Science

This fascinates me!
We all know how different the tears we cry when we step on a Lego feel from the ones we shed at the end of a relationship.

But who knew that they actually looked so dramatically different. Like little salt snowflakes.

Clearly, this is more proof of the mind/body connection. Obviously, the body rearranges the salts, antibodies, and lysozymes according to how we feel.

We live in amazing times. Don’t you love science?

PS. Can anyone explain “tears of change” to me? Are those the same as frustration, fear, a bad haircut?

Carry on,
xox

This photo series by Rose-Lynn Fisher captures tears of grief, joy, laughter and irritation under the microscope.

Tears aren’t just water. They’re primarily made up of water, salts, antibodies and lysozymes, but the composition depends on the type of tear. There are three main types – basal tears, reflex tears, and weeping tears.

As you can see, they can look incredibly different when evaporated and placed under a microscope.

More info: http://bit.ly/RJqvK7

Images by Rose-Lynn Fisher, via the Smithsonian Magazine and ScienceAlert.

“I mean, you live in a great, big, vast world that you’ve seen none percent of. Even the inside of your own mind is endless; it goes on forever, inwardly, do you understand? The fact that you’re alive is amazing, so you don’t get to say ‘I’m bored.’” ~ Louis C.K.

Once upon a time, there was a theoretical physicist named Erwin Schrödinger.

I know. Yaaaaawn. Don’t nod off. Stay with me here because this is about cats—and it’s going to get interesting, I promise. Plus I just quoted Louis C.K. to you for crying’ out loud!

He, not Louis C.K., that other guy, Schrödinger. He developed a theory way back in 1935 that even had Einstein scratching his head and with that flyaway white hair of his that was no easy task. Plus he had a big brain and big brains have a hard time making u-turns when it comes to rules of the universe, reality, and cats. In that order.

Schrödinger’s theory went something like this (and I’m simplifying it DRAMATICALLY so that even I can understand it):

If you put a cat in a box with poison and close the lid, the reality that the cat is alive AND the reality that the cat is dead exist at THE SAME TIME. Only when you, as the observer, open the lid does one outcome become a reality.

Wait. What?

He went further. The cat and the observer are linked by something called entanglement (which is the theory that all of our atoms are mixed together so they affect each other) so that makes the outcome affected by the observer’s expectations.

Expect the cat to be dead—open the lid—the kitty is muerto.
Expect a live cat—open the lid—your have a very alive, very pissed off cat who climbs up your arms with its claws and eats your eyebrows.

Both realities exist until you open the lid. The one with the dead cat and the one with no eyebrows.

Don’t you fucking love science? And theoretical physics? See why Einstein was head scratching?

By-the-way, I can hear you and no cat was ever hurt during these experiments. They are theoretical so I’m guessing migraines were the only casualty of this big thinking theory.

I heard about this for the first time about a month ago.
Then I read about it.
Then it was on a podcast.
Then it was mentioned by Monroe (because he’s the smart, sciencey one) on the Grimm T.V. show finale.
So, apparently, it has become part of the popular zeitgeist.

What does this have to do with me and my life you ask?

Nothing.
OR
Everything!

Listen, if we have the power to entangle our way out of shitty results, well, why wouldn’t we?

So, like you do when a quantum theory crosses your path—I decided to test it. On a friend.

I was talking to a dear friend the other day about some test results she’s waiting for. Actually, she’s dreading them. Like we all do with something that could our take our life in a direction we’d rather not go.

So of course, I mentioned the cat!

“There are both good and not-so-good outcomes for the test results UNTIL they open the envelope and you read them,” I assured her.

…Crickets…

“Seriously. You have the power here. What are your expectations?”

“Well, the doctor said to be prepared for the worst…”

“Okay, well, I fucking HATE your doctor! You might want to mention to her that her bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired. Just so you know—HER cat died. Because it was a cat—and it listened to her—and she’s a morbid bitch in a white coat.

YOU, on the other hand are a human being. YOU can change your expectations.”

“I can?”

“Sure! You can expect one of two results, Right? Why not steer yourself toward the one you want? The positive outcome. Entangle all of your atoms over THERE. The universe is waiting for you to decide!”

She gets her test results at the end of the week and regardless of what happens—she’ll get through it, she’ll regroup—and ultimately—she’ll be fine. 

But today. Right now, right this very minute WE have the power to help her because science has proved that our atoms are all entangled. Let’s expect a happy ending. Let’s expect the cat to live.

Will you do that with me?

xox

(Two days later)

**You guys! I wanted to let you know that we did it! My dear friend got her test results back and lo and behold, she’s fine! The cat was alive you guys! Thank you to everyone who helped us out with this thought experiment. We are SO f*ing powerful!

xox Love you!

FOCUS.

Whatever you put your attention on….grows. It starts to breathe. It Flourishes.

That was proven to me by its opposite.
It has always astounded me how fast something I turn my attention away from will wither and fade suffering a slow death due to neglect. Living things like plants and relationships are obvious examples, but what about inanimate objects?

We have a little shed in the backyard just outside our bedroom that in its early years was a workshop/store-all for my husband’s tools. Once he consolidated his immense collection of everything that grows hair on his chest, is toolish and fixyish elsewhere, he generously, as a surprise, turned the shed into an office for me with walls painted a gray/blue, a faux wood floor and an old-fashioned little door with a vintage crystal doorknob, painted in my favorite shade of Chinese red (for good luck).

At first, I was ecstatic! Then, for whatever reason; be it the fact that the commute is too arduous, or that I prefer to write in the patio living space outside, I’m ashamed to report that I seldom, if ever, set foot inside of that sweet little office. When I do venture in, the cobwebs hang like sheer gauze drapes from all four corners and as I flail around in the confusion I usually break up a very well attended poker game made up almost exclusively of spiders, where the various body parts of more unfortunate bugs are used as currency.

The walls have numerous cracks and the paint is peeling at an alarming rate.
Much faster than the rest of our house which has close to a decade’s head start. Seldom used light bulbs are blown, the floor is lifting in the corners and the dust is so thick it looks like the backroom of an antiquities museum where five mummies have slowly decomposed into piles of particles the consistency of powdered sugar.

Every piece of paper looks like an entire ocean of coffee washed over it, curling the corners and turning it the most delicious shade of yellowish/brown. A three-month-old invoice looks like it could give the Dead Sea Scrolls a run for their money.

Have you ever noticed that? What you neglect—decays—due to lack of interest.
It’s all energy.
I find that amazing.

Here’s something else that baffles me.
I save bugs. I just do. I pick them up by a leg or if they’re too squirmy or disgusting, with a Kleenex, and I take them outside. Most of the time I’m careful, making sure to aim for a soft surface like grass or a plant, but sometimes they won’t let go when I shake out the tissue—so I just shake harder until all bets are off. I’ve watched them bounce off a wall or the deck—even my leg.

That’s gotta hurt. Right? Or at least leave a mark. I mean, why isn’t that like me being dropped from a 5000 story building? Naked?
How is it they just get up, brush themselves off and without so much as a “by your leave” continue on with their bug’s life?

I’m sure it has to do with wearing the right hat, having an exoskeleton, or no skeleton at all, but I gotta tell ya…this inquiring mind wants to know.

That’s all.  No message really, just some things to think about on a Saturday.

Carry on,
xox

INTANGIBLE
in·tan·gi·ble
inˈtanjəb(ə)l/
adjective

Unable to be touched or grasped; not having physical presence.
“God seems so intangible”
synonyms:impalpable, untouchable, incorporeal, discarnate, abstract

Settling for the believable.
What?
Why?
No fucking way!

I learned this week that the TED talks want you to have documented proof and data to support your talk.

Fuck. That just makes me mad (no TED talk for me) and worse than that it makes TED a very dull boy.

What about the intangible?

I was reminded this week about certain properties of quantum physics. The fact that everything at the sub-atomic level is made up mostly of …empty space.

Including you and me. And the chair you’re sitting in while you read this.

Yet, we’ve all agreed to see things as solid.

What about the fact that particles make up atoms and yet those atoms contain properties NOT found in particles.
Then atoms gather together and make up molecules yet those molecules contain properties that are NOT present in atoms.
Molecules make up cells and…you guessed it, same thing.

So… we are made up of those cells with all of that unexplainable stuff inside.

Huh.

So far the intangible is waaaaaay more interesting to me than the easily believable. The stuff that adds up. The stuff that makes sense (yawn).

Talk to me more about the abstract, the impalpable; the divine.

“I don’t believe in things that can’t be proven,” said the little shit with the pocket protector.

Oh really Pointdexter? What about dark matter, string theory and the Higgs Boson Particle? Huh?

What about babies?
An egg and sperm collide (and that’s no easy task) and instantly cells start dividing. And somehow contained in those cells are an eyebrow, a penis and a heart that beats. Not only that, the whole thing mysteriously knows how to arrange itself. The penis does’t show up on your face and your heart at the bottom of your foot.

IT KNOWS WHERE TO GO AND WHAT TO DO.
At a cellular level.

It doesn’t arrange itself in a random pattern and become a turnip.
No woman I know of has given birth to a turnip.
Neither has any ape, elephant, cat or chicken.

What plays a role in that? Something intangible?

Where does love come from?
Alaska? Italy? (well, maybe Italy).
Can you order it on Amazon?

Where does it originate?

What about a great idea?
Inspiration? Work of art or piece of music?

I know they are received by the mind, but where do they come from?

Is there a documented storehouse for that?

“Um, hello, yes, I’d like to order two great ideas and if I could get those by Friday that would be great. What? That’s extra?
Fine, put it on my Visa.”

I will not settle for the believable. And neither should you.

Remember we’re all looking for wonder and wonder isn’t even in the same zip code as the believable, the mundane or predictable.

Go ahead TED —ask for data.
You know that white board the study is written on is made up of empty space, right?

Carry on in the most intangible way,
xox

Chemistry
chem·is·try
ˈkeməstrē/
noun
1. the branch of science that deals with the identification of the substances of which matter is composed; blah, blah, blah, more scientific jargon.

2. the complex (understatement) emotional or psychological interaction between two people.
“their affair was triggered by intense sexual chemistry” (THAT’S the one I’m takin’ about.)

synonyms: affinity (not) attraction ( attraction is to chemistry, what propane is to rocket fuel) rapport (weak) spark ( ha! that’s putting it mildly)

“there was a chemistry between them” (…and they didn’t sleep for a week)

So, after the post about my lapse of good judgement due to some “intense sexual chemistry”,

http://www.theobserversvoice.com/2014/09/his-wife-saved-me-from-becoming-the-other-woman-a-cautionary-tale/

I decided to give this elusive beast more thought; seeing that it can ruin our lives and such.

So what is chemistry anyway?
If I knew the answer to that, well, I would be bottling it and living on my private island with all the subjects of my “research.”

There are studies that chalk it up to smell, to pheromones. According to the dictionary, Pheromones are chemicals, hormones, capable of acting outside the body of the secreting individual to impact the behavior of the receiving individual.

In other words, little invisible sexual secret agents, that overrule all common sense, decorum and self-respect. They blindside us, leaving us slaves to our lady parts.
Men, I suppose you can blame your struggles with self-control on chemistry and pheromones – but what’s your excuse the rest of the time? – just sayin’.

Tweet: People that say they don’t “believe” in chemistry, have never experienced it.
Right?
I just felt the slow, collective, nod of thousands of heads.

I mean, it can strike you when you least expect it.
It’s a form of sexual terrorism, with the MOST wicked sense of humor.

Chemistry has no conscience, that I know for sure.
It seems it’s the strongest with the most inappropriate people; at the most inopportune times.

Haven’t you ever locked eyes across a crowded party with…the cater waiter?
Come on! I know it’s not just me!
What about the guy in the Home Depot outdoor department? Or the beautiful man in Starbucks?

A friend of mine locked eyes with a stunning, young woman, on an airplane, seated in first class.
He was walking down the aisle to his cheapest of the cheap seats, in the waaaaay back of bitch/coach.
He knew she felt the chemistry too when she walked all the way to the back of the plane to use the restroom, forgoing all the comforts of the first class potty, just to flirt with him.

They exchanged magazines, book titles, recipes and phone numbers, gossiping and giggling like two teenage girls, and annoying everyone around him, late into the night.
The pheromones were so strong, she had to be warned sternly, several times, to go back to her first class seat during turbulence.
Sadly, she was met at the gate by a much older husband and three little kids – and my friend is gay.
Hey, I’ve already told you, chemistry knows no boundaries.

My philosophy is this:
Feel the chemistry. Marvel at it. Admire it even. Then walk away.
Except if you’re single, some chemistry is a must have in any relationship, because, take it from me – if it’s not there, the first time you get a whiff of it; you’ll bolt.

My heart still flips over when my husband enters a room. Not every time – but most of the time.

Listen, mark my words; that wild, mad, leave your wife, make bad decisions, rip your clothes off in public, kind of chemistry does NOT make for good RELATIONSHIPS.

Relationships require some intellect, intimacy and love.

Chemistry is not to be mistaken for love. Ever.

Pheromone fueled chemistry rules the region south – of – the – border; if you catch my drift.
It’s the stuff of books and movies and it NEVER works out in the end. Trust me.

Knowing the difference can save you a lifetime of hurt.

Sympathetic kiss,
Xox

Have you got a juicy chemistry story for me?

* I wish I’d written this. Let it sink in.
Happy Saturday,
Love, love,

Xox