How The Sun Works

Just got Disc One of The Universe on Netflix.  Yes, I Netflixed something from the UFOs and Hitler History Channel—this one doesn’t seem to have too many conspiracy theories in it.  It has Neil DeGrasse Tyson in it, after all, and I am a bit of a fangirl.

 

This show does, however, start with the very basics:

 

“The sun may not be very big for a star, but it’s definitely the biggest in our solar system!

 

… Actually, it is the only star in our solar system.”

 

I’d laugh harder, but I did know someone who discovered the sun was a star when she was a high school senior.  And with the way people fling around the terms “galaxy” and “universe” with little regard to what they actually mean,* perhaps the basics are the best way to start.

 

Now they are illustrating the concept of photons by pelting a beach with cue balls.  I do not understand the History Channel sometimes.

 
ETA: They also feel the need to impress upon us that photons go lots faster than rockets.  Thanks, History Channel.

 

*I am always momentarily confused  when people mix them up, because I have never had the least trouble differentiating between them and am thus taken by surprise when someone does.

Low Blood Sugar

Note to self: If you are going to discover that LJ is in financial crisis and has laid off a bunch of staff,* please make sure you eat first, because that takes panic factor down to zero.**  Nothing like a good baseless WE GOT MOVIE SIGN to remind you to eat dinner. Seriously, if I haven't had food, I panic about where I left my Sharpies.

 

Well, that was a bummer cherry on top of a bummer sundae of a Tuesday. Today was one of those rare occasions where Teh Flying Snowz has meant I missed something I really wanted to be doing—namely Gothmas, my friend’s notorious Twelfth Night celebration. Instead I get to stay at home, drink tea, back up my whole damn journal, and cry about the fact that my brother went back to school and about the endless void that is our existence and about how I actually found something kinda Goth to wear to Gothmas. Woe, woe.

 

Yes sir, just more fodder for the Feast of St. Emo.

 

In other news, I am sick and tired of these motherfucking snakes my hair. I’d had ambitions of growing it out because long hair is fun to play with, but now that I’m looking like I’m wearing Pippin’s wig I’m remembering that long, thick, curly, layered hair is a pain in the ass. It takes forever to wash, rinse, and dry, busts out into genius hair at all the wrong moments, and gets in my eyes and ears. I forced myself to continue with grim determination until it dawned on me this week that every time I see someone with short hair I get all wistful, and Former Commodore Norrington meanders by and remarks, “Not too long ago I would have given anything to have you look like that while thinking of me,” or something to that effect.*** So screw this “long” business. I am going back to my crew cut, as soon as I can find a new hairdresser to add to my succession of Total Nuts With Scissors.

 

It will give me something to look forward to in the midst of all this emo.

 

 

*And JUST AFTER you bought a goddamn permanent account.

 

**No, don’t panic. This may turn out good if the clueless bastards running it now turn it over to some clueful people. But for those of you who like to play it safe, you can back up entries and comments with LJArchive, LJBook (currently this one is a bit swamped), or this program that they tell me works on Macs.

 

***Or he would, if I were Keira Knightly in PotC.