(Hey, look! News and stuff and crap to read!:
This week’s Secondhand SCIENCE rap is all about DNA methylation. It’s got bunny suits. A tenuous tie-in to the Simpsons, in honor of the episode marathon running this week. And no actual rapping. It’s all there. Check it out.
Also! If you’re Boston-based — or just a Massophile — you might enjoy some of my recent spew over on Apartments.com. Pick a topic. You got books and museums and Fenway and beer and “Ahts” and more beer. Because always beer.
Okay, that’s it. Back to the regularly-scheduled idiocy.)
Some questions can be answered with a simple thought experiment. Questions like, “Would habanero ice cream be totally delicious?” (yes) and “Should you tell Ronda Rousey she throws like a girl?” (no, no you should not)
Other questions, though seemingly simple, require careful experimentation to adequately answer. Here’s one of them now:
“How many stupid pairs of sunglasses do I need to own to prevent myself from having to walk around in the glaring sunlight squinting like an idiot?”
“You’ve thought-experimented the shit out of this thing, and you’ve got a solution.”
For many people, the answer to this question would be “one”. I am not one of those people.
For other people, maybe the answer is “two”. As in, one pair and a backup pair in case of emergency. I’m not one of these people, either. My entire life is a case of emergency.
“Aha,” you might say, you dogged genius, you. You’ve thought-experimented the shit out of this thing, and you’ve got a solution. Maybe it’s this:
One pair of sunglasses for every place where you spend a lot of time, so you’ll always have one handy.
That’s a great answer. Very well thought-out. And flexible for any situation. Examine your life, and solve for ‘n’.
It’s also wrong. At least for me.
I spend significant time in three places: my home, my car and my office. I own four pairs of sunglasses — cheap, shittily-made ugly-ass sunglasses, sure, but sunglasses, nonetheless. And I never seem to have a stupid pair in the right place when the sun comes out.
Which is, like, every single goddamned day. Seriously, sun. Take a nap some afternoon. Earth can survive without you for ten minutes. Little breathing room, is all I’m asking.
The point is, the sun is bright. And I, evidently, am not. I drove home tonight with the white-hot wrath of the sun’s radiation searing holes in my retinas because none of my idiot sunglasses was at my desk. Or in the car. Or in my pocket.
Once I got home, sure. I practically tripped over all the stupid sunglasses lying around here. With a bottle of aspirin and a half dozen condoms, I could run a frigging CVS out of my bedroom with the rack’s worth of flimsy sunglasses in there. But they weren’t where I needed them. And now I probably have eyeball cancer.
So I still don’t know the answer to my question. But I know two things I’m doing tomorrow: shoving three pairs of shades into my pants when I leave, so I can leave a trail of the things behind me wherever I go. And?
I’m buying more shitty sunglasses. Maybe when I have a pair for every deliciously-charred nerve ending on my retinas, I’ll be able to find one when I need it.
But probably not. Like I said, I’m not all that bright.Permalink | No Comments