When Bilbo and Frodo Baggins wear the ring of which they’re lord in the Tolkien saga, they immediately disappear. It’s a quantum-physical, relativistic impossibility, but Tolkien was one of those literary types not too concerned with contemporary developments in physics. Just like you. The hairy-footed hobbits nonetheless disappear-flicked off the finger of the fourth dimension like a sticky booger, only to reappear in a new dimension-one in which the all-evil Sauron can view them and track the Ring of Power.That’s fine for fiction and dandy for Middle Earth. But what about us, here on Outer Earth? What about reality? Valuable things disappear every day and every minute before our very eyes and we know nothing of their destination.
Well, despite my oversized feet and their coverage of hair, I’m not nearly as unquestioning as a hobbit. As if I didn’t have better things to do, I’ve researched the destinations of some of the more common disappearing acts in our lives. Here’s what I’ve found:
Tires. At some point, all car owners are faced with replacement of worn-down tires. It’s this wearing, frictive interaction between tire and asphalt that keeps us safe on things like drag strips and LA 1. But, according to Einstein, if you’re not driving at the speed of light squared, your tire rubber is not being converted into energy and therefore remains matter. Where it goes is into the environment, as tiny, non-degradable rubber particles. On a nice dry day, tire rubber dust will even end up in your nose. When you sneeze them out, however, you must remember to face away from the windshield because, as I’ve discovered, wipers don’t work from the inside.
The Voice at the McDonald’s Drive-Up: “Hi. Welcome to McDonald’s. What can we make for you today?” The voice you hear over the Place Your Order Here speaker is pleasant enough, but it’s never, ever the same as the voice at either the first or second drive-up window. One of those Golden Arches just doesn’t have the McNuggets to stick around long enough to give you the right change or to ensure that your order is correct. Actually, the voice you’re hearing is that of HAL, the computer in “2001: A Space Odyssey,” who’s still transmitting in 2006. For this reason, you should never accuse these fast-food handlers for getting your order wrong: If HAL doesn’t want to hold the pickles on that Quarter Pounder then, like it or not, you’re gonna get pickles.
New Years Resolutions. These notions that were once housed in the part of your brain that controls higher-order stuff disappear a few days after their inception and reappear at those big nerve plexi that surround your most misbehaving organs, giving them, like HAL, minds of their own.
Time and Money. Your time and money disappear into a dimension called Wal-Mart. And those shiny, black half-spheres hanging from the roof? They actually house the eye of Sauron, and Sauron wants not just the one, but all, the rings in the jewelry section. And the watches, too.
Jeannie. When she disappeared from scenes with Major Nelson or Major Healy, Jeannie would often descend as a tuft of smoke into her famous Arabian decanter. Few people know, however, that this was simply a bit of clever film editing. That luscious and inviting red sofa, those gold-mesh curtains and that jewel-laden chandelier were not miniatures inside a bottle. Where Jeannie actually disappeared to was my apartment in Golden Meadow. I never needed to dream of Jeannie.
TOPS Scholarship Money. TOPS money is a line-item on your tuition invoice, which appears on the University budget document as a credit from the state budget document, representing part of your and your parent’s state tax deductions, which is extracted a priori from paychecks and other income disbursements. So your TOPS scholarship money is not actually disappearing as it’s spent: It was never money in the first place.
Grand Isle. Because the prevailing current in the Gulf of Mexico is southeasterly, the parts of Grand Isle washed away during Hurricane Katrina are probably now washing ashore on Galveston Island. If you want a great summer vacation in 2006, go to Grand Isle now, and you may end up in Cozumel before the fall semester begins.
Things, then, really don’t disappear. I’m sure there’s a law some place that says that matter is neither created nor destroyed or that each action has an equal and opposite reaction or that you shouldn’t let the smooth taste fool you or something along those lines. But I learned those laws long ago, having since then flicked them from the finger of my memory like a sticky booger. Fortunately and fondly, there’s a little tire rubber and a little Grand Isle captured in that sticky flick.
John Doucet is an associate professor of biological sciences, director of the University Honors Program and an acclaimed local playwright.
