Setting Expectations: How to Live With Astronomy’s Annoyances

My interest in astronomy, like my relationship with my wife, is maturing. Just as I no longer get annoyed by my loving wife’s habit of recounting all the annoying things about me that annoy her, I have learned to accept amateur astronomy’s annoyances. These annoyances include the following:

1. Can’t-miss astronomical events always happen at the most ungodly times.

Who’s in charge of these things? Don’t they realize that for me to support this hobby, I have to get up in the morning and actually work? Also, why don’t they schedule these events during the weekends, or better yet, when I’m on vacation? The June 2012 Venus transit happened on a weekday. I called in sick. My boss saw my images on Facebook. The following day, a memo was waiting for me.

2. What you think you’ll see is not what you’ll get.

The images taken from space telescopes and observatories always set newbies up for a fall. Glorious images of nebulae lead us to expect to see high-def images in our eyepieces; what visual observers actually get are black-and-white smudges. The first time I saw the Andromeda Galaxy in my 6-inch reflector, I thought my telescope’s mirror was dirty. And then we have objects where only averted or peripheral vision will work. Look, but don’t look directly. It’s like being allowed to eat but not to taste. What’s up with that?

3. It’s always going to be inverted.

Or it will be a mirror image if you’ve got a refractor. Either way, it does nothing but add disorientation insult to image-disappointment injury. This is what I always say to people who think that I use my telescope for more “illicit” pursuits. “Dude, I have a reflector, the image will be upside down. What’s the point?” To which they will respond, “Why don’t you just turn your scope around then?” Dante got it wrong in Inferno. There are no nine levels of hell — just nine levels of stupidity. And this suggestion belongs to the tenth.

4. Occultations.

This term needs some urgent rebranding. And it doesn’t help that some of my armchair-astronomer friends insist on calling a solar eclipse an occultation of the Sun by the Moon. The term “occultation” has connotations of devil worship — no wonder so many people confuse astronomy with astrology. Which by the way, is the number two question I always get asked during public viewings: “What’s your astrological sign?” It’s like asking a Hindu whose burger tastes better, McDonald’s or Wendy’s.

If what’s your astrological sign is my second-most asked question during public viewings, what’s numero uno? My relationship with amateur astronomy, like my relationship with my wife, has matured. So now I don’t get annoyed anymore when people ask me, “Do you believe in aliens?” I just smile and give them my standard Carl Sagan reply: “The universe is too big, man. If we were alone, it’d be an awful waste of space.” Then I ask them to step away from the telescope please, and let the next one in line take a peek. If they don’t budge, I point them to my wife holding a baseball bat.