shot full of diamonds and a million years

A great way to wake up in the morning- the 100-year anniversary of Einstein publishing a paper on the duality of light. I've always had a bit of a thing for Einstein, as have most other women with a thing for brainy men. Hey, I even sat through that crapfest IQ, even though Meg Ryan was in it and they basically mocked Einstein. His story is the stuff of folklore though: mediocre student, middling patent clerk, all the while, with these beautiful questions in his head. And then he proceeds to rock the foundations of physics by stating that light cannot simply be defined as a wave. This idea was counterintuitive in 1905. Maybe it's counterintuitive even today, that something can be both black and white, can be both itself and its complete antithesis. But strangely, I'm attracted to that notion. Yeah, yeah, perhaps it's a bit schizophrenic, but isn't everyone just a little paradoxical? Of course, Einstein and the physicists would sour at my stupid ramblings, applying the theories of science to humanity. I can't help it though.

Music has never been absent in my life, but there was a time when I used it to define what I was going through. You have an experience, and then you hear a song, and think- yes, that's exactly what happened, that's how I feel. But then music exploded- it did not exhibit duality, it was multi-faceted. A good Dylan song can convince you that you have good reason to be depressed. Or, the memory that comes to mind today, a good, angry, guitar-raging song can propel you into motion, keep you going when you feel you're running on empty. I had this memory of college, working late in the labs, just me and W, my best friend, this dude who was driven by exactly the same things. We'd crank up the tunes. It was Geek USA that would do it for me every time- the apathy, self-loathing, a little too melodramatic to be taken seriously. And suddenly, the entire tempo of the lab was different, faster. Things were moving, things were getting done. And so, come to think of it, music can also evoke such clear and perfect memories, so that the song and the memory are inseparable. Happy Birthday, Billy Corgan. You were good back in the days before you lost your mind, shaved your head, and started drinking from the same well water of crazy as I'm Miss World. Then again, maybe you were never that great, but you were there, you bore witness to my youth.

"Sear those thoughts of me
alone and unhappy
I never liked me anyway
If by chance
or circumstance
we should fail
don't be so sad"

Last night at dinner, SP hit me with another cease-whiner. That girl is a piece of gold, a 24K. I'm impressed by people that can stop you from wallowing without even having to shake you senseless or beat you up verbally. She didn't even tell me to have a little persepctive. SP came at me with logic. Every whine got an even, measured response that made it 100% clear that I was unwarranted. It only took two bitch attempts before it was obvious that I was defeated. She could make a lot of dough if she became a therapist. Too bad she's off saving the world from plagues and the like instead.

Just because it's amusing, and it annoys many of my coworkers, every time I screw something up today, I'm going to sigh and mutter "ah, the luck of the Irish." Try it, it's fun for the whole family.