My classmate and I were absolutely terrified.
Like any self-respecting science nerd early Monday morning, I was giddily awaiting the landing of Curiosity. Unlike most, I was doing so in Times Square, where NASA reserved two screens just for the the special occasion. While the landing was a non-smashing success, my own adventure was quite the opposite.
Tired from a day of walking, I chose to take the subway to the Seven Minutes of Terror event -- something I rarely do and may not do again for sometime. I nearly boarded a train in the wrong direction, thus losing $2.50, and while crossing the street to the correct subway, I nudged some piece of sidewalk who-knows-what.
Actually, I know what. Lucky, me I decided to look back at what I'd toed and saw -- wait for it -- a dead rat.
Seriously.
Tired from a day of walking, I chose to take the subway to the Seven Minutes of Terror event -- something I rarely do and may not do again for sometime. I nearly boarded a train in the wrong direction, thus losing $2.50, and while crossing the street to the correct subway, I nudged some piece of sidewalk who-knows-what.
Actually, I know what. Lucky, me I decided to look back at what I'd toed and saw -- wait for it -- a dead rat.
Seriously.
Let's play spot the NASA logo.
After laughing off the trauma as I waited for my (correct) train, I made it to Times Square around 11:30pm (Sunday night). I met a classmate who was up to some proper reporting and reserved our spot for the big show. And by big, I actually mean disappointingly tiny. The two screens used by NASA looked, together, less than a fifth of the size of American Eagles' display and not nearly as absorbing. (After all, no one at NASA was dancing around in their underwear. At least, not that I saw...)
When I first arrived, there was a subtle hum about Mars and lasers and alien life drifting through the crowd. But mostly there were people navigating the slippery TKTS stairs, taking group photos in foam Liberty hats, and gawking at themselves on one truly massive screen that reflected the square below it.
By 1:00am on Monday -- around 30 minutes to touchdown -- the stairs had closed, many Mars fans had retired their squints, and even the American Eagle sign had posted away messages.
When I first arrived, there was a subtle hum about Mars and lasers and alien life drifting through the crowd. But mostly there were people navigating the slippery TKTS stairs, taking group photos in foam Liberty hats, and gawking at themselves on one truly massive screen that reflected the square below it.
By 1:00am on Monday -- around 30 minutes to touchdown -- the stairs had closed, many Mars fans had retired their squints, and even the American Eagle sign had posted away messages.
A well-deserved celebration.
Lucky for us, a NASA cameraman informed my friend and I when the Seven Minutes of Terror officially began (on Mars time, about 14 minutes ahead of us according to him). We looked to the screen but it lost our attention well before the landing and when historic Curiosity finally ended its 352 million mile journey, the watchers around us celebrated with a vague whoop. By that time, most of the Square stragglers found a digital dunk tank so all-absorbing that they missed the moment altogether. Even I just barely caught the first jumps and hugs of elation and, still, the joy was less than contagious.
My disappointment was thawed by footage of Mission Control's endless embraces as I weaved my way home through the crowd, many of whom continued to watch for the awe-inspiring moment that would signal the release of their collective gaze. I'm still unsure whether these people were unaware that Curiosity had landed or if they were in denial that such a landmark event could seem so subtle. But it was that belated attention -- sprinkled with the occasional smirk of vicarious accomplishment -- that assured me that the viewing was nearly a success.
In the end, my experience was small and I am due to address the bigger picture: congratulations NASA, congratulations Curiosity, and sorry dead rat, I didn't mean to kick you.
My disappointment was thawed by footage of Mission Control's endless embraces as I weaved my way home through the crowd, many of whom continued to watch for the awe-inspiring moment that would signal the release of their collective gaze. I'm still unsure whether these people were unaware that Curiosity had landed or if they were in denial that such a landmark event could seem so subtle. But it was that belated attention -- sprinkled with the occasional smirk of vicarious accomplishment -- that assured me that the viewing was nearly a success.
In the end, my experience was small and I am due to address the bigger picture: congratulations NASA, congratulations Curiosity, and sorry dead rat, I didn't mean to kick you.
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