Whatever bad happens, you can bet Republicans are for it.
I always new that living on Venus would be the equivalent of taking an acid bath in hell, but I never knew Lando Calrissian was an inspiration for a Venus mission.
I didn’t realize it was so despised.
The lesson here is don’t go into space. But I still want to.
Have to check this out. This was my favorite show in the ’60s.
I, too, think the “your parents sold you for beer money” explanation was bogus. What are we going to find out?
What I love about “Drunk History” is that it’s really a history lesson. I’ve read about Nichelle Nichols and the story about Dr. King and the recruitment efforts for NASA, but it’s great that people are at least hearing the story.
Even if the storyteller is drunk.
One small point, though. There was nothing wrong with “Arrival.” It was a great movie:
From the New Yorker;
On the evening of November 3, 1957, barely a month after the Soviet Union sent humanity’s first artificial satellite into orbit, a rocket lifted off from a secret site in Kazakhstan, carrying its second. The launch of Sputnik 2 was timed to coincide with the fortieth anniversary of the October Revolution, and the craft itself was an appropriately showy statement of Communist know-how—six times heavier than Sputnik 1, designed to fly nearly twice as high, and, most impressive of all, containing a live passenger. A week before the mission began, Moscow Radio had broadcast an interview with the cosmonaut in question, described as “a small, shaggy dog.” Western newspapers, however, were initially confused about what to call her. Introduced as Kudryavka (“Little Curly”), she was also known as Limonchik (“Little Lemon”) and Damka (“Little Lady”). A Soviet spokesman eventually clarified that her name was Laika (“Barker”), which did nothing to stop a columnist at Newsday from referring to her exclusively as “Muttnik.”
It kind of went like this:
Well, not really;
But the story of Laika had a dark lie at its core. In 2002, forty-five years after the fact, Russian scientists revealed that she had died, probably in agony, after only a few hours in orbit. In the rush to put another satellite into space, the Soviet engineers had not had time to test Sputnik 2’s cooling system properly; the capsule had overheated. It remained in orbit for five months with Laika inside, then plunged into the atmosphere and burned up over the Caribbean, a space coffin turned shooting star. Turkina quotes one of the scientists assigned to Laika’s program: “The more time passes, the more I’m sorry about it. We shouldn’t have done it. We did not learn enough from the mission to justify the death of the dog.”
And this final word from Laika’s trainer:
Laika’s trainer, Adilya Kotovskaya, a Russian biologist, recently told Agence France-Presse of her remorse as she prepared to send Laika into space: “I asked her to forgive us and I even cried as I stroked her for the last time.”
NASA put together a 4K experience with the Sun about a year ago:
And 20 years ago, this song was released:
Even if you had a space suit that could withstand a few million degrees and incredible pressure to keep you alive, you can’t walk on the Sun. There’s no surface. It’s just a big ball of gas and plasma, mostly hydrogen.
Meanwhile, I can’t believe this song is 20 years old. That seems like a long time. But then, the sun is 4.6 billion years old, so from that perspective, the song just happened less than a fraction of a millisecond ago.