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Last chance to buy a pickled cockroach full of moon dust

Feedback is our weekly column of bizarre stories, implausible advertising claims, confusing instructions and more

Dinner by moonlight

Around a tenth of the 21.5 kilograms of moon rock the Apollo 11 astronauts brought back to Earth on 24 July 1969 ended up as food. In Building 37, at what is now known as NASA’s Johnson Space Center in Houston, Texas, it was ground up and fed to various microbes, insects and aquatic animals. Would they sicken or die? Would they acquire strange powers?

Eight cockroaches were among the diners, and Feedback is now digging through the penny jar in a frantic attempt to raise enough to bid for the traces of their meal. Three of the insects have already reached over $21,000 on the web page of , a Massachusetts firm specialising in space memorabilia.

NASA had sent a vial containing the pickled cockroaches to Marion Brooks-Wallace, an entomologist at the University of Minnesota. Brooks dissected them, looking to see if the moon rock had done them any damage (it hadn’t). On her retirement, she hung the stuff of her study in a display case on her wall.

And there the story would end, except that, according to RR Auction, “The original vial of extracted material was broken, spilling its contents into the display… The ground fines and glass shards were then meticulously separated into two larger glass vials.”

Eight cockroaches. A meal of moon dust. A broken phial. And an auction lot of three cockroaches? Feedback believes there are many worse screenplay ideas and is even now downloading Final Cut.

Orbital entities

Having done all it could to ensure outer space is free of moon dust-munching bugs, you would think NASA would want to keep the place free of ghosts. But no: on 8 October 2021, Josef Schmid, a NASA flight surgeon, shimmered into existence on the International Space Station alongside Fernando De La Pena Llaca, CEO of Aexa Aerospace. Aexa wrote the software that let orbiting European Space Agency astronaut Thomas Pesquet talk to Schmid and De La Pena as though they were actually on the station.

VR wheezes are all very well, but on NASA’s news page, Schmid said “it is a brand-new way of human exploration”. He goes on to how “our human entity is able to travel off the planet. Our physical body is not there, but our human entity absolutely is there.” Feedback feels this is a sentiment worthy of the goofier end of Thomas Mann’s notoriously ambiguous The Magic Mountain. More prosaically, the aim is to bring VIPs onto the space station to visit astronauts. That should brighten Pesquet’s day.

Modern manners

Another day, another fractional adjustment to the world after the arrival of covid-19. Gustatory mischief-makers Bompas and Parr (more usually found mixing transformative cocktails) have released a follow-up to , their wipe-clean (no, really) anthology of anecdotes drawing our attention towards one of the surer indicators that urban nightlife is recovering – what Feedback, with customary daintiness, will call the urban traces of a good night out.

In the pages of The Atlantic, standards of social etiquette are far higher. Witness the exhaustive algorithm design that mathematician Daniel Biss has brought to his recently featured “What Time to Arrive At a Party Calculator”. Answer some simple questions about yourself, your peer group and your upcoming event, and will ensure you arrive to catch the funniest stories and meet the best people. Feedback is dusting off its party clothes now.

Buzzing off

According to a , bumblebees are fish. This isn’t as unlikely as it may seem, given the California Fish and Game Code decided (for the purposes of an admirable brevity) that the definition “fish” included any “mollusk, crustacean, invertebrate (or) amphibian”, be it terrestrial or aquatic. If it looks like a fish and it swims like a fish, then it’s a fish; also when it doesn’t.

Poor Linnaeus must be spinning in his grave. Also likely to be unhappy at the outcome is the Almond Alliance of California, which argued that insects have no legal protection in the state, even when endangered. Is it a mixed metaphor too far to suggest the alliance now has egg on its face?

Judge not

No sooner did reader Philippa Sandall call for a means to describe people who expound on matters from a position of ignorance (4 June), than our friend Anthony Tasgal leapt into the fray with “ultracrepidarian”.

According to Pliny the Elder, in the 4th century BC, the painter Apelles of Kos invented the customer survey. Hidden behind his paintings, he would listen to the comments of potential customers. After a passing cobbler remarked on a figure’s poorly rendered sandal, Apelles made amendments. The cobbler passed by again and complained about the figure’s leg. Apelles realised what a horror he had visited upon the world, and snarled: “Ne sutor ultra crepidam iudicaret” (a cobbler shouldn’t judge beyond the shoe). In 1819, William Hazlitt coined the word “ultracrepidarian” to tick off critic William Gifford for his cluelessness.

Crouched in the shadows behind 60-plus years of back copies of èƵ, Feedback welcomes all comments and observations.

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