Who’re You Callin’ A Mass Flow Meter?

So, you know how sometimes you come across a word or phrase that just inherently sounds funny, and no amount of explanation or knowledge of what it actually means will cancel out the initially humorousness of the word or phrase itself? Even if I was sick, for example, and the doctor said, “I’m sorry, Kev Dog, but you’ve got rectal cancer,” I’d be so busy giggling about the doctor having said “rectal” that the “cancer” part wouldn’t even register until it literally killed me. “Oh yeah, cancer. *gaaaack*

Well, so it is with “mass flow meters.” Discovered on another of the completely random websites I come discover on one of my incessant insomniac internet inroads, this sounds too much like a certain popular “blue” phrase. (The first two words do, anyway.) Now, even though I actually took the time to peruse the site and read what mass flow meters actually are and what they do, I still can’t say that string of words with a straight face.

I actually tried it out over my Xbone headset last night whilst squaring off against my cousin Paulie on a game of Madden. For our dear ol’ Granny’s sake (and at our mothers’ behest), Paulie and I are making an effort to use less foul language around the holidays this year, so instead of my usual salty sailor speak, I called him a “mass flow meter.”

After a brief silence, during which he sacked my pixelated QB for an eight-yard loss, he barked back at me, “Who’re you callin’ a mass flow meter?” Good stuff, Paulie. Good stuff.

Faster Than You Can Type III Anodizing

So, I keep going back to this anodizing well, for some reason. I can’t quite pinpoint why, exactly, but the whole “electricity and special sauce makes metal better” thing is fascinating to me. And, if electricity and special sauce weren’t enough, it turns out there are multiple variations of the anodizing process.

Regular anodizing uses chromic acid. At least, I’m going to assume it’s considered “regular anodizing,” because it’s referred to as Type I, and I can’t imagine why you’d call anything that wasn’t essentially the default setting “Type I.” I don’t really know what chromic acid does, but I’m going to guess that it’s probably the dangerous kind of acid that could actually melt your face off, rather than the fun kind of acid that only makes it seem like your face is melting off.

Bump that deadly danger juice up a few notches to sulfuric acid, and you’ve got yourself Type II and Type III anodizing. From what I can tell, Types II and III result in thicker coatings than Type I. Type III is commonly called “hardcoat anodizing,” which leads me to believe that the resulting coating is harder than what you get with other Types. (I’d look it up to find out for sure, but Google is all the way over there.)

One can also replace the chromic or sulfuric acids with other acid flavors, including phosphoric acid and organic acids. If organic acids are anything like the organic vegetables at the green grocer’s, they’re really just the same thing as the non-organic kind, but with more dirt on them. Also, processes using these other types of acid don’t get their own number, so there’s no Type IV or Type V or Type XXXVIII or whatever. Somebody really dropped the ball on that one, like when Mission: Impossible IV lost the numbering and was called Ghost Protocol instead. Dumb.

Distillation: Inspiration for Blogification

So, I’ve come across quite a few strange devices in my incessant, insomniac internet inspections, but these ones are real humdingers. Specifically, humdingers in that the description of what they do is not nearly as interesting as what they actually do.

These gizmos I came across are called “distillation and purification systems,” which sounds awesome, because, yes, please, distill me some booze. And I guess purify it, too, so it tastes better, or whatever. Whaddaya got? Whiskey? Vodka? Scotch? Gin? Doesn’t matter, pour me a glass!

Anywho, it turns out these devices are used to remove solvents from water. Not sure what kind of solvents, exactly, because once I realized they weren’t meant for bootlegging hooch, I skedaddled. Curse you and your deceptive wording! And curse your deceptive wording for not really being all that deceptive because it actually is an accurate description of what the product does! So, really, curse the English language for having words that mean more than one thing! And, ultimately, curse the word “distillation” in particular, because it really does mean the same thing in both cases, but one way of interpreting it is way more fun!

And while we’re at it, curse the internet in general—thief of time and sleep! Just kidding, internet. I love you.

Aren’t They All, Technically?

So, as you may know from reading this stupid little blog (Hi Grandma! Hey Paulie, you dink.), I often determine that things I find on the interwebs are Weirdohead not because of the product itself, but simply because of the name. Last night’s insomniac excursion yielded another of these finds.

A company by the name of Troy Technologies (who are not based in Troy, Michigan, luckily for them) sells what they call “travel wheelchairs.” Which is all well and good, they seem like pretty dang nice wheelchairs, really. But my quibble (or maybe “my question” is more accurate) is this: aren’t all wheelchairs travel wheelchairs, technically? I mean, if you didn’t want to travel in one, wouldn’t you just get a regular chair?

Upon closer inspection, it appears as though these travel wheelchairs are specifically designed for long-distance travel, and are made to fold up for easy storage on airplanes and such. So I guess it makes more sense when you put it that way. But still, it seems a lot like saying a car is a “travel car”–of course it travels, that’s the point!

Ah, the stupid things you think of when you’ve been awake for almost three days straight…

Ridiculous Specificity Will Get You…Somewhere?

So, I realize that there are tools specific to every job, no matter what it may be. And, of course, some jobs require more specialized tools than others. But holy frijoles, sometimes the level of specialization in these tools can be straight up ridiculous.

I have found quite a few examples of this in my insomniac internet investigations, but this particular item not only takes the cake, it eats the whole thing in one sitting and doesn’t share with the other kids in class. Check it out:

Who DOESN'T need a brush like this?

Who DOESN’T need a brush like this?

That, dear reader, is a 3/8” diameter body, goat hair fill, 0.063” orifice, male thread, high-pressure flow through brush. FIFTEEN words used just for the name of that bad boy. I would maybe—maybe—expect that level of specificity when calling out a piece of medical equipment, or perhaps some kind of high tech electronic component, but a brush? How over the top precise does a brush need to be, for any purpose?

For what purpose does one use this very, very specific brush? One half elephant, one half rhino: ‘ell if I know. But I will venture a guess and say vacuuming a model railroad. That strikes me as the kind of activity where a dude could get super wrapped up in having every last little detail just right, and as such would require a brush that has fifteen words in its name. Not because it has fifteen words in its name, but because it just has to be that very, very specific type of brush. Model railroad dudes are finicky like that. Probably.

Drum-Tight Hipster Jackets A-Go-Go

So, I recently came upon a website for a company that refers to itself (themselves?) as “coating applicators.” Through my bleary, insomniac eyes, this was misread as “coat applicators,” which made me think: Why would you need someone to apply your coat for you?

This brought to mind hipsters. Grrr…hipsters—perhaps the worst subculture in human history, they of the “ironic” rat-tails and waaaay too tight jeans. It was the jeans in particular that made this connection make sense. Or at least it made sense to me at the time. (I don’t/can’t sleep much. Have I ever mentioned that?)

With pants so frightfully tight, it stands to reason that, occasionally, a hipster may need assistance putting on those pants. And, what if a hipster wanted a matching and equally tight jacket? Like the pants, that jacket would be too small to get into on one’s own, so the assistance of coat applicators is a must.

The coat applicators arrive, probably two of them working as a team. One of them would guide the hipster through a series of yoga stretches to prepare for the ordeal to come. Meanwhile, the other coat applicator prepares a special, quick-drying, low-residue lubricant to help the hipster’s arms slide into the sleeves of his or her drum-tight coat. This lubricant must be mixed on the spot, because science. (Again, this made sense to me at the time. Now, though…maybe not so much.)

Then, with the careful use of small levers and pulleys, the coat applicators lift, twist, turn, and otherwise contort the hipster until he or she emerges, triumphantly sporting his or her stupid jacket. Getting that jacket off is his/her own problem.

Upon closer inspection and “research,” I found that these coating applicators actually do abrasion resistant coatings (or something like that—it’s fancier and tougher than paint, whatever it is) on metal parts and equipment and such. Much more useful that a putting-on-your-dopey-jacket service, but far less fun to rage-rant about. *sigh* The internet never lets me do anything fun…

What’s All Dis, Then?!?

Not too terribly long ago, I found my way through the infinitely interconnected internet to a website that was shucking “quick connect” fittings. Last night, through a completely different series of clicks and links and jumps (well, probably completely different, anyway—I don’t keep track), I found myself back at that same website, but on a different page.

This page was promoting the company’s “quick disconnect” products. Quick connect and quick disconnect, to my sleep deprived mind, seem to go 100% hand in hand—if something connects quickly, doesn’t it stand to reason that it would also disconnect quickly? (And vice versa.)

However, in thinking about it a bit more, I determined that maybe this isn’t the case. There are, I realized, plenty of things that go one way quickly, but are much slower on the way back (and vice versa).

For example, say your shoelaces are giving you sass, so you double knot them. This is a pretty quick process, just an extra loop swoop, really. But untying a double is not that easy. (See what I did there?) Locking the door to one’s house on the way out takes but a fraction of an instant, but unlocking that door takes considerably longer—pull out your keys, select the right one, slip it in the keyhole, turn.

So, perchance a quick connect and a quick disconnect aren’t necessarily one and the same. There could well be safety features in each that make connecting or disconnecting a more involved process, to prevent accidental disconnection or… well, accidental connection doesn’t seem like it would be possible, really. But still, you see where I’m going with this, yes?

I couldn’t find out, via the website, if there is such a thing as a quick connect/disconnect, i.e. something that connects quickly and disconnects in the same way. It stands to reason that there would be, but what do I know? I wasn’t even aware that a quick connect and a quick disconnect weren’t the same thing until like 20 minutes ago.

This Post Makes Exsense

Since you’re reading this, I’m going to go ahead and assume you speak, or at least read, English*—though, yes, I am well aware of the dangers of assumption (it makes an a$$ out of you and umption). And, if you know anything about the English language, you probably know that it doesn’t really make a whole H-E-double-stuff-Oreo lot of sense.

Most of our words were stolen or incorporated from other languages, but no one bothered to make sure all our words follow neat, orderly rules like many other languages do. Now, I realize there’s only so much one can do with just twenty-six letters, but some of the liberties taken with English-language words are fairly mind boggling. For example, the meaning of a prefix or suffix on one word may not even remotely apply to another word with (seemingly) the same prefix or suffix.

Which brings us to today’s Weirdohead installment. If one were, say, sleep deprived, and came upon “rubber extrusions,” it’s conceivable that one’s running-on-fumes brain might have spent a lot longer than one would reasonably expect trying to figure out just what a “trusion” is and how to make rubber formerly have been one (an “ex-trusion”).

Eventually, one’s poor, tired brain would realize that that is not what “rubber extrusions” means. And one would feel very, very silly.

* It is also possible you’re a robot, in which case: 0110101101101001011011000110110000100000011000010110110001101100001

Kneel Before The Mighty Laminator!

You may not realize it, but a surprising number of things are laminated. The big signs that hang in store windows, your drivers license (probably), even the covers of paperback books have a layer of lamination over them. So, it stands to reason that there are machines built specifically for laminating these myriad items.

From there, one can logical deduce that there must be at least ONE company in the world that manufactures laminating equipment. Laminators are just big utilitarian machines—nothing flashy, nothing fancy, just big, mechanical devices with a singular, very specific purpose.

Now, if you happened to be the founder of a company that makes laminating machines, what would you call said company? Probably something simple and straightforward like the laminators themselves. Maybe A-1 Lamination Equipment, or Ace Laminators. You may be (rightfully) proud of your entrepreneurial enterprise, so you’d want to put your name in there—it’d be Robertson Laminators or whatever.

But would you ever think to call it Royal Sovereign Laminators? That’s Dizzy Gillespie-level tooting of ones’ own horn, that. What next, Ultimate Grand Champion Pencils? Legendary Supreme Electrical Tape?

I wish I was making this up, because it’s just so ridiculous, but, unfortunately, I kid you not. Check out DaVinci Technologies if’n you don’t believe me. But prepare to bow down before the Royal Sovereign of laminators, for he be mighty indeed!

And Many Librarians Wear Glasses! (It’s Brilliant On Several Levels)

I love The Music Man. I wear glasses. There’s a character in The Music Man called Marian, who’s a librarian, and an accompanying song about her, also called “Marian the Librarian.” There’s a real city in Iowa called Marion. The Music Man takes place in Iowa. Marion, Iowa, has a business called Marion Eye Care. And so, with apologies to Meredith Wilson, and no further ado…

“Marion Eye Care”

What can I do, ask I, to catch your eye?
I need you badly, badly, Marion eye care… right there.
Heaven help us if the library caught on fire
And the Volunteer Hose Brigademen
Had to get special glasses to combat the glare… Marion eye care.
What can you do, my dear, to make my vision clear
I need you badly, badly, stay right there… Marion eye care.
If I stumbled and busted my what-you-may-call-it
I could lie on the floor
‘Til my body had turn to carrion there… Marion eye care.
Now in the moonlight, a man could dance
In the moonlight
And a fellow would know that his darling
Had seen ev’ry move of his flight
With the moonlight helping her sight
But when I try in here to show you, dear
I need your help badly,Marion eye care… please stay right there.
It’s a long lost cause I can never win
For the civilized world accepts as unforgivable sin
Seeking out eye care from anywhere
Except for Marion… Marion eye care.