This goes back to Mike, because one of the tidbits he once left me to mull over was: “light is like a river, and nothing within the river can go faster than the river goes” – of course, he was trying to explain to a ten-year-old that the speed of light is a kind of universal speed-limit. It sounded neat, I didn’t really fully buy it then, and I’m still not sure if I do now. However, recently, I’ve been having the oddest thoughts about light-speed, midpoint paradoxes, and discreet mathematics. I’m basically under-qualified for discourse in all of the subjects, but let’s bundle them up for a bit and draw out what’s been bothering me.

The midpoint theorem is simple enough, to get from point A to point B on a continuous function you must pass through the points on the function between A and B. There are more rigorous definitions available, but that one should do for now, I hope. So, you walk in a straight line from point A to point B, and you must pass through the midpoint C. The paradox arises that you can never get to point B. There is always a point half-way between wherever you happen to be on the line and where you want to go; you must always get halfway before you can get where you want. You can always get to the midpoint, but you can never get to the end.

Now, here’s the catch, or so I think… for the paradox to hold, there must be a midpoint at every one of an infinite number of divisions. I do not believe that can happen. I’m highly suspicious of attempting to apply the conceptualization of infinity to the actual world. (Calculus is nifty and useful, right, I know… and I don’t think that I take issue with the use of infinity in that sense… as a symbol, or a designator of a mathematical process…) I’m thinking that the world does not have the kind of domain that permits of infinite divisions.

Naturally, things appear to have bounds… movement is bounded by the speed of light, the physical dimensions of objects by the size of atoms (or components thereof)… so that at some point it makes no sense to talk about dividing a step along a natural function. Maybe everything moves in discreet steps, with the number of possible divisions bound by the speed of light. When you try to divide time itself into a segment smaller than light can travel, maybe that just doesn’t make any sense… perhaps it’s an impossibility… and if it is – then maybe the paradox is misleading about the way the world is.

More than that, maybe the idea of infinity is misleading about the way the world is. Maybe the idea of continuity as applicable to the natural world is nothing more than a pleasantry…(though, would it make any practical difference if we changed our way of thinking about the number of possible midpoints on our walk  from our front door to the mailbox?) If we can’t divide time into infinity, then I don’t think we can divide anything else into infinity. It’s like time is the river, and everything that can happen can only happen as fast as time will permit.

Using Mike’s analogy: the speed of time can only bound by the speed of light (because, mustn’t time itself be in the river… or could it be the river?) – and then that’s our actual continuity stopper. We’re not moving continually, we’re taking a bunch of really, really small steps. Really small, but not infinitely so.

What happens at 299,792,459 meters per second? Nothing…? And light’s speed it constant… so we know where it must be at each time between any A and B. Take that with the limited dimensions of the light particle itself… and you have all the bounds you need to prevent the infinite division, or not? We can’t divide to any point that would make that little light particle move faster than it can move. Dammit, is time bound or not? I’m regressing into confusion…

What do yo think? If you’ve read something somewhere that would help me think about the issue further, or have personal insight into what I’m confusing myself over, then please leave a comment and let me know.

It was a damp spring day and I was on my north-facing porch admiring the fog between the trees. Amidst the familiar sounds of nature, I heard a kind of muffled chuckle. It startled me enough to grab the spotlight and grant the direction of the auditory intrusion a closer look.

I only had to step a few yards into the wood to see what was so unnatural for the forest: a group of little green men, a golden horse, and the end of a rainbow. It was as colorful as it was unusual, and it must have been the gasp that gave me away. Forthwith, I was spotted by the little green men and immobilized by their expressions of astonishment directed towards me.

I began to wonder if I had not disturbed some ritual or intruded upon some important holiday… for their disgust was as clear as their surprise. As a matter of fact, I began to feel a little ashamed of myself and turned around so that I could get back inside my cabin.

My first step in that direction, however, set off a terrible cacophony amongst the green men. I was disturbed… not quite sure what to do. So I stood, looking back and forth between my familiar cabin and the strange congregation of little green men. I stood for quite some time.

Eventually, apparently aggravated with my incompetence on how to handle the situation, two of the men walked up to me, took me by the hand rather forcefully, and shuffled me over to the golden horse. I stood there, rather perplexed on the significance of the gesture… and curious, too, about the horse before me.

I reached out to feel it, but was halted by gasps from the strange men. I was at a loss for how to act, or what to do. I wondered why I was brought before the horse if not to touch it. A green man walked in front of me, emitted some vocal gibberish, and then grabbed a stick.

He took the stick to the horse. As quickly and with as much force as he could seemingly muster, he swung right at the horse’s belly, releasing the stick just before it hit. The horse hardly flinched, and the stick fell to the ground, but it was different now… the man picked it up and handed it to me.

I immediately noticed what a terrible mistake I had almost made moments ago. The stick was no longer organic… it had been transformed into a golden rod! I was delighted, sick, relieved, and terrified all at the same time.

How was this possible? What should I do with the situation that was before me? The little green men, as though they could read my mind, pointed to the rainbow, then to each other, and lastly to the golden horse.

My interpretation of their charade came from child-hood stories of gold and leprechauns. I was filled with a nostalgic awe, and thought it quite ironic that I had never believed in leprechauns my entire life. Now, here they had practically sought me out to certify all the lore I once dismissed.

I threw a pebble at the horse, and watched a golden nugget fall amongst the trees. It was perfectly intoxicating, and I began to feel utterly avaricious. I hurled more stones, sticks, leaves, and flowers upon the horse… until, in a moment of apparent insanity I tossed a little green man at the golden beast. He was a horrific statue of gold in an instant.

The others moaned, cried, and screamed with rage and fear… they all fled to the woods. For the first time, the horse began to move… he trotted slowly, and the rainbow moved after him as though bound by some invisible chain.

Frantically, I tried to calm the horse, but it began to pick up speed. I pursued it steadfastly for about a quarter of a mile, when I was struck on the back of the head… and the world went dark.

When I came to it was almost dusk, and I was terribly sore. I peered into the murky sky for any sign of the rainbow that might reveal the whereabouts of my lost opportunity. There was no such band of light.

I ran back to the place where I had transformed pieces of the world into a fortune, but all was lost. Nothing sparkled there, but for a tiny golden nugget. I was certain that the damn green men had stolen my gold as retribution for my greed-fueled act against them.

I sobbed like a child. I was embarrassed because of my stupidity and my poverty. Before the sun set, I packed my bags and set about finding the potential for unlimited gold at the end of a rainbow.

“Indeed,” he replied. “One size fits most,” he went on.

The fat little man was the proprietor of the only box shop in America. A cousin of that notoriously lanky and clean-cut Sam. In fact, the fat little man used his cousin extensively for advertising. “In a box!” He would hand write on the front of those iconic pointy posters. It was a sleazy marketing scheme, but the proprietor certainly had no qualms with being sleazy.

His shop was littered with boxes, some of them hardly extracted from their packaging. The boxes came in a standardized shape that vaguely resembled a coffin, but sported myriad accessories and customizations. Some were gold and silver plated, others had diamond-studded seams, sun roofs were optional, and the color was completely customizable. Many people opted to have their names engraved on the inside, apparently fearful that they may forget themselves once inside. Special requests were permissible, even encouraged…. anything to get you into a box.

Box shopping, you see, had become a kind of adolescent right-of-passage. You’d go alone, but when you left, you were part of a worldwide community of box-dwellers. It was an important time for all young people. A potentially life-long commitment to a certain way of life. It was expected, most often desired, and generally acknowledged as something to be content with.

Now, amidst all this discussion of form, I’d not like you to believe, even for an instant, that the boxes merely served as some consumerist fad. Quite the opposite, in fact, these boxes were timeless classics, remnants of antiquity. History stood as some makeshift testament to the fact that it was wise to dwell within a box.

Besides, the boxes always had real functions… important functions. They were basically required for networking, coming standard with the necessary fibers that comprised the world’s networks. the boxes were also required for high-rise apartments and skyscraper offices. Indeed, many were required… the ones at top needed something to rest upon.

Boxes always offered potential; the possibility to take advantage of reorganizations and move up in the world. They were the building blocks for society’s most admired landscapes. You needed one before you could even consider taking part.

So, it was mildly startling to the fat little conformity-peddler when the young lady asked about box shopping. She was supposed to know all about it at her age.

“Well, now, tell me what you’re looking for in a box,” he squealed.

“One with infinite volume, limitless area, and invisible walls,” the girl said as she stared into space.

“I’ve got a spacious enclosure right here, it sports an all-glass construction with four slide-out sections and all the latest technology,” he said as he pointed to the shimmering box. “It’s probably as close as your going to get to you dream-box,” the man said rather sternly.

“Unless, of course, I just leave,” the girl quickly replied.

“Take a look at this government brochure, or this corporate statement,” the man yelled, “only a fool would deny the benefits of a box!”

It was then that the little lady walked right out on the chubby fellow.

The next youngster eagerly walked right on in. Box sales were steady. The advertising and brochures remained the same. There is no doubt that the shareholders, the box endorsers, and the fat little man went on with their routines… albeit with one fewer box beneath each of their own.

And the girl? Well, it’s always harder to know exactly what becomes of those that choose to live outside of a box.

My glance is momentarily stolen
By a rare scream of jubilation
And it costs me a dinner, or two
So I cannot even smile at that

I can only smile as a front
A sham. Utterly insincerely.
At people I don’t care for
Or whose livelyhood I endanger

What life is this, I ask
In front of the table
My head unnaturally low
Eyes still fixed in space

It’s new to me. Glamourless.
I fold another hand
Mostly waiting on change
I guess most of us are

Wishing for things to hurry up
So we can make more money
For a life we spend mostly waiting
A vicious trap. I raise my dueces.

Waiting. Always. Meanwhile…
Dieing. What life is this?
Three of a kind, no suprises there.
Just smoke, and noise, and money.

I wonder what road you’ve walked
To what odd men you’ve surely talked

I contemplate just how you came to be
A person so much worse than me

Set in stone by some chance combination?
Determined by adolescent recreation?

Whom to blame for what you are?
By what fate you’ve come so far?

To cross my path and make me see
Just how miserable a life can be

I stare into your abyss of a soul
Grab my walking stick and off I go

Each step widens the gap between
What I can see and what I have seen

Some place down the road I may recall
You weren’t really so bad after all

Two weeks of the good life passed and my other uncle called. Two days later my two uncles and I were in Chicago. Me, back in Chicago. I haven’t been gone long enough to feel nostalgic about my return… or to mentally prepare myself for another bout with the nearly-intolerable weather here.

There’s really no telling how long I’ll stick around the midwest, but I’ll try to keep updating. At least mobile internet works well here.

Last Tuesday, moving my things went well – the thunder storms abated a bit and that was certainly a welcomed change.  The entire farm was unkempt and somehow a poor bird (actually two birds, but one was deceased) had wandered into the house. When I noticed it, I didn’t even take it to be real. It was eerily still and staring out the window. I grabbed it, brought it outside, and gave it some water. It was so weak it hardly tried to get away from me. That was basically the only noteworthy part of my move. Well, ok, the oats were really nice too, but I think they flooded the day after I left the farm.

Two days later, Thursday, the flight I was taking out of Chicago was originally scheduled to depart at 1930, but ended up being delayed over three hours. I was fretting that the unfortunate delay might be a sign of things to come. Really, things since then have been pretty good. I didn’t get the promised tour around Seattle, but it is still scheduled for the weeks to come. Instead, I was treated to a midnight Jack-In-The-Box hamburger and a half-day long drive from Washington to Idaho the next noon. The drive was peaceful – there are so many trees and mountains in Washington that one cannot help but feel calm.

Somewhere between Seattle, WA and Coeur D’Alene, ID – after the Washington mountains – the beautiful scenery abruptly becomes a desert. It’s strange just how sharp of a transition it is; luckily it just as quickly reverts to greenery.

So, for the next week (or possibly more), I’ll be around northern Idaho. If I see anything noteworthy I’ll make a point to blog. Maybe I’ll even take a few pictures worth sharing.

Specifically, if you are already rooted and looking for this EASY way to get tethering online see the thread here: moment wifi tethering how-to

I’ve personally followed the instruction and everything works without a hitch, although it is currently being *tested* so… ymmv. Many thanks to the guys over at SDX!

In the first place, we should insist that if the immigrant who comes here in good faith becomes an American and assimilates himself to us, he shall be treated on an exact equality with everyone else, for it is an outrage to discriminate against any such man because of creed, or birthplace, or origin. But this is predicated upon the person’s becoming in every facet an American, and nothing but an American…There can be no divided allegiance here. Any man who says he is an American, but something else also, isn’t an American at all. We have room for but one flag, the American flag… We have room for but one language here, and that is the English language.. And we have room for but one sole loyalty and that is a loyalty to the American people.

-Theodore Roosevelt 1907

It is unfortunate, I think, that this quote from Theodore Roosevelt is being forwarded without any kind of discussion or close interpretation. It does not simply stand in support of immigration reform (and I only guess that was what the forwarders’ intended) – if interpreted as appropriate for modern times, as I doubt it should be, it has much stronger implications for all modern American people.

How would you identify someone that was “in every facet” an American by Roosevelt’s definition – one with no divided allegiance and complete loyalty to the American people? Would they buy only American products, speak and think only in English (do you get to pick the language you think in?), invest only in American companies, burn their family heirlooms wherever another flag was present, disassociate themselves with their family history – for, seemingly, these are Roosevelt’s prescriptions.

And if that is what it took… then how many Americans would Roosevelt commend – certainly not the foreign-product-buying kind, employees of or investors in Toyota, Sony, et al., or even customers of American companies that outsourced jobs to reduce costs for the America consumption-addiction. All of these actions, and others, ingrained in modern American life, are certainly highly suspect for anyone claiming to be a Roosevelt-approved American loyalist.

Of course, we must ask ourselves, how many of these (apparently loyalty-subverting) activities were even possibilities over 100 years ago when Roosevelt spoke these words? The answer, certainly, is “very few of them”. The world has changed and America has changed with it. Looking to hundred-year-old quotes for normative advice can only go so far.

If you found these words to be compelling instructions, I am afraid it was only because you did not realize that they do more work against all supposed “actual Americans” than they do in support of tougher immigration laws. If you, in fact, did realize that broader implication, then I am sure you see we have much bigger issues in modern America than how to think about immigration.

I, personally, think that the quote is only worth interpreting within its own time – which leaves it normatively neutered and of simply historical value.

–
Andrew D. Anderson

http://www.AndrewDAnderson.com