How big is BIG?

I’ve found that people have trouble with large numbers.  I don’t mean numbers up to one million.  I think everyone has some frame of reference to what a million is.  For example, a high-end Mercedes costs about $100,000.  So I could buy 10 of them with $1,000,000.  I could also buy three $330,000 homes for $1,000,000.

But I’m not talking about one million…

With all the yada yada about Baker Hughes and Halliburton going on, I thought I’d put things into perspective—into terms and analogies most folks can grasp.

Baker Hughes has a market cap of $27.5 billion.  Market cap…or market capitalization…is the total dollar market value of all of a company's outstanding shares.  It’s a pretty easy number to calculate, but the calculation is irrelevant to this post.  The $27.5 billion is what I want you to keep in mind.

Now let’s look at Halliburton.  It has a market cap of $41.1 billion.

If I add the market value of BHI and HAL, I end up with a total dollar market value of $68.6 billion.  Sounds like a lot of money, right?

But exactly how big is $68.6 billion?  Well, I know it’s this big:

$68,600,000,000.00

That’s pretty big.  But it really doesn’t put things into perspective.

To help wrap your head around $68.6 billion, let’s consider the $100,000 Mercedes I mentioned earlier.  With $68.6 billion, you could buy 686,000 of them.  That is not a typo.

What about the $330,000 house?  Turns out you could buy 207,878 houses if you had $68.6 billion.  If you lived to be 80 years old, you would have to visit seven of your houses every day of your life to see them all.

Or how about this? The average person's stride length is approximately two-and-a-half feet long.  That means it takes more than 2,000 steps to walk one mile.  If you were to take 68.6 billion steps, you’d walk more than 34,300,000 miles.  To put that into perspective, the distance around the earth is 24,859.82 miles.  If you took 68.6 billion steps, it would be like walking around the earth 1,380 times.

What if I gave you $68.6 billion in one-dollar bills?  If you counted $1 per second every second of every day (no breaks…just counting 24/7), how long do you think it would take you to count all 68.6 billion one-dollar bills?

[insert dramatic pause here…]

It would take you more than 2,175 years to count them all.

And let’s say as you were counting all of the one-dollar bills you stacked them neatly on top of one another.  How high would a stack of 68.6 billion one-dollar bills be?  Well, you’d need quite a ladder to stack them all, because your stack of one-dollar bills would be more than 3,789 miles high.  Yes, miles.

And if you didn’t want to stack all the money, you could give it away.  If you had $68.6 billion, you could give every person in the world…and I mean all 7.125 billion people on the earth… $9.63.

Just give me a $10—you won’t have to count ones…and what’s 37 cents in the grand scheme of things anyway?

100 - 94 = 6

So let's say your wife gets several packs of card stock. And let's say there are supposed to be 100 sheets in each pack. Let's say your wife is suspicious that there are not 100 sheets in each pack and counts the total number of sheets in the first pack. Let's say there are only 94 sheets. Given my experience, I think it would be safe to assume your wife will not be happy.

And now let's say your unhappy wife asks you to help her count the number of sheets in the remaining packs. What do you do?  How can you show your support?  How can you exceed her expectations in a situation like this?  

The answer to this is so obvious I'm surprised I even have to tell you. But it turns out some wives think you're supposed to literally help her count the sheets in each pack...as in 1, 2, 3, 4, and so on. And believe it or not, I found out there are guys out there that agree.

Are you kidding me? Is that how you exceed your wife's expectations?

So let me detail the blindingly obvious solution so everyone is on the same page.

OK husbands, here is what you do:

Go to the garage and get your dial calipers.

Turn on the air compressor, wait for it to build up pressure, and then blow any dust off of the dial calipers with the air hose.

Get a micro-fiber towel and apply a very light coat of machinist's oil to the towel and lightly wipe down the calipers.

Next, completely close the calipers and check the zero reading.  If the calipers are not reading zero, recalibrate the calipers to ensure the initial reading is zero (you might need to do this a couple of times).

Once your calipers are ready, go back into the house and listen to your wife tell you to "forget it"...she's "already counted the remaining packages." Knowing she is just saying that because she knows you have many other things to do and doesn't want to bother you, you completely ignore her and measure the thickness of one sheet of card stock.

"0.016 inches." you tell your wife. She will stare at you with a face that clearly says 'Oh wow..please tell me more!' Use this opportunity to explain the process to her so she understands exactly what to do in case this happens in the future and you're not there to help her.

As you measure the thickness of the entire stack of cards in the package, explain to her that if there are 100 sheets, the dial calipers will read 1.6 inches. If the measurement is less than 1.6 inches, tell her the math is easy enough. I found providing a written example left her speechless.

You may understand better if I share the remaining steps from my personal experience.  I think it also adds credibility knowing I have already been through this exercise...

As I was coming back down the stairs with the piece of paper from the upstairs office printer, I started explaining how the first stack measured 1.44 inches.  Then I scribbled out the following while giving a verbal explanation of what I was doing...

1.6" - 1.44" = 0.16"
0.16" / 0 .016" per sheet = 10 sheets.

I explained to her the pack was short 10 sheets. Her words, "I know!" filled my heart with joy.  I was so happy to hear she understood what I was saying. And I knew she understood, because as she walked into the other room she said, "Yeah...I got it."

So I measured the next pack and ran the calculations.  I yelled, "This second pack is short 6 sheets."
Her loving voice came back with, "Yeah, I know.  I already counted the sheets in that pack."
"Oh...", I said. "Well, you were right!" I called back to her. She said something, but I wasn't quite able to hear it clearly.  It sounded like "No dip, ducking genius."  Since I could clearly make out the word "genius", I knew she approved.

When I began to measure the third and final stack, my wife said, "I bet it's short 6 as well." as she walked by me towards the bathroom to get something out of her eyes.  I noticed earlier her eyes were bothering her because she rolled them back into her head a few times.
Well, interestingly enough, after my measuring and calculating, she was right!  It was short 6 sheets. Unbelievable!  Unbeknownst to me, I taught her how to use her eyes as calipers!  I mean, she just looked at the last stack and knew it was short 6 sheets. And she was so confident in her abilities, she wanted me to throw the calipers away.  She called out from the bathroom, "...stick the calipers in the grass." ...or something like that.

So there you go, husbands. If after all that your wife is not obviously happier, show her how to use a micrometer to solve the same problem in case the calipers are broken. I cannot tell you how much my wife appreciated that (because she left while I was out in the garage waiting on the air compressor to build up pressure again...).

The Macaroni Moose

What's better than opening a bag of macaroni and having it tear open and throw the noodles all over your kitchen?
Nothing.
No...wait...
...having your nine-month-old 115-pound "moose" start gobbling up the raw macaroni before you can sweep it up.
Yes, that's better.
No...wait...
...having the water boil over while fighting your 115-pound "moose" for the fallen macaroni. Yes, that's better.
No...wait...
...stepping in dog saliva in bare feet from where your 115-pound "moose" licked and drooled all over the floor while you scrambled to turn down the stove.
Yes, my friends, that is indeed better. Dare I say, the best!

The Chair

My appointment was for 2:00. As I glance up to look at the over-priced clock, I realize my ass hurts from the uncomfortable waiting-room chair. I also realize it's 2:48.

Interestingly--though no shocker to you--if I'm 48 minutes late to an appointment, I have to reschedule. Part of the rescheduling process involves me explaining that it's raining, and Houstonians suck at driving in the rain, and I shouldn't have to pay for a visit!
...but not today.  No, today I was here at 1:55. Rain and all.

It's 2:51.

My doctor recognizes me as he casts a warm smile my way and calls "John Somethingoranother" to come back.
"Mallin. It's Bill Mallin." It doesn't even sound like "John Somethingoranother." UGH!

I cannot see the clock this time. I even leaned to the right to stretch my back. Stupid chair. I hate this chair.

Perhaps I should join the over-weight lady wearing black leggings and hoolahoop earrings. She's bitching at the emotionally detatched receptionist. She's also blocking my view of the clock.

I hate this chair.

I hate that the lady directly across from me is deaf. I know she's deaf because the volume of the Mexican soap opera she's watching on her phone cannot possibly be turned up any louder. I hate Mexican soap operas.

There are 27 lights in the ceiling. There are four speakers, eight A/C vents, three sprinkler heads...

I hate this chair. 

Hoolahoop ears is walking this way eyeing the chair next to mine...HOLY MOTHER OF GOD...IS THAT PERFUME? Please go block the clock again!

It's 3:06.
3:07
3:07:30
3:07:47
...

It's 3:12:13.

Stinky has just informed the deaf girl she has beautiful hair.
My nostrils burn.
Felix is apparently going to leave Maria (or so I gather from my limited Spanish).
John Somethingoranother apparently has a major illness.
Deaf girl does not have beautiful hair.
My ass hurts.
I hate this chair.

You're not the boss of me!

The first words out of William's mouth most Saturday and Sunday mornings are similar to the following, "Daddy, can I play the Wii?"

William is five. He loves the Wii. Emily, seven, also loves the Wii, but she doesn't have the same level of obsession with the Wii as her younger brother.

More frequently than not, playing the Wii becomes a problem. And typically the problem is one of two things...

For the first 15 minutes or so after the Wii is powered up, Emily and William work as a team while playing Lego Star Wars. At some point a decision has to be made about what door to open or who gets to be what Star Wars character. Then it happens--yelling, screaming, stomping... "YOU'RE NOT THE BOSS OF ME!!!" William is in tears and Emily decides she doesn't want to play anymore anyway!

The other "thing" that happens is the result of too much Wii. If William plays the Wii for too long, turning the Wii off typically results in a meltdown. William cries and cries and cries...and between the tears he reminds me that he never gets to play the Wii, and "IT'S NOT FAIR!!!"

Perhaps a third "thing" is my inability to manage Wii time, but clearly that subject would require more self assessment than I'm willing to dedicate to it at this particular moment...

Santa needs his ass kicked for putting the Wii under the tree in the first place. Fat bastard.

So while having dinner at IHOP tonight (yeah, don't even ask...you can think it, just don't ask it...), William says, "Daddy, can we play the Wii tomorrow?"

Seriously? Are you f'ing kidding me?

Thoroughly annoyed, I try to use some parenting skills that don't involve the words, "I'm going to throw that Wii in the trash!"

Finally, I got it!

"William..." I say, "I think you play too much Wii; that seems to be all you want to do. What's something you could do tomorrow besides playing the Wii?"

William looked at me intently...he gave the matter serious thought for a good 15 seconds...carefully he chose his words before proclaiming, "I know, Daddy!...I could watch TV!"

Shit.

Two Pie Are...

I ran today... first time I've done so since I hurt my foot.  Like a good patient, I've stayed off of it since my last run on September 30.

I ran 9.01 miles just under an hour and 20 minutes.  If'n you're interested in the run, you can find the yada yada about it here: http://connect.garmin.com/activity/17084336.

I don't usually run the loop at Memorial Park, but I decided I would today... in case my foot started acting up, I'd be no more than a mile and a half away from the car.  The loop is three miles.  At least that's what everyone says, but in reality, it's about 2.9 miles (according to my Garmin 305, that is).

I ran one loop clockwise... one counterclockwise... and the final one clockwise.  (Of course I had to run a little more than three loops to get my nine miles).

Anyway, during my run, I noticed a sign that said, "Stay to the right."  Well, if you're running clockwise, that puts you on the inside of the loop, and obviously running counterclockwise puts you on the outside of the loop.

Since I had all of this random information in my head, I wondered how much further you ran if you ran counterclockwise (on the outside of the loop) as opposed to running clockwise (on the inside of the loop).  I said to myself, "Self, you should calculate that when you get home."  Followed by, "You really are a dork!"

Well, dork or not, I calculated it...

The following are some assumptions and some constants:

• the width of the trail is 12 feet
• the loop is a circle
• you run clockwise on the inside of the path for the entire loop
• you run counterclockwise on the outside of the path for the entire loop
• π = 3.14159
• the formula for the circumference (C) of a circle is C = 2πr, where r = radius
• there are 5,280 feet in a mile

(I sure hope you appreciate the accuracy of these calculations!!!)

We know the circumference of the inner circle--3 miles.
3 = 2πr
so r = 3/2π
Plug in the numbers...
r = 0.477464829821269 miles, or if we convert it to feet we get r = 2521.0143014563 feet.

Since we assumed the trail is 12 feet wide, that makes the radius of the outer trail 2521.0143014563 + 12 feet, or 2533.0143014563 feet.

Well, now it's simple to solve for the circumference of the outer circle...
As before...
C = 2πr; therefore,
C = 2π(2533.0143014563)
C = 15915.3982236 feet
And since we know there are 5,280 feet in a mile, the outer circumference is 3.01427996659091 miles.

That's a difference of 0.01427996659091 miles... or 75.3982235999985 feet. if we think about it in football terms, that's equivalent to 25.1327411999995 yards.

And let's say you run 9 minute miles... running counterclockwise will take you 0.128519699318179 minutes... or an additional 7.71118195909075 seconds!  The following table lists some pace times and the additional time it'll take you to make it around:

Pace (mins/mile)	Extra time (seconds)
7	6.0
8	6.9
9	7.7
10	8.6
11	9.4
12	10.3
20	17.1

So if you want to save 7 or 8 seconds, run clockwise on the inside of the path!

DORK!!!

Piss Away $20.

Think back to when you were a kid. What was the most exciting part about going to the dentist...assuming there is an “exciting part” lodged in your memory? Ask me, and I will tell you it was getting the new toothbrush!

Today my kids went to the dentist.

The toothbrushes they received were a lot nicer than ones I got when I was a little kid. The toothbrushes I got were emblazoned with the dentist’s name and logo, and aside from being new, that was about it.

My son’s new toothbrush was perfectly sized for a four-year-old hand. The dentist’s name and logo had been replaced with a picture of a boy kicking a soccer ball. The affinity my son had for the toothbrush could not be contained; he had to show it to me immediately!

Clearly my “tinkling” (as my daughter calls it) into the potty made no difference in my ability to look at his new toothbrush as my son proudly held it up for my inspection.

Green. I saw that it was a green toothbrush…right before it fell into the toilet.  The same toilet I was "tinkling" in (the picture of the boy kicking the soccer ball was a detail I would later discover…).

He tried to be strong, “That’s OK, Daddy… it’s OK.” But the tears were coming too fast, and the uncontrollable crying quickly ensued.

Well, it seemed to me the issue could be solved by putting the toothbrush in the dishwasher. I even mentioned to my wife this was the obvious solution. Little did I know this was not acceptable. And I was able to figure this out without the word “no” actually being spoken. Seems “No!” can be conveyed with a certain look…

Five minutes later, my son and I were in Walgreens looking at new toothbrushes. “I like this one, Daddy.” 'This one' happened to be an electric Wall-e toothbrush.

So now I had another problem (well, the green toothbrush was still in the toilet, but in addition to that)… Clearly I could not go home with a new electric toothbrush for my son and nothing for my daughter. She did tell me she wanted a package of Starburst candy as my son and I were heading out the door. I thought I could get a three-dollar toothbrush and a packet of Starburst and all would be good…right.

I wasn’t about to tell my son he couldn’t have the Wall-e toothbrush…I mean, come on…his green toothbrush was floating in the toilet.
“OK William, that’s a good one.”

I placed the Wall-e electric toothbrush...and the Ariel Disney character electric toothbrush...and the two packages of Starburst  candy on the counter.
“$20?” “Really?”
“Credit or debit?”

During the ride home, it never entered my head that electric toothbrushes for a four- and six-year old might not be appropriate. It turns out “Why do they need to when they have electric toothbrushes?” is not the appropriate response to “How are they going to learn to brush their teeth with a regular toothbrush now that you bought these?”

Ugh!

And the green toothbrush was still floating in piss.

Damn it.

I figured since it wasn’t a good idea to put the toothbrush in the dishwasher, it probably wasn’t a good idea to use the kitchen tongs to retrieve the toothbrush from the toilet...I did think about it though...I thought it better not to even ask.

So it turns out the little bags used to clean up after my dog work equally well for removing toothbrushes from the toilet. The irony.

It's About Time...

Omega. James Bond wears one. Cindy Crawford wears one too. I reckon I got Seamaster prior to seeing 007 or the former supermodel sporting theirs. It was a graduation present to myself after completing grad school with honors no less!

I saw the retail price of the Omega Seamaster is now $2,000, though it appears they are frequently on sale for $1,500ish. I damned sure didn’t pay that in 2000 when I got mine; I guess I spent a little less than a grand on it at the time. It seems to have been a wise investment on my part–that is, as long as someone would be willing to give me more than I paid for it.

Timex. My original Iron Man died about a year and a half ago. I bought a new one in Singapore. I think I paid about $70 for it. And the old one didn’t really die, the Velcro just stopped Velcro-ing, and the watch would fall off my arm if I wasn’t careful. By default, I am not careful.

I got to thinking… $1,500 vs. $70. The Omega is over 21 times the price of the Timex. And for what? Well, let’s see…

My Omega tells time. It’s pretty. It’s heavy. I get complimented on it a couple of times a year. It tells me the day of the month as long as I advance it on the months when there are less than 31 days…and as long as the minute hand is not covering the spot at the three o’clock position where the date shows.

My Timex tells time. If I want (and I do), I can have it beep on the hour. It also displays the time in military time. It has a 100-hour chronograph with lap or split option. It has a very bright light so I can tell the time in the dark. It’s water resistant to 330 feet. It has five alarms and keeps time in two time zones. It has a reminder thing that allows me to plug in birthdays and such. It automatically knows if there are less than 31 days in a month. It also tells me the day of the week and year.

I’m scratching my head wondering why I needed to pay 21 times more for the Omega.

Anyone want to buy an Omega Seamaster? It really is pretty...