Greg Olson: Super Duper Space Cadet
This past week an American millionaire paid to be part of a Russian crew blasting off in a Soyuz rocket on their way to the international space station. Should citizens be able to pay to take part in space missions? How far should we take this idea of tourism? Should citizens be able to pay to see battles in war or participate in scientific research projects that may perhaps be dangerous for the crew? Why or why not?
Countries around the world waited with bated breath until a few weeks ago, when Russia emerged from relative obscurity with a surprising announcement. Russia has been flying low under the radar since proclaiming their satisfaction with the possibility of Sen. John Kerry winning the U.S. presidency. The world's governments had merely supposed that such a blunder of foreign policy had led them to remain silent for most of the year. However, when Supreme Chancellor of All Territories Vladimir Putin ('Pootie-Poot' as President George W. Bush refers to in private company) announced that Russia would start a 21st century tourism race with the creation of Russo-Disney. Catering mostly to the wealthy and powerful they will be providing "a outlet for all who were disappointed by the Journey To Mars ride as a child".
Some have speculated that the Russians seek to acquire top U.S. talent via this newest venture. Space tourist Gregory Olson is the third such person to pay for this venture into space. Although he prefers the term "private space researcher" he did say that the current title is better than "space luggage". As a scientist, Mr. Olson is no regular $20 million dollar ticket holder by any stretch of the means. His work with infrared imagery is notable, having had one of his sensors used for this summer's Discovery mission, inspecting the shuttle for damage. He is a scientist with the utmost sincerity in his love for the stars. An anonymous source deep in Russian government said recently "We are very pleased dat Gregory hafs agreed to wok wiff oz. His wok wiff infrared imagery could be used to find missing cattle in zour fields. Do you tink he will like dis fur-lined hat?"
Even if the mission is a success ('success' being defined by level of enjoyment of the ride), the program is doomed by failure. There simply is not a demand from the Rich and Famous to see the stars. Why? They see the stars all the time; on Mulholland Drive, Hollywood Boulevard, and Miami Beach. Who wants to pay $20 million for a trip to outer space when, for a couple million and a few hit singles you can get a seasonal pass to the Playboy Mansion? Ask Fred Durst what he prefers and he will quickly point you towards the bunnies.
Meanwhile high above Earth in the International Space Station, little Greg Olson is up in space looking down at all of God's Magnificent Creation praying that his fantastic voyage never ends. One can easily imagine him putting on his headphones and starting his 'Outer Space Road Trip' iPod mix. As the sounds of Pink Floyd fill his auditory canal, he pushes himself up from the bunk and starts a few zero-gravity spins. Spinning aimslessly around the cabin, and uses his arms to accelerate his motion and closes his eyes for a bit savoring the moment. His head slams violently into the ceiling and his entire body bounces in the opposite direction, appendages flinging about. Glancing around, he makes sure no one sees him and mutters, "Stupid! Stupid idiot!"
Countries around the world waited with bated breath until a few weeks ago, when Russia emerged from relative obscurity with a surprising announcement. Russia has been flying low under the radar since proclaiming their satisfaction with the possibility of Sen. John Kerry winning the U.S. presidency. The world's governments had merely supposed that such a blunder of foreign policy had led them to remain silent for most of the year. However, when Supreme Chancellor of All Territories Vladimir Putin ('Pootie-Poot' as President George W. Bush refers to in private company) announced that Russia would start a 21st century tourism race with the creation of Russo-Disney. Catering mostly to the wealthy and powerful they will be providing "a outlet for all who were disappointed by the Journey To Mars ride as a child".
Some have speculated that the Russians seek to acquire top U.S. talent via this newest venture. Space tourist Gregory Olson is the third such person to pay for this venture into space. Although he prefers the term "private space researcher" he did say that the current title is better than "space luggage". As a scientist, Mr. Olson is no regular $20 million dollar ticket holder by any stretch of the means. His work with infrared imagery is notable, having had one of his sensors used for this summer's Discovery mission, inspecting the shuttle for damage. He is a scientist with the utmost sincerity in his love for the stars. An anonymous source deep in Russian government said recently "We are very pleased dat Gregory hafs agreed to wok wiff oz. His wok wiff infrared imagery could be used to find missing cattle in zour fields. Do you tink he will like dis fur-lined hat?"
Even if the mission is a success ('success' being defined by level of enjoyment of the ride), the program is doomed by failure. There simply is not a demand from the Rich and Famous to see the stars. Why? They see the stars all the time; on Mulholland Drive, Hollywood Boulevard, and Miami Beach. Who wants to pay $20 million for a trip to outer space when, for a couple million and a few hit singles you can get a seasonal pass to the Playboy Mansion? Ask Fred Durst what he prefers and he will quickly point you towards the bunnies.
Meanwhile high above Earth in the International Space Station, little Greg Olson is up in space looking down at all of God's Magnificent Creation praying that his fantastic voyage never ends. One can easily imagine him putting on his headphones and starting his 'Outer Space Road Trip' iPod mix. As the sounds of Pink Floyd fill his auditory canal, he pushes himself up from the bunk and starts a few zero-gravity spins. Spinning aimslessly around the cabin, and uses his arms to accelerate his motion and closes his eyes for a bit savoring the moment. His head slams violently into the ceiling and his entire body bounces in the opposite direction, appendages flinging about. Glancing around, he makes sure no one sees him and mutters, "Stupid! Stupid idiot!"
posted by Ben at 9:49 AM
1 Comments:
sweet.
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