Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

The Heisenberg uncertainty principle: The uncertainty of energy and time are at tradeoffs to each other. (The same applies to momentum and position.) So, the more precisely we can measure energy, the less precisely we can measure how long that state will last.

Let me explain.

According to the equation,

E = hf (h = plank's constant)

Energy is proportional to frequency, which is inversely proportional to the de Broglie wavelength. Your de Broglie wavelength is shorter when you're in love, whether it be familial, platonic, or romantic (trust me on this one). Thus, energy is directly proportional to intensity of love. (Intensity = the power (P) of love over the surface area of your body, which we can approximate as 4(pi)r^2.)

Therefore, the more certain of how much in love you are, the less certain of how long you will remain in that state. The less certain how in love you are, the more certain of how long you will remain in that state.

But that doesn't seem to make sense, does it? Those who are strongly in love more strongly believe that they will be for a long time. That's part of what is meant by "love is blind."

The statement doesn't make sense because our analysis was flawed. The Heisenberg uncertainty principle applies only to judgements made by an outside observer.

The stronger a love connection appears to an outside observer, the more uncertain the observer will be of how long that love will last.

Okay, this seems more plausible, but it still doesn't make intuitive sense. We're not convinced.

That's because we didn't take into account that the principle only applies at relativistic speeds to have any discernable effect.

At relativistic speeds, a person's de Broglie's wavelength becomes abnormally short, and the person experiences an condition called infatuation. As the person's wavelength further decreases, energy and love further increase toward a condition called limerence. So the Heisenberg principle becomes:

The more strongly infatuated a couple is judged to be according to an outside observer, the more uncertain the observer will be of how long that infatuation will last.

Empirical studies support this phenomenon, as experiments on such partners  particles show that passion is negatively associated with relationship length. See original paper: G. Ahmetoglu, V. Swami, & T. Chamorro-Premuzic (2010). "The Relationship Between Dimensions of Love, Personality, and Relationship Length."

Disclaimer: Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle

Mystery's Seduction

This poem was written a few months ago, about someone in particular, by someone in particular.

these words are
more than they
are but really
only a façade
of the person
you are it’s
easy to hide
behind words which
have structure and
form but what
happens when they
don’t poetry is
fickle and loved
for mystery most
by the poet


You may know this person.


Ambiguity holds us. We wonder what it means. The mysterious. The unknown. And though we might not always delight in it (though we often do), there's no denying we are innately drawn to decoding it. A simple phrase like "Will you be my asparagus?" delights us because we ponder what the chocolate cake it might mean. ...as does the cake part. (hm, I must be hungry at the moment.)

What is it that is so appealing about the mad scientist, or mad musician? Why is this image so popular in society? It's because there's this wonderful sense of magic, or mystery of how they function. The mad genius is so fascinating because they seem to exist in a world completely unknown to you. Sometimes they seem possessed with a disease, and at the same time this "disease" makes them interesting. 

As observers we are quick to admonish against defining someone by their disease. But what happens when the "disease" is something the victim purposefully perpetrates, whether consciously or unconsciously? Chopin's pale, white, thin figure, his (do I dare say) effeminate manner of presentation, garners him intrigue by the audience. In a case like this, is Chopin the victim, or are we, the audience?






And so you find this post utterly incomprehensible. Good. I have caught your interest.

Seeing with New Eyes

The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new lands but seeing with new eyes. 
~Marcel Proust


Happy new year.


Proust reminds us a bit about what it is we hope the year and future brings. Sometimes the journey seems impossible. Sometimes we're not sure where we're going. And when we do, sometimes the destination clouds our vision of what we truly want. 


Sometimes we don't realize. Our search for this new land--whether a dream job, dream school, dream house--doesn't matter so much in the end. Our journey is right here, right now, and to discover we'll just have to keep our eyes open, new, and shining. 

Srikumar Rao: Plug into your hard-wired happiness

Music of the Universe

In seventh grade, my science teacher told us,

"There's no sound in space." 

Perhaps you were told this too? After all, space is a vacuum, and sound requires a medium to travel through, right?

Like so many of our cherished childhood "facts," the answer is yes...and no. I made this delightfully unsettling discovery this morning, while reading "For the Love of Physics" by MIT physics professor Walter Lewin (this book deserves a spot in the literary vesicle). It turns out that space is not a perfect vacuum (though a much better vacuum than any vacuum we could make on Earth...is "perfection" relative?):  Matter (mostly plasma) exists in space, and  therefore pressure waves, and thus sound, can be produced and propagated. There's actually lots of sound in space! The catch is, our ears can't hear those frequencies. So yes, space is a vacuum, but no, it's not a perfect vacuum. And yes, there's sound in space, but no, we can't hear the sound (and if we can't hear the sound, is it a "sound"? It's the age-old question, "If a tree falls in the wood and no one hears it, does it make a sound?"--see related post). 

Disappointing, isn't it? After a promising realization of sound in space, we still won't ever be able to hear the music of the cosmos? 

Once again, the answer is yes...and no. True, "the big bang produced a bass gong sound that now has a wavelength of about 500 million light-years, a frequency of about fifty octaves (a factor of 10^15) below anything our ears can hear" (For the Love of Physics). The good news is that astronomer Mark Whittle has reproduced the sounds of the big bang for us to listen to (small caveat: it's raised in pitch by 50 octaves and compressed in time from 100 million years into 10 seconds)!

Click to listen to the big bang:

Read about big bang acoustics here: http://www.astro.virginia.edu/~dmw8f/BBA_web/index_frames.html

Consider for a moment if the most basic units of the universe were like musical notes--resonant frequencies of unimaginably tiny strings. And these "musical notes" were what produced all our elementary particles (such as the electron). In effect, this is the basic tenet of string theory. And if string theory holds any ground (who knows if it does?), then the universe is a beautiful symphony of sound!

Of course, that depends on what you constitute "beauty" and "music" as. You've heard the "music" of the heavenly spheres. Now it's up to you to decide if that constitutes as music. The answer's probably yes...and no.