Things In My Drawers

Tuesday, Sept. 30, 2003 - 1:41 a.m.

Last night, I was looking hither and yon for one of the three goddamn little mini-staplers that I -know- darn well -exist- in this household, and found this name badge in the top left drawer of the credenza. The badge had been done by a friend of mine, so I thought I would scan it in and share it with you. Back in the day, I attended a lot of science fiction conventions, and I used to be known as a Furry Fan. It was customary to get yourself a badge with your name on it, with artwork that was suitable for the crowd you ran with. Lance Rund is the artist who did this badge for me, and yes -- the tired old matron says with blushing cheeks -- it's based on some of my more libertine exploits. I usually attended Furry Parties in my pajamas, which at the time, seemed to be the logical thing to do. If you have no idea what Furry Fandom is, that's okay; go Google the phrase 'What Is Furry Fandom' and see if you can discover the answer. And once you find out, I hope you'll still respect me in the morning.

(I never did learn to draw any critters. I can draw cartoon bunnies once in awhile, but most of the time if I try too hard, they end up looking like donkeys.)

Anyway, this also happens to be the time of year I go and clean my altar. I try and do it sometime between the first day of fall and Halloween, so I can be ready for my new year on November 1, and this year, I've gotten to it a little earlier than usual. Sometimes I change the arrangement of the items during the cleaning, and other times I leave it as it is.

This year, there's been a little of both.

For instance, this year's most precious items on and in the altar are:

- A handful of orange rose petals from the first bouquet John ever gave me

- A package of tissues all the way from my girlfriend Cher1 H3ys3 in New York City

- A modified letter E on a black cord necklace from P@ul Schu!tz

- Five rocks and an extra Pokemon card from Paul's son, Levi

- A dried pink rose that's over twelve years old from Scott Hysmith

- A small dried starfish

- A bottle of Spiritual Sky incense in Frangipani from Jamie Lord

- A bottle of Spiritual Sky incense in Patchouli that I've had since 1990

Now, none of those things are specifically related in any way whatsoever to the Pagan religion; they're just simply things that make me feel extremely good. So they belong on or in my altar, which is a place of comfort and solace and power and sanctuary.

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Yesterday I said I thought I might post the piece of writing that Scott Hysmith sent to me shortly after we lost the Columbia space shuttle in February. I was prowling through a box of floppy disks in my desk drawer, and found the one with this on it, so I decided to go ahead and post this. Scott gave me carte blanche as far as the whens and wheres to post, so I guess if you're going to distribute this, please don't forget his credit at the bottom. Thenk Yew.

It's been difficult to compose the thoughts I've had about the tragedy, and about what it may mean to human space exploration. There's no doubt that everyone who knows me knows my opinion of space, space travel, and the souls who dare it using government-built low-bidder technology. I was four years old when I watched the Apollo crew walk on the moon, and the dream was born in me then. At a time when you needed to be a military pilot in flawless health to even consider that path, I abandoned that lifelong hope while still in high school, but the dream remained, and my biggest lifelong regret is that I would never make that journey myself. I've been asked numerous times why I never applied to work for a supporting role in the space program, so I could add my contributions to the effort, but it's always hard to articulate just why it's not the same for me. From the beginning I wanted the Big Prize, and not being able to walk those magic 25 feet from the gantry to the orbiter would only make anything else pale, and the regret larger. I have the profoundest respect and awe for those who are part of the most exclusive club on (and off) Earth.

What spurs me to write today, though, is the inevitable emergence of the cynics, bean-counters and naysayers who are once again throwing doubt on the need for human space exploration and asking "is it worth it to spend money only to see these good men and women killed for it?" (We'll leave aside the whole political necessity of spending money on 'quality' items like a causeless war, or on tobacco farmers...) I have to respond, both in service to the dream and to try and shake some sense into the naysayers who ask if it�s been worth it all this time.

Is it worth the money?
How many lives have been saved by smoke detectors? By ICU telemetry in hospitals? By defibrillators? How would our quality of life be without satellites for weather observation, communications, and the like? Been on an airplane lately? Thank the space program for GPS positioning, for onboard telemetry, flight recorders, and so on. Don't give me the tired old money argument. It's paid for itself in money and lives almost from the beginning.

Why can't we just send robotic probes into space, and not humans?
How much science on the ground is done by robots? How much medical research? How much technology research? Anyone? Then don't tell me that robots are the be-all and end-all of science off Earth. Unless you're willing to give up all the benefits that human scientific exploration has given you, ground based or space based, and go live a neolithic hunter-gatherer lifestyle, then don't give me the argument that it's not worth a human presence. Human eyes and human hands are what drives science, not machines built for one use and thrown away.

Why is it so important for humans to go in the first place?
You certainly can't miss the flag-wavin' pickup-drivin', "proud patriot" fervor that seems to be sprouting up all over. Proud to be American? Thank generations of explorers and discoverers who just had to see what was beyond the next horizon. It's in our nature to be curious, to stretch out our hand and grasp the opportunities just beyond our reach. It is a biological fact that there is either growth, or death. This is true for species as much as for individuals. We must grow, and expand, or we will die when we inevitably exhaust this one world's capacity to support us.

To question the need to grow and expand is anti-survival, and limits your vision to just what will impact you in your narrow and limited lifespan on this Earth. Humanity will outlive you. The Earth will outlive you. I can only hope that I will outlive this tragic point in human history to see us emerge from the single eggbasket our species is currently trapped in to take our place on the larger stage.

Scott Hysmith
6 February 2003
[email protected]
AIM: SHHysmith

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Late Monday afternoon, I had a chance to speak to P@ul Schu!tz, at long last. I had no idea how integral a part he'd become in my day until he wasn't. First he was away on the road trip, and now his cell phone has gone toes-up. Bless his heart, he let me call him on the land line, which he's deliberately chosen to use maybe a dozen times this year. He sounds subdued, but there's glimmers of his real self peeking through. I'll feel better when he starts calling me 'smartass' again, though. And I've -got- to get some more salsa from him. I sent him the little photo album I made of the snaps I & he & the kids took while I was there, but he hadn't gotten around to opening the box.

I think he'll like what he finds, though.

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Speaking of pictures -- Why in the name of all that is reasonable do theatres spend metric assloads of money converting to multiplexes and then refuse to convert their marquees to something of a more suitable size to hold more than one title? If converted theatres would go ahead and do that, then things like this would never happen.

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