Single Entity

Things that I think about late at night:

1) So, plate tectonics. They're totally awesome. (I really wanted to use the word "rad." What era slang is that?) But! That means that continents move (up to 10 cm/yr, which means the Atlantic Ocean could grow a meter every five years. A meter!). But latitude and longitude are based on the orientation of the pole around which the earth rotates, which doesn't move. (Well, the whole damn planet wobbles, but the axis stays the same). So...over time, are those coordinates no longer accurate? Because the land mass has moved? And so, should I bury my life's savings at some location, and leave the coordinates with my heirs to be opened in 1000 years, would they be able to find it? Probably -- that's only 100 meters off. But still, the concept of the thing! That the continents move underneath the arbitrary grid we laid on them! And how does it affect longitude, if Greenwich, England moves? 'Cause that one's completely arbitrary. It's crazy shit.

2) Universe expansion. So, everything is contained, right? The earth is in the solar system, the solar system is in the galaxy, the galaxy is in the universe, the universe....the universe isn't in anything! But! But it's expanding. Only, if it's expanding, doesn't it have to be expanding into something? Explain that one to me. But then! It's expanding faster in one direction than the others! So, either something out there is having some kind of gravitational pull, or something on the other side is pushing back and slowing one side down. Except conservation of mass, people! Scientists already had to create antimatter to explain what they were observing, so what about this? It's craziness! What could just be out there hauling on the universe? Is it some kind of giant black hole thing? Do we really need to care? Is that heaven? It's just wacked.

3) ...shit, there was something else. I'm working on it.... Yes! Earthquakes. Specifically, there are these really cool places on the San Andreas Fault that don't have earthquakes. Or, they have a really predicable, really minor earthquake. We're talking about the region that has city-destroying, overpass-crushing, major earthquakes due to plates sliding past each other, but on the same fault are places that just slip on past. There's clear evidence that the land is moving, it's just sliding right on by -- no trouble. Apparently, the ground there is really full of talc, that uber-slippery stone-powder-stuff. Isn't that cool?!? The theory is that the talc just lets the plates slide past each other!

yeah, those are my awesome topics of the day. woohoo!

I have a growing desire to watch or read all the tragic romantic movies and books that didn't affect me as a young girl. Though it seems somewhat ironic to write this just before my birthday, I have found that with age and experience (mostly experience) comes a connection of emotion that I never expected. As someone who almost never cried as a child, and only rarely as a teenager, it's been a shock, the things that can make me cry now, especially when I know that they wouldn't have caused me to cry only a few years ago.

I thought of this today because I was reading a pretty damn bad romance novel that involved the killing of a dog (it was chasing sheep), and I had to put it down for a while, practically in tears. This made an impression because for years and years, the only book that had made me cry was James Herriot's All Creatures Great and Small, and the passing of an old and well-loved dog. I think it touched me then, and now, because I've had that experience. I held my dog as she died, and I've been there when my cats were put to sleep -- that was a pain that I understood.

What I didn't understand so much was the fear and knowledge that someday, I will say goodbye to everyone for the last time. It might not be years and years from now, but there is always a last goodbye, whether you know at the time that it is or not, and that is a painful and terrifying thing to process. I don't think I was exposed to it until high school, and I'm not sure it was real to me until I was practically in college, so that's almost 19 years of media that I may not have felt to the fullest.

It's a strange desire, because I don't particularly like to cry, and I have no desire to think about the future in the terms of last goodbyes, but I can't help but wonder what I might get out of things, what might make me cry, and what that might tell me about myself.

AUGUST 24, 2009
9:00 am : The butler rings the doorbell and brings in our breakfast, according to the order we put in last night. She wears white gloves. My grandmother and I look out over the ocean as we drink our coffee. I am hungover from the night before: Grandma and I had martinis as the ship left New York and then champagne and hors d’oeuvres in the room, and split a $60 bottle of pinot noir at dinner (where she out-drank me by quite a bit). After Grandma fell asleep, I headed down to the nightclub, where I had a rum and coke while I watched older people try to dance. I saw no one my age, but was flirted with by two middle-aged Italian brothers, Salvatore and Guiseppe, who called me “bellissima” and spoke to me in broken English.

11:30 am : Grandma and I head out to listen to Margaret Atwood give a lecture in the planetarium. High heels, hangover, and rolling waves are not a fortunate combination. The lecture is fantastic, though; Margaret Atwood is brilliant and witty. She discusses her latest book, which I haven’t yet read. It’s a series of lectures about debt from all different angles. I’ve never read any of her nonfiction, so I’ll have to give it a try. We go to get our books signed, but I step out to the bookstore to see if I can get a copy of Oryx and Crake to send to Sylvia, and when I return, Grandma has already got my copy of The Blind Assassin signed. Oh well. I’m told there will be another signing later.

1 pm: Grandma and I have lunch together and look at the shops on Deck 2. She considers buying a $300 Hermes scarf and some jewelry and ignores all signs that say “Fragile, please ask for assistance before handling”. We then return to the cabin to read for a while. Grandma takes a nap, and I end up dozing on the couch.

5 pm: I go to the gym for a bit, where immediately upon entering, I am greeted first by Guiseppe and then Salvatore, who are lifting weights. They kiss me on both cheeks.

7:00 pm: Grandma has some champagne in the room while we get ready for the formal night in the dining room, and then we head to the Queen’s Grill Lounge – reserved for those of us with Queen staterooms, of course, where I decline a drink (still feeling rather hungover) and Grandma has a martini.

7:30 pm: We go to dinner at the Queen’s Grill. One of the waiters from our team pulls out a chair for Grandma, and I quickly seat myself and put my napkin on my lap before anyone can do it for me. I can do it myself, thanks. I try frog’s legs tonight – which aren’t bad, but are quite bony. And it’s strange to think “this is a frog I’m eating”. Grandma gets a bottle of Sancerre. I tell her I think I won’t drink tonight, but I’ll try it tomorrow, but she makes me have a glass. She has half the bottle herself. I can tell she’s starting to get drunk. We chat with the people at the table next to us, a very sweet British couple. They tell me about cheap airlines in Europe when they find out I’ll be studying in Scotland and want to travel around and help Grandma give me a lecture on buying port over dessert. They and Grandma exchange stories about their RV trips. I smile politely and try to think of something to say on the subject. I guide Grandma back to the room afterwards, and realize why she needs a companion. I’m starting to dread three more weeks of this.


12:30 am, August 25: Well, now I can say I’ve tried the pub. It wasn’t bad, actually, although it was exceedingly pretentious, dominated by older gentlemen in suits and tuxedos talking to other older gentlemen, with their wives by their sides. The man next to me at the bar, probably in his thirties, wearing a polo shirt, was the most casually-dressed person there. He barely said “hi” when we made eye contact, and went back to watching the television. But there was beer. Perhaps I’ll go back tomorrow night when I’m more energetic, though. I didn’t go back to the nightclub tonight – I don’t think I could handle Guiseppe and Salvatore’s attentions, and I doubt I’d have fun. I wish someone else were here to keep me company: if Emily were here, she’d drag me out to the nightclub and at least get me out of the room. And imagine the trouble Caroline and I could get up to in sexy dresses with lots of alcohol!