Note: Cauliflower Corners will continue next week.
One of my favourite books, Webster’s New Twentieth Century Dictionary, Unabridged, Second Edition, weighs 10.4 pounds. I know this because I put it on the scale this morning. It seemed to be getting a little heavier every time I picked it up. Turns out, it wasn’t the book gaining weight at all but me getting a little weaker; happens as you age.
They (i.e. those pesky guys who always remain nameless) say that you should weigh your words carefully. So this morning, after all the paint I had been observing had dried nicely, one of the twisted little imps that roam my mind suggested to me that, perhaps, I should really find out exactly how much words really do weigh. Immediately, I thought of my favourite science teacher, Monsieur Fernand Crepeau. How would he go about this difficult yet scientifically important task?
As my third and final cup of coffee for the day set in at 8:27am, I was hit with the equivalent of what the French sometimes call a coup de foudre: a lightning strike. It was all so simple. Here are the steps you need to take.
1. Grab a dictionary.
2. Place dictionary on a reliable weigh scale.
3. Record the weight. Remember not to step on the scale as the weight is being noted.
4. Count the number of words in the dictionary.
5. Subtract the weight of the paper and book binding from the overall weight to get a net weight.
6. Divide the net weight of the dictionary by the number of words in the dictionary and, voila, you have the average weight of a word.
Now an astute reader, such as yourself, will want to know if the weight of the words should include the weight of the ink with which they were inscribed in the dictionary. Of course, the answer is no. If, around my house, I say the words “I think...” for instance, they don’t carry any weight at all.
The astute reader will, of course, have another perplexing question. It goes like this: “You have figured the weight of an average word by your ingenious method. But how do you measure the weight of a particular word? Surely the word “beanpole” weighs more than the word “obese” simply because it has more letters.” This is, without doubt, a good point and I can see Monsieur Crepeau bob his head in approval.
What needs to be done then is to modify step 6, above. Rather than count the number of words in the dictionary, all you need to do is count the number of letters in the dictionary and use that number as the denominator. The result is the weight per letter. To calculate the weight of the word “idiot”, you multiply the weight per letter times 4. What you say? It should be 5 not 4. Not true. The letter “i” appears twice. You should not double count.
At this point, I started to count all the letters in the dictionary. By 4pm, I was only a quarter of the way through Webster’s. I was supposed to make supper. She Who Must Be Obeyed would not be happy if I shirked this particular responsibility. I really didn’t want to stop. What would Monsieur Crepeau do? Order take out? Nope. He would say this.
“Your data will probably be flawed anyway, within plus or minus 85%, 19 times out of 20. So, take your total so far at the quarter point and multiply it by 4 to estimate the overall total. Then divide it into your net weight to get your weight per letter.” Brilliant. I started to do the math on my abacus until I realized that I would have to subtract all the double and triple and quadruple etc. letters. Crap. I’d have to start dinner soon and there was no time to go back and pull out the duplicates.
Luckily, I had an epiphany. It went like this: You dolt, there are only 26 letters in alphabet. This is the number you get when you pull out all the duplicate letters in the dictionary. All you have to do is divide 10.4 pounds by 26 letters and you’ll get the exact weight per letter. Comes out to 4/10 of a pound per letter, if you ignore the fact that a double u (w) might count for 2 letters.
Under this system, the word “bug” weighs 1.2 pounds. The word “nuts” weights 1.6 pounds. We all know nuts are heavier than a bug and that alone is enough to prove this method is correct. Very simple really. To prove the point even further, one only has to observe that a pocket dictionary, which has fewer words in it than an unabridged version, weighs less than the unabridged version. In my mind, I see Monsieur Crepeau shaking his head with what appears to be approval but could also just be indigestion.
And then it all comes flooding to me. This is the same method, with a few modifications, used by governments to estimate the cost of any program it wants to launch. This is the same method used by “experts” to justify their eye-popping projections. This is the same method used by teenagers to estimate the damage caused to the car you lent them after they “bumped” it into a fence post while doing donuts in the school parking lot.
Proud of myself, I got up and started to make supper. I hummed away over the hot stove, comforted in the knowledge that, with my new discovery, doing taxes this year would turn out to be a breeze. Merci Monsieur Crepeau. You taught me well as you could.
Bob Walpole can be corrected at:
www.theredcravat.blogspot.com
