Tag Archive

Metrics

Posted on 2019-02-24 by Melissa

“I do know one thing about me: I don’t measure myself by others’ expectations.”
Sonia Sotomayor

I had a funny experience at the gym the other day that got me thinking about metric conversion.

Entering my weight into the elliptical machine, I realized that I was mistakenly inputting pounds instead of the expected kilograms. Basically, I’ve been telling the machine that I weigh 342 pounds (rather than 155), totally skewing my calorie burn stats. And not in a good way; I’m burning fewer calories than I thought.

This isn’t the first time this confusion has arisen. In fact, it was a recent conversation with a nurse, who was asking me for my height and weight in centimetres and kilos (rather than in feet/inches and pounds), which left me drawing a total blank and clued me into the possibility that I might be having a misunderstanding with the gym equipment.

Canada, like most commonwealth countries, converted from imperial to metric in the 1970’s. So, in theory, I should have grown up fully metric but I swear I never stopped thinking of certain measurements in imperial. Growing up with American born parents probably didn’t help any.

I suppose it depends what I’m measuring. I do understand and use metric, with certain notable exceptions such as: my height, my weight, measuring a room, measuring a penis etc. Although it does beg the question: what else remains?

I rather enjoy some of the older imperial units of measurement. Going forward, I may well give distances to tourists and visiting relatives in chains and furlongs, refer to my apartment size in rods and reference my weight in gallons. When choosing archaic (and arguably inaccurate) measurement units, it’s important to always consider vanity sizing (i.e. do you want the area/weight/distance to seem smaller or larger than it is?).

Seriously though, it turns out this mishmash of measurements is a relatively common Canadian experience. Which suggests to me that the gym might want to default their machines to imperial instead. Except that, things do shift over time and more and more, young Canadians (20 somethings) actually know their height and weight in metric.

Then there’s fahrenheit and celsius. My American born mother always talks in fahrenheit, which forces me to consult google each and every time for a conversion calculator. And it happens a lot; because weather is pretty much what Canadians talk about. In that way, she is truly Canadian.

What about you? Do you use imperial, metric or a mix? Are you able to easily convert and move between the two? Have you had any funny misunderstandings?

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Smile

Posted on 2018-12-23 by Melissa

“A smile is happiness you’ll find right under your nose” Tom Wilson

I came across a sour faced beggar with a hand made sign that read: “Smile, everything will seem better”.

I can’t quite explain why but that sign really pissed me off. So much so that an Ally McBeal fantasy sequence played out in my head, complete with me kicking the sign into oncoming traffic.

Honestly though, I can see why he’d think I could use a smile. We white collar workers can be quite stressed and serious at times. And faking a smile is actually a scientifically proven way to improve your mood.

But how awful would it be if I parroted his own message back at him? How offensive would I be?

Why hello street beggar. Why don’t you just smile? I’m sure everything will seem better.

Lol.

If I really do dislike his sign so much, perhaps I think I could do better?

Something like: “Just cry, you’ll feel better” or maybe “Shit could still get worse.”

Perhaps I’ll come up with a couple catchy phrases and do up some little, ceramic beggars signs, with attached coin cups, to sell on Etsy? How kitschy! For only $9.99 you too can have one at your desk.

Is it beggar cultural appropriation? Who knows.

Insensitive? Likely.

In the end, I relented and gave him a smile.

It’s actually all he ever asked for.

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Retail Therapy

Posted on 2018-11-18 by Melissa

“Luxury lives in the finer details. It’s a cloth napkin at a dinner table. It’s a mint on your pillow before bed”.

Iggy Azalea

I work at a law firm located in a high-end fashion district and I do occasionally venture into those fancy stores myself. I think the funniest thing to me about high-end retail, is the salespeople with attitude – because you know they’re likely making minimum wage. I mean, they probably can’t afford the underwear they just sold you and would have to buy the outfits they sell one button at a time.

Could this be why they’re so bitter? I swear,  they’re all right on the edge of some sort of very fashionable riot. Then again, maybe their clientele really dig the snobby service? It could be a kind of social mirroring? I could see that being a thing; rich people are peculiar creatures.

I do enjoy some expensive clothes admittedly. But mostly I just like well-made clothes. Which actually rules out much of the trendy high end stuff, with its un-hemmed, un-lined, highly unattractive pieces.

Frankly, if I pay more than $25 for something I want it to be hemmed. If I pay more than $50 I want it not to be see through. And if I pay more than $75 I definitely want it to be lined. If I pay more than $100 for an item, I require that it include both sleeves. (What the f!@% is up with one sleeved shirts?). Nobody wants to have to earn the second sleeve later by collecting cereal box tops.

Over $200 and I fully expect a hand job from a sad faced lady wearing a satin glove. I think these are reasonable requests.

Anyway, on any given day but particularly weekends everyone is out shopping in their best outfit; because you have to look really good when you’re shopping for yet more outfits, right?

In truth, the main reason I keep putting off shopping myself (the kind of shopping where you actually buy things as opposed to just judging salespeople) is that I just don’t have the right thing to wear.

Perhaps going in my underwear would add some much needed motivation? Some stores might give me a pity button or pity sleeve even? A couple days of making the rounds and I might have a full outfit. It would probably look quite high end.

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The Non-Family Dentist

Posted on 2018-11-04 by Melissa

“If you only have time to either floss or brush every day, then floss.”

Dr. Kevin Gee (my dentist)

I noticed a sign for a Family Dentist on my bus ride to work the other day, which got me thinking: do they treat families exclusively?

And what exactly constitutes a family? Are my husband and I a family – or are children required?

I guess it makes good business sense to target families. Get a kid in to see you when they’re young and they’ll probably stick with you for life. Get a mom to come in with one kid and she’ll probably come in with the next one.

If some dentists target children, do others outright refuse to treat them? I probably would if I were a dentist. I mean, they’re fidgety little creatures and not terribly articulate. Why would you want to get involved with that?

No, I would be the Non-Family dentist, a “Singles Dentist” if you will. Not just no children, but specifically nobody in a committed relationship either. I would ask you a series of questions about your relationship status to ascertain your viability and would need to cross check your social media to verify.

When I ask you if you’re single in our initial interview, you might say to me: “Well, it’s complicated…” and I’d say: “That’s ok; so are my billing practices!” and then we’d laugh and laugh for a full minute or more before I kicked you out of my office. Because a good sense of humor is important but so are professional standards.

But who am I kidding? I can scarcely remember to floss my teeth, much less remind you twice a year that you need to floss daily; so I’ll probably need at least a month of online courses and a couple of YouTube videos before I’m ready to put my hands in your mouth.

Be my patient; it’s worth it.

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Dog Beers & Vanity Sizing

Posted on 2018-10-28 by Melissa

“It takes a very long time to become young.”
Pablo Picasso

A friend recently shared a meme that read: “In dog beers I’ve only had one” which made me laugh and then gave me pause.

I’m not very good at math but isn’t one human year about 7 dog years?

In other words, one dog year is 1/7th of a human year and one dog beer is like 1/7th of a beer. So the meme is basically saying they’ve had 1/7th of a beer. Of course the intention is probably to suggest excessive drinking; but somehow the joke ends up being funny anyway.

Which got me wondering: why did we even create dog years? Presumably so that we could equate a dog’s life span to our own. You can just look at a handy chart and you can see that your 3-year-old dog is about 28. I mean not really though. Your 3-year-old dog likely doesn’t have very much in common with a 28-year-old human at all.

But it does give you a rough reference for when your dog might die. So when you refer to your dog in dog years what you’re really saying is: I estimate my dog will die in approximately 10 years. Other than that it’s fairly meaningless.

Anyway, this whole tradition of creating arbitrary scales of measurement is a funny one. Take for instance shoe sizing. It occurred to me recently that my size 7 foot isn’t actually 7 inches at all.

A quick review of a sizing chart confirmed that my size 7 foot is actually 9¼ inches. My husband’s size 11 foot on the other hand is actually 1015⁄16 inches.

What you may have noticed is that my 9¼ inch foot is made to sound smaller by calling it a size 7 whereas my husbands 1015⁄16  inch foot is made to sound slightly bigger by calling it a size 11; it seems shoes come with a historical form of vanity sizing.

The weirdest part of all of this is that straight up inches (and fractions thereof) would work perfectly well to describe everyone’s shoe size. There’s no need for vanity conversions. But apparently we women want to be forever smaller and younger.

Geoduck courtesy of Taylor Shellfish Farms

All of which got me thinking: if I do indeed want to appear youthful I might consider referring to myself in some version of dog years. But not dog years obviously; as dogs are a relatively short-lived animal, which would make me several hundred dog years old.

No, I need a long-lived creature like the elegant Geoduck (pronounced “gooey-duck”). Geoducks have been known to live up to 168 years, making me at 38 human years a mere 23 Geoduck years old (100 divided by 168 x 38 = 23).

Better yet, I might try a Red sea urchin, who have been known to live up to 200 years; making me a mere 19 Red sea urchin years old. But maybe that’s a bit excessive.

Yes, I think I’ll stick with Geoduck. I am 23 Geoduck years old, if anyone asks and I’ve had 14 dog beers; which sounds worse than it is.

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Who Wore It Best?

Posted on 2018-10-07 by Melissa

“Your dresses should be tight enough to show you’re a woman and loose enough to show you’re a lady.”

Edith Head

It was on my way to work that I first saw her out of the corner of my eye, walking just a little ways ahead of me  — wearing the same outfit as me.

Now, given my penchant for shopping at Old Navy, Gap and Banana Republic, I really shouldn’t be shocked by this predicament. Nonetheless, decisions needed to be made and they needed to be made quickly.

I figured I had two options. If there’s any chance she looks better in this outfit than I do, I must quicken my pace and get well ahead of her. That way, from the perspective of anyone coming towards us, I am clearly the innovator and she is the awkward copycat. On the other hand, if I am quite certain that I look better in this outfit than she does, then I should catch up to her and match her pace.

This will set up the real life version of a classic feature of gossip magazines known as “Who Wore It Best”, wherein two celebrities are shown side by side in the same outfit and we are asked to judge: who wore it best?

Now, not to be vain but allow me to be frank: I’m not a bad looking girl and I wear my outfits well. So we are perfectly set up for a rousing game of Who Wore It Best Street Edition (WWIBSE).

As I quicken my pace she seems to sense my approach. Like an antelope with a lioness on her scent, she cocks her head to the side and makes a sudden deke left, into the safety of a coffee shop. But I already have my coffee dammit!

And that’s the trouble with WWIBSE; not everyone knows when they’re playing and sometimes their desire for coffee distracts them.

Also, you don’t really get a definitive winner and it’s hard to know when to stop. Some might suggest you’ve crossed the line when you follow your competitor into the coffee shop and order the same thing they order; but clearly they don’t understand your commitment to the game.

Play on!

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