Nothing excites me in the way that a successful shuttle launch does. The rush of adrenaline, the flutter in my stomach, the overwhelming feeling of 'Wow-I-wish-that-was-me'--it's incredible, really. Despite all of my many frustrations with NASA, I couldn't help grinning as my co-worker and I watched Discovery launch via live webcast. The last mission I watched the full launch of was back when I was in high school; I got up early in Germany so that I could watch the first flight that Eileen Collins commanded. Six years later, I've lost a lot of my romantic notions about NASA, and I have a much better idea about what it takes to get a crew into space safely. It's a dangerous business, and chances are that we won't learn any more by having humans there than we would with remote missions. Nevertheless, I fully believe that manned space programs should continue. Watching images beamed remotely from satellites and rovers will never excite the hearts and imaginations of mankind the way watching others go into space does. I am an engineering student because the space program inspired me to dream when I was a child. Everyone should have a chance to dream those dreams.
Godspeed, Discovery. Monthly Archive for July, 2005
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Nothing excites me in the way that a successful shuttle launch does. The rush of adrenaline, the flutter in my stomach, the overwhelming feeling of 'Wow-I-wish-that-was-me'--it's incredible, really. Despite all of my many frustrations with NASA, I couldn't help grinning as my co-worker and I watched Discovery launch via live webcast. The last mission I watched the full launch of was back when I was in high school; I got up early in Germany so that I could watch the first flight that Eileen Collins commanded. Six years later, I've lost a lot of my romantic notions about NASA, and I have a much better idea about what it takes to get a crew into space safely. It's a dangerous business, and chances are that we won't learn any more by having humans there than we would with remote missions. Nevertheless, I fully believe that manned space programs should continue. Watching images beamed remotely from satellites and rovers will never excite the hearts and imaginations of mankind the way watching others go into space does. I am an engineering student because the space program inspired me to dream when I was a child. Everyone should have a chance to dream those dreams.
Godspeed, Discovery.
I tried playing Halo 2 for the second time yesterday. It was a bit bizarre, but I finally seem to be adjusting to the two thumbstick look/move system that the Xbox controller uses. (For reference on my gaming abilities, the last gaming system that I had any control over was the Sega Genesis. Gaming was pretty much forbidden in my house.) I made some discoveries while I was playing, too. The interesting discovery was that I adjusted well enough that I was using the Battle Rifle and the Covenant Carbine for headshots on snipers and distant targets wherever possible. The impressive discovery is that I was actually pretty good at doing this. I was even better with the sniper rifle. We're talking single-shot headshots most of the time.
All of this sharp-shooting got me thinking about learning to shoot when I was younger. I grew up in Arkansas where guns and hunting were pretty standard fare, and, when I was probably ten or so, my father took me out to the farm and taught me how to shoot my grandfather's shotgun. Not too long after this, he and I started squirrel hunting together, me with the shotgun and him with a .22. Now, you don't have to be quite as accurate with a shotgun as you do with a .22, but if you miss the first shot at the squirrel, chances are you won't get a second shot. As a small target, the squirrel can be tough to hit; if it's zooming around the branches after a gun shot, it's a lot harder to hit. Despite this, I was quite good at squirrel hunting in particular and shooting in general.
Strangely enough, after having gone five or more years without firing a gun, I seem to have been able to adapt to a new method of aiming without changing my shooting style much at all. Has anyone else experienced something similar? I suppose another question to consider is how easy it might be to go in the direction opposite of the one I came. Can someone be a good shot in video games and quickly adapt to being a good shooter with an actual gun?
Otherwise known as "What I Did While Everyone Else On Earth Read Harry Potter 6".
I have officially survived the camping trip at Pymatuning State Park. Anyone who was in the Ohio/Pennsylvania vicinity, I'm sure, knows that it has rained this weekend. Most of the weekend, in fact. It just got done pouring outside my window a couple minutes ago, actually. But that's beside the point. The point is that the commentary is below, and the photos are here.
The weekend of camping began around 2:50 Friday when Greg picked Mark and me up from our uni. We drove to Heinen's with our shopping list and started tracking down ingredients. That night we were having typical camping fare: hot dogs and s'mores. Made it back to the car in time for some rain, an unfortunate precursor to the remainder of the trip. By 4:10 we were out on the road and heading due east toward Pymatuning State Park. Rather than taking I-90 by the lake, we took 322 (basically Mayfield Rd.), which gave us a much more pleasant viewing experience in my opinion. The two-lane highway cut through trees and cornfields, mostly, punctuated at times by little towns and their single spire churches. We ran into a couple of Amish buggies as well. Rain continued in intervals.
Shortly before six o'clock, we arrived at the campground, shooed some people out of our reserved spot, and took a quick look around. We had a non-electric spot, with no one immediately adjacent to us, though the campsites are fairly close together. Everything was pretty standard: gravel driveway, fire ring, and rotted-out, nasty picnic table. Our lot was pretty well covered by trees, but peeking between them and off to the left was the lake.
Suspecting that the rain would follow us (WHY did I leave my rain jacket at home?!) we hurried to set-up the tent and store our gear. Once that was done, we grabbed our water bottles, filled them at the spigot, and headed toward the camp store to get some wood and ice. We pretty much made it back without much worse than a couple raindrops, a rumble or two of thunder, and sore hands. That's about where luck ended.
Immediately, we set to with the fire: gathering wood, making wood shavings, and generally being scout-like. Within a few matches, it was clear that nature was against us. We kept striking matches, the wood kept not burning, and the rain kept falling. We leaned over the fire but to no avail. The light rain turned into a downpour, and we ran into the tent for cover.
When the rain slowed, we ventured outdoors again, me in my wet shirt and the guys in fresh, dry ones, to find our rain-soaked firewood. Cue a new march to the camp store, this time for lighter fluid and a full box of matches. As Mark put it, "with enough lighter fluid, you can get even water to burn". It turns out that perseverance is also a necessary ingredient. It was well after dark (and raining again, surprise!) before we got a fire capable of cooking our hot dogs. Let me tell you, though, those hot dogs were excellent. Greg and I finished up with a couple of s'mores, then we all crowded into the very dark tent and called it a night.
I didn't sleep particularly well, what with a winter sleeping bag and the ground trying to mess with my back. But I managed to stay still until 8 AM, when I started recording our little escapade. At half-past a rather vociferous crow woke Greg up, and we both started moving around. I grabbed my shower things and headed for the bathhouse. About all I say for it is that the water got warm.
When I got back, Mark was up, and it was time to try our pancakes. Greg had a punctuated coffee can we planned to put over a small fire and atop which we could cook pancakes, but things did not go quite as well as planned. Temperature regulation is a bit difficult on a campfire. As we were hungry, we gave up pretty quickly and laid into the Frosted Mini-Wheats we had the foresight to buy. Black cherries made a nice end to things.
Another trip to the camp store for more lighter fluid and some foil. (The kind we'd brought was not what we needed.)
Then we decided to try some hiking, but the trail was poorly marked, and it looked like it was several miles to the dam (and then we'd need to come back), so we decided that the car would be a good ally. Besides, I reasoned, that would give us a chance to sit and read for a bit at the dam.
As it turned out, going in the car was a brilliant idea because the moment we arrived at the dam, we suffered an absolutely torrential downpour. We sat in the car steaming (quite literally) with our Teddy Grahams and dried fruit until it passed.
Greg and I set out to explore, cameras in hand. We walked along the outlet, crossed the bridge that ran across the dam, poked around a building that I suspect provides some control over the dam, and journeyed down to the spillway. Naturally, there are many photos. We returned to the car to find Mark in the same spot, Dave Barry book in hand and ears firmly ensconced in the headphones attached to his iPod Shuffle.
By this point, the sun was out and it was growing muggier by the second. Greg and I changed into swimwear while Mark stayed back at the campsite with his book. Greg and I walked out to the beach and waded into the wonderfully cool water. There was once a time when I would have been swimming with my head wet with lake water, but I must say my sensibilities have changed somewhat since then.
When we got back to the campsite, we read for awhile before making another trip to the camp store, this time for ice and beverages. When we got back, we started straight into getting the fire going and dinner cooking. For this meal, we wrapped pepper- and Worchestershire-seasoned veggies (mushrooms, onions, green peppers, and potatoes) and beef in foil packets and placed them in the coals to cook. I added dessert by cutting up a couple of apples and wrapping them in foil. Just before dinner was ready, we noticed the change in the air that could only be a thunderstorm coming in. Down came the clothes line. Into the tent with the books. Back into the car trunk with the supplies. Just as the sky broke open, we fished the last foil packet out of the fire, doused it, and jumped into the car with the food, dinnerware, and three Cokes. Like the thunderstorm from earlier in the day, this was quite the storm. Eventually we found a pavilion where we could hide out and eat. In some ways, that dinner was our crowning glory.
Once the rain stopped and we got back to camp, there was still an hour or so before the sun was supposed to set and we had lots of wood and lighter fluid. So we lit the fire anew and made some more s'mores. Well after dark, we crawled back into the tent and talked for an hour or two before falling asleep. Now, had anyone been close enough to hear us, they would have been amazed at finding such geeks out camping. Among our topics of conversation: XML and the Oxford comma.
Since Pymatuning really seems best suited for fishing and boating, we had no qualms about heading out fairly early the next morning. Breakfast was leisurely, cereal and watermelon, followed by breaking down camp. By 10:30, I think, we were on the road home, and we got back to campus shortly after noon. The first and most important order of business? A shower. A nice, long, warm battle against the stickiness of sweat and the stench of woodsmoke. I'm happy to report that I have won.
The weekend of camping began around 2:50 Friday when Greg picked Mark and me up from our uni. We drove to Heinen's with our shopping list and started tracking down ingredients. That night we were having typical camping fare: hot dogs and s'mores. Made it back to the car in time for some rain, an unfortunate precursor to the remainder of the trip. By 4:10 we were out on the road and heading due east toward Pymatuning State Park. Rather than taking I-90 by the lake, we took 322 (basically Mayfield Rd.), which gave us a much more pleasant viewing experience in my opinion. The two-lane highway cut through trees and cornfields, mostly, punctuated at times by little towns and their single spire churches. We ran into a couple of Amish buggies as well. Rain continued in intervals.
Shortly before six o'clock, we arrived at the campground, shooed some people out of our reserved spot, and took a quick look around. We had a non-electric spot, with no one immediately adjacent to us, though the campsites are fairly close together. Everything was pretty standard: gravel driveway, fire ring, and rotted-out, nasty picnic table. Our lot was pretty well covered by trees, but peeking between them and off to the left was the lake.
Suspecting that the rain would follow us (WHY did I leave my rain jacket at home?!) we hurried to set-up the tent and store our gear. Once that was done, we grabbed our water bottles, filled them at the spigot, and headed toward the camp store to get some wood and ice. We pretty much made it back without much worse than a couple raindrops, a rumble or two of thunder, and sore hands. That's about where luck ended.
Immediately, we set to with the fire: gathering wood, making wood shavings, and generally being scout-like. Within a few matches, it was clear that nature was against us. We kept striking matches, the wood kept not burning, and the rain kept falling. We leaned over the fire but to no avail. The light rain turned into a downpour, and we ran into the tent for cover.
When the rain slowed, we ventured outdoors again, me in my wet shirt and the guys in fresh, dry ones, to find our rain-soaked firewood. Cue a new march to the camp store, this time for lighter fluid and a full box of matches. As Mark put it, "with enough lighter fluid, you can get even water to burn". It turns out that perseverance is also a necessary ingredient. It was well after dark (and raining again, surprise!) before we got a fire capable of cooking our hot dogs. Let me tell you, though, those hot dogs were excellent. Greg and I finished up with a couple of s'mores, then we all crowded into the very dark tent and called it a night.
I didn't sleep particularly well, what with a winter sleeping bag and the ground trying to mess with my back. But I managed to stay still until 8 AM, when I started recording our little escapade. At half-past a rather vociferous crow woke Greg up, and we both started moving around. I grabbed my shower things and headed for the bathhouse. About all I say for it is that the water got warm.
When I got back, Mark was up, and it was time to try our pancakes. Greg had a punctuated coffee can we planned to put over a small fire and atop which we could cook pancakes, but things did not go quite as well as planned. Temperature regulation is a bit difficult on a campfire. As we were hungry, we gave up pretty quickly and laid into the Frosted Mini-Wheats we had the foresight to buy. Black cherries made a nice end to things.
Another trip to the camp store for more lighter fluid and some foil. (The kind we'd brought was not what we needed.)
Then we decided to try some hiking, but the trail was poorly marked, and it looked like it was several miles to the dam (and then we'd need to come back), so we decided that the car would be a good ally. Besides, I reasoned, that would give us a chance to sit and read for a bit at the dam.
As it turned out, going in the car was a brilliant idea because the moment we arrived at the dam, we suffered an absolutely torrential downpour. We sat in the car steaming (quite literally) with our Teddy Grahams and dried fruit until it passed.
Greg and I set out to explore, cameras in hand. We walked along the outlet, crossed the bridge that ran across the dam, poked around a building that I suspect provides some control over the dam, and journeyed down to the spillway. Naturally, there are many photos. We returned to the car to find Mark in the same spot, Dave Barry book in hand and ears firmly ensconced in the headphones attached to his iPod Shuffle.
By this point, the sun was out and it was growing muggier by the second. Greg and I changed into swimwear while Mark stayed back at the campsite with his book. Greg and I walked out to the beach and waded into the wonderfully cool water. There was once a time when I would have been swimming with my head wet with lake water, but I must say my sensibilities have changed somewhat since then.
When we got back to the campsite, we read for awhile before making another trip to the camp store, this time for ice and beverages. When we got back, we started straight into getting the fire going and dinner cooking. For this meal, we wrapped pepper- and Worchestershire-seasoned veggies (mushrooms, onions, green peppers, and potatoes) and beef in foil packets and placed them in the coals to cook. I added dessert by cutting up a couple of apples and wrapping them in foil. Just before dinner was ready, we noticed the change in the air that could only be a thunderstorm coming in. Down came the clothes line. Into the tent with the books. Back into the car trunk with the supplies. Just as the sky broke open, we fished the last foil packet out of the fire, doused it, and jumped into the car with the food, dinnerware, and three Cokes. Like the thunderstorm from earlier in the day, this was quite the storm. Eventually we found a pavilion where we could hide out and eat. In some ways, that dinner was our crowning glory.
Once the rain stopped and we got back to camp, there was still an hour or so before the sun was supposed to set and we had lots of wood and lighter fluid. So we lit the fire anew and made some more s'mores. Well after dark, we crawled back into the tent and talked for an hour or two before falling asleep. Now, had anyone been close enough to hear us, they would have been amazed at finding such geeks out camping. Among our topics of conversation: XML and the Oxford comma.
Since Pymatuning really seems best suited for fishing and boating, we had no qualms about heading out fairly early the next morning. Breakfast was leisurely, cereal and watermelon, followed by breaking down camp. By 10:30, I think, we were on the road home, and we got back to campus shortly after noon. The first and most important order of business? A shower. A nice, long, warm battle against the stickiness of sweat and the stench of woodsmoke. I'm happy to report that I have won.
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