Like a star...

Hey, all. Long time no write. Sorry is me.

The groups are coming fast and furious-like. I know I have lots of stories that I didn't jot down, and now are totally gone. This makes me sad. I know that when I go back and review old entries there are many stories which I wouldn't have remembered otherwise , or didn't remember at all. I realize that this is no "Diary of Anne Frank", but it's nice to have a memior, of sorts, so I need to come back and do this more. This my Thanksgiving Resolution (New Year's is still too far off).

Also, when I look back, I am horrified at the misspellings and back grammar. I need to hire a proofreader.... yeeps.


Anyway... the other day I had a group from the Teaneck Community Charter School. They were rowdy. They were mostly into it, but they had a level of adrenaline unfit for an hour in a dark room.

One kid did make me laugh.

I was describing the star Rigel in Orion. It's blueish looking. I told them that blue stars are generally hot stars. AND, generally, they are newer stars. I said, when you see a blue star, you can be fairly certain that you can say, "It's new, it's blue, and it's hot."

One boy said, with a real smooth street-pimp-sounding accent, "Just like me."

This was fourth grade, by the way.

This Shouldn't Have Been So Funny

I had a group of 3 and 4 year olds from the on-campus day care center today. When kids this age come, they often want to tell me about their pets or toys or something they had recently done. This group was no exception.

I have slides of the planets set up, and can turn them on individually until I get past Saturn. Uranus, Neptune and Pluto are all on one switch -- I turn all three on at once (when I set it up, I had basically run out of switches).

Uranus and Neptune are right next to each other -- basically like this:


When I got to this point one kid excitedly wanted to tell me something. "Ooh! OOooooh!" he was yelling.

"Is there something you wanted to tell me?" I asked.

"Yeah!" he said.

"What is it?"

"Those two planets...!" he started.

"Uranus and Neptune?" I pointed at them with my laser pointer.

"Yeah! I have balls like that!"

I almost wet myself.

He did go on to explain about his set of blue balls, but I had to hum a tune in my head to block it out, because my 8th grade sense of humor was rioting out of control.


I am a sick, sick person. But, really, it was funny, especially since it was so completely unexpected.

I had a camp group today. They are always tricky, because they bring vast age ranges. The kids today were between 5 and 13 years old. That is a HUGE range.

This group was actually quite good for a camp group. They shouted out questions on occasion, but they were appropriate and rare. And that's fine by me -- it can actually enhance the program.

After I showed some constellation pictures, one of the younger kids yelled out a question. It was kind of muffled, and had a kid accent, so what I heard him say was, "How goes the parables?"

"What was that?" I asked.

"How old are the animals?" he asked. Well, that was a little better of a question.

"Oh!" I felt relieved, "those constellation shapes have been around for thousands of years." I knew he'd be impressed.

"Nuh-uh," he said.

My brain started shuddering: Nuh-uh? NUH-UH? What do you mean 'Nuh-uh?!' How could this go wrong?? It was very simple... OK, brain, we can handle this. Let's work it out...

"Seriously!" I told him, "Most of those pictures were thought up by people a couple thousand years ago!"

"Oh," the kid said. "But how OLD are they?"

Kids. They will put me in a little white coat with straps on the sleeves.

"Thousands of years!" My voice had taken on a sad, whiny quality.

"Nope," the kid said, "cuz they'd be dead."

It is never good when the conversation turns to death. I thought I might get out of this now, though...

"Well, they're not real," I said. "They're just pretend pictures."

"They'd still be dead," he said.

"They're made up pictures. Like a dot-to-dot picture you draw! They're not alive," I felt proud at the comparison.

"So they're dead," he said confidently. OK, maybe I should have left off the 'they're not alive' part.

"Not really. They're not alive OR dead. They're just make-believe." MAKE-BELIEVE!! I'm pretty sure I haven't used that term in 25 years. I hoped that would be the end of it.

"So why are they in heaven? They must be dead," he said it quietly, with a tone that indicated reverence for the deceased.

The only worse that the conversation turning to death is when it turns to religion. And with all the evidence to the contrary, I do know when I'm beaten.

"I'm not quite sure," I said.

I hate it when I fail in a battle of wits with a 5 year-old.


Although I don't have much to compare it to: I don't know what it feels to WIN in a battle of wits with a 5 year-old. Someday.


Someday.

Out of Bounds

We are doing a College for Kids program this week. I have done week-long classes for these kids at least 3 times, and this has to be the last time.

I kind of hoped this week would be a good one, but that was just silly.

I came in the beginning of this week super-cranky. This is not a good way to start, and I may have been a little rough at the beginning.

The first class starts at 9:00. I came in at 8:30, and tried to shuffle some things together. Five minutes after I arrived, one of the people working for the College for Kids program knocked on my door. I frantically waved her in...

"What do you want the kids to do?" she asked me. (Remember, class starts in TWENTY FIVE MINUTES.)

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Do you just want them to wait outside the Planetarium?" she asked.

"As opposed what?" I asked, quite annoyed.

"Well, I wasn't sure what you wanted to do while they were waiting," she said. She appeared to have noticed my annoyance.

"I don't really care what they do right now, I'll worry about them in 25 minutes," I said.

"OK," and she left.

I felt kind of bad about being so cranky. I'm usually not that rude. But I am just the teacher from 9:00 to 10:30! Outside of that, I can't be responsible for those demons! I have trouble enough during the class...


I should really have some coffee before I talk to people in the morning.

Tautologically Speaking

I had a birthday party earlier this week. If you've read this blog before, you know that birthday parties are the bane of my existence.

This was a largeish group -- 25 kids, 25 adults -- for a 5 year old's birthday. They were as rowdy as usual. They had just come from having cake in the cafeteria, so the sugar rush was in full effect.

They adults wrangled the kids into the dome and seats. I turned to the mother and asked, "Is everyone in?" She told me, "Yes."

So, I started to bring the lights down, and doing my talkies when two guys came into the room. Of course, they couldn't be part of this party, since I had just confirmed that everyone was in.

So I galloped over to the door, and asked the guys what they were doing. "We're here for the show."

"This is a private party," I told them.

"I know," one of the guys said, "It's for my son."

What the hell?

I turned to the Mom, "I thought you said everyone was in?! The kid's father wasn't even in!"

"OH! When you asked me before, I thought you were just talking about the people in the room," she told me.

Blink.

Blink. Blink.


So, in case you are keeping score, she thought I was asking if the people in the room were all in the room.

The headache began right then.

Trumped!

I have almost always started my shows with an, "Are you guys ready?!" It seems to get them all psyched up, and also focused on the fact that we are about to begin.

Lately, after that question...

    ["Are you guys ready?!?!"
    "YEAH!"]

... I have added this question: "Am I ready?!?!"

They usually all yell back -- "YEAH!!"

I then look at them quizzically and say, more quietly, and slightly accusingly, "How would you know that?" It sometimes makes them laugh, but always makes me laugh, which is much more important. It's like I've won some weird game of Simon Says that my opponents didn't realize they were playing.

Anyway, I just had a group of mainly 8 and 9 year olds. I started the same way:

    "...you guys ready?!"
    "YEAH!!"
    "Am I ready?!?"
    "YEAH!!!!"

    Quizzically, I said: "How would you know that?!?"

I was ready to start laughing inside when one kid replied without hesitation:
    "Cuz you're wearing a tie!!"

Touché.

8 year old: 1.
Astronomer: zero.

The Literal Group

Well, it's been four months since I've posted anything. (I am slapping my own knuckles with a ruler.) Sorry.

Today I had a group from a camp. They are always QUITE rowdy, and this group was no exception. They did have a sort of sarcastic savvy that made me laugh a few times.

The show ended with a perfect example of their style -- At the end of most shows, a teacher or responsible adult will question/command the crowd: "What do you say to the nice astronomer?" And they all, of course, respond with a resounding "Thank you!"

For this group, one of the counselors yelled to them: "Say 'Thank you!', please."

Sixty-some-odd campers ALL said, in unison, "Thank you, please!"

It's going to be a long summer.

The Zen of Discipline

I had a group of Kindergarten kids on Friday. I swear they seem younger every time I see them.

The kids seemed pretty good, just a little chatty as they got settled. I stepped up to introduce myself, and start the program. One of the teachers saw that I was doing that, and stepped up also to quiet the kids down.

She said to them, "OK, kids. The man needs to hear your quiet now."

'Hear your quiet??' Does quiet make a sound? It seemed like a terribly odd turn of phrase, especially directed at grammar-molding children.


Now that they've left, do I see their disappearance?

The New Science.

I had one of my favorite groups come back! The Kent Place school is a private school for girls, and they always bring the smartest 4th graders I get to see. I actually made sure I didn't schedule a show directly after them because they ALWAYS have question -- good questions.

We were talking about a mission called Deep Impact which is going to use an 800 pound bullet to blow a giant hole in the side of a comet. There are ALWAYS questions about this mission, and this group certainly had a bunch of questions.

Usually, I get asked about if the bullet will knock the comet off course. (It will not.)

One of these girls asked that question, and I answered like I usually do: "This comet will be large enough that the 800 pound bullet will have the same effect as a mosquito hitting the windshield of a car. If a mosquito hits the windshield, does the car slow down?"

"NO!" they all yell back. Which is what I expect.

"Actually, that's not true... the car DOES slow down. It HAS TO. Ever action has an equal and opposite reaction. The car slows down, but it does so immeasurably. It will be similar with the comet. It will slow down a miniscule bit. Like the car does -- almost not at all. But the car does have to slow down. That's physics."

I then stood there proudly grinning as that set in, content that I have transferred a tiny bit of knowledge.

The girl who asked the question was really thoughtful for a second, and then asked, "Well, what if physics is wrong?"

Wow. Brilliant. "That's possible," I told her. "We're still learning about the universe around us -- we've made physics to help us explain things. And sometimes we're wrong."

She just grinned at me and nodded at me with an expression that indicated she knew that's where the conversation would end -- it looked content that she had transferred to me a tiny bit of knowledge.

No New Tale to Tell.

Yesterday I had a 5th grade group from a local Catholic school. I remembered this group from last year because they had asked specifically for stuff about using the sky for navigation, like Columbus did in 1492.

I moved the sky to the Southeastern US, and showed how the North Star can be used to both show the direction of North, and how its height above the horizon also indicates how far North you are. This year, I decided to go further, and show them how navigation is different in the southern hemisphere (no "South Star", for example).

I had some stuff set up with some African myths related to the night sky, and told the story of Tutlwa, the giraffe, who helps the Venda know when to plant crops.

At the end of the show, one of the parents came up to me and said, "I was here last year, and I was SO hoping you would tell the giraffe story again. It's my favorite. And I brought my son" (she pointed at a 4ish-year old next to her) "and even dressed him in a giraffe shirt!" This was indeed, the case.

The problem with her statement: I MADE THAT STORY UP 2 WEEKS AGO. It doesn't exist. It's fake. There IS a Tutlwa constellation related to a giraffe, BUT I MADE UP THE STORY. I used the picture as a springboard to make up a Kipling-esque story about the giraffe having a short neck, and how it got long -- it was a cute story, but it's a pretty recent invention.

It was so strange. And I'm quite sure I've NEVER told any other story related to giraffes.

It's freaking me out just a little bit.

Heaven is a place near Earth.

I had a group of very small children today. It was a nursery school, so they were between 3 and 5 years old. They were a little too excited about the laser pointer, but they settled down after a little while.

I spend much of my time with this age group talking about how different the moon and the planets are from the Earth. We started with the moon. After talking about a couple lunar features, I asked...

"Could we live on the moon?"

"NO!" They all cheerily announced.

"Why not?" I asked.

I got very quiet. They just sat there. I was about the put them out of their misery when a small girl timidly suggested, "Because God lives there...?"

You never know what a kid this age is going to come out with. I figured I would investigate further...

"God lives on the moon...?" I asked her.

"I think so," she told me.

"So why couldn't we live there, too?" I asked.

"He's a big man," she told me.


"Oooh." I let it go at that.

"There are emergency exits in the Southeast and Southwest sides of the room..."

Every year, a temple comes to the Planetarium to celebrate a Havdala service. (I hope I spelled that correctly.) They have done this for many years -- since before I worked here. In fact, Jennifer, an ex-Planetarium director, comes to perform most of the science end of the program. The rabbi and other members of the temple do parts of the program, as well.

Basically, a 'standard' program is done, about stars and planets and stuff, and then the religious folks come in and talk about how it relates to the Jewish faith, and then an actual service happens. Part of which is the lighting of a big candle.

This ALWAYS makes me nervous. It's big and smoky. I am always afraid that the sprinklers are going to kick in.

The rabbi, David, lit the candle this year, as he always does. My gut clenched up, like it always does.

I need to set a little bit of the scene now: He is on one end of the room, standing behind a lab table. I am on the opposite side of the room behind the control panel. On the table is the lit candle.

Rabbi David says, "Wow! I bet this would look great in the middle of the room." To me, he calls, "Would it be OK if I moved the candle to the middle of the room?"

I yelled across to him, "I guess so. We've never done it before, but we can try." I actually thought this might be better -- in the middle of the room, the ceiling is WAY up there, nice and far away from the flame. "Before you do, I want to remind everyone that there are exits on both sides of the room." Everyone got a chuckle at this, which is what I intended.

So David picked up the tray with the lit candle, turned to carry it around the table, and the candle tumbled right off the tray he was holding. I watched it disappear behind the table.

The next thing I see is David and another person stomping away behind the table. I just put my head in my hands -- I couldn't watch.

(Damage report: There was not much -- it appears that they just managed to scrunch some melted wax into the carpet.)

David then says, "I think maybe I'll just keep the candle up here."

"I like that idea," I told him.

Holey moley, it's been nearly 2 months since I've been here in Blogland. Things have happened. I have not recorded them. I have forgotten most of it.

I feel bad. That stuff is gone forever.

So now I must get back into it!

And so, welcome back.