Looking at casting machines. There's one that's been on eBay for eighteen months "local sale only" that happens to be six miles away. Owned by a working jeweler with a bunch of other stuff. I can't really afford it right now but I'd like to be able to afford it soon. I also don't wanna lowball someone local because this is a tiny f'n community.

There's a 3D printer showing up today. The isopropyl and ultrasonic cleaner and curing lights and stuff will show up tomorrow. The resin showed up last week; I have to remind myself that the basement-dwelling dollprinters are largely juveniles because like, they're all "I've been in the garage all day and I just read the instructions on the bottle and it says "may be harmful if swallowed" and I'm breathing it is it too late for me or should I go to the emergency room" and fuckin' hell, guys, I've drunk gin with more offensive fumes. Fuckers need to meet aircraft remover. Shit'll turn your skin clear and eat your pants. If you're fourteen? You're allowed to be a pussy. But if you pay rent?

I was cleaning up yesterday and found my viking knit box. So I made some. It takes about an hour to make eight inches badly.

I made a few inches last spring 'cuz it's a good thing to do while you're sitting doing nothing, kinda like real knitting. I think there's something there.

Viking knit, near as I can tell, cannot be made easily by machine. This protects you from Teh Cheapness. This is Patek Philippe:

This is Teh Cheapness:

I'm not sure what is there yet but I'm not ready to give up. I'm positive it's not this.

In other news, I had an hour so I dismantled a lady's watch. Old Clinton. You didn't even know that was a brand. They were out of Chicago, used Swiss movements. Went back to the twenties, yadda yadda. Broken balance staff, mainspring that was maybe at 10% power. The back hit me though.

I posted this to Instagram:

Here's the thing about watches.

Someone gave this to Angie back in the 50s, probably. It's a company you've never heard of, a base metal case, probably a cord strap, maybe an FHF movement, who knows, maybe we'll find out in a minute. It probably came from Montgomery Ward. It was never a Rolex, it was never a Patek.

But Angie wore it for twenty years or more, based on the service marks inside the case. This was a part of Angie's daily routine through the Red Scare, maybe kids, a few cars, who knows. She wound it every day.

Eventually it wasn't worth fixing. Maybe her kids or grandkids unloaded it in an estate sale. I bought it in a bag of thirty or so for six bucks. It's undoubtedly garbage now- it's not vaguely worth fixing and is another cadaver for the table in pursuit of horological knowledge.

But for twenty years it was a part of Angie's life.

That Apple Watch on your wrist. Where's it gonna be in 2039?

People hang on to their watches. Even now. I fixed someone's dad's Lorus this summer. Watch probably cost $30 in 1972. One of his prized possessions. There's something about a machine that becomes part of your identity. A device that's with you every day, everywhere you go. I think that's one of the things we have such a fucked up relationship with our phones - we invest ourselves in them while also knowing they'll let us down, betray us and need to be replaced after two years.

Angie's been making me think.