Category: Chapters

I’ve never been particularly well read. Names like Zinn, Diamond, Machiavelli or Feynman have been my bedside companions from time to time, but the majority of my literary intake comes from places like Slashdot and Everything2. Is this a problem? Only when the phrase “it’s new to me” comes up.

Determinism was given its name in my universe when I confided in someone about something that had been bugging me. If particles were based on rules, then something made up entirely of those particles would also be based on rules. The limitations of the small carry up to the large. If particles were based on rules, then I had no free will. She laughed and told me that I was describing determinism, or a scientifically grounded version of ‘fate’. Regardless of whether Maxwell had been having nightmares about this idea starting in the mid 1800’s, it was still a big deal to me at the time.

Another example. Before I had taken any physics classes, I was sitting in study hall my freshman year of high school talking about space. I asked the people at my table what would happen given the following hypothetical scenario.

“You’re in a space suit in outer space, and you’re holding a BB gun. You shoot the gun which sends a BB screaming out of the barrel. What happens?”

The general consensus was that you and the BB moved away from the point of firing at exactly the same speed, because “in space there is no gravity”. They seemed pretty adamant, but this bugged me, and I couldn’t get my head around it. I told them it’d make more sense if it was more proportional, like the BB moved away MUCH faster because it’s mass was MUCH smaller.

If the above paragraph leaves you scratching your head wondering how I could be having trouble with one of the most basic laws of classical physics, keep in mind that I don’t think I’d ever seen or heard of F = M*A yet. Though elementary, this was new, and I was going on instinct and my own observations.

I’m not really that special in this regard. These experiences are probably analogous to others spread out among a healthy portion of all people. A good friend of mine in high school once stepped out of a small existential crisis to claim that happiness resulted from a certain level of selfishness, and that this was just fine. People from Darwin to Dawkins have been talking about the inherency of self interest, and it doesn’t take much of a leap to realize that selfishness is not just okay, but necessary.

I spend my working days making an attempt to determine if an idea is truly original; to decide if what someone claimed has ever been written down and publicly displayed by someone else. Nothing I’ve read yet has been shocking, enlightening or liberating. All of it has been slight variations of other things. Admittedly I read about computers, but I’m not ashamed to say that I was almost moved to tears when I first understood the call/cc command in Lisp. Technology is a realm of creation and creativity like any other.

When I look for prior art, no level of obscurity will stop a rejection. If someone said it in public, game over, you’re not original and there’s no way you can prove you didn’t just copy the other guy. Sometimes I feel being well read is the same way, and it shouldn’t be.

Originality is the ability to think or act independently. If it took seeing your widowed neighbor growing older and older in front of the television to realize that “everyone dies alone”, the fact that some celebrity in a movie enunciated the same phonemes doesn’t diminish your revelation. There is nothing sadder then seeing insight deafened by someone who heard it before.

I’m not really that original, and frankly (my dear) I don’t give a damn.

Monkeys seek out bananas because they are nutritious and help them remain big and strong to fight other monkeys. As a monkey handler, my job is to make sure monkeys don’t take more bananas than they are entitled to from the box containing bananas. A monkey will come up, and judging by the size of the monkey, I will let him take anywhere between one and a dozen bananas. Sometimes the monkey will claim he has a high metabolism, and deserves more than I originally intended to give him. We argue, eventually he gets some bananas, and all is well.

Companies seek out patents because they are valuable and help them remain competitive and allow them to sue other companies. As a patent examiner, my job is to make sure companies don’t get patents on things they didn’t actually invent. A company will apply for a patent, and judging by the novelty of the application, I will grant them some or all of their intended claims. Sometimes the company will claim their invention is more useful than I thought, and deserves more protection than I had originally intended gave them. We argue, eventually he gets some form of protection, and all is well.

The bad monkeys are the ones that try to steal the bananas when I’m not looking. I can’t look at all the crates all the time. Sometimes, when I’m arguing with another monkey, a sneaky monkey will sneak in behind me and steal a banana without me noticing. The other monkeys don’t like this because they don’t get as many bananas as they should have, but every monkey would steal if they were fast enough.

The bad companies are the ones that try to get patents on things they didn’t invent. I can’t do a complete search of all the prior art all the time. Sometimes, when I have to start work on another case, a company will get more protection than they really deserve. The other companies don’t like this because they might get frivolously sued for infringement, but every company will take as much protection as they can possibly get.

As a monkey handler, my job isn’t to hit every monkey with a stick; my job is to give a monkey their fair share of bananas. I only hit the monkeys that try to steal or lie to me. My first day on the job I didn’t give out a single banana, I just hit bloated monkey after bloated monkey until they ran away. Only after several attempts at sneaking by me or by tricking me would they give in and take only what was rightfully theirs.

Sigh.

7:00pm: Uncorking a bottle of red wine, I sit down to enjoy a viewing of High Fidelity. Chase is at his book club. Mike is cooking Key Lime Pie.

8:15: Just as John Cusack recounts sleeping with Marie DeSalle, the fire alarm goes off. Mike and I realize the alarm is going off in the whole building and not just our room, grab our jackets and head outside. A small congregation of people starts accumulating. No visible smoke.

8:30: Four fire engines show up and surround the building; ladders are raised, about 10 firemen go to what we are told is room 409 (we are 309). Chase comes back from his bookclub.

8:45: A woman faints on grass, is treated for shock and wrapped in blankets, ambulence arrives, and is taken away. We are told she lives in 409, was making french fries, started a grease fire and fled the scene. The sprinklers had been on for quite some time. Spinklers spray water. Lots of water.

8:55: Firemen tell crowd that “anyone not in rooms 309 or 209 can go back in”. Profanities are muttered by at least three white males between the ages of 22 and 23. Estimates of how good our day will end up take another exponential step towards a negative number.

9:00: We are allowed into our apartment. The power is out, and there are waterfalls in the living room. Quickly inspecting the extent of the damage, we find no water in any of our rooms, and not over the TV. We quickly get buckets, pans and tubs to fight the rain from above. There is one main artery that’s draining our largest bucket every 10 minutes. We find all the leaks using our single working flashlight (note to self: buy batteries) and try to do some damage control.

9:30: Police take Chase’s information. Building maintenance is on hand, helping us change water and offering what could be construed as a weak precursor to moral support. We accept an offer to stay in thier model apartment in the main building. A towel, shampoo, soap and three cans of Campbell’s Chunky Soup are packed into my backpack.

9:50: As per my Dad’s suggestion, we put garbage bags over all electronics and clear out the TV and DVDs from the living room. Maintenance will be there all night to make sure things are okay.

10:30: The bottle of red wine is reopened at model apartment. Phone calls to various important women are made.

12:15am: Somewhere, in a small apartment complex in suburban Virginia, lying on a bed seemingly too short for 5’9″, someone felt alive.