of those people who were truly happy to be alive each day. 

This job was going to take hours and I was starting to sweat a bunch.  My dad was a sweating machine and so goes his son.  Temporarily, the moisture seemed to help as it ran down my back.  I knew the Devil was going to get his due on this one.  It took them three hours to unload and load one truck.  While they were working, I drove off to get them sodas for a job well done.  I could barely walk when I got to the Zippy Mart.  My swamp ass had moved down to my thighs.  I cried for mercy as I paid the cute, young, wire through the nose, tongue and ear checkout girl.  She also had braces.  I hope she stayed clear of lightning storms because she was an antenna if I ever saw one.  The obviousness of my pain caused her to watch me hobble out of the store.

I returned to Big Joe and One Hand Louis, handed them the sodas out the window, said, “Nice work, thanks, I gotta go” and spun the tires.  I was going to go back to my office, tell everyone the problem was solved and head straight for home.  I had enough strength for only one try at this.  At the office they told me the new driver (shift change) did not have the delivery papers and I would have to run it out to him.  By the time I got to my car, I was whimpering with every step.  Sitting was OK for a few minutes but the new driver had driven twenty miles before realizing he did not have any idea where he was supposed to go.  I found the driver after about an hour at a truck stop.  I gave him the paperwork and off he went.  I slithered inside the truck stop looking for some relief.  I could barely talk or stand when I purchased eleven packages of lip gloss for “red chapped lips”.  I figured I could smear the petroleum jelly based grease on my ass and sooth this terrible pain.  I could not even wait to get in the car.  I ducked around the corner of the building and jammed my lip gloss laden hands between my legs and rubbed the grease pencils everywhere.  It could have been a gift from heaven but it was not.  There was a distinct smell of cinnamon coming from my crotch.   I yelled “Save me Jesus or I am calling the Devil for help”.  I ran as best I could back into the truck stop and yelled to the smiling child at the counter.   “Where is the nearest drug store, pharmacy or sanitarium.  I do not have much longer to live” She said politely, “there is a Super X drug up the street. Oooh Cinnamon!”  I had touched my face with the cinnamon flavored lip balm and not only were my fingers, ass and thighs burning like the eternal flame at the 68 Olympics but I had red blotches all over my face.  Surprisingly I chuckled on the way to the car.  I noticed my penis was not damaged during this entire ordeal. 

I drug my inflamed body into the Super X and begged the check out girl to help me.  I was sobbing and my ass was on fire.  The teller alerted the pharmacist and he asked me what the problem was specifically.  I said, “I am allergic to cinnamon and I smeared cinnamon laced lip gloss all over my ass, SWEET JESUS MARY JOSEPH save me.”  I grabbed a can of Bactine and unbuttoning my now soaked with sweat pants.  As they dropped to the floor, I jammed the can between my legs and sprayed.  I screamed like a dying goat.  Bactine has alcohol in it and it takes 18 seconds to “reduce pain”.  At about 13 seconds while my eyes were rolling up in my head, the pharmacist came out with some expired prescription strength Preparation HD which contained twenty percent Lidocane.   I snatched that shit out of his hand like a ninja on meth and squirted the entire tube in my hand.  I shoved it down the back of my underwear.   The pain was gone in an instant.  I came to my senses and realized my entire private area was exposed to the Super X and covered with sweet smelling lip gloss and preparation HD.  I pulled up my underwear and sweat soaked pants and asked the teller “how much do I owe you”.  “No charge sweetie!”  I rubbed the remainder of the cream on my face.  A warm bath, some baby powder and three Aspirin would be a welcome end to a pain filled afternoon.

The Player loses his cool

Recently, I had the opportunity to chat with the Player about women and things, mostly women.  I was first impressed with the variety of subjects he was able to talk through.  The Player is not a one dimensional horn dog with an unquenched libido.  He has probably two dimensions.  I think the overall definition is "a shallow pool with a few sandbars".  His pursuit of women is not a quest or a goal, it is more like breathing.  Being with women for him is like air to most people.  The Player is extremely agitated when there are not women around and he cannot breath.

The Player:  "Stan, I don't smell any women around here!"
Stan the bar tender:  "Jill will be in about two.  Happy Hour starts at three"

The Player tips his beer and takes a deep breath preparing to be female-less for another twenty minutes.  This is my chance to get in some questions. 
Researcher:  When was the last time you kissed a woman and told her you loved her afterwards?
The Player:  (chuckling)  Well, that has been a while.  A few years probably.
Researcher:  Who was the last woman you wish you had stayed with?
The Player:  There was an older lady I met in Charleston.  She was fine, rich and independent. She was the only one I went out with  for a few weeks.
Researcher:  Older? Older than you or older than the usual?
The Player:  Older than me, she was probably 35.
(surprised) How old are you now?
The Player:  38.  How old did you think I was?
Researcher:  Except for when  you stare off in the distance, early thirties max.
The Player:  Stan, lets switch to something darker.
Stan brings us two local Mississippi Mud beers.  The afternoon sun cannot not pass through these grogs. 

Researcher:  Lets talk about some women, you can give me a number or some kind of rating. 
Michelle Pfeiffer    -------    Hot (with an eye brow raised)
Martha Raddatz  -------    Thin, brave, aggressive, you know, I would love to do her on a tank.
Mila Kunis  ----------    Whoa, To frail. I might break something.
Jennifer Lopez  -----    Thumb up in the air with an "up" motion
Madonna  ------------    Thumb Down
Researcher:   too old?
The Player:  No, I don't know, I just think the entire evening would be about her.  A lot of times I can be with self centered women and just enjoy the ride but If I am going to ride an old horse, it is going to be about me not the saddle.
The player was fidgeting again so I knew I had to move on.  One more lady then were done.
Kristen Bell-----!

Ben

The Player looked at me and tilted his head down and to one side, like Ben Gazzara talking through the top of his head and in a very deep tone, "I would literally kill for that ass."

After another sip on the Mud and period of silence that last well into ten seconds, the Player lets out a long frustrating hiss.  I say bluntly, Am I boring you?  His response surprised me,  So, a reporter huh, (I told him I was a researcher but to him, Ahh)  anything new and interesting in the world, I catch only bits and pieces of the news while in the bars.  Once I get to a room, there is plenty of action but not much TV watching.
Researcher:  Well, I reviewed an article recently about trans-sexuals in bars.  These psychologists say men who have had sex change operations are fairly common in bars, especially country type bars.  Have you ever been with a transsexual?
The Player:  Hell, no!
Researcher:  How many women have you been with over the last ten years or so?
The Player:  Well, probably two hundred. 
The talk of non-women was spinning him up to a lather and he downed his Mississippi Mud.  I thought I would push him to see which planet he would land on.  The article stated that 3-7 percent of women in bars are actually men either in female clothes or who have had sex change operations.  Not that math is everything but that means that six and possibly fourteen of the women you have slept with were actually men.

The player came up off his stool and spilled his fresh beer.  "That's bullshit".  He was somewhere around Saturn and still climbing.
Researcher:  Math may be odd and scary but it don't lie.  I learned that on Numb3rs.
The Player:  "That is f*up, I would know, I check.
Researcher:  You check?  How?
The Player:  Man, I am outa here, Stan, how much I owe you?
Researcher:  I will take care of it.
The Player:  Shit!
Jill was on her way through the door when the Player pushed her aside with an "excuse me" and did not even look at her pretty face and fine figure.  He was shook to the core and coming in for a landing somewhere near Alpha Centari. 
Jill:  Who was that?, he smells nice. 
Researcher:  Oh, that is just someone who needs some air.