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Here is the second entry in this series. Let’s get this out of the way: Albert Einstein was the pre-eminent genius physicist of the twentieth century, a man famous and exalted—and deservedly so—for his contributions to science.[1] But yes, he did come down on the wrong side of certain controversies of his time. The question below refers not to some minor or incomprehensible detail in theories of relativity, qua

Here in 2025, the fate of the good ship U.S.S. United States has yet to be written, but the bad news is that we’ve struck the orange-tinted iceberg and have been taking on water on all decks. We are called to stand our ground and raise our voices in protest, but I also have heard it argued that we must continue doing what we can continue to do. In my case, that’s teach some science lessons. So here goes t

Our evening on the town—Boston, specifically—was a big success. At the restaurant, we dined outdoors in the amazingly gorgeous springtime weather. We enjoyed not only the delicious dinner but people-watching the happy pedestrians with whom we shared the sidewalk, facing the Public Gardens. Then came the show at the sumptuous Schubert Theater, where I accessed the electronic tickets on my cell phone without a hitch. B

After all these years, I finally laid eyes on Yawgoo Valley. End prose. Begin pretentious analysis of the writing. I like that opening sentence. It’s full of promise, mildly intriguing, and inspires a host of useful questions in the mind of the reader. Where is Yawgoo Valley, and what is it like? What special meaning does it hold for the narrator? Why did the narrator take so long to visit? And now what happens

The large wooden sign that greets visitors to Magic Mountain includes the motto “Where skiing still has its soul.” I am a veteran skier and I have paid attention, so I know what this motto means. It means ancient, slow chairlifts. But nevermind that. I had a lovely day at Magic Mountain, located in central Vermont, a drive of at least 2 hours from pretty much everywhere else, including my house. I enjoyed

In my publishing job today, a client asked me to confirm the number of fingers and toes on the average frog. And the research shows that the numbers are four and five. Meaning, four finger- or toe-like digits on the front feet, and five such digits on the back feet. That’s 18 total. Meanwhile, in Washington D.C., a horde of Visigoths is dismantling the Federal government of the United States. What should we cal

Who among us can sing the song, name the pets, deconstruct the car, the kitchen gadgets, the feet? Do the vitamins and cereal remain for sale? I don’t know. The Flintstones, derived from Ralph Kramden and his cohorts, began as a cartoon for adults but persisted as a show for children, which is how I knew them. A zillion episodes were made, each traversing the same general plot. Fred and Barney are working stiff

I recently re-watched Horns of the Nimon, a Doctor Who serial from the 1970s, starring Tom Baker. The story is a sci-fi update of Theseus and The Minotaur. Rearrange the first two syllables of Minotaur, mangle them a bit, and you get the crosswalk. Like most Doctor Who monsters, the Nimon is pure camp nonsense. Somebody wears an oversize buffalo head on his shoulders, walks with a wide stance and wobble, and catches

I am hardly the expert, and my research certainly is limited. Nevertheless, I will nominate a booth at the entrance of the Daytona Beach Flea Market as the central nexus of the MAGA world. On display and for sale are a tremendous variety of branded merchandise—mostly banners and tee shirts, but also pins, buttons, hats, shot glasses, parasols, and so forth. Everything is printed on fields of bright red or bright blue