The contestants on the new Jeopardy, however, are more rebellious. They have taken to selecting the most difficult answers first, which makes some sense, since it assures them the opportunity to go for the largest amount of money. Usually, time elapses before all the answers can be tried—and the leftovers, from the players' standpoint, might as well be the cheap answers. Some players are being so unsymmetrical as to start in the middle of categories and work back and forward. This seems to noticeably upset Alex Trebek. He feels it is poor strategy, since contestants are thrown difficult answers before they understand the context of the categories—not all of which are totally obvious. It might also upset Trebek that the varying pattern of answer selection by contestants makes it harder to ensure that daily doubles, the wild cards of Jeopardy, will be selected toward the end of each round, when they will presumably help to keep viewers pinned to their seats until the end of Final Jeopardy.
Why doesn't a clinical thermometer register room temperature when you take it out of your medicine cabinet?
We trust thermometers. If our temperature is 98.8 degrees, we say we have a fever. But when we take out the thermometer, the temperature reading seems to have no correlation to reality. Why isn't the thermometer sensitive enough to know that room temperature is much lower than 96 degrees, or whatever the lowest number on the thermometer is?
In order to understand this phenomenon, we need a crash course in thermometer anatomy. The metal part of the thermometer that we stick into our mouths is the bulb. The rest of the thermometer is known as the stem. The mercury flows within a capillary, a narrow piece of glass called the mercury column. This column is quite narrow; the mercury in the thermometer is about the width of a human hair. At the base of the mercury column, near the bulb (and the lowest temperature numerals), you'll see a bump, which is called the constriction.
The constriction is the key to how a clinical thermometer works. To create the constriction, one spot of glass is heated to create a bump—controlled warping. The constriction works as a physical impediment to keep mercury from going down toward the bulb unless you shake it. If you don't shake the thermometer, the mercury will only go up, not down. The only reason any temperature in a thermometer rises is because the mercury in the bore of the thermometer expands. When the mercury retracts, the constriction is large enough to stop the flow of mercury.
If you take out your household thermometer and examine its packaging, you will probably see a note that indicates that the thermometer “conforms to ASTM E667.” This gibberish refers to the fact that all U.S. manufacturers of thermometers have voluntarily agreed to meet the standards of the American Society for Testing and Materials, an organization that sets standards for many products and services. ASTM is a nonprofit educational association, founded in 1898, that publishes over 7000 separate documents detailing standards in fields ranging from steel and chemicals to robotics, medical devices, and child resistant packaging. Committees, comprised of volunteers, contribute their time to set standards, and ASTM bylaws require that a majority of committee members may not be comprised of producers of the item for which the standards are being set.
The ASTM specifies that clinical thermometers have constrictions, and there is no reason for the industry to want to change the technology; after all, the constriction is cheap and efficient and requires no moving or mechanical parts that could fail to keep the mercury from returning to the bulb. The ASTM standards also help explain why all thermometer scales look so much alike. All clinical thermometers are expected to have scales ranging from at least 96 to 106 degrees Fahrenheit, and graduated in 0.2-degree Fahrenheit intervals. The only long lines allowed on the temperature scale are full-degree gradations and, at the producer's option, the 98.6 degrees designation.
The ASTM also sets minimum standards for the accuracy of clinical thermometers, in degrees Fahrenheit:
Temperature Range
Maximum Error
>96.4
0.4
96.4 to 97.9
0.3
98.0 to 101.9
0.2
102.0 to 106
0.3
<106
0.4
A clinical thermometer is designed to retain the body temperature of the user until it is reset, but a thermometer will respond to hotter temperatures. Many a thermometer has been broken in the mistaken belief that it is best to rinse off the bulb by using extremely hot water.
Why do Corn Flakes and Sugar Frosted Flakes have the same number of calories per serving?
If Sugar Frosted Flakes are Corn Flakes with added sugar, how can both cereals contain 110 calories per one-ounce serving? How can Sugar Crisp, more than one-half sucrose and other sugars, contain the same 110 calories per ounce as Cheerios, which are less than 5 percent sugar?
The answer is embarrassingly simple. All cereals are composed of two kinds of carbohydrates: complex carbohydrates are found in the starchy grains used in cereals (corn, oats, wheat, etc.); simple carbohydrates are represented by the sucrose and other forms of sugar and syrup used to sweeten cereals. A presweetened cereal such as Count Chocula might have the same total carbohydrate value as the non-presweetened Corn Total, but the proportion of sugars to starches will be radically different. Kellogg's Corn Flakes and Kellogg's Sugar Frosted Flakes have the same number of calories per serving because all carbohydrates, both simple and complex, contribute exactly four calories per gram.
How has 110 calories become the industry standard? The average nutrition count in American dry cereals per ounce serving is:
24 grams of carbohydrate
@ 4 calories per gram = 96 calories
1 gram of fat
@ 9 calories per gram = 9 calories
1 gram of protein
@ 4 calories per gram = 4 calories
total: 109 calories
Our average cereal, rounded off to the nearest 10 (as are all cereal labels), matches Corn Flakes' and Frosted Flakes' 110 calories.
The above chart points out another little-known piece of calorie trivia. Just as all forms of carbohydrates are four calories per gram, all proteins are four calories per gram. The protein in a greasy hamburger is no more fattening than the protein in lean halibut. Beef contains a higher proportion of fat than halibut—that is the only reason hamburger is more fattening.
There are only two ways to significantly raise or lower the calories in cereals. To add calories, add fat. General Mills's Donutz line of cereals has more than double the industry average of one gram of fat per one-ounce serving, but there is still much more fat in the whole milk that is poured into the cereal bowl.
To drop calorie counts, add fiber, which contains no calories. Kellogg's Most, a presweetened cereal with added fiber, is only 100 calories per ounce. Bran products and many puffed cereals with added fiber are often less than 100 calories per ounce.
The one-ounce serving referred to on the nutrition label is a measure of weight, not volume. An ounce of dry cereal often approximates one cup in volume. Because of the additional weight of the sugars, there will be less presweetened than unsweetened cereal in a one-ounce serving.
Since dietetic desserts are touted by their manufacturers as “rich” or “sweet,” it is surprising that no cereal manufacturer has ever tried to market a presweetened cereal as “no higher in calories” than an austere “adult” cereal like Total or Special K.
Why do pennies and nickels have smooth edges? Why do all other U.S. coins have serrated edges?
The first generation of United States coins had smooth edges. It wasn't until the use of the steam press that it became technologically and economically feasible to create coins with reeded edges.
The serrated edges are not there for ornamentation. Back in the good old days when coins were made out of silver or gold and actually had intrinsic value, nefarious types used to pull a favorite scam. They would file or clip the edges off coins. If they were diligent in their work and had access to enough coins, they could collect the valuable si
lver or gold chips and then palm off the amputated coin for its face value, turning a tidy little profit.
Milled edges proved to be an excellent deterrent, safe-guarding the integrity of the legal weight of the coin by making it obvious to the recipient whether or not the coin had been tampered with. If a silver dollar had a smooth edge, a banker or merchant would know that some miscreant had scraped it, and could refuse to accept it. Although many superstitious people tear corners off dollar bills, the paper itself was never purported to have intrinsic value—only the promise of the United States government to redeem it. Bearers of silver or gold coins, however, clung to the notion of today's survivalists—that even if the federal government went down the tubes, gold would still be “worth its weight in gold.”
The 20-cent piece is the only United States silver or gold coin with a smooth edge. Most have reeded edges, but many early gold and silver coins have lettering (e.g., ONE HUNDRED CENTS ONE DOLLAR OR UNIT) and a few have decorative designs.
After World War II, when the supply of silver fell and its price zoomed internationally, most countries eliminated or substantially reduced the silver content in their coins and used gold only for medals and commemorative coins aimed at numismatists and investors. In 1965, the United States took this measure, and many coin collectors hoarded silver coins, figuring that any silver coin would soon be valuable when the country was flooded with copper-nickel coins. Their optimism was justified but premature. When speculation hit its peak, with silver selling for $50 an ounce before the Nelson Hunt fiasco, pre-1965 coins were sold like scrap metal; the price rise had rendered the small differences in value between common coins obsolete. All pre-1965 Roosevelt dimes, for example, sold for more than the most valuable circulated dime was worth before the silver craze.
Silver is now selling for slightly more than one-tenth of what it fetched less than five years ago. The silver content of pre-1965 coins still exceeds their face value, so there is no reason for anyone to deface them. But there is also no need for the reeded edges to remain on American dimes, quarters, half dollars, and “silver” dollars. The copper-nickel isn't worth clipping—would-be criminals would be better off using metal detectors at the beach. Out of custom and inertia, the reeded edges remain on American coins, a nostalgic throwback to when there was a correlation between the actual and purported value of American money.
How do they unclog mail chutes in skyscrapers?
In tall office buildings, most experienced secretaries faced with a stack of important letters will take the elevator and deposit them on the ground floor repository rather than trust them to the mail chute. Accidents will happen, and letters put in mail chutes occasionally get stuck.
When a letter gets stuck, say, on the eighth floor, it is usually visible through the glass panels located above and below the metal plate where the mail is deposited. A call to the local post office is in order. In a skyscraper-saturated city like New York, the main post office has a separate phone number just for clogged mail chutes.
Someone from the post office will arrive bearing a ring heavily laden with keys. On every floor, there is a lock on the metal plate that can be opened only by postal workers. Mail chutes have proved to be remarkably durable, so as their design has evolved over the decades (even though Cutler Mail Chute Co. has long been the largest manufacturer of mail chutes), their locks have changed and a new key is necessary. It might be necessary to try thirty or forty different keys to open up the plate.
If the blockage is visible, the postal worker simply removes the glass panel above or below the metal plate and removes the offending piece of mail. What if the blockage is between floors and thus not visible? Then the harassed businessman pictured above just might have the right idea. Chances are, the postal worker will enlist the help of the janitorial staff and use the blunt edge of a broom to nudge the blockage up or down. A broom or stick will only be used as a last resort, as any instrument can damage an envelope. About 90 percent of the time, reports Walter Koob, supervisor of collection and delivery at New York's main branch, postal workers can get the envelope out with their hands.
Koob mentioned that there seems to be an increase in mail blockages around holidays and that the biggest offenders are oversized greeting cards. If you can't easily deposit a letter in a mail chute, don't try to force it. The reason these greeting cards tend to get stuck is that lazy depositors fit them in the chute by folding them over. This is a no-no of postal etiquette. If you fold over your contemporary birthday card, you stand a decent chance of needing to buy one of those stupid “so I forgot your birthday” cards as well.
When running into the dugout from his defensive position, why is the first baseman thrown a baseball from the dugout?
Most major league baseball teams have the first baseman take custody of the ball that will be used for infield drills while their pitcher is warming up between half innings. When in the dugout while his team is at bat, the first baseman keeps the ball thrown to him in his glove.
One might expect that the catcher, the general of the infield, would be given this responsibility, but the catcher is saddled with one time-consuming fact of life alien to other infielders—in order to prepare to take the field, the catcher must don a mask, chest protector, and knee guards. The first baseman, who is the “catcher” of all the other infielders during the warm-up period (since the catcher is preoccupied with the pitcher), is thus given the not too heavy responsibility of tending to the ball and getting the infielders loosened up as soon as possible.
Why is film measured in millimeters rather than inches?
Since Kodak has always been the biggest power in film sales, it seems strange that the metric system has long ruled the film world. It turns out it wasn't always so. Kodak directly answered this imponderable:
Except for 35 millimeter film, which is really cine film, most still camera films were made in inch sizes. It is only since the Japanese became the major camera manufacturers that “two-and-a-quarter square” became 6×6 centimeters. Some of the “metric sizes” of photographic paper are only soft conversions of inch sizes. The Kodak AG catalog lists 20.3×25.4 centimeters paper—which turns out to be 8×10 inches.
Why have many movie theaters stopped popping their own popcorn?
The popcorn business in the United States ain't peanuts. Americans, the largest per capita consumers in the world, eat over 10 billion quarts of popcorn annually, thus generating over $1 billion for the popcorn industry.
About 70 percent of all popcorn is consumed in the home and approximately 30 percent is bought in theaters, carnivals, amusement parks, stadiums, etc. But over 75 percent of the revenue from sales comes from popcorn bought outside of the home. About $250 million, or around one-quarter of all popcorn sales, is delivered by movie theater concession sales.
To understand how crucial popcorn sales are to the movie industry, consider the economic facts of life for the movie theater exhibitor. Each owner tabulates his “nut,” the total fixed costs and overhead needed to keep the theater open. In a large city, with a medium-sized house in a nice district, that nut might be about $12,000 a week. Let us assume that this theater, the Rialto, shows first-run movies and has booked the latest James Bond thriller for the Christmas season. The owner has committed the theater to this picture many months in advance. Often, because distributors want to place their movies in houses that can run them for a long time, he might be forced to stick with an already faded movie in his theater until James Bond comes to the rescue. If Friday the Thirteenth Part Thirteen is grossing only $8000 a week, the owner must eat the $4000 difference between his nut and his gross.
Even James Bond does not guarantee the exhibitor endless riches, for the film distributor wants his piece of the 007 action. And it is a rather large piece. The exhibitor does not pay cash for the right to run a movie; he gives the distributor a percentage of his gross, after the nut is deducted. In the case of most first-run movies, exhibitors must pay the distributor 90 percent of the net. If
James Bond grosses $62,000 the first week, a superb showing, the exhibitor deducts the $12,000 nut from the gross (leaving $50,000), keeps a measly 10 percent, or $5000, for himself, and then sends the rest of the money to the film's distributor (usually, but not always, the company that produced the movie). By the fifth week of James Bond's run, the theater might be lucky to clear $1000 a week from the ticket receipts.
But do not cry for the theater owner. He has a secret weapon: the concession stand. Popcorn. Soft drinks. Candy. The movies may pay the bills, but the concession stands send the family to Florida in the winter.
Let's look at how concession sales affect the bottom line of the Rialto. In large cities, about 15-20 percent of all customers will stop at the concession stand (in smaller towns, even more customers eat), and the theater owner figures to gross about 75 cents for every customer who walks through the turnstile, meaning that the average purchase is over $3. The key to making money in the concession area is maintaining a high profit margin, and the items sold do a terrific job. The average profit margin on candy—77 percent; on popcorn—86 percent; on soft drinks—a whopping 90 percent. For every dollar spent at the concession counter, the theater operator nets over 85 cents.
Imponderables Page 3
