Humanities 101... Bus Riding

Bus riding can put one in touch with parts of our America that most of us tend to forget, ignore or deny. Even by my standards today was a pretty interesting commute day... some things kind of touching, other stuff more just in the bizarre category. Coming home a younger, old man sat immediately in front of me and babbled the entire trip. Gibberish interspersed with an occasional word or two strung together in mock sentence. Only one phrase did he use with any consistency. When he would periodically turn around, look at me and spout out some hostile sounding gibberish, he would then say "fuck this shit!" as he threw his hands up and turned back around. Despite just reading my paper silently, I somehow came to represent something bad to him... a perceived slight perhaps, or confusing me for someone who had actually done something to him. I will never have any knowledge of the reality, other than what became obvious, that in this case I was "this shit." As easy as it might have been for me to take his expletive in a negative way, I came to realize this was actually a useful life skill he employed. When his anger started to rise, this simple gesture seemed to free him from the thoughts and allow him to return to some other place. That is until he would again happen to turn around and discover, yet again, the affront that my existence posed to him.

An experience on my earlier bus trip of the day didn't involve me as directly, but touched me just the same. A couple got on the bus a few stops down. At first I might have mistaken them for brother and sister. Though I then noticed what appeared to be matching wedding bands. If not for the man's lack of dental hygiene, they could have passed for my age. The woman seemed to be considerably more mentally capable than her husband. He appeared to be a very gentle soul, without a mean bone in his body. Also, quite apparently frightened by the whole experience of riding a bus, seeming to need physical contact and reassurance to endure the situation. Huddling as close as he could to her, he rested his head on her shoulder. She would occasionally raise her hand to gently touch his cheek, silently telling him that all was well, and that the ordeal would soon be over.

Widows, students, hospital orderlies, parolees, CPAs that have had their license revoked and neo-hippies trying desperately to scrub the carbon spots from their soles... each with their own story. Fragments of which I might piece together by careful observation, or even make up as a mere amusement.

Colloquium Colloquy

We start this lecture series with a classic metaphysical thought experiment which clearly demonstrates the epistemological limitations of ontology.

Suppose one constructed a box containing a tiny radioactive chunk consisting of one atom with a half life of an hour. In the box is also a decay detector that is rigged to release a vial of poison if and when the decay occurs. Now suppose we add an infinite number of cats to the box along with an infinite number of typewriters and more paper than you can possibly comprehend. Further suppose one were to place this box in a tree in some woods and then leave the woods, subsequent to which the tree might fall with no one hearing it. After an infinite amount of time, the question is whether in this universe there is merely a wave function probability that the cats have produced the entire works of Shakespeare or whether there is a guarantee that in some universe the cats have done so. Further, if the cats were to push a leather bound version of their creation out of the box, would a person in any universe be able to tell whether the box contained cats and typewriters rather than Shakespeare and a bookbinder, or possibly a computer simulation of an infinite number of cats?


Next we'll mentally explore what happens if we accelerate to the speed of light a box possibly containing cats or a dead playwright, and then hurtle it into a black hole.