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July 26, 2005

Risky Business

I realize that space travel is a dangerous endeavor, fraught with peril and things that go bump on the hull, but this seems of little comfort:

With a new realism born of disaster, NASA says that the risk of catastrophic failure during the space shuttle Discovery's mission is about 1 in 100, more than twice as great as an upbeat estimate issued before the loss of the Columbia in 2003.

The rise in estimated danger, Mr. Beutel said, came about "because we have a better understanding" of the craft's workings and limitations. He emphasized, though, that "it's a statistical probability, as opposed to what is going to happen." (The actual rate of catastrophic failure - as opposed to the calculated risk - now stands at 2 flights in 113, or 1 in 57.)

As a comparison (and a rather oogy gooey one), the chance of complications if my wife were to deliver World Wide Rant, Too the "natural way," due to a past c-section, is about 1 in 100.

Such complications would, at best, result in an emergency c-section and, at worst, loss of the child and a possible hysterectomy. We said "screw that" and are going for a schedueld c-section once again.

These astronauts are taking a similar chance, knowing full well that the outcome of failure is most likely catastrophic - they've got some serious balls on them. Big old brass balls that sway in the wind and clang together with a resounding thunder.

Astronauts rock.

Although it'd be nice if we could retire the Shuttles and pursue better technologies for space travel, rather than ones developed when we all oohed and ahhed over Farrah Fawcett and Lee Majors*.

* Not that I have a thing for Lee Majors, of course. Although I did have that cool Six Million Dollar Man toy with bionic eye and the arm that went clickity-click with the roll-up rubber sleeve hiding his supa-dupa 1970s cyborg wiring. Say, remember that Lindsey Wagner and her bionic dog?