On Friday night, Elysha, Charlie, and I watched the film Galaxy Quest.
Underrated movie, by the way. Elysha had never seen it but loved it.
Wait until she sees Last Action Hero.
Anyway, as our Galaxy Quest heroes arrive on an alien planet, one of them moves to open the hatch of their spaceship. Another shouts for him to stop, afraid that the planet might be inhospitable to human life.
Thankfully, conveniently, and because it’s a comedy, the planet’s atmosphere was perfectly equipped to support human life.
“Must be a Goldilocks planet,” Charlie said.
“Yup,” I said.
Elysha stared at us, furrowed her brow, paused the movie, and asked what the hell we were talking about.
Charlie then explained the concept of a Goldilocks planet to Elysha. Probably better than I could’ve.
Earlier that evening, our dinnertime conversation centered on the Great Molasses Flood of 1919 that killed 21 people in Boston when a large storage tank filled with 2.3 million gallons of molasses burst and collapsed. The resulting 40-foot high wave of molasses rushed down Commercial Street at an estimated 35 miles per hour.
No joke.
Residents of the neighborhood claimed for decades that the area still smelled of molasses on hot summer days
“Wow,” said Charlie. “And right after the 1918 pandemic, too. Bad times in Boston.”
“The 1918 pandemic lasted long after 1918,” Clara said. “More than two years, in fact.”
Charlie nodded. “Right.”
While I was at the Patriots game on Sunday, Elysha sent me this text:
“Charlie is talking to me about strange matter and Clara’s going on about how much she loves research.”
“Does Charlie mean dark matter?” I asked.
“That’s what I thought,” Elysha responded. “But he said no.”
When I got home, I typed “strange matter” into Google. Turns out it’s a thing.
We’re raising giant nerds.
