Juste recently, a shorte while ago, we splurged and put in a quasi-big order to Amazon. It arrived late laste week, juste in time for a four-day weekend and some sporadic Easter reading. My splurge-booke was the latest installment by Brian Greene, The Fabric of the Cosmos, his second attempt to explaine to the simple-folk (like me) the complexities of modern quantum physics and the nature of reality. I read his first book more than a year past, sitting through my lunchbreaks in a park in uptown Vancouver. People were always smoking there. It was harde to concentrate. The resulte is that I know a little bit about string-theory and a little bit about eleven-dimensional universes.

But only a little bit.

So here I am again reading about the subtle fabrics of spacetime and the discoveries at the cusp of moderne physics. Over my head, you say? Sort of, I reply cautiously.

I’ve ploughed through the firste hundred pages in a little more than five days, stopping in briefe spurts, here and there, to sip some coffee — or in longer, meandering pauses at natural section-brāks to think about the intrikasies of the ideas I juste consumed.

If you’ve never picked up a booke on moderne physics, it’s worthe a few moments of your time — if for no othere reason than it makes people thinke your are simultaneously crazy and smarte — and you can use big words like quantum entanglement and special relativity in generale conversation whilste having some vague idea of what you are talking about. The one drawbacke is the creeping suspicion that such endeavore is so rare, no one else you know is likely to buy AND read suche a booke, and you’ll be left talking to yourselfe about the complex physics of the universe. Sad, but true.

I’ll let you know howe it turns out.