Happy Tuesday, everybody. How about a fresh hot cuppa, Wes? Black, please. Unless you've got a little Dutch Genever you can top it off with. Oud Genever, danken. Man, what a week.

I was asked to participate in a human factors study yesterday, which turned out to be pretty enlightening. Exact details can't be revealed (if I told you, I'd have to kill you), but I can say that each participant is given a set of instructions and asked to read them thoroughly, taking their time. No rush. As soon as they're certain they have a working knowledge of the rules, the test begins.

The evaluation takes place on computer. A facilitator runs through an example procedure and then the participant is left alone in a closed room to complete the test on their own. The first thing I discovered is that the damn thing works exactly opposite from the way I understood it would after receiving the instructions! The real test turned out to be this: how long will one adhere to bum instructions before changing strategies? Wild. I'm proud to have been a part of it.

Opportunities like that present themselves from time to time and I have never shirked my responsibility when it comes to R&D. Recent topics here in the Spoon, as a matter of fact, remind me of one of my most memorable experiments - the time I participated in a waste management containment study. It was during my first job in aerospace, circa 1981. I was supporting an engineering team responsible for the design and manufacture of crew provisions for the early Shuttle flights. Our mission: determine if disposable diapers were suitable for use by female astronauts aboard the Shuttle Transportation System.

Yes, indeedy. In the privacy of our own home (thank you) we were to don the DFCAs (Disposable Feminine Containment Apparati) and wear them until we felt the need to relieve liquid waste from the body, at which time we were to void into the DFCA. If containment was achieved, we were to continue wearing the diaper and repeat the process as often as necessary until failure occurred. We were also asked to document every stage of the process and submit a written report.

I decided to wait for the weekend to conduct my test. Waking up on Saturday morning, it felt like the right day so I donned the DFCA, together with a black "Live to Ride, Ride to Live" babydoll tank top, and set about my usual Saturday rat killing (East Texas slang for "routine"). I had five natal charts to calculate and transits to check for Alice, so I took my place on the couch, with a plastic sheet between me and the fabric, and surrounded myself with astrology books, blank aspect wheels, the American Ephemeris Up To and Including the Year 2000, colored pencils, straight-edge, "Time Zones in the U.S.", "Time Zones in the World", the Atlas, "Dynamics of Aspect Analysis" and my trusty TR-80 handheld computer which Pancho had mailed to me from prison. Sure enough, three Shiner Bocks and two horoscopes later, I got the "call".

Now peeing in one's pants is not as easy, after a lifetime of training oneself NOT to do it, as you might originally think. I looked at the first item on my test schedule. Alpha attempt was to be conducted in a sitting position. I thought, "Hey, this ain't nothin' for a stepper. This is great. Don't even have to get up to go to the bathroom. Just sit here drinking beer and do it in my pants." I moved my books and papers off my lap, just in case, and tried to take care of business. Nothing happened.

I concentrated harder. Nothing. Maybe I'm not holding my mouth right? Change mouth to "closed" position. Still nothing. Soon my brow was furrowed deep enough to plant potatoes and my eyes were beginning to squint.

"Are you in pain?" Alice asked.

"Pain? No, why?"

"Well, your face is all screwed up like something's hurting," she said.

"Believe it or not, Alice, I'm trying to piss in my pants."

"Cool," she said. "Just as long as you're not in pain or dying or anything."

I was obviously trying too hard. I needed to relax a little bit and just let it happen. So I leaned back on the couch and let my body go limp. Kinda waved my arms and legs to get the kinks out and sprawled in the most relaxed position I could muster. Success continued to elude me. No matter how hard I tried to focus, I could not pee in the diaper. Necessity finally dictated that I give up that particular approach. I eventually moved to the bathroom, where I assumed a sitting position on the toilet and held my hand under warm running water. That did the trick.

Now, see ... if I had participated in this experiment BEFORE the Great Flood of '79, I'd have known what to do in that situation. Wouldn't even have had to think about it.

Anyway, the resulting sensation was mildly uncomfortable at first. It felt ... wet. Like I had wet my pants. Which I had. Yuck. Once the urine was completely absorbed by the material, though, and distributed throughout the apparatus, I didn't notice it so much. Continuing to wear it was not uncomfortable. And I had no psychological problems about urinating in it the second time. But the damn thing failed on the second try. Suddenly urine was flowing down my legs and dripping onto the bathroom floor. Hmmm. Wouldn't this be fun in zero-g?

Back at work the following Monday, I composed a serious report on the subject (which was no small feat in itself) and submitted it to the Chief Engineer, as requested, with copies to Waste Management, Quality, and the Design Team. They snickered for a week.

One of these days I'm gonna write a book about my years in aerospace, my life among the rocket scientists, and title it, "Pissing in My Pants for Space".