Einstein: a man of many influencing

Albert Einstein once said "My father gave me some tobacco to take with me and I was supposed to hand it to you". And so we see that despite his genius, Einstein fell hook, line and sinker for the lies and deceit of the tobacco industry. To find out why, I asked my two year old daughter. She paused, then replied "Daddy no, I want to find my... my ribbon."

Who was I to argue? I fetched the ribbon and was at once reminded of some other famous words of Einstein: "We shall consider the following ideal state of equilibrium: Let us again have a cylindrical vessel."

Einstein had many fascinating things to say about the meaning of life. And as shown in the above quote, he was fond of considering man's ideal state - something he called equilibrium. But what was this cylindrical vessel of which he spoke? A submarine? Those weren't invented until 1962 so it couldn't have been that. Was it a glass - a humble tumbler, full of beer or apple cider? Could the sly old dog have been talking about prophylactics? We'll never know, sadly, but it only adds to the mystery and genius of the man.

I humbly confess I have aspired at times to be a genius - to be lauded by future generations and have my writings quoted, often with very little relevance to the passage at hand, and even more often taken out of context.  I'll concede that I've done little as yet to warrant the moniker 'genius'. I fear that at my age it may not even be possible - what kernel of potential I had in my youth has now dried up, leaving behind just me, a useless husk, able only to mouth the word genius, but not to embody it.

This leads me to my next thought, which is that, sure, we all know about those freaks who people knew would become geniuses, because they could do long division at age 1. But what about those geniuses that arrived late in life? What of the 40 year old who broke on through? Or a 60 or even 100 year old? People who for most of their lives had shown no sign of latent brilliance, until, one day... bam! Could it be possible? Such a late onset of genius? I think it could.

And so, dear reader, I must bid you adieu. I'm not long for this evening, and slumber calls me. It calls me a bogan. What could that even mean, anyway? And what would it mean for the metaphor of reflectors to become commonplace: lights - guides, signposts - that exist only when light is shone onto them? So economical. Brought into existence by the search for meaning, extinguished again as soon as meaning is found. I can't think of anything this is a metaphor for.

And now dear reader we have come full circle, for I've awoken. Now slumber doesn't call me, I call it - I call it over, ceased, finis. Our question for the week: what does slumber call you, and when?