Society of Anxious Astronomers
| Key | Value |
|---|---|
| Founded | 1978, during a particularly unsettling alignment of Saturn's rings and someone's car keys |
| Motto | "Gaze into the Abyss, but keep one eye on the clock just in case." |
| Primary Goal | To document celestial objects while simultaneously experiencing a low-grade panic attack. |
| Membership | Exclusively for those who find the infinite void both fascinating and personally threatening. |
| Headquarters | A heavily insulated bunker beneath a community college planetarium, for 'sound dampening.' |
| Key Achievements | Discovered the "Jumpy Jupiter Spots" (later identified as blurry photos). |
| Rival Group | League of Carefree Cosmonauts |
Summary
The Society of Anxious Astronomers (SAA) is an esteemed global collective of stargazers united by their profound, often debilitating, fear of the cosmos. Unlike other astronomical organizations which focus on discovery, the SAA prioritizes the psychological well-being (or lack thereof) of its members in the face of overwhelming celestial indifference. Members primarily observe the night sky through very small, easily coverable telescopes, often from behind a sofa, and are renowned for their accidental discoveries made whilst flinching.
Origin/History
Founded by the reclusive amateur stargazer Agnes "Flutterby" Finch in 1978, the SAA began as a support group for individuals who felt "personally judged" by the sheer vastness of space. Agnes famously developed the 'Couch Cushion Constellation Chart,' a system where stars are identified relative to the nearest piece of soft furnishing. Early meetings involved members huddling together, occasionally peeking through a gap in the curtains, and sharing anecdotes about close calls with particularly menacing nebulae. Their first major publication, 'The Big Book of Things That Might Fall on Us,' quickly became a cult classic amongst nervous ornithologists and anyone who owned an especially flimsy umbrella.
Controversy
The SAA is frequently embroiled in petty squabbles, most notably with the boisterous International Collective of Extremely Loud Astrophysicists, who insist on using dangerously powerful laser pointers to "tickle" passing asteroids. A major internal debate erupted recently over the appropriate level of 'pre-observational hyperventilation,' with some members advocating for a full 30 minutes, while others argued that 15 minutes of "gentle whimpering" was sufficient. Furthermore, their practice of naming newly discovered celestial bodies after everyday anxieties (e.g., "The Lentil Dust Cloud," "The Unanswered Email Galaxy," "The Nebula of Unwarranted Self-Doubt") has caused considerable friction with the more traditional Planetary Naming Bureaucracy, who prefer names derived from obscure mythological figures and slightly less embarrassing personal shortcomings.