This past Saturday brought with it a spectacular celestial phenomenon, the likes of which hadn’t been seen in over 18 years. It was the so called “supermoon”, which is when, through a fluke of orbital mechanics, the moon gets all up in the earth’s face – some 221,565 miles away, when the moon is usually an average distance of 238,855 miles away.
This event was heavily hyped, probably for good reason. We were all told the view of the moon (weather permitting) was to be truly awesome. And it was going to be awesome in the way that the universe is awesome, and not in the way that Cool Ranch tortilla chips or sneakers that turn in to roller skates might be awesome. It was to be a truly awesome event that showed us the full glory of our closest celestial body.
It wasn’t. Not for me, at least.
As 3 PM eastern time rolled around (the time when the moon was supposed to be the closest to the earth), I periodically checked up on the moon to see just how “super” it was. What I got was a big nothing. When night rolled in, I continued to check up on you periodically. What I got instead was just a regular-ass moon that was no bigger than usual. The moon was supposed to be 14 percent larger and 30 percent brighter than usual. While the moon I saw was slightly brighter than it normally is, it wasn’t any bigger.
That’s why I’m disappointed in you, Supermoon.
The weather was perfect. There wasn’t a cloud in the sky all night. There was absolutely nothing preventing you from showing me your full glory, but, instead, you chose to shy away from me and my city by being the same old shit you’ve always been. At first, I thought this view of you was the same view all of earth was seeing. But it wasn’t. Here’s a great gallery of pictures showcasing how glorious you were to a lot of people. I didn’t take a picture of you over my city, but if you want to know what I saw when I looked to the heavens this past Saturday, just look at yourself in a mirror that’s 238,855 miles away.
Seeing how amazingly large you were over other cities made it feel like you were a great band doing a nationwide arena tour. The band hit every major city around my city, but completely bypassed my city, even though the local arena wasn’t being used that night by one of my shitty local sports teams. Or, maybe a better analogy would be if you showed up to the concert, but half-assed the performance and only sang covers of obscure, 40-year-old bluegrass songs. In other words, you were the Bob Dylan of celestial phenomena. I show up to hear All Along The Watchtower; you sing a song I would only hear if I were held captive in a backwoods moonshine distillery only seconds before a crazed hillbilly tosses me in to a pit of bloodthirsty hogs.
Supermoon, the next time I see you you’d better bring your A-game. You had better be so large that I look at you and mutter Obi Wan Kenobi’s famous line from A New Hope “…that’s no moon!” because I think you are really the space station of a malevolent empirical army dead-set on firing it’s fully operational laser canon on my planet, causing millions of voices to suddenly cry out in terror only to be suddenly silenced.
I wanted to be suddenly silenced by you this past Saturday. Instead, I was drunk in the middle of a suburban street at 4 AM and being completely un-silent as I yelled “F*ck you” at a big, lifeless space rock.