While earnestly trying to work today, albeit a Monday, I was jolted awake by the following story racing along the Information Superhighway (remember that oh-so-Nineties term?):
Scientists trying to create a detailed inventory of all the matter and energy in the cosmos run into a curious problem--the vast majority of it is missing.
"I call it the dark side of the universe," said Michael Turner, a cosmologist at the University of Chicago, referring to the great mysteries of dark matter and dark energy.
In fact, only 4 percent of the matter and energy in the universe has been found. The other 96 percent remains elusive. . . .
"I call it the dark side of the universe," said Michael Turner, a cosmologist at the University of Chicago, referring to the great mysteries of dark matter and dark energy.
In fact, only 4 percent of the matter and energy in the universe has been found. The other 96 percent remains elusive. . . .
Now, there's an all-points bulletin (APB), and we mean all points of the cosmos!
I am greatly relieved to hear this (manifested as a high-pitched, tinny voice in my left ear; do you hear those voices, too? really? adjust thy medication).
This explains the Chaos Theory of the Dining-Room Table; my desk at work; the papers piled on the shelf by the window where Nickie the Cat pisses; missing credit-card bills; the seemingly lost autographs of Willie Mays, Woody Allen, and William F. Buckley, Jr.; lost virginity; missing appetite; misplaced ancient family photos, both framed and unframed; dangling participles; the dearth of semicolons; and the plethora of missing serial commas.
Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Cosmologist, whoever you are (missing or not).
I am so freaking relieved!
Speaking of cosmologists, I want to relate a little story. I have a weird hobby of being fascinated by weird obituaries. Probably goes back to my days as a newspaper copy editor. Well, there are actually people who do that as a hobby. They go to conventions and everything.
Anyway, one odd obituary sticks in my mind from 2000. I have a rather photographic or obsessive memory for minutiae, and I have always remembered the name of Jeffrey Willick.
As you can see, his untimely death was like a comment in and of itself: "Cosmologist Killed Sipping Coffee at Starbucks." See for yourself.
I mean no disrespect or anything like that. I mean, "Sheeesh, when your time is up, it's up, eh?" Or, "When your Maker summons, the bill is due." Something like that.
Carry on.
Back to the cosmological search for all that missing matter.
Dust balls, anyone?
3 comments:
Reminds me of the late, great Roland Barthes - run over and killed by a milk float. Strangely fitting somehow.
Puss
One minute you're sipping a cuppa joe at Starbucks and the next minute you are among the stars, and you no longer need any bucks.
this story was a massive tragedy to the family, which had already suffered other tragedies.
it was a car accident, of a sort that happens about 250 times every year.
Sadly, because of the brand names in the story (Harvard, Stanford, Starbucks) it is now a legend, a "just goes to show you" type anecdote.
No respect at all.
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