As many of my closest friends know, I have been in search of a new hobby. I have some great hobbies already, but keeping abreast of all things Disney, keeping up with the poop and scoop on the site, and doing Google searches for “gas” to increase my fart joke repertoire can only occupy about 16 hours of my day. Any of you who are as addicted to Red Bull as I am, knows that leaves at least another 4 hours each day that I need to fill with another slothfully satisfying lazy-butt interest.
You may be wondering how being a self proclaimed and anecdotally proven Lazy Butt fits in with the practice of adding unnecessary items to my agenda. This would be the perfect opportunity to clear up a common misconception about what it means to be a Lazy Butt. It has never meant that I shy away from activities. It merely means that I prefer these activities to be a little less active. As long as I can still keep two cheeks in contact with a comfortable surface, then the sky’s the limit! And the sky is exactly where this search took me.
I have always been a fan of star-gazing, although my first foray into it revolved more around Elvis-sightings than it did the heavens. But from my days as an avid fan of the Muppets’ Pigs in Space to my later appreciation of Tarzan’s rippling physique and other such heavenly bodies, it seemed obvious that I was destined to embrace this interest with the same abandon as I embrace my greek god Zeus and his celestial orbs.
I began my education about amateur star-gazing by consulting the 21st century’s ultimate source of information: Wikipedia. I realize there is a bit of controversy about the accuracy of some information to be found there, but when my choices for research are to either forsake the posterior-pleasing comforts of my home for a trip to the library, or to let my fingers do the Wikipedia walking while my gluteus maximus maximizes its contact with my soft and fluffy recline-o-matic computer chair, there would seem to be little choice. Perhaps if I had the Queen of the Nile’s hoards of burly men, so adept at the Lazy-Tut Tourista mode of transportation than this would not be the case. But barring any serious PowerBall winnings in my future, the Wiki-way may have to stay.
It must have been kismet that the first heavenly object discussed under “amateur astronomy” was the Moon. It should come as no shock that, as a person concerned with the rest and relaxation of my rump, I am already quite the expert on all things moon-related. Also, experience with carrying the much-loved Big Butt Bag on my vacations has taught me everything I need to know about phenomena such as gravity and lunar eclipses. All it took was one wrong move with the Big Butt Bag and poor Hans the bellman had several months of his life eclipsed by the back spasms and torn rotator cuff. I had hoped that my alter-ego “The Big Tipper” had salved that wound sufficiently, but now I’m just hoping that the lawsuit can be settled amicably.
Trying to erase that painful memory (for Hans, not me), I forged ahead with my research and quickly learned that there was more to this astromoony …astronomy. I could also expect to see meteor showers, which I like to think of as Nature’s Pyrotechnics. I was clearly on to something here. As a known fan of another variety of nighttime pyrotechnics – the kind that rumble forth from your innermost being, especially after a nice Prime Rib dinner with friends – it was absolutely in the ether that this new hobby would be right up my alley! I even found a website that suggested you treat meteor watching like you would the 4th of July fireworks. “Pack comfortable chairs, food and drinks, and blankets.” Obviously this is a Lazy Butt’s idea of a hobby that garners the Two Cheeks Way Down designation!
So what tools of the trade did I need to fully enjoy this new hobby? I learned that my instruments of observation could range from the naked eye, to binoculars, to a telescope. I must admit with a bit of embarrassment, though, that I initially misread that. I was under the impression that I could use a naked guy with a telescope. I didn’t realize the faux pas until it was too late to spare Zeus and me from an embarrassing moment at our first meeting with the Amateur Stargazers Expecting to See Something Spectacular. They suggested that Zeus put his clothes back on, that I let everyone keep track of their own telescope and that my instrument of choice should just be a nice pair of binoculars.
After signing binding agreements to never attend a meeting of the A.S.E.S.S. ever again, we returned home and I threw myself back into my research. It was fascinating, but I also got a little sidetracked. You understand the natural progression if you’ve ever been seduced by the Wiki-way. You start reading about your original topic, only to be enticed by another link within that page that promises further insight on a related topic, and then another, and then another. Before you know it you’ve gone from astronomy, to nuclear fusion, to the hydrogen bomb, then somehow ultimately to layer cake and other tasty confections.
Through that same process, I was suddenly in danger of learning some real science. When my serial browsing first landed me in Cosmology, I wasn’t really concerned about the prospect that there may be science content ahead. I actually thought I was on the Cosmetology page, and let’s face it – what is there about cosmetics that I don’t know? I do Mousefest on 3 hours of sleep a night, a case of RedBull a day, and I stop for every photo-op. Trust me, I know my cosmetics.
I accidentally clicked the link for Theory of Special Relativity. I didn’t even stay long enough to read any of it, though. As a long-time resident of a Southern state, I know this theory backwards and forwards. It’s been discussed at many of my friends’ family reunions and it just has to do with who is related by blood, who is related by marriage, and who are the “special” relatives who are related by both blood and marriage.
For reasons that I will never understand, I also clicked the link for more information about “gravity.” I still don’t know what I was thinking. I already know everything I want to know about gravity. Gravity is like obscenity: I may not be able to define it, but I know it when I see it … and it’s not good. I then saw some ridiculous entry about Gravity and its attractive influences. I was shocked, and I was finally understanding what the uproar was about the veracity of Wikipedia’s information, because there is nothing attractive about gravity and no one is going to influence me to believe otherwise. I had further proof that the Wiki-way is way off when I clicked on Equations for falling bodies and saw nothing in their equations about Coconut Rum or the Drink of the Day.
I did finally return to the astronomy page, but discontinued my astronomically dismal research once I saw that the upcoming meteor shower that I had been looking forward to was the Lyrid shower and not the lurid one. Regrettably, after that my new hobby didn’t sound nearly as enticing, and I had to wonder how sound my decision was to pursue it in the first place. After all, wasn’t I under the sway of the Wiki-way? How could I trust decisions made with such suspect information? How could I take seriously any source that failed to adequately elaborate on the obvious connection between The Cosmos and cosmetics? When you’re 13 billion years old, trust me, you and your cosmetics are absolutely connected and about as inseparable as kissing cousins. Seeing as I didn’t see any discussion of this under Cosmology or the subsection of the theory of relativity, I have no choice at this point but wash my hands of the Wiki-way.
Following this crushing disappointment, I must rethink how I’ll choose a new hobby. For now, I guess I’ll just double my efforts in my previously mentioned hobby of keeping abreast of all things Disney, and try not to be reminded of the ugly lessons I learned about gravity during my sad, sad search under the sway of the Wiki-way.
Mike Newell was the sound guy and did a great job providing the sound bites!
Now, I just need the time to create it.
