More Martian dumbness: NASA drew a giant WHAT on the red planet?

The other day my wife ordered a latte – which she then had to photograph because of the way the coffee and soy happened to mix, a kind of ‘ooer, that looks a bit rude’ shape, if you looked at it the right way.

The point being that NASA has been getting stick for apparently drawing the same thing. Thing, I did say ‘thing’, didn’t I? A sand drawing, with its Spirit rover, right there on the Martian pud, I mean pug.

Of course, by the time I went to check the JPL site, the pic had been replaced by this one... Public domain, NASA.

Of course, by the time I went to check the JPL site, the pic had been replaced by this one… Public domain, NASA.

Purely accidental. Honestly, officer. (“Pfft, chortle, ooer, that looks a bit rude“).

OK, so if ”paredoilia’ is seeing faces in random patterns, what’s the word when people perceive what in old Devonshire dialect was a ‘tallywag’, outlined in Martian tyre trails (but only if you look at it sideways).

The good news? In 2023, four lucky people will get the chance to see NASA’s – er – artwork in person. Maybe. A Dutch fellow is looking for people to go on a one-way trip. Unlike Denis Tito’s  plan for a couple to spend a 501-day marital sojourn in a Dragon capsule, lining the walls with their own excrement, this one will involve landing on Mars. Also in modified Dragon that, I suspect, would be like living in a 1960s police phone box which, alas, wasn’t bigger on the inside.

Taking off again? Uh…no…

Conceptual artwork by Pat Rawlings of a Mars mission rendezvous from 1995. NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

Conceptual artwork by Pat Rawlings of a Mars mission rendezvous from 1995. NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

Which means the life support system has to last forever. I expect it’ll be made of duct tape. Eventually. Oh – and the voyage’s going to be turned into reality TV.

Would I go? Plus side…

1. I’d be on a different planet from Justin Bieber and his monkey.

2. It would get me on TV along with re-runs of The World’s Greatest Loser.

3. You don’t have to line the walls with your own excrement like Tito’s crew.

4. If I wanted to be called the next Jeddak of Barsoom, I’d be in the right place, unlike now when they all look at me funny.

5. I’d get a front row seat for the next ‘NASA drawing’ on Mars.

But I have to say that the green hills of Earth are looking pretty good about now.

Would you go on a one-way trip to Mars? And what do you think NASA should draw next on the Red Planet?

 Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Introducing the Acme Miracle Editorial Version Tracking Process

Welcome to the Acme Miracle Editorial Version Tracking Process, designed to create the maximum possible editorial confusion while keeping the content as far from completion as possible. As used by civil servants.

sleeping-man-with-newspapers-md1. Insert the word ‘final’ into the filename as early as possible.

2. When it’s edited (again), create a relative qualifier. ‘New final’, as opposed to ‘old final’.

3. Move on to the ‘final FINAL’.

4. Then the ‘new final FINAL’.

5. Then the ‘updated new final FINAL.’

6. Decide the ‘old updated new final FINAL’ is better after all.

7. Ignore the ‘last modified’ date and send one of them randomly to the publisher.

8. Discover they typeset the wrong version, decide to edit one into the other.

9. Make changes. Tell the publisher that’s it.

10. Make more changes. Tell the publisher it’s just two or three little fixes.

11. Look at dozens of random pages, finding something to change every time, each of which is the ‘very last’. Send them, individually, to the publisher at erratic intervals.

12. On receiving the printed copy, open the document. Spot something. Time for a second edition. Go back to (1).

Now, I made this up for laughs…but I have a horrible feeling that it happens, in Dilbertian offices. I hope I’m wrong about that.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Top things I have never understood…

I have never understood quite a lot about the world. Why, for instance, it always happens that…

1. Whenever you’re in a supermarket queue, the air is inevitably shredded with hysterical cries of pain and terror. You look around for the murder scene only to discover some three year old has been told by their mum that they can’t have the chocolate bar in the checkout rack.

2.Whenever you approach an ATM machine without a queue, people hastily swarm in from the side, ahead of you, to form a queue before you can get there.

3. Whenever you do the laundry, no matter how sunny the day is, it starts raining three seconds after you peg the last shirt out.

4. The teller in the post office puts the ‘closed’ sign up just as you get to the head of the queue.

5. Trek may have predicted auto-opening doors, but contrary to what you see in Trek, they enter their ‘close’ cycle just as you get to them.

…and finally…

6. When the zombie apocalypse hits, you discover you’re one of the zombies.

Any thoughts?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

The Acme Instant Logline Generator

All novels need a logline, sometimes also known as a hook line – a single sentence that describes the plot and acts as a sale pitch to agents and publishers.

The form is usually “[Character name], [character description] has to [action] in order to [result].”

The result usually has an emotional content. Hard to winnow your story down to it? Try this. Begin with the logline instead. All you need, in fact, is a six-sided dice. Roll once for each variable and complete the sentence:

1. Roger Dodger the old Codger,
2. Peregrine Hyphen-Hyphen Folderol,
3. Snoot,
4. Adele,
5. Eric,
6. Heinz Dasistwirklicheinesehrdummelangeswortistesnicht von Abernatürlichistesjaabsolutichdenkeso of Sehrgutwerdeichgehenundhöreaufmeinekraftwerkalben,

1. a world-renowned horologist,
2. a rock god,
3. an up-and-coming railway enthusiast,
4. a truck driver specialising in cab-over series Macks,
5. an unemployed random-generator writer,
6. a rodent exterminator,

has to

1. win a challenging drag race
2. build a box-girder bridge with a toothpick
3. write a vampire fan-fic novel
4. learn how to sing and dance
5. cook a souffle
6. defeat the evil Thog monsters from Planet Zil

in order to

1. become the Ruler of the Universe.
2. rescue beloved from certain doom.
3. be home in time for tea.
4. get to Buckingham Palace and receive a knighthood.
5.  audition for ‘America’s Got Talent’.
6. finish up at the beginning again, only better for it.

Have fun.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Inspirations: Music, art, writing and unleashing the inner geek

As a writer, I have never regretted chugging through the Royal Schools of Music grade system. Music offers skills that feed directly into writing. Learning how to write a tune to words, for instance, rammed home why it’s important, even in prose, to have rhythm.

The panel of one of my analog synths... dusty, a bit scratched, but still workable.

The panel of one of my analog synths… dusty, a bit scratched, but still workable. Pop quiz: can anybody identify it from this clipped close-up?

There’s a more subtle side to it, too. Music is about evoking emotion in the recipient – the satisfaction of listening, hope, despair, anger, laughter. So is writing. That’s one reason why rhythm of words is important. For writers, as for musicians, it helps evoke a response.

I still have a small collection of vintage analog synths. They all work – including my Moog, which was old and battered when I bought it in 1987. The fact that it functions 37 years after it left Moog’s Trumansburg factory is testament to the quality.

It is also an expressive instrument, meant to be played like a violin, not a piano. You can do things with pitch-bender, potentiometers and modulation wheels that give the sound life. If you have never heard a Moog 24dBa high-pass ladder filter being overdriven, you’ve missed something. Here’s someone using the filter as a resonator. Here’s Erik Norlander playing the biggest Modular Moog I’ve ever seen.

The worn out ribbon pitch-controller on my Micromoog. Apparently Bob Moog invented that device for Beach Boys keyboard player Brian Wilson.

One of the doyens of the Moog, way back, was Brit prog-rock icon Rick Wakeman. He defined the ‘rock opera’ via such classics as Journey To The Centre Of The Earth (1974), essentially a modern oratorio.

I saw him in concert, here in New Zealand, last year – and @grumpyoldrick didn’t disappoint. He spilled off a flight from the UK and gave a 2 1/2 hour show, using the Wellington City Council’s Steinway Model D, all from memory. He had the audience in stitches – he is a great comedian. Along the way he explained how he had been taught to put feeling into music. You close your eyes and imagine what you want to convey – the feeling of a summer’s day, for instance.

To me, that summed up music as art. Art is about conceptual shapes and patterns that convey feeling and emotion. Notes are flawed tools to express an inexpressible form – idea, which is emotional. The essence of art is conveying that emotion, however imperfectly, by whatever medium, to others. And that is true of writing, too. The medium is words; but the essence is emotion.

Wakeman was taught that about his art from the beginning. Others, including me, had to learn it later. The hard way.

Do you find art in music, in writing? How do you see these things?  is music inspirational for you in these ways? I’d love to hear from you.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Russian meteor could be Pope resignation conspiracy, but I prefer science

It was one of those awful coincidences. Last Friday evening I was having a few beers with a friend, in a local pub. He was calculating the likely impact energy if 2012 DA14 – due to make a close pass over Indonesia – were to ever hit us.

Earth. An image I made with my Celestia installation (cool, free, science package).

Earth. An image I made with my Celestia installation (cool, free, science package).

There are websites with Java script that do this, but it’s easy yourself if you have figures for velocity and mass –  a function of volume and density – plus the formula and a calculator. (Yes, I know it had been published, but it’s fun to do the math. I’m a geek and so are my friends. Remember…geeks won….)

Nobody realised another object was about to explode over Chelyabinsk – ‘Tankograd’ of Second World War fame.

The 1200 injured from flying glass is the largest human toll recorded from a meteor strike. The cost to Russia will be in the millions of roubles. Not to mention the fact that thousands of people are facing sub-zero temperatures in windowless homes, until they can be fixed.

All that because the Pope resigned. Well, it’s obvious. The Conspirating Ruling Archaic Poodles, a secret cabal nobody has ever heard of, used their stooges to drop one of their orbiting Bombs Utilising Low Level Seekrit Hyper Invisible Termination on the Vatican, thus covering up the Pope’s resignation, but because secret organisations always make basic arithmetical errors, it hit Russia instead. I have proof this is true, because they fly in invisible black helicopters. Well, have you seen one? Quite. Proves they exist…

And yes, I know that is a really, really stupid theory…but hey, it’s not the dumbest one out there.

Needless to say, the science involved actually answers all questions. First off – the energy involved is mind-blowing on the scale of us mere humans.

How mind blowing? Try this. The Russian rock was maybe 10,000 tonnes mass and 17 metres diameter, by NASA estimate. Yet still exploded with an energy equivalent, some estimates suggest, of around 500,000 tons of TNT. How come?

Well, it’s entirely to do with kinetic energy, which you calculate according to the formula 1/2 MV<exp>2.  It was moving at over 63,000 km/h when it hit the atmosphere. That gave it a kinetic energy (roughly) of around 500,000,000,000,000 joules. Translated into human terms, that’s what a 1-kilowatt fan heater would emit if run constantly for 15,844 years (it would run out in about March in that last year).

That’s a lot of energy. So why did it explode? At the speed this sucker hit us, it was moving so fast it couldn’t push the atmosphere out of the way. The air was compressed ahead of it, got super-hot, and then began vapourising the front side of the meteor. But the back side was still ice-cold. After a while, differential thermal stresses exceeded the tensile strength of the object – and boom! A lot of the kinetic energy translated into a massive shock wave, shattering glass over that huge area, and powerful enough to be detected in Alaska. Some became heat. Some was retained in the fragments of meteor that hurtled into the ground, which will be found sooner or later (they’re looking now).

The take-home lesson from Friday? The odds of a damaging meteor hitting us, by human time-spans, are low . But these things do happen. And we didn’t see this one coming despite a determined effort of late to detect everything in our vicinity that might be a threat. We’ve even found the S-1VB stage from Apollo 12, which is lobbing around in a weird orbit nearby. But Friday’s rock – still a city-buster – was too small.

A Hubble picture of Jupiter after it had been machine-gunned by Comet Shoemaker-Levy in 1994. NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

A Hubble picture of Jupiter after it had been machine-gunned by Comet Shoemaker-Levy in 1994. NASA, public domain, via Wikipedia.

Worse, even if we had seen it, there was nothing we could have done.  The laws of physics are clear; Bruce Willis and a gang of Texan oil-riggers aren’t going to save the day at the last moment. I’ve explained why in an earlier post – check it out. Even if you could carry enough rocket fuel to get to an incoming rock and blow it up (which you can’t….trust me…) most of the bits will still hit the Earth with the same net kinetic energy. And it’s that energy that’s the problem.

That doesn’t mean we can’t find ways of handling it. Given decades of warning,  even spray-painting the side of a space rock black will work, by changing the way it re-radiates solar energy, asymmetrically. Over years, that will change the orbit.

Of course, space debris usually isn’t isolated. A comet can break up, leaving trails of objects following its original orbit. Jupiter was slammed by just such a train ‘o doom  in 1994. There’s a fair chance that we might have to try and deflect half a dozen potential impactors all at once.

Personally I’m not going to lose sleep over it. No point worrying about things we can’t control. And the prospect of being slammed by a space rock is pretty far down the list. Here in New Zealand, for instance, it’s more likely we’ll be hit by an earthquake – in fact, there was a small one in my city on Saturday and another tremor this morning.

What’s your take? Should we worry about that which we cannot control? Or get on with life?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Kindness 2013’ returns next week. Coming up this week: more sixty-second writing tips, Write It Now part 6 – and more.

Inspirations: I have seen the sign, and it is funny

It’s a funny old world, if you look at it. Last weekend my wife and I found this in a café:

Wright_CafeSign

Meanwhile my brother-in-law found this on a freeway while visiting Pittsburgh, and remarked: ‘I guess if it’s an emergency, it’s an emergency…’Emergency Pull Off

Then there’s the sign I found in Napier, New Zealand – a significant gauge of the sign-writer’s abilities. Gauge. I did say ‘gauge’, didn’t I.

Wright_Model Railway Gauge

Not to mention grocer’s apostrophes  in Wellington (took these with my iPAQ, a Hewlett Packard PDA that used the i prefix before Apple did…but isn’t in the league of my SLR):

Wright_EgregiousSign2

Wright_EgregiousSign1

Have you seen any funny signs around lately?

 Copyright © Matthew Wright 2013

Inspirations: steampunking with Dr Grordbort

One of the benefits of living in Wellington, New Zealand, is that I share a city with the talented folks at Weta. One of whom, Greg Broadmore, has made a splash lately with his steampunk-themed stories of early twentieth century male idiocy, ray guns and – uh – other ray guns.

Inspirations LogoThere’s something fundamentally cool about steampunk. Cool stylings. Cool nostalgia for a ‘future past’ that never was. The sense of optimistic hope. And Broadmore’s world has more. It’s a homage to the golden age of science fiction – not just the ray guns, but the hostile Mars, the murderous robots, and the ravening jungle-Venus of Stanley Weinbaum in particular. He also skewers the late nineteenth century world of pipe-smoking, topee-hatted English military adventurers with a predeliction for brandy, whose rah-rah ‘boys own’ mentality led to such embarrassments as the Battle of the Shangani River (1893), when 50 British mercenaries with 4 maxim guns slaughtered 1500 Matabele warriors armed with spears – an appalling moment that shocked period sensibilities. ‘Whatever happens, we have got the Maxim gun…and they have not’, Hilaire Belloc intoned a little later in The Modern Traveller (1898).

Last week I went with a couple of friends – one we shall call Mentis Fugit, the other a professional artist who we shall call Ars Gratia Artis, to an exhibition of Broadmore’s original artwork and some of the artefacts – including the Moon Maiden diorama – in the central city.

The Pomson 6000. Photo: Mentis Fugit.

The Pomson 6000. Photo: Mentis Fugit.

The ray guns have been around a while. I haven ‘t bought one  – if I’m going to spend $1000 on a ray gun, I want it to work. But this was a chance to see the originals. There were dozens of paintings, somefamiliar, others not, with ray guns on plinths, dioramas and large-scale statues.

Photo: Mentis Fugit

Photo: Mentis Fugit

It was pretty impressive. Broadmore has a lot of talent, a lot of imagination, and a particularly brilliant sense of humour. A pretty inspiring event all up. One, in fact, that inspired us to have a conversation that almost, but didn’t exactly, sound like this:

Ars G:  He did them in Photoshop.
Me: How can you tell, old bean?
Ars G: You just can, that’s all. They’re Giclee prints. Very expensive to make, they are. Looks like he’s custom made the frames, too.

Photo: Mentis Fugit

Photo: Mentis Fugit

Mentis: I say, isn’t that the Pomson 6000? Jolly good ray gun, by Jove.
Me: Ray gun? Great Scott – you mean the kind of weapon that turns the target into a petrol attendant named Ray?
Ars G: It’s only a model.
Me: Ssssh!
Ars G: It is! It’s just got bits stuck on. Nice weathering. But ray guns don’t work anyway.
Mentis: They did once, old fellow. I say, back then, science worked in big strokes. Now it’s molecule, molecule, molecule.
Me: By Jove, cast your peepers over there chaps, that’s rather spiffing, the Moon Maiden looks just like Liv Tyler.
Mentis: Rather, old boy.
Ars G: Do you really want to be photographed here?
Me: Bit of a ripping wheeze, by jove! Looks like bally jerry copped a spot of flak sausage-side.

Photo: Mentis Fugit

Photo: Mentis Fugit

Mentis: Look here, Bigglesworth, I can’t quite follow your banter there.
Me: Oh, can’t you? Sorry Algy. Banter’s a bit off today.
Mentis: I say, rather it is, old chap, I really would get that banter checked out if I were you.
Me: Is all this stuff for sale?
Mentis: Looks like it.
Ars G: I think I’ll pick up a catalogue.

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2012

Running the zombie Christmas mall gauntlet

it’s Christmas again…and that means a visit to (dramatic chord)… The Mall.

The Zombie Christmas Maul

The Zombie Christmas Maul

It’s the same every year. The endless shuffle of zombiefied shoppers, drifting around shiny glass-and-glitz caverns, a mass of humanity with glazed eyes and shopping bags, punctuated by toddlers who lurch aimlessly out from the crowd, shrieking and hyperventilating. There are teenage boys who smell like they’ve just showered with a cocktail of propionic acid and brevibacteria, girls who giggle and text somebody three feet away, just because they can, all endlessly circling like – well, endlessly circling things who like circling endlessly.

And then, in the midst of this glittering temple to the worst excesses of shallow consumerism and the transient disposability of post-industrial A-gen society…Father Christmas. He’s moved here from the North Pole apparently.

There’s something about these places that turns the brain to mush and reduces people to zombiefied numbness. I am not allowed to punk them – you know, do the zombie walk behind these  shoppers and murmur ‘braaaaaiins’. Well, I can, but She Who Must Be Obeyed has to walk on the other side of the mall atrium for a while afterwards.

But honestly!

It’s done deliberately. People buy more if their mind’s switched off. And I have to feel sorry for the poor folks that have to work in these places. Malls are the twenty-first century equivalent of the workhouse when it comes to conditions.

Every mall I’ve been to from North Sydney to Lower Hutt to Bangkok has been exactly the same. The Australia and New Zealand ones even look the same. Is this the unity in diversity beloved of anthropologists?

I’ve got readers of this blog from Melbourne to Florida, from the Netherlands to Cape Town, from Houston to New York to France to Moscow to Dunedin. Am I right that it’s the same everywhere? The look. The raw horror of it all. The commercialism? The mindless advertising. The glitz. The ….the…

“Braaaainnns….”

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2012 

Worldbuilding: flying cars, the end of cinema, and other predictions

I’ve been ripped off. I was meant to have a flying car by now. Where is it? They’re not hard to make…are they?

Well, kind of. You end up driving a mediocre car hampered by aircraft parts, towing its wings. Or flying a mediocre aircraft lugging the stuff it needs for road driving around in the air. Joined by 50,000 other pilot/drivers with 37 flying hours between them. Air Traffic Control has conniptions.

What about meals by pill, then? Around the turn of the twentieth century, the discovery that you could pack your daily vitamins and minerals into a few tablets offered a convenient future. By the 1920s it was axiomatic that by, oh, maybe 1983, dinner would be delivered as a handful of pills. Glug down your three-course dinner with a glass of water. Except for one problem. They couldn’t contain the calories and bulk. Doctors and dieticians pointed that out at the time. I discovered it myself when I ate emergency rations on board HMS Invincible in 1983. Glucose sweets. Not filling. But the trope’s stuck. I’ll have extra topping on my cheesecake capsule, thanks.

The Roxy cinema lobby, Miramar, Wellington – the whole facility restored to fabulous 1930s art deco condition by Peter Jackson. A photo I took in 2011.

There’s a lesson here for SF writers intending to build their own story worlds. My favourite future-prediction clanger is The Death Of The Cinema.  This was thought inevitable in the 1950s when TV appeared. Cinema survived. The next apocalypse was home VCR in the late 1970s. Then DVD. Today it’s home entertainment systems and streaming pay-to-view downloads, I am told.

Anybody coming to Wellington, New Zealand had better check out the Roxy Cinema in Miramar, literally just down the road from Peter Jackson’s vast movie-making empire. Quick. Before it disappears into The Inevitable Future.

And what about the Paperless Office and Cashless Society – neither of which seem likely soon. Check out this recent graph of US currency in circulation. It’s climbing. But the belief that the Cashless Society is inevitable persists – apparently it’s because we haven’t waited long enough. Get with the program.

The reason why these predictions fail is because the popular view of how society changes is framed by social Darwinistic notions of new replacing old automatically – of inevitable, directional progress, sometimes defined by a transient product or sales gimmick that seizes popular imagination.

The real world is more chaotic. Inventions sometimes re-define us, sure - but from left field. We were meant to have manned Mars rockets and megalopolis cities with aerial motorways by now. Nobody predicted how the internet and hand-held computers would re-define life instead. Except Sir Arthur C. Clarke, who devised the communications satellite in 1945. In 1964, he outlined the way cheap mass communication would change society. Then, ten years later, he absolutely nailed the internet and its social effects, in specific detail. Remember, in 1974 the world wide web and desktop PC hadn’t been invented. Be humbled. Oh – he also precisely described the functionality of the iPad. In 1968.

Clarke told us how things really work when it comes to societies changing in the face of inventions.

Which brings me to the next prediction. We’re in the middle of a digital book revolution. I’m prepared to bet we’ll still have print books in a century. They’ll adapt and remain alongside the other ways we read things. What do you think?

Copyright © Matthew Wright 2012