If you had told me Sunday morning that something would happen in the Nets-Bobcats game that would take attention away from the Knicks-Celtics and the Heat-Lakers, I would have assumed that an angry space unicorn crashed through the arena roof and consumed the first 15 rows of the mezzanine.
About two weeks after I bought it, it slipped out of my hands andcrashed onto the hardwood floor in my apartment, effectively scrambling its little electronic brain.
The economics of TV have forced program quality down, news is now universally available online, and cable TV bills keep rising as the value I place on television has crashed.
The battery never went as far as advertised, and it was so heavy that I narrowly missed breaking some toes as it crashed to the ground on the way into the living room.
Why have I been thinking about Thomas Wopat-Moreau (aside from the fact that he crashed his car on the Taconic, a road my husband andI are frequent travelers on)?
And my admiration stands even though I know that the recent history of physics is filled with attempts to unify quantum mechanics and relativity that have crashedand burned.