Brain Train
Derails Sleep
Just as I was about to close the roundhouse door on the day's train of thought, several new, nagging questions coupled themselves on, and they won't go away.
This is nothing new; unwanted and totally irrelevant brain chatter always seems to crank itself up just as I am settling in for a few hours' peace in a hectic life -- reminding me, taunting me, that there are still things in the world I just do not know.
They're really insignificant issues, compared to surviving ''Survivor'' or trying to convince myself that global warming is an actual threat and not just a wonderfully convenient way of moving to Cozumel without getting out of my Barca-Lounger -- but goodness, do they itch!
And always at 2 in the morning.
-- For example: After watching the most recent space shuttle voyage to Space Station Alpha, my brain shook me awake in the www hours to ask, "when does 'up' stop being 'up' and become 'out?' '' That is, when does ''altitude'' become ''distance?''
An airplane is generally said to fly at an ''altitude'' of 30,000 feet. But the moon is at an average ''distance'' of 240,000 miles. It sounds awkward to say the top floor of the Empire State Building Is 102 stories ''out,'' but an astronomer who said the Andromeda Galaxy was 2.5 million light years ''up'' would be laughed out of the observatory.
Where Is the boundary? ''Space'' is arbitrarily said to begin at 50 miles, but most people, when asked, will be inclined to say "50 miles up,'' not ''out.''
I suppose the line of demarcation Is nearer Earth than the moon, since people will say in one breath that the space station's orbit is 250 miles ''high,'' then in the next talk about it orbiting at a ''distance'' of 250 miles. And a communications satellite in a geosynchronous orbit -- one which allows it to beam fat-burner infomercials down to your mini-dish 24 hours a day -- is always 22,300 miles ''out,'' never 22,300 miles ''up.''
-- Here's another: Why is It that the segments of government which put the most python-like squeeze on us are called ''services?''
When you turn 18, the Selective ''Service'' congratulates you with a reminder that you now have to register for the draft. The guy at the airport who charges you an arm and a leg for all the goodies you bring back from Europe represents the Customs ''Service.''
And, of course, there's the biggest bloodsucker of all, the Internal Revenue ''Service.''
Really, now. ''Service'' is a warm, happy word, connoting an entity that performs some good deed for you, as in ''May I be of service to you?'' As in an old-fashioned ''service'' station, where smiling, singing attendants in spotless uniforms would check your oil and water at no charge and wish you a good day on top of it.
The only thing these government ''services'' check is your draft status, and the contents of your suitcase and your savings account, respectively. And they almost never sing while they "service" you.
Everyone else in the government Is appropriately named. There are lots of ''departments,'' ''bureaus'' and ''administrations'' -- good, colorless names for warrens of anonymous pencil-pushers, the endless doors and sprawling cube farms of bureaucracy for bureaucracy's sake.
Oh, they can be a nuisance, making you fill out forms and questionnaires, requiring you to provide them with data that they'll file away in deep, dark caves and never use, and taking very long lunches. But they generally don't go after your wallet.
They let the ''services'' do that.
-- Finally: Those pesky indefinite numbers. How many is a ''few?'' And when does a ''few'' become ''several?'' How much ''several'' do you have to have before you reach ''numerous?''
For that matter, exactly how many people is a ''host?''
At least I solved one of those nagging unanswered questions. That one was, how many is a ''myriad,'' as in a ''myriad'' of excuses?
I looked that one up in the dictionary, and what do you know, ''myriad'' does refer to an actual number --10,000.
As I said, none of these are earth-shattering gaps in our store of knowledge. Life goes on, even without their being answered.
Which is more than I can say for my beauty sleep!
