I guess I found out sometime yesterday that there was going to be a meteor shower tonight: a big one. A good one. One worth seeing. A Leonid meteor shower of spectacular proportion. So I decided to try again to cross this particular escapade off my list. (The first time I tried to see a meteor shower, we couldn't find dark enough sky. The second time, I went to a creepy park and got a bad vibe and went home.)

My roommate told me to try Mount Diablo, which is about 30 miles from my house. So I followed my directions diligently and wound my way up the dark scary mountain, determined not to wuss out this time. Of course, the gate to the park itself was closed, so I had to park on the road outside. Which was fine, since it was a dark, secluded mountain road.

There was one other car parked a little further on. It was kind of creepy, until a woman pulled up next to me and sort of became my meteor buddy for the night. (I shared a seat on the trunk of my car, she shared her big tarp.) While we chatted and waited for Leo to rise (actually, while I insisted that about three constellations which aren't Leo were probably Leo) more cars started coming. And coming. And coming. We ended up with about 30 cars and a huge group of people-- lots of fun and camaraderie as we all said "Oooh" and "Aaah" as if we were watching fireworks.

I have never looked at the night sky for three hours straight before. It was amazing, watching the sky revolve-- I measured it according to how far Orion moved across the sky. But of course, the really spectacular thing was the meteor shower itself. I've never seen anything like it. We must have seen a couple hundred-- the guy next to us counted two hundred thirty something, and we were there longer than he was.

(I have no idea if this is a lot of meteors or not-- it was my first time. It's nothing compared with some of the estimates of 8000 meteors an hour under perfect conditions. I have no doubt that if I had been out in the middle of the desert, it would have been much more spectacular. But I was impressed beyond anything just by seeing something.)

The best one was probably the second one we saw, just before midnight, a gigantic one with a huge blue tail. (I guess it was one of the Earthgrazers.) But I got the most thrill from the ones I saw at the peak of the shower, which went off in different directions one right after another or even at the same time. Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh. (Almost makes you feel like you're right there, doesn't it?)

I really wished I was with someone who could point out the constellations and stars and planets to me. Or at least help me to find Cancer. (How impossible is that one-- three nondescript stars in a wishbone shape? That could be ANY THREE STARS! I haven't a clue.) Or a decent star map and a flashlight.

But I was able to identify quite a few things, with the help of a printout I had with me. Orion, of course. Gemini (and the eponymous twin stars Castor and Pollux). Taurus. The Pleiades. Jupiter and Saturn. Sirius. I think I found the Big Dipper. And Leo, of course, with his head shaped like a question mark. It took me awhile to find him, but once I saw it, I couldn't un-see it so I knew it was the right one.

We stayed out there for a few hours. It was freezing cold-- I had no idea it would get so cold-- but when the meteors showed up, it was hard to care. At first we just spotted the occasional one, but we started seeing more and more as it got later. The peak of the storm seemed to come just after two in the morning.

It was difficult to tear myself away, but I got so freaking cold, to the point that I couldn't feel my limbs. And I was tired, too. Next time, I am loading up on the hat-with-the-flap, the scarf, the blankets, the coffee, etc. Not to mention an astronomically-inclined guy willing to provide some body heat along with his tutelage.

The funny thing is that I saw meteors all the way home-- even on the freeway, and right outside my own house. I didn't exactly have to drive 30 miles to see the meteor shower. But it was worth it.

You either understand this feeling, or you don't-- I bet everyone does, though, when they're looking at the night sky. You realize how fast that meteor is actually streaking across the sky. The sheer size of the balls of gas twinkling in the distance or the chunk of rock or ice hurling itself at Earth. The vastness of Jupiter, which makes it so bright. (And this is why I need the warm guy to explain it all to me. The more you understand, the more awe-inspiring it is.)

It makes you feel insignificant, but also part of something bigger than yourself. It gives you perspective, makes you feel present in a way that's all too rare. First you have the realization that billions upon billions of people throughout history have looked at the very sky you're looking at, and then you realize how insignificant that realization is, because the stars predate humanity to the point of ridiculousness.

That's the moment when it suddenly hits you, the magnitude of what you're actually looking at. That's quite a moment.

"Are you relly [sic] going out with BUFFY because if you are your LUCKY"