Appearing to Study Particle Physics

By Todd Mikosh

Interrupted from preparing an article on particle physics, Dr. Jeremy Wraxtiorre attempts to explain the sociological and historical analysis of the development of the Quark Chromodynamics theories in the 1960s. But the author didn't listen--instead trying to destroy the book being discussed. Dr. Wraxtiorre also attempts to explain the foundation of an investor’s economy, but fails to adequately concretize the description when his author falls prey to his lust for the female anatomy. The disrespectful antics get increasingly surreal as the author tackles, heckles, mocks and deconstructs other topics including Internet journalism,corporate values, video marketing, conspiracy theories, propaganda, social structures, and transcendentalism.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Apr 22, 2018
• ISBN: 9781387759842

Book preview

Appearing to Study Particle Physics

Appearing to Study Particle Physics

Copyright © 2013 Todd Mikosh.

Published by Lulu.com

All rights reserved.  No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or process—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the copyright owner and Lulu.com.  The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law.  Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.  Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

This is a work of fiction.  Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Mikosh, Todd ([e-mail])

Appearing to Study Particle Physics

Todd Mikosh. – 2nd edition

Includes bibliography.

ISBN 978-1-304-53317-3 (hardcover)

ISBN 978-1-304-54149-9 (paperback)

ISBN 978-1-387-75984-2 (e-book)

1.  Philosophy, Modern—20th Century.  2.  Quantum Mechanics.  3.  Quark Chromodynamics.   4.  Economics.  5.  Photojournalism.          6.  Social Media.  7.  Conspiracy Theories.  8.  Propaganda.  9.  Public Sphere.  10.  Carnivalism.  11.  Transcendentalism.  12.  Good and Evil.  13.  Solipsism.   14.  The Meaning of Life.   15.  Evil   16.  Truth.              17.  Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 1889-1951.   18.  Dostoevsky, Fyodor  1821-1881.  19. Hermagoras of Temnos.  I.  Title

Cover Art by Stacy Mikosh

For my dear wife, Stacy,

the one true love of my life

image001.jpg

Approximately Not Equal To:  Negating the approximation which represents something that is inexact, but still too far off to be useful.  In traditional arithmetic, the symbol would represent near-non-inequality, which could be described as a self-contradicting formula—the Liar’s Paradox in symbolic terms.  In Geometry, congruence describes a pair of objects or figures that are the same size and shape.  On the other hand, similarity describes two objects that are the same shapes but differ in size.  So, um . . . incongruence would describe two objects that differ in shape and/or size.  In abstract algebra, two objects or structures are said to be isomorphic if they are indistinguishable given only a selection of their features.  Consequently, two objects can be said to be approximately not isomorphic if they are distinguishable with only a limited set of features described.

De-Constructing Quarks

Appearing to Study Particle Physics

Dr. Jeremy Wraxtiorre[1] sat at a desk with a micro-cassette recorder and looked distractedly out the window. Abruptly, he spoke in a loud voice. Notes for Particle Physics article, June twenty-third.  I started reading Constructing Quarks by Andrew Pickering yesterday, and while it seemed— He stopped speaking and slapped the desk in disgust.

He continued speaking in an exasperated yet quieter voice. No, that’s too direct. Maybe I should finish reading it before thinking about the article? It’ll take a few days, but then again, it might be more interesting to talk about my expectations of what I expect to read and then compare that with my experience afterward. He paused, chewing on his thumbnail as he thought. Yep, I’ll do that. He straightened his back in the chair, took a deep breath, and spoke towards the micro-cassette recorder with a resounding voice again. "While it appears that the author was eschewing traditional mathematical norms, the sociological perspective will probably make this text more accessible to the layman’s reader. As is true of most particle physics textbooks, some technical experience is expected, but nearly all advanced terminology and concepts are thoughtfully explained for the non-professional reader. Where points, topics and subject explanations are avoided, the author peremptorily announces the avoidance and yet suggests other appropriate texts where the explanations may be found. I look forward to discovering whether this historical perspective is palpable, but making any progress would be much easier if I could just find the damned book. His voice trailed off into a mumble as he began to look around the room. After several minutes, he grabbed the micro-cassette recorder and squeezed the STOP button. Well, what little I have read is very different from my expectations. It gives a condescendingly basic description of how super-colliders work and how scientists use the pictures they get from them, but it doesn’t feel all that insulting because it’s never really been explained to layperson readers." He glanced at the micro-cassette recorder and flinched when he realized that he had not turned it back on. As he reached his hand up to squeeze the RECORD button, the sound of the driveway door opening interrupted him.

Just then, I walked in from the driveway door. Jeremy, I just rode the bus home from downtown. I was pretending to read this new book that you checked out from the library. It was pretty cool being seen with a book about particle physics in my hands. It made me feel like a Babe-magnet. I didn’t fall asleep because I was singing old Deep Purple songs in my head. Did you know that I can mimic David Coverdale’s voice better in my head than with my vocal chords? I was also staring at traffic a lot. Have you noticed that only the new Chevy Camaro is selling in yellow and black? The new Challengers and Mustangs aren’t as popular in those colors.

Dr. Wraxtiorre slapped himself in the forehead and allowed his palm to slide down his face towards his chin. Did you show everybody the pictures?

Nope, nobody sat next to me. I guess they were afraid that I might stink of medicated sinus creams, or zinc-based sunscreens, or even sweat-soaked baby powder. I think it was more that they were afraid they would feel belittled by my intellectual prowess.

Jeremy looked up despondently. Or it could be because you look like a homeless person?

Todd put his fingers into his hair.  What? This? It’s the Albert Einstein look. I figure babes would respect a guy who isn’t afraid to look like a ragamuffin while reading a book about particle physics.

Jeremy held his hand out to accept the book from Todd’s clumsy hands. Well, at least your wife won’t have anything to get jealous about!

Out Standing in the Field

While[2] the Cartoon Dog[3] changed the Stoic Cat’s litter box, Dr. Wraxtiorre waited nervously for the return of his precious library book.  He stared scornfully out the window at the driveway, scowling at the houseflies which battered the glass from outside.

I blustered through the back door with a towel wrapped around my waist and said, Dr. Wraxtiorre, this just isn’t working. The hot babes aren’t appreciating the complexity of the situation I am in. I’ve been trying to appear to be studying your particle physics textbook, but eventually I just get bored and start to sing the Numa Numa song.

Dr. Wraxtiorre flinched and looked over his shoulder.  You realized this while tanning naked in the backyard?  He glanced from side to side, trying to guess how he should interact with this conversation.  Beyond supposing that I might have been spending the entire afternoon lying on a towel on the patio beside the pool daydreaming about being seen in public reading a book that I clearly did not understand, or that I had been riding busses to and from downtown several times while sneering at businessmen in fancy suits as they fondled their iPads and Kindles reading news articles about football games and celebrity incidents, or that I had spent the entire day walking around in the mall leering at teenagers who wouldn’t appreciate the sentential struggles of academic textbooks and sniffing up the fumes of pastries in the food court, he suspected that I had simply been carrying the book in my armpit while listening to pirated MP3’s in earbuds while dodging traffic.  Or perhaps I had fallen asleep in the car, inhaling carbon monoxide fumes while the book lie sprawled across my chest, open at page one, unread for the entire time.  Finally, he suggested, Maybe you’re just not acting very convincing. Here, show me what you are doing, and I’ll critique it.

I dumped myself onto the living room couch, sitting forward as I grabbed the library’s copy of Andrew Pickering’s Constructing Quarks off the coffee table.  I opened it to a random page and pretended to read it silently, holding a pleased look on my face as I furrowed my brow slightly in an effort to look like I was concentrating. How’s this?

Dr. Wraxtiorre smirked and answered, You look like a goofball admiring himself in the mirror.

I looked off, thinking.  Maybe if I pretend to be confused. What about this?  I held the book open at my knees and looked down at it, tightening my chin and furrowing my brow slightly again.

Raising his hand up to cover his mouth, Dr. Wraxtiorre tried to hide a brief chuckle.  "Now you look constipated. Have you tried not being an idiot?"

I turned the corners of my mouth downward, and furrowed my brow further.  Perplexed, maybe?

Dr. Wraxtiorre allowed a chuckle to escape his throat. You should really put some fiber in your diet.  You could rupture your colon if you keep making faces like that.

I rolled my eyes and stared at the ceiling.  After an exasperated pause, I looked down at the book and raised my eyebrows as I opened my eyes wide, asking, Maybe if I pretend to be impressed with the profundity of the text?

Dr. Wraxtiorre shuffled his feet slightly, looking down at his toes in embarrassment as he backed away. Now it looks like your colon has already ruptured.  He stifled a giggle. You are going to explode soon. I am going to step away so as not to get food and body parts on my clothes.

I exhaled loudly, and waited for a blind rage to pass through me.  After a moment, I inhaled cautiously and offered, Maybe I should pretend to be arguing with the book, as though I disagree with it.

Laughing aloud, Dr. Wraxtiorre suggested, Maybe you could act like the book owes you money, and has been sleeping around with your sister?

I closed the book on my fingers and stared directly at Dr. Wraxtiorre’s mocking face.  Okay, now you’re just wandering too far off into left field.

Dr. Wraxtiorre brightened up and cheered, "Say, there’s a good idea. You could go way far out into left field, and then you would be out standing in the field!"

Standing up from the sofa, I echoed, Great! You could go with me!

Dr. Wraxtiorre waved me off and turned away, strolling diffidently into the kitchen. Nope, part of the charm of seeing you walk out into left field is being that far away from you.  He opened the refrigerator door and leaned into it, scanning the contents hungrily.

I shrugged, allowed my shoulders to droop and replied, Okay, but when the hot babes come flocking to my side, don’t start whimpering about being lonely!

Dr. Wraxtiorre retorted from behind the door of the fridge, where he was looking for something to snack on.  Whatever! Just leave the book. I have to return it, or recheck it out. He leaned away from the fridge and raised his voice.  At least I’ll finally get a chance to be the one pretending to read it!

Super-Colliders and Casinos

The next day, [4] at about the same part of the afternoon, I stormed into the den, throwing the library copy of Constructing Quarks across the room. I don’t get it! I shouted. Even without all the math and chemistry crap, it still doesn’t make any sense.

Dr. Jeremy Wraxtiorre walked calmly into the room and held up his hands defensively, admonishing, "Please, don’t throw that book around so much! It belongs to the library. Here, abuse your copy of Mangled Doves—you own a copy of that!  What’s got you all up in arms?"

I walked across the room and picked up the book. I was babe-watching on the freeway today because it’s not easy to pretend to read a book about particle physics while driving—it ranks right up there with driving while texting—and I couldn’t understand the section on super-colliders. Why were they so important to the study of physics if they do nothing more than take pictures of subatomic particles crashing into each other?

If you are having trouble with the usefulness of super-colliders in the study of theoretical physics, then you’re really not going to understand the upshot of the book’s portrayal of their changing role in the development of the Quark Theories. Dr. Wraxtiorre strolled around to the front of the sofa and sat down comfortably.  "You see, scientists study things that are outside of the realm of a laboratory by taking pictures of them, and then sitting around in their offices studying those pictures with their theories in mind trying to explain what is happening in the pictures.

When it comes to subatomic particles, you can’t take pictures of them—but you can take pictures of the bubble-trails they leave in a compressed-gas chamber; or you can take pictures of photo-detectors lighting up when they are struck by subatomic particles. This is what the early particle accelerators did, by generating a beam of protons or electrons, and shooting them into a tube surrounded by rings of electromagnets which could be switched on and off in a sequence which would send the subatomic particles racing along in a narrow stream by turning those rings of electromagnets on and off, so as to encourage the particles to race along in one direction or the other faster and faster, like a laser. At a given point in this circular pipe would be an opening with electromagnets in a curve which encourage the particles in the beam to race out of the ring into a bubble chamber or onto a plate covered with photo-detectors. Super-colliders are made of two of these ringed pipes—usually stacked on top of each other—racing the beams in each pipe in opposite directions, and that opening in the two pipes where the beam is encouraged to shoot out of the two pipes are in the same spot facing each other, each pointed directly at the other. The resulting collision produces twice the impact velocity as a particle accelerator."

I set the book down on the coffee table and stepped back towards a chair. Gee, Doc. You seem to know a lot about this already. You’re more animated than I have seen you in several weeks. But how do the theoretical physicists use these pictures to explain their theories?

With the early particle accelerators, the theorists were able to prove that certain particles exist because the properties of the particles caused them to behave in different ways in the bubble chamber, and so the theorists could say that only certain properties would cause a particle to act in the way that a certain bubble-trail would indicate, and that those properties necessarily indicate a particular type of particle. It’s kinda like playing roulette, with balls of different weights and sizes. A heavier ball will travel further, and so would land on a certain number which has a certain color, either red or black. If on a particular spin the ball were to fall on, say, Black 29, then the fact that it landed on Black 29 would indicate mathematically how heavy the ball was, or what size it was. A heavier ball or a larger ball would travel further, and might fall into the slot at Red 9, for example.  There are formulas in math which can tell you the size or the weight of the ball depending on where it lands.  But there’s an important feature of the math of Quantum Mechanics called Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle, which proves that you can only verify one of those two properties in a given event because the other property will change and remain unknown.

I plopped myself into an easy chair beside the coffee table and looked crossly at Dr. Wraxtiorre. So, theoretical physics is like gambling, and particle accelerators are like casinos?

Dr. Wraxtiorre shifted uncomfortably on the cushions of the sofa. He chanted, I am sofa king. We Todd it.

I turned sideways, wrinkling up my nose in confusion.  What’s gotten into you? Are you making fun of me? I looked across at Dr. Wraxtiorre with puzzled eyes. Or, are you making fun of yourself, using that funky self-deprecating humor that you’re so fond of?

Sorry, I was just remembering an old YouTube video of that prank. What were you saying?

I leaned forward and cupped my hands in front of me. You were comparing particle accelerators to roulette wheels, and when I suggested that theoretical physics might be like gambling and particle accelerators might be like casinos, you got all flaked out on me.

Dr. Wraxtiorre straightened his back up and grimaced. Maybe it’s because I find the comparison inappropriate. Perhaps a different image will be more helpful. When I was a child in the prewar years of the Great Depression, we used to play Marbles a lot. It kept us outta trouble and taught us strategy, along with a little practical usage of physical laws. If your firing marble went into the circle and hit another marble off-center, then it knocked the other marble out of the circle at an odd angle. We called that ‘putting English on it.’ People who play pool still use that phrase to describe it. In a sense, super-colliders are a lot like the game of Marbles. The two beams are accelerated in opposite directions, and then turned to ram into each other in front of a wall of photo-detectors. The physicists were able to tell which particles were which by their angle of deflection. They also began to notice that there were particles in the pictures that they hadn’t accounted for in previous pictures. This, my friend, is where they had to start coming up with new theories.

Doc, you’re getting that sparkle in your eye again. Should I get you an ice cream bar and a bicycle? I mean, now you’re beginning to make it sound like theoretical physics was like being a kid again.

Well, it some ways it is. Haven’t you ever gotten two toy cars and smashed them together?

I shrugged. Shaking my head from side to side, I indicated that I had not.

You mean you never had a couple of toy cars that you were tired of looking at and just decided to smash them into each other out of sheer boredom, just to see what it would look like with all the pieces flying off in all directions, and the sound of the plastic bending, cracking and snapping?

I remained motionless.

Well, that’s good, because theoretical physicists are nothing like that. All they got to do was recommend specific conditions that they wanted the people at the super-colliders to put in place for experiments for them, and go collect the data afterward. It was the people at the super-colliders who were reliving their childhoods.

I looked across to the kitchen for awhile, thinking about all the things that the doctor had just told me. The Cartoon Dog trotted across the living room and sat down beside the driveway door, whimpering quietly. He pawed at the door twice and looked at me, imploringly. I got up, walked over to the door, and opened it to let the Cartoon Dog go outside.

Dr. Wraxtiorre looked at me with perplexed eyes. So, you really never did that with your toy cars?

Who would want to do that, Doctor? Really! Toy cars are much too important to want to destroy them.

A Bolt of Lightning

I stomped[5] out into the backyard and threw the library’s copy of Constructing Quarks into the swimming pool.  SPLAP! I shouted, What a bunch of frickin’ morons! They were doing all that stuff without even knowing if they were getting it right?

Dr. Jeremy Wraxtiorre leaped out of the patio door and rushed towards the pool, halting his advance at the coping’s edge.  "What the Hell did you do that for? I told you yesterday, that copy of the book belongs to the County Library! Ya know, if you’re going to treat it so badly, buy your own copy! He gestured dramatically at the pool. At this rate, you’ll need to buy several copies."

I shrugged and rolled my eyes. Jerry, I— I noticed the frown on his face. "I’m sorry. Can I call you Jerry? How about Jem? You know, like that kid in that movie[6] with Gregory Peck when he played that lawyer?"

Dr. Wraxtiorre folded his arms arrogantly. "Well, I am a doctor."

I can’t believe that you tricked me into reading that stupid book!  I stepped back towards the patio table, ignoring the Doctor’s impatient gesturing at the center of the pool. They wasted the whole twentieth century, or maybe the first half of it, trying to prove whether or not Quantum Mechanics was valid, while at the same time telling the whole world that it’s the be-all, end-all best description ever of the makings of the Universe?

Dr. Wraxtiorre relaxed his stance and allowed a smile to creep onto his lips. Hmmm, it looks like somebody has stopped wanting to be a babe-magnet and has learned to care about academics again.

I sat down in one of the flimsy lawn chairs beside the glass patio table. "But, they started needing to come up with new ways to calculate their maths because Quantum Mechanics turned out to be—what’s that word again? Unrenormalisable? I mean, wasn’t Quantum Mechanics the wonder child of physics?"

Dr. Wraxtiorre folded his arms guardedly.  "It was. Even as early as the late 1700’s they already knew that Newton’s Classical Model of the atom was inaccurate. Really, the developments in studies of light and electricity in the late 1850’s revealed that Newton could not be correct. Yet nobody would dare say that Newton was wrong, but at the same time they were discovering things that just didn’t jibe all that well with matter always being nothing but matter. Or maybe they just couldn’t comprehend the consequences of proving Newton’s physics wrong."

I turned around and stumbled towards the pool again. So? What? Are there any dire consequences in saying that Newton was wrong? I stepped further out into the lawn and looked up at a cloudless sky. The brightness of the Sun’s glare made my eyes squint. Newton was wrong! I shouted.

The garage exploded with a harsh shrieking sound as a lightning bolt grounded itself on the pavement underneath. The harsh shrieking sound, like a bazillion fingernails scraping a blackboard, followed as the lightning bolt arced itself across the backyard, slicing through the yard-side wall of the garage. In an instant, the lightning bolt disappeared, leaving the charred remains of the garage still standing, feebly. An occasional plank of wood clattered onto the driveway.

I looked up, bravely.  You missed.

Dr. Wraxtiorre calmly stepped under the bistro umbrella and picked up the glass of iced tea from the table. It was the propagation of light that caused such a problem. He waved his hand figuratively at the space where the lightning bolt had been. "Sir Isaac Newton built his entire system of physics based on the assumption that light was ‘carried’ by objects that he called photons. He believed that gravity—you know, the story about the apple bouncing off his head?–was made possible by a field called ‘the Aether’, which has been described as the fabric of the Universe. He didn’t call those things ‘Gravitons.’—I don’t know who told you that!  It didn’t take very long to discover that light and gravity could not possibly be ‘carried’ by objects, but rather they were the objects, and sometimes not objects. You see, light moves like water in some situations. When light passes an object, it actually curves into the space behind it, despite the shadow. If you are looking towards the light source from inside the middle of an object’s shadow, a spot of light can actually be seen inside the darkest part of that shadow—if observed from the proper angle."

He set the glass of iced tea back on the table and stepped over to lean on the gate, surveying the damage to the garage as he spoke. "So, Newton died happy that he had described the stuff that makes the world, a swirling mass of physical objects that never changed. You see, although Newton did not believe in Determinism, a physics that described the world as entirely made up of unchanging objects suited the belief in a purely mechanical universe perfectly. But after physicists discovered that light was not ‘carried’ by objects, they had to admit that light was the object that was sometimes not an object, nobody could figure out how to put all these discoveries together again—all those proofs that light moves in waves, the measuring of the speed of light, the elaborate experiments to prove Aether Drift—the Michelson-Morley Experiment which failed to function at all—and nobody could prove it until Einstein came along."

I strolled around the table and sat down in the shade. I felt itchy and began to ruffle my hair, knocking charred bits of wood and plaster out of my hair. My left shoulder began to feel hot, and as I reached up to scratch it, I noticed flames lapping at my hair. I panicked, leaping up from the chair and patting my shoulder anxiously.

Ignoring me, Dr. Wraxtiorre continued to explain. "But Einstein did believe in Determinism. After developing his theories of General Relativity and Special Relativity, he realized what he had done to the scientific world and made his famous proclamation, ‘God does not play dice with the Universe.’  But it was too late.  The scientific community had already adopted his formulations into their theories and began to change the way science actually looked at subatomic particles.  He picked up the glass of iced tea and drank from it diffidently.  Grimacing as he spat out a splintered piece of wood, he poured the iced tea onto my shoulder roughly. Now, go jump into the pool and fish out that book before it gets too soggy for the Library!"

Waterlogged

After[7] throwing the County Library’s copy of Constructing Quarks into the swimming pool and causing the garage to be struck by lightning after I accused Sir Isaac Newton of being wrong about Particle Physics, I looked over at Dr. Wraxtiorre and asked, What was the problem with Quantum Mechanics in the forties and fifties?

Dr. Wraxtiorre[8] continued to point into the center of the pool as he glared angrily at me.  I’m not saying nuthin’ ‘til you get the library’s copy of Constructing Quarks out of the water!

I dove into the pool and swam towards the floating book. Its pages were beginning to soak and turn gray in the bluish water of the heavily chlorinated pool. My eyes began to itch. As I dog-paddled, I glanced at the garage—the center of the roof had been completely burned off, leaving the corners of the structure rising lonely into the air, and the walls sagging weakly into the hole in the pavement caused by the strike of the lightning bolt. Holding the book by its spine in my left hand, I swam towards the shallow end steps, using the book as an oar for my strokes.  As I stepped out of the pool, I could hear the garage collapsing behind me, like an inflatable Moonwalk being deflated. I stood on the coping’s edge for several minutes, letting the water drip out of my clothes.

Dr. Wraxtiorre stepped up to me and said, "You see, the particle physicists who followed the results of experiments performed at the particle accelerators and super-colliders faced insurmountable difficulties applying the math of the Field Theory of Quantum Electrodynamics to their studies of particle interactions presented in the experiments’ results.  The equations that they used to prove what the results were showing them required factoring things called ‘integrals,’ an entire equation which represents one of the variables in the equation which they were trying to solve. Each one of those ‘integrals’ represented a probability chart which included an infinity of possible events involving undefined particles—called ‘virtual particles’—which only existed for a fraction of a second, usually as positive and negative pairs of equal mass so as to cancel each other out and equal zero, which satisfied the laws of Conservation of Energy and Matter. In order to properly solve the equations, they had to resolve all the infinities in these ‘integrals’ by balancing them out so that they wouldn’t remain as part of the answer or solution—you see, resolving these infinities necessarily meant balancing them out on both sides of the equation,.  As your portrayal of Parmenides stated in your novella

this and that

, in your book Mangled Doves, ‘One cannot complete an infinite number of tasks in a finite amount of time.’ So, they had to perform only the primary set of ‘integrals’ for their Field Theory equations and simply accept that the remaining unsolved content of the equation was 137 times less significant than the portion that they solved."

As I listened, I squatted several times to squish the water out of my pants, and rung out the sleeves of my shirt. By this point, I had stopped dripping enough to walk into the house, and went into the kitchen. I set the book down on the counter and went into the living room, while Dr. Wraxtiorre followed eagerly. I opened the fireplace screen, grabbed the flue shovel from the hearth and began to dump shovelfuls of ash into the bucket beside the window.

Dr. Wraxtiorre continued to explain the so-called ‘Disease’ which plagued Quantum Mechanics in the Twentieth Century. Once they had figured out how to re-normalize the Field Theory equations so that their solutions happened to be accurate, they simply began to assume that they were right in doing so, and proceeded to try and find ways to discover how to calculate the remaining integral values for their equations. It was obvious to them that it was unacceptable that the Quantum Field Theory equations were simply unsolvable in their entirety, despite their apparent accuracy after renormalization.

As I finished shoveling out the ashes, I began to shiver from the chill of air conditioning blowing onto my wet clothes, so I hurriedly stepped over to the woodpile and began tossing logs towards the hearth.  After tossing a few logs onto the rug, I walked over to the kitchen counter to retrieve the soggy copy of Andrew Pickering’s Constructing Quarks. As I walked back into the living room, I looked up and abruptly asked, Why 137 times? I dropped the book on the floor next to the pile of logs.

Dr. Wraxtiorre sat in the easy chair on the other side of the fireplace. He looked up at the ceiling and spoke in exasperated tones.  Because the e-squared portion of the equation represents the mass of a photon, which is a very small number—roughly one over one hundred thirty-seven—and an equation involving a single photon can be solved after all the integrals have been calculated. The solution occurred when Richard Feynman developed a theory of approximation which allowed for these ‘infinities’ to be sidestepped through the simple act of assuming that you know what the answer would be and solving for it, and then verifying that your assumed solution was correct—essentially working the equation backwards. It turned out to be much easier to factor the equation past all those infinities when you already knew which ones would balance out. But if there were more than one photon involved in the equation, then there would be a complete set of ‘integrals’ for each photon value.  Physicists realized very early that solving the equation for the first photon would reveal all the significant particles in the interaction, and that any particles involved in the integrals of any other photons in the interaction would be 137 times less significant and therefore wouldn’t represent any particles—virtual or not—that weren’t already accounted for in the primary factoring.

I kneeled in front of the pile of wood and picked them up one at a time, placing them carefully on the raised cast iron grate which was centered over the gas pipe in the fireplace. After placing two logs side by side on the grate, I added a third log and turned it around several times to ensure that it would lie properly on the stack to provide effective airflow for the fire.

Dr. Wraxtiorre watched with growing interest as he continued to explain. It seemed that allowing for approximate solutions to be calculable so long as the answers matched the data was an acceptable solution to the inability of the equations to verify the existence of particles which did not exist at the beginning of the experiment and did not exist at the end of the experiment, but clearly existed for fractions of a second during the experiments, yet once they realized that they could only account for the particles they could see beforehand and afterward, they knew that there were particles that were evident in portions of the experiments which they couldn’t measure.

After I had finished positioning the stack of logs in the fireplace, I reached out my hand. Dr. Wraxtiorre reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a lighter, placing it in my proffered palm. I reached it into the fireplace while stretching across the hearth to turn on the gas while I lit the lighter and held it inside the fireplace. The gas fumes burst into flame all at once as I hastily pulled my hand out of the fireplace. I handed the lighter back to Dr. Wraxtiorre. So, despite the magical effect that Quantum Mechanics had on the scientific community, I suggested, it caused them more problems than it cleared up? I watched the fire for a moment, to see how the flames would move through the spaces between the logs. Then I picked up the water-logged copy of Constructing Quarks and tossed it into the fire.

Dr. Wraxtiorre was preparing to answer in the affirmative, but upon seeing what I had done, he shrieked, Gyaaaah! and jumped up out of the easy chair. Why’dja throw that into the fire?

I unfolded my arms and shrugged.  Well, I had to dry it out somehow!

Bursting into Flames

Explaining[9] the theoretical and experimental difficulties of Quantum Mechanics in the late Twentieth Century coupled with the need for applicable theories which would clarify particle physics universally among the widely-scattered members of the scientific community was easier for Dr. Wraxtiorre in a classroom setting where students sat at desks taking notes and raising their hands to ask questions, occasionally passing notes in order to converse silently or furtively nibbling bites of snacks hidden in their desks. But today, he was trying to explain the Sociological development of practical solutions to the mysteries of Quantum Mechanics to a man who had thrown his textbook into the swimming pool, fished it out and immediately afterward threw it into the fireplace while a fire was burning. My only excuse was that I needed to dry it out so that he could check it back in at the library.

Dr. Wraxtiorre shrieked and stood up in the easy chair, shouting, If that book is damaged, they’ll charge me a fine to replace it!

In my defense, I explained that the book would not burst into flame until all the water had evaporated from the pages.  So, why was the Quark Theory so unpopular?  I asked abruptly.  I mean, I barely remember hearing about it in the early Eighties, but according to this book, the theory was developed in the middle Sixties.

He wagged his fist at my face and asked, "How would you feel if I threw a copy of your Mangled Doves into the fire?"

I looked at him for a moment quizzically, and then I turned and watched the book in the fireplace, while the flames lapped around the corners of the laminating plastic, sizzling as the water continued to drip from the pages. I tried to think of a viable reason why it would be fair for me to be offended by seeing Mangled Doves get thrown into the fire while it was inappropriate for him to be offended by having his library book thrown into the fire. I mean, after all, he didn’t write Constructing Quarks; Andrew Pickering did. I returned my gaze to Dr. Wraxtiorre’s face.

He watched me expectantly for several moments, the aggravation contorting his face slowly.  He twitched and averted his eyes to the book in the fireplace, and then returned his gaze to my face.  Well, take it out of the fire! It can dry out in the sunlight!

I held up my hands in defense, calmly. Give it a moment. I kept my hands up for a moment, then folded them in my armpits.  Tell me about the resistance to Quark Theories in the scientific community.

Dr. Wraxtiorre shifted his weight nervously.  Um, uh— His eyes darted from mine to the fireplace, to my hands, and then back to meet my gaze. There were two reasons. The people who were leading the scientific community had established certain procedures for dealing with the need to categorize all the new particles that they were discovering, and they came up with grouping theories and called them weird names like SU(3) and The Eightfold Way and S-matrix. He stared intently at the floor while wringing his hands. "There was even a guy at Berkeley who called his method ‘Bootstrap Gauge Theory.’ But the charts and groupings never seemed to fit the realities of the particles’ characteristics. Each effort to make the process more accurate, or all-inclusive, seemed to always have one particle that didn’t fit its rules. But they were convinced that grouping the particles according to their characteristics—weight, charge, spin, isospin, and such-not—was the way to make sense of it all. There were even some physicists who started to invent new characteristics in order to find more ways to categorize the grouping attempts. There was strangeness and charm, of all things! But all these efforts resulted in more complexity and more ill-fittedness. He began to shift his weight from side to side in agitation. Suddenly, Murray Gell-Man came along and wrote a paper that said some of the subatomic particles were composed of three building-block things called Quarks, and not only did they have fractional quantum numbers, but they made all the grouping theories useless." He suddenly stopped speaking and glared at the fireplace in alarm.

I looked into the fireplace at a cloud of smoke which was bellowing out at me. I guess that means the pages are dried out now. I grabbed the tongs and snatched the book out of the fireplace. Flames lapped up from the pages. I opened my eyes wide and raced to the driveway door in a panic. Opening the door, I reached up with the tongs and tossed the County Library’s copy of Constructing Quarks into the pool again. I inhaled deeply, and wiped my forehead with my forearm. Gee, I hope the book’s going to be okay!

Urf!  Dr. Wraxtiorre stood despondently in the living room watching out the bay window. He dropped his hands to his sides and spoke sadly. The other reason it was received poorly was that Mr. Gell-Man openly denounced the possibility of the existence of Quarks in the very paper where he proposed the theory. One of the university administrators even called him a charlatan to his face.

Making Stuff up—The Sky’s the Limit!

As Dr. Wraxtiorre[10] watched aghast at his library copy of Andrew Pickering’s Constructing Quarks being thrown into the swimming pool for a second time, the Cartoon Dog darted around him, pushed past me, and leapt into the pool. He paddled towards the book, grabbed it up in his teeth, and lumbered out of the water on the other side of the pool. After shaking off all the water in his fur, the Cartoon Dog strolled towards the trees and lie down in the grass with the soggy book under his paws. He began to nibble at it listlessly.

As Dr. Wraxtiorre stepped up beside me, I remarked, A Cartoon Dog underwater in a real swimming pool. I’ve never seen that before.

Dr. Wraxtiorre shrugged and answered, Meh! They did it in a movie back in the Eighties with a wacky rabbit and some weasels, but not nearly as well. I’m just worried about getting the book back from him.

I placed the fireplace tongs on the patio table and looked at Dr. Wraxtiorre crossly. Ignoring the Cartoon Dog, I asked, So why was the physics community so unreceptive to Murray Gellman’s theory about Quarks?

It’s kinda like what you said in Fragment 41C in your book, Mangled Doves. ‘To those who differ, we say, Damn your eyes!’ I am surprised you don’t remember that.

I looked up out of the page[11] and remarked, "Hey, I just quoted my own book!  That’s kinda cool!"

Dr. Wraxtiorre rolled his eyes and snapped, Enough with this small talk!  Do something interesting.  Mocking my braggart stance, he glanced out of the page at the reader and winked.  Hey, he just did it again, except that’s from the novella!

I walked around the pool towards the Cartoon Dog, and crouched as he started growling upon my approach. Waiting for the Cartoon Dog to quiet, I asked over my shoulder, So, what was the deal with Scaling and Richard Feynman walking in with a suggestion about partons? Couldn’t they just acknowledge the Quark Theory and get on with it?

Dr. Wraxtiorre put his finger to his chin and thought for a moment. Well, this was the point when the new Physics was beginning to take over. It was no longer a community in which the theorists went to the experimenters seeking proof of the validity of their ideas. Now, the experimenters were going to the theorists looking for explanations of what they were finding. At one of the new super-colliders, they found that the energy-momentum transference graphs were not tapering off as quickly as their formulas were indicating that they should. Feynman’s Parton model suggested that protons—you know, the big positively-charged things in the nucleus of atoms—were actually clouds of all the particles and stuff that a proton could decay into all existing at once.  You see, they hadn’t accepted the existence of Quarks yet, and they needed to explain why neutrons and protons seemed to be multiple objects without saying that there was more than one thing in them.

Not listening, I lunged at the Cartoon Dog, grabbing the library’s copy of Constructing Quarks on both sides of the spine. I tightened my grip on the book and planted my feet in the grass. Let go, you dumb dog! I shouted.

The Cartoon Dog mumbled through snarling teeth. I’m not dumb. As a matter of fact, I have a PhD from Westminster.

Dr. Wraxtiorre and I did double-takes, stared quickly at each other and looked back at the Cartoon Dog.

The Cartoon Dog quipped, "Well it is fictional, but when you’re making stuff up, the sky’s the limit." With a sudden tug, the Cartoon Dog pulled the book out of my grip and bounded toward the other corner of the yard.

As I moved to follow, I heard a voice behind me shout, So, we meet again? Did you think that all this talk about super-colliders and elementary particles would save you?

I turned around slowly and saw a man-like figure made of papier-mâché with hundreds of tufts of blue, tan, brown and peach tissue paper glued to his figure.

The Piñata’s Revenge?

After arguing[12] with Dr. Wraxtiorre about the history of particle physics as relayed in a library book called Constructing Quarks and baiting Mother Nature into destroying my garage by invoking Sir Isaac Newton’s name in empirical blasphemy—I accused him of being wrong about the classical model of atomic particles—I threw the library book into the swimming pool, jumped in to fish it out, then threw it into a fireplace in order to dry it out, but then had to rescue it from the fire when it burst into flames, and quickly threw it back into the swimming pool. The Cartoon Dog, famous for his participation with the Stoic Cat in failing to dismiss solipsism at an Answers website, raced out of the house, jumped into the pool and fetched the book out of the pool, but ran away when I tried to pry it from his clenched jaws.

However, our continuing discussion of the content of Andrew Pickering’s sociological history text was interrupted by the appearance of an angry piñata, looking antagonistically at me.  He had sneaked in at the gate, and stood beside the patio table with a bag of hard candies in one hand and a long closet dowel in the other.

Dr. Wraxtiorre was facing the back of the yard, snidely jeering, It’s just like a dog to not bring something back to its owner when playing fetch!

I glanced over my shoulder briefly, confessing, "Well, he is just a cartoon, after all." But I could not break my stance or turn my head, transfixed by the tiny papier-mâché figure standing before me, threateningly.

After your simplified mockery of the study of particle physics, the piñata began, "pretending to read the book while actually hoping to act like a ‘babe-magnet’ if you were seen in public places studying something well above your reading level while you denigrated several characteristics of the nerd population and proudly flaunted your lack of personal hygiene, you slowly raised it to a level of mocking—disrespectfully, at that—the subject matter of which you speak by abusing the book which contains its history in the most absurd manners possible while at the same time presenting the content in it. As if your readers would fail to notice that you were actually talking about your study of the history of particle physics while only pretending to make fun of it!"

I stepped backward carefully, checking my foot-space for the coping’s edge with the toes of my shoes, but keeping my eyes trained on the piñata, who stood menacingly before me with the closet dowel towering high above its head. "I—I—I just wanted to present the material I was reading about in a comical narrative that my friends might read, and in so doing, entertain them while sneaking in a bit of academics. I mean, you gotta admit, the irony is glorious!"

The piñata waved the closet dowel at my head aggressively.  This reminds me of all the times parents would stuff me full of quarters and fast-food coupons instead of candy, as if greasy hamburgers are any healthier than a chocolate bar!

I held my hands up in