Among other things, I want to know why Erwing Schrodinger gets a Nobel Prize and I don’t. I was in college when I met Schrodinger and his stupid umlaut and his even stupider cat. I thought the thing with the cat was dumb when I was twenty-two and hung over. It’s even worse now that I’m pouring mixers into blenders to cover the taste of kale instead of vodka. And, of course, it’s even more upsetting because this matter of the cat co-exists with the Reds.
For those of you who did actually useful things with your youth, Schrodinger’s Cat refers to a thought experiment that involves poison and a hammer and a cat and they’re all in a box, and something something the cat is simultaneously alive and dead because we don’t know if the cat is alive or dead unless we look in the box.