Cubaholics Anonymous

Lately, I've been involved with a 3 dimensional species of puzzle that involves moving square shaped tiles around. Also known in technical parlance as "The Rubik's Cube". Up, down, right, away and right inverse goes my head. My fingers accordingly flex, extend, adduct, abduct and rarely circumduct (If you didn't understand those terms, go look up a kinesiology book (no I'm not a kinesiology major (and no, I do not like Lisp))). Such motion is usually accompanied by the creaking sounds of my aging cube.

Recently however, said creaking sounds have been replaced by their more intellectually acoustic cousins, called "speech".

"Hey, look at that guy. Think he's he okay?"
"You think he's gesturing at me?"
"Oh gosh, the poor fellow must be suffering from one of those diseases I heard about on TV!"
"You keep doing that son and next time, even if you have a cube with you, I'll give you a ticket." [1]

Yes, I am now a victim of Imaginary Cubesolveritis. To cut a long story short, if my fingers aren't already solving a cube, scribbling equations on a sheet of paper, typing away at a keyboard or stuffing food down my throat, then they're restlessly trying to solve an imaginary cube.

Its almost as though the urge to twist and turn faces and slices in a cube, is a wholly natural and evolutionary response to huge stacks of work lying right in front of me. The larger my pending work gets, the more I want to solve the cube. Till now, the only levee that deterred me from expending large swathes of time on the cube, was the fact that I did needed the cube to work on it.

This Saturday however, disaster struck this little home in Houghton, MI. The levee broke, releasing large amounts of solution attempts at my fingers. Who would have known? Katrina, Gustav, Ike and then ... Rubik. Tragedy I tell you, Tragedy.

... to be continued.

[1] The comment therein, is a result of a wholly unfortunate interaction between me, an imaginary cube, my car, a police officer and a stop sign (in that order) late Sunday night.
Note to self: Never take the stop sign overly seriously again. Not serious enough to wait a little more than a minute anyway.



2:27 PM