The Day Science Killed Science Fiction

From the mid 19th to the early 20th century, Jules Verne and H.G. Wells, working separately to make their way in the world of writing, invented a genre that has become a mainstay of our entertainment and cultural mindset: science fiction.

Science fiction is often unfairly painted with a large brush stroke, especially by those who just can't get next to the concept.

To many--and Mr. Moose is proud to include himself in this group--time travel is the benchmark of science fiction. Ever since Wells turned on his machine and flung us into man’s far distant future, the idea and implications of leaving here to go there has given birth to many tales of possibilities as yet unthought. So many, in fact, that a person could spend years reading or watching stories whose basis is a trip through time.

There are two rules serving as the core limitations of many time travel-based yarns. The first is that the time traveler is not allowed to do anything in the past that could affect the future. This point was given life in a Ray Bradbury’s short story and eventually onscreen in A Sound of Thunder. Even through this adaptation is not necessarily the film you would use to convince a non sci-fi person to cross over to the dark side, the point is well presented that any change--even the most insignificant--has ramifications. This rule is entitled the "butterfly effect".

The second rule tells the time traveler that he can not meet his past self. Two of the same thing can not occupy the same time and space. The very fabric of the time space continuum would be ripped apart. This is referred to as "the paradox." The paradox has many different variations, but they all spell danger. For the traveler, the future and the universe.

But since you can’t spell "science fiction" without science, this discipline gets a great deal of scrutiny; a dissection of the sort that lays the patient open on the table and does more of an invasive exploratory then a delicate surgery. This examination tells us what is possible and what is not when traveling through time.

My recent exposure to the works of Dr. Ronald Mallett, professor of physics at the University of Connecticut, has forever unsettled this favorite topic of mine.

Dr. Mallett's career and passion began with two events: A personal loss, the death of his father from a heart attack at age 33 when Mallett was ten; and his reading of H.G. Wells' The Time Machine. Young Ron dedicated himself to build a time machine in order to travel back to help his father prevent the heart attack.

At the University, Dr. Mallett includes among his research studies: relativity, black holes and, of course, time travel. The one thing that has become clear to him is that travel to the past is a theoretical impossibility. A traveler could never go back any earlier in time then the invention of the time machine.

Even though the subject at hand is all conceptual, this was still a blow to science fiction as well as me personally. This science fact made implausible many of the stories that have shaped the modern sci-fi universe.

No longer can we play the "if you could go back" game, which includes some of these variations:

If you could go back to:

April 14, 1865
April 14, 1912
December 7, 1941
November 22, 1963
September 11, 2001

What would you do?

Dr. Mallett is still working on travel to the future and this still fascinates. But the future has always been what science fiction was about, what it predicted,what it helped create.
This change has made me understand that the true unknown of science fiction is the past. And now I am afraid it will remain unknown forever except in the mind of the writers, the writers of fiction.

Pushing Buttons

My uncle called me the other day with another in a long line of his "type of stories." These stories have one of three themes:

1. All this technology has created less knowledgeable people.
2. The quality of service has left the business world.
3. No one knows how to do anything except push buttons.

This third theme has its own codicil that states, "And they don't even understand why they are pushing the buttons."

Now before I continue, let me make one thing very clear. My uncle is not like Bartlett Finchley, a man late in life locked in a death struggle with machines and new technology. He is a scientist and a holder of 15 U.S. patents in the area of plastics and packaging. The fact that you can take a frozen entree out of the freezer and cook it in either the microwave or the oven without the plastic tray melting is in great part due to his brilliance.

He just hates when technology makes us stop thinking for ourselves.

When this current call came through I steeled myself for another tale of frustration, one that was sure to include a person unable to do their job because they didn't really know what their job entails. I was wrong, very wrong, delightfully wrong.

"Let me tell you what happened to me today."

(steeling myself) "Go ahead."

"I came out of the mall and I guess the battery in my keyless remote died. The car door would not open."

"Uh huh"

"I have one of those pads on the door as well. But I could not remember my code. So I was trying to call Chrysler roadside assistance to get the code."
Now it was at this point that my John Dorian-like daydreaming capabilities took over and I could see my uncle calling information and yelling into his cell phone in the noisy parking lot , "Chrysler! Chrysler!" only to have the automated operator asking him "Krispy Kreme, is that right"

"No, Chrysler!"

My fantasy was broken when my uncle said "As the number for Chrysler was ringing do you know what I realized?"

"That you were holding a key to the car?"

"Yes! When did you realize that?"

"When you told me the remote's battery would not open the door."

We talked some more and he said he thought it could be as much as 20 years since he had used a key to get into a car.

Thus he had become the central figure in a Type 3 story. No one knows how to do anything except push buttons.

And they don't even understand why they are pushing them.

In so many ways we have become the Eloi following a warning signal that has no meaning to us.

The meaning here, of course is when you say "keyless entry," it implies that there is a key you are circumventing.

Freud, Oedipus and the Green Grocer

Otter: I think vegetable can be very sensuous, don't you?
Marion: No, vegetables are sensual. People are sensuous. --National Lampoon's Animal House

A dear friend and fellow blogger called me with a story. He wasn't sure if it was worth telling or to whom to tell it, or even in what form it should take. I am a known thief, though I will try to convince both myself and my victims that I am only helping out. In this case I did give my friend the punch line to the story and thus I now feel comfortable laying claim to part of this tale.

Earlier this week, his father passed a kidney stone. Though I have never had the honor of this excruciating and debilitating event I have heard tell it is the male equivalent to childbirth. This I doubt, having witnessed my wife deliver three children, the last of which had a head shaped like a four slice toaster; still I can imagine it is very painful.

My friend's mother, a true lady, has never added driving to her many charms and talents. With her husband laid up, the duty fell to my friend to take his mother food shopping.

It is important for this story that you understand that my friend, while in no way cheap, is very frugal and hates waste--monetary or otherwise. While going through the produce section, his mother reached for cucumbers.

"No," my friend said, "they are $1.50 each. I just got three for a dollar at Magruder's. I will give you some of mine."

Around the next corner, his mother went to pick out bananas.

"No," my friend said, "I just bought 4 pounds at Costco. We'll never use them all before they go bad. I will give you some of mine."

Shopping done. He took her directly home. She said she would be in his neighborhood the next day and would stop by for the fruits and vegetables he had for her.

At 9:30 the next evening, he got a call from his mother saying she was almost at his house. It was not until he was about to answer the door holding bananas in one hand and cucumbers in another, that the image hit him.

He really felt weird when he realized he was in his bathrobe. (Which I am sure felt like a satin smoking jacket at that point.)

He told me this story and then asked what Freud would think about the scenario.

I said "Forget Freud, what about Oedipus? Here you were insisting that your mother take your phalluses while your father was so clearly out of commission."

He screamed "Oh my God, I never thought about that. Ahhhhhhhhh!"

It is so nice to help out a friend in need. Just as an aside, his mother does have a Marion Wormer quality.

Does This Make Cents?

I pulled up to the standard convenience store that resides in the section of a gas station that once was occupied by service bays, lube racks and mechanics. While collecting my wallet and cellphone, a gentleman walked over to the car next to mine and dropped something. Not accidentally, deliberately dropped something. He got in his car and pulled out.

Littering drives me crazy, and I was already steaming as I got out of my car to see what this "bum" had been unable to put in either of the garbage cans flanking the door he had just gone through. Not being easy to shock, I was still not prepared when I looked down and saw that the "trash" he had dropped was 4 pennies. I picked them up and before getting my coffee, walked over and put them on the counter. "This guy just dropped them outside."

Not being easy to shock, I was still not prepared for what came from the man working the register. "Happens everyday."

"What do you mean?" He drops change everyday?"

"Not just him, a lot of people. No one wants pennies. We sweep up almost a dollar every two days."
I got my coffee and left, shaking my head.

Over the next two weeks stopping at convenience stores and gas stations for my other fuel (caffeine), I collected 43 cents from the parking lots outside theses stores, all in pennies. I went into a store in my neighborhood and put the money in a collection can for the National Breast Cancer Foundation.

I told this story to my best friend over ham and eggs one morning and I asked in my inimitable, incredulous manner: "Who would just drop money, no matter its value?"

Not being easy to shock, I was still not prepared when my best friend for almost 30 years said "Me, I've done it. I did it yesterday."

Before our breakfast ended, I came up with a plan and need some help. I am not blind to the relatively useless buying power of the penny. Still, the one thing I've learned watching all those shows that detail our 5,000 year growth as a people (as well any number of Animal Planet marathons), there is strength in numbers. I would like to start a penny recycling program. If, for whatever reason, people are against pennies in their car or pocket.




Picture a collection container with four receptacles, each for a different charity. Mine would include those closest to my heart: National Breast Cancer Foundation, Juvenile Diabetes Research Foundation, World Wildlife Fund, The American Red Cross. The exact charities are not the important thing. They could be charities in the store's local community. It is the giving that is key. That is the true meaning of recycling: the taking of one person's "garbage" and transforming it into a resource for someone else. All done without creating waste.


This is money that people consider worthless, but it adds up. I would rather it add up in a philanthropic way then on the streets.



Here are some of the positives.

1. It helps the environment. Less mining of materials to make pennies.


2. It helps our governments budget. Less money to mint the pennies that are falling out of circulation and that cost more than a penny to make.


3. It helps these charities who normally have to spend donated money to raise more money.


4. It helps all those people who have a phobe of pennies in their pockets and their cars.


5. It helps any company that will agree to having a recycling center in the business. Through charitible tax deductions.

I know many stores have donation cans, but I believe it needs to be a national movement to make people aware of the change their change can make.




From where I sit the only people that this idea hurts are the store clerks with their brooms picking up some extra pocket change.




I really want to work on this. Any comments suggestions or help would be greatly appreciated. Right now people are throwing money away, on purpose. Right now other people need that money.



BLOG NOTE:


I wrote and deleted an entire history of the penny. Not being easily shocked, I was still not prepared when I decided this idea was too important for one of my Historical flume rides. But I promised myself I will publish it eventually.. So get ready or beware of a future blog on this topic.

The Excel Explosion of '08

"How can I be of service to you?" --President Josiah Bartlet, The West Wing, "War Crimes"

"Let me help." --Edith Keeler, Star Trek, "The City on the Edge of Forever"

Many years ago, my wife and I stayed in the apartment of an engaged couple. They were preparing for a family luncheon the next day. The future bride was making almond crescent cookies. She was grinding both almond and fresh vanilla beans with a mortar and pestle. Her fiance approached and said, reaching for the mortar, "Let me do that." His manner and tone were of someone trying to offer help. The fight that followed had my wife and I attempting to climb out the apartment window, ignoring the fact that we were on the 14th floor.

He was trying to say, "Is there anything I can do to help?"

She heard, "You’re doing that wrong, Let me do it!"

They wanted our opinion of the situation. Unable or unwilling to plummet onto the streets of Baltimore, we answered honestly. "It sounded like the groom was just looking to lend a hand.” Next month, they will be married 20 years, and there is physical evidence of at least two attempts at procreation following the Crescent Cookie Catastrophe of 1987. So clearly the event did not have any lasting effect on their relationship. It is, however, worth noting that we have never been invited to their home again. Thank God!

Having been raised to always offer help, I have always tried to be available to friend or stranger alike. Since CCC87, I have always made a point to phrase my offer as delicately as possible. “Is there some way I can help you?" "How may I be of service to you?" Yesterday, I e-mailed an Excel chart I had created with some information to one of my dearest friends. The content of the chart was not important; the formatting is the point. I love Excel, I use Excel, when people have questions about Excel they call me. Several minutes later my friend sent me a reformatted chart. This was the note that was attached. "It pains me to see someone struggling with Excel. Feel free to use the attached."

Struggling? Struggling?! I was enraged. It was the crescent cookies all over again. Then I opened the chart saw the improvements and "reread" the note as "If you want to learn these features, let me help."

I emailed and asked if we could get together for a refresher.


For my entire life I have thought that it was the offering help that was important. I have just realized it is accepting help or the ability to ask for assistance that is the real effort. The almond cookies, incidentally, were great. My wife has made them many times over the years using the bride's recipe. And I have never offered to help.

Pollex Damnum

Recently, I picked up my daughter and five friends from an evening out. These six girls are a blast, always talking, always laughing, always so happy to be in each other's company. From the back of the car I heard a phone ring. Then I heard this.

"Hey, I'm in someone's car, can I call you back?” I was impressed. Teenage girls normally don't end a call out of courtesy.

I said, "That was very nice." I looked in the mirror to see which "young lady" had just earned my respect. All I saw was the top of six heads. They were all talking, laughing, telling three different stories simultaneously, yet all six were texting on their cell phones.

We have three children, ages 14 to 20. They are texting almost around the clock. I rarely see or hear them on a phone call. When a mass texting effort to make weekend plans is underway, I always ask, "Why don't you just call?" I am rebuffed with that look that every new generation gives to an older one who is clearly out of touch. "Nobody picks up their phone!"

It would be very easy to discuss this modern phenomenon from a number of different perspectives. My take on this may be unique, but I believe it should be addressed.

Most of my television watching is of channels that start with words like, History, Science and Discovery. Through this viewing it has become very clear to me that the 5,000 years of human history would never have occurred without the biological advantage of opposable thumbs.

What will become of our children, of our future, of our very civilization when our thumbs become arthritic, paralyzed or even fall off from all this texting? Forget asteroids, global warming, pollution I am really concerned about pollex damnum, thumb loss.

The number of things that would simply disappear is staggering. Most sports would be gone. Except baseball, whose fans are rabid. They would insist that "America's Pastime" continue in any form it could. So instead of a three-and-a-half hour game, you would be forced to watch 18 hour games. The pitchers would attempt to control the ball, while the batter would drop the bat after every swing. Still, the stands would be filled with insane fans debating which Hall of Famer would have been the best without his thumbs.

"Mays!"

"Mantle!"

"Are you kidding? You could have tied Mays' thumbs down and his batting average wouldn't have suffered."

"Mantle already played without knees. No thumbs would be no problem."

What about politicians--how would they let us know things were going well? No more thumbs-up. Would all public officials be forced you use Richard Nixon's arms-up "V-for-victory" move? I would be afraid to conjure up that image. Thank God the Roman Empire fell. The Coliseum would be filled with gladiators waiting for a decision from the emperor that never came.

Another fear comes from the Sci-Fi Channel. Conquest of The Planet Of The Apes tells of a virus that kills all the cats and dogs. Man, missing his pets, brings apes into the home. Soon their intelligence and use of opposable thumbs turns them from pets to servants. I think we know what happened next. A warning to the thumbless future. Apes, not the best choice.

I have spent most of the morning trying to do things without my thumbs; it is nearly impossible. It is always years later that we find out the damage we have done in our present, to our world and ourselves. It should be noted that since this fear began, I have started changing the channels on my remote with my index finger.

I have plans on starting a prosthetic thumb company. I really believe it is going to be a sound business decision.

So again to our children, "make a call!" To our future, remember: "No Apes!" If dogs and cats disappeared, I'd choose a wombat. They do this weird running in a figure 8, while looking for a mate. I watch Animal Planet too.