The Watchman returneth (?)
Something has been missing from my left wrist for almost six years: a watch.
Back in high school and college, I always wore a watch. (Maybe not my senior year of high school, though. My first Timex Ironman bit the dust after two trips through the washer and dryer during the summer of 2000.) I was the de facto time keeper; people were always asking me for the time and I always had it — conveniently strapped to my left wrist.
There was no particular reason other than the fact I liked knowing what time it was. (The exact time. I always synced it with the clock on The Weather Channel.) It was functional. Period. It also reminded me when I was one day older. For years I set the alarm for the time I was born. It would beep when we would be at football games or hanging out. Sometimes I would hear it and other times I would not. Regardless, everyone else noticed and it seems to have made an impression. Last year, Bobblehead wished me a happy birthday via text at the exact minute my watch would be beep-beep-beeping.
However, I stopped wearing a watch after moving to California. Instead of checking the Timex Expedition on my wrist, I checked my cell phone when I wanted to know the time. (It was very noticeable to everyone I knew. When Mervgotti played me a visit in Santa Cruz, he asked, “Where’s your watch?”) I wore my watch only when I ran and have done so ever since.
Recently, though, I have worn it while camping. It was an easy reference when my cell phone was elsewhere or off. Before camping on Saturday, I needed to run some errands and watch Stanley for a few hours so I gathered a number of things from my apartment early in the day, including my watch. I strapped it to my left wrist and went about my day. Off and on I would, almost by instinct, glance down and turn my wrist to check the time. It was helpful and convenient — and made a big impression. I realized what I have been missing all these years.
Today I decided to start wearing a watch again — at least for a while. I want to try it out just to see how it goes. So far so good, though. I even replaced the long-dead battery in my Ironman so I now have two watches: one I can wear every day and another I can wear while running. (My Ironman went on the fritz around 2004. Instead of showing the time, the screen looked like the alien timer at the end of Predator. I had no clue what happened so I stashed it in my desk and bought the Expedition I have used ever since. Today, though, I took the Ironman out of my desk and down to Herteen & Stocker. They replaced the battery and gave me another springbar — for a total rip-off of $24! Anyway, it was a nice surprise to see it working again for the first time in at least eight years.)
Back in high school and college, I always wore a watch. (Maybe not my senior year of high school, though. My first Timex Ironman bit the dust after two trips through the washer and dryer during the summer of 2000.) I was the de facto time keeper; people were always asking me for the time and I always had it — conveniently strapped to my left wrist.
There was no particular reason other than the fact I liked knowing what time it was. (The exact time. I always synced it with the clock on The Weather Channel.) It was functional. Period. It also reminded me when I was one day older. For years I set the alarm for the time I was born. It would beep when we would be at football games or hanging out. Sometimes I would hear it and other times I would not. Regardless, everyone else noticed and it seems to have made an impression. Last year, Bobblehead wished me a happy birthday via text at the exact minute my watch would be beep-beep-beeping.
However, I stopped wearing a watch after moving to California. Instead of checking the Timex Expedition on my wrist, I checked my cell phone when I wanted to know the time. (It was very noticeable to everyone I knew. When Mervgotti played me a visit in Santa Cruz, he asked, “Where’s your watch?”) I wore my watch only when I ran and have done so ever since.
Recently, though, I have worn it while camping. It was an easy reference when my cell phone was elsewhere or off. Before camping on Saturday, I needed to run some errands and watch Stanley for a few hours so I gathered a number of things from my apartment early in the day, including my watch. I strapped it to my left wrist and went about my day. Off and on I would, almost by instinct, glance down and turn my wrist to check the time. It was helpful and convenient — and made a big impression. I realized what I have been missing all these years.
Today I decided to start wearing a watch again — at least for a while. I want to try it out just to see how it goes. So far so good, though. I even replaced the long-dead battery in my Ironman so I now have two watches: one I can wear every day and another I can wear while running. (My Ironman went on the fritz around 2004. Instead of showing the time, the screen looked like the alien timer at the end of Predator. I had no clue what happened so I stashed it in my desk and bought the Expedition I have used ever since. Today, though, I took the Ironman out of my desk and down to Herteen & Stocker. They replaced the battery and gave me another springbar — for a total rip-off of $24! Anyway, it was a nice surprise to see it working again for the first time in at least eight years.)
