Schrodinger’s Cat. Google it so I don’t waste time explaining the concept. Oh, heck, its simple as hell: a cat in a sealed box with a gadget that can kill it. Is it alive or dead?

This is supposed to be a revelationary(sic) example of the Theory Of Quantum Mechanics, the unexplainable world of sub atomic particles. It’s a world of duality and uncertainty which really cannot be quantified, or even explained. Imagine trying to answer the question about the cat. Can you? The answer is “No”. Not without looking, anyway, and when you look, what will it prove? Is a cat in a sealed box always dead or always alive? Dead some of the time and alive some of the time? Every time you do Schrodinger’s Cat you never know until…

So why is that important? Science relies on repeatable experiments. getting the same result every time proves…something. Even getting the same result most of the time is educational. So what does it mean when you cannot get a predictable or measurable result from repeatable experiments?

In the Theory Of Small Worlds*, my own, this means we are the cat. But oddly, we are also the Observer, trying to find out what’s what and we never know until we act, one way or the other. Keep in mind NOT acting is acting. Or choices in real life are do it, don’t do it, or ignore it. Imagine worlds within worlds like Russian Nesting Dolls, all swirling with what we think are choices and free will. Or maybe we believe in Fate and determined results. We will only know for sure when its too late and the cat is out of the box, dead or alive.

In other words, we are subatomic particles in some other entitie’s world. And they in someone else’s and so on, ad infinitum. (Latin. Look it up.)

In our world Schrodinger’s Cat begins at birth: are we alive or are we dead? Alive? Yay, now are we healthy or malformed? Did we get good genes? Did we get good parents? Are we lucky to live in a nice neighborhood? Et. al.(Latin, iterum,) Each and every question is an example of duality and uncertainty. We deal with Quantum Mechanics every day, from someone’s perspective. We’re all Theoretical Physicists–like Sheldon Cooper–trying to explain the world by our actions. But…

Most of us live lives made of routine, of order, and purpose. We repeat experiments and maybe sometimes hope for better outcomes. Some don’t think at all. Some are even psychopaths intent on killing cats. We shouldn’t waste a lot of time trying to understand a concept bigger than us, but give it enough thought to know we are not what we might think we are. Or are we?

Do it, don’t do it, or ignore it. It might not make any difference in the long run. Or maybe it would…

• Not the “small world” phenomenon of 6 degrees of separation.

I’d taken my own advice from the last column, Numbers 8 and 9 (hair cut and shave), but have now learned there are consequences. Ramifications. My choices were not “within reason”.

Long hair then and now: historical context. My dad–and other authoritarian figures–trying to raise a young boy from ages 11 to 18, were more concerned with the length of my hair than the breadth of my education. From sixth grade to high school graduation, there was a daily battle between them and me over hisrutey(sic) dimensions. (It was actually between me and the electric cow clippers mom used for her 30 second haircuts.) Everyone wanted my hair short, not even to the ears, which dad thought an “extreme” compromise. Think of the Beatles with “flat top” haircuts. Prevailing social thought was anyone with hair longer than one half inch was the gravest threat to the American way of life since The Plague.

After my freedom was gained by going to college, the hair exploded to a mass so large it was hard to get under my motorcycle helmet. (Think “Shaggy Easy Rider.) It made me a target of right wing gun nuts who were at that time only armed with single shot weapons and obviously paralyzed trigger fingers. (I heard one bang in all those years, and with hindsight, it might have been a car.)

Logic, prevailed, after a few years length of hair became less a political/fashion/rebellious statement than an attempt to reach complete casualness: short showers, easy slip on clothes, and one pass of the comb. (Notice I never made it to the “cow clippers” length.) It kind of remained that way for about 45 years until The Calamities hit in 2023. Yes, there were times when a professional hairstyle came to mind, but never did I succumb, never did I surrender. I cut my own hair most of that time, unless a willing female offered. Note: make sure it’s not an old girlfriend or ex-wife. So there was some thought and effort in grooming, Very little, but some.

Now, none at all. No reason, impetus, reward, or purpose for grooming a body which is letting me down. No need to look good for anyone, anyway. So head and face became one mess of hair that seldom sees a comb. So why am I not ecstatic? Why am I about to complain?

A morning swim friend said I look like the back end of a beaver when swimming. (He avoided my obvious, beastly question.) But that was only the first consequence of neglectful grooming. While driving home through downtown, the similarity between the homeless man on the corner, the homeless man on the bench, the homeless man crossing the street, the homeless man sitting on the stoop of a grocery store, and myself, was too eerie to ignore. It really didn’t make a difference to me what I looked like, but it might make a difference to others. Did it affect treatment in medical situations? Or the odd, implausible, out-of-nowhere possible, romantic scenario? At my age, what if the love of the rest of my life passed me by because it looked like my home was a Fridgiaire box?

A true compromise, in the tradition of the Wisdom of Soloman, is needed. How much hair do I need? How much do I want to care for? What will the enigmatic, beard-hating, future love of my life want my follicular situation to be?

The funny part of this essay isn’t my hair, but at least one bald person will read this and curse their genetic luck. To them: despite your lack of a choice, you’re luckier than you realize.

There is so much to complain about when you’re old. What is there to be thankful for?

Note: to save time, the following entries will begin with the words “You can” and end with the phrase “Within reason.”

1. Wear whatever you want.
2. Say whatever you want.
3. Eat whatever you want.
4. Sleep whenever you want.
5. Sleep wherever you want.
6. Make everyone wait for you.
7. Criticize what ever and who ever you want.
8. Shave, or not.
9. Get a haircut, or not.
10. Pretend you can’t hear anything you don’t want to hear.
11. Make many new friends in the medical services industry,

Wow. Until they’re listed this way, you don’t really know how lucky you are to be old.

There are lots more, but the real benefit of getting old is you can see the end of the road. If you’ve done the best you can with your life and done good things for others and yourself, the knowledge of the end is the greatest gift of all: you can appreciate every, single minute of the past, the present, and the future. So do it.

Amen..

Lately, the title word has been used a lot in overheard, active, and broadcast conversations. It was used so much it began to lose meaning. Absolutely, absolutely, absolutely. Say it three times real fast and you’ll never use it, again. It’s Oxford dictionary definition ends with the word: “Totally”. There is also a list of words you can use in place of the A word.

So, why is it being used so much? Google said this in 2015: “It is a strange paradox (two physicians?) that in an age of relativism, an age that emphasizes personal opinion and subjective feelings over objective truth, so many people substitute for ‘yes’, words like absolutely”. In 2015? Subjective feelings over objective truth? Google adds: “Perhaps we subconsciously seek certainty in an age of uncertainty”. We can quibble about the subconscious versus the unconscious actions but Google nailed it with why 10 letter words are used when three letters, yes, will do.

The A word is heard mostly in political venues these days in 2024. “I’ll absolutely never vote for _______.” (Name of your choice.

One heard more recently was more personal: “If my house was on fire I’d absolutely save my _______.” (Dog, cat, parakeet (two keets?), fish.)

So, what’s the problem? Not sure. When someone uses the word absolute or absolutely, doesn’t it sound like they don’t need to think about it, they know, for sure, totally, what they’re saying is not just true, but the final, end-of-it-all Truth? No more discussion? I see a connection between absolutism and Tribe Over Truth, do you?

Embedded in the absolute syllables, too, is the dare to prove otherwise than the absolute truth declared by the speaker. “I’d absolutely never leave my pet behind” cries out for the listener to accept an un-verifiable truth without challenge. “I’d absolutely vote for _____”. Why would I–or anyone–vote for anyone else?

It should be absolutely easy to see, now, if you use absolutely in a conversation you draw a line in the sand for someone to cross, verbally. Most listening people would not accept the challenge, and end the conversation. The speaker wins, with or without finding the truth.

No one can ever be absolutely sure what they’ll do when faced with fire. Who among us would give up our own lives so we wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of not going back into a burning building for Tabby? You absolutely cannot know until actually faced with the (Sophie’s) choice.

It’s a little harder with politics. If you’re read some stuff here, you know my thought is no politician is worth our undying, absolute support. I would absolutely not 100 percent support anyone.

Oops. Maybe there is an absolute need for absolutism.

But give it some thought and my guess is you won’t be absolutely sure of how to use the word, anymore. Except maybe in a critique of this essay.

Commenting on the the condition of our politics has consequences. A writer cannot express an opinion without another opinion rearing its (often) ugly head in response. But opinions have no power over life, do they? Here are some very recent happenings. Think they have anything to do with my opinions?

A new Walmart Directors Chair–complete with collapsible side tray–was delivered yesterday. The fine, sturdy chair was inexpensive and extremely comfortable, but the side tray had been assembled to the frame so it did not fold to the side, but underneath the seat: backwards. Walmart refunded my money and let me keep the chair, but my beer and chips will rest somewhere else, out of my lazy reach.

My YMCA’s pool is getting its annual cleaning this week. No problem. I went to my other fitness center to swim, this morning, but no one else did. The Manager eventually arrived 35 minutes after being called, but I sense a conspiracy.

There is a Stewarts Shoppe near me with great breakfast pizza. For $2.50 a slice! After the swim disaster above, a nice breakfast slice and a recline in The Chair would make stupid conspiracy thoughts disappear like fake electors. But…no. It’s too painful to write about. You finish the story.

At least I’d be able to park in my favorite spot. My apartment complex is a daily parking competition. If you lose, you have to walk a long way to the door. My favorite spot was open, but it is next to a handicapped spot and that car had parked way over the line, making my spot unusable. I’ve seen the disabled person and they are hard to get mad at, but still…conspiracy!

One note of interest about the fitness center fiasco: at the center which opened, I was treated with respect and concern by a beautiful, intelligent staff member from a different area, Gwendolyn, who had no control over the fitness manager being late. As we waited and talked, Gwendolyn revealed her beautiful name was HER choice when she transitioned to female. When the manager finally made it, I told him how helpful Gwendolyn was and he said this: “Yes, HE is a good employee”.

Sometimes, conspiracies are real.