I'm totally going to talk about physics.
Noooo, not the Olivia Newton John kind with the sweatbands and leg warmers. The science physics. With real physics words like: density, trajectory, volume, and quarks. Which, let me clear up right now, is not an alternate word that science-type people use for, um, certain bodily functions, so "Quit trying to make it one, Martha."
Now, before you say to yourself, "Huh. According to all my Internet stalking, Martha never took a physics class in high school or college. That was (typetypetypetytype) AP Bio and Environmental Science, respectively." To you, I say, "Kudos!" followed immediately by, "Creepy much?" But, seriously folks, I'm like a life long learner, metaphorically cruising the educational highway, the roar from my classic Triumph bike filling the air, motorcycle jacket screen printed with the platitude "Down with Institutionalized Grades and Standards!" complete with a smiley face. And a kitten. Because that's what rebels do. You know, just like Arthur "Fonzie" Fonzarelli.
See, once, way back in the day, Jon and I went on a picnic. There we were, finishing up our sandwiches and apples sitting at a table in the shade of a large ramada, and, for some reason, (yawn) talking about basketball. (yawn) I'm fairly certain my contributions to the conversation consisted of "huh" and "interesting" and "I like to pretend trashcans are basketball hoops." It's also likely I said something along the lines of, "You should throw your apple core into that trashcan way over there." Not because I thought it would be cool, but because I was bored of talking about basketball. Obviously. Which is when Jon started pulling out physics terms like "escape velocity", "angular momentum", and "when you take into account the MeV slope of the ramada roof and the arc of the oscillatory motion averaged with 62% of the trashcan being behind the post, the kinetic energy needed to make that shot is scientifically impossible." Which is when I rolled my eyes, turned, sighted, and launched my apple core. Yeeeaaahhh! All net, baby! Giving me the undisputed title of "Physics Master!" Which I made into a button*. When I got home. On my own button making machine. Because that's what the Fonzie's of the world do. Because we're cool. (I may not have needed to add that last bit.)
Anyway, the other day, as my kids were enduring their last few days of school before they too can ride the educational highway on my metaphorical Model H Triumph:
|Which now has a sidecar. For the children.|
|Isochoric process? Yeah, that volume has been totally constant, for at least two weeks now.|
Isobaric process? (Takes deep breath. Closes eyes. Counts to 10.) Yep, pressure is constant too.
Add a play tunnel/solenoid and the ratio of normal stress to the volumetric strain is totally produced! Bulk's modulus of elasticity, ba-by!
Isobaric? Double check.
Bulk's modulus of elasticity stretched all over the place!
|The breakfast table?|
Yep. Physiced that one!
Did you notice the quotes around 'my'?
I put those there on purpose.
|The bathroom, perhaps?|
(I told you not to look, Dad!)
Science made my car this messy.
It's not my fault.
Now this, this, is what can happen when I don't keep the science in check, Dad.
My house isn't as messy as I thought. As long as I can keep my solenoid from quarking all over place. I mean, dude!, I never have to clean anything again! Kinetic Energy High Five, man!
(Looks over shoulder.)
Um... Heyyyy, Dad. You still here?
(Lowers hand, slowly.)
Except for the car.
I used a shop vac!
Because that's what good
|But you know what they say about science, right Dad?|
*I also have a button that says "Statistics Master!" I made it after playing Yahtzee with Jon who kept talking about the statistical probability of rolling Yahtzee's, "Because each die has six sides, the probability of rolling, say, a 2, is 1/6...yada, yada, yada...." He made the same math speech three times. In one game.
** A cylindrical coil of wire that becomes electromagnetic when a
***Not an actual scientist. But I play one on the Internets.