I don't know why everybody makes such a big deal out of certain so-called scientific discoveries. Take for example the second law of thermodynamics, which says that a closed system inexorably moves toward a state of disordered equilibrium. For us laymen this means that, left to itself, everything gets messier and messier until there is nothing left to mess up. Well, I knew that. All you have to do is take a look under the refrigerator to figure that out.

Scientists call the amount of messed-upness and the process of getting that way entropy. Perhaps some examples would help clarify the concept. Entropy is why it's easy to get the toothpaste out of the tube but impossible to get it back in. Entropy is why you can never find anything in your desk drawer. You don't need a laboratory to observe the effects of entropy—Gentlemen, go look in your garage; Ladies, open your purse.

You will find that entropy has favorite places it comes back to again and again. At my house the entropy generally starts in my closet and spreads out from there. In the daytime it can be found lurking under a bookcase or in another appropriately inaccessible, dark spot. It is wont to creep out quietly at night or while you are not at home. If you look closely when you wake up or on your return from somewhere, you are sure to notice signs of its activity: some things have moved ever so slightly out of place; others have completely vanished; an important document that you know you put in the file cabinet is on the floor; there's a blond hair on your chair, and you and your family are Korean. You see, the entropy is trying to make you think that it has succeeding in invading your brain.

Entropy loves children and will follow them around wherever they go. it insidiously permeates their minds and solicits their aid in its work of creating chaos—all of this unbeknownst to its little victims: just ask any child about entropy and he will tell you he has never heard of it.

The en- part of entropy means 'in,' and this has to do with entropic probabilities. Statistics show that the dust from the construction going on next door is very likely to wind up "in" your quarters, but it is only infinitesimally probable that the dust on your books will suddenly rush out the window and shower the construction workers on the adjoining lot.

Of course, nothing is all bad, and even entropy has its good points. Entropy deserves credit for the fact that the air in your room is distributed evenly so that you don't find yourself gasping for breath in the partial vacuum by the telephone or feel your ears popping from from the high pressure by the TV. Just think how many jobs are created by entropy—charpersons (formerly known as charwomen), for instance, would find themselves on the dole were it not for this ubiquitous benefactor. And look at all the marvelous inventions that have been stimulated by the need to eliminate the effects of entropy: brooms, soap, alphabetical order . . .

Entropy shares some characteristics with God: it is omnipresent, and it has an odd number of syllables and contains the letter o. But entropy is easier to relate to because people talk about it much more than they talk about God. How many times has your mother told you to clean up your room? Now, compare that to how many times she has told you to praise the Lord. From early on, we all learn that even when Mom or Dad does mention God, it is almost always in connection with entropy:

"Oh my God, you knocked your baby food off the table and all over the floor!"

"Good Lord, the your puppy's gone and pooped on the carpet again!"

"Only a divine miracle can clear up the mess this checkbook is in!"

Actually, entropy is itself a manifestation of the Almighty. Even the insurance companies acknowledge this connection. What do you suppose your insurance policy means when it says it covers Acts of God? Typhoons, tornadoes, earthquakes, floods— "Acts of God" is just another way of saying "Egregious Instances of Entropy."

Mankind has been trying to cope with the tendency for things to get messed up since time immemorial, but now, thanks to the miracle of modern science, we know what to call it.