Feliz Natal (e nem perguntem...)!

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Christmas for nerds

Famous Physicists Christmas Party

Kelvin was very cool.
Hollerith liked the hole idea.
Thomson enjoyed the plum pudding.
van der Waals forced himself to mingle.
Bohr ate too much and got atomic ache.
Watt turned out to be a powerful speaker.
Volt thought the social had a lot of potential.
Heisenberg may or may not have been there.
Compton was a little scatter-brained at times.
Einstein thought it was a relatively good time.
After one bite Chandrasekhar reached his limit.
Stefan and Boltzman got into some hot debates.
Hamilton went to the buffet tables exactly once.
Coulomb got a real charge out of the whole thing.
Chadwick was handing out neutrons free of charge.
While Fermat sang, 'Save the Last Theorem for me.'
de Broglie mostly just stood in the corner and waved.
Pascal was under too much pressure to enjoy himself.
The Curies were there and just glowed the whole time.
Everyone was attracted to Tesla's magnetic personality.
Hertz went back to the buffet table several times a minute.
Born thought the probability of enjoying himself was pretty high.
Pauli came late, but was mostly excluded from things, so he split.
Cavendish wasn't invited, but he had the balls to show up anyway.
Instead of coming through the front door Josephson tunnelled through.
Ohm spent most of the time resisting Ampere's opinions on current events.
For Schrodinger this was more a wave function rather than a social function.
Gamow left the party early with a big bang while Hoyle stayed late in a steady state.
The microwave started radiating in the background when Penzias and Wilson showed up.
Cauchy, being the only mathematician there, still managed to integrate well with everyone.
Everyone gravitated toward Newton, but he just kept moving around a ta constant velocity and showed no reaction.
Millikan dropped his Italian oil dressing.
Hilbert was pretty spaced out for most of it.
Faraday had quite a capacity for food.
Wien radiated a colourful personality.
Rontgen saw through everybody.
Oppenheimer got bombed.

For Johnny Pole On The Forgotten Beach

In his tenth July some instinct

taught him to arm the waiting wave,

a giant where its mouth hung open.

He rode on the lip that buoyed him there

and buckled him under. The beach was strung

with children paddling their ages in,

under the glare od noon chipping

its light out. He stood up, anonymous

and straight among them, between

their sand pails and nursery crafts.

The breakers cart

wheeled in and over

to puddle their toes and test their perfect

skin. He was my brother, my small

Johnny brother, almost ten. We flopped

down upon a towel to grind the sand

under us and watched the Atlantic sea

move fire, like night sparklers;

and lost our weight in the festival

season. He dreamed, he said, to be

a man designed like a balanced wave...

how someday he would wait, giant

and straight.

Johnny, your dream moves summers

inside my mind.

He was tall and twenty that July,

but there was no balance to help;

only the shells came straight and even.

This was the first beach of assault;

the odor of death hung in the air

like rotting potatoes, the junkyard

of landing craft waited open and rusting.

The bodies were strung out as if they were

still reaching for each other, where they lay

to blacken, to burst through their perfect

skin. And Johnny Pole was one of them.

He gave in like a small wave, a sudden

hole in his belly and the years all gone

where the Pacific noon chipped its light out.

Like a bean bag, outflung, head loose

and anonymous, he lay. Did the sea move fire

for its battle season? Does he lie thereforever, where his rifle waits, giant

and straight?...

I think you die again

and live again,

Johnny, each summer that moves inside

my mind.

Anne Sexton

Guðrun's Evil Deeds

Anker Eli Petersen é um artista das Ilhas Faroe que desenha belíssimos selos, tais como este aqui. Cliquem no >link< ou na imagem se quiserem ver mais.

Omnipresenças

Ora a minha mãe diz que o nosso gato está por todo o lado. Em contrapartida, os padres dizem que Deus por todo o lado está. Logo, se eu fosse daquele tipo de pessoa que insiste em ver as coisas pelos exercícios de lógica que nos mandavam fazer na Filosofia do 11º ano, neste momento diria que tenho uma entidade divina a andar cá por casa. Provas a favor: o bicho mata baratas, o que hoje em dia é difícil de conseguir. Quer dizer, as filhas da mãe nem lá vão com um holocausto nuclear. Provas contra: no final come-as. E sim, até pode ser que o néctar dos deuses seja mesmo baratinhas acabadas de apanhar, mas vá-se lá saber porquê isso não me entra na cabeça. É que néctar faz-me lembrar sumos da Compal, e baratas e Compal não parecem combinar. De qualquer forma, cheguei à conclusão que uma mudança de nome talvez não ficasse mal ao pobre do bicho. Assim qualquer coisa como Jota Cê. Ah! Mas sem o blasfemo do Superstar.

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