Louis Bailey is on a mission.
It started in Calculus yesterday. All over something that he hadn't quite picked up on before.
Mr. Newcomb was in the middle of something or other that was taking two-and-a-half boards to prove when he said the fatal sentence.
"And 8 to the power zero is, of course, one."
Louis's hand slid silently into the air behind Newcomb's back. Oblivious to the tempest brewing in the seat next to mine, Mr. Newcomb went on scratching out numbers and letters across the board, working towards a full three.
Louis never dealt well with being ignored.
There was the telltale scrape of his chair being pushed back and he stood at his desk, clearing his throat meaningfully as he rose. Every other body in the class straightened in its chair. They knew the signs by now.
Newcomb turned and was noticeably taken aback by the sight of a student standing at attention in his classroom.
"Yes, Mr. Bailey?"
"Pardon me, Mr. Newcomb, but could you please remind me what an exponent is?"
Convinced that he had a smart alec on his hands, Mr. Newcomb put down his chalk and crossed his arms.
"Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Bailey, that you've made it all the way to Calculus without knowing what an exponent is?"
"No, Mr. Newcomb. Of course not. I just want to clarify something. Would you please just explain what an exponent is? Just to make sure I'm not mistaken."
Rolling his eyes, Mr. Newcomb rattled off his response. "Exponents tell how many times a number is multiplied by itself. Five to the exponent two is five times five. Six to the exponent four is six times six times six times six times six. Does that refresh your memory?"
Louis nodded thoughtfully. "That rings a bell."
Mr. Newcomb turned back towards the board thinking the discussion was over, but Louis wasn't finished.
"Then how could eight to the power zero be one?"
"Pardon me?"
"Well, according to what you just told me about exponents, eight to the exponent zero would be eight times itself zero times. That would be nothing. So how could it be one?"
Again the teacher crossed his arms. "Well, Mr. Bailey, you'll recall that when you divide exponential numbers with a common base, you subtract the exponents. Five to the power six divided by five to the power four is five to the power two. Do you agree with that?"
Louis was polite enough to think it through, just to be sure.
"Yes, I agree."
"Well, then eight to the power of five divided by eight to the power of five would be eight to the power zero. Do you agree with that?"
"Yes, I agree."
"And any number divided by itself is one. Do you agree with that?"
"Yes, I agree with that."
"And, just to confirm it, Mr. Bailey, do you agree that eight to the power of five and eight to the power of five are, in fact, the same number?"
"Of course."
"Then that, Mr. Bailey, is why eight to the power of zero is one."
"I see," said Louis.
"Then we are in agreement, Mr. Bailey?"
"No, Mr. Bailey, I don't think we are."
Mr. Newcomb was clearly annoyed at this point, having thought he had proven his point adequately.
"Why not?"
"You see," said Louis evenly, "you still haven't explained to me adequately what exponents are. If, like you said, the exponent tells us how many times a number is multiplied by itself, then eight to the power zero cannot be one. It would have to be zero."
That was when Mr. Newcomb got a little huffy, said that the rest of the class probably didn't want to waste their time listening to a meaningless debate, told Louis to sit down, and went back to his blackboard proof.
I doubt anyone could have cared less. They knew they'd just witnessed the start of a new campaign.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Of Belts and Ties
Every Friday night, Stanley goes to New Edisons. It's sort of a Boy Scouts for geeks. Instead of earning badges in things like knot tying, fly fishing, and birdhouse making, they make telegraph stations, analyze the patterns on butterfly wings, and make pickles glow with electricity. Instead of summer campouts, they listen to lectures from Isaac Asimov.
When I picked him up last night, Stanley tossed his battered satchel into the back seat and crawled in after it. Stanely started carrying the satchel after he found it in the attic of his best friend's, Leonard Bell's, house. They didn't want it, so he claimed it and has used it ever since while his backpack lies unused under his bed.
He was unusually quiet and, looking into the rearview mirror, I immediately noticed something amiss.
"Where's your tie."
"I needed a belt."
"Like an engine belt?"
He looked at me like I was an idiot.
"No, like a belt to hold up my pants."
I considered the options, then ventured to ask, "Where's your belt?"
"Lenny needed it."
"For what?"
A sigh.
"To hold up his pants."
I knew I was digging myself in, but couldn't help myself.
"Where was his belt?"
"He didn't have a belt."
"And he didn't notice this before coming to New Edisons?"
"Martin," he said with another sigh. "Are you trying to be difficult?"
"No," I replied honestly.
"He didn't need a belt before coming to New Edisons."
"Weren't his pants falling down before coming, then? Or did he lose lots of weight over the past two hours?"
"His pants had elastic, Martin."
"So why did he need a belt then?"
"We needed the elastic."
I was starting to understand Stanely's train of logic, which gave me cause for concern.
"What did you need the elastic for," I asked.
"For a belt. A belt drive, like for an engine."
"Of course you did."
We drove on for a few minutes in silence and then, just as we were turning the corner onto our street, Stanley spoke up again.
"Just so you know, I'm over time zones."
"Over them?"
"Yeah. I'm still interested in them, but I've pretty much got them figured out."
"I'd noticed you hadn't asked much about them lately," I said.
"Yeah. I figured you weren't in any position to teach me more than I knew anyway," he said.
"So, what are you onto now, then?"
"I'm working on it," he said. "I'll let you know."
We pulled into the driveway then, and that was that. Stanley and the satchel went in the front door without another word.
When I picked him up last night, Stanley tossed his battered satchel into the back seat and crawled in after it. Stanely started carrying the satchel after he found it in the attic of his best friend's, Leonard Bell's, house. They didn't want it, so he claimed it and has used it ever since while his backpack lies unused under his bed.
He was unusually quiet and, looking into the rearview mirror, I immediately noticed something amiss.
"Where's your tie."
"I needed a belt."
"Like an engine belt?"
He looked at me like I was an idiot.
"No, like a belt to hold up my pants."
I considered the options, then ventured to ask, "Where's your belt?"
"Lenny needed it."
"For what?"
A sigh.
"To hold up his pants."
I knew I was digging myself in, but couldn't help myself.
"Where was his belt?"
"He didn't have a belt."
"And he didn't notice this before coming to New Edisons?"
"Martin," he said with another sigh. "Are you trying to be difficult?"
"No," I replied honestly.
"He didn't need a belt before coming to New Edisons."
"Weren't his pants falling down before coming, then? Or did he lose lots of weight over the past two hours?"
"His pants had elastic, Martin."
"So why did he need a belt then?"
"We needed the elastic."
I was starting to understand Stanely's train of logic, which gave me cause for concern.
"What did you need the elastic for," I asked.
"For a belt. A belt drive, like for an engine."
"Of course you did."
We drove on for a few minutes in silence and then, just as we were turning the corner onto our street, Stanley spoke up again.
"Just so you know, I'm over time zones."
"Over them?"
"Yeah. I'm still interested in them, but I've pretty much got them figured out."
"I'd noticed you hadn't asked much about them lately," I said.
"Yeah. I figured you weren't in any position to teach me more than I knew anyway," he said.
"So, what are you onto now, then?"
"I'm working on it," he said. "I'll let you know."
We pulled into the driveway then, and that was that. Stanley and the satchel went in the front door without another word.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
A Mystery Revealed, Maybe
We were sitting at the table tonight and I was trying to choke down a bowl of lentil soup (which is just plain wrong, but you don't really argue diet with my mother) when my dad spoke up.
"Allie called this afternoon."
I almost spat my soup across the table and both parents turned their puzzled faces toward me. I mumbled something about a lentil in my going down the wrong pipe and ending up in my sinuses and tried to look nonchalant as I continued eating, face to the bowl but eyes up.
Stanley just kept silently poking around in his bowl.
Allie had picked a good day to speak with them. Dad had just signed up for a pottery class and was riding high on the promise of the beautiful works of art he was sure he'd be creating in no time at all.
"She just sent me an e-mail this afternoon at work," said Mom. "She was wearing that sweater I gave her at Christmas. You know, the one of Van Gogh's Sunflowers."
I can say this for Allie: she does her homework and covers the bases.
"What did she have to say?" Mom continued.
Dad put his spoon down into the bowl. "Not an awful lot. Asked how things were going, whether Stanley was still doing the New Edisons, and whatnot. She wanted permission to go on an exchange for a week."
"An exchange?"
My eyebrows were up by this point.
"Some sort of exchange, just for two weeks, between Pennington's and Hirschfeld College." Hirschfeld college was another private girls' school about three hours further down the highway from Pennington. "Something new they're trying this year. I said you and I would talk about it tomorrow."
"Why so soon?" my mother asked, still unfazed.
"I guess the deadline for applying's the end of the week." That explained Allie's direct approach today. "She faxed through some information. It's upstairs. Seems good to me."
"Fine with me," Mom said, standing and collecting our bowls. She reached for Stanley's but he put out a hand. The rim of his bowl was ringed with neatly arranged lentils.
"Hold on," he said. "I'm working on Fibonacci numbers."
Mom shrugged and took my bowl. "Martin, you barely ate any of your soup."
I'd been to fixated on trying to figure out Allie's angle.
I didn't point out that Stanley hadn't eaten any more than I had.
"Allie called this afternoon."
I almost spat my soup across the table and both parents turned their puzzled faces toward me. I mumbled something about a lentil in my going down the wrong pipe and ending up in my sinuses and tried to look nonchalant as I continued eating, face to the bowl but eyes up.
Stanley just kept silently poking around in his bowl.
Allie had picked a good day to speak with them. Dad had just signed up for a pottery class and was riding high on the promise of the beautiful works of art he was sure he'd be creating in no time at all.
"She just sent me an e-mail this afternoon at work," said Mom. "She was wearing that sweater I gave her at Christmas. You know, the one of Van Gogh's Sunflowers."
I can say this for Allie: she does her homework and covers the bases.
"What did she have to say?" Mom continued.
Dad put his spoon down into the bowl. "Not an awful lot. Asked how things were going, whether Stanley was still doing the New Edisons, and whatnot. She wanted permission to go on an exchange for a week."
"An exchange?"
My eyebrows were up by this point.
"Some sort of exchange, just for two weeks, between Pennington's and Hirschfeld College." Hirschfeld college was another private girls' school about three hours further down the highway from Pennington. "Something new they're trying this year. I said you and I would talk about it tomorrow."
"Why so soon?" my mother asked, still unfazed.
"I guess the deadline for applying's the end of the week." That explained Allie's direct approach today. "She faxed through some information. It's upstairs. Seems good to me."
"Fine with me," Mom said, standing and collecting our bowls. She reached for Stanley's but he put out a hand. The rim of his bowl was ringed with neatly arranged lentils.
"Hold on," he said. "I'm working on Fibonacci numbers."
Mom shrugged and took my bowl. "Martin, you barely ate any of your soup."
I'd been to fixated on trying to figure out Allie's angle.
I didn't point out that Stanley hadn't eaten any more than I had.
Friday, January 16, 2009
A Ball and a Call
When I came in from school today, I found Stanley laying on his back on the living room floor. He had Dad's trombone pressed to his lips. He was making a weird, wet windy noise with it.
"You've got to buzz it," I said.
He lifted the mouthpiece from his lips.
"I know that," he said. "I'm not playing the trombone." He went back to blowing.
"You're telling me," I said. "Just hurry up whatever you're doing. I'm taking you to New Edisons in half an hour."
He stopped blowing again. "Is it working?"
"No," I said. "I told you. You've got to buzz."
"And I told you I'm not playing the trombone. I'm trying to make the ball float. Is it working?"
"What ball?"
"The ping-pong ball."
He went back to blowing and I cautiously looked in the bell of the instrument. There was a ping- pong ball, sitting in the bottom, doing not much of anything.
"Nope."
"Darn," he said, before redoubling his efforts.
"Don't pass out," I said and went to get a sandwich.
Later on, when Stanley had been to New Edisons and back, Allie called.
"How are things today? Are they in good moods?"
"Not especially," I said. "There's a ping-pong ball stuck in Dad's trombone."
"A ping-pong ball?"
"Don't ask," I said. "Did you call this week?"
"Once," Allie replied, "but Dad answered, so I hung up."
"Are you in trouble?"
"Not exactly," said Allie.
"Then what's going on?" I asked.
"Gotta go," she said, and hung up.
"You've got to buzz it," I said.
He lifted the mouthpiece from his lips.
"I know that," he said. "I'm not playing the trombone." He went back to blowing.
"You're telling me," I said. "Just hurry up whatever you're doing. I'm taking you to New Edisons in half an hour."
He stopped blowing again. "Is it working?"
"No," I said. "I told you. You've got to buzz."
"And I told you I'm not playing the trombone. I'm trying to make the ball float. Is it working?"
"What ball?"
"The ping-pong ball."
He went back to blowing and I cautiously looked in the bell of the instrument. There was a ping- pong ball, sitting in the bottom, doing not much of anything.
"Nope."
"Darn," he said, before redoubling his efforts.
"Don't pass out," I said and went to get a sandwich.
Later on, when Stanley had been to New Edisons and back, Allie called.
"How are things today? Are they in good moods?"
"Not especially," I said. "There's a ping-pong ball stuck in Dad's trombone."
"A ping-pong ball?"
"Don't ask," I said. "Did you call this week?"
"Once," Allie replied, "but Dad answered, so I hung up."
"Are you in trouble?"
"Not exactly," said Allie.
"Then what's going on?" I asked.
"Gotta go," she said, and hung up.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
The Void
Things have been curiously quiet on the home front all week.
Allie hasn't called back.
Stanley's gone internal.
Wheels are turning. I can tell.
Allie hasn't called back.
Stanley's gone internal.
Wheels are turning. I can tell.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Allie Calls Home
Yesterday afternoon the phone rang.
I answered it.
It was Allie.
"Marty?" she whispered.
"Yeah. How's it going?"
"Shh!" she said. "Are Mom and Dad around?"
"Yeah," I said. "Hold on."
"NO!" she hissed into the receiver. "Don't get them. And keep it down. I don't want them to hear."
"Hear what?"
"I said keep it down!"
"You know," I said, "you don't have to whisper."
"Yes, I do," she answered.
"You need to be quiet so Mom and Dad can't hear you from 100 miles away?"
"Would you shut up and listen?"
I shut up and listened.
"Are they in a good mood?"
"Reasonably good. They just got back from the Bahamas. They sent you a couple of things."
"Okay, but are they in a really good mood? Like a seriously good, nothing could possibly go wrong, they're ready to go with the flow no matter what mood."
"I don't know. Dad's practising his trombone and mom's doing paperwork."
"Hmmm. Paperwork. Maybe not."
"Allie," I asked, more than a little exasperated with her 14-year old drama. "What is this all about. What are you plotting?"
"Nothing. I'll call back later. "
"What's going on, Allie?"
"Nothing. I'll call back later."
"What are you up to?"
"Nothing. I'll call back later."
Sigh. "Any message?"
"No. I never called."
Whatever she's got in the works, it's got to be big. She didn't worry this much before asking to go to boarding school. There's something on the horizon and, knowing Allie, we all have reason to be concerned.
I answered it.
It was Allie.
"Marty?" she whispered.
"Yeah. How's it going?"
"Shh!" she said. "Are Mom and Dad around?"
"Yeah," I said. "Hold on."
"NO!" she hissed into the receiver. "Don't get them. And keep it down. I don't want them to hear."
"Hear what?"
"I said keep it down!"
"You know," I said, "you don't have to whisper."
"Yes, I do," she answered.
"You need to be quiet so Mom and Dad can't hear you from 100 miles away?"
"Would you shut up and listen?"
I shut up and listened.
"Are they in a good mood?"
"Reasonably good. They just got back from the Bahamas. They sent you a couple of things."
"Okay, but are they in a really good mood? Like a seriously good, nothing could possibly go wrong, they're ready to go with the flow no matter what mood."
"I don't know. Dad's practising his trombone and mom's doing paperwork."
"Hmmm. Paperwork. Maybe not."
"Allie," I asked, more than a little exasperated with her 14-year old drama. "What is this all about. What are you plotting?"
"Nothing. I'll call back later. "
"What's going on, Allie?"
"Nothing. I'll call back later."
"What are you up to?"
"Nothing. I'll call back later."
Sigh. "Any message?"
"No. I never called."
Whatever she's got in the works, it's got to be big. She didn't worry this much before asking to go to boarding school. There's something on the horizon and, knowing Allie, we all have reason to be concerned.
Friday, January 9, 2009
A Timely Passenger
Stanley still has time on his mind.
The setting? The car. Me in front, driving, and Stanley in the back on our way to New Edisons.
Stanley: Marty?
Me: Yeah?
Stanley: You know about time zones?
Me: You still on that?
Stanley: Of course. So you know about time zones?
Me: Yeah. What about 'em?
Stanley: Well, I was looking at a map today.
Me: Congratulations.
Stanley: I'm ignoring that.
Me: Okay.
Stanley: So, I was looking at the map today and you know how the timezones change in the middle of the country?
Me: Yeah.
Stanley: Well, does that mean that somewhere, it's one time where someone lives and a different time across the street?
Me: I dunno. Probably. I guess it has to change somewhere.
Stanley: Weird, eh?
Me: I guess.
Stanley: So what if you went to school across the street?
Me: What?
Stanley: What if you went to school across the street? Would you have to get up really early?
Me: Or you could sleep in really late.
Stanley: What?
Me: Depends on whether you're an hour ahead of them or behind.
Stanley: Oh.
A big pause.
Stanley: Okay. If you're an hour behind.
Me: Then I guess you'd have to get up early, cross the street and get there an hour later.
Stanley: Even though it's just across the road?
Me: Yep. You'd leave your house at 7:30 your time and arrive at school at 8:35.
Stanley: And what about the kids who live across the street.
Me: Oh, they could just leave their houses at 8:30. Not fair, is it?
Another long pause.
Stanley: But they'd really be getting up at the same time as you, right? In the great scheme of the universe. Right? 'Cause if the teacher asked the first kid, "When did you leave your house?", he'd say, "Five minutes ago." And if the teacher asks the other kid, "When did you leave your house?", he'd say, "Five minutes ago," too. Right?
Me: Now you're catching on.
Stanley: On the way home, if you left school at three, you'd get home around two, though.
Me: Indeed you would.
Really long pause.
Stanley: Marty?
Me: Yeah? What now?
Stanley: I hope people there understand that.
Me: Understand what?
Stanley: That it's really the same time in the scheme of the universe.
Me: Why?
Stanley: So those kids have the same bedtime. Nobody should get cheated.
You've got to give him credit. He's got priorities.
The setting? The car. Me in front, driving, and Stanley in the back on our way to New Edisons.
Stanley: Marty?
Me: Yeah?
Stanley: You know about time zones?
Me: You still on that?
Stanley: Of course. So you know about time zones?
Me: Yeah. What about 'em?
Stanley: Well, I was looking at a map today.
Me: Congratulations.
Stanley: I'm ignoring that.
Me: Okay.
Stanley: So, I was looking at the map today and you know how the timezones change in the middle of the country?
Me: Yeah.
Stanley: Well, does that mean that somewhere, it's one time where someone lives and a different time across the street?
Me: I dunno. Probably. I guess it has to change somewhere.
Stanley: Weird, eh?
Me: I guess.
Stanley: So what if you went to school across the street?
Me: What?
Stanley: What if you went to school across the street? Would you have to get up really early?
Me: Or you could sleep in really late.
Stanley: What?
Me: Depends on whether you're an hour ahead of them or behind.
Stanley: Oh.
A big pause.
Stanley: Okay. If you're an hour behind.
Me: Then I guess you'd have to get up early, cross the street and get there an hour later.
Stanley: Even though it's just across the road?
Me: Yep. You'd leave your house at 7:30 your time and arrive at school at 8:35.
Stanley: And what about the kids who live across the street.
Me: Oh, they could just leave their houses at 8:30. Not fair, is it?
Another long pause.
Stanley: But they'd really be getting up at the same time as you, right? In the great scheme of the universe. Right? 'Cause if the teacher asked the first kid, "When did you leave your house?", he'd say, "Five minutes ago." And if the teacher asks the other kid, "When did you leave your house?", he'd say, "Five minutes ago," too. Right?
Me: Now you're catching on.
Stanley: On the way home, if you left school at three, you'd get home around two, though.
Me: Indeed you would.
Really long pause.
Stanley: Marty?
Me: Yeah? What now?
Stanley: I hope people there understand that.
Me: Understand what?
Stanley: That it's really the same time in the scheme of the universe.
Me: Why?
Stanley: So those kids have the same bedtime. Nobody should get cheated.
You've got to give him credit. He's got priorities.
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