Entanglement

I went on an OK Cupid date today with a Physicist. It's strange that you know in an nanosecond, not that I know how long that is exactly, if the other is meant for you or not. I walked into the cafe and met his gaze and I knew. A lovely, quiet, humid afternoon in a sultry, depopulated cafe. The perfect recipe for romance, given the correct ingredients, which are Party 1 (immovable object) and Party 2 (irresistible force). Or insert any of your two combustible, highly flammable compounds: Here. In this way, perhaps online dating will help me to strengthen my instincts, my love instincts. So of course, the physicist is not for me, but he will be a darling for someone else, though we spend the better part of four hours discussing theoretical physics, Robert DeNiro, and comparative cuisines of the Mediterranean. He told me about the concept of entanglement--which means that you cannot measure the position of an electron while also measuring its speed. The electron is entangled. This concept was very helpful in elegantly getting out of the inelegant situation that always happens at the end of the date when one party professes a desire to see the other again--and the other party doesn't. "It's very mysterious," I said. "I'm not sure...can I think about it and get back to you?" I demurred. I suggested that I couldn't possibly measure my feelings while simultaneously making a decision about the probability of two strangers drawing toward each other like magnets. He understood. I said goodbye. Science is forever, love is delicate.