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The watchful and the timeless

I have remarked at least one too many times that due to my perpetual news scavenging and diet of blogs, I spend about three hours of my day in New York—a place to which I've yet never been.

Now I might add that two hours of my day are French.

Recently, in fact on the occasion of my twenty-seventh birthday, I came into possession of a watch. It is a modest watch, in accordance with my precise specifications, but has one unrequested and conspicuous feature. An analog watch (this term of distinction only became necessary with the advent of digital watches, and is inferior I think to "cog watch"—a bit of revisionism I don't expect to catch on)... a cog watch, it has a day and a date function. I don't consider that remarkable of course, merely useful. But the implementation is intriguing.

At midnight, the date dutifully rolls over with a little click-thud, which sounds so good I've decided it's worth staying up for. Two hours later the day churns over. But not exactly to the new day. No, to the French abbreviation of it. In the wee hours of Saturday morning, I get the three letters SAB. Very late that evening, I get DOM — in bright red instead of black, a differentiation I interpret as "take the whole day off and eat heartily."

At 4am, the French hours conclude and my SAB becomes a SAT, my DOM becomes a red SUN, my LUN becomes a MON, my MAR becomes a TUE, my MIER becomes a WED, my JUEV becomes a THU, my VIER becomes a FRI. This interlude of Gallic time was initially disconcerting, but now that I've learnt its logic, I'm digging it.

I have been famous, in a very limited sense of that word, for looking at my watch. I have been famous in this sense for a number of things, including smoking cigarettes (which I have been told I not only did constantly but also was very good at), wearing shirt collars, living on a strict regimen of cheese and bacon rolls (known in some select quarters as Joe-Cuisine, I'm afraid), and never finishing my sentences. Everyone is famous in this sense of the word for different things, and I would be interested to hear the ways in which your particular circles find you famous. But like all fame, it entraps. You should be careful not to confuse the ways people recognise you with your identity; I learnt that to my detriment.

But I have been famous, and have been told I'm famous, for looking at my watch. Sometimes every couple of minutes—a trait I once liked to think reflected a lack of faith in this whole reality business, as if at any moment the hours could suddenly leap ahead and be lost to me, sometimes for good, sometimes for ill, bent to my will or conspiring against me. I now think it is more likely that the habit arose from the fact that I catch public transport a lot.

Like cigarettes certainly, and possibly like shirt collars and dubious fare, it is a rude habit. When my last watch broke two years ago, my friends were presumably relieved to find me paying attention more consistently. I survived by using my mobile phone to tell the time, but the inconvenience of this method did diminish my interest in chronology. Now I am struggling to remember to look at my watch when I want to know the time, so used am I to alternative methods: the green ticket munchers on the trams, the clocks on building tops, the height of the sun.

The most interesting thing I have to contribute to this disjointed post is the observation that, in an epoch where the most useful measurement of time is a contest between the millisecond and the nanosecond (as we sports-junkies have noticed in the last two weeks), where our goals and desires are split into the categories of time-critical and non-time-critical, where the observation of date and duration has assumed the force of law, where perhaps Cronos has been restored his throne, I am the only one among my contemporaries I know to bear a timepiece. The next nearest watch-bearing individual I know is ten years my senior.

Are they merely obstinate, these watchless? Or are they revolutionaries? What future for time?

Joseph | | Comments(10)

Comments

Vince

Nitpicking here! The actual nationality of your two non-anglophone hours is still under question, Joe. The French days of the week are as follows (from Sunday to Saturday): dimanche, lundi, mardi, mercredi, jeudi, vendredi et dernièrement samedi. The abbreviations DOM, MIER, JUEV, VIER and SAB suggest that your personal time is being daily hijacked by a different country (although I wouldn’t put it past the Academie Francaise to do that kind of thing).

I suggest Portuguese, Spanish or the evergreen Cheapfakish as possible culprits.

Joseph

Quite right: it’s Spanish. Despite ready access to Google, my ignorance still finds occasions to shine. :)

Didn’t I muzzle the spamming Scotsman?

mes ongles

I am famous for whistling, pedantry, and being late to everything.

My first watch lasted six years before breaking. When I finally bothered to replace it, I couldn’t find anything that matched up to the old one. In the end, I chose the most practical, durable-looking thing I could find, in a brand I trusted. It was supposed to be waterproof to fifty metres.

Two weeks later, it stopped - after being held about ten centimetres underwater. Sure, water from that creek could have eaten through steel, and we were in there for a few hours, but I’ve kind of lost faith in watches. I’ll get a new one someday, but it’ll probably be a fashion acessory; cheap, pretty and unreliable.

I am the disillusioned and apathetic watchless.

the bellman

“I suggest Portuguese, Spanish or the evergreen Cheapfakish as possible culprits.”

No the portuguese are very boring with thier names they start with domingo (which is related to the word for sunday from all the other romantic languages) and then go segunda-feira (which translates as 2nd-day) terca-feira (3rd-day) quatra-feira (4th-day) quinta-feira (5th-day) sexta-feira (6th-day) and then sabado (which like domingo is related once more to its latin roots). Brazilians (the biggest group of portuguese speakers in the world, and the only portuguese speakers with whom i have had contact), think that learning the days of the weeks in other languages is very difficult, because they make no sense.

Robert

I never wear a watch, or any other adornments.

I tried to get into the habit again when I bought a new watch about 18 months ago, but I was allergic to it. I came out in a circular rash on the back of my wrist, so I went back to my watchless state.

Far more annoying than people who look at their watches furiously are those who wear them on the right (as in incorrect) wrist. It drives me up the wall.

Peter

I was in Thailand at the start of the year and bought a replica Rolex for $10 or so. It was picture perfect in every aspect; I couldn’t find a single difference between it and the image in the Rolex catalogue (thoughtfully supplied by the street trader). When I questioned the strength of the face, the trader struck it with a hammer; so hard I was genuinely astonished this thing didn’t break. He offered to do any other test I could name, but having bartered down from $30, I didn’t want to press my luck. It even had the Rolex hologram on the back!

Now don’t get me wrong; I knew that a fake Rolex was still a fake Rolex. But I thought I was getting a good quality fake Rolex; certainly something better than all of those cheap $7 con-jobs.

That was why I was taken completely by surprise when I noted the peculiar feature in my new watch: a quick flick of the wrist (such as that which would be employed to see the watch’s face) causes the hour, minute and second hands to all flick to a random orientation.

I see this watch as a genuine fashion accessory. It retains its style, but offers no function whatsoever, which in the fashion world seems to be a good thing. Moreover, it leads to interesting conversations when, wearing the watch, I need to ask strangers the time.

Jackson

Robert,

I’m afraid those people who wear their watches on the ‘incorrect’ wrist may be left-handed. The left-handed are an oppressed bunch, who, since time immemorial, have suffered under the wrathful and apparently ‘rightful’ rule of the majority. Accused of diabolic associations, evil natures, and just generally being smart-arses, the left-handed have long had put up with this type of fury at their non-conformance. I suggest you take the time to think of all the trouble a watch on the ‘right’ wrist would cause some scribbler using a pen in that same hand. These people have suffered enough… can’t you let them be?