The office

Today I’m working on thermodynamics –

Specifically, the first question I considered at the intersection of information theory and physics, about six years ago:

How much information do you need to describe a thing?

One conclusion that I reached, about six years ago, is that light must be the simplest substance we’re aware of, in terms of how much information it takes to describe its behavior –

Just point a lit flashlight at a wall.

How would you describe what the light did to get there?

You’d merely have to point in the direction that it traveled, since the speed of light is constant.

So if you want to describe what light does, all you have to know is the direction that it’s going, and then you know everything you need to know to about its motion.

Now compare that to throwing a plate of spaghetti at a wall –

If you want to account for the movement of the noodles, you’ll need a lot of detail, since they’ll all do different things, possibly moving at different speeds, in different directions, at different times.

There is of course more to my work than just flashlights and some noodles, and the commercial goal is to describe complex systems using simple code –

If you can do that, then you can predict how it will behave on a cheap computer, which has applications that range from farming, to defense.

And I’ve done exactly this, today, so now I’m headed home.

I pack up for the day –

I open up a new pack of printer paper, that I use to keep my notes, writing down an outline of my work.

Once I’m done, I wipe the dry erase board clear, using the eraser, doubling back with a wet cloth.

Then I punch three-ring binder holes in my notes, add them to a binder that’s been accumulating, for about a month, I’ll eventually have picked up, scanned, and placed into storage, and uploaded to a system I can search, later on, if I need to.

I’m working for a private U.S. aeronautics firm, getting paid to do this type of research in A.I., having left my old job about a year ago.

Ida simply switched her office, working out of Copenhagen, which was fine with her, since she has a lot of friends in the city, and in Malmö.

I told her I’d be making more than I was before, with a year’s worth of severance, if the new job didn’t work out, so she was fine overall with the move.

What I didn’t mention is that I sold some rights in my core algorithms, which allow almost every problem in machine learning to be solved quickly on extremely cheap computers –

They can turn a $150 tablet into a supercharged 10-year old, that can read, and recognize objects, but also track the path of about a dozen rockets, and predict 10,000 steps in the future, in an instant.

I hid this not to lie to her, or protect my wealth, since it’s probably not protected by local law, in any case –

I did it so we keep things steady, so the move would be simpler, and this news would soon surprise her on the upside.

I told her the truth about the matter she was most concerned with, which is my salary, leaving this additional good news for another day.

The open house

Walking around Copenhagen, we often visit open houses, with old brownstones being our favorite.

We came upon an old brownstone on a quiet block, with a bright blue door, draped in vines, potted flowers in the windows, and a pale brick exterior.

We saw the sign for an open house, and decided to have a look inside –

There were a bunch of people floating around, with the broker near the door, with a tiny fold-up desk, and a bunch of business cards –

She was polite, but assertive, shaking both our hands, Ida’s hand first, handing each of us a business card.

The house is very old, with wide-planked, weathered, hardwood floors, an old wooden staircase, terminating at an exposed landing, with a wrap-around, wooden banister.

The house was completely empty, and so the tenants must have moved already, which suggests they’re either too rich to care about the cost of the house, or getting desperate for a closing.

In either case, they’re clearly done with the place, suggesting that it can be taken.

Ida seems immediately taken as well, walking up the stairs, on her own, I can see her fingers brush the old, rough railing on the banister, as she stares up toward the landing, eventually disappearing into one of the rooms at the top of the stairs.

I stay put, staring out, through the railroad layout of the first floor, out into the kitchen, then through the kitchen window, getting faint glimpses of the backyard, just beyond –

I can see the daylight, broken up by a moving tree, lightly swaying in the wind, casting moving light along the floors, walls, and ceilings of the house.

Ida comes back out, peeking in the bathroom at the top right of the landing, seeing me below, with a look I’ve never seen before –

A calm more than happy, serene in her slower motions, her hand again hovers down the railing, fingers lightly touching on its rough grain, beyond the light let in by the kitchen window, someone new opens up the front door, and Ida gets lit up, breaking through her newfound stoicism, leaving just a simple grin, looking at me with a subtle love, leaving me now sharing in her grace.

…

The next day I email the broker –

“Hi Anna –

I’m interested in the house, what are next steps?”

To which she replies, a few hours later –

“Hello Charles,

I’d like to set up a phone interview to be sure it all makes sense, as we have an offer, near the asking price.

What day works best for you?”

To which I immediately reply,

“I’ll pay .03% over asking, cash”.

To which she quickly replies –

“Hi Charles,

That’s great, but we’ll need to run a background check first, and so I think we’ll still need to do a call, before we move ahead.”

And I fire back, copying my banker –

“Anna –

Please meet Espen, he can get you any info that you need.

Espen –

Please see below, and coordinate with Anna.

I’d like to get this closed as soon as possible, so please keep me posted on any issues that pop up.

Thanks,

Charles”

We close on the house, six weeks later.

Another transponder

Driving over the Øresundsbron Bridge into Malmö, I play, “Hurricane”, by Mat Zo.

“This is a bit aggressive.” she says, to which I reply,

“Give it a minute.”

A large group of seagulls fly along the car, just beyond the bridge, with enormous clouds lining both sides of the horizon, beginning where the horizon meets the sea below, and up hundreds of feet into the air, though the sky above is perfectly clear – 

I take a sip from my water bottle, and she gestures, asking to have a bit as well, so I pass it over to her.

I quickly look out my window, to see an airplane at cruising altitude, making its way above the giant wall of clouds, painting a clean horizontal line parallel to the horizon below, with a second plane at what seems to be another few hundred feet above the first, heading in the opposite direction, in roughly our direction of motion, and Ida asks,

“Why do you always look at airplanes?”, to which I reply,

“I don’t know how it got started, but one time I actually found legitimate mechanical insight from it, so now it’s become a habit.”

“You’re a proper freak.”, she says, with a somewhat awkward pause afterwards.

The song takes off about a minute later, and I can see she really likes it, as she squeezes my leg, saying,

“I’m sorry that I tease you for your strange behaviors –

I see they work for you, and so I don’t mind.”

“Thank you, your majesty.”, I reply, looking forward.

So she pinches my leg.

Now four minutes into the song, we approach its climax, the kick repeating, leaving, alerting us to something new to come –

Synth pads bouncing, vocals panning, the bass line slowly rising, into higher registers, the bridge itself, rising from the road below, into a suspension structure, for the second time, with beams repeating, rapidly, as we barrel on, echoing the sky on either side, I see her looking up to trace their path, then descending, like a landing, as I see her joy, in the animated structure of the world around us –

Our decisions, however meager, contribute to a moving portrait, we share, together, as coauthors and spectators of an uncertain future, and a certain now.

She looks out the window as we leave the beams behind us, looking outward, singing to herself, this time content with my participation in her song.

She looks down at the windshield, seeing the small American flag stuck upon the glass, smiling at me, in my cliché, understanding my love for New York, and America as well –

That I could come from nowhere else, at least on this Earth.

Estampes

On the drive back, I tell her that I have a few surprises –

She’s a bit tired, leaning on my shoulder, and asks,

“Will they require much effort on my part?”, and she quickly adds,

“Please tell me they don’t involve that awful boat.”, to which I reply,

“There are no boats at all involved, just a bit of walking, but not that far from our apartment.”, to which she says,

“Fair enough, I’ll oblige.”, as she again rests her head on my shoulder.

…

I park the car in our usual spot, down the block from our apartment, and as she gets out, she says,

“So which way are we going?”

And I point, as the both of us head onward, now hand in hand, with Ida visibly a bit tired, episodically resting her head again against my body.

We get up to the house, and she says,

“I knew you did this –

I cannot believe you, Charles.”

I take out the key, and open up the front door, having already set the dimmer the night before, together with a blanket, tealight candles, a bottle of connonau, to remind us of Sardegna, with two, tall, wide glasses set on top.

There’s another light at the top of the landing, just above a painting she didn’t see at the openhouse, so she leans her head in, walking closer to the painting, and upon recognizing Odilon Redon’s, “Pandora”, she exclaims,

“Now I didn’t think that you did that –

Charles you’re a maniac, that must have cost a fortune.”

“Yes.”, I reply.

…

She starts to take off her shirt, as the warm chords of Estampes, by Debussy begin, and so I do the same, laying my shirt on the blanket just before me, under the old chandelier, with those thin, faux-candlestick lights, the crystals hanging under, partially illuminated, in the dim light that I’ve set it to, as I move over to lay my back atop my shirt, she moves to climb on top of me.

I can see the Redon at the top of the stairs, as we kiss, seeing Ida, somehow the subject of a painting from over a century ago, made by a man, I somewhat jokingly think looks a bit like Odin –

Having stolen Ida, just for me, from Heaven itself, paying with his life for his generosity.

She opens her eyes, knowing that I never close mine, and sees me staring up, knowing more or less what I see now, she slips down to lay atop my chest, my head now against the floor, looking up into the chandelier above –

Motionless, just like us, glowing of a different sort, till the song is over, both of us knowing, we’re to get up at the end, put our clothes back on, and walk home, together, because finally, it’s just the two of us.