War of the Units (and I don't mean orientation games)
The issue of imperial vs metric units made its way into a Singaporean-dominated (with one token American participant) breakfast conversation today. Annoyed with having to perform mental calculations every time we encountered a weather forecast, among other daily inconveniences, we began bashing the imperial system, much to the discomfiture of our American friend. The poor girl kept insisting that the traditional system of measurements in the US 'just makes more sense'. To her, maybe, but not to us, so we proceeded to blast imperial units and argue passionately for SI units.
From a scientific point of view, metric units do make more sense. The fundamental metric units are derived from physical constants and Invariable Properties of the Universe. For example, the metre is the length of the path travelled by light in vacuum during a time interval of 1/299 792 458 of a second. One degree Celsius is 1/100 of the interval between the temperature of a water/ice mixture and the boiling point of pure distilled water under standard atmosphere. The Kelvin is 1/273.16 of the thermodynamic temperature of the triple point of water. One gram is the mass of one cubic centimetre of water. Simple.
Besides, it's conveniently aligned with our decimal numeral system, which in turn makes intuitive sense. (We do have 10 fingers - barring unfortunate accidents or genetic disorders - right?) 1000g = 1kg, 100cm = 1m, 1000 cubic centimetres = 1 litre, which has a mass of 1kg! And so on.
Now, consider the imperial system of measurements, an archaic holdover from Anglo-Saxon/Norman/mediaeval/Imperial England, riddled with regional variations and awkward conversion ratios that comes of such an unpromisingly confused set of origins.
Because it was always close at hand (ahaha), the human body provided the dimensions upon which traditional measurements were based - this despite the obvious fact that not all men (or women - as if we need reminding) are born equal. The inch represents the width of a human thumb, the foot was supposed to represent... well, a foot, and the yard is the distance from the nose to the tip of the middle finger (specifically that of King Henry I, according to certain sources). So: 12 inches = 1 foot, and 3 feet = 1 yard. Makes a hell lot of sense when there's a perfectly logical, physically consistent, decimal-based alternative available.
It gets better. The mile was originally defined as 1000 paces of a Roman legion (those Roman legions must have been really well-trained), and later on, after a lot of confusion, the English Parliament set it to measure 8 furlongs (note: 1 furlong = length of a furrow ploughed by oxen on Saxon farms), or 5280 feet. A gallon = 231 cubic inches, but was redefined as 277.42 cubic inches by the British Parliament later - a change the Americans didn't like, so, contrary to the spirit of standardisation, they stuck with the old gallon. And it goes on.
Why on earth does the most powerful nation in the world still cling to such an - to use a more charitable expression - eccentric system? What could explain this illogical unwillingness to make the transition to the brave new world of SI units? And Americans can be quite touchy about their units, I find. At the very least, they cannot understand why we feel so strongly about imperial units, just as we cannot comprehend how they can find those pesky units comprehensible. It must have been pure torture for our American friend this morning, being forcefully subjected to our withering criticism of the inches, pounds and gallons she had known and loved all her life. In distinctly Singapore-flavoured English (though not quite Singlish) to boot. Er. We really ought to be ashamed of ourselves.
Still, quaint things are interesting in their own ways. I mean, look, these units have been around since the Norman conquest! Totally awesome, hey? Compared to the sterile cold reason embodied by SI units? The elaborate conversion ratios probably help stimulate the mind as well, being intrinsically more challenging than simply multiplying or dividing by 10.
Well, to live is to learn and adapt. However unwillingly.
Which reminds me, I still haven't sorted out the accent thing yet. I find myself rewatching Deep Space Nine episodes just to listen adoringly to Bashir's cute Brit accent. I watch 'Gods and Monsters' and worship the words Sir Ian McKellan so exquisitely pronounces, in stark contrast to Brendan Fraser's all-American drawl. Sigh.
words were spilled on Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Comments:
I've got a funny joke wanna post here.
A farmer goes out one day and buys a brand new stud rooster for his chicken coop.
The new rooster struts over to the old rooster and says, "OK old fart, time for you to retire."
The old rooster replies, "Come on, surely you cannot handle ALL of these chickens. Look what it has done to me. Can't you just let me have the two old hens over in the corner?"
The young rooster says, "Beat it: You are washed up and I am taking over."
The old rooster says, "I tell you what, young stud. I will race you around the farmhouse. Whoever wins gets the exclusive domain over the entire chicken coop."
The young rooster laughs. "You know you don't stand a chance old man.
So, just to be fair I will give you a head start."
The old rooster takes off running. About 15 seconds later the young rooster takes off running after him. They round the front porch of the farmhouse and the young rooster has closed the gap. He is already about 5 inches behind the old rooster and gaining fast.
The farmer, meanwhile, is sitting in his usual spot on the front porch when he sees the roosters running by. He grabs his shotgun and - BOOM - He blows the young rooster to bits.
The farmer sadly shakes his head and says, "Dammit... third gay rooster I bought this month."
A farmer goes out one day and buys a brand new stud rooster for his chicken coop.
The new rooster struts over to the old rooster and says, "OK old fart, time for you to retire."
The old rooster replies, "Come on, surely you cannot handle ALL of these chickens. Look what it has done to me. Can't you just let me have the two old hens over in the corner?"
The young rooster says, "Beat it: You are washed up and I am taking over."
The old rooster says, "I tell you what, young stud. I will race you around the farmhouse. Whoever wins gets the exclusive domain over the entire chicken coop."
The young rooster laughs. "You know you don't stand a chance old man.
So, just to be fair I will give you a head start."
The old rooster takes off running. About 15 seconds later the young rooster takes off running after him. They round the front porch of the farmhouse and the young rooster has closed the gap. He is already about 5 inches behind the old rooster and gaining fast.
The farmer, meanwhile, is sitting in his usual spot on the front porch when he sees the roosters running by. He grabs his shotgun and - BOOM - He blows the young rooster to bits.
The farmer sadly shakes his head and says, "Dammit... third gay rooster I bought this month."
# posted by 
: 4:10 AM
: 4:10 AM
Next joke!!
A man died and went to heaven. As he stood in front of St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he saw a huge wall of clocks behind him.
He asked, "What are all those clocks?"
St. Peter answered, "Those are Lie-Clocks. Everyone on Earth has a Lie-Clock. Every time you lie the hands on your clock will move."
"Oh," said the man, "whose clock is that?" "That's Mother Teresa's. The hands have never moved, indicating that she never told a lie." "Incredible," said the man.
"And whose clock is that one?" St. Peter responded, "That's Abraham Lincoln's clock. The hands have moved twice, telling us that Abe told only two lies in his entire life."
"Where's Bush's clock?" asked the man. "Bush's clock is in Jesus' office. He's using it as a ceiling fan."
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A man died and went to heaven. As he stood in front of St. Peter at the Pearly Gates, he saw a huge wall of clocks behind him.
He asked, "What are all those clocks?"
St. Peter answered, "Those are Lie-Clocks. Everyone on Earth has a Lie-Clock. Every time you lie the hands on your clock will move."
"Oh," said the man, "whose clock is that?" "That's Mother Teresa's. The hands have never moved, indicating that she never told a lie." "Incredible," said the man.
"And whose clock is that one?" St. Peter responded, "That's Abraham Lincoln's clock. The hands have moved twice, telling us that Abe told only two lies in his entire life."
"Where's Bush's clock?" asked the man. "Bush's clock is in Jesus' office. He's using it as a ceiling fan."
# posted by : 4:11 AM
: 4:11 AM
