Mt. Everest in a Teaspoon
...a dispatch from bewilderness (formerly titled a ball the size of Boston) which has renamed itself.
Every few moments, I gather some of the most moving, thought-provoking, quirky stuff bouncing around in my brain before it disappears. A model of diversity, striking in how different each thing is from the other.
In oceanic news, more than 2,700 feet underwater by the northern Great Barrier Reef, a remotely operated vehicle named SuBastian engaged in a stare-off with a burrito.
Or that’s what the creature looked like from a distance — an untoasted cylinder floating upright in the ocean — like takeout from Triton. The animal was about as long as a breakfast sausage, with wafer-thin fins and one large, searching eye.
In cosmic news, scientists surprised a warm blob in the universe. Rather, a warm blob in the universe surprised scientists. The blob may be a neutron star.
Neutron stars are the densest stable configurations of matter in the universe — typically with half again as much mass as the sun, compressed into a ball the size of Boston. Think of Mount Everest shrunk so small, it would fit in a teaspoon.
A few years back, we didn’t have to prove we are human. We also lacked neurons in high definition. In fact, we didn’t have high definition at all. Neurons could be described as neutrons minus a “t.”
Also a few years back, Brooklyn wasn’t a brand, leave alone a brand known for small-batch craft cocktails — distilled, brewed, butchered, jerked, brined, creamed, chutneyed, minted, brandied, waffled, taffied, topped with bacon, and chocolatiered.
I wrote a book. Maybe I told you. One word in front of the other, One step in front of the other, one day at a time. The story takes place in my head. My new head. Rather, my old head.
No, sorry, I mean my new old head, acquired when my old brain broke and I got a new one. For those inclined toward puns, I will add few would pick my new brain.
Thank you.
Writing must be a joy to you, J, as Sheila has just mentioned that your writing brings her laughter and joy. Your writing surely brings me joy, like opening a window in a dark room.
Your amazing riff on the name “Brooklyn” was superb, with all those products tumbling and jostling one another, then settling down into an effective order; finally, your poignant admission that few would want to pick your new brain is actually not quite factual, since your rounded, perfectly shaped and directed sentences do contradict your statement regretting your “new” brain. Keep writing! You are a real treasure.