The Breakfast Table

Blame It on the Cosmic Ray

So superstring theory is just mathematical peacock feathers. I love it. A couple of things bother me though. I don’t recall us Latin club types having much luck in the high school dating bazaar. And it’s just the male peacocks that have the dazzling plumage. Among homo sapiens, women certainly hold their own when it comes to intellectual sex appeal. I guess I’ll have to read the book.

Maybe the truth does lie somewhere in the helical coils of the genome, another signal to be sifted from the noise–if we’re smart enough. Or maybe our cerebral computers have become so powerful (because of that wayward cosmic ray) that we can simulate all kinds of behavior that has nothing to do with survival–a virtual reality of music and literature decoupled from our cellular machine language. Mystery continues to abound.

Thank you, too, for the good company. I wish I could start every morning like this. It’s more stimulating than a grande cafe latte, and even more fun than working. The result of which is that the deadline now loometh for Tuesday’s “Science Times.”

Till later,