Just as we were wrapping our groove around this whole month-of-May thing, we get a Mayday alert from the lab. Ding! Ding! Ding! A royal bevy of theoreticians got all knotted up over String Theory, and they were issuing theoretical threats.
We did what brilliant managers do in crisis: we called a meeting.
A bit of background here -- we like theories, theoretically speaking. We have a few we’re nursing along, even though data does not blatantly support them. Just like the physicists in the lab, god bless ‘em, with their big fat String Theory that’s supposed to explain the cosmos in terms of one dimensional units, or “strings,” that you can’t see.
Well, that’s convenient. At least we have theories you can look at and manhandle for chrissakes. Et Cetera.
So, anyway, we started the meeting with some non-theoretical actual facts! (Refreshing!) Such as, “What in the hell exists in one dimension? ‘One-Dimensional’ is just hifalutin bullshit for NOTHING! If all you got is one dimension, you got goddam nothing!” (We said it in a nice way.) (But with some vigor.) (We continued.) “That’s our theory, and we have data to support it. You want string theory? We got string facts! Take a bit of string, or a phone cord, or an extension cord, and wad it up in your pocket or the back of a pickup truck, and it gets all tangled up in knots. Reality ties itself in knots. Because stuff likes to
mingle with other stuff. That’s string facts.”
It was a very short meeting, which is a very good meeting, and management trusts that benefits May accrue in June or November.
Wikipedia Friday Favorite: In honor of the intersection of curiosity and logarithmically expanding human knowledge, we offer a weekly favorite obscure Wikipedia page. This week – String Theory. Oy. You never know. A bunch of numbers might add up to something, like how to untangle your ear
buds. You be the judge.
In other non-theoretical news, a Flossophy Friend celebrated a birthday with a string of numbers ending in zero, in
Kansas, a combination of factors which sharpens perception. He writes, in part:
As a Flossophy major, I was determined to take advantage of this mid-continent junket to work on a nugget for your frothy Friday epistles. I recently attended a small birthday gathering for a close family member (me) and couldn’t think of a single clever thing to say to my dearest loved ones.
Then I wondered if Spiro T. Agnew was thinking about the future me back in 1970 when he was railing against the Nattering Nabobs of Negativity.
I went for a walk, trying to find any available thoughts about this and other important matters. Not finding much to gather, I began worrying . . . What if I became thoughtless?
Then I had a thought . . . My wife and I married when we were 22. In spite of her lasting beauty, what if I started taking her for granted? Then I had another thought: to do at least one thing a day that would elicit a spontaneous “how thoughtful of you!” from my sweetie. That sounds like a great idea, and now I no longer have the luxury to think about Nattering Nabobs of Negativity like Spiro T. Agnew. Now I must focus my thoughts elsewhere. I need to compile a list of 365 thoughtful gestures. That’s a lot to think about.
Thanks for the inspiration, Mark Terrill!
Fictionary Friday: Words You Need. Whether you know it or not. This week, we offer a Flossophy First - - - a second definition of last week’s word, thanks to Dapper Dude Chris Cox of Dandy Downtown Richmond . . .
Psychosemantic(sigh koe sem man tik) Adjective: [2.] When you start believing your own press.
In a sentence:A theoretical victim of his own definition, Chris Cox imagined that he would produce a third definition for psychosemantic next week.
Fizzdom Friday: from our collection of favorite quotes.
“Our chaos theory is currently a complete mess." – Whirled Headquarters
Friday Fluff:
Many of you are painting your radiators this week, before the Memorial Day rush. It can be really fun, especially if you inhale enough fumes to make you forget you’re painting radiators. (Try Satin Almond!) Thirdly, it will take a year, including the time it takes to return the cans that are not the color they say they are. So, if we survive the process, we really should get together in Greater Kansas on some kinda Mayday-We-Painted-Our-Radiators Festival in 2020.
Write you (do) or (do not) string together some theories.
