I loved astronomy when I was a kid. I devoured all the star books in the school library. But I didn't make a career of it, for two reasons:
- I was desperately afraid of the dark until my mid-teens;
- I was (and still am) intellectually lazy.
Science takes dedication. I knew a girl in grade school who was desperately devoted to geology and paleontology; no matter what schoolwork she was supposed to do – read a book, do a report on Lewis and Clark, color Puget Sound blue – she drew dinosaurs, or did a presentation on Neanderthal Man, or built a diorama of the Paleozoic Era. The rest of us just rolled our eyes and giggled. And do you know what? She became a geologist. And I'll bet she's very happy.
Partner likes to watch TV programs about cosmology: galaxies, the Big Bang, the origin of the solar system. I like to watch them too, but they make me a little queasy. What if, I keep wondering, a mini-black hole comes sailing through the bedroom tonight, just as I'm falling asleep? Will it zap me so quickly that I don't feel a thing? What would it feel like if a medium-size asteroid were to fall to earth and hit me right on top of the head? And can I be absolutely certain that our lovely yellow sun isn't going to suddenly flip out and go supernova?
But the CGI images in those programs are lovely. I like the big flares like tentacles coming out of the stars, and the nice fluffy-looking nebulae. I like the icy landscapes they show on Pluto. I am partial to all of those chilly distant Kuiper Belt bodies; they sound nice and peaceful, and I don't mind cold weather as long as I'm bundled up, and astronomers are having altogether too much fun naming them. And they get no publicity at all. Just so you know, there's Eris out there too, and Haumea, and Makemake, and Quaoar, and Orcus, and Sedna.
I do have a little problem, as I've said here before, with scientists who portray themselves on television as The Life Of The Party. Most of them are just schnooks like the rest of us, after all. But those science programs wouldn't be able to go on without their participation. So we listen to them yammer, the skinny ascetic-looking ones with huge ears, and the big Santa-looking ones with funny hats, and the older Ivy League-looking ones with bow ties and nasal voices.
I respect them for caring about their work.
Hell, I respect anyone who can come up with a name as good as “Quaoar.”
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