Showing posts with label Astronomy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Astronomy. Show all posts

Friday, March 31, 2023

The Jerusalem Post asteroid phenomenon

AC has been posting these headlines as they appear, but I think you have to have them all together in one place to get the full effect:


What's going on, and what happened in June 2022? Is it comms? Did their asteroid editor have a psychotic break? Has their asteroid editor been replaced by an AI? I don't have any theories, but it's certainly strange.

Tuesday, November 22, 2022

The JFK assassination coffee commercial, and lunar eclipses

In a comment posted on November 6, Debbie linked a video of a CBS news bulletin announcing the shooting of John F. Kennedy, followed by a coffee commercial.

Yesterday, I posted about how Google only returns a few hundred results for any search, even though it claims to have millions. In connection with that, I ended up watching a video called "Where Did the Rest of the Internet Go?" from a channel called Truthstream Media, by Aaron and Melissa Dykes.

This led me to check out other things on their channel, and today I began watching their 3-hour documentary "The Minds of Men."


Starting at the 2:10 mark, it plays the end of the CBS bulletin about the JFK assassination and the beginning of the coffee commercial following.

The JFK/coffee clip came in the middle of footage of someone typing a letter dated June 25, 1964. I had a nagging feeling that June 25, or the number 625, had some synchronistic relevance, but so far I can't figure out what it might be. Searching my own blog for that number turns up only my mathematical posts (on beta diversity and figurate numbers), where it appears as just another number.

Now, having typed that, suddenly I know: June 25, 1964, was the date of a total lunar eclipse, or "blood moon." For my November 9 post "Once in a red moon," I had counted all the total lunar eclipses since June 1946, and while I can't consciously remember any of the eclipse dates I looked at, I suddenly feel absolutely certain that there was an eclipse on June 25, 1964. Well, let's check.

Well, how about that? It was a lunar eclipse, but a partial one -- so it wasn't on the list I looked at, which only listed total lunar eclipses. So how did I know about it?

But now I realize that I typed in the wrong year: 1945. and I know why: Earlier in the video, at the 0:29 mark, the year 1945 is displayed, as the date of the United Nations Conference on International Organization in San Francisco. I accidentally got the two dates mixed up. How weird that it still ended up being the date of a lunar eclipse!

So I put in the correct date, and -- lightning proceeds to strike twice in the same place:

I have no explanation for this. What are the chances that I would spontaneously remember the exact date of a lunar eclipse in 1964, then mistype the date into Google and have the mistyped date also be the date of a lunar eclipse?

Incidentally, why did the number 1945 stick in my mind enough to make me google the wrong date? Because I had just listened to the Jay-Z track "Encore," where he says, "When I come back like Jordan, wearin' the 4-5, it ain't to play games witchoo"; elsewhere on the same track he raps "I came, I saw, I conquered," and just as I listened to that line a girl walked past wearing a black T-shirt with "Veni Vidi Vici" in white letters." Of course, 45 is also the number of Trump, who was born on a Blood Moon.

Actually, it wasn't the original "Encore"; it was the mashed-up-with-Linkin-Park version. When I'm in a certain frame of mind, I really dig this stuff.


I don't know who thought these two songs would go well together -- Chester's all "I'm at the end of my rope and can't take much more of this," and Jay be like "Can I get a encore? Do ya want more?" -- but it sort of works. Kind of a Veteran Cosmic Rocker vibe.



Note added: I just noticed that I happened to post this in the early hours of November 22 -- the anniversary of JFK's murder.

Wednesday, November 9, 2022

Once in a red moon?

Election Day in the US coincides this year with a total lunar eclipse, being hyped in the press as a "Blood Moon."

Donald Trump's birth on June 14, 1946, also coincided with a total lunar eclipse.

There were only 19 total lunar eclipses in the years between those two dates, so it's not something that happens all that often.

The moon being "turned into blood" is an apocalyptic sign in the Bible (Joel 2:31, Acts 2:20, Rev. 6:12).

I didn't see the eclipse, but on the night of November 8, approximately ten minutes before midnight here in Taiwan, I happened to step outside and look at the sky at just the right moment to see a brilliant green fireball streak across the sky and burn out. Like the meteor I saw this March, it traced a corkscrew path, but its overall direction was downward. My immediate thought -- probably influenced by the 369 tissues I recently saw, which featured the Chinese characters 綠電, literally "green lightning" -- was "I beheld Satan as lightning fall from heaven" (Luke 10:18). It felt like a portent, but of what?

Thursday, July 21, 2022

Three in a row

I snapped this photo at 2:18 on the morning of July 21, 2022. As usual, the image quality is terrible, but it at least shows the configuration of the heavenly bodies.


That’s the Moon, Jupiter, and Saturn. I suppose it’s fairly obvious which is which. If you draw a line from Saturn to Jupiter, it passes right through the Moon. Although you can’t see it in the photo, it’s a third-quarter Moon, and the terminator runs perpendicular to the Jupiter-Saturn line, with the Saturn-ward side illuminated. The whole configuration is as geometrically precise as a crop circle.

Things like this always feel meaningful, though I struggle to conceptualize how anything as mechanical and predetermined as the motion of the planets could be meaningful. It’s the old Shining Buddha Problem, still unresolved.

Tuesday, July 19, 2022

More halos and another astronomical dream

Last night Jupiter was even closer to the Moon, and again an even cover of cirrostratus made them the only visible heavenly bodies. This time I saw the faintest halo imaginable -- certainly nothing I could pick up on my phone's camera -- but it was enormous. It looked to have about the same radius as a rainbow, which would be 42 degrees. Actually, it must have been 46, since 46-degree halos are a recognized phenomenon. 

According to Wikipedia, 22-degree halos occur around either the Sun or the Moon and are quite common. The article on 46-degree halos says they are rare and only mentions them occurring around the Sun -- so I guess 46-degree lunar halos must be quite rare indeed. Certainly I had never seen one before.

That night, I dreamed that the appearance of the sky had suddenly and permanently changed. There was a rainbow in the sky now all the time, even at night, but it was not really arc-shaped, nor was it a smooth continuum of hues. It had more the shape and texture of a rainbow-colored spectrogram of human speech, made up of many lines of bright color separated by dark spaces.

I was the only one who was not surprised by this change. I told a few people, "I read a book that said this was going to happen. The author predicted it years ago and said that it would be a sign of the Second Coming. Later scientists will discover that it's caused by the fact that there are now two Suns, a red one and a green one, though we can only ever see one of them at a time and it always looks white."

It wasn't long before the entire world had discovered the book I mentioned, and it was all over TV and the Internet. It had a plain yellow-beige cover, with the title and author's name printed in black and a very simple rosette design, also black, between the two. The name and title were not well-defined in the dream, but it was clear that the author was a French Catholic philosopher -- not Jacques Maritain, but someone of that general breed. The title, which was English (presumably a translation), included the word Rosary, and one of the things the book implied was that people praying the Rosary would be a contributing factor in causing this pre-apocalyptic transformation of the sky.

I was standing outside with a few family members, looking at the new sky. Someone pointed out to the horizon, where an enormous dark figure was looming, and said, "Look at that! Isn't that -- Godzilla?" It wasn't Godzilla exactly -- more mammal-like or even Permian-looking, I think, with a face vaguely reminiscent of Dimetrodon -- but it was a gigantic monster of that general type. "Yes," I said, "the author predicted that as well."

Monday, July 18, 2022

Jupiter in a halo

I've been getting a lot of these weird little hunches recently.

At about a quarter to three this morning, I was nudged by an intrusive thought which, while not quite verbal, amounted to: You're going to see something in the sky. This was accompanied by a faint, not-quite-visual sense of a very large disk. Without questioning anything or formulating any particular expectations, I immediately got up, put on a pair of flip-flops, and went outside.

There was a very thin cirrostratus cloud layer covering the whole sky, just thick enough that the only visible heavenly bodies were the gibbous Moon and Jupiter, and just barely thick enough to make visible a 22-degree halo around the Moon, with Jupiter inside the halo.

I went inside, got my phone, and took a photo. Photos of the night sky never come out well, but you can sort of see the halo in this one. (The bright speck to the left is Jupiter. The other speck, closer to the Moon, is an artifact of the camera; there was nothing in the sky at that point.)


Minutes later, the clouds had thinned and the halo was gone. I caught it at just the right time.

Thursday, March 24, 2022

Saturday, March 19, 2022

Meteor sync

Earlier today I posted about meteorites at The Magician’s Table.

A few hours later, a student happened to ask me how to say “shooting star” in Chinese.

Then, at about half past midnight, I stepped outside for a few minutes and saw an extremely large meteor streak by overhead. It was a good six or seven arcminutes across at the wide end, and the strangest thing was that the path it traced was not a straight line but a squiggle, almost as if it were swimming like a fish rather than falling. I’m pretty sure it’s physically impossible for a meteor to do that, but that’s what I very clearly saw. I remember some years ago reading a description of a comet with its tail “luffing like a sail in the wind” and thinking that was completely ridiculous, but it would be an excellent way of describing what this meteor was doing. No idea what to make of it, and the timing only adds to the weirdness.

Update: I've found the luffing comet reference. It's from The Secret School by Whitley Strieber, p. 100.

A little boy is taken out of his life and made to confront a strange machine. Maybe he resists, maybe he even screams, but he looks in it, he cannot resist, first once and then many times.

He sees a glowing mass of material, pure white. Above it there is a comet, and the comet is moving. I recall the tail, which was very different from that of an ordinary comet. You could see its movement, you could see it luffing like a winded sail.

I've seen comets -- Halley's in 1986 and Hale-Bopp in 1997 -- and they don't do that. Strieber says as much when he says the luffing tail was "very different from that of an ordinary comet." Meteors don't do it, either. Strieber saw this luffing comet while wearing a VR helmet -- it wasn't real -- but I saw my squiggly meteor with my own eyes in a perfectly normal state of consciousness. It was in every other way an ordinary meteor; nothing even remotely UFO-like about it,

Update 2: Apparently meteors do sometimes squiggle. This article quotes a planetarium director saying, "I’ve seen some fireballs corkscrew before during some meteor showers." This thread also addresses the question.

I saw a zig zag meteorite in Bukuru, Northern Nigeria, when I was about 13 in 1959. That started from small to increasing swings, then went out near the horizon. For many years I puzzled about this, but rarely mentioned it, because no one would believe it. Years later I attended an astronomy lecture at college in London. I cornered the astronomer with this sighting and he said we know what this is. A flat dish shaped meteorite enters the atmosphere shallowly & flies in a circular motion that gets wider as it approaches the earth then extinguishes. Seeing this from the horizon, it appears to zigzag down. He told me that I was very very lucky to witness this meteor show, and I am glad that others have seen it too.

Update 3: When I was searching for Strieber's luffing comment reference, I found this just three pages later, describing a childhood phobia: "Many a night, my mother would carry me naked to the bathroom mirror to prove to me that I was not covered with scorpions."

Just after reading that, I checked the Secret Sun blog, and found this in one of Knowles's goofy everything-is-a-star-map posts.

In my Magician's Table post, I had referred to "the vision-inducing meteorite which served as Jacob's pillow."

Monday, November 22, 2021

The Sun and the Moon are the same color.

The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.
— Yeats, “Wandering Aengus”

Why does everyone think the Sun is yellow and the Moon is white?

While the Sun often appears yellow when it is low in the sky, and even red in certain atmospheric conditions, its characteristic color is very close to pure white.

And exactly the same thing is true of the Moon; yellow or red at times, but basically white.

And if the Sun were yellow and the Moon white — well, then the Moon would look just as yellow as the Sun, since moonlight is only reflected sunlight. To call a non-radiant body “white” is simply to say that it is highly reflective of all wavelengths of visible light, but of course it can only reflect such light as shines on it. A “white” object illuminated by yellow light would indistinguishable from a yellow object.

Monday, June 21, 2021

Using daylight phases of the Moon to calculate the relative distance of the Sun and the Moon

As everyone knows, the Moon is sometimes visible during the day, while the Sun is also in the sky. Suppose you look up sometime during the day and see a half-moon in the sky. The Sun is also in the sky, separated from the Moon by 45 degrees of arc. What can you conclude from this?

In the above diagram, the vertical ray (using that word in the geometric, not the optical, sense) represents all possible locations of the Moon. (Since we are supposing we do not know how far the Moon is from the Earth, it could in principle be at any point along the ray.) The diagonal ray represents all possible locations of the Sun when it appears from Earth to be 45 degrees distant from the Moon. The horizontal ray extending out from the Moon represents all possible locations of the Sun which would cause a half-moon to be visible from Earth. Therefore, if you see a half-moon 45 degrees from the Sun, you can conclude that the Sun is 1.414 (the square root of two) times as far from the Earth as the Moon is -- and that therefore everything you know about astronomy is wrong, since astronomers tells us the Sun is approximately 395.5 times as far from Earth as the Moon is.

If that figure is correct, what should be the angular distance between the Sun and a half-moon? Well, it must be less than 90 degrees, since the red ray (representing the Sun at 90 degrees from the Moon) is parallel to, and thus never intersects, the half-moon ray. But, since 395.5 is a very large number, it must be only a little less than 90 degrees. I've forgotten all my trigonometry, so I'll leave the exact figure as an exercise for the reader.

Update: I've just realized the flaw in this reasoning -- that it applies only when the Moon is directly overhead. The angular elevation of the Moon must be included in the equation, not only its angular distance from the Sun.

Update 2: No, on second thought, I think I was right the first time.

Saturday, November 21, 2020

It turns out I invented a new way of estimating average distances between planets.

From a Physics Today article by Tom Stockman, Gabriel Monroe, and Samuel Cordner, published on March 12, 2019:

As best we can tell, no one has come up with a concept like PCM [point-circle method] to compare orbits. With the right assumptions, PCM could possibly be used to get a quick estimate of the average distance between any set of orbiting bodies. Perhaps it can be useful for quickly estimating satellite communication relays, for which signal strength falls off with the square of distance. In any case, at least we know now that Venus is not our closest neighbor—and that Mercury is everybody’s.

It's hard to believe that three professional researchers somehow missed out From the Narrow Desert in their literature review, but I'm claiming priority on this. I independently used the same method in my post "The geocentric order of the planets," published November 9, 2018. At the time I had no idea that I was doing anything other than slapping together a kludge to avoid having to do any math above my pay grade, but apparently I was making an Original Contribution to Physics.

Thanks to reader Kevin McCall for bringing the Physics Today article to my attention.

Saturday, June 20, 2020

How the giant planets protect Earth from massive impacts

An asteroid hitting Jupiter

In Chapter 14 of The Afterlife Revolution, Whitley Strieber writes:

The planet is shielded from strikes from cosmic debris by the gravity fields of the gas giants in the outer solar system and by the closeness of the moon. Jupiter and Saturn will take the first hits and if anything gets closer, the moon will work as a shield. The result of this is that large asteroid strikes are much rarer on Earth than they are on the other planets. Earth isn't pockmarked with craters because the moon is.

As a longtime reader of Strieber (who is a horror novelist and philosopher, not a scientist), I know he keeps informed about science -- reads the major journals and all that -- but also that his scientific knowledge is broad rather than deep and does not rest on any very strong foundation of basic scientific literacy. (I remember reading in one of his books that during the Mesozoic the earth was dominated by a single animal species and being completely baffled as to which species he might have in mind -- only to read on and find that he meant "the dinosaur"!) So when I read something like this, I know that it is almost certainly based on some real scientific research reported in the press, and also that he has almost certainly misunderstood it.

I'm a relatively clueless layman, too, but I won't let that stop me from taking a cursory stab at making sense of this.

Look up at Jupiter in the night sky. See how big it is -- not even a single arcminute in diameter? Assuming "cosmic debris" could come at Earth from any direction, what unimaginably tiny percentage of it would be blocked from hitting Earth because it hit Jupiter first? Even taking into account Jupiter's gravitational field, it would surely still only cover a negligible proportion of the sky and offer negligible protection.

As for the Moon's working as a shield, it is only from a naive geocentric perspective that the Moon is "up" and therefore stands between Earth and any incoming debris. There's no reason at all to assume that debris approaching the Earth-Moon system would tend to hit the Moon rather than Earth; on the contrary, the opposite must be true, as Earth is both physically larger than the Moon and exerts a stronger gravitational pull. Of course some sizable percentage of incoming debris will hit the Moon rather than Earth, and so the Moon probably is a "shield" in that sense, but to say that "Earth isn't pockmarked with craters because the moon is" is to betray a fundamental misunderstanding. Earth is less cratered than the Moon because it has an atmosphere -- burning up most meteors before they hit the surface, and eroding away the craters left by those that do -- not because meteors are somehow drawn to the Moon rather than to Earth.

Coming back to Jupiter and Saturn,  research by NASA's Tom Barclay and his colleagues, reported here about a year before the publication of The Afterlife Revolution, is presumably what Strieber is referring to. (His books consistently make reference to very recent science news, as documented by the pseudonymous Heinrich Moltke here.) Barclay's team did computer simulations of the early solar system "after Mars-size planet embryos had already formed in the system, and looked at cases with and without giant planets on the outer perimeter." The article reports their conclusions thus:

The researchers found that, with giant planets around, the remaining small solar system bodies were either ejected out of the system more quickly — because of the angular momentum the gas giants add to the system, Barclay said — or became a part of the existing planets sooner.

Without the influence of giant planets, the fragments formed a large, dangerous cloud orbiting close within the system that took much longer to disperse.

Elsewhere, the article quotes Barclay directly:

"If you have giant planets, your last giant impact happens somewhere between 10 and 100 million years [after planet formation], which is pretty fine — it's like what happened on Earth," Barclay said. "If you don't have giant planets, the last giant impact can happen hundreds [of millions] to billions of years in. This really is a risk to habitability."

While I am of course skeptical of any conclusions based on an oversimplified computer model of an imperfectly known situation, Barclay's theory at least has a prima facie plausibility that Strieber's version does not. The idea is not that any given object would tend to hit Jupiter rather than Earth, but rather that the presence of giant planets would, over a period of millions of years, tend to clear out much of the debris in the solar system so that there would later be much less of it around to hit Earth or any other planet.

Friday, June 12, 2020

The time I mistook sun for the Andromeda Galaxy

Makes me think of Shakespeare's mistress’ eyes

This is one of my strangest memories.

I can' be sure exactly how old I was at the time, but I was very young. My family was living in Derry, New Hampshire, at that time, and I was out on the deck behind our house with my sister Crystal, who is one year younger than me. My mother was in the house taking care of the baby (my brother Luther, who is about three years younger than me), and there was no one else in the house. My youngest two siblings hadn't been born yet, so I can't have been older than four -- and probably closer to three, given that Luther was still "the baby."

Anyway, Crystal and I saw a large shining object hovering above us in the sky, and we stared at it for several minutes trying to figure out what it could possibly be. Finally, I went downstairs to the small bookcase in the living room where the field guides were kept, took out the Field Guide to the Night Sky (never mind that it was daytime), and thumbed through it until I found a picture that looked like the object we had seen. Then I found my mother and had her read the caption to me.

"It's -- uh -- the Andromeda Galaxy," she said. (I remember she stressed the first and third syllables, which I would much later learn was not the standard pronunciation.) "Why do you ask?"

"Crys and I saw it out on the deck."

This understandably roused my mother's curiosity and concern, and so she followed me back out onto the deck, where Crys was still looking up at the thing.

"My goodness! That's the sun! Stop looking at it, or you'll hurt your eyes!"

And so we went back into the house, and that was that.


The reader will have observed that the Andromeda Galaxy is, to coin a phrase, nothing like the sun, and that -- most heavenly bodies being spherical -- a Field Guide to the Night Sky would surely contain any number of pictures that look much more like the sun than the Andromeda Galaxy does.

In my memory, the thing we were looking at looked like -- the sun -- round and white, with nothing at all to suggest a barred spiral galaxy. The only unusual thing about it was that it was shining though clouds thick enough that its light was paled somewhat, making it possible to look at it directly, but thin enough that the solar disc was clearly visible. It was a white circle with clearly defined edges, looking a bit more like the moon than like the sun as it usually appears. But it never occurred to me, or my sister, to guess that it was the sun, or even the moon. Somehow, out of all the stars and planets and things in that field guide, I decided it was the Andromeda Galaxy that it most closely resembled.

Friday, June 5, 2020

Charting the distance from Rigel to Cassiopeia


I dreamed that one of my students, a girl of nine or ten, was sitting at a table with a large star chart in front of her. It appeared to be some sort of azimuthal projection of the celestial globe, and she was using a thread to measure the distance between two points on the chart. A woman (apparently one of her teachers; no one I know in real life) who was standing behind her, watching proudly, explained to me that the girl had figured out all by herself how to chart the distance from Rigel to Cassiopeia.

"Very impressive," I said, "but of course you can't actually do that."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, space is three-dimensional, and the chart doesn't show the third dimension. You can only measure degrees of arc, not light-years."

"Hey, that's true, isn't it? I'd never thought of that!" The woman looked at me as if I were about the cleverest person she had ever met.


Upon waking, I realized that the girl's operation made even less sense than I had said in the dream. You use a thread to measure distances on the curved surface of a globe, but on a map you can just use a ruler; and the only sort of distance you can measure accurately on an azimuthal projection is distance from the central point. Also, Cassiopeia is not a single star but rather a sprawling constellation containing multiple galaxies, so "the distance from Rigel to Cassiopeia" is strictly meaningless.

My immediate reaction was that the dream was a symbol of the futility and stupidity of all human intellectual endeavor. The little girl was proud of her accomplishment, and my dreaming self was proud of having found something wrong with it, but in fact both of us were about as far from discovering anything true or meaningful as Rigel is from the most distant galaxy in Cassiopeia.

Why Rigel? Why Cassiopeia? I jotted down the names just after waking, thinking they must have been chosen for a reason.

Rigel, the bright blue star in Orion, has a name that comes from Arabic for "the foot of the great one." This made me think of Daniel's vision of a colossal statue with a head of gold, breast of silver, and so on, down to its feet of clay -- whence the proverbial expression "feet of clay" for a fundamental flaw or weakness in an respected person. The "foot of the great one" also calls to mind the heel of Achilles, with a similar proverbial meaning. (It is also interesting, but not particularly relevant, that Rigel is one of the proposed identities for Earendel, the bright star in the Old English poem that so famously inspired Tolkien.)

Cassiopeia, in mythology, was the queen of Aethiopia, punished for her vanity and boastfulness by being chained to a throne in the heavens -- a curious story, since immortalization as a star or constellation is generally seen as a reward rather than a punishment. One wonders if Cassiopeia even realized that her fate was indeed a punishment; perhaps in her vanity she thought of it as an apotheosis.

Both Cassiopeia, then, and the "feet of clay" suggested by Rigel represent the elevation to "greatness" of a fundamentally flawed person. This fits with the general theme of the dream, in which the girl and I were both praised for the "cleverness" of what was actually a reflection of our astronomical stupidity.

Ace of Hearts

On the A page of Animalia , an Ace of Hearts is near a picture of a running man whom I interpreted as a reference to Arnold Schwarzenegger....