spaceportal

The signs as fantasy worlds

Aries: Atlantis

Taurus: Wonderland

Gemini: Neverland

Cancer: Narnia

Leo: Camp Half-blood

Virgo: The Shire

Libra: Oz

Scorpio: The Spaceport

Sagittarius: Hogwarts

Capricorn: King’s Landing

Aquarius: Camelot

Pisces: Halloween Town

The signs as fantasy places we all wish we could live in

Aries: Atlantis (Atlantis: The Lost Empire)

Taurus: Wonderland (Alice in Wonderland)

Gemini: Neverland (Peter Pan)

Cancer: Narnia (The Chronicles of Narnia)

Leo: Camp Half-Blood (Percy Jackson and the Olympians)

Virgo: The Shire (The Hobbit)

Libra: Oz (The Wizard of Oz)

Scorpio: The Spaceport (Treasure Planet)

Sagittarius: Hogwarts (Harry Potter)

Capricorn: King’s Landing (Game of Thrones)

Aquarius: Camelot (Merlin)

Pisces: Halloween Town (The Nightmare Before Christmas)

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Greater Green River Intergalactic Spaceport

The Greater Green River Intergalactic Spaceport is a small public use airstrip about five miles south of Green River, Wyoming on a mountain known as South Hill. It opened in 1963.

On July 5, 1994 Resolution R94-23 of the Green River city council designated this landing field as the “Greater Green River Intergalactic Spaceport”, for inhabitants of Jupiter who might wish to take sanctuary in Green River in the event their planet is threatened by collisions from comets or meteors, in apparent reference to the contemporary Comet Shoemaker–Levy 9 impact. It is presumed that no spacecraft have used the spaceport, and actual use has been limited to terrestrial aircraft.

Via Wiki

How do you tell an alien about the stuff we attach to our skeletons as a way of not letting a trauma fuck our bodies up? I mean, have you ever seen  a Fixateure externe? We bolt an external metal structure to an already damaged bone (and the other bones that need it for stability in the joint) so it’s at the correct lenght for mending itself without the boneends moving accidentally too far away and forming a pseudarthrosis.

Because you better believe our bodies will do that if left alone. It renders the bodypart effing useless.

Also, we sometimes just stick a titanium rod through hollow bones to fix them. Not getting in detail, but just imagine.

You are at the spaceport, and suddenly something weird shows up on one of the monitors. In a human body, so the possibility of the readings being accurate just went from no-way to oh-my-gosh-what’s-it-again. Anyway, you make your way to the waiting terran spacers. Ask if they are aware of there being a rather severe and concentrated metal-deposit in their… shoulder bone, clavicle your computer tells you it’s called.

You see the moment they understand, and most just start snickering and the affected human just starts… cursing… ‘alien airport detectors’.

They show you the medical papers shortly after that. You stare at them, turn your translator off and on again (a habit you picked up from a human acquaintance, actually…), then decide not to bother them anymore. You make a note of it and send it to your superior to do as they please. Because no. Protesis, even endoprotesis you can understand, but those are state-of-art medical devices. 

Not a piece of titanium in the bonemarrow.

flickr

Ariane 5 liftoff on flight VA233

by European Space Agency
 
Liftoff of Ariane flight VA233, carrying four Galileo satellites, from Europe’s Spaceport in Kourou, French Guiana, on 17 November 2016. Credit: ESA–Stephane Corvaja, 2016

A Star Wars trading card featuring members of Yoda’s unknown alien race at prayer. 

Very little is known about the race Yoda belongs to, but since the only examples of the species we ever see are wise, serene Jedi masters (there’s never one just standing about in the background in a spaceport scene, for instance), it’s reasonable to assume they are a peaceful, spiritual, live monastic lives, and never leave their homeworld. It’s doubtful they even have technology or space travel…and if they do, use them sparingly.

George Lucas made it a policy to never show Yoda’s species. I guess it’s for the same reason that J.R.R. Tolkien added Tom Bombadil and never explained who he was, since in Tolkien’s words, “there should be some mysteries of a world unknown even to the creator.” For instance, the trading card above caused Lucasfilm to pulp the entire run to get it out of circulation. If George Lucas had a story idea behind Yoda’s race, we’ll never know it now, since he sold Star Wars and has no input on the projects.

Anecdotally, I remember that in the days before the internet was a thing, and every kid was obsessed with Star Wars, there was a bit of folklore going around on my playground that Yoda was actually from a race of giants, but as they get older, they get smaller. Who knows how things like that get started?

Diaries of a Spaceport Janitor Review

If ever there was a game that seemed aimed at me with flawless, laser-like precision, then this little indie title from Sundae Month is it. Unless you interpret Alien Isolation as a simulation in which you try to evade the acid spitting jaws of capitalism.

You’re a transgender working class janitor stuck in a dingy flat with just enough money to keep the lights on. I recognise all of this immediately. Despite the colourful, alien world of the spaceport, the game is centred almost exclusively on the mundane. You wake up each morning to clean up trash, getting money for each item you incinerate. To incinerate trash you need energy, to get energy you need to sleep and you cannot sleep if you’re hungry. That’s the structure of every day, one that lets you explore the spaceport during your routine.

It’s a pleasant place to roam, packed with details and stories, carved out of the thickest sci-fi pulp and injected with some humour, made infallibly cute. Strange music hums from cantina’s whilst space ships soar overhead. It’s also designed in such a way that even as you become familiar with it, you never seem to know it in intimate detail. The density seems a deliberate move to ensure the player always feels just a little lost.

As the days pass the spaceport changes too, with the weather or with the coming of a festival, affecting the difficulty of your job. In a lovely touch, you get to fill out entries in the titular diary at the end of each day, giving you a little space to express yourself.

You’ll encounter dozens upon dozens of different lifeforms (I’m still seeing new ones), some of which you can chat with, to be met with insights and compliments or, just as often, insults and pranks. There’s also the goddesses, whom you must appeal to if you wish to improve your luck (an attribute that determines many factors as you explore the spaceport). Then there’s the trash.

The trash is made up of a whole loads of items, some of it simple trash and junk but also unique little oddities. There’s even plenty of unwelcome bodily fluids to clean up, in case you were worried it wouldn’t offer the authentic janitorial experience.

Some of it has value, allowing you to gain some extra money by bartering with the various vendors throughout the spaceport. Other items can help with your luck, keep you fed or help with illness. Of course some of it has no real value at all yet I’d be surprised if I was alone in hanging onto a few rare items out of sentimentality. Someone’s lost mix tape. A festival mask.

Your deprived little world is brightened immensely by these strange items and soon you’ll find you’re running out of storage to keep each and every one you find, especially as you need to make room for more important things like food.

So the game becomes this balancing act, managing all these necessitates. There’s never an urgency, you can’t die or fail but you can’t progress, you can’t see anything new till you’ve covered these expenses. It speaks to a greater truth about the mundanity of being poor. It’s not a constant fear that you’ll be made homeless or that you’ll starve. You always manage to get by. The real fear that persists is that you’ll never escape the cycle, you’ll never be able to do more than just get by. Day by day, this endless grind to get nowhere. The game never makes you feel so grim about it all; the wondrous setting is simply too joyous to allow it but it gets the idea across without simulating it.

This feeling seems manifest in the “curse” you obtain early in the game, a hovering skull that stalks you, draining your luck. The quest to break the curse is the games only escape from the routine of your janitorial duties and offers a glimmer of hope that if you can just break it, maybe then you’ll have a chance to escape the rock you’ve been born on. Yet if this game managed to show me anything, it’s the valuable wonders you can find even on that rock.

The only other thing you have to manage is the need to “gender-shift”. After a length of time the screen will begin to go hazy, character’s text speech will be gargled and illegible. You have can ignore it and press on with your routine but the distortion remains. To cure it, you have to spend money on “gender-shifts” which temporarily alleviate the effects. It’s a simple little thing, filled with humour (as an alien you can adopt a variety of genders, including one called Susan Sarandon) but it captures some of the anxieties of gender dysphoria remarkably well.

This is a game constructed about a very particular experience, executed in the most vibrant way. A game with an exotic location, chock full of aliens and illusions. Yet its purpose is to let you inhabit a specific kind of mundane routine. It nonetheless makes for an appealing game, giving you a purpose in your roaming, keeping you busy as you soak up the atmosphere of a bustling alien world that just this once, doesn’t revolve around you, the player. That interest cannot be sustained indefinitely, obviously. Sooner or later you’ll want more and the game dangles a carrot or two in front of you, promising that perhaps there is indeed something more to find.

Diaries of a Spaceport Janitor is a small game with humble ambitions. It seems to me to be an unexpectedly personal game whose specificity resonated with me a great deal. So I don’t know if it’ll be for everyone. It’s not a demanding game, technically or otherwise nor is it expensive. It can be played at leisure, for a bit of joy and colour. I think anyone looking for a world to inhabit, without an epic adventure or quest, will find a lot to love. And perhaps a little to learn.

So, I’m chatting with @rescuemepotts about Star Wars (as you do) and I had the horrifying realization that after Order 66, Palpatine probably sent his clone army to go eliminate the Force-sensitive children the Jedi had identified all over the galaxy. These guys were just forced to kill the Jedi they’d fought next to for years, and now kids?

Eventually, some clones break and say “fuck this, this is bullshit I’m not killing BABIES,” and abscond with said children, so now there are clones hidden in spaceports all over the galaxy, raising tiny Force-sensitive children of every species. The locals think it’s kind of weird for twin brothers to be raising non-human children this far out in the boonies (and lord, someone needs to teach them how to burp that child) but they obviously care for the children, so they let it go.

And once the Empire falls, these clones, now aged long past their chronological years, start coming out of the shadows, bringing their children (and they are their children) with them and back into the Light.