My old watch was a “geek” watch. It was big and shiny with lots of fancy parts. It had a beautiful round digital display and loads of features. It was solar powered; I had it for years and it never needed a battery. It had atomic calibration, so it always showed the precise time. It had a data memory of 315 characters, 5 customizable alarms with reminder text, automatic daylight savings, and world time.
I loved my watch, but it was time to get a new one. But how could I find a watch that could live up to my beloved Casio Wave Ceptor WV-100? I considered all the different technologies available in watches, but no particular one jumped out. I ended up settling for a no frills, low tech, plain and simple, only-tells-time analog watch. It doesn’t have super powers, it doesn’t run on nuclear energy, it doesn’t even have numbers. It just tells time. Approximate, plus-or-minus time.
I miss the technology, but I’m okay with it. It’s a well-built, good looking watch. The only problem is, it’s been so long since I’ve looked at an analog clock that I’ve pretty much forgotten how to tell time. People have always been so accustomed to asking me for the time and getting a precise, immediate answer down to the second. Now by the time I figure out what time it is, (um, let’s see…two, three…fifteen, twenty….five, six…3:26!) that’s no longer the correct time and they’re no longer standing around waiting for the answer.
Chiming clocks always sound like a good idea until you’ve lived with one for a while. You’ll always know the time, whether you want to or not. But just one attempted nap and the coolness is gone. It will have you pulling out your hair before the third ding of nine o’ clock.
Well my hair has started thinning recently, due to one of these clocks. Just turn off the chime, right? There’s a little switch in the back, right? Not so much. To design a clock that is unable to not chime is kind of broken. So I decided to fix it. I got out my little multi-tool and I fixed it the same way they fix your cat when you don’t want any more kittens.
A picture is supposed to be worth a thousand words, right? So if you have a typical video that shows 29.97 frames per second, that video should theoretically be worth 29,970 words per second. One minute of video would be worth 1,798,200 words, and an hour would gross 107,892,000 words. So let’s say you have 30 movies that are an hour and a half each. That’s 4,855,140,000 words right there on your bookshelf.
Good news for all the Josh’s in the world (a.k.a. almost everyone). The rate at which parents are punishing their kids by naming them Josh is declining. This could mean one of two things. Either people are getting more creative when they’re naming their kids, or Josh’s have just made a bad impression on the world.
To name your ice cream dessert a Blizzard makes sense. It’s cold and swirled together like a blizzard. But how does Culvers get away with naming their clone of the Blizzard a “Concrete Mixer”? Is it hard and gravelly like concrete? Did they get their inspiration from a cement truck? I imagine concrete tasting something like being kicked in the face. I would have liked to be in the room when they invented it. “Lets mix together some sand and gravel and clay and sell it as a dessert. Maybe people will become attached to it when it hardens in their throat!”
My wife felt like she would be cool and use the word flabbergasted. Then she asked me what the definition was. “It sounds like someone’s personal problem,” she said. And it does. Just imagine someone saying, “He he, ‘scuse me, I flabbergasted.” Or, “I can’t eat that. It gives me flabbergastion.” I can see someone calling in to work: “I have a flabbergasture of 73.9 and I think it’s contagious because my wife is looking awful flabberghastly.”
If I were a genius, I would design a credit card with no rewards, an account set up fee of $29, a program fee of $95, an annual fee of $48, and a monthly servicing fee of $84. Then I would booger glue a fake credit card onto the paper, call it “WaMu” for whatever reason, and send it to a geek named Josh. That way he would write about it on his blog and my card would be famous.
Every country needs to have their own currency, and while I don’t quite have my own country (yet) that doesn’t mean I can’t have my own currency. Not owning a country never stopped Monopoly or Chuck E Cheese from creating a money system. My aim is to put a new meaning to the term “currency conversion.” I know people might not be too quick to give up their dollars and euros, but I hope that the masses will see the logic in my system and slowly convert to Ramens.
While coming just short of broke while paying the rent on my apartment, I inevitably learned the value of Ramen noodles. When faced with the choice between a bag of chips or a month’s worth of noodles, I quickly determined that eating to live is much more economical than living to eat. I also discovered that Ramen is one of the only diets where you can pretty much live off of the nickels you find on the ground. So I started using Ramens to gauge how much things are worth. For example, a pack of gum could be worth roughly 4 Ramens. Two scoops of ice cream at Culver’s is worth about 25 Ramens. When we move on to more expensive items like, say, a car, the numbers start getting bigger. A typical small car can cost upwards of 100,000 Ramens. So I created a larger unit of Ramens equal to a year’s worth of noodles. Using Ramen Years, that same car would cost about 760 Ramen Years.
If everyone converted to my currency, it would be so much simpler for everyone. And unlike paper bills, the money would actually be worth something. Maybe if I save up enough Ramens I could finally buy myself that country I’ve been wanting.