I have mentioned in the past that I used to run a chain mail gallery just outside Chicago, lo those many years ago.
One night, while sitting there, bored out of my skull, two kids came in.
Now, when I say that I was sitting there bored, please don't get the mistaken impression that I wasn't working. I was. When it was slow, I was making chain, as I am wont to do.
Well, this particular evening, I was working in titanium, a metal that I had not worked with much before this. Remember, this was back around 1990, so all these exotic metals were fairly hard to come by.
Anyways, I was working in titanium, and decided that I would have fun with it. I knew about its various properties from chemistry classes I had taken, and decided to see what I could do about colouring it with a flame.
I would hold a link over a candle, and then quench it in a glass of water I had sitting there. Fun times for all.
So there I am, candle, cup and links, when in come these two kids. And to be fair, they were probably 15 or so, but they just seemed like kids to me.
Anyways they come in and look around. They see my set up, and then notice that some of my links are purple. "Whoa. That's just so cool", their expressions seem to say.
After the basic greetings, I go back to my work, holding a link over the candle.
"Hey man," one of them asks, "how you doin' that? How you makin' that ring purple?"
"I'm using a purple candle", I say, pointing to the purple candle, as if it's completely self-evident.
"Really?"
"Sure", I say, rising to the challenge. "Here, let me show you." And I reached under the counter where I had a second candle, but this one yellow.
I lit the yellow candle, and held a new ring over it. After a few moments, I quenched it, and sure enough, it was yellow.
They were completely freaked out over this, and left in amazement, totally impressed.
And that, dear Reader, is how you colour titanium and play with minds all at the same time.
You're welcome.
Thursday, June 22, 2017
Wednesday, June 21, 2017
For the Love of... Math
I love mathematics.
Actually, that's too formal. How about, "I love math."
Better.
It often occurs to me that my chosen art form by which I have selected to try and make a living, chain mail, was likely chosen by me due to my love of math. The patterns, the shapes, the ratios, the balance, the harmony: to me it all comes down to the mathematics. And math, to me, is pure beauty.
But my love of math goes beyond the intricately interlinked circles of chain mail and straight to the numbers themselves.
And so, when I was at the bank today getting change for my float this weekend, the oddly ugly side of those same numbers came up.
Normally I round all my prices to the nearest $5 just so that I don't have to deal with those pesky coins. I mean, change is good, but bills are easier. And I lived in Europe long enough to be put off by the notion of adding tax after the price. I really like the idea of paying the price that you see on the tag. "Is this $10?" "Yes, it is." "Okay. Here's $10." "The total is $12.52, please." "But I thought it was $10." This is a conversation that always drives me up a wall. I could go on and on about it, but don't worry. I'll spare you.
So why, you may be wondering, did I need change from the bank? Glad you asked, dear Reader. I recently added some bags of rings on my table, and to be fair to my customers, some of them are priced $7, $8, $5, $10, whatever. I could have just charged a straightforward $10 each, but then I feel that some of the bags wouldn't be worth it, and I always like to ensure that my customers are getting a fair value for their money.
Long and short of it? I needed a roll of toonies for the weekend. Toonies, for those of you who are deprived of the inestimable bounty of living in Canada, are how we lovingly refer to our $2 coins. Oh, and the new ones minted this year glow in the dark. How cool is that?
So I went to the bank to get a roll of 25 toonies, gave them $50, and came home with my round little lump of a roll of coins. Eager to see if there were any of the newly coined glowie ones, I opened the roll and looked over the two dozen coins, none of which glew.
Wait. Two dozen? Yes. Two dozen.
I'm pretty good at counting, and I'm fairly certain that two dozen does not 25 make.
With a bit of chagrin, I re-rolled the coins, got back in the car, and made my way back to the bank.
Aside - Before I continue, let me explain that the bank I went to is not the closest one to my house. It is not the one I usually do my business business with. That bank, the one that is both closest and my usual go to for work stuff, is a credit union, and as such charges me whenever I want to either turn in or receive rolled coins. I discovered this one afternoon when I asked for a roll of toonies. The teller said that she would need to charge me $1 for the service as they are not a bank, but a credit union, and therefore actually had to pay the mint to get the rolled coins. Well, not wanting to pay, and feeling that this was somehow unfair, I told her to skip that part of the transaction. I wasn't willing to pay $1 to have my nice, crisp $50 bill turned into a neat roll of bi-coloured coinage. Oh, when our toonies don't glow in the dark, they are still two-tone. So, instead of a roll, I asked her if I could just have 24 toonies instead. After a mere moment of puzzled hesitation, she smiled and said of course I could. She took my newly minted red bill, $50, and gave me 24 toonies in return. Then she gave me my change: another toonie. And she was kind enough to put them all in a roll for me.
Anyways, I went back to my other bank, the one where I have my personal account instead of my business account, only because they told me to take my business elsewhere (true story that I won't bore you with here), stood in line and happened to get the same teller I had about 20 minutes earlier. I placed the roll on the counter and asked her, "How do you verify your rolls of coins?" I didn't get much further than that when she, with copious amounts of apologizing, gave me a new roll, which we both counted on the spot.
In some ways, it reminded of another time some 20 years ago when I was fed up with the bank regularly taking the time to verify that the bills I was depositing weren't counterfeit. One day when they gave me a nice stack of $20s, I made them wait while I used my newly acquired counterfeit detecting pen to test their bills. Only to discover that 3 were counterfeit. Well, that left me in a bit of a quandary. By law I couldn't accept them as legal tender, nor could I give them back to them. After calling down the manager, he agreed with my assessment of the situation, and we phoned the RCMP. I was given 3 new authentic bills, and the police came to write up the report.
But this is all just a weird side stream of my love for math.
For some reason, amidst all this, I was reminded of another instance many years ago where my love of math almost got me in trouble.
I had a chain mail store just outside Chicago and was bored out of my skull one evening, waiting for the clock to ponderously tick by so that I could close for the evening. There on the counter was a bowl full of bracelets that we were selling for $15 each. Sales were slow but steady, and as I said, I was bored. So I took the sign and re-wrote it, put it back on the bowl, closed the shop and went home.
The next day my partner called to tell me what a brilliant idea it was to re-price the bracelets. They were selling quite well now.
"Wait. What?" I couldn't believe my ears. Was she serious?
Yes. The new sign was really making a difference.
And what, pray tell, did it say?
"Special: $15 each, or 3 for $50"
Sigh.
I had her change the sign back, but not before I was there that afternoon. It was at this time, while she was re-writing the old sign, that a woman came in and wanted to buy 3 of the bracelets.
"3 for $50? That's not a very good deal, is it?"
"Oh," I replied, "but it includes tax", thinking that I would talk her out of it after having a moment of fun.
"But that only comes to $48.15."
Ok. Now wait a second. She could do the tax that quickly in her head?
"But it includes idiot tax", not believing what was happening.
"Oh," she said, with a look of slow comprehension, "ok." And she handed me $50, took her bracelets, and headed out, satisfied.
Actually, that's too formal. How about, "I love math."
Better.
It often occurs to me that my chosen art form by which I have selected to try and make a living, chain mail, was likely chosen by me due to my love of math. The patterns, the shapes, the ratios, the balance, the harmony: to me it all comes down to the mathematics. And math, to me, is pure beauty.
But my love of math goes beyond the intricately interlinked circles of chain mail and straight to the numbers themselves.
And so, when I was at the bank today getting change for my float this weekend, the oddly ugly side of those same numbers came up.
Normally I round all my prices to the nearest $5 just so that I don't have to deal with those pesky coins. I mean, change is good, but bills are easier. And I lived in Europe long enough to be put off by the notion of adding tax after the price. I really like the idea of paying the price that you see on the tag. "Is this $10?" "Yes, it is." "Okay. Here's $10." "The total is $12.52, please." "But I thought it was $10." This is a conversation that always drives me up a wall. I could go on and on about it, but don't worry. I'll spare you.
So why, you may be wondering, did I need change from the bank? Glad you asked, dear Reader. I recently added some bags of rings on my table, and to be fair to my customers, some of them are priced $7, $8, $5, $10, whatever. I could have just charged a straightforward $10 each, but then I feel that some of the bags wouldn't be worth it, and I always like to ensure that my customers are getting a fair value for their money.
Long and short of it? I needed a roll of toonies for the weekend. Toonies, for those of you who are deprived of the inestimable bounty of living in Canada, are how we lovingly refer to our $2 coins. Oh, and the new ones minted this year glow in the dark. How cool is that?
So I went to the bank to get a roll of 25 toonies, gave them $50, and came home with my round little lump of a roll of coins. Eager to see if there were any of the newly coined glowie ones, I opened the roll and looked over the two dozen coins, none of which glew.
Wait. Two dozen? Yes. Two dozen.
I'm pretty good at counting, and I'm fairly certain that two dozen does not 25 make.
With a bit of chagrin, I re-rolled the coins, got back in the car, and made my way back to the bank.
Aside - Before I continue, let me explain that the bank I went to is not the closest one to my house. It is not the one I usually do my business business with. That bank, the one that is both closest and my usual go to for work stuff, is a credit union, and as such charges me whenever I want to either turn in or receive rolled coins. I discovered this one afternoon when I asked for a roll of toonies. The teller said that she would need to charge me $1 for the service as they are not a bank, but a credit union, and therefore actually had to pay the mint to get the rolled coins. Well, not wanting to pay, and feeling that this was somehow unfair, I told her to skip that part of the transaction. I wasn't willing to pay $1 to have my nice, crisp $50 bill turned into a neat roll of bi-coloured coinage. Oh, when our toonies don't glow in the dark, they are still two-tone. So, instead of a roll, I asked her if I could just have 24 toonies instead. After a mere moment of puzzled hesitation, she smiled and said of course I could. She took my newly minted red bill, $50, and gave me 24 toonies in return. Then she gave me my change: another toonie. And she was kind enough to put them all in a roll for me.
Anyways, I went back to my other bank, the one where I have my personal account instead of my business account, only because they told me to take my business elsewhere (true story that I won't bore you with here), stood in line and happened to get the same teller I had about 20 minutes earlier. I placed the roll on the counter and asked her, "How do you verify your rolls of coins?" I didn't get much further than that when she, with copious amounts of apologizing, gave me a new roll, which we both counted on the spot.
In some ways, it reminded of another time some 20 years ago when I was fed up with the bank regularly taking the time to verify that the bills I was depositing weren't counterfeit. One day when they gave me a nice stack of $20s, I made them wait while I used my newly acquired counterfeit detecting pen to test their bills. Only to discover that 3 were counterfeit. Well, that left me in a bit of a quandary. By law I couldn't accept them as legal tender, nor could I give them back to them. After calling down the manager, he agreed with my assessment of the situation, and we phoned the RCMP. I was given 3 new authentic bills, and the police came to write up the report.
But this is all just a weird side stream of my love for math.
For some reason, amidst all this, I was reminded of another instance many years ago where my love of math almost got me in trouble.
I had a chain mail store just outside Chicago and was bored out of my skull one evening, waiting for the clock to ponderously tick by so that I could close for the evening. There on the counter was a bowl full of bracelets that we were selling for $15 each. Sales were slow but steady, and as I said, I was bored. So I took the sign and re-wrote it, put it back on the bowl, closed the shop and went home.
The next day my partner called to tell me what a brilliant idea it was to re-price the bracelets. They were selling quite well now.
"Wait. What?" I couldn't believe my ears. Was she serious?
Yes. The new sign was really making a difference.
And what, pray tell, did it say?
"Special: $15 each, or 3 for $50"
Sigh.
I had her change the sign back, but not before I was there that afternoon. It was at this time, while she was re-writing the old sign, that a woman came in and wanted to buy 3 of the bracelets.
"3 for $50? That's not a very good deal, is it?"
"Oh," I replied, "but it includes tax", thinking that I would talk her out of it after having a moment of fun.
"But that only comes to $48.15."
Ok. Now wait a second. She could do the tax that quickly in her head?
"But it includes idiot tax", not believing what was happening.
"Oh," she said, with a look of slow comprehension, "ok." And she handed me $50, took her bracelets, and headed out, satisfied.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)