Schrodinger's Cat's Exam Score

I was attempting to collapse a wave function Thursday — the A/C for the office has been taking much of the past week off, with promises of its imminent repair since Monday. The one working chiller has the capacity to cool the building only a few degrees below ambient, which was nowhere near adequate with the thermometer reading in the mid-90s (ºF). So rather than continue to self-baste at my desk, I wore shorts, hoping that this action would induce the chiller to be fixed, via a combination of superposition, Murphy’s law and passive resistance: a working chiller makes shorts both superfluous and marginally inappropriate, and all will subjected to my pasty-white legs until the system is fixed (and they are quite distracting, though I am informed that “running away screaming” does not count as swooning). Alas, the wave function did not collapse to the desired state, though it was a much more pleasant day yesterday, so my office was more-or-less tolerable.

But the thought of collapsing wave functions reminded me of a phenomenon I observed many times during the years I spent as an undergrad and grad student: the student who doesn’t show up to class when the exams are handed out. The professor will usually tell the class when the exams will be returned, and it’s often delayed one or two class sessions. In a small school, that’s because the professor is grading them him- or herself, and it takes time, and in a large university it’s often because they will be graded by the TAs, and most of them won’t do it until the night before (or wee hours of the morning of) the deadline. But there’s always that handful of students who don’t go to pick up the bad news, and it’s almost always bad news — from what I observed, the correlation is pretty strong between poor performance and not showing up to face the reality. For a long while I did not understand this, as it required going to the professor directly and asking for the exam, rather than being a momentary “Bueller” on the lips, though the propensity for the student to sit in the back of the class would add some time and attention to this evolution. Still, I don’t see that comparing to the one-on-one in the professor’s office.

But then I learned of coherent superpositions in quantum mechanics and it all began to make sense. One has not failed (or done poorly) on an exam until one has been handed the papers with all the red marks. Aha! By failing to retrieve the exam, all grades are still possible, and a poor one has not yet been earned. (Though that’s not quite right, either. Good grades are earned, poor grades are given. i.e. “I earned a ‘A,'” as opposed to ” the teacher gave me a ‘D'”).

(Update: Paraphrase: “Tom, it’s fixed. Put your damn pants back on”)

Alan Stanwyk Murdered Me Tonight

The Secret at St. Sans, by Terri Kay

The Secret at St. Sans spans one year and starts with the newspaper report on the drowning death of Dr. Tom Swanson. Tom, an employee at the Tanner, Meyer and Smertz medical clinic, was the son-in-law of Dr. Brian Tanner, one of the clinic owners. But Tom’s death may not be an accident, as the story goes back in time to explore.

Amazing what you find when you Google yourself.

Gettin' Plushy

What’s with the plush toys? John at Cosmic Variance displays “The Particle Zoo” and then Chad at Uncertain Principles goes all squishy with some animal toys, presumably for futurebaby.

I gotta say, the fundamental particles creep me out a little — x-ed out eyes signifies “dead” in cartooning, and it upsets my sensibilities that you can purchase individual quarks, and in any color. What kind of message is that to send to a young physicist, getting asymptotic freedom and color charge wrong right out of the gate?

Keeping Up With the Chemists

In silliness.

Now it’s the biologists’ turn. Curiosities of Biological Nomenclature

An, um, taste of the offerings

Dorcus titanus Boisduval, 1835 (stag beetle)
Doryctes fartus Provancher, 1880 (braconid)
Enema pan (Fabricius), 1775 (rhinoceros beetle)
Eremobates inyoanus Muma and Brookhart, 1988 (solpugid) Inyo is the county where it was first found.
Fartulum Carpenter, 1857 (tiny caecid gastropod) It is rather like a turd in shape and color, too.

Doolittling

ANIMAL TALES by Simon Rich

What animals talk about.

DALMATIANS
“Hey, look, the truck’s stopping.”
“Did they take us to the park this time?”
“No—it’s a fire. Another horrible fire.”
“What the hell is wrong with these people?”

Still, “I’m going to the vet’s to get tutored” beats all. (Whatever happened to Gary Larson, anyway?)