Great Expectations

The year was 1985.  I was a couple of years out of high school, I didn't have much money, and I needed a new watch.  Fortunately for me, I also happened to be in Switzerland at the time.

So in the checkout line at a grocery store, I picked up an inoffensive-looking plastic watch from one of those displays that preys on impulse-buyers like myself and handed over the amount shown on the price tag.  It was twenty Swiss francs, the equivalent of about ten US dollars at the time.

It became virtually the only watch I owned and wore for the next fifteen years.  The other day, now 2012, I put a new battery in it and fitted a new black leather strap so I could start wearing it again.  For old time's sake I suppose.

I didn't have great expectations of it at the start, but I gradually came to appreciate the extraordinary quality and durability of this uncommon timepiece. It's 27 years old and works perfectly. Today I simply can't believe they were able to sell me this watch for next to nothing.  Sure, it looks like just another a mass-market plastic throw-away watch, but how many watches do you own that say this on the back?

It says "PAT PEND MONDAINE WATCH LTD ZÜRICH."  Mondaine normally makes the sort of high-end timepieces worn only by those individuals who are extremely committed to being on time for stuff.

Of the many watches I am lucky enough to own, this one if not the most attractive is the most special.  It has seen me through most of the defining events in my life.  It got me to most of my classes on time when I did four years of Physics at Arizona State University.  I say "most" because once I was 20 minutes late for class after a physics lab involving alpha particles and magnetic fields.  My watch seemed to be working normally, but was 20 minutes behind when it usually gains or loses no more than 0.5 second per day.  So what happened?

Did I accidentally discover a time portal into the very near future involving alpha particles and magnets?  The actual explanation is much more boring.  Checking my lab notes, I found that the magnetic field I was working with had been switched on for a total of exactly 20 minutes.  I hypothesized that the strong field had caused this watch to temporarily cease keeping time, and a subsequent experiment confirmed this to be the case.

After graduation, this watch accompanied me to various jobs, and eventually back to university for a Master's Degree.  I was also wearing this watch from 3 AM to 3 PM on the Sunday that my son arrived, the most traumatizing twelve hours of my life. Because this timepiece has far exceeded my expectations, it makes me very happy.  And there's the trap.

Are you waiting for something external to make you happy?  Real happiness either comes from within or not at all.  It is expectation that creates my unresolveable tension between the present situation that I can't change and what I ASSUMED being a father was going to mean.  That tension, which is a form of stress, saps a person of energy, strength, health and new ideas. And it is entirely a product of thought, not of anything real.

Is it possible to change the way I have been conditioned to think, and thus make the unendurable tension vanish? Is it possible to let go of judgement and expectation, and simply allow things to be as they are?  The pain in my heart is "bad" because I assume it isn't supposed to be there.  Couldn't I just accept it, instead of slowly killing myself through resistance to it?

It's only the little voice inside that holds me back.  It tries to tell me how others will judge me if I appear unstressed, unconcerned at a truly disgraceful situation.  Few people would justify a mother intentionally taking a child 6000 miles away from a loving, caring father.  Most people would be absolutely outraged to know that the child was influenced and encouraged to have no contact with his father.  By that standard, I should be in a continual state of outrage 24/7.

And I easily could be.  I would also be dead within 6 months from the stress.

Think of me then what you will, but I am changing my expectations of what fatherhood means.  I'm just here, he's just there, and whatever happens, happens.  I've done everything I can do. I have grieved the loss of my fathering life.  It is time for me to move on.

It's good to know exactly what time it is, isn't it.

Is The Mechanical Age Finished?

Is it the end of the Mechanical Age?

The what?  Well, you'd better watch the video.  Then decide.

(26 minutes)

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Theory of Awesomeness

One of the characteristics of a great, enduring Scientific Theory is its ability to organize random observations and facts into something more orderly.  Something that makes sense.  And at no time are we in more desperate need of organization than while moving house!

I have way, way too much stuff.  Most of it is books.  Then there's my calculators, watches, cameras, and various computer things.  But then there are things that I have no idea why I have them, what they're good for, or where to put them.  This is where the Theory of Awesomeness comes into its own.

Before, during and after the big move, I've had to make a seemingly endless series of decisions about what to keep, what to give to the Salvos*, and what to send to the Tip*.  My Theory of Awesomeness makes these decisions  vastly easier and in many cases so obvious that I don't know what I'd do without it.  It's Awesome.

That's actually one way to define Awesomeness: the degree to which something is Awesome.  But to avoid a tautology (look it up), Scientists are trained to define concepts like this quantitatively.   Therefore,

where a0 is the baseline Awesomeness, U(t) is the item's usefulness or un-usefulness as a function of time, E(t) is the Elegance (or lack thereof) which is defined as the base-pi logarithm of the coolness, and d is the density.  Obviously things that are Awesome because of rather than in spite of how much space they take up or how much they cost will require a different equation.

The real power of this equation is that it will be at least a week before someone emails me and says, "Hey, wait a minute . . . ."

While packing for the big move, each item's Awesomeness was calculated.  If it was less than the baseline Awesomeness, I threw it away.  If it was merely baseline Awesomeness, I gave it away.  If an item was clearly and demonstrably Awesome, I kept it.  For example, there were some books containing information that was irrelevant even when new, but which was now also out of date.  These were tossed straight in the bin.  Items of clothing for which the Awesomeness had worn out leaving large holes in them were also thrown out unless they could be used as awesome paint rags.

None of my calculators got thrown away or given away, owing to the fact that even the broken ones take up so little space and were in past times (t approaching negative infinity) very useful.  Most of the books I own stayed because they have potential usefulness as t approaches infinity.  All of my watches and clocks were saved from the axe due to their undiminishing elegance and/or coolness.

Highly subjective, you say?  I don't think so.  I defy anyone to prove that this incredibly practical Casio with a 10-year battery is not both Useful and Cool.  It is in fact the only digital watch I can be bothered to wear.

Or try to prove that this limited-edition watch isn't the coolest thing in the entire Solar System.  The face revolves once per sidereal day and correctly displays the location in the southern hemisphere of 1000 celestial objects at any given time.  As the months pass and the earth revolves around the sun, the dial keeps track of the changes in the night sky and shows me which constellations and stars are visible at the moment.  That is, as long as I have the 10x magnifier that came with it.  Sometimes I wear it even if I'm not particularly fussed about what stars are presently visible.  It's the sort of watch that a great wizard like Dumbledore would have worn on a daily basis.  Heck, it's the sort of watch Dumbledore would have invented.

Or, prove that this Seiko Chronograph isn't completely and absolutely cool due to the rotary logarithmic slide rule built into the bezel.  It can do unit conversions and multiplication or division (provided you know how a slide rule works AND have a magnifier handy - see previous).  It is so cool that I had no choice but to give it to myself for my birthday.

Well, I couldn't have expected anyone else to realize that I needed a watch with a rotary logarithmic slide rule.  Oh, sure, it's completely obvious in hindsight.  But my understanding of the Theory of Awesomeness makes buying my own birthday presents the most practical and scientifically sound course of action.

So, the next time you have to make a decision about what to keep, what to throw away, what to donate, or what to buy that special engineer or scientist in your life for Newtonmas (only 30 shopping days left!), feel free to use my Theory of Awesomeness.  If an item contains enough Awesomeness, it is worth having.  It might even be worth the trouble of moving it to another house.





*  Salvos is Australian slang for The Salvation Army, which in addition to being among Australia's many excellent religious organizations, operates an immensely useful chain of thrift stores.
*  The Tip is the Australian word for a landfill.

Time Stands Still

Is this clock special?

This story begins, oddly enough, when a friend asked me to represent him at an auction out of concern that his attendance would alert his rivals to the presence of something really valuable on offer.  He was hoping the item, a convict-made piece of furniture, would go unnoticed and sell for perhaps a few hundred dollars.  It didn't, and we were out-bid by at least two other collectors who knew perfectly well what the item was.  It eventually sold for $3800.

While I was at the auction place, I noticed an old clock and made an offer for it. Not because it might be a valuable antique, but really just because I like fixing old clocks.  And something told me this clock was special.

It turns out the clock won't be valuable at all - it's old, but not that old.  1950's or 60's most likely.  And part of the fun will be trying to find out more about it.  There are no brand marks anywhere on the clock.  Stamped on the movement itself are only the words "Made in Württemberg" and the number "50."

Front of movement, showing chime
timing mechanism.

The wood isn't solid timber, but a laminate somewhat more solid than your average plywood.

So what's so special about this clock?  The chimes.  The quarter-hour Westminster chimes have the sweetest, most musical tone I've heard from a clock, and well worth having around in my opinion.  When I get it going again I'll make a video so you can hear it and see exactly how a clock like this works.

Ruptured pendulum suspension.

Back at the Shed, I carefully disassembled the clock for restoration and discovered what had to be done.  First, the easy bits.  I"ll have to do something with the case, perhaps a varnish or lacquer.  The metal trim can be polished easily enough, and it needs a new winding key. Also, the pendulum suspension is broken, but I happen to know that this is a standard part and easily replaced.

Now the hard bits.  The face is a lost cause, unless I go to the trouble of re-silvering it and hand-painting the numerals and divisions.  Fat chance.  Think I'll buy a replica face instead.  This isn't a valuable antique, after all. If something's not worth doing at all, it's not worth doing properly.

Finally, the real issue.  The hourly chimes were not working, and the reason is this.  In Australia, the condition of this cog is something we refer to as being "Stuffed."  This is going to be a bit of a worry.  I know it's a 72-tooth volute spur gear, or at least it USED to be.  But the pitch diameter will need to be precisely measured, and it may or may not turn out to be a standard size.  It is possible that a replacement gear, which would need to be pressed onto the shaft using a customized fixture, could cost ten times what this clock is worth.

But as they say: in for a penny, in for a pound.