It's a Bird! It's a Plane! IT'S THE REMOTE CONTOL!

I have seen so many grimaced faces when "physics" is mentioned, that at some point I started believing I had actually majored in the subject and hated it, too.  So when I signed up for a Physics class this week, I mistakenly thought I was taking a refresher.

I was eight when my first real physics lesson happened at the fat end of a Wiffle Ball bat. Wiffle balls were the brainchild of parents who'd had enough of the broken windows caused by regular baseballs, so they invented something that could only break their cheap stuff.  The oddly shaped plastic bat that sent the Wiffle ball flying would also - if swung just so against a car hood - have enough momentum to hit the person swinging it between the eyes.  Twice.  I've heard.

That is precisely the moment a smart person should appear to inform all onlookers that they're witnessing physics in action!  And the way their bodies convulse with laughter?  More physics!

The only real physicist I've ever known is my friend David.  He's so smart it's scary, but he's real nice and never makes me feel dumb.  He'll tell me just enough about the Universe so that my eyes don't dry completely out, but I'm guaranteed to have much more pleasant dreams than my usual Gilligan's Island nightmares.

David worked on some kind of refrigeration unit that was sent into outer space for testing.

Or something.

I was surprised by all the information in this week's Physics Class.  (Not Wiffle-Ball-Bat surprised, but still - pretty surprised.)  I'd stashed a few Keep Awake distractions in my backpack just in case, but everything - including the HoHos - were still in their wrappers when I left for home.

I learned that Einstein was an island unto himself, meaning he used very few citations in his work.  I did not learn what 'citation' meant back then, but I'm thinking he did not loiter or violate speed limits.

Maxwell, a mathematician from Scotland, developed the concept of 'fields' to unite electrical theories, but all I remember is that his middle name sounds like "Clark" and is spelled "Clerk."

A guy named Michaelson trained at Annapolis before measuring the speed of candlelight moving in different directions.  A German guy named Planck (pronounced "Plonk" - what is it with scientists?) was interested in the theory of heat, so he went ahead and put the Quantum in Quantum Physics.

I do not even understand how my toaster works.

But the most interesting story, about a guy named Newton, was also the most familiar.  My mind went immediately to that shot of him relaxing under a tree, eating an illegal apple - no, wait - that was Adam and Eve - this guy was reading a book and got hit by a gravitational apple.  Big difference.

I think the apple part is what confused me for years, obscuring the fact that Newton was not around at the beginning of time.  I should have put that two-plus-two together from the wrinkled blousy shirt he wore over those brown pants that were tucked into his big-buckled boots.

Adam and Eve wore plants.

Newton survived his awkward teenage years, but was only 22 when a Big Plague hit England.  He couldn't go outside - and Nintendo was a few years off - so he invented calculus.  Then he riffed off everybody else's stuff, explaining Copernicus's theory about planets revolving around the sun and Keppler's theory of elliptical orbit.

Then he went ahead and developed the theory of "force" after rearranging furniture for the hundredth time and writing letters to every budding microbiologist pal trapped in their homes working on ways to help fellow earthlings survive the plague.

Those guys knew how to handle boredom.

I have developed a theory about why today's 22-year-olds play Grand Theft Auto instead of inventing more science:  If those kids from the past had just slowed down a little - we would still have stuff to invent.  They were so intent on figuring out the exact distance to the moon that today's youngsters don't have a reason to wonder about anything.

Oh, wait.  How to explain my friend David?  All theories discussed in today's class had been floated and validated and big trophies had already been awarded at whatever kinds of dinner parties they had in the 1500s - but David still wonders about lots of things.

A few years ago he explained (in my language) Einstein's Theory of Relativity.  Apparently, there is an unsolved mystery there and I said I'd go ahead and figure it out in my spare time.  This made David laugh, but I got the distinct feeling he believed on some level that I could do it.

I learned in class about a gentleman named Hippolyte Fizeau (incredibly, pronounced as spelled) who hauled mirrors up a giant mountain to measure the speed of light.  Thanks to Mr. Fizeau, I know that the light I see from a star is the same light I'd see if I ever got close enough to hold hands with it.  But like so many other messages, it gets a little diluted on its way to me.

I'm still working on the Einstein thing, but my research is easily bogged down by distractions I'm blaming on every scientist who came before me.  I drive my automatic car home after work, take dinner from the freezer, heat it in the microwave, find a ballgame on television, use my cell phone to check for emails, then write a little on my laptop before turning out the lights and hopping into bed.  Thanks a lot, guys with funny names!

Same sun.

Same moon.

Same 24 hours for solving questions that arise in the time we stop to sit and think.  If a giant technological virus causes the next Big Plague, what would we choose to invent again?

Maybe we'd reinvent communication.  That's where all the practice I've given my friend David will really pay off.

He can start us back on the right path by instructing his physicist friends in a class called "How to Explain Anything to Anybody."

(Want that wind-blown look without the flashy-convertible expense?  Um, no.  No, you don't.  I've got real-life motorcycle information for you here next Friday.)