I just watched a PBS special about the nature of space hosted by noted author, physicist and Big Bang Theory alumnus, Brian Greene. When it was over, I was struck by the thought that the mysterious dark energy that fills the universe might be what human beings have been praying to for thousands of years. I mean, think about it. What if prayer and meditation are natural, evolutionary pathways to connect to Einstein's cosmological constant, Buddha's nirvana and Jesus's dad? According to physicists, this dark energy is both infinite in extent and the prime mover for an expanding universe. Kinda fits the bill, right? Let's take it a step further. What if gravity, the mysterious force pulling the cosmos inward, is what our feeble frontal lobes perceive as evil? And finally, what if the two forces in balance are what allow for the whole shebang to exist in the first place? We label them good and bad. Love and hate. Life and death. But at the end of the day, all we have are two fundamental quantum thingies that can be directly experienced. Hmm... not sure what to do with this revelation. It's kind of a coin flip between starting a new religion - you know, going full frontal L. Ron Hubbard - and applying for a federal tax exemption - or just making a nice donor pledge to PBS.
Tuesday 22 November 2011
Saturday 19 November 2011
CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #367
Among the team of superheroes, his power was the least envied. As The Human Sponge, he had the ability to absorb the emotions of people nearby and make them his own - to the point of actually forgetting that what he was feeling did not originate with him. While his fellow crime fighters fought evil by hurling bolts of lightning or with amazing displays of strength, The Human Sponge could only sit next to the villain o' the day and soak up his festering rage. Needless to say, when the weary band of caped crusaders returned to their secret lair, Sponge was not very good company. There were even private discussions of replacing him with Paper Towel Man (who had the same super power, but was disposable). Thankfully, the problem was solved when Jesus joined the team. From that day on, The Human Sponge was just a sweetie... except around money-lenders. Then he could be kind of a dick.
CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #366
This photograph was my vanity card when I was working on Grace Under Fire and Cybill. I remember deciding on its composition by asking myself what were some of my favorite things. The answer, as you can see in the picture, was tobacco, bourbon and an old Mac computer. Eighteen years later, I still love my Mac. The other two items, despite my eternal affection, have been replaced with a bronchial inhaler and a metal folding chair in a church basement.
FOOD, PETTING AND PLAYING PRODUCTIONS, #365
An odd thing happens after you've seen your name in print over and over again. It becomes detached from your sense of self. The shipping label no longer has any relationship with what's in the box. The experience is sort of like when you were a kid and you'd quickly repeat a word until it had no meaning and was just a funny sound. It's disorienting when that happens to your name, but after awhile, surprisingly, it's actually quite liberating. There's your name in an article or some blog, and then, far away, in some other place - or no place if you're feeling zennish - is you. Another way to look at it is to imagine a soul or spirit rising up from a corpse. Everybody is standing around the dearly departed, singing his praises or bitching about him, while his 'ectoplasmic body' is hovering near the ceiling and yelling, "Hey, I'm over here! I'm not that. I'm something else." (Or, zennishly, nothing else.) Of course, aside from the family dog, no one can hear or see him. They're all fixated on the body. The name. Which brings up an interesting idea. Dogs don't know our names. They see the real us, sans moniker. If they think anything when we walk into a room, it's probably something like, "Hey, it's food, petting and playing!"
CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #364
On behalf of the producers of The Big Bang Theory I want to take this opportunity to thank our intrepid office staffers: Jen D'Angelo, Anthony Robinson, Jess Ambrosetti, Gary Torvinen, Tara Hernandez, Charlie Back, Robin Green for their tireless efforts and ridiculous devotion to the building of the Lego Death Star seen in tonight's episode. You are all now part of television history, although that will not be reflected in your paycheck.
CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #363
Was there an original thought to be thunk? Or was he forever doomed to be an emulator, or worse, a regurgitator? And if he was, so what? Doesn't every college sophomore majoring in English because they have no freaking clue what to do with their life know that disdaining the derivative is the height of unoriginality? More importantly, what was the likelihood that he could keep writing without landing on even one declarative sentence? And why did he use the idiot word "thunk"? Is he actually an idiot? Or is he wildly clever? Will we find out one day? Who knows? Who cares? Should he continue trying to write a vanity card when he has a raging flu and is so heavily intoxicated from a potpourri of over-the-counter cold medications that he keeps referring to himself in the third person?
Probably not.
CHUCK LORRE PRODUCTIONS, #362
She was the kind of woman who said, "I hope this special day is infused with beauty and light and that all your hopes and dreams crystalize into a loving reality emanating from an equally loving universe." He would have been more comfortable if she just said, "Happy birthday."
He was the kind of man who said, "Whenever I see one of those tired, middle-aged, balding schmucks pushing a baby carriage down Montana Avenue behind his thirty-year old, yoga-fied, Pilate- sized, armoire shopping, second wife, I can't help but feel a wave of pity for the poor, toad-like bastard." She would have been more comfortable if he just said, "I don't really want more kids."
She was the kind of woman who said, "What difference does it make if I've slept with rock stars, movie stars and sports legends? You measure up quite nicely to all those guys." He would have been more comfortable if she just said, "Stand still while I stab you in the heart with my intrauterine device."
He was the kind of man who said, "I'm a worn-out, emotional wreck who's incapable of anything resembling warmth, love and intimacy, but I have a lot of money and you'll never want for anything." She would have been more comfortable if he just said.... No, actually, she was entirely comfortable with the way he put it.
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