The Potter

I know I will spend several years
As I attempt to close the void
there opened by the one I love.
I will sculpt the edge of that heartache
like a master at the wheel
Until with perfect symmetry
And quiet absolution
I will create a mouth so small
and temper the solution
So that,
When some time has passed,
And the heart-bled wine
Has aged at last,
I will take it on the tongue of memory
In the tiniest of tastes.
Overcome by bittersweetness,
I will look back with but a hint of tart
And find it without waste.

On Pluto

Ok here's the deal.

I have had no less than fifteen people ask me my opinion on the Pluto thing and I know I'm the resident science nerd but honestly people, I don't want to repeat myself anymore, so PLEASE STOP ASKING ME WHETHER OR NOT I THINK PLUTO SHOULD BE DEFINED AS A PLANET.

I am not an astronomer and I don't pretend to know what's the best method of classification. The International Astronomical Union did not go with the definition I thought they would, but that's fine with me. I know we all grew up under the definition that qualified Pluto as a planet, but after the discovery of 2003 UB313, the only choices were to have more or less planets than the traditional nine.

If they had gone with the definition that allowed for Pluto to remain a planet, then at least fifty discovered objects in our solar system would have qualified for that position, and this doesn't include those objects which have not been discovered but almost assuredly exist unseen in the Kuiper Belt and Oort Cloud. And my god, my mom's third grade students can't even spell some of their names right, let alone remember the names of fifty planets (My Very Elegant Mother Just Sometimes Understands Networking Problems, But Anyway As I Was Saying Maybe We Could Go Grab A Bite to Eat And Get Some Elephants Some Peanuts Even Though They Are Allergic And Then We Could...etc). As a matter of fact, defining Pluto as a planet is rather like taking a single candy from an entire package of M&M's and calling it chocolate bar, simply because it was the first one you grabbed.

And really, this sort of holding on to Pluto is a bit like clutching a pacifier beyond a reasonable age; we must wean ourselves from old paradigms as we discover new ones, or we'll never move forward at all. The most simple system is almost always invariably the best, and if we adjusted the definition of a planet to include Pluto but exclude other objects of that type then all we've done is overcomplicate the system in the method of Ptolemy, adding epicycles and deferents until the geocentric model can fit that which is observed. If Copernicus's heliocentric model had never been accepted for feelings of some sort of whimsical nostalgia then where would astronomy be today?

If the IAU feels that Pluto should not be qualified as a planet, the from the point of view of someone who not only encourages but rejoices in the progression of scientific thought, I think their reasons are perfectly acceptable.

today's adventure

It has been way, way too long.

I blame myspace, and the general lackadaisical feeling summertime seems to inspire. I sat around for a time, downloaded a bunch of Doctor Who, went to Florida for a bit and then got an old job back for the last eight weeks.

Today I had to open the bookstore, and salvation came in the form of one of my coworkers around three. It was my last day, and its partially a relief because it is so exhausting in that store, such a strain on my mental state. But I am also sad because I get so into it when I'm there... I want the store to do well and I want it to be a nice place and I worry about my boss. I feel a bit like I am leaving them in a lurch, but what can I do? It was the agreed arrangement, and I can't stay any longer, I've got to pack up for school. We have to accept these things I guess, and I know my leaving won't do the store in... and I wouldn't want to be permanent staff; I don't want to work there indefinitely, I think it would drive me mad. But I can't help but feel a little guilty about it... Catholic guilt I suppose...

My sister moved out today, left this morning around eight a.m. with most of my family in tow, and I shouldn't miss her as much as I do already.

I was driving home from work and cresting the hill just outside my subdivision, and as I came over the peak I suddenly saw a flash of white and black in the opposite lane, and I realized it was a dead cat. Black fur, black tail, white paws, little white face, and thick white breast, and the sick yellow spill of intestines ... and my heart stopped.

I swerved onto the shoulder at the bottom of the hill, and jumped out. I wondered what I possibly might do - there was no one at home, but I had a trashbag in the trunk, and a shoebox in the backseat, and I could get it ready for--for whatever came next. I ran up the hill in my new flat-footed sneakers, the strange pound of pavement; this surreal place so near my own home, and as I came upon the corpse my breath came shuddering out in a keening wail of agony.

The cat had been dead sometime. It was in a bad state. Flies traipsed across it lazily as though affected by the heat. I stood next to it, feeling the steaming asphalt churning under my feet, and I realized the cat was too small, the fur too long, and the coloring grayer, less sleek. It was not my Oreo, not my favorite, not my baby. I was sobbing and I wanted to get it out of the road but I was sick in the ditch and could not touch it. It was not mine. It was not mine.