There was another group of tiny kids today -- 4 and 5 year olds. They were fine, really. They did show up 22 minutes late for an hour-long program, so that kind of stunk. But usually the little ones have a short attention span, anyway, so it's just as well they get a shorter production. And since it's just me up there spewing forth space-related info, I can go over as many things as I feel they can handle, and cut the programs short whenever I need to... it really is a decent system. Although it takes a lot of energy, it does allow for maximum flexibility. And keeps you awake more than just flipping a switch.

The little ones from today illustrated one of the things that is difficult with this age: one kid says something, and if it is greeted with interest or a laugh, all the other kids have to say it, too. Here's the example:

At the end of the program I always ask if there are questions. One of the kids raised her hand. I acknowledged her, and asked for her question.

"I like Pluto," she told me.

I said, "That's more of a statement, but that's good to know! Pluto's a nice planet, indeed!" A couple of parents laughed. Another kid raised his hand.

"I like Pluto," he told me.

I said, "That is, also, more of a statement. You and the girl over there should get together," I pointed at the first questioner, "she likes Pluto, too." The parents found this funny, as well, and laughed again. Another hand...

"I like Pluto," he told me.

I did not like where this was going. "I am glad so many people like Pluto, but usually people ask questions at this point. You ask me something that you want to know about, and I answer it." I said it with a generous tone; it didn't seem as if any of the kids or parents were put off by it, but it got real quiet. No one seemed to have any more questions.

Until one kid, face screwed tight in thought, raised her hand. "Do you have a question?" I asked her.

She nodded, and asked me, "Do you like Pluto?"

Not quite what I was hoping for, but I told her that I thought it was among my 9 favorite planets in our Solar System.

"I like Pluto, too," she told me.

"It looks like we all do," I responded, smiling frustratedly.

This one is not so much about a planetarium program, as it is a personal reflection.

I never wanted to be the mean teacher, the one that made you take out your gum. I never understood what the hubbub was about. You keep it in your mouth. It's keeps you quiet. What's wrong with gum? I don't chew it myself, but everyone should be allowed to at least chew gum. Food and drink could be spilled; I understand that. But what's the deal with gum? It's just gum -- no harm can come from gum.

The first time you have to scrape gum out of a carpet, your whole outlook changes. That's it, if I see a kid chewing gum I am going to go ballistic. I know, in days past, as a punishment, a teacher would make the kid put the gum on his or her nose. Not me. It's going in the hair.

I just got out of a program for a group of 4 and 5 year olds. I usually dread it when they bring them in that young. You really can't teach them much, they have the attention span of an epileptic badger, and there's usually a few afraid of the dark. "No, I can't put on a night light during the program." They are generally more impressed with my laser pointer than any of the space stuff. Oh, and they usually have those shoes that light up when you take a step. I really, really despise those filthy things. Whoever invented them should be tossed into a chipper-shredder. The kids kick the backs of the seats, annoying those in the seats, and causing the whole dark room to flare into a bright flickering light for two seconds. Urg.

Anyway, this particular group was not too bad. They had their usual foibles and annoyances, but somewhat less intensely than 4 year olds usually have.

I try to keep the kids participating. It helps to keep them interested, and when they answer questions correctly, it boosts their confidence. I usually start by talking about the Little Dipper for a bit, and then I let them help me lead into the next constellation: Big Dipper (and, yes, purists, I realize it's an asterism not a constellation proper). I ask the question: "If there's a Little Dipper, then there also has to be... what?" And generally they chime in, all together, with "BIG Dipper!".

Perhaps four years of age is too young to be asking this question. I did my usual, enthusiastic, prompting question: "If there's a Little Dipper, then there also has to be... what?"

And got nothing. Dead silence. For about 7 seconds, until one lonely little voice decided to try to rescue me from the uncomfortable silence... this boy said in a meek, hopeful tone:

"A horse?"

I just started laughing uncontrollably. They all thought that he said something really funny, too, because they started laughing, as well.

When I finally got my breath back, I explained that I thought they might have guessed that if we had a little something, that there was a chance that we might have a big one, as well.

I really don't think they understood, even after I explained it, because they were just quiet.

And a couple seconds later one of the kids asked, "But what about the horse?"

Yesterday was "Take Your Stupid Kid To Work Day". I'm not sure how obvious it is that I don't support this event. I help out, and of course, do a Planetarium program for the kids who come.

Now maybe I don't get the concept of "Take Your Stupid Kid To Work Day", but I thought it was to give kids an idea of what you did at work. Nobody at work besides me goes to Planetarium programs. So why do I get to have 31 rowdy, unsupervised kids for an hour? "Unsupervised?" you ask, incredulously. That's right, the parents don't stay with the kids, they drop them off at the "Take Your Stupid Kid To Work" program, and other people take them around to various events. It just doesn't make sense to me.

Last year's program did go worse. I actually had to stop in the middle, turn on the lights, and lecture the demons. This year I didn't actually have to stop, but they were still pretty miserable. Most were in the 13 to 15 year-old range, and those were most definitely the worst. They were born to heckle, apparently. I couldn't say one word without a comment coming back. I did have one of the kids say "I love Uranus," which I took as a compliment, and thanked him appropriately. But besides that, nothing could be construed as positive.

And they had lots of original things to say, too. "The moon's made of cheese." "That planet looks like an egg." "Are there aliens on Mars?" These are the statements/questions that I get from 5 year olds on occassion... ones who know better but think they are being funny. They ask once and have the maturity to move on. Not these teens. They just screamed them over and over and over.

I had one girl, maybe seven years old, who had seen my public storytelling program for very young kids a couple weeks before. She came and told me that she was sad, because she was interested in the program but couldn't hear what I had to say because of the idiots, and told me that she found it funny how the show I did for the three year olds had a better behaved audience. She was right.

There was one boy on my side, who really helped out. He only got them got them quiet for two mintues, but I appreciated it. As I was discussing the planets, one of the older kids kept chanting, "Man, I know the planets, in order. Man, I already know the planets. In order!" He had to have said it seven times in a row. This ten-year old boy nearby actually stood up and yelled at him, "So does my six-year old brother, now shut the hell up!!" It was a beautiful thing.

The second of three Saturday birthday parties was perhaps one of my favorite programs ever. It was for a 12-year old girl named Rita. She brought 11 of her friends, and her parents. They were there early (good!) and were wating patiently outside my door (good!). I went out to greet them, and the father paid the remainder of the fee immediately, without question (there is a $50 minimum for a show, usually they try to haggle).

There was something about these kids. They were energetic 12-year olds, but they were not inappropriate. They yammered on when they had a chance, but if it was time to listen, they would. When I asked them questions or suggested they think about something, they would. And they would make up answers that were goofy and clever and odd. But somehow not annoying -- they wouldn't shout or shriek like the kids usually do when they think they have done something particularly amusing.

Right from the beginning, they wanted me to talk about aliens. "Are there aliens?" "Where are they or where might they be?" Etc. When we started talking about Mars they got very excited. Mars is classically an avenue towards speaking about aliens. It has a rich history of people imagining life on Mars in a variety of ways.

They kept asking if we've found any evidence of life there, and I told them that it was quite the opposite -- everything we've seen so far indicates that Mars is quite devoid of life. They seemed a little sad... so I tried to reassure them. I didn't want to be a mean scientist. We talked about where life could be (underground, near the edges of the poles). And I suggested it would be unlike anything we had ever seen, and sat back to let them think about it.

They thought, and one girl quietly said, "You mean, maybe something like cannabalistic chickens?"

"Perhaps," I told her. She seemed quite satisfied.

Then, when we were talking about Mercury, which gets blistering hot on one side, and unimaginably cold on the other, one of the girls suggested that she "would probably go to the cold side. That way, my body would be frozen and preserved. OH! And when astronauts eventually came to Mercury and found me, I would be the most famous frozen dead person ever."

The first of three Saturday birthday parties began with me in a slight panic. These parents think up these big extravagant things for their 6 and 7 year olds' birthdays. I'm usually ready for anything. I had a group once that had to make 6 trips to the parking lot WITH A WAGON to bring down all the food they had to set up. It was catered food with sterno underneath and everything. I try to discourage this behavior. It amazes me when they come to a college campus planetarium how much they are incredulous that we aren't very well equipped to handle a birthday party. I think they want Chuck E Cheese in a space suit going around. It's crazy.

Anyway, this group showed up, and the first question was "Where can we hang the pinata?"

NOWHERE! It's a school! We have a drop-ceiling... there is not structure that you screw a bolt into and have your kids pound on a papier-mache stuffed animal. My actual words were a little gentler, but conveyed the same info.

They took it outside.

The group itself was a little rowdy, but it was fine, I guess. It was a birthday party, I usually steel myself for some craziness. I calmed them down, but let them get out their pent up energy as much as I could allow. I think they had fun.

Well, one kid had come VERY prepared. I saw him sitting with the heels of his hands over his mouth a few times. I had no idea why. I thought he might have been a little scared; sometimes the kids are scared of the dark. I was quite wrong. He was just waiting for just exactly right time....

Every time I said "Uranus" he made a fake fart sound. Every time. Right on cue. As if he had practiced this for WEEKS. I was actually quite impressed. I don't have a script; everything I say is spontaneous. I know the things I am going to talk about, but the wording, order and emphasis changes each time with the temperament, age, and interest of the group. So, it couldn't be that he had been to a show once or twice before and new when it he was going to make the noise, Rocky Horror Picture Show-style. He nailed it, everytime, though.

"Saturn's not the only planet with rings. Jupiter, Uranus," *--pppllppth!-* "and Neptune all have rings."

"This is a picture of Uranus." *-pppltt!-*

"Uranus" *-pplthhht!-* "kind of spins on its side."

It was really annoying, but I had to admire his timing.

Today I had some kids from a catholic school. Actually there were only 12 kids and 2 chaperones. That's a small group in a room with 80 seats. It was a nice mellow setting; it's usually pleasant to have a group that size, especially when they are at least middle school age, and these kids were all 7th/8th grade.

Four of them took a seat right next to and a little behind the control panel, so they were out of sight of me and anyone else. It's the perfect seat if you want to be inconspicuous. These guys obviously were. They were giggling and passing stuff back and forth through the entire show. I don't think they know that sitting back there also allows their voice to echo and bounce around the dome making every slight giggle sound like a hearty guffaw.

And I'm pretty sure they were dealing drugs back there, because money was changing hands. How do I know? Well, it wasn't a lot of money, it was just change. They were passing change back and forth between them. I could hear the distinct clink and chatter of a hand shuffling change. I guess this was catholic school drug dealing --

"Hey, Jimmy, whatchoo got today?"

"I got in the good stuff. I got some Flintstones vitamins."

"Yeah? You got the Betty Rubbles?"

"Naw, they go quick. But I got some Dinos left."

"Allright. I'll take seven dinos."

"That'll be fourteen cents. But you might be interested in something else..."

"What is it?"

"I got some orange flavored chewable aspirin. Just came in."

"Yeah? How much?"

"Four cents each. Three for a dime."

"Gimme a dime worth then."

"Have you done the orange chewables before?"

"No, but I heard about them! Better than the grape cough medicine, Petey told me."

"Yeah. Dimetapp is good stuff. But these are the real deal. Don't take them all at once! You might want to start with a half. And remember... You didn't get 'em from me."

As the kids approach the Planetarium, which is inside the school, I always halt them, and have them quiet down for the "We're going into a school. Quiet in the halls." speech. The different teachers and chaperones have different ways of quieting them down, but most have some kind of method. Some of them hold up two fingers, and everyone is supposed to hold up fingers and be quiet. Some clap out a rhythm, 'clap---clap---clap-clap-clap', and the kids all have to repeat the rhythm and then be quiet. Those are the most common.

A group of first graders yesterday paused outside the door, appropriately, and I told the teacher in the front that I just wanted to talk to them quick before we went inside. She told me that was fine, and turned around to the group, thrust one hand up in the air and yelled "Number one!" All the kids thrust their hands in the air, pointing one finger up in a 'number one' sort of salute, and were quiet.

Number one? I was a little confused.

I asked the teacher if there was a number two. Apparently there is not. It's just number one. Wild. She explained that it was something the principal of the school had come up with during an assembly to get all the kids to listen, and it just kind of stuck.

Now, maybe this is something from a bygone age, but, when I was in first grade, and raised my hand and said "Number one" that meant I had to go to the bathroom. And perhaps it is some sort of Pavlovian conditioning, but every time they did their "number one" (which happened a couple times before the show began) it gave me the urge to pee.

I had a another show today, actually my third of the day, which was from a local girls-only school. They were fourth graders, and quite smart. They had just done projects on the planets, so they were pretty well informed. The show went quite nicely, really, though in the middle of the program we had a question and answer session. That is a smidge difficult in complete darkness. We muddled through, but I had to skim over some stuff that I usually do in more detail.

The end of the show is a good example of how kids this age latch onto a "what if" concept and refuse to let go. At the end, when I do question and answer, I had a few of the usual suspect questions, and then a question of "Does a planet ever blow up?"

Now, this is an odd question to start with, but I wasn't too thrown off. We had been talking about stars and supernovae. We also mentioned some planets beyond our solar system, and that some of them we have been calling "hot jupiters"; something between a gas giant (like Jupiter) and a star (like the sun). If Jupiter is a ball of gas, just not massive enough to start fusion at the level of the sun, and a star like the sun could one day blow up, why not a planet? They were making connections, they were trying to apply their knowledge to new concepts and come up with new scenarios and explore them. As a teacher, this is what I think of as 'success'. They're exploring... trying to understand something just outside of their scope. I was kind of thrilled. Even if it was an odd, impossible scenario, it was poking at the edges of their understanding.

I explained that "No, a planet, at least each of the planets we know, is nice and stable. It doesn't blow up." She seemed satisfied. Next question...

"What would happen if a planet blew up?"

I thought for a moment -- "Though, as I just said, that doesn't happen, I guess it would just explode, and throw matter out in space. But planets don't just blow up. So it's kind of silly to even mention." Next question...

"What would happen if the Earth blew up?"

All right, we are headed down a dangerous path. "It's really a question we don't need to ask, since it won't happen."

"But what if it did?" was the reply.

"I guess, just what I said before... the matter would be scattered out from an explosion. Just a big explosion. It's the same as if anything blows up."

"Would we all die?" was the follow-up.

"I guess so," now I was getting worried. "But that will not ever happen."

I look around, and there are no more hands up. Thank goodness. I've escaped, only slightly rattled.

A hand goes up, and I acknowledge it.

"What if Jupiter blows up?"

"What do you mean?" I ask.

"Would we all die?"

Oh my. "It doesn't matter. Since it won't happen. And since it won't happen, I can't answer that. Jupiter will not blow up."

"But what if it does? Would it affect us here on Earth?"

I have no idea what it is in my brain that causes me to feed a line of questioning like this. "Well, it won't happen, but if it did, sure. Jupiter is so massive, that I am sure an exploding Jupiter would have an affect on Earth."

"Oh," was the reply.

YES! She had said "Oh."! "Oh." is the ultimate conversation ender. There is no where to go after "Oh." Dead end. Fini. I had made it out of this conversation alive!

Look, one more question... "Yes?" I prompt the girl.

"What kind of an effect?"

Urg. "I really don't know. I'm kind of making these answers up as I go along. These things can't happen, so I can't begin to guess. I've tried a little, but I've gone as far as I can. Sorry."

"Oh."

This time, the conversation closure stuck.

The first show today was a group of sixty-three 2nd grade students. The program went well, they seemed to be quite impressed with the big dipper, for some reason. When that picture went up -- WOW. I'm not sure what that was about. Anyway, the important part of our story was the end of the program, which included the usual second grade questions: "Is Pluto a planet?" "How many moons does Mars/Jupiter/Saturn/etc. have?" I mentioned that there were some new moons of Jupiter discovered, bringing the current total up to 52. (It turns out that since I checked this morning, the total has risen to 60. It's all happening too fast to keep up with! Here's info on Jupiter, if you want it!)

Anyhoo, there was a kid who raised his hand. He was a young looking second grader, so he was probably six or seven years old. I found out later that his name is James. I also found out that among the 13000 visitors I've had, he is perhaps the most precocious. He asked "Are any of the recently discovered Jovian moons of a size that rivals or exceeds the Galilean satellites?"

YOINKS!

I was rather blown away, as you might imagine. I hesitantly answered --

"They are rather small, most only a few miles across..." I paused to eye up his reaction. He looked back with understanding and reason.

"... they orbit in a retrograde fashion as compared to the Galilean moons..." I spoke slowly and paused, gauging his reaction, expecting (only because of his age) him to drift off or stop understanding. I only received a rapt gaze filled with a yearning for me to continue.

"...and they are likely gravitationally attrated to the large planet, yanked from the asteroid belt." Most kids his age have a vague notion of asteroids as little hunks of stuff floating around in space. Gravity makes stuff fall down.

This kid simply replied, as he nodded, "Ah. Similar to Deimos and Phobos. It would be likely they are irregularly shaped as those are. It's probably difficult to tell at that distance..." He trailed off, looking at me expectantly and waiting for me to confirm his suspicions.

I just started for a second and said, "Uh, huh," as I nodded my head slowly. He nodded back, mouth pinched tight and brow wrinkled as he digested this information.

I should point out that MOST of the rest of the class had realized that our thirty-plus year-old seats in the Planetarium room, though very comfortable, had, in many cases, developed a squeak when opened and closed quickly. They were enthralled by the squeaky sound. They would squeak a chair and then giggle.

I feel kind of bad for James. He's conversing with me on a graduate level, and the rest of them are basically conversing with squeaks. I leaned down and told James he could take one of my college classes anytime to try to give him a little ego boost. He just kind of shrugged and tilted his head a bit. He was unimpressed; his expression was one of "that really goes without saying".

On the way out, one of the teachers leaned into me and told me that James keeps a journal of the stuff he knows about space. Apparently it's quite an impressive body of work -- could probably be used as a freshman-level textbook. She said that he asks questions all the time and she simply has to tell him that the textbook doesn't cover that and it is out of the scope of her knowledge. You're not supposed to have to worry about those things when teaching SECOND GRADE!

Also briefly, and also unrelated: (well, related to the previous item which was unrelated) OK. I'm getting a little more blog savvy.

Briefly, and unrelated: I am somehow blog inept.

For approximately one year, I have been working in a Planetarium. I tend to relate stories about the programs, some funny, some annoying, some rather plain. People who hear the stories have suggested I publish them in some fashion, so that the entire world could be amused, disturbed, or bored, as they have.

Thus, this blog has begun.