Your bag is empty.
Elon Musk recently revealed his latest bizarre world venture—to send a private citizen to the moon in his undeveloped (but presumably very large) rocket by 2023. In a press conference this week, Musk announced his decision to send Japanese clothing tycoon and fellow billionaire Yusaku Maezawa (who has been described as a “corporate enfant terrible”) as SpaceX’s space tourist numero uno.
It may appear Musk has been bending over the edge toward impending destruction for a while now, and no matter what Neil deGrasse Tyson says about Musk—specifically, being “the best thing we’ve had since Thomas Edison”—the tech mogul has a squalid history of undeniably epic failures (not including dressing as French revolutionary libertine Marquis de Sade and posing next to a framed poster spelling out “LIBERTY” in descending syllables). That said, I’m curious why anyone on planet earth OR at the International Space Station could have a trifle of faith in the dude who has, time and time again, spouted promises without delivering the actual product. Where’s The Boring Company’s so-called Loop, Elon? Huh? I’d love to travel to work in LA in under 10 minutes and get to LAX for $1.00. Maybe focus on one thing at a time (my commute)?
If you think I’m being cruel, let’s take a trip down memory lane, shall we? After being abruptly removed as CEO of Paypal, Musk traveled to Russia in 2002 in an effort to procure rockets—and was brutally turned down when the cosmonauts referred to him simply as “young boy” and outright refused to sell him a single, solitary rocket despite the $21 million offer. It should have been over, but it wasn’t. He built his own rockets. And in 2006, after three failed launch attempts, Musk finally ejected a crude rocket in the general direction of space. The rocket became lost in space rapidly after the flight and exploded. This happened again a year later, and again in 2008, while both SpaceX and Tesla neared bankruptcy.
Fast forward a few years to 2014 and Tesla Model S batteries began exploding, too, as though Musk has the Midas touch…but for explosions. Then a fourth rocket exploded in 2015. And a fifth in 2016. A sixth (The Merlin) erupted under testing just last year. HELLO? Even if there were 16 successful-ish launches in 2017, it hasn’t even been a year since one of Musk’s rockets shattered into bits during testing.
Beyond business, there is also the alleged strange and hilarious epic of Azaelia Banks being “held hostage” in Musk’s mansion, and his (possibly acid-inspired) tweets regarding having secured funding to take Tesla private (which, adding fuel to the fire, was debunked by none other than Miss Banks) that have plunged him into deep water with the U.S. Justice Department. And who could forget Musk’s baseless pedophilia accusation against Thai Cave rescuer and British diver, Vernon Unsworth, after his own mini-submarine couldn’t save the day?
So, again, why is Maezawa trusting an erratic Musk—who is not a astrophysicist, astronomer or cosmologist—to propel him willy-nilly into OUTER SPACE with a bunch of artists? And why the fuck is Maezawa even bringing a bunch of artists? Does he think this will be fun? Easy? I’m certain these participants, whoever they turn out to be—if they turn out at all—will have no idea what they’re signing up for on the $5-10 billion Big F*CKING Rocket (also known as Big Falcon Rocket). Even though Maezawa bought every seat for an undisclosed amount, it’s possible that if he spends time investigating space travel (like I have the last two days), he may decide he doesn’t want to make the trip at all.
” Astronauts don’t orbit the earth to have an absolutely cracking good time. Astronauts go to space to observe, study and report. It’s a job. “
Then again, Maezawa is more or less the Japanese Elon Musk, known are being anything but risk averse. Nearly 43 years old, about four years Elon’s junior, Maezawa is the founder of popular online fashion retailer Zozotown (think ASOS), worth nearly $3 billion. The 18th richest man in Japan is obsessed with art, and (as billionaires tend to be) completely reckless with money. For example, in 2017 he purchased a Jean-Michel Basquiat work for an astounding $110.5 million. His other noted obsessions include Coco Chanel and Michael Jackson. Maezawa was also once the drummer in a punk band called Switch Style that performed, wait for it, under the name “You X Suck”—which explains his Twitter handle, in case you had wondered. And it gets much, much darker…
Locate a barf bag and take a few deep breaths because you’re not ready for how twee this is about to get: Maezawa’s dreamy space project, now ostensibly (well, we’ll see about that) a reality with Musk’s help, has literally been named “#dearmoon.” Yes, with the hashtag. By Maezawa himself. I know, I’m gutted by its cringiness too. And on Monday, during this huge #dearmoon announcement made by Maezawa and Musk, the Japanese billionaire claimed he can’t go alone because it would be lonely (no shit), and he doesn’t “like being alone.” While I’m sure space is lonely, this is a 42-year-old man who, admitting he can’t be alone, has made the decision to travel to the furthest place from planet earth—THE MOON—and bought all available seats on the BFR despite having no famous, cool artist takers so far. Maezawa ended his speech literally begging for attendees to join him, professing “Please say yes, if you will hear from me.”
The kicker is that space isn’t fun. The point of space isn’t fun. I don’t understand “space tourism.” Astronauts don’t orbit the earth to have an absolutely cracking good time. Astronauts go to space to observe, study and report. It’s a job. It’s like in Stand By Me when they realize they’re not having fun a little over a day into trying to locate a dead kid and Gordie says, “We’re going to see a dead kid; maybe it shouldn’t be a party.” Space is the dead kid! There are no parties in space! And once you’ve crossed the Karman Line (that’s the line that divides space with the normal sky we look at from our inadequate ground dwellings), about 2 minutes and 30 seconds post-launch, there’s really no turning back. You’re on your way to the moon, my artistic friends. At least in Stand By Me they could have said “fuck this” and headed back home at any point.
Space travel requires immense training and spotless results from that immense training, and those who are inexperienced and (since Maezawa bought EVERY seat aboard the BFR?) unaided by professionals throughout are, frankly, in infinite danger. Space is terrifying. Astronauts live in constant fear, and not just when they’re floating in zero-gravity outside their shuttles. There’s the ongoing threat of micrometeorites, meteors, and honestly just tons of gargantuan rocks hurtling in every direction at lightning speed. Why do spacesuits look the way they do? Because nothing is comfortable in space. Temperatures run between -200F and 250F, both of which can kill you, boiling or freezing your bodily fluids in mere moments.
Think space looks fun in all those textbook photos of cosmonauts working to brush their teeth as toothpaste floats in mid-air? Well, it’s not fun. And not just because you can’t get the toothpaste in your mouth when there’s zero gravity. Space literally ruins your body. When you’re in space, you get high blood pressure and bloated faces due to blood, instead of pumping against the force of gravity on earth and toward your feet (normal), into your chest and head (not normal). Due to pressure around the optic nerve, your eyesight worsens too. You also have to vigorously work out to keep your muscles in the flow of resisting gravity (again, normal), because your muscles have no gravity to resist, so they deteriorate. And fast. Tendonitis emerges when there’s no gravity for your muscles to work against. Fat develops too.
“Oh, and if y’all artists think you’re going to be fucking on the Moon, think again. You can’t get an erection in space. “
Gravity also grows and shrinks you. Astronauts tend to grow about two inches in orbit, which would be cool if the lack of gravity weren’t literally dividing your vertebrae (not normal). And guess what? When you’re back home and gravity kicks in, you shrink back down to normal size, requiring months of muscle, bone and joint rehab. This gives astronauts horrendous back pains, in space and on earth, for years. Furthermore, your bones disintegrate in space. Apparently, if an astronaut doesn’t absolutely haul ass working out in space, they can lose nearly 12 percent of their bone density—and according to NASA, it may or may not come back when they touch back down to earth, even after rehabilitation, of which MONTHS is mandatory for any space traveler. Astronauts have to typically finish a 45-day program upon landing in order to repair bone and muscle strength that dissipated during space travel.
NASA’s website states, “Expedition crews selected for a stay aboard the space station are carefully chosen, trained, and supported to make sure they can work effectively as a team for six months,” so I’m wondering who these unknown artists think they are already. It’s no coincidence NASA states this under its “Isolation/Confinement” section on their website, detailing behavioral issues noted in astronauts, of which include sleep deprivation, depression, fatigue caused by boredom, cognitive impairment, and hostility, most of which undoubtedly can be caused not just by being imprisoned in a spaceship but by lack of fresh food, decent nutrition, sunlight, space (the personal kind) and vitamin deficiencies. (By the way, y’all, food in space is all freeze-dried, dehydrated or thermostabilized. Mmm.. yummy.)
And, obviously, “the more confined and isolated humans are, the more likely they are to develop behavioral or cognitive conditions, and psychiatric disorders.” Duh. Loud space noises also cause hearing loss, permanently damaging astronauts’ ears. You must deal with persistent motion sickness, forcing you to endure regular vomiting. And because the toilet you’re all sharing is just, like, in the middle of everything in the cabin, the whole rocket allegedly smells like shit. Look, astronauts literally wear fucking diapers. Please imagine a bunch of world-renowned artists just being like “yeah, whatever” after studying this.
You also have to put up with constant ailments, because your immunity is lower in space, including continuous sinus problems. Noses don’t drip in space, due to zero gravity, they block up instead. And if you get moderately or even violently sick in space, it’s not like there’s a doctor on board or anywhere nearby. Hell, there may not even be one at ISS. If you have a yeast infection, you deal with the itch, if you have strep throat, you power through it, if you have a heart attack, you die.
There’s also the danger of space radiation, which is measured in mSv (millisievert). On earth, mSv is a livable 2.4 (for now), and it takes at least 100mSv to make cancer viable. To give an idea of how deadly a trip to the moon could be for anyone, and not just the dangerously inexperienced, the International Space Station has 80 times the amount of radiation than on earth, at 200mSv. Go further into space—deep space—and you’re looking at 600mSv. To put just how far deep space is into perspective, the moon is 250,000 miles away from earth while ISS is just 250 miles away. Really makes you think about your cells and body tissue and DNA being broken apart by cancer-causing radiation! Not for me, thanks.
Oh, and if y’all artists think you’re going to be fucking on the Moon, think again. It’s very difficult to get an erection in space. Remember what I said about blood rushing to your head and not your feet? You will very likely remain flaccid in space, Maezawa. If you have a vagina, it’s not getting wet or aroused in space either, for the same reason. No blood down there, folks. Everything is [cold, dusty and dry](http://sex innuendos examples). Your hormones go haywire too, no matter your gender, but testosterone tends to dip severely in men, leading to no sex drive regardless. Also, because of all the muscle, circulation and bone density difficulties, even the thought of sex would sound exhausting.
What’s more? There’s no washing machines in space, and showers are few and far between. Astronauts actually have to wear the same clothes for days (even when they’re exercising for hours a day) and then toss them for new ones, on a predetermined schedule. One little known, super gross fact about space life and what it can do to the human body, is that the soles of feet aren’t utilized at all and become, as Tim Peake puts it in his book Ask an Astronaut: My Guide to Life in Space, “very smooth and soft, like a newborn baby’s.” While this sounds like a chill, long-lasting pedicure, Peake says “the dead, hard skin that builds up on the soles of your feet starts coming off,” and if astronauts don’t carefully remove their socks, the dead skin will just… float around in the cabin. Astronauts also, from hooking their feet under so many things to keep from floating, are said to develop abrasions all over the tops of their feet that ultimately become what they call “lizard feet.”Like, they put it outside and it just floats away.
And then there’s using the bathroom, the moment we’ve all been waiting for, which Peake also details in his book: If you want to urinate in space, you have to fit a funnel over your genitals that suctions away at your [redacted] as you relieve yourself. If you want to sit down and shit in space, you sit on a toilet you have to RESTRAIN YOUR FEET and fasten your thighs to, complete with a metal bar that then hooks over your lap (like on an amusement park ride) so you’re virtually strapped to the toilet, which is developed so that it’s vacuum-suctioning away at your ass the entire time. The toilet uses air instead of water to “flush” feces, because of gravity, duh. Then the air used to flush your shit down the space toilet is then filtered and redistributed back into the cabin you live in. SERIOUSLY. Human feces is compressed to dry all the moisture out and actually kept on board, no doubt contributing to the permeating stench of shit on space shuttles I mentioned earlier. Urine, however, is… sent off into space. Like, they put it outside and it just floats away.
So, how are these artists and their billionaire tech bro buddy going to survive in a place that’s totally and entirely unnatural to live in? Last year, NASA upped the ante on their hiring process, highlighting on their Tumblr the basic requirements: a bachelor’s degree from a good school in science, tech, engineering or math (the STEM variety), at least three years of related experience (we all know that means 300), or alternatively 1,000 hours of “pilot-in-command time in jet aircraft.”
On top of that, NASA isn’t just looking for hard technical skills, but extremely high emotional intelligence, too—as I outlined before, isolation generates a lot of mental health issues. They want strong leadership skills as well as an ability to work together. Are these artists going to have to take a single qualifying test for this? No. That’s why this will never happen. Like, please just read this account of a man who got rejected 14 times before finally making it as an astronaut and tell me anyone Maezawa chooses (maybe he’ll just ask the ghosts of Basquiat, Michael Jackson and Coco Chanel, the Nazi) could in their wildest dreams be remotely suitable for space travel by 2023.
This is a pipe dream—just like the mini-submarine and the Loop—and an irresponsible, unpredictable one at that. Musk is a man hellbent on demonstrating his worth to the world, and sending people into space against advisement and with no conventional protocol. Instead of blasting another rocket into space only to have it explode (possibly with a group of random and terrified artists on board), he could donate that $10 billion to so many charities that exist on our planet now, where we all walk, and live, and gaze up at the stars every night—and show us he’s worth staying on this planet at all. Because as I see it right now, he should probably just blast off with the damn rocket. I’m so sorry Maezawa, but you’re being sold on a fantasy. And while the dream of space tourism may seem close to heaven, it sure sounds like hell.