Total Eclipse on the Chart

I’m not sure if you freaked out on Monday or not like I did, but as it turns out the sun was not shutting off like I initially suspected. It was actually the eclipse everyone was talking about. I don’t know about you, but around here it was total eclipse mania on Monday. Suddenly everyone was an eclipse expert, throwing around technical eclipse terms like Path of Totality, ISO Compliant Solar Filters, Chromosphere, and Corona. Here on the west coast, the eclipse happened just after 10 A.M., so in addition to Corona, we used other technical eclipse viewing terms like Mimosa and Bloody Mary.

Unfortunately, we do not live in the path of totality. For any other type of totality, I would count that as a blessing, but for this eclipse, I was disappointed. It was the first time in my life I wished I lived in the path of anything. Our eclipse here in California was non-total, so it didn’t get really dark. It just got kinda gloomy and slightly cooler, as if we were all in Canada for a few minutes.   

For most people outside the path of totality, Monday was just a normal work day with a slightly unique (and possibly momentarily terrifying) event in the middle. If you were in the path of totality, however, the eclipse became almost a national holiday. NASA should think about renaming it the Path of Totally Gonna Skip Work and Have an Eclipse Party.

Many folks were confused on the difference between a solar and lunar eclipse, and which one was occurring. I can answer that question. A solar eclipse, which we experienced Monday, is when the moon passes in front of the sun. A lunar eclipse is when the plumber bends down to look under the sink and you shield your eyes with your hand to avoid being subjected to his exposed butt crack.

Lunar eclipses, unfortunately for everyone involved, are not rare, even though belts are sold at every clothing store in the world, all truck stops, and even some gas stations.

As far as solar eclipses go, they are far more infrequent. There have been conflicting reports, based on mimosa intake, of when the last total solar eclipse was over the United States, and when the next one will be. I have no idea, but I know who does – a man named Fred Espenak, who is a total astronomical badass.

I don’t know Fred personally, and if I ever met him, I probably wouldn’t be able to communicate with him effectively, since he is obviously a higher-order human than myself. One five-minute conversation would likely melt my puny brain, so it’s probably best if I stay here in California, and NASA continues to keep Fred securely and safely away from regular humans.

Who is Fred, you ask? He’s the guy that gave us charts and graphs of all the past, present, and future eclipses on NASA’s special eclipse website.

Having never met him, how do I know that Fred is the space-math super genius that I’m making him out to be? One simple sentence at the bottom of the main web page:

“All eclipse calculations are by Fred Espenak, and he assumes full responsibility for their accuracy.”

He assumes full responsibility for their accuracy!? That’s a rather bold and refreshing statement in an era when no one assumes responsibility for anything at all, up to and including their own actions. I mean, NASA probably told Fred that they assume no responsibility for his vehicle, or any items left in his vehicle being lost or stolen when he parks at work. Does that bother Fred? Hell no. Fred just laughs and assumes full responsibility for the accuracy of his calculations.

After Fred moved any valuables to the trunk of his Camry (he’s no fool), he went to work and gave us solar eclipse maps and times from 1851 to 2100, detailed enough to know whether or not the next moon’s shadow is going to touch the last parking space at the Circle K at Ficklin and Niles in Tuscola, Illinois, just outside of Chicken Bristle. And by the way, the Circle K does not assume any responsibility for your vehicle in their lot, either. Especially on eclipse days.

You should see Fred’s columns of times and coordinates for each eclipse. Seriously. Please look at them and tell me what they mean. I don’t have the foggiest idea.

What I do know is that Fred Espenak, NASA/GSFC Emeritus (whatever that means), is the one person left in the United States that assumes full responsibility for anything, so I’m going to trust his eclipse calculations.

I mean, I kinda have to. How would I know if they were wrong? I guess I could travel to the middle of the South Pacific Ocean for the next total solar eclipse on July 2, 2019 at 19:24:07 to check his accuracy, but I really don’t see that happening. I’m not sure you can get good Bloody Marys out there.

By the way, I assume no responsibility whatsoever for the accuracy of this column.

See you soon,

-Smidge

Copyright © 2017 Marc Schmatjen

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Back to School

When I was a kid, we didn’t go back to school until after Labor Day. Nowadays here in California, our kids return in August. My boys went back yesterday. I was always opposed to starting school before Labor Day, but only on the grounds of it being different than my childhood. I am just now beginning to understand the thinking behind moving it up.

I have been holding down my post here as the new Mr. Mom since mid-July, and as such, I have been forced to be within a few feet of all three of our boys for every single minute of every waking hour of every single week and weekend day for a whole lot of days in a row. I have to tell you, I might not be cut out for this.

I used to get to leave. Sure, when I did I had to go to an office and work, but still, I got to leave. I never realized how much they fight with each other. It’s not the fighting that I mind so much, it’s the whining about it that annoys me.

(Son in whiny, sniffle-ly voice) “He punched me in the stomach!”

(Other son in whiny defensive voice) “He wouldn’t get off my face!”

(Me in annoyed voice) “You were wrestling with each other for five minutes. What did you think would happen?!? Go read a book. You hardly ever get punched when you’re doing that.”

(Two ultra-whiny voices in stereo) “I don’t want to read!”

(Me in even more annoyed voice) “Then why don’t you move to North Korea.”

“What?”

grumble, grumble

“Can we watch TV instead?”

“No. I want you to be sharper, not duller.”

“Huh?”

“GO FIND A BOOK!!”

I don’t know when they start school in the far northern and far southern regions of California, where the weather is mild in the summer, and frankly I don’t care. Here in the Sacramento region it gets hotter than the hinges of hell in July and August. I would gladly take them outside for an enjoyable activity where we could bond and grow stronger and happier as father and sons, but it’s like the surface of the sun out there. It was 106 degrees a few days ago. That’s just stupid.

The other day, when I simply couldn’t stand being inside the same building as my three sons for another moment, I broke down and took them on a bike ride. Since it was 104 degrees, the plan was to ride to the water park, run around in the refreshing spray for a while, then ride back in our wet clothes, feeling nice and cool. No such luck. We arrived, sweaty and partially cooked, to a dry water park. A little red girl in a swimsuit with heat waves coming off her shoulders informed us that the plumbing was broken.

They should send out a warning signal or something. Son Number Three nearly exploded from the heat on the way back. He’s much blonder than the other two. Son Number One and Two used up all the available swarthy DNA my wife and I had to offer, and all that was left for Number Three was the blond-haired, blue-eyed, translucent-skinned Nordic genes. We usually just hold him upside down by his ankles and dip him into a 55-gallon drum of sunscreen before we leave the house.

Number One’s tire went flat halfway home. I briefly considered leaving him and saving the other two. My wife would understand that there was nothing I could do, right? After reconsidering, we stuck together and walked our bikes back, just making it to our door as our shoes began to melt. Son Number Three had stopped sweating, which is a bad sign, so we all took emergency cold baths and showers while drinking ice water. Close call.

So, what did the boys want to do after we had all cooled off and returned to the proper color? They wanted to set up a lemonade stand. Are you kidding me? We just narrowly escaped that furnace, and you want to go back? Look out at our street, son. Look through those heat waves coming off the asphalt and tell me what you see. You know what you see? Nothing. Nobody. Nada. Everyone is indoors. If I let you sit out there trying to sell lemonade, you will die long before the first customer happens by in their air-conditioned vehicle. And if by chance someone is dumb enough to be outside right now, do you know what they don’t want? They don’t want to buy a shot glass-sized Dixie cup of hot lemonade from a red, flaming kid with heat stroke. Go find a book.

Not only is summer too hot, it is also too long. I’m fine with school getting out at the beginning of June, but we don’t need ten weeks to “rest.” Now that I am Mr. Mom, I fully support an early start, and suggest that next year we have a nice four-week break and send them back right after the Fourth of July.

See you soon,

-Smidge

Copyright © 2013 Marc Schmatjen

Check out The Smidge Page on Facebook. We like you, now like us back!

Also visit Marc’s Amazon.com Author Page  for all his books. Enjoy!