Cry Space Wolf

Just because I like something doesn’t mean others have to feel the same way. If raw oysters make you hurl,  my enthusiasm will annoy long before stifling a gag reflex. Interests, like tastes are personal – not to be judged, put down, ridiculed or forced on those around us. The open minded are at least willing to dip their toe into unfamiliar waters – should those puddles fail to live up to hype, understandable rational of “I don’t see what all the fuss is about”can hardly be criticized.

Grasping this concept is one thing, letting it go at that is another.

Just once I’d like a break tossed my way. Writing about solar flares, space weather, astronomical references or meteor showers comes from a place so sincere it’s almost comical. I feel like the little Notes who cried wolf – eyes roll, patronizing little remarks “oh. that’s interesting” – I’m sick and tired of cosmic restraint.

Comet 209P/LINEAR was supposed to validate my goofy space grin. Finally, a cosmic event poised to deliver. The wettest of party pooping astronomers predicted upwards of 200 meteors an hour – cheerfully optimistic science scoundrels whispered of meteor storms. This was going to be great – in my lifetime, an unexpected cosmic slap to remind us of our neglect and woeful indifference to the universe.

So what did we get? Five to ten meteors an hour, followed by a hasty gabba gabba back talking announcement that science perhaps miscalculated the orbit and the “show” might take place in a few hours or days. Oh please! I can’t take much more of this bait and switch.

http://spaceweather.com/

I’m not asking for promises, but sure could use a visual aid to back up my blithering enthusiasm. One can only call space wolf so many times before the audience leaves the house.

Photo Glen Wurden in Los Alamos New Mexico who managed to capture a single Camelopardalids fireball.

 

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