I am home today with only 48 cents to my name because of all the fruit I have bought.
Why?
Because today I have time for a little experiment I like to conduct. Back in the summer of ‘06 I noticed that the laws of gravitation were not so universal. The observation occurred when I accidentally fell off of my mezzanine while eating an apple. Most of the apple was ejected from my mouth (whenever I am caught by surprise my mouth pops open violently, occasionally unhinging my jaw) and, despite the fact that we fell exactly the same distance, I hit the ground first.
I was stunned (the apple hit me on the head). But unharmed. I sat there a while, chewing and staring dumbly at the bruised apple like Newton. I soon realised that a very important question and just been forcefully posed– something to the effect of: How did that happen?
In the spirit of inquiry I decided to repeat the incident several more times, using different types of fruit (it could have been that apple). I know that science has demonstrated that, in a vacuum at least, dissimilar objects — large stones, Irish Stout, stevedores– will fall at whatever the speed of local gravity is. I saw this all vividly depicted in a Restoration painting once. While my apartment is no vacuum, it does lack atmosphere, and so I feel confident that my environment approaches those exquisite conditions the bewigged men (the grand inquisitors of the day) created when they posed for the artist.
But no matter how closely my conditions resemble theirs, I always hit first. The kiwifruit, the glazed pottery, and the farm-fresh eggs all come crashing down second. It makes my bottom sore.
However it does provide me an endlessly amusing show I can put on for guests. I like to think of their visits as being not unlike those 19th century banquets put on by the wealthy, to which the intellectuals of the day would be invited to engage in a dialogue of irritable bowels. Only I provide the entertainment and my guests provide the plucked fowl and sherbert. Indeed, they are very generous and often bring along with them supplementary objects for plummet. Sometimes they are very heavy, like a wooden drum wrapped in goat hide. I understand the importance of variety in experimentation, but I am loath to explain to them that the weight shouldn’t make a difference since they merely smile in their ignorance. They speculate that in order for the race to be fair my competitor’s size and shape should approximate my own.
I do appreciate their willingness to participate in what I had conceived of as a one-man-experiment, but I refuse to sit around and passively theorize. I recognized early on that death is something we musk risk daily if we are to successfully probe the mysteries of the universe –which is perhaps why I am drawn to the physical sciences. I take my inspiration from Galileo, who, atop his tower in Pisa, demonstrated just how much there is to gain by putting your balls where your theory is. I believe my experiment further demonstrates how effective the human body can be as a tool of exploration and discovery, vindicating me in my prejudice for action. As one of my recent guests, his fist lodged deep inside a dressed pheasant, put it: “I’m always surprised at how much I can learn about something just by sticking my hand in it!”
As regards my current conundrum, I haven’t read a lick of theory. I rely a little on memory. It is true that I have based my experimentation on what little I remember from art history class and episodes of Battlestar Galactica, but otherwise I think I have been faithful to the Bold Initiative in my development of different ways of falling –all in an effort to increase the time elapsed between stepping off and contact with the floor.
The first fall, the accident, was a bottom-first fall, and in this I was lucky. However subsequent controlled attempts left me convinced that this particular form wasn’t creating enough air resistance, which is odd, particularly considering (as those of you who have been to my place no doubt remember) the formidable updraft. I thought that surely with my unwieldy legs I would create far more air resistance, finally, than the limbless banana or fig.
To discover the secrets of air braking I went to Dover to study the movements used by the White Cliff Divers to slow their decent and avoid overheating. It was a fascinating experience –though often sad, as many of the young recruits met a gruesome fate upon the rocky shore, not having properly executed their manoeuvres. I was luckier. I am a quick study and I learned many new techniques. But back home because I do not have as many feet to dispose of (there being only 9), I have created my own abridged versions of the dives: the reverse corkscrew, the drunk lemming, the folded pancake and the gimp swan. However I still land a good second ahead. No matter. I feel confident that my inquiries have at the very least established that my short-distance terminal velocity is slightly greater than that of other objects, albeit for reasons that Newtonian physics cannot explain. I’m proud that I have proceeded, thus far, with a minimum of theorizing. And while the floor boards which make up the landing area may have become visibly softened by so many blows, my resolve is harder than ever before in the quest to penetrate (my) life’s great mysteries.
