Beginning Astrophotography: Milky Way on 14 July 2018

Milky Way core, photographed at 22:58 on the night of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/1.8 and exposed for 8 seconds at 3200 ISO.
Milky Way core, photographed at 22:58 on the night of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/1.8 and exposed for 8 seconds at 3200 ISO.

On the night of the 14th, I got to take my camera out to a friend’s farm—the same one I visited last year—and try more photos of the Milky Way. None of them came out particularly special, but I thought I’d share a few here in one place.

My favorite of the evening might’ve been while I was waiting for dusk, watching the last rays of the sun over the countryside.

Sunset seen over the Oregon farmland, photographed at 20:37 on the evening of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/8 and exposed for 1/160 seconds at 400 ISO.
Sunset seen over the Oregon farmland, photographed at 20:37 on the evening of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/8 and exposed for 1/160 seconds at 400 ISO.

I ended up using my Zeiss Touit lens more than usual this time. It has considerable aberrations and some vignetting, as I’ve pointed out in the past, but its longer focal length let me frame the core of the Milky Way more tightly. It’s a 32mm lens, meaning that on my camera’s APS-C sensor, it is the equivalent of a 48mm lens on a full frame sensor. It’s ideal for things like portraiture, not really for landscapes or astrophotography, but I wanted to give it a try.

I took several photos dead into the Milky Way core with it. I haven’t yet reached the point where I’m taking longer exposures to combine them for more detail. I’ve been instead experimenting with seeing how much detail I can get from individual photos using different settings.

The photo I pushed the most used an ISO of 3200.

Core of the Milky Way, photographed at 22:55 on the night of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/1.8 and exposed for 8 seconds at 3200 ISO.
Milky Way core, photographed at 22:55 on the night of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/1.8 and exposed for 8 seconds at 3200 ISO.

A lot of the brightness comes from aggressive processing after the fact, though. With another photo from the set, taken with identical settings and nearly identical framing, I used more subdued processing.

Milky Way core, photographed at 22:58 on the night of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/1.8 and exposed for 8 seconds at 3200 ISO.
Milky Way core, photographed at 22:58 on the night of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/1.8 and exposed for 8 seconds at 3200 ISO.

I also turned the camera up to the zenith to catch Vega, Lyra, some of Cygnus, and a bit of the North American Nebula.

Zenith, including constellation Lyra and North American Nebula, photographed at 23:19 on the night of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/1.8 and exposed for 13 seconds at 1600 ISO.
Zenith, including constellation Lyra and North American Nebula, photographed at 23:19 on the night of 14 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Zeiss Touit 32mm lens stopped to 𝑓/1.8 and exposed for 13 seconds at 1600 ISO.

By the time I got out the lens I normally use for night sky wide-field photos, the Rokinon, a few clouds had drifted into view and began to spoil the shots in the direction of the core. So I got nothing so wonderful as last year, but still some nice and expansive shots. My friend suggested portrait aspect, and I definitely got the most out of that.

Milky Way core partially obscured by foreground clouds, photographed at 00:20 on the morning of 15 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Rokinon 12mm lens stopped to 𝑓/2.2 and exposed for 20 seconds at 2500 ISO.
Milky Way core partially obscured by foreground clouds, photographed at 00:20 on the morning of 15 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Rokinon 12mm lens stopped to 𝑓/2.2 and exposed for 20 seconds at 2500 ISO.

I took photos facing both toward and away from the center of the galaxy, though the latter required some additional processing to reduce the distorted colors from light pollution. There’s a small glimpse of the Andromeda Galaxy as a small blur in the lower right, but not much definition is there—I’d need a zoom lens and many exposures to get more.

View looking toward trailing end of Milky Way, with Andromeda Galaxy and Cassiopeia, photographed at 00:25 on the morning of 15 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Rokinon 12mm lens stopped to 𝑓/2.2 and exposed for 15 seconds at 3200 ISO.
View looking toward trailing end of Milky Way, with Andromeda Galaxy and Cassiopeia, photographed at 00:25 on the morning of 15 July 18 with my Sony α6300 using a Rokinon 12mm lens stopped to 𝑓/2.2 and exposed for 15 seconds at 3200 ISO.

Pandora’s Checkbox

The Information Age brought with it a cliché—that unread agreement you dismiss to get to the software you need to use. There’s no way you’re going to read it. For example, macOS High Sierra comes with a software license agreement totaling 535 pages in PDF form, which contain (by my count) 280,599 words of intensely detailed yet maddeningly vague legal language. On that operating system, Apple Music has another license, and the App Store has yet another, and so on.

It would take thousands of dollars in consulting fees with a lawyer to make a fully informed decision, or you can proceed regardless. So you proceed. You always have. Each little app, website, or gizmo peppers you with a new set of terms and conditions. Each upgrade gets a few extra clauses thrown in, and you agree again.

You’re not a fool. You assume you’re signing away rights and control you want. It comes in the bargain. You try to skim the terms and conditions, and this deal feels a bit more Faustian all the time—mandatory binding arbitration, data collection, disclaimers of liability, and so on.

None of this is really news to you if you’ve dug into it. You’re not really in possession of your software; you’ve merely licensed the use of it. You can’t really hold them responsible for flaws; you agreed to accept the software as is. You can’t really control what information they collect about you; you hand that over and get a free or discounted product in return.

However, where things get slippery is that a company with whom you’ve entered into a transaction has also signed agreements with yet other companies. Worked into those overwrought terms and conditions you clicked through, with their vague-yet-precise language, are ways of ensuring that you’ve already agreed to these subsequent proxy agreements as well.

What the T&C often allow is for your data to commingle at some broker whose name you’ve never heard of. A common situation in which this happens is when any entity responsible for handling money.

Say that you learn about a subscription service called Company A. You find them in your web browser or your mobile app, and you sign up, agreeing to their T&C. Then you ask to subscribe to a new e-mail about scarves every day, or whatever Company A does. They in turn ask for your credit card info, your billing address, and maybe a few other demographic details about you.

Company A turns to Company B to determine how risky you are. To do this, they ship off some information about you. If you used a mobile app, they’re possibly reading off what Wi-Fi networks are nearby, what Bluetooth devices are nearby, what apps are installed on your phone, what IP addresses you’re using, what fonts you have installed, and a wealth of other information. If you’ve used a browser, the information is similar but more limited. You’re being geographically located in either case. The headers from your browser are sent. The last website you were at before visiting Company A is probably sent.

Company B collects this information and compares it to all the other data it has on millions of other requests it’s collected from other companies. It has no real duty to sequester Company A’s data from Company Z (neither of which know anything about one another), and by putting it all together, it can detect patterns better. For example, it may have the ability to know where you are, even if you are behind a proxy. It may be able to track your traffic across the Internet as you move from Company A to Company Z and so on—because the number of details it gets are enough usually to uniquely identify you. It needs no cookies or other storage on your end for this.

This means that Company B has the role of an invisible data broker whose job it is to assess fraud risk on behalf of companies. The more clients it has feeding it data, the stronger its signals become, so Company B is incentivized to gather as many sources of data as possible, and it wants those data to be as rich and as frequently updated as possible.

Company A gets back something like a score from Company B indicating how much risk you pose—whether or not you’re likely to try to scam them out of free services (or if you’re even a human or not). Assuming you’re fine, then Company A sends your info off to Company C, a credit card processor who is the one actually responsible for charging you money and giving it back to Company A.

Company C is collecting data as well because they stand the greatest risk during this transaction. They collect data themselves, and they’re almost certainly using a data broker of some kind as well—either Company B or more likely something else, a Company D.

These interactions happen quite quickly and, usually, smoothly. In a few seconds, enough info about you to identify your browsing patterns and correlate you with your purchase of Scarf Facts has now been aggregated by one or two data brokers.

These brokers sell their services to companies hoping to prevent fraud, and they make money because they are able to draw from ever larger sources of traffic and gain a clearer picture of the Internet. You agreed to this, but I doubt it was clear to you that entities other than you and Company A were involved.

If you’re wondering whether or not this is really happening, this sort of collection has become increasingly common as businesses have tried to compete with one another by reducing friction around their sign-up processes. Simple CAPTCHAs have not been enough to hold back the tide of automated and human attempts to overwhelm large and small businesses attempting to sell services and goods online, and they have turned to data-based solutions to fight back. We can’t wind back the clock to a simpler time.

Unfortunately, most people are uninvolved and have become bycatch in the vast nets we’ve spun. It is likely, as time goes on, that the brokers who collect and analyze the data collected this way will try to sell them, or analyses of them, to profit in other ways. The value of these data increases as they become more representative of the traffic of the Internet as a whole.

I’m not asking you to stop and read the T&C on the next website you sign up for. That’s ever going to be practical. But now you know about another piece of your soul you’re possibly chipping off in return for clicking “Accept.”

A Taxonomy of Disagreements

I share my world with people with whom I disagree. The question is how and when to act upon it.

Not every disagreement deserves the same reaction. It’s not strictly necessary that I find common ground in every disagreement, and not every disagreement requires my engagement. Even among the cross product of these categories, I can respond in different ways.

I view disagreements along two axes which I’ll call triviality and consensus. By triviality I mean that the subject matter has little impact on at least one party’s life. Consensus means that agreement must be reached; this is not an agree-to-disagree situation.

I’ll lay out what each combination means.

  • Trivial, non-consensus disagreements—disagreements about an unimportant subject which doesn’t strongly impact all parties, or does so unequally. Food preferences are a perfect example. If one person likes mayo, another likes Miracle Whip, and yet another thinks they’re both kind of unpleasant, this is a trivial disagreement. It’s also pretty irrelevant to disagree because nobody has to change their lives too much over this disagreement. Live and let live.
  • Trivial, consensus disagreements—disagreements about an unimportant subject which impacts all parties and for which a single decision needs to be made. This is common in families and offices, like setting the thermostat or choosing where to go for dinner. Contention over shared resources, or picking common tools or workflows at work, can lead to a lot of nitpicking, but the problem is solvable, sometimes even with a coin-toss.
  • Nontrivial, non-consensus disagreements—disagreements about a subject which impacts all parties strongly but for which consensus is not needed, or is even impossible. The most salient example is any question of faith. Faith doesn’t respond to reason and occupies maybe the most important part of some people’s self-identity and self-determination, but agreement over the details of faith or religion are impossible to bring into accord. It’s unrealistic to try. Yet we have to try to find some way to live with people of different faiths. The very intimate, personal nature of their beliefs makes them immutable—non-consensus, as I’m calling it—since we can’t all share a singular faith and probably wouldn’t want to.
  • Nontrivial, consensus disagreements—disagreements which impact all parties strongly and which require agreement. This is the really hard stuff: fundamental human rights, ethics, land-use rights, traffic laws, and so on. For these disagreements, I permit no quarter for non-consensus because I believe that aspects of human rights are both of paramount importance and cannot be yielded to, appeased, or ignored. To do so—to say “live and let live,” “agree to disagree,” to fundamental questions of humanity, dignity, life and death—gives those viewpoints with which I disagree a place to dwell, a platform from which to speak, and an implicit permission for action. The crossover between non-consensus and consensus for nontrivial disagreements begins at the threshold for potential harm.

Within the triviality axis, the consensus degree of freedom actually can be a bit blurry. Taking the trivial disagreements to start with, it’s easy to see where certain topics that should have been non-consensus have blended into consensus in people’s lives—like food preferences, which culture has buried with spades of shame and influence in order to make people eat the same things in the same ways. I work in tech, where similar things have happened for decades, such as the Editor Wars: who edits what and how on their own computer should be an agree-to-disagree situation, but it became a holy war.

Unfortunately, at the other triviality extreme, the same kinds of confusion take place. Nontrivial disagreements which should be non-consensus (which should look like agree-to-disagree) have become literal holy wars. Worse yet, disagreements about basic human dignity and rights have begun to look like agree-to-disagree situations.

I believe we all have a similar taxonomy in our heads, that we believe we’re “entitled to our opinions,” regarding certain questions of faith and politics. In some matters, we are. We’re entitled to our opinions regarding how much funding the Federal Highway Administration should get. Whatever my beliefs about interstate highways, I could break bread with a person who believes in gutting their funding.

However, the idea that we’re “entitled to our opinions” leads to a simplified taxonomy that doesn’t take into account which opinions—which disagreements—are over harmless questions and which are over potentially harmful, dehumanizing, or traumatizing ones.

More complicatedly yet, matters of faith—a place within many of us untouchable by consensus or persuasion—have enabled some people to spread the non-consensus umbrella over many other areas of their worldview, seeing them all as speciously linked by faith and therefore unimpeachable. As such, their political opinions about personhood, their ethical behaviors, their votes—no matter what their source, they are all placed into a category beyond rational discussion.

I have found myself exhorted to meet these people in the middle, to attempt to understand them, to “agree to disagree” with them, or to attempt to include them in wider political efforts to advance my own political will. These efforts often come from centrist-liberal sources.

What I’m here to tell you is that if your politics touches a human, if it has the potential to visit harm and suffering, if it detains a person, I have no place for you at my table, in my home, or in my life. If you use the idea of free expression to shirk the responsibility of examining your own ideas, you have abrogated your duty as a citizen under the guise of entitlement.