Chapter 1: Celestial Disinterest

Your concept of entertainment might resemble a leap of faith as you gaze into the void, pondering what lies beyond.

Photo by Good Free Photos on Unsplash

Let me clarify: this isn't a jab at anyone in particular, especially if it feels like it is aimed at you. It's merely my perspective, and it shouldn't reflect negatively on those who see things differently. I simply lack your enthusiasm, and sometimes your incessant chatter about celestial happenings can be a bit overwhelming. Honestly, I'm indifferent to the antics of those quirky lights in the sky.

Whether it’s the baboon moon showing off or some cosmic event where The Big Bopper dances with Uranus to the tune of "Yankee Doodle Dandy" on a lovely spring day, I couldn’t care less. Every few weeks, there’s chatter about a new moon that I’ve never glimpsed, one that’s supposedly a once-in-a-lifetime sight—at least not on a Tuesday during an election year.

It’s either a blue monkey, a pink turtle, or some other absurdity. Step outside, and it’s just the moon—or nothing if it’s cloudy. It’s either the streetlight, the water tower, or your neighbor’s back porch illumination.

Occasionally, you might spot two stars that usually don’t appear so close together, but tonight, they will! Except, not really that close. You venture out, trying to discern which two celestial bodies warrant your attention and which are simply cell towers. They say stars twinkle, but honestly, who can tell?

Remember when the space station was supposedly visible overhead? You stepped outside, only to see a commuter plane flying to LaGuardia from Palm Beach. Exciting, right?

A while back, there was a meteor shower, so I went outside and, sure enough, witnessed a “shooting” star. It lasted a fleeting second, and then my neck ached, prompting me to head back inside.

You have to understand that we saw Star Wars in the ‘70s when special effects were rudimentary, yet it still surpassed anything I’ve witnessed while looking up at the night sky. I’m glad you’re outside enjoying the night and not causing any trouble, but honestly, I’m not inclined to join you.

I remember Jerry Seinfeld expressing his disinterest in going on safari, questioning if the animals were all that different from those in the zoo. They’re wild, sure, but how unique could they really be?

The last solar eclipse I recall was during the previous administration when our Commander-in-Chief, in a moment of sheer genius, stared at the sun without any eye protection. Brilliant move.

Now, this upcoming eclipse will traverse the nation from south to north, and people are flocking in droves to witness it. I live about a mile and a half from where they host big summer fireworks, and that feels like too much trouble. Yet, these folks are driving cross-country, camping out, and making a whole event of it. I’m certainly not going to camp outdoors for four days just to watch the moon obscure the sun.

What really tickles me are the people who will post their mediocre iPhone photos of the eclipse on social media, acting as if we won’t have access to professional images from countless sources moments later. "No, but this is my image," they’ll say. It’s akin to those who film Billy Joel performing Piano Man from the upper levels of Citi Field. Fantastic—except I can neither hear nor see anything. Great job capturing the moment. I suppose I should take your word for it. You probably have a ticket stub to prove you were there.

“See that little dot? That’s Billy Joel.”

“You don’t say.”

Have you witnessed the extraordinary special effects in movies lately? Or seen the images claimed to be from the James Webb telescope? They’re computer-generated illustrations based on data, making them sort of real but not actual optical images. Still, they look insane. A solar eclipse might astonish someone living in a remote jungle, untouched by modernity, but if you’re pointing a thousand-dollar smartphone at it, it can’t be all that mind-blowing.

If you were to tell me the moon is going to explode and it’ll be more spectacular than any fireworks show, I might just get up and look at the sky with the other fools at three in the morning. But it better be breathtaking—like a Death Star explosion. I want to feel the ground shake and the very fabric of reality tear apart. Anything less, and I’ll have to rely on your word. I’ll be staying indoors.

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Chapter 2: Cosmic Observations

In this classic clip, A Star is Bored (1956) humorously captures the essence of our fascination (or lack thereof) with the cosmos, showcasing the mundane aspects of celestial observation.

Byron Lane shares his insights on A Star is Bored, offering a witty take on the absurdity surrounding our obsession with the stars and the universe.