Although I am not myself a scientist, other people are. And many of those scientists have written books, which I've read. That is to say, I've read the easier ones-- well, some of them; the ones that weren't too thick and intimidating. All right-- I've skimmed some dust jackets and I have access to Wikipedia. So I know a thing or two about science. (Perhaps as many as five or six things, but I don't like to brag.) Over the course of the last few years I have made certain observations and noticed peculiar correlations which have led me to discoveries that will knock the world of science on its ass. (Or asses. It really depends on how many scientists read this.)
I am Uncle to.... I was about to give the number of nieces and nephews, but blogalistic integrity compels me to mention that my siblings and I disagree on what that number actually is. Due to the geocentric nature of my home in relation to my family (poor planning on my part), I am the victim, or as my family likes to call it, "host" of many family gatherings. Based on the decibel levels and seismic measurements meticulously recorded at these events, my kid-count is one or two orders of magnitude greater than theirs. Compared to the kind of scientific accuracy that I have achieved, my siblings' claims that "We were there during the delivery" and "We know how many children we're raising" seem rather weak. But let us not pick at that scab today, we have bigger fish to fry.
I am Uncle to... many.
The relationship between uncle and child is an important one, but given short shrift in
our culture today. Nevertheless, the responsibility of uncling is one which
I have taken quite seriously. I have given these... many... children the full benefit of my great wisdom and experience in ways that parents and other authority figures simply cannot. Indeed, ask any one of my nieces and nephews who taught them that matches and gasoline are outside toys, or who always made them share the razor blades and poison. Indeed, ask them who it was who gave them the magnificent opportunity to use their wits and bravery to find their own way home from neighboring towns. To a one, they will point at me with a shaking finger and say in a quavering voice: "He did." (I am almost as proud of their honesty as I am of their survival skills.)
My various siblings all married within three years of each other and, as if all of those ceremonies and receptions weren't enough, began their begatting at a prodigious rate, seemingly without coordination of any kind. (Poor planning on
their part.) Interestingly enough, once having produced these larval hominids, the parents felt an immediate need to foist the helpless little homunculi off on the nearest adult relation. (Why didn't I move into a cave when I had the chance?) The tiny primates are simply handed off with vague excuses such as: 'going shopping', 'running errands' or, 'If we don't get some sleep we'll go insane.' This practice of outsourcing parental duties is known as 'baby-sitting', although, in my experience, no sitting actually occurs. This is especially true once the miniature mammals reach the stage that is blithely, and misleadingly, referred to as 'toddlerhood'. And it is this shocking and disturbing stage of human existence which occasions this letter.
Horses, antelope, zebras and such, can all walk, and even run, within hours of birth. Not so with humans. The human baby doesn't walk for over a year, during which time it gathers its strength, observes its surroundings, and concocts its plans for total household domination.
The word
toddler conjures up a vast array of images of domestic bliss. One pictures the little munchkins walking awkwardly around, holding lollipops and sippy-cups and talking about eating 'pisghetti'. Awwww. Nothing, however, could be further from the truth. Their short, little legs carry those pint-sized Tasmanian Devils with the speed and destructive energy of your average tornado. And in the midst of diaper changes, hazmat-suit purchases, feedings, and television shows featuring improbably cheerful sauropods, I noticed a remarkable thing. Those messy little dynamos were actually
acting out the laws of physics and quantum mechanics.
Below is a basic primer of
Quantum Baby-sitting followed by my paradigm-altering discoveries.
My position as Uncle to the toddler swarm is known as
special relativity. Strangely, this relationship went unnoticed until Einstein's famous paper of 1905. (Perhaps, prior to this, most people used nannies.)
The fact that the juice can not
un-spill, the red dyes in it will not
un-stain the priceless Persian
carpet* and that the commemorative martini glass from Harry's Bar in Venice can never
un-shatter into a billion pieces is derived from the
laws of thermodynamics and is known as
entropy.
The attempts, by the Uncle, to prevent the aforementioned catastrophes, is
relative motion, also discovered by Einstein. (Did he already have kids at that time?)
(In a related phenomenon, the inability of the Uncle to grab the prized martini glass in time is described by the
Fitzgerald-Lorentz Contraction, whereby the length of the arms actually
shortens in direct proportion to their forward motion.)
The slow motion of the glass, as it falls, is, of course, due to the effects of
time dilation.
Everything above is certainly textbook physics. That is, I think it is. (Have you ever priced those textbooks? They're also really thick and scary) Perhaps any students out there can check their own volumes and get back to me.
What follows are my kick-ass discoveries.
While the
Laws of Thermodynamics have their uses (See
entropy, above, as the reason for my ruined home), the laws fall short in several areas. First is the claim that
energy can neither be created nor destroyed, followed by the highly dubious proposition that
perpetual motion is impossible. And, there is an even bigger boo-boo in the laws of physics that must be toppled.
Just as my hero, Albert Einstein, used
thought experiments to help him work out and explain his theories, I, too, shall use one now.
Imagine, first, a group of toddlers. Next, picture a man (the Uncle) attending to them. Now, add ice cream and birthday cake. Over the course of the next few hours, you will see energy created (theirs); energy destroyed (mine); and a quite convincing demonstration of perpetual motion. The most astounding discovery is this: That within mere minutes of consuming dessert-- all of the pint-sized life-forms are capable of
exceeding the speed of light!
Due to the inability of my smart-phone's stop-watch app to measure billionths of seconds, I have no concrete proof, and I know that there will be doubters. To them I will say only this: If you believe that I am wrong,
you come over and baby-sit the little darlings at the next party, and observe for yourselves. Please. Really. Please,
pleeeaze watch them for me.
* Synthetic dyes were first developed in Imperial Germany in the late 19th century. I won't say that the industrialization of those dyes had anything to do with the Kaiser's plans for world domination (see World War One), but a country busy scrubbing stains from the upholstery is much less likely to notice a pending invasion.
