Entropy Reigns 

In the past, when I have watched Woody Allen’s wonderful movie Stardust Memories, I have generally laughed at, but not necessarily with, the bleak pronouncements of the psychologically tormented character Sandy Bates, played, with a potent mixture of dread and depression, by Allen.

“Hey, did anybody read on the front page of the Times that matter is decaying?” Sandy says early in the film. “Am I the only one that saw that? The universe is gradually breaking down. There’s not going to be anything left.”

Over the last few weeks, however, I have come to recognize the reality of things breaking down, a phenomenon otherwise known as entropy. Sandy is mistaken to limit his diagnosis to physical matter. Nonphysical things, like political dogmas that purport to oppose forever wars, are also susceptible to something akin to entropic rot, but more on those in a moment.

I wanted to begin with the matter of the split-rail fence that surrounds my property. It does its job of forming an appealingly rustic barrier, but the price I have paid for such privacy has, since it was first installed six years ago, been fairly substantial. From the beginning, the wire mesh that runs along the inside of the fence has been a hindrance to attempts to mow or edge the grass along the fence. My only consolation is that the mess of mangled, tangled wiring is not readily visible from the street.

More recently—and there is no gentle way to put this—the fence itself has started to fall apart. I have known for some time that several of the rails have warped, but earlier this month, I noted that one of the rails had become warped to such a degree that it had dislodged from one of the posts that had been holding it up. This caused a cascade effect whereby the rail beneath it became dislodged, too. In defeat, my brother and I dutifully took down the wayward rails. Now, when I look out my family room window, I see before me not a section of impressive fencing but something closer to a pile of rotting lumber. If only I had a wood-burning fireplace.

Have I mentioned the ants? Notwithstanding the pitiful state of my fence, my yard itself is, or was, in excellent shape. Last fall, I replenished the mulch and planted a half-dozen holly bushes, but despite my attempts at controlling the environment, huge numbers of ants have seized various spots throughout my otherwise manicured yard. What distresses me the most is that my earnest efforts at landscaping are no match for these insects’ primal instinct for colonization. 

I wish I could tell you that the state of things inside my house is more stable, but here, too, I find further evidence of the general, inevitable decline referred to in Stardust Memories. Several days ago, my landline phone began behaving erratically: Sometimes there is a dial tone, sometimes not; sometimes the answering machine clicks on, sometimes not. Your guess is as good as mine, but since I am among the last true believers in the superiority of landlines to smartphones, this inexplicable service interruption has been a lesson in humility. I have cast my lot with landlines, yet these things, too, are vulnerable to failure, breakdown, malfunction. Entropy again. What’s more, this episode does not help my carefully cultivated image: No longer am I the prideful, smug Luddite but a literally helpless throwback who can’t even receive a phone call.

I admit, my examples of metaphoric entropy thus far seem entirely trivial, especially in light of the precarious position that our country recently found itself in. Not even one week ago, the president whose services were, improbably, sought for a second nonconsecutive term on the basis of his disinclination to start or perpetuate forever wars seemed to be accelerating America’s involvement in the conflict between Israel and Iran.

As far as I could tell, this was yet another example of entropy: All of a sudden, President Trump’s more-or-less consistent, coherent antiwar position—manifested in his condemnation of the Iraq War, his merciless goading of Jeb Bush, his selection of Tulsi Gabbard as director of national intelligence—was disintegrating before our eyes. The universe may or may not have been decaying, but the new administration’s stated principles certainly were. Happily, Trump gathered himself, regrouped, and, in announcing a ceasefire between the warring nations, reverted to his previous stance. 

But the last weeks have taught me that Woody Allen’s character in Stardust Memories turned out to be right in the long run. Things do have a propensity to break down: fences, yards, landlines, and campaign promises against forever wars. What Trump does next is up to him. I just hope I can fix my fence sometime soon.

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