Chemistry, Black Holes, and Taxes for Writers

At least once a week, I wish that I wrote scifi or thrillers. Those are the days when my son comes home from lab with a story to tell. Yesterday, it was “Hey, in lab I separated mirror molecules and used them to bend light.” Or, “Did you know that all you have to do is mix X with Y and you’ll get the most amazing explosion?”

It seems to me that there ought to be websites that authors can peruse like Explosive Chemistry for Writers wherein a chemist lists all the household chemicals that can be mixed together to provide explosions—a la MacGyver or Burn Notice (though I’m told that those writers could use such a website too). Or what about Theoretical Physics for SciFi Writers. And there could be discussions of black hole firewalls (yes, this is a real thing), event horizons, and paradoxes. Of course, I think theoretical physics is mostly math and I can’t think of many writers who’d want Math for Writers. Unless it’s Tax Math for Writers. Doesn’t that sound great? All you have to do is plug in expenses and remittance information and voila Tax Math for Writers would print out proper tax paperwork.

Speaking of Tax Math, April is coming. Eleven months out of the year, I hope and pray for great sales. And then there’s one month where I hope my sales aren’t amazing. Tax time. I guess there is a time and season for everything.

Illustration by 420Ainsley, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons

Boom!

Ever since I can remember, my kids have liked the idea of things blowing up.

When Jacob was two, I found him playing in the kitchen with matches, and I asked him what he was doing. He said, “Making a bomb.”

 I thought this would pass. I was wrong.

Now my kids watch Brainiac: Science Abuse. (I’ve learned that thermite is very cool.) And the Slo-Mo Guys.

I’ve learned about the Chemistry Dept. picnic where one professor’s claim to fame is a very dangerous mixture of Mentos, soda and his mouth. And I thought tying a cherry stem into a knot in my mouth was a cool party trick. (Seriously, the Mentos/soda thing is very dangerous. Do not try it.)

My son Luke who’s in his senior year of a BS in chemistry had a giddy look on his face the other day. I asked him what was up. He told me he was doing Grignard reactions. They’re exothermic and have the potential to go “boom.”

Yesterday, Luke and Jacob were discussing engineering. Jacob is a freshman in college studying engineering. The subject came around to nuclear engineering. My daughter Ariel sighed happily and said, “Nuclear engineering uses partial differential equations.” I said, “And?” Her eyes lit up. “You know, oscillations nearing infinity…well, boom!”

Even my daughter likes “Boom!”…okay, I like booms too. I get giddy in thunderstorms. And my dad’s been known to go tornado chasing. I once got a phone call from him when he was hiding under an interstate overpass, watching a tornado. So I guess the kids come by it naturally.

BTW, if you aren’t familiar with Brainiac or thermite, this is for you.

Newtonian Physics

According to Newton, and I believe him, “For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.” My intellectual mind knows this, but my practical, day-to-day mind forgets.

The other day I was making a massive pot of “creamy black bean soup.” Some for us, and some for a family in the church that just had a baby. Everything was going swimmingly. The onions and garlic were browned in olive oil, the chicken broth had been added, and the corn, the chilis, tomatoes, spices, etc. But, I still needed to add the beans. The first two cans were opened, and their contents were added to the simmering pot. The third can proved more stubborn. The pull-top that was supposed to open the can pulled off. Without even breaking the seal.

At this point, a mind that was functioning on an intellectual plain would remember Newton’s first law. But, that was not my brain. Instead, I grabbed a wooden spoon and pounded on the can with the end of the handle. Nothing happened. I pounded more. Still nothing happened. The can didn’t even appear dented.

Clearly, all that was needed was harder pounding. So, I pounded hard. The handle of the spoon forced its way into the can along with a good portion of the lid. And since the contents of the can decided to obey Newton’s First Law, I was covered with seasoned black beans. Bean juice was in my eyes, ears, nose, and mouth (it actually tasted quite good). Bean juice soaked my clothes and I shivered. Beans and juice covered the floor—the dog pushed me out of the way so she could eat it before I could find a sponge.

For the second time this month, I’ve gotten a food facial. My skin better start looking really good. Either that or I need to figure out how to get the smart part of my brain to talk to the dumb part.