Doug Clark: Nothing for E.T. to phone home about

I‘m done with the solar system.

I’m just not the kind of guy who can put up with a one-sided relationship.

The heavens keep letting me down.

Wednesday night was the limit. I spent over an hour watching the total lunar eclipse from my makeshift observatory on the cold outdoor patio on the seventh floor of The Spokesman-Review/Chronicle building.

Am I wrong to expect more action out of the cosmos?

I saw “Cloverfield” the other day. It has a monster trashing New York City like some speed freak rocker in a hotel room.

Now that’s some serious special effects.

The eclipse plot, alas, was tedious and predictable. Plus, the whole thing could have used a killer soundtrack.

“Bad Moon Rising” by Creedence.

That would have livened things up considerably.

I will admit that the lunar eclipse was more successful than any of my previous star-dazing adventures.

Like the time I went chasing off west of town one November night to view a so-called “spectacular” Leonid meteor shower. I wound up shivering in a barren wheat field with some entertainment-starved loons.

The only showers we encountered were in the form of cold raindrops dribbling down our necks.

Another time I camped out on a hilltop until 3 a.m. waiting to watch a much-ballyhooed Perseid meteor show.

One more cosmic con job if you ask me.

I even fell for the hype about Mars a few years ago. The angry red planet was supposedly closer to Earth than it had been in 60,000 years. So off I went. After much staring, I finally located Mars, which was no bigger than a twinkling flyspeck in the southern skies.

“That’s what you call close?” I hollered, shaking an angry red fist at the vast stygian void.

Once in a while the heavens do produce some interstellar eye candy. On Tuesday, for example, some descending meteorite or crashing UFO lit up Spokane’s predawn sky.

Now that was cool.

But you know what would have been cooler?

If I hadn’t been home snoring in bed at the time.

Call me a sucker, but Wednesday evening I decided to give astronomy one last chance to put out.

Here is a timeline of my scientific observations.

5:33 p.m. – I arrive at the S-R patio with binoculars in hand. To the east, I see the moon is slowly rising above the old ONB building.

5:34 p.m. – I put the binoculars down when I realize that the Davenport Hotel is in my stargazing path. The last thing I need is to get mistaken for that guard who last summer allegedly used a federal building security camera to spy on women undressing in the hotel.

5:37 p.m. – It’s a clear night. No, it’s a cold, clear night. I curse myself for not wearing long johns.

5:40 p.m. – Time for a break. I head to the lunchroom for a tall cup of vending machine tea.

5:45 p.m. – I return to find the moon being slowly consumed by a shadow.

5:47 p.m. – Good Lord. Vending machine tea tastes like space alien whiz!

5:56 p.m. – So the moon is being gobbled by a shadow. Big deal. Due to weight gain, I’ve been obscuring more and more things with the steadily expanding shadow of my behind.

5:59 p.m. – A co-worker arrives to explain that the moon will be in “penumbra” until it reaches the full “umbra” status. Aw, bite me.

6:10 p.m. – The moon is gone! The moon is gone! The moon is gone behind the U.S. Bank building.

6:11 p.m. – Time for a snack break. I head for the lunchroom. After a failed attempt to locate a MoonPie, I settle for Reese’s Pieces, E.T.’s favorite candy.

6:13 p.m. – A noisy group from another S-R department arrives. “I should have known that if there was mooning involved Doug Clark would be here.” Aw, double bite me.

6:18 p.m. – Like escalating interest rates, the moon rises above the U.S. Bank building.

6:20 p.m. – The moon has reached the “half baked” condition, also known as “Ron Paul.”

6:25 p.m. – It could be years before we see another total lunar eclipse this clear. I can hardly wait.

6:33 p.m. – Using the new Eddie Bauer binoculars I bought on sale after Christmas, I think I spot a nurse in one of the Sacred Heart Medical Center windows.

6:37 p.m. – A crowd of journalists joins me. I am not alone in the universe.

6:45 p.m. – A computer guy begins a philosophical discussion on what Pink Floyd’s “Dark Side of the Moon” means.

6:57 p.m. – All but covered now in shadow, the moon is looking like a slightly pink piece of rotten fruit. That reminds me. I’m way overdue for dinner.

7:01 p.m. – The moon is gone. So is my patience.