Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga

(Wednesday Science Non-Fiction Extravaganza!)

This week will be an easy going entry into the world of real life science fiction. Not because I think my readers aren't ready for anything else but frankly because I haven't actually had time to dig up other articles today.

So what are you doing in 2023? Feel free to check your calendar. If you don't have anything marked down for June 2023 yet, you might want to keep it clear, as scientist plan to drop a boat onto Titan.

Sometimes I wonder how people go about getting funding for a project like this. After careful thought, I have decided that a meeting might go something like the following*:

CEO: Hi, come in, have a seat.
Man: Call me Ishmael.
CEO: Okay... So, Dr. Patton-
Ishmael: Ishmael.
CEO: Dr. Ishmael-
Ishmael: Just Ishmael.
CEO: Ishmael. I hear you have a project we might be interested in.
Ishmael: It's on the moon.
CEO: Yes, the moon, your email said something about that. You are looking for something on the moon?
Ishmael: Not on our moon, on Saturn's moon. Titan.
CEO: And there was something about a boat?
Ishmael: Not just any boat, but a boat that could explore the great lake, a boat that could change history, a boat and a crew for Ahab.
CEO: Yes, and by Ahab you of course mean Dr. Conners.
Ishmael: He prefers Ahab.
CEO: Right.
Ishmael: He needs a noble craft, but somehow almost melancholy. All noble things are touched with that.
CEO: And he wants this on Saturn's moon? Saturn the planet, right? Not, like, somewhere in Detroit or something.
Ishmael: The quest will finally be over, he can finally rest, once he's captured that Moby Dick, and sent him to a cold death over Saturn.
CEO: And he wants us to pay for this?
Ishmael: Whenever I find myself growing grim about the mouth; whenever it is a damp, drizzly November in my soul; whenever I find myself involuntarily pausing before coffin warehouses, and bringing up the rear of every funeral I meet; and especially whenever my hypos get such an upper hand of me, that it requires a strong moral principle to prevent me from deliberately stepping into the street, and methodically knocking people's hats off--then, I account it high time to get to sea as soon as I can.
CEO: Shit. Fuck it, you'll get yourself a fucking Titan boat, but you better let me eat some of that sweet, sweet white whale meat.
Ishmael: Call me Ishmael.
CEO: I know.

I'll be 39. In June 2023 I will be 39 years old. It seems like a long ass way off, but I figure, realizing that even Hunter S. Thompson had to kill himself because he had lived past fifty, I'll probably be around for that. I mock this little scientific journey, but I am super excited about it. Setting sail on an alien world. Fucking goddamn amazing.

Granted its a moon, and its in our solar system. Still.

I've realized in the last couple of days that the real point of Wed-Da Sci-Non Ext-Ga isn't to try to impress people with scientific achievement. It isn't to prove that we are in a science fiction novel, either. The real point of all this is to just step back for a moment and say "Holy Shit! We can do that?" And just sort of point and wonder for a moment. This may not capture your imagination as it has mine. But I feel its important to point out that life around 2009 is incredibly fucking amazing. And eventually I am going to convince everyone that's true.

*I may have "incorporated" a few Moby Dick quotes into this conversation. I point this out to avoid plagiarism lawsuits. I will now needlessly promote the book to avoid other potential lawsuits: Read "Moby Dick" by Herman Melville!! Buy several copies of that book! They is GOOD!