"Shoot for the moon. If you miss, you'll land among the stars."
~~ Norman Vincent Peale
On New Year's Day, I explained to Ms. Wonder my fascination with quantum theory and why I chose to be a science writer.
I use the word 'explained' loosely because as she listened to me, she was also completing her year-end performance review--a challenging task even for a wonder-worker.
"Emergent properties are not seen in individual community members," I said. "They arise when those individuals interact in cooperative, supportive ways."
"The jargon is too technical," she said. "Bring it down a notch or two."
"The technical name for emergent behaviors is 'surprises.'” I said.
"That's good," she said. "Call them surprises. I like that."
"Emergent properties are not seen in individual community members," I said. "They arise when those individuals interact in cooperative, supportive ways."
"The jargon is too technical," she said. "Bring it down a notch or two."
"The technical name for emergent behaviors is 'surprises.'” I said.
"That's good," she said. "Call them surprises. I like that."
"A group of starlings flying in synchronized formation is an example of a surprise," I said.
"I'll say," she said. "I wonder how they do that."
"It's simple, really," I said. "Each bird in the flock merely mimics the behavior of its nearest neighbors. A small act that leads to wondrous behavior."
She didn't respond. Instead, she seemed to ponder something in her review. The silence became awkward and I decided to say something--anything.
"I wonder what a group of starlings is called," I said speaking more to myself than to her.
"A group of starlings flying in formation is called a murmuration," she said.
"A murmuration? Really? Why not simply call it a murmur? A murmur of starlings sounds much nicer. After all, we don't call a group of crows as murderation."
More silence as she continued to stare at the review with a crinkled brow. Crinkled is the technical term I believe.
"Would Hulu produce a television series called 'Murderation in the Building'?" I said. "I think not. Silly idea."
She hit the enter key on her keyboard and then turned to look at me, her expression more relaxed but tinged with a little concern around the edges. It's a familiar look--one she wears when she thinks I'm flying with a bent whangee.
“Now I see why you associate squirrels in the backyard with emergent behavior," she said. "Surprises! Not long ago, we had half a dozen, and their silly antics inspired you to blog about them.”
"I'll say," she said. "I wonder how they do that."
"It's simple, really," I said. "Each bird in the flock merely mimics the behavior of its nearest neighbors. A small act that leads to wondrous behavior."
She didn't respond. Instead, she seemed to ponder something in her review. The silence became awkward and I decided to say something--anything.
"I wonder what a group of starlings is called," I said speaking more to myself than to her.
"A group of starlings flying in formation is called a murmuration," she said.
"A murmuration? Really? Why not simply call it a murmur? A murmur of starlings sounds much nicer. After all, we don't call a group of crows as murderation."
More silence as she continued to stare at the review with a crinkled brow. Crinkled is the technical term I believe.
"Would Hulu produce a television series called 'Murderation in the Building'?" I said. "I think not. Silly idea."
She hit the enter key on her keyboard and then turned to look at me, her expression more relaxed but tinged with a little concern around the edges. It's a familiar look--one she wears when she thinks I'm flying with a bent whangee.
“Now I see why you associate squirrels in the backyard with emergent behavior," she said. "Surprises! Not long ago, we had half a dozen, and their silly antics inspired you to blog about them.”
“What you call 'silly antics',” I said, “is what we science writers call disordered behavior.”
“Yes, but what do murmurs of starlings," she said, “have to do with squirrel behavior?”
“The squirrels demonstrate that organized systems move toward entropy and increasingly disorganized behavior. You see, they moved into our backyard due to abundant resources and limited competition.”
“Uhmm-unh,” she said, “but it lacked any real luster. Made me think of those notes at the beginning of a melody before the start of the first bar. What are those notes called? The name escapes me now, but you know what I mean.”
“Those favorable factors allowed them the freedom to reproduce at physical capacity and the number of squirrels grew exponentially."
“So what you're saying is,” she said. “our squirrel neighbors are enjoying an orgy of fruit and nuts, as well as staying out until the wee hours—sex, drugs, and rock&roll, about sums it up, I think.”
Many possible responses came to mind, and I paused to reflect on a few of the juiciest. Eventually, I decided to stick to the subject of quantum theory, thinking prudence to be the better part of something I heard once in Mr. Kier's advanced English class back in Edgewood.
“Chaos theory,” I said, "you probably remember me mentioning, tells us that small changes in a system’s initial conditions can trigger drastic changes over time—It’s called the butterfly effect.”
“Yes, I know about the butterfly effect," she said, "but what I’d like to know is why the hurricane shows up in Texas. What’s Texas got to do with it anyway?”
“Never mind Texas,” I said, "It's irrelevant. Molecular chaos tells us that confined molecules in a state of partial disorder must inevitably move toward complete disorder as the molecules collide.”
“Alright,” she said, taking a deep breath. "I give up. Let's get this over with. Continue, please."
There was a hint of resignation in her voice, and although I don't enjoy being a nuisance, I do crave her full attention. After all, she's gifted with superior cognitive ability and when she let's go, she becomes a force to be reckoned with.
“So you see,” I said, “it all boils down to this...”
“That-a-boy,” she said, “Spill it all. I'm holding my breath.”
I admit that the part about holding her breath got right by me, but I was bucked to the point of effervescence so I pressed on.
“A few squirrel families arrived in our yard and enjoyed abundant food and freedom from predators. Sitting atop the fence, day after day, leisurely enjoying a feast of fruit and nuts—they were soon noticed by other squirrels.”
“Crows too,” she said. “The crows sat in the tall dead tree and announced the feast to all of Waterford. It was like free Dunkin’ coffee and doughnuts.”
Once again, that Dunkin' motif was like a spitball coming across the plate in my first at-bat in the majors. I stepped away from the batter's box and let it go by.
The 'components' of the squirrel population," I said, "began to bump into each other. The more excited they became, the more disorder in the population until reaching total chaos.”
Her eyes had grown bigger as I moved closer to the punchline and by the time I stopped talking, she was out of her chair.
“The result was inevitable,” she said with no little enthusiasm. “Quantum determinism is realized, and where we once had seven quiet little tree monkeys playing in our backyard, we now have twenty interacting in total chaos.”
“In other words,” I said, “Surprises have emerged!”
"Genome," she said. "I think you're onto something good with this science writer idea. I have only one suggestion for improvement."
"What's that?" I said.
"Why not become a Science Writer instead of settling for being a science writer? You know," she said, "shoot for the moon."
"Capital idea!" I shouted, and I'm sure my feeling was similar to that of Archimedes when he ran through the streets yelling, "Yureka!"
And so, dear readers, I wish you a very Happy New Year! I hope you continue to follow The Circular Journey through the year. Who knows you might discover your own inner Science Writer.