"Time flies when you're having fun", A Nay For Effort, Albert Einstein, Dan Bain, Lauren Lipka, Patricia T. Kenel. goddess, Riddle of the Sphinx, Sean Patrick Kenel, Sophocles, The Guess Who- "Laughing", Yosemite National Forest
Ask most anyone who’s managed to reach an age of double Arabic digits how many minutes comprise an hour and most everybody’ll holler, “Sixty!” lickity-split. Ask these same ten-plus-year old Wunderkinds what 60 times four is and a goodly percentage will come up with two-forty right away while a few’ll screw up their faces tick off, “Six, twelve, eighteen, twenty-four,” and then, possibly after a goodly pause where they look skyward and to the right, declare, “Two-hundred-forty minutes!” proud as can be that they have solved the riddle of the Sphinx. (“Man,” by the way. Man walks on four legs when young, two in middle years and three when old. See, first we crawl, then we walk and in old age that third leg’s a cane, get it? That Sophocles, he’s a right smart baclava.)
No matter how you cut it, four hours is 240 minutes, give or take, but are all minutes, as Tommy J. declared of all Men in the US Declaration of Independence, “Created equal?” (Shouldn’t that be equally? Isn’t created a verb?) I mean, when the Guess Who sang Laughing they declared, “Time goes slowly, yet carries on,” a relativist theme if ever there was one. And how about the old saw, “Time flies when you’re having fun?” If time flies when you’re having fun what happens to time when you’re flying?
Now hang on! This isn’t some advanced physics, Albert Einstein, differential equations, approaching the speed of light, trick question. Nope, just straight forward solipsism, a question about subjectivity rather than relativity, and I ask it because I’m sitting on the first leg of a trans-continental, east coast to west coast, trans US aero-plane flight. It’s a long one but fortunately I have a copy of, A Nay For Effort, Dan Bain’s entertaining book of essays.
I have Mr. Bain’s, A Nay For Effort, but unfortunately it is at home right on my nightstand next to my bed where I left it. Four hours to fill from Raleigh, NC to Phoenix, AZ and even with the world’s most incredible silver-haired goddess seated next to me I can tell you that time stands still when one is flying coach on a four plus hour flight.
My darling wife, Patty-T (aka the goddess Durga) and I are following the sun westward for a birthday rendezvous with our son Sean and his cuddlewuddles Lauren at Yosemite National Forrest where mother and son will race a half marathon among the semi-wilderness and not-pristine but jaw-dropping beauty an hour’s drive north of Fresno, California while Lauren and I go for a loooong walk.
The kids departed Tampa when we were scheduled to leave Raleigh and we’ll be teaming up for a fun-filled, three-day weekend where I’ll play the part of the weak end among Cali’s vertiginous tall timber.
I’ve decided the boy and the goddess need reciprocals and Lauren and I are it. (Speaking of reciprocals, did it ever occur to you that the reciprocal of 5/3 is 3/5 and that three fifths is a lot of whiskey? Well, maybe if you sit in an airplane long enough you’ll come to realize both the beauty and the symmetry of that mathematical observation. Drink Responsibly! Do Not Drink And Drive!)
The reciprocal of the age old adage, “Time flies when you’re having fun,” is indeed that time slows to a pace where a snail is honking at poor old Papa Time to get the heck out of the left lane and let him fly by when one is sitting in the sky.
four ho-ur flights
are quite the crock.
Oh! Of course once we arrive in the city named after a bird that self-immolates whenever it feels the urge we’ll have another 90 minutes of air time before we touch down in Fresno and drive north for an hour. We’re three hours down one to go in our Raleigh to Phoenix leg and the question is should I buy a book in Phoenix or just keep dribbling on my computer?
Here I fly all broken hearted
My plan to read’s been garroted
But on this plane with naught to do
My trusty pen must pull me through.
Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock. Sixty more minutes before this bird touches down in Phoenix.
If anybody wants to pick up Dan’s highly entertaining book it’s available from Amazon: