What is spare time?

Oh. That was two mistakes on my part:

1. I thought you said "spare tire," and
2. I indignantly tried to type, "What spare tire!?"

I cooked the meat too raw for lunch and then recooked it too burnt. Now the boss is looking for the proverbial new girl - part-time, he says - to give me a break.

The chain of command does not go that way.

I had to give boxes of my favorite physics books to a good friend the last time I had to move - and then I didn't have to. My keyboard and I parted then, too. It was a blessing to part with my favorite possessions because I could feel like Justin getting rid of stuff. That may have been before I heard him talk about it, but since he talked about it, I don't look back. Tesla had to sell all his books, and look what happened to his mind without them. Yeah, I think I need a nice lab in the boonies more than I need a book.

My interests have always been optics (Ooh. That is about the fifteenth time I've heard that word today.) and mechanics. Right now, I am interested in wave mechanics. Hanging out here, combined with dimming eyesight, makes me want to get into acoustics. So, I am thinking you won't have any articles worth the postage. I've got some Schaumm books on the shelf, and I am too lazy to lift them when I get home. Anybody out there who can help me with that would be most appreciated. Some days, I feel like an air mathematician, like an air guitarist, a wannabe too lazy to practice.

I'm not into weird physics. My shtick was returning to the Weltangschauung where everything was as it appeared or as it was derivable by logical connections. That's considered too freaky for any diversity program, but it is what I'm about.

Does this make me megalomaniac? I mean, there's like all this power in the boring truth.

I mused again tonight. I was in a reverie of the old ESJ days. I never thought of it in so many words, but my job was to take the weirdness out of science. I recalled how that made me freakish in the eyes of the establishment. So few people understood. Those who did only pretended. But one supersmart guy got what I was talking about. His name is Greg, and he is one of my favorite people. He was a great support after the boss departed maya, and I was left holding the bag with all the revenue streams for the research withdrawn. One time, Greg was explaining Ivor Catt's modeling of electrical current, and I wasn't following what he said. Then, to clarify, he said something like, "You know, like your theory for EM." It was so funny. I never really grasped electrical current until then, but it was a huge honor to have such a sharp and clear mind support my ideas.

Well, Greg has been unemployed forever. It made me think how science is not about discovery but like Acts 17:21: (For all the Athenians and strangers which were there spent their time in nothing else, but either to tell, or to hear some new thing.)

I'm really itching to go back and read Justin's interview again. Can you tell?

Me likes it, too. I took one of the math puzzle books my dad gave me to bed. Zzzzzzzzzzzzz.

I've been listening to Renaissance choral music, and I spent awhile looking up the works of Newton. It is almost as good as seeing Justin in Phoenix. If you ever wanted evidence that life is unjust, consider that Maynard Keynes became the possessor of Newton's "alchemy." He bought the writings. How's this for alchemy:

"Plato is my friend, Aristotle is my friend, but my greatest friend is truth." - Newton

Or consider this:

"Newton stood on the shoulders of giants, but I'm gonna stand on Newton's shoulders." - leslee

I was just reading some Wiki stuff on Newton, and I was wondering what the sensationalist writers would make of my life. They'd find the love letters from the stalker and conclude I was in an affair and practicing witchcraft and who knows what. That's another reason why I don't like history: Nobody knows what they're thinking when events go down, so why do the historians think they do? I do like history of technology, though. I forgot. Some of those ancient gizmos make one laugh - of course - maybe - because the historian or archaeologist is pretending to know the purpose.

And those Americans of the twentieth century worshiped fertility goddesses. They molded plastic images for the home. Often they constructed small shrines with the letters "Barbie's Beach House."

Oh, how I'd love to read everything on Taran's site.

It's the spelling that gets me more than the punctuation - or maybe the preference for hype in science when I get excitement from reducing pop science to boring axioms long known - but you have to offer extra credit to get me to work on it. This stuff will get easier when I detox my brain. Tomorrow, I plan a countdown to ecstasy. (Who was that guy on the cover of that album, anyway?) I'll slowly eat my last Reece's, and when they're gone, I'll try to get back to that Nirvana I once knew under the translucent Phoenix sky.

It is a gray and peaceful sunset tonight. The moon was surely gibbous last night, aberrated here with thick glasses and failing vision no doubt.

Does that cover it? Wait 'til we get multidimensional computers with message threads capable of journeying down all rabbit trails without the need for hyperlinks.

Brains can do that, but it's communication that has hung me up - when a conversation takes a fork in the road, I go one way or the other, then claw back to where we were. Then, I hear, from somebody who claims to have arrived at such a state for an instant, that knowledge of all things at one time is a big bunch of white noise to a brain that is not filtering and imposing priorities. He said he felt as if the answer to any question was at his fingertips, but he was so overwhelmed, he could not formulate a single one. I think I captured what he was trying to say. He also said there was no such thing as time, and we disagreed on that. He was never able to choose words to convey something that made sense on that subject. He also believed protons and electrons were some kind of portals all leading to a new dimension. I never understood that, either. He was a good engineer, though. As his daughter aptly explained, he was intuitive. Us folks in the engineering department would try to solve problems with traditional methods, and he would almost always turn out to be right. We used to argue to tears over what was true. That was back in the old ESJ days.

Whooops! (Is that how Justin spelled it?) Gotta feed the bureaucracy!