A notebook bulletin board
tacked on when randomly bored
applied thoughts in a scribblebook
open for the world to look who passes by
so fast to see like a needle in a haystack we
safely stash those innermost secrets thought to be
at least you see languishing up and into pristine
blossoms for you to pick and sniff and hope
they don't make you sick.

12/7/23

Atmospheric Macrolensing

 by  Shaun Lawton 





   This morning while staring at the crescent moon hung low over the mountains, I began to wonder how come the moon itself looks so large in our sky?    I've seen how far from Earth it really is courtesy of diagrams online, and their depiction of its size relative to our planet, and I began to wonder if perhaps the reason why the moon looks so large every so often is because its image has been magnified by our atmosphere. Of course, I already know that the real reason is based on the oscillating distance of the moon as it constantly orbits Earth, which results in its size changing only by a margin of 10%.  I'm writing this impromptu essay because I like to play with false notions, you understand, since deep inside I feel they may lead to other, separate connections that may be valid in their own context.  

    For example, we all know what gravitational microlensing is, and the idea behind it has  spurred me to wonder if there's any such thing as a sort of microlensing initiated from our own planet, which is to say when our line of sight passes through our Sun's own gravitational field while it aims for the stars.    The thought then occurred to me:  Are the pin-prick points of the stars and constellations we see with our naked eyes magnified in any way by virtue of the "lens of our own planet's atmosphere"-?  If there's no magnification effect for our moon, then one would assume there may not be any for our view of the stars, either.  

     My imagination allows me to continue wondering, if we viewed the stars from outside our planet's atmosphere--from just beyond our moon, for example--wouldn't the micro-pinpricks that we'd assume would represent each star "out there" be so miniscule as to potentially be missed by the naked eye (considering the immense distance between us)?  Who knows? This notion of a sort of "ground zero based gravitational microlensing" (begun from necessarily viewing "out there" through our own Sun's immense gravitational field) is certainly fun to think about, everything considered. If it operates in a  somewhat analogous manner to the standard gravitational microlensing (allowing astronomers to use distant star's gravitational fields to further magnify territories beyond them) is certainly a question left lingering in my own imagination.    

      In any case, I figure that if Earth did not possess any atmosphere,  our moon itself would appear smaller to the naked eye, but apparently this is not the case, from what online searches tell me.  It's only a hunch when I imagine that the stars & constellations themselves would appear tinier, like diamond point font, or perhaps even unnoticeable to the naked eye, just a sort of unified ambient haze practically indistinguishable from darkest gray and the blackness of outer space.  I just don't know.  

     These are the sorts of thoughts that I assume typically run through the minds of most people, although often I wonder if I'm among the very few who are prone to relentlessly pursue each subsequent link in the expansive, interlinked chains of logical associations which necessarily accompany base assumptions about the nature of things. 

   What if?  What if the starry field of constellations we've mapped out so well over the centuries happens to be an elaborate sort of "optical illusion" cast by the interaction between our own Sun's light and that of all the remaining stars in our galaxy?  What if we have been led to mistakenly assume that each star "out there" [which is really long, long, long, long ago dead to us] was "a remote physical object" that we could "actually somehow reach with an adequate spacecraft," when in reality no such thing even remotely like that could possibly exist? What if

12/6/23

Toward vs. Towards



Web search results display blogversations which indicate that with the 's' is the British way, and without it, the American way. I don't know for sure, but personally, I don't think that gets to the bottom of it. 

I think (or like to pretend at least) that it's finer than that.
(I need help from experienced, language professionals, on this issue.)


These words, man...they are some volatile, dangerous stuff.

If you ask me, I think we should be using the 's' when the word being modified is plural, and drop it when it's singular. 

Case in point:

You wouldn't say "a thousand arrows rained down toward me" unless you specifically meant to point out that they were all launched at the same time. Thus raining down all at once, in one fell swoop. That would indicate a singular mass of arrows--falling toward me.

Another example. Take the rain (for instance):

"A million rain drops fell toward me" vs. "a million rain drops fell towards me."

The former would indicate the rainfall as a frozen moment in time: you know how, if you stare out at the rain, you can slow down and even momentarily freeze sections of falling raindrops, as your eyes glance downward at matching rates of speed? It's sort of like that, when using the singular, without the 's'.  But if you wanted to indicate the continuing or rather, constant fall of rain drops, you would use the plural form, with the 's': "A million rain drops fell down from the sky towards me."

A couple more examples, to rest my case: 

"What looked like three street thugs working together began ambling over towards me."
vs.
"The police officer walked directly toward me."

Look, I realize what I'm pointing out here probably isn't even a thing. I am just working toward understanding towards.  Any help would be vastly appreciated. . .