Disappointment is in the eye of the beholder. I dunno how many times I've seen kids' faces fall as their parents explain that the star they just wished on was a satellite. What the hell's so bad about satellites, anyway? They're a helluva lot more impressive than stars, I'll tell ya that. Stars, there are billions of 'em up there, and the light we see from them down here on earth takes so long to reach us that it ain't even really there anymore, once we see it. Satellites are strong, reliable. They orbit us and give us all this information about us that we couldn't possibly figure out without 'em. They take us into the future... Imagine what those ancient civillizations thought about when they used to look up into the sky. Did they ever think that someday they might be able to see the world as we can now? From space, just floatin' around with all the other planets. Makes us seem a whole lot less special, don't it? But we gotta know how it is. I'd rather be disappointed than oblivious.
She's a star, no doubt about it. Pretty, of course... I ain't about to deny that. I never said that stars weren't pretty. They're nice to look at, all things considered. That's why so many folks want to move out into the country to see 'em. They're kind of a big deal, I guess, to the people who are used to looking up and seein' nothin'. But even though she and the stars are pretty and nice, and they fit like a goddamn puzzle piece into the sky, into my life, I'm not impressed. Sure, I'll marry her. I ain't gettin' any younger, and neither is she, and neither of us is gonna do much better in our line of work. But no matter how you look at it, she's just a star. You can stare up at her all you want. You can pretend that the stars make shapes that mean somethin'. You can take their beauty and use it to convince yourself that they're some sort of deep, magical symbols, somethin' to make yourself feel better inside. But the light you see is dead. You can keep your eyes on it all you want, and feel as good as you want, but there's nothin' there. I look into her big ole bush baby eyes and I don't see anything there for me. Just dead starlight. And I'd rather be blinded with science than starlight. I tried to love her. I tried not to be an asshole. I failed. She's a star.
He's a satellite. Not as pretty as a star, no, but with a thousand times more substance. Instead of bein' hypnotized by all that damn glowy beauty, you look at it and discover new things every second. You wanna ask questions, you wanna touch its surface, cause unlike a star, it's not gonna burn you. While he's standin' on the bridge next to me, I can almost feel him in orbit. He's all black and white, like somethin' cold and metal that should seem dead, but it's still so full of life. A satellite doesn't have half the history of a star. But who needs a past when you got this much of a chance to change the world? To find out somethin' about the planet that could save it before anyone else notices? That's him. She's nice enough, kinda flighty and nervous. She fawns over me like a maid. What self respectin' male wouldn't like that? But he finds out stuff about me that I never told anyone, and I still dunno how he does it. Stuff that she won't ever get close to findin' out, stuff that drives me nuts. I guess that's not the real reason I find myself spendin' so much time with him and so little with her. Why I tell her I'm doin' work and sleep with him instead.
Why I wish on satellites instead of stars.