Pick a number at random. Any number will do.

So you pick a number, say, 6,487. What do I know?

Well, I can tell you that the number wasn’t chosen at random. It is impossible to choose a number at random, except by a random number generator.

OK. So pick a name out of a phone book. Just a random name. Any of them will do.

Got it? Otis Klink, huh? What do I know?

I can tell you that you did not choose a name at random from the phone book. It is impossible.

Random means that all items in the set being considered (numbers, names, etc) have an equal chance of being selected, and there is no criterion for the selection. So with numbers, you’d generally stick with the ones less than 100,000 or so. Most everyone does. Who would choose 643 X 10^-23? But it’s a perfectly good number, certified number worthy by whoever certifies these things.

Those names in the phone book? As soon as you opened a page, most of them fell out of contention. If you opened the book to page 16, the names on page 23 have no chance of being selected. Choosing names at random from a phone book is impossible.

And what the hell is a zephyr anyway? Some of you probably know. I probably knew once, too, and just forgot. I was reading about a baseball team in New Orleans called the Zephyrs. I know it has something to do with wind.

But it’s important to be precise. Just knowing it’s some kind of wind isn’t precise. Suppose I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me. My question is like this: “We go?” Terribly imprecise, wouldn’t you say? I left out scads of information. And if I asked you like that, you’d probably say no. Who would want to have dinner with a Geico caveman who grunts monosyllabically? You would not think me a sparkling conversationalist.

There are demons in the basement. Not the house, but in my cranial basement. Every once in a while, they get a little noxious and loud. And then I have to step down there, snap my fingers at them, and tell them truculently, “Break it up, boys,” and then they wander off, muttering. It’s always an ill-lit blue down there. I wonder why?

I mentioned last week about the Indian subcontinent crashing into Asia. A couple of people questioned this. They said, “How can a continent that is moving at 2 inches a year crash into anything? Wouldn’t it just bump Asia instead?” Well, no. I think it’s called momentum. It’s not exactly as if there was a plumed spray coming out the back of India as it moved along. But still, it was moving. A continent is hard to stop once it gets started.

I had a similar experience once on a skateboard. I was going down the hill in front of my house, and we were getting up a handsome speed, and I bethought to myself that I could just step off there, and let the skateboard go on. It was an intelligent decision, after all, because we were coming up on a cross street, which we had forgotten about. I’ll let Mark Twain explain the result:

It is quite easy to tell one how to do the voluntary dismount; the words are few, the requirement simple, and apparently undifficult; let your left pedal go down till your left leg is nearly straight, turn your wheel to the left, and get off as you would from a horse. It certainly does sound exceedingly easy; but it isn't. I don't know why it isn't but it isn't. Try as you may, you don't get down as you would from a horse, you get down as you would from a house afire.

Momentum. I collected my skin and went home, muttering.

There was a girl I really really liked once. Too much, she said. I loved her voice. And then, after we didn’t talk any more, I learned that another guy loved her voice, too. That hurt me more than I thought it would. And knowing that it did was worse than the hurt. I got arrows of jealousy and recrimination. Why should I care?

I sent that one down in the basement and let the blue demons sort it out.