Mark Hall

Warning:  This is mostly just me dribbling out thoughts.  If you want to comment, fine, but don't expect profound insights or even humorous anecdotes.  After all, this deals with comics, which are serious business.

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As you may have heard me whine, our Young Adult Graphic novels section is a piece of chaos.  Part of it, I maintain, is due to location... it's the bottom two and a half shelves of one column our Young Adult section.  Almost everything is softcover, skinny, and the organization seems haphazard.  Wanting to improve this, I sat down and read some works on the classification of GN by the OCLC, which runs the Dewey Decimal scheme.  The first frustrating aspect is that all of these notes are four and five years old... too late for me to do anything.  The second is that they're so bloody dense... in the "could stop rocks with my head" sort of dense.

In theory, the classification system for graphic novels put works about graphic novels at 741.5, and actual graphic fiction at  741.59xxx, with the Xs being the country of origin for the primary contributor.  Which doesn't work for most comic books, because you've usually got at least two, artist and writer.  Sometimes, these will be the same, but other times, it will not.  It further doesn't work because it's not always followed... there's a heck of a lot of stuff in the 741.5s that are actual works of graphic fiction.

Far more reasonable, I think, is to organize it by publisher, then go alpha by author (i.e. writer).  While it is a unique solution within the DDC, it neatly solves many of the conflicts within the 741.5's; how do you keep similar works together?  As comics (both strips and books) tend to stay with a single publisher, it would place all of the Dark Horse comics together, all of the Marvel comics together, all of the DC comics together, and everything spewed out of the Universal Press Syndicate in one place.  Sub-dividing further by writer will somewhat group comic creations, though an author who has worked on both DC and Marvel (for example) will find his works spread across multiple 741.59 subdivisions.  Perhaps a scheme similar to that adopted for the 780s and 790s, where you get codes like 782.42166 C912W; in this case, the first letter and the numbers indicate the topic, while the final letter indicates the writer.  If this were followed for Watchmen, you'd wind up with 741.5973 D867M, with 741.59 showing that it is a work of graphical fiction, 73 showing that it is from the United States (hearing Alan Moore growl as I type this, but DC is an American company, working in a primarily American milleu of superhero comics), D867 being the number I just made up to show it is from the publisher DC, and M showing that it was written by Alan Moore.  "Whatever became of the Man of Tomorrow" would have the same classification, having been written by Moore for DC.

It serves to group similar items together, while keeping the 741.5's part of the artistic classification within Dewey.  It avoids the problem suffered by Star Wars and other "shared world" novel series in that they are not shelved together, but by the author's last name... while different stories of a single character may be separated, it will only be by a few inches of book shelf, and the total organization will be more logical and user-friendly.

I read a lot of webcomics; 32 in all, in about 28 links (3 of Aaron William's comics are on one link, as are Order of the Stick & Erfworld).  And one thing keeps occurring to me:  Howard Tayler, of Schlock Mercenary, rocks them all.

It's not just that his stories are funny and dramatic.  It's not just that his characters are compelling and his art emotive and, at times, beautiful.  It's not simply that his sci-fi is pretty hard, and well done.  Others have this and are, aguably, better at it (sometimes).  It is that he is the top of the webcomics game in almost every way imaginable.

1)  He updates on time, every day.  He shows an average of 9 rows of comics every week (three rows on Sunday is standard).  He has done this for almost nine years.  I recall precisely one update missing his usual 10pm Central posting time... and that was because he had a brand-new hosting company who didn't believe how hard the server would be hit at 10pm.  It was up by midnight, on an alternate site.  If he wants to take a vacation (and he does), he gets work done ahead of time.  There has never been a guest strip, except as a supplement to the current strip.

2)  Nine years.  Technically, at this point, eight years and eight months.  In a footnote to an early strip, he makes mention of a son who is just starting to talk.  That strip was eight years ago.  Assuming the child was about 2 when he started to talk, he's now in 4th grade.  In terms of webcomics, he has terrific longevity, and with no particular sign of stopping.

3)  Searchable archives.  Those who know me know that I speak in quotes.   I have almost as many statements that are quotations of someone else as I do original compositions.  Schlock Mercenary has almost entirely searchable archives.  If I want to find reference to the phrase "birds and the biomemes", I can do it quickly.  The search for this strip took me about 10 seconds, and that included me staring stupidly at the screen.  If I want to make a reference to a strip in a covnersation, it is fast and easy.  It provides him with traffic that, hopefully, becomes permanent.  I know I would quote the ever-loving HELL out of a couple of other webcomics if I could search them.  Since most don't upload their scripts, however, it's a matter of hunting for a while (and, usually, getting sick to death of hunting through strips whose titles I may or may not recall).

4)  Fast servers.  When my message boards are slow, I go to a couple of my webcomics, press "random" and start reading forward.  I have read the complete archives of Schlock Mercenary three or four times because Howard makes it easy.

Howard Tayler is on top of the webcomics game.  He is the model to which other authors should aspire to emulate.  If you like good sci-fi, or just good stories, read Schlock Mercenary.  Read the archives.  Buy the books.

And, before it's asked, Howard knows nothing about this being written.  It will probably come as a surprise to him.  But he utterly rocks, and it needs to be said.

So, as I was driving to work today, I thought about Schroedinger's Cat and unexpressed attraction.

See, I crush easily.  Heart upon my sleeve, I tend to fall in love pretty quickly, but I also have an aversion to actually saying anything about it.  The first reason is the Second Law of Sexual Dynamics... if a guy thinks a girl is attracted to him, he's wrong; if he thinks a girl isn't attracted to him, he's only likely wrong.  I've come to realize that I'm one of the living embodiments of that law... I cannot read what women think of me as a man (as opposed to as a person, if that distinction makes sense to you), and experience tends to make me cautious.  Ergo, I do not tend to express attraction frankly, since it tends to result in pain.

However, the second reason ties into quantum mechanics, specifically Schroedinger's Cat thought experiment.  If you put a cat in a box with a mechanism which will, in time, definitely kill him, but will not necessarily do so at any given moment, the cat eventually enters an eigen state, where it is both simultaneously alive and dead... both possibilities exist in about equal measure, so the cat is both... until you check, and the eigen state collapses, and the cat is definitely alive or definitely dead.

An unexpressed crush is somewhat like an eigen state.  They are both attracted to you and not attracted to you, simultaneously.  You can gather evidence for both as you go about your business, but you're unsure, because you have no definite proof.  The existence of the eigen state allows you to HOPE that the person in question is attracted to you.  It's a definite possibility, so you can pretend it's true (at least in your head, because acting as if it were true is almost certain to cause the eigen state to collapse).   You can enjoy that they may be attracted to you.

However, once you express a definite interest, and the person responds, the eigen state collapses... they are either definitely attracted to you, which is great (though leads to its own complications), or they definitely are not, in which case you're dealing with the shattering of your anticipatory eigen state.  Since the eigen state is better than the knowledge that they are not, in fact, attracted to you, it tends to endure.  It is easier to foster an eigen state until it becomes irrelevant (i.e. you stop being attracted to them), than it is to face the possibility of its negative collapse; the possibility of a positive collapse to the eigen state does not overcome the damage caused by a possible negative collapse when one is not fully over their attraction to a person... at least, to a certain kind of personality, such as my own.

I think there is something fundamentally wrong with me that I can write a cogent post about the interrelationship between crushes and quantum mechanics, but I can't get over the basic hurdle of saying "You're very beautiful and I'd like to kiss you."

I have determined that I am married to Henington-Alief Regional Library.  I base this on three facts:

1)  I have great responsibility for what happens.
2)  I have no actual authority.
3)  Whatever I decide seems to be wrong.

These have led me inexorably to the conclusion that I am married to the library.

On the bright side, I'm healing fairly well.  I've a bit of a scar on my forehead and jaw, and my thumbs are still sore, but life goes on.

I FOUGHT THE LOG
with apologies to The Bobby Fuller Four

Movin' trees in the ... cold wind
I Fought the log and the ... log won
I Fought the log and the ... log won
I stepped back but ... not enough
I Fought the log and the ... log won
I Fought the log and the ... log won

It hit my face and I feel so bad
I guess my day is done
I'm on the ground with ... a broken thumb
I Fought the log and the ... log won
I Fought the log and the ... log won

(Instrumental Break)

Waitin' around with a . . . CUT EYE
I Fought the log and the ... log won
I Fought the log and the ... log won

I wait for hours and 'til the ... doc comes
I Fought the log and the ... log won
I Fought the log and the ... log won

Twenty stitches later and a broken thumb
I wish my day was fun
But, this wasn't the worst day ... I've ever had
Still, I Fought the log and the ... log won
I Fought the log and the ... log won

So, how was your Christmas?

Mine involved getting maimed by lumber.

Monday we drove up to Caldwell, with a brief stopover in Norman to drop off some gifts.  I saw some of my Thomas/Barrett/Terwilliger cousins... namely Brett and Alan, who have gotten huge (well, relative to their old heights... I'm still bigger than both of them).  Brett's about to graduate, and is talking about Northwestern Oklahoma for education... Stillwater was too big for the boy from Caldwell.  Alan's 16, and wants to be an engineer of some sort.  Mark and Mo, Cindy and Grover, and of course Grandma Pat, Art, and Bonnie were all there.  Rather than fill up Grandma's house, the Houston Halls stayed at a couple B&B's in Caldwell... Ryan and I above the old Caldwell Messenger offices, and Mom and Dad across town (read: three blocks) in a house.  The rooms were great, but the beds would've been crowded for two.

In addition to the normal array of gifts at the T/B/T house (which was devoid of the Barrett cousins, who were in Illinois), Grandma Pat decided to get rid of some things.  I picked up a bunch of books that belonged to my great-Grandmother Cornelia Small, back when she was Cornelia Muzzy (at the turn of the last century), and a neat candlestick from the Thomas's.  I'm very much enjoying having the books, including a Odyssey translated by Alexander Pope (whom I personally loathe, but it's neat to have).

We went up to Newton to visit the Halls, and I got to see Chris for the first time since his marriage, and meet my first cousins, once removed, in the form of his step-children... I met five of the six or seven step children he has.  One just moved into his own apartment (he, I did not meet), another is about to graduate HS, a third is a freshman, and the balance are in elementary school.  I had my computer out, which the little ones were fascinated by, so I got to sit around while they played Disney Channel games, then help run a Wii bowling tournament between the three youngest and my cousin, Nick (who is only two years older than one of his nieces, and one to five years younger than others... tough place to be in).  I went back to the hotel in Wichita a bit early from that gathering.

So, today.  We (my brother, my dad, myself, two uncles, Nick, and one of my uncle's father-in-law) met at the Breadbasket for breakfast, then headed out to the farm to work, while the father-in-law went off to be retired.  David and Kenny (my uncles) mostly use the part of the farm we work as a deer lease and rec area, so our work involves making it a bit nicer for them to play on.  David had some trees that we're going to make into a new shelter belt, and he also had some dead trees that we put a hole through, attached with thick-guage wire to concrete blocks, and got prepared to send to the bottom of the pond (to make a better fish habitat... I shudder to think what archaeologists will think when they discover many drowned trees at the bottom of an otherwise unremarkable pond).  We didn't actually drown them because the ice was too thin.

While David and I were working on that, Dad, Ryan, and Kenny were cleaning out the old shelter belt of dead trees (Nick was riding around on an ATV and shooting army men with a BB gun).  David and I finished that and started to help them.  One of the trees, however, got caught up one a stump, whipped around and smashed me to the ground.  As the title says, I fought the log, and the log won.

Since I was bleeding quite a bit from several facial wounds (including a very ugly one above my right eye), Dad and Kenny rushed me to the hospital.  Newton hospital looked at me, said the eye was tricky and I might have head trauma, so they charged me $150 for a tetanus shot and a cleaning, and sent me to Wesley Medical Center in Wichita.

Where I sat for about six hours. 

Trauma nurse looked at me, said I was conscious, knew where I was, and was cracking jokes, so they didn't need to classify me as trauma.  After about four hours, I finally saw a doctor, who gave me 20 stitches (5 forehead, 5 cheek, 10 eyebrow), pronounced my thumb broken, and caged it.  That also took about 2 hours, giving my wound plenty of time to set into the pain I'm currently enjoying.  My glasses were smashed, incidentally... I'm wearing half of them, now, with one lens in front of my good eye, allowing me to type this.  I look like I've gotten one hell of a beating at the hands of a one-armed man, and have taken some Tylenol PM in order to aid my sleep.  Which my body is now telling me is important, the wuss.

Ave, lectors.  Hope your holiday involved less pain than mine.

It is 2:30 in the goddamn morning on Sunday the 21st of December and it is 60 fucking degrees outside.  I am laying in bed, sweating like a Senator in front of an ethics committee, and it the shortest day of the goddamn year.

I want a goddamn ice age.  I want fucking glaciers to swallow Montr-fucking-al.  And I want a decent goddamn temperature in Houston Texas.

I had a bit of this already written, then a mis-click lost it; I'd probably have wound up rewriting chunks of it, anyway.  However, this came out of an enjoyable conversation I had with a co-worker today.  I wanted to put the ideas down into a more concrete form, and work to develop them through the process.

Life; human, vegetable, and animal; is not sacred.  This is proven every day.  In order to feed itself, nearly everything kills something else.  Human life has no special place in the universe... millions die every day in horrible circumstances that only derive from humans in that we don't know everything.  Many others die from human action or inaction.  The second only argues to human depravity; the first shows that nothing existential considers human life sacred.

Many will argue that an existence where life isn't sacred isn't worth living.  Why continue if human life isn't precious?  If human life isn't valuable, why don't we kill people out of hand?  Why preserve something that is valueless?

I argue that life, itself, is not sacred... it is what we do with that life.  The value of a life is in its impact on those around it.  Does it create happiness, or hatred?  Love, or unwelcome pain?  If we take time to enjoy those things that are enjoyable, they are sacred.  If we wallow in pain and unhappiness, then all we have is pain and unhappiness.  This is not a philosophy of hedonism.  It is not saying "If it feels good, do it."  It is closer to John Adams' "I must study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain."  It is a question of enjoying what must be done to make the world a better place... of taking joy where it may be found, and seeking to cause as little of its opposite as possible.

"If nothing we do matters, then all that matters is what we do."  Every action should be weighed.  Does this improve things?  Does it stop them from getting worse?  Taking joy in life is important because it is so short, and we cannot know what comes after.  If all that follows life is decomposition, will you feel better about what you have done?  If what follows is some judgment from an arbitrarily advanced alien space bat, can you say "I may not have always done right by your lights, but I tried to leave things better, and happier, than I found it"?  No man can satisfy all the gods there ever were, and no man can know which, if any, gods there may be.  But I cannot think of a thing I would rather be able to say at the end of life than "I made this a happier place by my being there."

Life is not sacred; humanity is a chance creation in a universe that would not notice if we disappeared tomorrow.  But life can be beautiful, and that is wonderful.  If I have a soul, I would rather suffuse it with beauty  I would rather it leave my body knowing that I left others as happy as I might, not lingering on in pain and my family's sorrow.

Life is.  We can take it as beautiful, or as horrible.  I know which I prefer.

I've been thinking, recently, about my years of involvement in the Boy Scouts.  Probably ten or more years, from pre-Bobcat Cub Scouts to getting my Eagle in 1996.  Five different troops, five different councils (if you include my two packs in there)... hours spent around a fire, or hiking, or doing service projects.

Though the Boy Scouts is seen as a fate worse than death by a lot of kids (I remember a fellow troop member in middle school telling me, emphatically, that I was not to mention in school that he was a Boy Scout), it has been a great influence on me.  As a boy, I spent time with men.  That sounds insignificant, or even dirty, but it means that, above and beyond my very excellent father, I was on good terms with a number of adult men who made a point of spending time with me and teaching me to be a man.  I learned to be a leader, and how to follow.  I learned to teach, and I also learned how to learn and improvise.  David forgot the shrimp?  Then we'll adjust some recipes, and do without them.  Need to transport someone who's sick with dehydration?  If he can't walk, we can make a stretcher. 

Through all this, throughout my childhood and adolescence, there were adult men who showed me how to do these things.  I think that, today, we underestimate the importance of that... of male role-models for young men.  We try to de-gender society, and to a great extent that's appropriate... I shouldn't make more than someone else doing the same job because I have a penis (I should make more because I'm awesome, but that's neither here nor there).  However, being a man means different societal expectations, and different biological imperatives and requirements... this is something best learned from other men.  A mother, no matter how she tries, isn't going to get having a hard-on with every stray breeze, and is going to have an entirely different take on dating than a father... or a foster father, met through the troop.  I can still name several men who had a great influence on me, more than ten years later, because they were Scouters.  Mr. Jekel, who taught me that camping was something to be enjoyed, so pack everything you can into your bag.  Mr. Mark Jarrett, who attacked almost every project with enthusiasm and a plan.  Mr. Charlie, who gave me an appreciation of the night sky.*  There are other men who are only faces... in Korea we had a soldier who served as an Assistant Scoutmaster.  I can't remember his name, but I do remember that he didn't have a kid, much less one in Troop 88 (88, 88, We'rrrrrrrre Grrrreat!).  The troop from Ui-jon-bu means that I can never see the number 222 without hearing "Troop 222 (pronounced Two Two Two) from Ui-jon-bu!"  There are skits, and patrol yells, and a ton of other memories tied to a tan shirt and green shorts.

On Facebook, however, I've joined a group called "Scouting for All."  It's a group that seeks to open Scouting to all, regardless of religion or sexual orientation.  I don't entirely agree with them... they support co-educational troops, and while I certainly support equality, I think that there does need to be a time when boys learn from men, and don't have to worry about a mom, a sister, or a potential date.  I don't think admitting girls would corrupt Scouting... I support the Girl Scouts, because girls need to learn from women just as much as boys need to learn from men... but I can't throw myself wholly into Scouting for All's campaign because of that.  But I see no contradiction in having a gay scout, or an atheist scout, or a heathen scout.  I, myself, am an Eagle scout who is either an atheist or an Asatruar.  I'm the son of an Eagle, the brother to two, and the cousin of another.  And I can't support the BSA while it excludes young men for failing to meet a religious litmus test.

You know what one of my favorite songs is?  It's called the Scout Vespers.  It's tune is, roughly, "Oh Christmas tree", and it's one that brings me peace when I sing it... and states many of the ideals I hold dear.

Softly falls the light of day
As our campfire fades away
Silently, each Scout should ask
Have I done my daily task?
Have I kept my honor bright?
Can I guiltless sleep tonight?
Have I done and have I dared
Everything to be prepared?


*I intentionally left out my Dad.  While Dad was one of the best Scoutmasters I had in my career, I think it's safe to say that his influence on my life extends a fair bit further than simple Scouting can account for.

I am incredibly lazy, so read yesterdays "later tonight" as "later this week", and it will make more sense.

The first haiku draws upon the reader's knowledge of the Rankin/Bass Hobbit movie from the late 70s.  This one was not shared with the rest of the table, because I didn't think they'd have a clue as to what I was babbling about.

Blast it!  The Sun!  How
did the morning come so soon?
A troll's lament; stone.

The next two actually were shared with the other people at my table... some of the wonderful ladies of Alief Library, coming soon to a calendar near you!  (Calendar not coming soon.)

Growing wakefulness...
a room of strange people...
Where the hell am I?

A morning meeting:
Interminable boredom,
with lots of coffee.

I love the second of these two, especially.  It's a goal of mine to use as few words as possible in the second line of a haiku; I'd love to write one that makes sense at three words... five syllables, seven syllables, and five syllables.

Lastly, another I did not share with the others, because it was from an image I had in my head from the Discovery Channel, and likely would've scarred them (so, instead, I share it with them via Livejournal/Facebook).

A lion clings to
the ass of an elephant.
This will not end well.

I had another about the AC in Houston, but I can't remember it, and that slip of paper seems to have slipped away.

Tchuss!

Also, a bit later tonight, I'll post some haiku that I wrote during our staff training today.

That thoughts do turn towards religion when things are difficult.

Once he has won wealth enough,
A man should not crave for more:
What he saves for friends, foes may take;
Hopes are often liars.

With presents friends should please each other,
With a shield or a costly coat:
Mutual giving makes for friendship,
So long as life goes well,
A man should be loyal through life to friends,
To them and to friends of theirs,
But never shall a man make offer
Of friendship to his foes.

A man should be loyal through life to friends,
And return gift for gift,
Laugh when they laugh,
but with lies repay
A false foe who lies.

If you find a friend you fully trust
And wish for his good-will,
exchange thoughts,
exchange gifts,
Go often to his house.

So, I bought a bike today.  It's a Specialized Vienna, 61cm; I also picked up a helmet, a repair kit, a lock, and some water bottles and racks for it.

I test rode it a couple times, then came home and took another ride; the second was about 3 miles, which means its about 5 miles total today.

The bastard who was riding with me promised I could have some internet if I made it home.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

If the kid can turn the blade from a pencil sharpener into a even remotely dangerous weapon, they need to be more concerned with the fact that they have a fucking ninja master in the 4th grade, not that he brought a razor smaller than my goddamn fingernail.

( Read Article )

Yesterday, I got to refer someone to the Prophecy section.  This shouldn't have made me giddy as a schoolgirl, but it did.

I am unable to continue using GoogleDocs, Gmail, or Chrome at this time.  I have been forced into this step by Article 11 of the GoogleDocs, Gmail, and Chrome EULA, which gives Google the right to republish information submitted through their Services.  As I frequently use these services in my capacity as a freelancer, both in creating works-made-for-hire (to which I do not own the final copyright), and in making privileged communications with my employer, with whom I have a Non-Disclosure Agreement.  Furthermore, I will be forced to cease suggesting these services to patrons at the library where I work, given that I cannot be sure of the content of what they are writing, and whether they are willing to assign those rights to Google.

If Article 11 is removed or sufficiently amended to overcome these difficulties, I will gladly return to the services.  I've enjoyed the ability to work on articles and projects wherever that GoogleDocs provided.  I've had excellent service from Gmail, and my hour-long flirtation with Chrome was very enjoyable.  But I cannot legally use, or ethically recommend, your services so long as Article 11 remains intact.

If further communication is needed, or clarification is available, my temporary e-mail address is skaldmark (at) yahoo (dot) com.  This will also be sent to the development team of Google Docs, Chrome, and of Gmail, as well as posted publicly.

Eris loves me this I know
For the Principia tells me so
All of Chaos is her domain
Could be calm, but that'd be lame

Yes, Eris Loves Me!
Yes, Eris Loves Me!
Yes, Eris Loves me!
The Principia told me so!

Eris loves me, She will stay
Close beside me all the way;
Spreading Chaos and unrest,
She's the Goddess I love best.

Yes, Eris Loves Me!
Yes, Eris Loves Me!
Yes, Eris Loves me!
The Principia told me so!

The computers are down at work today... the public ones.  The reason maybe half our patrons come in.  Eris Loves Me!

I came home from work today.  I'm feeling mildly ill, and it's exacerbating my generally pissed off mood.  On the drive home, I was verbally abusing pretty much everyone who got in front of me; I was having trouble not doing that to customers and co-workers.

I hate this; I need medication about six hours out of the month, but when those coincide with working hours, I more or less have to go home.  I can control it for a bit, but when you start screaming questions like "Were you born stupid, or did you father just fuck you so hard that your brains bashed out on the headboard" to people on the road, you realize that maybe it's best that you're not in the office.

So, I'm taking a day off.  Watching Buffy, checking message boards, maybe writing a bit.  Playing with my cat.  Resting a lot.  On Friday, if I don't hang out with my friend and his wife, I'm heading by my new library.  A better paying job is mine!  I think, actually, today's problems were caused by me getting the job... it relieved a lot of tension I was having over which job I would get, and may have lead to me getting a bit unsprung.

On my way in today, I started to consider the nature of the universe... in my layman's fashion.  It started with a common thought I have... that matter, as we know it, is mostly space.  And then I began to think about our solar system... in a way, it resembles an atom, with its dense nucleus and orbiting electrons.  And if our solar system, common as it is with its 8 electrons, is an atom, then our galaxy can be thought of as a molecule; a hugely complex molecule, with millions of atoms describing it.  And if our galaxy is a molecule, then what of our universe?  Is it a cell, coming to life and then expanding as it ages?  The enormity a being whose cell we call a universe struck me, almost physically.  The time scale on which it would operate is inconceivable; the scale of its motion, dizzying.

The temptation, of course, is to think of ourselves as the cell of some intelligent being, but given the disposition of things on our world, it is far more likely that our universe is a single cell organism, or part of a plant.

And that's just the macroscopic; consider the microscopic, for a moment.  If OUR universe is a cell, what of our cells?  Are they universes?  Are our molecules galaxies, so vast to their inhabitants, who live on electrons circling atom-nucleus-stars, that they cannot begin to comprehend our vastness, so immense that they do not understand the brief time scales we operate on?

Thinking about this staggers me; it is the majesty of the universe we live in, so inscrutable in vastness that we cannot conceive of the scale on which we might live, but so beautiful when considered on the scale that we do.