Sunday, November 16, 2008

This one goes out to my friend Katy Flinn...

(the first dog in space, Laika)


and will remain floating within her for eternity.

Thursday, November 13, 2008

Vacuuming Again!

It is difficult, if not impossible, to write in a vacuum. Not only do the impending cosmic pressures of having all the air sucked out of any porous orifice of your body distract from coherent thought transmission, but the foamy water vapor forming in your cells and evaporation of your joint fluid makes typing inordinately difficult. Not only that, but the deadline pressure mounts exponentially. With only 5-10 seconds of consciousness remaining before the inevitable death due to heart fibrillation, the stress to form an original thought quickly is near insurmountable.

And then there is the problem of swelling. According to Geoffrey Landis, "Water vapor will form rapidly in the soft tissues and somewhat less rapidly in the venous blood. This evolution of water vapor will cause marked swelling of the body to perhaps twice its normal volume unless it is restrained by a pressure suit." How can one possible contemplate the inner realities of the physical superstructure of the universe, or discern the interaction of form and content in the later films of Fellini, while your waist line mushrooms from a trendy 28 to an unfathomable 2,904? Not only will you have to exchange your most recent purchases from Express, but your skin will be horrendously distorted; even after recompression, it will retain the sticky plasticity of a deflated balloon. Also, where on earth can one find a pressure suit that doesn't make you look dumpy?

Finally, there is the issue of internal body temperature. "
There will be virtually no effective circulation of blood. After an initial rush of gas from the lungs during decompression, gas and water vapor will continue to flow outward through the airways. This continual evaporation of water will cool the mouth and nose to near-freezing temperatures; the remainder of the body will also become cooled, but more slowly." It is needless to say the playful subversion of narrative objectivity in Henry James' novellas will be unappreciated by one suffering from internal hypothermia. After such a harrowing experience, I don't know if I could even enjoy Christmas anymore.

The problem about writing in vacuums is that you end up writing about vacuums. Its the only thing you can think of, other than laughing a little bit about how silly your flesh looks, pushing through the buttons separate bubbles up your shirt, as the venal pressure rapidly exceeds the arterial pressure within a minute, other wise known as the human blow fish effect. But otherwise, it is just quiet, dark, and very very VERY empty.

Vacuum Cat:
STAGE 1

STAGE 2

STAGE 3:
A third picture could not be found, lost as it was when the Great Library of Alexandria was torched by Ceaser in 48 BC. I leave it up to my colleges to theorize what the content of said image would contain, of a post-vacuumed (presumably deceased) cat.