A certain American Airlines 757 pilot gave me and a couple of hundred others a very hard landing this week.
So my jaw finally began to cease chattering when I discovered NASA is beginning to work on dropping flying things from the sky to see if perhaps the impact can be absorbed.
NASA's Web site told me that it dropped a helicopter from 35 feet in order to see whether an expandable honeycomb cushion that NASA calls a "deployable energy absorber" could minimize damage to life, limb, and even nervous systems.
The MD-500's landing gear did bend a little, NASA said, but the agency seemed most pleased that "four crash test dummies along for the ride appeared only a little worse for the wear."
Perhaps you will be most heartened by the words of Karen Jackson, an aerospace engineer who was one of the brains behind the test, which was conducted at NASA's Langley Research Center: "I'd like to think the research we're doing is going to end up in airframes and will potentially save lives."
I know we're only talking about helicopters right now. But given that commercial pilots do enjoy the occasional drink and have even drifted past Minneapolis and headed out to Wisconsin, surely one can dream that one day someone will create an extraordinary cushion for your average 757.
Is all this space travel worthwhile? Will it really contribute to our civilization or our touchingly naive way of life? Will it even lift our spirits?
I cannot be sure about the first two, as I feel these might be permanently floating somewhere out there. But I have some space-sourced spirit lifting to share.
Japan's Sapporo Breweries, the entity that brings you those large silver tins of beer to complement your rainbow roll, announced this week that it is launching space beer.
According to Reuters, Sapporo "Space Barley", with its cute outer-space sparkling starred label, has been created using barley grown on the International Space Station.
I am not sure what revolutionary taste values barley grown in the black beyond brings to a beer, but I'm concerned that it can't possibly be as fine as the Redhook ESB that got me through another abject Golden State Warriors performance Thursday evening at Oracle's most depressing arena.
I know you'll be wondering how to get your fingers around Space Barley's neck. It seems you will have to trust your good fortune and your, um, trust fund. There's a lottery. The 250 winners will enjoy a six-pack. Just one. The approximate price of being able to drink in a little space is $115. Which works out to about $19 for each 330 milliliter of celestial flavor.
You will be relieved to learn that this project is not for profit. Instead, all the proceeds will go to an educational science charity for Japanese children.
You will be even more relieved that the noble forces of science are finally being put to this most elemental of human uses. Indeed, if Space Barley reveals itself to have a taste somewhat superior to Coors and Budweiser (which I know is terribly tough to imagine), perhaps we might soon see an increase in space beer production.
It is surely many a human being's dream: the Unidentified Flying Brewery.
Perhaps space travel has become old. Perhaps people have come to take it for granted. It's been seen in so many movies. So many space shuttles have taken off and returned to Earth that we think little more of them than we do of jumbo jets.
NASA therefore has to use its imagination to persuade tomorrow's generations that space travel continues to be a large step for man.
One small step in this process is a new public service annoucnement featuring that fearsome space creature, "The Rock." Dwayne Johnson himself, a man who has appeared in so many scientifically concocted movies such as WWF SmackDown, WWE Backlash, and WWE Crush Hour, is now telling kids that NASA is cool.
Why Johnson? Well, he plays Captain Chuck Baker in the new movie "Planet 51." The voice of Chuck Baker, to be precise. And that seems to be a sufficient connection for him to tell us that all of the clever things NASA discovers in the dark and beyond are also put to use here on the mundane round lump called Earth.
I know Johnson is trying to inspire, but when he tells us that NASA technologies allow us to enjoy the freeze-dried fruit in our cereal, I wonder how many viewers will look at their Raisin Bran with a jaundiced eye and quivering lips.
The Rock is a professional. He convinced when he played Agent 23 in "Get Smart," just as he did when he when he played Rick Smith in "Reno 911."
But even he struggles with the last line of this PSA. For reasons best known to someone, somewhere, perhaps even out there, Johnson is required to end this PSA with the words" There's no space like home."
Oh, goodness. He's Dwayne Johnson. He's the Rock. Couldn't they have got him to deliver an NASA smackdown? Or are we all just trying to nice-ify our images to the point of blandness?
Everyone and their band seems to be leaping on some kind of wagon with an Apple logo and attempting to rob it of its jewelry and gold coins.
The latest to try to capitalize from poking a little fun at Apple's treasure chest are the Florida Keys and Key West.
In an ad that would feel like it was for the iPhone if it was executed with slightly more style, the Keys hope to persuade you that "There's no app for this."
"This" refers to the fun of wondering if a disgruntled local houseboat resident who believes tourists are venal vermin might ruin your vacation.
No, wait, I think I have read one too many Carl Hiassen novels, in which pretty much every resident of Florida is trying to cheat every other resident of Florida (or unsuspecting visitor) out of house, home, dog, wife or, well, life.
So, in fact, what I meant to say was that the Keys believe that no iPhone app can substitute for a real Florida Keys experience, in which the sun will set beautifully, the canoe will never capsize, and no shark will ever approach you as you snorkel your way to a new level of consciousness.
If you were to choose an app over a vacation, one imagines that several schools of psychiatric medicine had already given up on your ghost.
I am concerned, though, that should someone from Apple be making like Grumpy the Dwarf, they might be upset at the Keys' use of the iPhone's rather characteristic finger wipe.
Just because there's a recession, it doesn't mean you can't find your dream job. So allow me to direct your boundless ambition toward an ad on Craigslist's Calgary site.
While many people scour Craigslist to see if Starbucks or Bed, Bath and Beyond might be seeking additions to their cheery teams, the poster of this ad is searching for an altogether more adventurous type, proudly announcing "Astronaut Needed (Northern Alberta)." Is that the cough of a million scoffs I hear? Perhaps. But this is truly an interesting opportunity, to say the least. Just look at the first, enticing sentence of the ad: "Astronaut needed for experimental flight to Titan."
Perhaps you might be concerned that this ad was not, in fact, placed by NASA. Please, let me put your mind into horizontal mode. The advertiser assures all applicants that he has been "working on this project for near 40 years." Indeed, the only reason he is seeking an Armstrong for his flight is that he himself seems to have weaker limbs now that the years have passed.
You might also be wondering what kind of craft will shuttle you into orbit. Well, again, I can be your Xanax. The advertiser declares that his secret craft is "the result of my professional experience and imagination while serving the U.S. military in advanced aeronautics as a scientist." You see, this man is a veritable expert in his field. This spaceship enjoys "a revolutionary propulsion system and its fuselage is fabricated with the most advanced material."
Surely, you can have no more concerns. Surely, you are ready to reply to this advertisement, beaming at the idea that you will soon be beamed into the great beyond. Well, in the interests of full disclosure, let me draw your attention to some of the finer details. In the advertiser's own persuasive and humane words: "I am certain you will make it safely to Titan but there will not be enough fuel to get home. This is for someone unique that has always wanted to see the universe first-hand and has perhaps a terminal view on life here at home. Here's your shot at romantic history."
Yes, that's right. You won't be coming back. At all. Ever. So perhaps you might want to check what the nightlife is like on Titan. Because that might be the only way you could really create romantic history.
Should I have failed to deter you from applying for your life's (and death's) dream, do note that the job specs declare that you should be no taller than 5 feet 10 inches and "relatively slim." One imagines that any appearances in a Ralph Lauren advertisement might enhance your chances of being chosen.
Oh, and the advertiser also requires that you should be "mentally sound."
Perhaps you are skeptical about the notion that computers will, one day, actually control us.
Perhaps you might imagine yourself to be a little dependent on your digital friend but not to the degree that it tells you what to do.
Perhaps, however, you have never stayed at the Hotel Monte Mulini on Croatia's Adriatic Coast. Please allow me to explain.
I am currently in Rovinj, Croatia, home of the Weekend Media Festival. The festival has speakers from companies such as Google, MTV, and Nokia and, well, there was this one speech Saturday titled, "Why advertise when you can Twitter?" given by a bald chap you might know.
Rovinj is one of the most beautiful secrets in all the world, a place of such breathtaking charm and beauty that you simple do not want to leave. And the organizers put the speakers up at the aforementioned hotel, which seems to have dedicated itself to computerized logic.
You don't have to put your key card into a slot to enter your room. No, you wave it at a control panel and your door opens like that of the haunted castle in a horror movie.
In your room, there is another control panel that switches lights on and off and generally monitors the look and feel of your environment, including what temperature you are allowed to enjoy.
It seems as if the computer has decided that you will only enjoy temperatures of 21 degrees centigrade (70 degrees Fahrenheit) or higher.
I don't know about you, but I like things to be a little cold indoors when it's hot outside, so I asked the nice man at reception whether I had misunderstood something about the control panel. What, indeed, did I have to do to make the room colder?
Ah, he told me, the computer system would like me to agree that 21 degrees is the optimum temperature. But he promised to reprogram it specially so that my room could be colder.
I skipped back to my room and pressed the "down" button on the aircon control. Nothing. Computers take some time to reprogram, don't they? I sat in hope. And, well, a little sweat.
I went to bed, believing I would be waking to a cooler environment. Still nothing. So the following morning, it was back to reception.
"Oh, the computer is still not allowing you?" said the man at the desk. "I will speak to maintenance."
Did I detect the sort of raised eyebrow on his head that said: "You, sir, don't realize who's calling the shots here"? Perhaps.
But as I write this Sunday, it's been three days. My computerized control panel still drifts between 21.4 degrees centigrade and 21.7 degrees centigrade and there is a little crustiness around my mouth after three days of hot, dry, conditioned air.
As I walk to the bathroom, I find myself bowing to the control panel, hoping that, somehow, it will agree to make things cooler. I also find myself thinking whether the man on reception is human and whether there is such a person as the maintenance man at all.
Is this the beginning of the end? Or the end of the beginning?
I know science thinks it can do everything.
I know robots will soon be ordering us around like wait staff at the Ritz.
But I am gravely concerned about an experiment that has been going on up there in space.
Japanese astronaut Koichi Wakata, who returned to earth Friday, had been on the International Space Station since March. And, well, I don't know quite how I am to put this, but he didn't change his underwear for a month.
I know what you're thinking. We're both thinking the same thing.
Not even in the the darkest, most slovenly days of our student youth did we wear the same pair of knickers for 30 days. Around seven days was our limit. Then we'd at least manage a hand wash in a sink.
But here was the intrepid Wakata, prepared for the sake of all our futures to don anti-static, flame-resistant, odor-eating, bacteria-killing, water-absorbent underpants. Yes, water-absorbent.
I know that there was a lady astronaut a little while ago who wore diapers on a long car journey, but this is surely couture from another realm.
The London Times quoted Wakata as saying, pre-landing: "I haven't talked about this underwear to my crew members."
This is quite understandable. I rarely talk about my underwear to my clients. Not even my underwear clients. However, wasn't just the occasional merest stink caused by this novel eco-friendly fashion show?
"I wore it for about a month and my station crew members never complained, so I think the experiment went fine," he said.
Well, now, in polite society one doesn't normally comment when a fellow worker suffers something of a digestional malfunction, so how can Wakata be sure that his fellow astronauts weren't furtively making sniffy remarks about certain odors emanating from his person?
I know you'll be wondering what astronauts normally do with their soiled undies. Firstly, they take them off. Then they pack them up with the trash, which they shoot into outer space on human-less Russian cargo ships. On the way, the dirty undies are cremated.
But here's the thing with Wakata's undergarments: the Japanese space agency, Jaxa, which designed them, has no firm idea just how well they performed their task.
Which makes two pulsating thoughts thud around my cranium.
One: what if the anti-static, flame-resistant, odor-eating, bacteria-killing, water-absorbent qualities didn't work so well? Especially the last two. What effects might imperfect performance have on poor Mr. Wakata's inner well-being?
And two, I must do the washing.
Technological progress always comes with a hefty price. (Unless it's a PC, I suppose)
So I must admit to feeling a little heartskip at hearing that the search to commune with aliens in the outer beyond will leave humans looking like, well, porky aliens.
According to a report in the Telegraph, scientists believe that long flights into space will not have beautifying effects on the star-crossed trekkers of the future.
In fact, they will make them short, fat, and bald.
I wish I could find more comforting words to describe their fate. Just as I wish that more people would realize that "bald" does not equate to "ugly."
A long time spent up in near zero gravity will mean that humans will not have to make an effort to get off the couch. They won't have to do anything to stay warm either. And no exercise means, well, blubber.
The otherworldly atmosphere will also mean that humans won't exactly grow, as muscles and bones will not develop in the way they do here in the gyms of the earth.
Astrobiologist Dr. Lewis Dartnell from University College, London, also said that fluid will pool in humans' skulls and there will be no need for protecting yourself from the cold. Which means your face will bloat and your hair will fall out. Oh, and don't forget that you'll be fat, too.
"With little effort required to move around in microgravity and an environment that is never too hot or cold, future spacemen and women are likely to become pretty chubby," he said.
But here is what Dr. Dartnell did not conceive.
On every future long-haul space flight there will be plastic surgeons ready to nip, tuck, and weave you back to beauty in a perfectly painless, weightless environment. Jowls too puffy? Let's pop that air out. Hair dropping out? Let's graft a little from your other regions.
Yes, it will be not unlike the masseuses on the original Virgin Atlantic Airways.
We must never think negatively about technological progress. Science will always find a way to keep us just as beautiful as we are today. I mean, what else do we need science for?
I can't remember the last time I talked to a human being at an airline.
To get anywhere, you go online, you get some instantly concocted price that may be entirely different from that offered on other sites. Then you check whether the flight you'd like to choose might necessitate you getting on to one of the slightly creepy MD-83s with the engine at the back and only two seats on one side.
You might think that the airlines' own Web sites would be amongst the most reliable in the commercial world. They have to be, right?
Well, you might also think your urine turns purple after a starter of asparagus bruschetta, oven-roasted asparagus, and asparagus ice cream.
According to monitoring service Pingdom, airline Web sites are out of service 44 hours annually. Which compares to 35 hours for the average site.
I know you might find it odd that an airline has delays online as well as in the physical world. But there it is. Art imitating life.
Pingdom monitored 42 of the world's favorite airline Web sites from November 2008 to March 2009.
And, as in "Dancing with the Stars," let's talk first about those that passed the Pingdom judgment with flying colors.
KLM's site was up and running 99.99 per cent of the time. Then there was United Airlines--99.98 per cent.
Overall, sites in the US and Japan proved to be the most technologically alive. However, there were miscreants.
Yes, 26 airlines didn't even reach 99.8 percent uptime. In the dance-off for survival, you will find SAS (yes, probably affected by the huge amounts of Scandinavian pirating clogging up the Internet system) and, stunningly, Lufthansa.
However, Pingdom declared that last in line for takeoff are those interesting pioneers from JetBlue.
Personally, I find this result surprising, as I have generally found the airline's site both clear and efficient. However, according to the Pingdom people, JetBlue's site only had 97.37 percent uptime. This represents almost 10 annual days of disappearance from the Web radar.
On the other hand, JetBlue doesn't fly any of those pesky MD-83s does it?
A little honesty can often clear the air. And the arteries.
So I am heartened that the Irish airline Ryanair decided to put the PR flannel aside and pick up its finest titanium cudgel in a dispute with a blogger.
Jason Roe, a Web developer from Dublin, tried to book tickets on Ryanair's Web site and thought he'd masterfully found a little technical kink that allowed him to snatch tickets for free.
Like many a fine Web developer, he posted a note about his experience on his blog and twittered it to the heavens. But the kink was not a kink. The glitch turned out to be merely the scratching of Jason Roe's itch. Free flights could not, in fact, be had by one and all.
Somehow, members of Ryanair's diligent staff happened upon Mr. Roe's site and began to leave him messages.
One message read: "You're an idiot and a liar!! fact is! you've opened one session then another and requested a page meant for a different session, you are so stupid you dont even know how you did it!"
The use of exclamation points enhances the general lively feeling of the Ryanair employee's post. However, the airline decided not to stop there. When Mr. Roe traced the Internet Protocol address of this poster back to Ryanair, the company's PR department found itself a steel mallet, complete with rusty iron spikes emerging from its head.
Stephen McNamara, a Ryanair spokesman with whom, I suspect, I would prefer to have just the one drink in a brightly lit room, declared to CNN: "Ryanair can confirm that a Ryanair staff member did engage in a blog discussion."
I cannot confirm that this Ryanair employee is advancing on an idiot blogger she has spotted in seat 27B.
(Credit: CC Jon Gos)Swinging the mallet hard, he continued: "It is Ryanair policy not to waste time and energy in corresponding with idiot bloggers, and Ryanair can confirm that it won't be happening again. Lunatic bloggers can have the blog sphere all to themselves, as our people are far too busy driving down the cost of air travel."
Some might feel that the company's attitude will only help it drive down the runway of ruin.
Indeed, Ryanair's management can be quite naughty. Just last year, the airline was sued by French President Nicolas Sarkozy and his then-girlfriend, Carla Bruni, when Ryanair ran an ad that featured an image of the couple--without paying for it. The airline lost that suit.
However, there is something faintly charming about about a company that is happy to reflect its true, scampish essence, even in this here "blog sphere."
What I find a little odd is that Mr. Roe seemed intent on getting flight tickets for free. Yet I have just, for the first time in my life, stumbled upon Ryanair's site. It offered to fly me from Liverpool, England, to Seville, Spain, for example, for a quite lunatic price of 5 British pounds. Which is something like $7. And Mr. Roe was highlighting ways to scam your way for free?
The world has taken on a very warped and wounded shape. I blame the idiot and lunatic bloggers, myself.
