Mike Macgirvin
Diary and Other Rantings
Beyond Silicon Valley
   
Friday, May 16 2008, 08:59 pm
May 14, 2006
One more revolution

Endlessly circling the flaming gas ball. Each time you complete a cycle you get another notch on your tally sheet. I've now got 50 of them suckers.

What does it all mean?

It doesn't matter. You just keep spinning around the flaming gas ball and counting. That's what it's all about. Does the number fifty have any significance? Why of course it does. You see, humans have ten things hanging from our arms (five on each side). Four fingers and a thumb to be exact. On each side. But the only significant thing is the total, which is ten. If we didn't have thumbs, we'd be counting in octal. But we have thumbs so the issue is moot. Now ten times ten is 100. This is significant because it uses three symbols to represent in our written language, while the number immediately preceding it (99) only takes two. And half of that is fifty. So if you split it (this weird three symbol multiple) into two equal parts, you'd have equal numbers in each pile. Are you following?

So I'd like to raise a toast to travelling through space. A number of revolutions around a gas blob equal to splitting a multiple of the count of human appendages which takes up one more byte of storage into two piles.

I'm fifty years old today.

Some would claim this is significant.

Why?  

[I should probably note that this journey has so far covered a distance of 2.9216 billion miles  or 93 million miles from the earth to the sun times two (radius to diameter) times pi (to circumference), times 50 revolutions. This fails to account for the motion of the sun through the local galaxy in particular and the space/time continuum in general, which also incurs some significant distance. I will leave it to the reader to ponder the significance of that number. But if you ever feel really really bored, consider that every day of your existance your space travel covers over 1.6 million miles.] 

Categories: birthdays
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Thirteen at a table is unlucky only when the hostess has only twelve chops.
-- Groucho Marx