[extropy-chat] Woody Allen and the universe: Hilarious!

[Jose Cordeiro]

When the universe is expanding it can make you late for work
http://www.arts.telegraph.co.uk/opinion/main.jhtml;$sessionid$1NI2J0GRGBBCJQ
FIQMGSFF4AVCBQWIV0?xml=/opinion/2004/01/04/do0402.xml&sSheet=/portal/2004/01/04/ixportal.html
4 January 2004

   When the universe is expanding it can make you late for work
   By Woody Allen

   I am greatly relieved that the universe is finally explainable. I 
was
   beginning to think it was me. As it turns out, physics, like a 
grating
   relative, has all the answers. The big bang, black holes, and the
   primordial soup turn up every Tuesday in the Science section of The
   New York Times, and as a result my grasp of general relativity and
   quantum mechanics now equals Einstein's - Einstein Moomjy, that is,
   the rug seller.

   How could I not have known that there are little things the size of
   "Planck length" in the universe, which are a millionth of a 
billionth
   of a billionth of a billionth of a centimetre? Imagine if you 
dropped
   one in a dark theatre how hard it would be to find. And how does
   gravity work? And if it were to cease suddenly would certain
   restaurants still require a jacket?

   What I do know about physics is that to a man standing on the shore
   time passes quicker than to a man on a boat - especially if the man 
on
   the boat is with his wife. The latest miracle of physics is string
   theory, which has been heralded as a TOE, or "Theory of Everything".
   This may even include the incident of last week herewith described.

   I awoke on Friday and because the universe is expanding it took me
   longer than usual to find my robe. This made me late leaving for 
work
   and, because the concept of up and down is relative, the elevator 
that
   I got into went to the roof, where it was very difficult to hail a
   taxi.

   Please keep in mind that a man on a rocket ship approaching the 
speed
   of light would have seemed on time for work - or perhaps even a 
little
   early and certainly better dressed. When I finally got to the office
   and approached my employer, Mr Muchnick, to explain the delay, my 
mass
   increased the closer I came to him, which he took as a sign of
   insubordination.

   There was some rather bitter talk of docking my pay, which, when
   measured against the speed of light, is very small anyhow. The truth
   is that compared to the amount of atoms in the Andromeda galaxy I
   actually earn quite little. I tried to tell this to Mr Muchnick, who
   said I was not taking into account that time and space were the same
   thing.

   He swore that if that situation should change he would give me a
   raise. I pointed out that since time and space are the same thing, 
and
   it takes three hours to do something that turns out to be less than
   six inches long, it can't sell for more than $5. The one good thing
   about space being the same as time is that if you travel to the 
outer
   reaches of the universe and the voyage takes 3,000 Earth years, your
   friends will be dead when you come back, but you will not need 
Botox.

   Back in my office, with the sunlight streaming through the window, I
   thought to myself that if our great golden star suddenly exploded 
this
   planet would fly out of orbit and hurtle through infinity forever -
   another good reason to always carry a cell phone. On the other hand,
   if I could someday go faster than 186,000 miles per second and
   recapture the light born centuries ago, could I then go back in time
   to ancient Egypt or Imperial Rome? But what would I do there: I 
hardly
   knew anybody.

   It was at this moment that our new secretary, Miss Lola Kelly, 
walked
   in. Now, in the debate over whether everything is made up of 
particles
   or waves, Miss Kelly is definitely waves. You can tell she's waves
   every time she walks to the water cooler. Not that she doesn't have
   good particles but it's the waves that get her the trinkets from
   Tiffany's.

   My wife is more waves than particles, too, it's just that her waves
   have begun to sag a little. Or maybe the problem is that my wife has
   too many quarks. The truth is, lately she looks as if she had passed
   too close to the event horizon of a black hole and some of her - not
   all of her, by any means - was sucked in. It gives her a kind of 
funny
   shape, which I'm hoping will be correctable by cold fusion.

   My advice to anyone has always been to avoid black holes because, 
once
   inside, it's extremely hard to climb out and still retain one's ear
   for music. If, by chance, you do fall all the way through a black 
hole
   and emerge from the other side, you'll probably live your entire 
life
   over and over but will be too compressed to go out and meet girls.

   And so I approached Miss Kelly's gravitational field and could feel 
my
   strings vibrating. All I knew was that I wanted to wrap my 
weak-gauge
   bosons around her gluons, slip through a wormhole, and do some 
quantum
   tunnelling.

   It was at this point that I was rendered impotent by Heisenberg's
   uncertainty principle. How could I act if I couldn't determine her
   exact position and velocity? And what if I should suddenly cause a
   singularity; that is, a devastating rupture in space-time? They're 
so
   noisy. Everyone would look up and I'd be embarrassed in front of 
Miss
   Kelly. Ah, but the woman has such good dark energy. Dark energy,
   though hypothetical, has always been a turn-on for me, especially in 
a
   female who has an overbite.

   I fantasised that if I could only get her into a particle 
accelerator
   for five minutes with a bottle of Chateau Lafite I'd be standing 
next
   to her with our quanta approximating the speed of light and her
   nucleus colliding with mine. Of course, exactly at this moment I got 
a
   piece of antimatter in my eye and had to find a Q-tip to remove it. 
I
   had all but lost hope when she turned toward me and spoke.

   "I'm sorry," she said. "I was about to order some coffee and Danish
   but now I can't seem to remember the Schrodinger equation. Isn't 
that
   silly? It's just slipped my mind."

   "Evolution of probability waves," I said "And if you're ordering I'd
   love an English muffin with muons and tea."

   "My pleasure," she said, smiling coquetishly and curling up into a
   Calabi-Yau shape.

   I could feel my coupling constant invade her weak field as I pressed
   my lips to her wet neutrinos. Apparently I achieved some kind of
   fission, because the next thing I knew I was picking myself up off 
the
   floor with a mouse on my eye the size of a supernova.

   I guess physics can explain everything except the softer sex, 
although
   I told my wife I got the shiner because the universe was 
contracting,
   not expanding, and I just wasn't paying attention.

   This article is taken from The New Yorker





La vie est belle!

Yosé (www.cordeiro.org) 

Caracas, Venezuela, Americas, TerraNostra


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