To whom it may concern:
As I was flying down the motorway this evening at a crisp 45 MPH (precisely the speed limit on this one stretch of road), I decided that my gum had gone bad and I'd like to to get rid of it. Normally, I would use an old kleenex, notecard, or whatever might be available at present, but having cleaned out my automobile just the other day (several weeks ago), there was nothing to find. I took a cue from my father, who was notorious for spitting gum out of the window whilst driving. I don't make a habit of this, but tonight I thought I'd make an exception.
Zzzwwwwwppppp, down goes the automated window. The wind comes a-roarin' on in and whips my hair around every which way. One, two...THREE! And with that, the gum with which I'd spent 90 endearing minutes was gone. As it flew from my lips, I noticed the arc...sort of parabolic, I thought.
This is where you step across the threshold of my mind, and all of that sort of lovely-sounding foolishness. Ah, yes, I wondered how one might calculate the speed with which the gum travels from the very second it left my mouth until it hit the ground. I knew I was traveling at 45 MPH, and estimated (took a wild guess) that I expelled the gum at around 20 MPH. I wondered how one would calculate the slowing effect of the wind on the airborne gum once it left the confines of my automobile.
Having not yet started my physics sequence, I'm in the dark.
I think I quite like that. It's a mystery, and mysteries are sometimes marvelous things.
So, there you have it. A moment in the mind of J.O. Morris... on a Saturday evening, no less! On the bus home Friday afternoon, I noticed a nice pattern from a leafless branch against the sky and was remind of fractals. I spent a Sunday morning once (when I should've been in church, studying something, or any other number of things) watching a program on PBS about fractals and was pleased with what I saw.
Scope that out...two thoughts for the price of one. There are plenty more, and I'll do what I can to document them in the future. It's generally the case that I forget what it was I was thinking about moments after thinking it, for I've moved on to something else. It's occurred to me to carry around a tape recorder. Who knows what genius might gush forth.
Gush forth? Well, too late to change it now, I reckon. Go, go, go.
As I carry on with my studies just now, and as I write this, I'm listening to a radio program called Smokestack Lightnin' via the Internet. It's a blues program. New blues, though....it's a top 25 countdown for the month of January. Some of it is really terrible and cheesy and vanilla that it sickens me to hear it, especially upon consideration of the old, black greats. No, there's nothing like the original, but some of this new stuff does come close. A guy who calls himself Taildragger (after the Howlin' Wolf song...and from whom his vocal stylings seem to have been lifted), starts the program off, which you can hear even after the broadcast is over. It's about the best blues I've heard made in the post-1960s world.
Give it a whirl!
All the best,