What I Learned Today

This isn’t a book review, since I haven’t read the book yet. It’s more of a book preview. I’ve only had a chance to read the Introduction so far, but that alone already has me jittering with desire to dig in and dig deeply. It’s that good, and has that much content that speaks to me.

Shop Class as Soul Craft, by Matthew Crawford, is a book that my friend Jim recommended long ago. I’m finally getting the chance to take a look for myself. It emphasizes the deep-down satisfaction that we gain from making (or fixing) things ourselves, with our own hands. More generally, it considers the nature of work, and what constitutes a meaningful occupation.

Here are some tidbits from the Introduction that resonated with me, or that I found particularly thought-provoking:

“Following a doctorate in political philosophy at the University of Chicago, I took a job as executive director of a Washington ‘think tank.’ I was always tired, and honestly could not see the rationale for my being paid at all—what tangible goods or services was I providing to anyone? The sense of uselessness was dispiriting. That pay was good, but it truly felt like compensation, and after five months I quit to open a bike shop.”

“This book grows out of an attempt to understand the greater sense of agency and competence I have always felt doing manual work, compared to other jobs that were officially recognized as ‘knowledge work.’ Perhaps most surprisingly, I often find manual work more engaging intellectually. This book is an attempt to understand why this should be so.”

“… I hope [this book] will speak to those who may be unlikely to go into the trades professionally but strive for some measure of self-reliance—the kind that requires focused engagement with our material things.”

“Those who work in an office often feel that, despite the proliferation of contrived metrics they must meet, their job lacks objective standards of the sort provided by, for example, a carpenter’s level, and that as a result there is something arbitrary in the dispensing of credit and blame.”

I’m hooked; bring on the soul craft!

Today in Edinburgh I came across a boxed set of the first four Fighting Fantasy books. Immediately a wave of childhood reminiscence swept over me. I was totally fascinated by the Pick-a-Path books (in which you’d make a story plot choice and jump to a different page to learn what the outcome was) and then later by more sophisticated versions that had you track D&D-style stats and possessions and simulate battles (I remember really enjoying some spaceship-themed books). I don’t remember Fighting Fantasy itself, which apparently was the U.K. version of Choose Your Own Adventure (CYOA).

I hesitated, the books in my hand. I’d had a recent disappointment with CYOA in which I’d jumped on purchasing a couple of recently published books that I’d come across online. “Your Very Own Robot” and “The Haunted House” (both published in 2006, originally 1982) turned out to be painfully inane and even worse, random! There was no connection between a “good” choice and a “good” outcome. No matter what choice you made, it was like rolling a dice to see whether it would lead to success or failure (or unicorns on rainbows, in one case). I was left unsure whether the books ever had any redeeming qualities. (I later learned that these books are from their “younger readers” series. But still.)

Checking these Fighting Fantasy books, they turned out to be 2003 reprints of the original 1982 stories. I wondered whether I should purchase them (turn to page 67) or save my money for something else (turn to page 125). I went with the first option and brought them back to my B&B room. So far I’m midway through my first play/read of The Warlock of Firetop Mountain, and it’s fun (if simple). I’ve slain five orcs and two goblins, and although I am not very Lucky, my Stamina is high and I still have 9 meals of food remaining. Even better, there’s far more logic evident connecting choices to outcomes. I’ve also enjoyed crafting a map of the mountain (one of the things I love about interactive fiction, too). I’m hoping to be faced with some actual puzzles to solve.

I find it interesting that there seems to be a thriving community still surrounding these books. While revolutionary when they were first introduced, I would have expected them to be superseded by more advanced video games, interactive fiction (which provides a richer kind of interaction), and the web itself (hypertext being a much easier way to provide the jumping-around narrative). But judging from the Official Fighting Fantasy Website (where you can sign up to join the online community), they seem instead to have maintained their popularity, and they’re even providing the books in iPhone App format (which seems a less clunky (and more aesthetic) solution than the books).

Perhaps one reason they’re still so popular is that they’ve made it easy for fans to write their own Fighting Fantasies (Amateur Adventures) which are posted for other fans to enjoy. This reminds me distinctly of the Interactive Fiction Archive, where IF written by enthusiasts is shared with others in the community. And in addition, the Fighting Fantasies are actively marketed as a teaching aid for reluctant readers. I think they’re great, even for non-reluctant readers!

“I’m looking for a book on trees.”

I blinked up at the library patron and experienced a moment of mental white-out. Almost, but not quite as bad as, “I’m looking for a book with words in it.” Since she seemed to expect some sort of response, I asked, “Ah… what kind of trees?” and we launched into a mini-game of 20 Questions that ended with me finding “Trees and Shrubs for Dummies” and her walking away beaming happily. Strictly speaking, though, I was breaking the rules.

I’ve been volunteering at the library since May, helping out with shelving books, re-barcoding books, sorting donations, and helping patrons with computer questions. Last week I was officially designed a “Tech Volunteer” and given a seat at the Adult Reference desk, next to the (real) Adult Reference Librarian. My areas of capability are clearly delineated: I am permitted to assist patrons in any way with computer questions and I can guide them in their OPAC computer catalog searches — but only if they are doing an Author or Title search. Subject searches, I was told, are more complicated, and for that I should direct patrons to the actual librarians. So yesterday I sat at the desk, a pile of books before me to bar-code, and every 30 seconds I would look up to see if any of the patrons at the 20 library computers before me were in need of assistance (I am getting very good at visually assessing this). Every five minutes or so, I’d get up and physically wander through the area, since this often elicits questions patrons otherwise don’t feel like getting up to ask. I helped with login questions, printing questions, and even one patron’s request for a “unique identifier” that she could use as a screen name. Given some coaching, she settled on a name — then came back two minutes later for help in picking a “tricky” password. I managed to give her tips on how to do this without her actually telling me what she came up with (whew!). And after each person I helped, I got to increment the tally on our official Reference sheet for the day.

At any rate, I had my station at the Reference desk, complete with a little sign that says “Tech Volunteer on Duty” that I get to put up to advertise my capabilities. But then the OPAC database access went down. It’s still not clear exactly what was wrong (and it’s still broken today). Patrons using the catalog computers could get a list of results by “Browsing” authors or titles, but clicking through to an individual book title yielded “title not found.” Keyword searches returned zero hits. Our library is small, but it does have more than one book with “Lewis” as the author name. So what do you do when the catalog fails? You go to the Reference desk! And from the patron view, I was apparently indistinguishable from a Real Librarian. Both of us were suddenly inundated with patron requests. One good thing was that our two computers, which use a different program to access the catalog, were still working. So I puzzled out how to look up books, check copy status, browse related subjects, etc., through the new interface, to help field the questions we were getting. Nothing like learning on the fly!

And let me tell you, they were right: figuring out what book is wanted by doing Subject searches *does* require some advanced skills, like being familiar with the Library of Congress subject listing (which now comprises six printed volumes!). Nothing is based on words actually in the content of the books, only what predefined subject tags have been associated with them. If you don’t know the tags to use, you can’t find anything. Sitting at that desk was like being on a quiz show.

“Do you have a book on resumes? One with examples so I can just fill in the blanks?”

Mostly this was fun (but somewhat adrenaline-rushy), except for one particular episode. A gentleman approached with, “Where are your cookbooks?” I replied, “I’ll look that up for you.” He said, “What, you don’t know?” I located the section and escorted him to it. “I didn’t bring my glasses,” he said. “Could you find me a slow-cooker book?” I scanned through three sections and triumphantly handed him three such books to select from. He picked one, and then I made my mistake. “Can I help you check that out? I’d be happy to show you how to use the self-check machine.” He grinned and accepted. As we walked across the library, he launched into, “Where did you go to school? How old are you? Are you single? Live by yourself? I have two single sons in their mid-40’s.” I was totally taken aback, trapped between the library customer-service mentality and a cringing horror at what was issuing from his mouth. I showed him the use of the machine and escaped as quickly as I could. How do you tactfully indicate to someone that they are overstepping the bounds of politeness? Maybe library training needs to include advanced social maneuvering as well.

Overall, though, I was able to help several people and, given the OPAC problem, I felt that my presence made a difference. Not bad for diving in! Even if I broke the rules by helping with Subject searches.

Today, I was off the Reference desk hook and instead shelving Juvenile fiction. But I stopped in to say hello to the Reference desk librarian, and then as I was leaving, I heard a patron ask her:

“Do you have a book on history?”

She answered, “What period of history are you interested in?” and I smiled as I walked back to the children’s side of the library.

In reading “The How and Why of Mechanical Movements,” I’ve gone from levers to linkages to wheels to pulleys to screws, plus a really fascinating discussion of friction and its use in machines. One of the cleverest devices I’ve seen so far is the differential pulley or differential hoist, used in auto repair shops and factories to allow humans to lift very heavy loads (like car engines).

The differential pulley is composed of two pulleys with different diameters mounted on the same axle. The rope (or chain, with toothed pulleys, to prevent slippage) is looped in opposite directions over the two pulleys, with the weight to be lifted suspend from one downward loop. If you pull on the other (unloaded) loop hanging down, relative to the larger-diameter pulley, then for each meter of rope/chain it releases, the smaller pulley must take up fractionally more rope/chain, yielding a net lift for the suspended weight. The diameter difference means that you had to pull more rope/chain than the distance the weight was lifted, yielding a mechanical advantage (i.e., you don’t have to pull as hard, you just have to do it for longer). This is difficult to explain in words, and much easier to grasp from a diagram; click the image at right to enlarge it. (I personally found the differential windlass, which was a precursor to the differential hoist, a useful aid in understanding the latter.) At first it seems counter-intuitive that the weight should hang suspended without pulling the second loop tight as well, until you observe that the key is that the two pulleys share the same axle and are wound in different directions. Thus the weight pulls equally on both sides of the axle and it does not turn, until an additional force (your hand) upsets that balance. (All drawings are from A First Course in Physics, by Robert Andrews Millikan and Henry Gordon Gale (Ginn and Company, 1906), as cited in Donald Simanek’s lecture on simple machines.)

If it wasn’t obvious, I’m really enjoying this book (and learning a lot). The current chapter just covered automobile clutches and brakes and several different kinds of bearings. The next chapter moves on to gears and transmissions (actual automobile transmissions, manual and automatic). Given its richness and re-read value, I’m likely to want to keep this one much longer than the library permits. Amazon to the rescue!

It’s easy to get something to move in a circle; just pin one end down and rotate the rest (like the kind of compass you draw with) or pin the center down and rotate (like a merry-go-round). But how do you get something to move in a perfectly straight line, as is needed, for example, in engines with pistons? I’m reading a delightful book from the 1960’s called “The How and Why of Mechanical Movements,” and the subject of straight-line motion came up in chapter 2 (Levers).

It turns out that a clever arrangement of a collection of rigid bars, connected into a linkage, can give you this magical straight-line motion. Various inspired inventors have come up with different ways to achieve it, and their concepts are illuminating and fascinating.

There’s Watt’s linkage, which requires only three links. It doesn’t quite produce perfectly straight motion (note path of the red point in the animation at right), but good enough that it was used by early steam engines. It’s still used in the rear axle suspension of some vehicles, so that no sideways motion is permitted between the body of the car and the axle (the axle only moves in a vertical straight line with respect to the car body).

The Chebyshev linkage (below left) likewise uses three links and achieves a straighter line, within a prescribed range. In 1864, the Peaucellier-Lipkin linkage (below right) was invented, and it even comes with a proof of collinearity. (These animations are awesome!)

The authors of “How Round is Your Circle?” (another book that looks absolutely engrossing) have an excellent supplementary website. One page shows some beautiful physical incarnations of the almost-straight-line linkages as well as the truly straight-line linkages (check out the videos!).

And now, I’m off to read about more fabulous mechanical movements and be awed by others’ ingenuity.