The first memories I have about learning the metric system are in my Eighth Grade science class. I suppose I must have been taught it before then, but I just don't remember it. What I do remember was my teacher deciding a great way to help the new girl meet her new school was to have her stand up in front of the class and quiz her knowledge about centimeters and kilograms. Yeah....LOVED that class. It explains my multiple degrees in the sciences. Oh wait, I don't have any......
I blissfully purged as much of that from my mind as possible and while I did get smatterings of instruction on the metric system throughout the years; as an American I grew up with my pounds, inches and miles.
Fate then decided to have an uproarious giggle and a flipping of the nose at me and had me move to Australia. This is a country that has the metric system firmly embraced in its warm bosom and revels in its divisable by ten lifestyle. You can not order lunch meat, buy gasoline (petrol), or take a sick child's temperature without knowing and loving the metric system.
I have spent the last six years learning only what I absolutely have to in order to survive here. The absolute bare minimum. Just the other night I haphazardly appologized to Teddy's science teacher for his obvious failings in using metric as HAHA, his father and I still speak imperial at home. I say haphazardly because I wasn't actually sorry, in fact, I was gloating. It can be tricky to cover up gloating with fake remorse sometimes. The teacher never met me before so I'm pretty sure I got away with it.
Deep inside my soul it chaps my hide that I have to learn the metric system and I just don't want to. Yes, it's juvenile. It is specifically, the exact opposite of mature. I accept that freely. I concede that my life would be considerably easier if I learned to think in metric. But the simple truth is I don't want to do it and no one is going to make me. So there. BFfffftttttt!
But my little blow for individual freedom and not being a slave to the man does have consequences.
Here are examples of how I stuff myself up.
1. When I cook: See right there! BOOM! I am already in a foul mood. I'm being forced to cook, now I have to learn your bloody number system? No.I.Don't. I turn the oven dial to 170ish and say, "Umm, that's about 350" and begin the cooking process. Sure sometimes there's a bit of charring, some frozen middles and some outcomes I can't accurately describe but it's done. MY WAY.
2. Driving: I think in mph and I know the speed limit I should be going. Sure my dashboard is written in kph and all the signs are in kilometers but they don't look right. Downright silly in fact. I'm on a highway...I know how fast I should be going.
In an effort to promote honesty I should mention that this thought process (plus my lead foot) has lead to enough points being placed on my license to cover the spread of several NFL games. I may have rethink my stance on that soon or else we are going to be walking everywhere. If I do, I will do it begrudgingly for sure.
3. My Hobbies: I am into woodworking and sewing. Most everyone I know giggles when I tell them that as at first they seem opposite to each other. Personally, I see obvious similarities. I cut specific shapes out of material and assemble into a shape of my design. I use heavy machinery to cut and assemble the pieces. This machinery is bulky, temperamental and often makes me swear and cry. Exactly the same in my book. I also have exactly the same issue with the metric system with both tasks.
I get the material - fabric and wood, here in Oz while both my patterns and plans come from the US. McCalls and Simplicity (not Vogue...those patterens are the Devil) sewing patterns and furniture plans from Ana-white.com - she is house frau in Alaska and wizard at creating incredible plans to build quality furniture. Please check out her site.
Trying to convert inches to centimeters is a flipping nightmare. Before you say it, yes I do know there are many converters out there, I have 2 apps on my phone and they both promise quick and precise measurements. Utter crap. Trust me, no matter how many times you do the conversion it never comes out exact.
Right now, I'm staring at my latest project....a new entertainment center with pieces strewn all over the living room because I can't get the top piece I made to sit flush on top of the box. I'm just staring at it trying to let the idea of how to fix it jump out and present itself. We've been here a few days...I suspect we have a few more to go.
I have an entire blog post going already on this build. Will post it, with artwork, if I ever get it finished.
4. Weather: It has taking me years, literally years to not instantly think FREEZING when I hear that it will be 25 degrees today. Also since I can't seem to follow exactly what the numbers mean I tend to follow the actions of people around me. Let me explain by that.
When people around me start whining about how cold it is when we have a high of 18 degree, I believe them. I start shivering and thinking of hot tea. Later on when I get a chance to convert it I realize that 18 degrees Celcius translates to 65 Fahrenheit. Hardly the ass-bitenly cold my Aussie brethren have been complaining about. As someone who spent the first six years of her life in Upstate New York I do have some knowldge of blustery cold....18 degrees aint it. My car is littered with jumpers (sweatshirts) from the kids and me because I was sure the weather report meant something entirely different that what I thought.
Yes, yes, that problem would correct itself if, after 6 years, I would remember that Sydney doesn't ever get really cold, Winter is just Fall and Summer, while disgustingly hot several days isn't like a Texas hot. Also, if I learned what the numbers actually meant and I thought in metric I would know what was going on. Again, I don't want to!
Looking back over this post I'm sensing a theme. I don't want to seems to subtly interwoven amongst the paragraphs.
Look it's my story. I can can a 20 pound sledge subtle if I want to.
If I use my Freshman 101 Psychology class training I would say I'm deliberty not learning the metric system so I can maintain control over at least one section of my life. There is so much turmoil and upheaval in my life that I am drowning in the chaos that I can do nothing to stop and my stubborn refusal to conform is the branch that is anchoring me to safety. I am at the mercy of my life and can only react to, not plan to circumstances. The consequences of my actions are not be positive, but they are solely under my control.
That's one way of looking at it. A little dark for my taste though. Maybe there is another reason. A reason less likely tohave concerned phone calls made to my house. Perhaps it's just that I am a spoiled brat. A narcissist trying to bend everyone around to my will. Another arrogant American prat who knows that her way is the right way. As soon as the masses accept the gospel according to me, they will see the error of their ways and will dance happily back to the glorious imperial system. After all, 24-hour shopping and Costco have come to Australia...surely miles, gallons and fahrenheit can't be too far behind?
Um, honestly, neither one of these choices are terribly appealing to me. I think I'm going to stick with my original "I don't want to and you can't make me!" explanation. It is simple and outrageously juvenile but its by far better than being psychotic or a jerk.
Nanny, nanny, boo, boo. I have burnt and undercooked dinners, mismatched furniture and clothes and soon no license but at least I still know that a yard is 36 inches and 105 degrees outside is Mother Nature's way of saying get the hell out.
So there.
No comments:
Post a Comment