Last week I received an email from a graduate student at Washington University in Saint Louis. She was interested in learning more about a competition I had entered that was sponsored by the the publication, Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists. The group was founded in 1945 by scientists who had worked to develop the first atomic weapons. They are the group responsible for the "Doomsday Clock", a hypothetical timepiece that measures how close we are to a nuclear apocalypse (midnight). 

At any rate, in 2001 the group sponsored a hypothetical competition to design a permanent storage facility for 200 metric tons of plutonium piles that were then awaiting disposal. The entry produced by the 25-year-old version of me came in second (a position I still find myself in when imagining post-apocalyptic futures) and our submission was published in the May/June 2002 issue of the magazine. There was also an awards reception where I got to hobnob with nuclear scientists and ultimately I was able to add this project to my portfolio and resume.

And that was about it.

I honestly hadn't thought much about it in the subsequent fifteen years until I received that email last week. What I learned is that in 2005 a professor at Iowa State had written a scholarly essay about post-nuclear monuments, museums and gardens that had referenced my competition entry. That's how the Washington University student had found out about the project this year.

So just to review the timeline; in 2017 a student found a 2005 essay that referenced a project that had been published in 2002 that I had completed in 2001. It is true that nothing on the internet ever really dies - or it at least that things on the internet have a half-life similar to that of plutonium.