Some Thoughts on Neutrinos and Cotton Candy

I'm reading about neutrinos.

The reason I mention it is because I'm not sure what their purpose is, but they're really interesting, like cotton candy.

Let me explain.

Neutrinos are particles that go through everything at the speed of light. And every time they do they oscillate, or morph, into a new form that becomes undetectable. In fact, there are only three kinds -- or flavors, according to physicists -- that we do know of: electron, muon, and tau.

Like cotton candy.

Neutrinos are so hard to catch that when it happens, it's called an "event." In 1998, some folks decided that the best way to do that would be to line an underground, mineral-fortified cave with stainless steel and fill it with 50,000 tons of purified water. It worked, and they demonstrated that neutrinos have very little mass.

Again, like cotton candy.

You can even make your own neutrinos. Just get some hydrogen atoms, shoot their electrons off with an over-the-counter electrified iron chamber, spin the remaining protons through several miles of progressively spiral pipe until they reach the speed of light, aim them at a small, magnet-engulfed tube on the other side of the world, and fire.

After being shot I-don't-know-how-many miles and getting sprayed through several mineral-related filters at about a zillion miles an hour, the protons are stopped by 50 feet of iron -- what's known as a "beam dump" -- to simmer.

I once saw someone make cotton candy this way at the Watonwan county fair.

Some of what cools off will be neutrinos, which are then aimed at the detection laboratory in Gran Sasso, a mountain east of Rome. If you're lucky, some of them will not pass through the lab and into infinity, but will hang around for observation, much like the sugar from cotton candy after it gets stored as fat and appears on your waist as love handles.

The only thing I don't get is why it's so important to study them, but then, I'm not a scientist. And scientists think that the uncountable number of neutrinos (which, collectively, outweigh every star and galaxy in the universe) might be responsible for up to one-fifth of the dark matter that holds everything together.

Like cotton candy.

On Pants That Fit

Last week I bought a new pair of pants for work. They're great, because they're the correct length.

Apparently, the innumerable pairs of pants I'd been wearing for the last decade were a little too short. Not short enough to be floods, but one of those things where you look at someone and think, "There's something 'off' about that guy." About an inch, to be exact.

I also found out that just because the waist says "32" doesn't mean that it's so. For example, let's say that you buy a pair of slacks. And the reason you bought slacks is because you thought you were buying khakis. But they were on hangers -- so they're slacks -- and not on the khaki shelves, where the khakis are, and you find that the button has been replaced with a metal clip cinched so far back that it aligns with your left kidney, next to a button even farther back in case you want to fasten your slacks to your spinal column. You have now hiked yourself into a pant-flapped lie that cost 12 more inches on top of the $20 you pulled out of your other pair of pants, which still fits. (You're still a "32," but now you look like someone who swallowed a balloon filled with cookie dough and just hasn't gotten around to buying bigger pants.)

Anyway, I'll hem up my story and just say that it's great to own pants that fit.

Now if I could just get the automatic door of the men's room to close faster, people waiting for an elevator in the lobby nearby wouldn't have to pretend that they didn't just hear my extra-loud zipper.

Devil in a Blue Tooth

I just got back from the Verizon store. I would say the "cell phone store," but they said there are 89 million Verizon customers in the US. If you deduct the number of people living in rest homes, that equals the entire country.

I've always been against owning a cell phone. Except for a motor vehicle emergency, I can't think of a good reason to have one. I'm either at work, Target, home, or on a bus in between. I try to lead as unobtrusive a life as possible, which is harder than it sounds.

And companies have made the concept of cell phone ownership so alluring over the last 15 years that they don't even have to try anymore. I feel like I've become a member of a cult. We walked in and there was a guy who's only job was to greet us and sign us up for assistance, on a computer monitor. The other TVs showed their newest line of products and plans, more complicated than any moon landing manual.

Constant commercials shot out palettes of colorful, shiny cell phones, swirling like Borg children who looked like they couldn't wait to assimilate me and all my friends and family. Handouts and hands-on stations awaited us with 17 different models that had just been "launched," each with a phone book of fun features and plans to choose from. (Their newest model is the Droid. Its banner display proudly boasts an evil-looking red eye and claims to "know everything.")

I came home with a new cell phone, but I feel like it cost me my soul. I'll have to check the toilet-paper-length receipt "contract" and see if there's any fine print regarding the afterlife.

If I did end up selling my soul, and I do go to hell, at least I'll be able to send unlimited text of my fire-soaked agony to my loved ones for free.

The Village Idiot

Author's Note: This is a parody. The opinions expressed here are the exact opposite of those of a smart person.

President Obama received the Nobel Peace Prize today, and a lot of Americans are upset. And I understand that. I mean we just get done celebrating his epic loss in the bid to host the Olympics in our own country, and now this.

I mean, come on! There are still people without jobs. There are still people without insurance. We've been at war for eight years...

...what am I missing here? Things are great!

But then, "Oh excuse me, we need to 'think green,' we need to insure everybody, the banks have too much power, and by the way my middle name is Hussein and I heart terrorists!"

The guy does nothing but whine for a year, and the folks at Nobel -- socialists from another country -- give him a medal.

Well let me ask one question: where was the Nobel committee on 9/11? Where were they when we liberated Iraq? Where were they...well you get the picture.

If you ask me, and you always should, we don't need peace medals. Look at Dick Cheney. You wouldn't even try to give him a peace medal. George Bush didn't need a peace medal, and look what he did. (Anyone remember "Mission Accomplished"?)

Now it doesn't take a smart man to figure out that Republicans aren't known for winning peace medals. Unless they shot the other nominees.

Because we're Americans. And we take what we want. And we also love our guns.

But we don't want this. So I say, take it back, Mr. President! If you're as smart as the huge majority of the people in this country think you are, take back that medal! You said it yourself: "I'm not worthy to stand among the other recipients of this award."

This great country stands for one thing: freedom, and the right to invade it on others. And if you don't understand that, then you don't understand freedom, and the right to invade it on others.

Thank you, and God Bless America.

Adventures on a Sidewalk

Every day on the walk home I encounter the same piece of dog poop. It's in the middle of the sidewalk. After weeks of sitting there it doesn't even look like poop anymore, just a clump of dirt that the flies abandon when I get too close. I forget that it's there every time, and every time I see it I almost step on it and every time I think Whew, that was close.

It reminds me of work somehow.

At the Movies

I found out that Star Trek opened a day earlier than planned, and about three hours after my eye appointment. So, through a blur of tears (a mix of happy excitement and huge pupils) I told my wife, who quickly arranged to have our daughter dropped off at a very understanding friend's house.

I don't want to give anything away, so I'll work around the plot as much as I can. One part of the story focuses on how Kirk gets to Starfleet and meets everybody. The other part of the story is about this guy who wants to do lots of things that are bad, and the good guys have to stop him, which seems impossible because the villain is a really mad grown-up.

But the story is just the half of it. The special effects were seamless, like there's this thing that goes [sucking noise] and then [sound a black hole makes], and then [explosion sound]! and then "Hey you can't do that!" and the other guys are like "What do we do?!" [more explosion sounds] "Aaah!"

I loved it. They made Star Trek edgy again, but without being dark. And they took out all the stupid winks and musical kisses that had become the tired staple of Star Trek films. In McCoy's own words, they made space a place filled with "disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence." Now that's science fiction!

Even if you're not a fan of Star Trek you'll enjoy the show. It's funny. It's tragic. The characters are complex. The special effects are unmatched. And it all happens in 2 hours.

By the way, having your pupils dilated is an awesome cover for tears.

I just read that the swine flu has been upgraded to level 5, which means it's officially a pandemic. And yet I'm not scared. At least I don't think I am. I don't know. Should I be?

Because, in the same breath they seem to say Don't panic.

Well, okay.

But it's a pandemic -- but don't be alarmed.

Uh huh.

Level 5.

I see.

That means it's airborne and in more than one country and it could hurt you almost as much as the regular flu, and did we mention that the swine flu is a pandemic?!?!

Yeah I got that. Here's my thing. When you say "global," to me that sounds really bad. And "pandemic" already has the word "panic" in it. But you're telling me that for now I should just cover my sneezes, wash my hands, and avoid public places or I might get the runs and feel really tired?

Guess what, I'm almost 40 -- it's the same thing!! You can't say "Level 5" and "basic hygiene" in the same sentence! If that's true, then every day is Level 5 -- heck, being a dad is level 5! Come on people! I want to hear that those pigs have jammed our radar and they attack at dawn! Tell me to start storing water and conducting air raid drills under the table because HERE COME THE PIGS!!!!

Not, "Wash your hands."

Until then, I have no choice but to go to work tomorrow. In the middle of a PANDEMIC. And if swine flu hits -- and I've just heard Minnesota has its first case -- then I'll probably get sick. But no more than I would from hearing about how casually I should be treating this global catastrophe.

I just touched my face, I better go shower.

My flies have no zip.

I have two pairs of jeans. The zipper on each pair always seems to come down without my help. My wife said I should take them to a seamstress, but that would cost me time, money, brain cells, and pants.

The end.

Don't worry, I didn't

An Inventory of Chairs

6 deck chairs
2 lounge chairs
1 beach chair
2 wicker chairs
2 easy chairs
1 piano bench
1 captain's chair
2 office chairs
2 children's desk chairs
1 bee chair
1 rocking chair
12 dining chairs
1 drum stool

Not bad for a family of three.

P.S., we also have 6 spatulas.

At the Movies

Skeletor wants all the power in the universe. He has to, his name is Skeletor. And he's mad. He gets on the holographic phone and his face threatens everyone on planet Eternia -- all 12 of them. He-man watches the message from on top of a mountain, then turns to the camera and tries to look worried.

Then He-man, another man, and a lady show up and go to a dwarf's house to get a secret weapon made out of tuning forks that sends you across the galaxy if you play it like a synthesizer.

They do, and Skeletor gets even more mad. He sends his best stunt men in rubber alien masks to go find the weapon. They use radar.

He-man and his friends land in a small town on Earth and steal some fried chicken. It's supposed to be funny but it isn't. Who wants to see someone try to figure out fried chicken? Take yourself seriously, movie.

Enter Courtney Cox, very cute and almost the best thing in this film. She's going to leave her boyfriend because he's in a band, which we never meet. (Years later the boyfriend will become Tom Paris on Star Trek Voyager, a much better sci-fi show.) They go to the graveyard to visit her parents who were killed in a plane crash, and find the weapon. He wants to keep it, but the high-school principal from Back to the Future wants it to be evidence. They all meet the bad guys and run around.

Skeletor, who has been watching the whole thing from the other side of the universe, finally gets pissed off enough to come over here himself and throw down. He zaps Courtney Cox in the leg, melts the weapon, and takes He-man back to Eternia so he can enslave him before he kills him. He actually does succeed and becomes a god, but all the power in the universe isn't enough to stop the good guys from following him back and winning. The end.

I wanted this movie to be bad but it wasn't, it was just boring. I recognized 1.5 people from the cartoon version. Orko was replaced by a dwarf who's stiff mask made all of his dialog look like "mama." Even Battle Cat was missing.

Skeletor was easily the best thing in the whole movie. He was just nuts. Good skull make-up too, especially for 1987.

This movie gets 1.5 stars for each character I cared about.


P.S., When the dwarf sends everyone back to Earth he makes it so that Courtney's parents aren't dead after all.

Thank you

Barefoot in the Park

Not the best quality, but here's a glimpse of us as Paul and Corie Bratter from Barefoot in the Park. Don't we look happy.

Liberties abused

You know those online ads for refinancing that show images of people dancing like drunken children? I was on weatherchannel.com trying to check what degree below zero it would be that day, and the little lady in the ad wouldn't stop. Normally they do after a few seconds, but she kept going. I tried to ignore it. I tried scrolling down past her, but then I couldn't see the temperature. Then I moved the cursor over the ad to see if that would do anything.

Nope, she kept going. She wouldn't stop. Her arms jerked. Her legs contorted. Her torso heaved. I wondered if she was about to vomit, but her expressionless face showed no sign of nausea. Her short red skirt and high heels just went back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She looked like a horny marionette with Parkinson's disease. Soon I forgot which Web site I was on.

I finally snapped out of it and wondered if I had accidentally refinanced my mortgage.

Are advertisers so lazy that they're just showing us their fantasies? If so, gross. They're creepy, like how clowns are creepy.

I have no idea how cold it was that day.

Hardee's Chronicles, Part VIII

This is me on my way to work at Hardee's during Crazy Days back in 1989. Apparently the regular uniforms weren't crazy enough. And those glasses are a perfect fit, for the doors of our '74 Oldsmobile.

Remembering Fargo

The Seven Days of Christmas

12-24: Seven pups a-peeing
Drive home, have lovely meal and open gifts. We meet Stella, John and Jen's awesome dog. She lays down a playful poker-hand paw for our neurotic pup Sophie. Sophie pushes herself into low orbit with her own pee. Luckily we're outside. Both Johns tell their respective dogs to stop it.

12-25: Six birds attacking
Lovely ham dinner. Watch birds duke it out over new bird feeder.

12-26: Five great ideaaaas
Get buzzed on coffee. Then go to Scheel's and spend more money on a sled and snowshoes for the girls. Then see Enchanted at the Princess theater. Then watch The Shining. Then stay up so late that we see mom get up for work.

12-27: Four games and booze
Play Family Feud, Outburst, Taboo, and Cranium over snacks and alcohol with Dave and Kelly. Every other joke must involve anatomy. Do not go to bed before 1:00 am.

12-28: Three late nights
Grab the "L" book off the shelf and make up a game called "Encyclopedia." Ask what the name Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch means. (It's a village in Wales.)
Stay up until 2:00 am.

12-29: Two extra gifts
Home to celebrate anniversary.

12-30: And a mall half the size of the staaaate
Go to Mall of America and buy Batman Lego people.

Geese

I saw a big "V" of geese fly overhead on my way home from work tonight. It's like 1 degree out. I thought to myself, Man, those geese must be fricking freezing.

Hardee's Chronicles, Part VII

To our young minds, Hardees was not only a peek at the outside world but a laboratory as well. At one point we had become obsessed with straws.

At the height of our obsession, Mark and I once linked about 30 of them end to end. The resulting superstraw was so mighty that it bowed under the low ceiling, a beautiful plastic arc blossoming from our meager cup. Then the ladies behind the counter said that was enough straws for now. But we could have jousted them if we wanted to, and I think they knew it.

The Last Blog of 2007

I should really change my profile photo, but I haven't taken a better picture in the last year. Or the previous 35.

One point of interest though: the night that photo was taken -- December 24th, 2006 -- I flossed a small chunk of filling out of one of my teeth, making it impossible to enjoy the many Christmas treats with both sides of my mouth. And since it happened at the start of the happiest dang holiday on the planet, all the dentists of the world were at home with their families and I had to wait until January 2nd to get it fixed.

And that's how I secured my place among the greats at the Library Table.

[Sporty theme music here]

Happy 2008!

John's Brain