Hi! Thank you for reading Hmm … That’s Interesting, a reader-supported publication! A nightmare scenario is unfolding in space and we need to talk about it. Today’s issue is free. If you enjoy the newsletter and would like to support my work, as well as have access to the complete archive and all paywalled posts, please consider becoming a paid subscriber for $50/year ($4.17 a month!) or $5/month. I had a whole newsletter ready to go about writing and art and trying to do things with the almost-certain knowledge that you will fail many times, but then I found out about the two astronauts stuck in space.
Barry Wilmore and Sunita Williams arrived at International Space Station (there is something very funny, by the way, about naming an extraterrestrial station "international," like how deeply Model UN-coded) on June 6, for a mission that was intended to last eight days. Not only are they still there, almost three months later, but they are not expected to return back to Earth until February 2025 because NASA does not trust the new Boeing capsule, with its troubled thrusters (technical term!) and pesky helium leaks, to transport the astronauts back safely. Boeing, just to get us all on the same page, received a $4.2 billion contract from NASA in 2014 to build commercial flight capsules. This was its first manned attempt and as befits Boeing's general vibe lately, it did not go well.
If I was going on a week-long work trip with one colleague and due to someone else’s mistake, that trip was now long enough to make me miss the joy of walking past Christmas tree farms in December? Gladiator II’s release date? October’s crisp, ephemeral chill? I’d be on the phone with NASA’s HR department every single day. Naturally, I feel about space much the same way as I feel about the sea: I am not its intended resident and as such it remains starkly outside my purview. It is fine and normal to be fearful of a lack of atmosphere, thank you very much. I love atmosphere.
This might be a result of the summer I spent more hours a day watching The X Files than I did sleeping, but space as a general concept stresses me out and more importantly, I'll be so honest, astronauts freak me out. Mostly because I am suspicious of anyone doing so much work and developing a concerningly high risk tolerance simply for a chance to leave the planet. Are earthly pusuits not enough? What are you trying to escape? Sandra Bullock will forever be an icon and Alfonso Cuarón, I love your work, but I think it’s high time we all admit that Gravity (2013) was a horror movie. Uncertainty is one of my least favorite things, especially when my state of limbo is other people’s fault. If I’ve brought about my own suffering (more likely than you’d think!), I’ll do the stiff upper lip thing and I might even get smug about it, but if there’s someone to blame? And that someone just so happens to be a multi-billion corporation increasingly known for its errors? Miss Insufferable, here I come. Like, I get peeved when someone unilaterally moves a dinner reservation by half an hour, so I really do not want to imagine how I would react to a little call from my home planet — where I'm unexpectedly not currently residing — telling me my flight back would be delayed by a couple more months. Oh and also my return would be handled by Elon Musk's SpaceX. No worries, though! By now, I think we know each other well enough to agree that I wouldn't deal particularly well with this situation. There is no meditation deep enough: you'd have to put me in a coma and wake me up earthside. I get claustrophobic the last couple days of vacation with my best friends; if you tell me an eight-day trip is getting extended to nearly nine months and I can't even go on a little morning walk to get coffee and exorcise my demons in peace? I have to instead stay in monochrome lodging that might vey well be defective while staring at the empty black void of my current existence? And I have to miss the entire season of autumn? Oh, we would absolutely be having a problem. If I were Suni, I'd carve out time (a resource I'd now have in ample quantities) every morning to craft the perfect to-do list. It would, perhaps, go something like this: Suni's To-Do List:
In all seriousness, hoping these two have a proper mountain of mental health support and that they never have to work a day in their lives from the second they land back on Earth. Godspeed, etc. Thank you for reading! As always, you can find me on twitter, instagram, and tiktok. This newsletter is my pride and joy, with issues on topics like the celebrity apology industrial complex, Barbie’s Oscar noms, debriefing the Bezos’ fake normalcy, the media literacy crisis, and Stanley cups and hyperconsumerism. If you find yourself frequently enjoying these essays, please consider becoming a paid subscriber. P.S. Liking posts apparently makes a big difference for the ~algorithm~, so if you’ve enjoyed this issue and you’re inclined to hit the little heart, it wouldn’t be remiss! And if you share the post or a snippet on social media (thank you!), please tag me (I love to see it!), and include a link when possible (it does break my heart to make so many requests of you, my apologies). x
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