All Alone

I’ve been reading The Martian by Andy Weir   Made into an Oscar-nominated movie that I haven’t yet seen, the book tells the story of Mark Watney, an astronaut on a Mars expedition who is injured and lost in a blistering sandstorm and presumed dead by his crewmates.  They leave because the sandstorm threatens to wreck their exit vehicle and their ability to get home, and Watney then finds himself abandoned on Mars, with no means of communicating with Earth.

The book’s careful recounting of Watney’s efforts to use the remnants of the expedition supplies to create water, grow food, and stay alive long enough to be rescued — and later, the discovery of NASA that he is still alive and the efforts to get him home before he starves — is riveting.  I can’t attest to the engineering and practical science involved in Watney’s development of soil capable of growing potatoes or his cannibalization of rovers to create a vehicle capable of a long-distance journey, but they have the ring of authenticity, and you can’t help but applaud his ingenuity.

the-martian-matt-damonAll of this occurs, though, against the backdrop of a bigger human drama:  a person left all alone on an alien planet, with no means of communicating to fellow members of his species, and always on the ragged edge of death from starvation or the hostile Martian environment. How would any person cope with such absolute solitude?  Watney establishes a journal to maintain a conversation of sorts, and he goes through the music, book, and TV selections left behind by his former crewmates — and pays the price by enduring disco music and the complete episodes of Three’s Company.   But even the syncopated efforts of the Bee Gees and feeble comedic antics of Jack Tripper and his roommates Chrissy and Janet, and the human interaction they reflect, are preferable to complete isolation.  In effect, the journal, the songs, and the TV shows are Watney’s version of Wilson, the volleyball who became Tom Hanks’ only companion on Cast Away.

Watney’s got a great sense of humor and a never say die mentality that allows him to deal with his predicament, but as you read the book you can’t help but wonder how you would deal with total abandonment on a desolate, alien planet — assuming, of course, that you had the botanical and engineering training that would allow you to survive using the same steps Watney followed.  After the initial zeal for trying to survive, how would you react after weeks and weeks of drudgery, with no actual communication or direct human interaction of any kind?  It’s hard to imagine that even good TV, music, and reading material could fill that void and allow you to maintain the positive attitude that would be essential to survival.  Most of us, I suspect, would just stop caring and give up.

Bad TV: Three’s Company

Screen shot from opening credits

Screen shot from opening credits

This show was breathtakingly bad from its inception. Designed purely to appeal to the prurient interests of teenagers, it featured a putrid combination of leaden double entrendres, absurd slapstick, and stereotyped characters that made it unwatchable for any even marginally intelligent human. The plot was that a heterosexual male named Jack Tripper moved in with two heterosexual females, but in order pass muster under the conservative social mores of the day, Jack had to be portrayed as gay. Every episode seemed to revolve around the possibility that Jack’s real sexual orientation would be discovered by the neighbors. The show also featured the worst in ’70s clothing and hairstyles, usually displayed by Jack’s leather-jacketed sidekick, Larry.

Although the three lead characters were themselves extremely annoying, my vote for the single most irritating character was the ugly, love-starved next door neighbor who was “hip” to the true story of Jack and the girls and consistently frustrated in her efforts to get some action from her clueless and uninterested husband. Given her appearance — and her complexion looked she had been the victim of an industrial accident in a chemical factory — her whiny voice, and her odd muu-muu clothing, who could blame him?