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TOTALLY
WIRED
RIPLEY D. LIGHT
@RIPLEYDLIGHT
ELECTRIC WORD WIRED 28.
DIARIES OF
AN UNBRIDLED
DIGITOPIAN
For most of my earthbound existence, I’ve ignored starry nights. Not
The Starry Night, that swirly Van Gogh in my screensaver rotation. I
mean the real thing, in the open air, looking up into the endless abyss.
Don’t mistake me: I have nothing against the great outdoors. I embrace
a bracing hike, climbing high in the high desert in my Vibram-soled
boots, stopping to tickle the cute little lobes of the scrubby oak, bow-
ing in respect to the spiky claw of the healing aloe. I gladly succumb to
nature’s codeless charms.
Then comes night. To my love, this is the best part. I try to understand,
asking: What is to be gained by staring at this static, aggressively pix-
elated screen overhead? Patient as ever, my love replies: It isn’t static,
it merely moves at a different speed. Ah, yes, light speed (but not, alas,
Ripley D. Light speed). Those twinkles are news alerts from long ago
and trillions of miles away. Gagillions per minute. But what are they
saying? “Man, it’s hot out here!” “How long until we get there?” I cannot
decipher them. No wonder the stargazers of old had to connect-the-
dots them into crabs and lions and guys wearing blingy belts. All that
data needed a human scale.
I try, friends, I try. I look up, neck tortured into an unnatural tilt, the
inverse of its comfortable slant toward the phone’s glow. I try to listen
to the stillness and to read the messages but notice only that the ambi-
ent temperature is below optimal for my delicate flesh, even enrobed
in a new Finnish fleece. The speed of light is a bore.
But then, Lo! What light from yonder cluster breaks the stillness? It
moves at a speed of human comprehension across the sky—a signal,
clear and strong! This satellite, sparkling fleck of future space litter,
speaks to me. It could be triangulating coordinates that will guide my
car to the best barbecue brisket. Or maybe it’s one of those synthetic
aperture radar jobs, sending out microwave pulses to detect shifts in
land elevation. Or could it be a SpaceX pioneer, one of the first in a con-
stellation of cosmic cans that will one day party together in low Earth
orbit to bring all of us ever faster connections? Stars are unknowable,
but we fill our skies with built wonder.
As I ponder the possibilities, it hits me. Perhaps this is a good old com-
munications model, transponding its entertaining uplinks to the very
satellite dish not 50 feet away. (You did not imagine, dear reader, that
Ripley would be camping?) I look at the dish and think of all the chatter
in my social feeds that I have not been able to join. I do not know what
to make of Kendall’s rap on Succession or why we need to talk about
Watchmen. Now, thanks to my wandering space friend, perhaps I will.
I kiss my love goodnight and leave them to the stars, while I retire to
the house and rejoin mine.
WE ASKED CONTRIBUTORS:
“IF YOU
WERE MOVING
TO ANOTHER
PLANET, WHAT
FOOD WOULD
YOU WANT TO
BRING?”
“Dessert: Mars Bars, Milky Ways, and
a bag of Fermi Bears (if you can find
them). A nice, quiet broccoli, since
in space no one can hear you steam.
If there’s a grill, pale blue brats. And
definitely ginger ale, because that’s
one giant Schweppes for mankind.”
—Contributor Paul Ford (page 16)
“Everything bagels from Russ &
Daughters.” —Food stylist Maya
Bookbinder (page 38)
“A Cox’s Orange Pippin apple, which
is the best apple, for one last taste of
Earth. I’d then plant the seed to grow
the first microgravity cultivar, whose
fruit would not fall on my head if I sat
underneath it like Newton.” —Author
Nicola Twilley (page 38)
“If this planet has Instant Pot, I’d
bring all my butter chicken ingredi-
ents. You haven’t lived until you’ve
had my Instant Pot butter chicken.”
—Author Gordy Megroz (page 60)
“The question shouldn’t be whether
there is life on Mars but whether
there are burritos on Mars.” —Staff
writer Daniel Oberhaus (page 70)
“Since finding out astronauts never
ate Astronaut Ice Cream in space, I’ve
been skeptical of space food. If the
past is any guide, I’d develop a spe-
cial interplanetary food with NASA
and then leave it behind on Earth to
sell in museum gift shops.” —Author
Richard Cooke (page 76)
ELECTRIC WORD
008
