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2007-09-06 - 4:42 p.m.

I see that there is a phenomenon or a kind of matter in particle physics called a strangelet. It's an Ice-9 kind of thing, apparently, where there is a minuscule chance, particle-physics-style, of messed-with matter becoming unstable and making all other matter it touches into this unstable mess. It's an end-of-the-universe type of thing, this strangelet. Apparently, when physicists mess with matter in their giant, town-sized particle accelerators and things, there is always a small chance that what they do will result in a strangelet catastrophe. And that's all fascinating and god-like, but what I really hope is that it's pronounced "strange-lett."

Something just occurred to me. When I was reporter, I covered business. I wrote for a small paper, so that meant that I wrote about new hair salons opening and also big-money corporate acquisitions and deals from the big defense contractors nearby, like Northrup Grumman. Anyway, one of the things I noticed right away was the tendency for everyone I talked to or interviewed or wrote about to fiercely want the story told in a way that made them look good or honorable. They all just wanted to be understood, and even if they were obviously the bad guy in a story, they still genuinely thought that if they talked enough or explained their side enough, they might have a reasonable shot of being portrayed the way they thought they ought to have been. And that constant tugging, that constant pull that came from the fact that the vast majority of people try to sugarcoat bad news and ram good news down my throat, I think that's what makes just about every news person I've ever met a cynical, jaded person.

And here's the thought I just had: Of course that's how they acted. Of course. Man, the thought of getting interviewed about some indiscretion of mine, for some little back stab, for some kiss or worse at some party's quiet bedroom, the thought of getting pinned down like that makes me nervous. Getting pinned down by someone else, to be more precise. We all want to control our own stories, of course, and how everyone sees us. And maybe the realization that we can't is part of that regular, everyday battle that keeps my eyes narrowed just enough so that only I know they're narrowed.

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