Practical Principles of Natural Reality - Practica Principia Naturalis Veritatem, Judy Colella [learn to read books .TXT] 📗

            In 1687, Isaac Newton wrote something he called, “Philosophiæ Naturalis Principia Mathematica,” which translates to, “Mathematical Principles of Natural Philosophy.” It contained his three Laws of Motion.

A simple glance at the first part of the first Law explains a lot about old Isaac. He probably thought of it while trying to formulate a clever excuse to give his mother for not getting off his backside to clean his room. Here it is:

First Law: An object at rest remains at rest.

There. Perfect. Since it was a law of nature, who was he to break it by getting up from whatever he was lounging on?

What probably happened next was his mother picking up the broom and applying the Law of Gravity to her son’s head. So, with great reluctance, he added the next phrase to his brilliant little law, as follows:

First Law: An object at rest remains at rest unless acted upon by a force.

Well, now he was up, and found himself having to pick up his dirty laundry, sweep away cobwebs, put his books back on the shelf, that kind of thing. I’m sure his mother was leaning against the doorframe, watching to make sure he didn’t slack off.

“Mom, really? Why don’t you go sit down somewhere – I said I’d clean this up, and I will, okay?”

“Ha! Unlike you, Isaac, I never stop and just…sit down somewhere! When I get up in the morning, it’s go, go, go all day because unlike some of the Newtons around here, I’m not lazy!”

[Disclaimer: I have no idea if this conversation ever really took place, or even one vaguely like it. But if it did, it would certainly explain a whole lot about Isaac’s idiotic laws.]

So, assuming this was said, it probably gave young Isaac the idea for the second half of his first law:

First Law: An object at rest remains at rest unless acted upon by a force. An object in motion remains in motion, and at a constant velocity, unless acted upon by a force.

His mother, of course, was the perfect example of an object in motion. That “force,” he may have concluded, was his own inability to carry out his chores (he was supposed to become a farmer like his father, who had died before poor Isaac was even born…not sure how that worked, really), and which caused her to have to constantly stop what she was doing to yell at him (see Disclaimer, above).

Anyway, for whatever reason, Isaac came up with these three Laws. I’ve become convinced, however, that they were a joke. A lie. Something formulated as revenge for a crappy childhood, compounded by his being an inveterate geek. That, and the ugly fact that Englishmen had to wear those weird, long, wavy-curly white wigs. In public. Bleh.

So why am I so convinced of this, you ask? Quite simply, because I’ve seen for myself that not only do the Laws not work, they’re actually the opposite of reality!

I can explain.

Really.

Here we go:

Isaac’s First Law: An object at rest remains at rest unless acted upon by a force. An object in motion remains in motion, and at a constant velocity, unless acted upon by a force.

Judy’s First Law: An object at rest remains at rest unless you want it to stay put. An object in motion remains in motion, unless you actually need it to keep moving.

Some of you might think I’m getting Murphyesque here, and perhaps to some degree I am. However, since I’m using principles of physics, I think this might be on a slightly higher plane.

Okay – even though you might know what my First Law is all about, there will be those out there who are scratching their heads (or something else) and going, “Huh?” So here’s an example by way of explanation: You have a lovely vase of cut crystal. You put it on a table – not near the edge, mind you, but dead-center. You add a few drops of water and a rose, or maybe several drops of water and several roses. Whatever. It looks awesome. Your expectation, naturally, is that if you don’t mess with it, and if you make sure the cat isn’t even allowed in the same room, and if you warn your family that anyone disturbing that vase will receive Dire Consequences, then nothing bad will happen. Said vase will remain exactly where you put it.

Nope. For no discernible reason, the danged thing topples over one afternoon, rolls calmly to the edge of the table, water and roses drooling out onto the floor, and then, falling gracefully over the side, commits suicide on your tiles.

A wordless cry of horror is generally followed by cries of “What the hell!” as further evidence is seen that the first half of Isaac’s bright idea is a load of spider dung. I mean, you’d expect that once the stupid thing hit the floor, it would be at rest, yes? And nothing else is “acting” on it once it’s there, which ought to make the second half of his law null and void. But no. No, the glass has suddenly developed microscopic engines or something that impel it to all four corners of the room.

This, my friends, is the first sub-section of Judy’s First Law, and goes as follows:

Judy’s First Law, Sub-Section A: Nothing that falls down stays where it lands.

This is often true of gymnasts, too, which is why “sticking the landing” is considered such a feat. This morning, I dropped a fork. Did this fork behave itself and remain next to the big toe (mine) it had just stabbed? Not at all. It took off at top speed, skittered wildly across the floor, and came to rest in another zip code.

Awesome.

There’s a Sub-Section B to that, by the way.

Judy’s First Law, Sub-Section B: Sometimes, the object that falls down and doesn’t stay put will disappear into another dimension.

Last week, a button came off the cuff of my shirt. It fell. It skittered away per Sub-Section A. That’s the last I ever saw of it. It’s gone. Poof. Did it get sucked into a tiny vortex under the sofa? Perhaps. I moved the sofa and all I got was a grumpy complaint from several dust-bunnies that I’d woken them up. They had no idea where the button went. I checked other parts of the room, under other parts of the room, around other parts of the room. Nothing. I used a flashlight, a broom, a Swiffer wet-mop, and a divining rod. Nothing. No trace of that durned button. Sub-Section B, Isaac, Sub-Section B.

Let’s take a look at the second half of Isaac’s First Law, and then have a gander at mine. He says, “An object in motion remains in motion, and at a constant velocity, unless acted upon by a force.” Very funny, Mr. Newton. What’s reality is my version, which says, “An object in motion remains in motion, unless you actually need it to keep moving.”

Like your car. Or the shopping cart you’re hauling around the supermarket. See, with the car thing, it really is an enigma. The car is doing fine. It’s running along, plenty of gas, no disturbing “check engine” lights on, no speed bumps or tire-puncturing strips anywhere. All is lovely. Except that without warning, the car stops. Just like that. Stops. Dead. The Hell’s Angel behind you smacks into the bumper and you figure it might be time to see if there’s any hope for Newton’s Second Law (which we’ll discuss later, but it has to do with an object accelerating – the object in this case being the unfortunate driver).

Or the shopping cart example – you find one that has wheels (always helpful), and further, wheels that aren’t wobbly, or perhaps one that has decided to be the proverbial Black Sheep of the cart’s wheel-base and point in the wrong direction at all times. In other words, the cart rolls smoothly and forward. You make it past Produce without knocking over a pyramid of watermelons; you successfully maneuver past the bakery, snagging a bagel or two on your way through; you make it to the meat section, and are about to zero in on the chicken, and…WHAM!

The cart stops dead, you don’t, and the ensuing cries of pain and four-letter-words as you nearly face-plant into the baby-seat section of the cart elicits scowls from other customers. Mortified and bruised, you make a quick inspection of the area in front of the cart to see what horrible thing locked your wheels. Nothing. No stray Brussels Sprout, no small children, not even an over-sized cockroach. The floor is devoid of any kind of obstruction, which naturally makes you look like a complete doofus.

You see, you needed that cart to keep moving, almost as badly as you needed the car not to stop. But did it? Naw. Sorry Isaac. Ya lost me, buddy. Big time.

But on to his Second Law of Motion. This is a little more complicated but just as nutty. Here it is:

Second Law: The acceleration of a body is directly proportional to, and in the same direction as, the net force acting on the body, and inversely proportional to its mass.

This law might have worked – after all, put in the context of a purse-snatcher being chased by an irate shopper, we do indeed see that former individual exhibiting an almost super-human rate of running-speed, and if the number of people being knocked on their kiesters who happen to be in the way of the fleeing felon is any indication, that whole thing about mass being proportional seems to make sense. But let’s take a closer look. A realistic look.

Was it really the angry victim who had this effect, or was it the sight of her six-foot-eight boyfriend pelting after him that caused the bizarre burst of speed? But here’s an example that explains my own position a little better:

Snorticus McEmo is fifteen. He gets his black-painted-fingernailed hands on a cigarette and lighter. He sneaks off into the backyard, ducks behind a convenient bush, and lights up (not having anticipated the fact that smoke rises, and bushes rarely smoke unless they’re seriously on fire). Suddenly he hears his father’s stentorian, booming voice from the back door of the house yell, “Snorticus! Are you smoking back there?” followed by the slam of said door and the heavy tread of said father approaching said bush.

Like a Phoenix rising from the ashes (which is not an entirely inappropriate image in this case), young Snorticus bursts forth from the bush at near flight-speed, hoping that somehow his father will think the fleeing teenager is someone with unrelated DNA. He shoves open the fence and hauls it down the road, while behind him the bush quietly bursts into flame because he dropped his lit cigarette into it. Now, assuming the elder McEmo isn’t much on running, we find Snorti eventually slowing down.

Aha! What happened to Part Deux of that First Law, Isaac, eh? But now we will learn how the Second Law fails in an epic way. At some point, this young hemorrhoid is going to head back to his house. So much for the whole “same direction” thing! All right, I know – this Law isn’t necessarily referring to an object that needs to change its clothes or have supper, but a Law is a law, yes? Here’s my version – the reality version:

Judy’s Second Law: The acceleration of a body is directly proportional to, and in the opposite direction of, the net force threatening to damage the body, until that body gets hungry or thinks it might be safe to go back. There’s a Sub-Section, too.

Judy’s Second Law, Sub-Section A: Anyone who needs to operate Judy’s Second Law deserves to get caught.

Which brings us to the third Law:

Third Law: When one body exerts a force on a second body, the second body simultaneously exerts