Dear Reader,
Some words just roll off the tongue, are pleasing to the palette of the muse. Some words are similar to mountain air, to use them can be compared to inhaling deeply at some great height. Some words are like cherries, in that the simple delight of eating just one can often be a universe of sensation unto itself. Some words have meanings as deep and still as a well, and a thousand times as dark.
I like words. I like to fancy myself a wordsmith, or at the very least an apprentice in the complicated art of the mastery of locution. However, the truth is that even an apprentice would have far greater a mastery of the hammers and tongs of diction than I. Still, I feebly stab at it, trying, by virtue of incredible luck and infinite repetition, to find the nut that the blind squirrel missed.
To that end I often find myself visiting online thesauruses, desperately searching for the word that makes me sound far more educated than I actually am. Despite this searching, I often find several words or phases pop up in my writing in a repetitive basis. Sometimes these words are in different languages, or are sometimes made up by myself. Frustrating is one of them.
To my infinite chagrin, my verbal diction is often colorless as well, or rather, colored in a manner unsuitable to the person I would like to be. Four letter words often creep into my speech and writing, and while sometimes there is nothing more satisfying that letting loose an extreme barrage of expletives, the effect rendered is less than spectacular if it is done more than twice a year.
However, on the eve of this writing, one word comes to mind. It is not in our language, yet is still one of my favorite words. It is Makaze.
Makaze is a Japanese word meaning "Evil Wind". The word Kamakaze means "Divine Wind", although the use of Kamakaze bombers in the Second World War have tarnished the great word. Kamakaze was originally used in ancient Japan, when, on the eve of invasion by Mongolian Naval forces, Scholars and Japanese warriors witnessed, "A Divine Wind arise, and smash the invader's fleet to driftwood." The Japanese were ill prepared for this invasion, and, were it not for the "Kamakaze" they would have been occupied by the Mongols. It saddens me that the name of this extraordinary event has been tarnished by a blood sacrifice in the name of a military regime.
Still, it is neither Kamakaze, nor Makaze which concern me this evening, but rather the word within the word. Kaze. Japanese for wind.
In light of the nature of this blog, I feel it important to establish a few facts before we move on to the point and purpose that I've been dancing around for the past few paragraphs. My friends, with the notable exception of Abe, have all gone to college. Class for Meghan started more than a week ago, and Sarah and Jasmine began this morning. Abe's working two jobs, and might as well be going to school for all the work he's doing. Leaving only me.
Everyone is doing something, and I'm still in a holding pattern, high above the ground. One thing that should be known about me is that I'm a Jack of All Trades. Meaning I can do anything I set my mind to, and do it fairly well. Most of the time it's good to be a Jack of All Trades. However, we are wired differently. Because of our nature, we can't do any one thing for any length of time, we experience what the Germans like to call Fernweh, or "An ache for the distance".
Wanderlust.
My family, because that's what they are, Abe, Sarah, Jasmine, Meghan, are settling into their places, getting comfortable, finding their way.
Meanwhile. Voices whisper in my ear, like the wind.
I both hate and love these voices. They are responsible for both the worst and best times in my life. My highest triumphs, my darkest lows. They've helped me through, and driven me down. I cannot resist these voices, to try is to delve into madness. They've been quiet for some time, but now they whisper again. Rustling in the trees, sighing in time to the canyons, a feather touch on my face. "Time to go." And I agree. It's time for me to wander again.
Still, I love this place. This town. The people here. I've built a home here. A life. We laughed, we loved, we fought, we cried. A good friend of mine died here. I fell in love here. I've invested enough of myself here to feel the pangs of leaving.
I have three weeks left. I intend to make the most of them. I will live, I will laugh, I will love, and I will play. Because I will miss this place, these people, this family.
But I absolutely must go. My Kaze calls.
-Doug
"I accept your verdict, but not the sentence. I have a destiny."
-Richard, LFG
Monday, August 25, 2008
Monday, August 18, 2008
That guy: Musings
I'd like to begin todays lecture by pointing out a few things. First off, I, unlike all the other people who make up this clusterfuck will not be writing about college. In fact, that line right there is the most you will hear about it for a long time from my words. You have enough drivel to listen to about it from the others.
I was walking today. I do that from time to time, partially because it's a convenient, healthy, pleasant way to move from one way to another, and partially because I don't own a car at the moment. Plus, my bike is still in the oppressive grasp of a terrorist regime.
Anyways, I was walking. During my walks, I usually have my headphones in to help block out the disgusting sounds of traffic and the human disease called life. When I have my headphones in, I tend to be either much more observent, or totally spacey. It's a hit or miss, and truely follows no pattern. This can lead to some interesting events. Now, for those who don't know, I love music. Far more than almost anything else. The variety of music I listen to even shocks me at many a time. But when I'm trying to drown out an obnoxious, construction filled, lunch-hour traffic road, there is only one way to go.
Metal.
I'm a pretty big metalhead. I've never been a huge fan of the REALLY heavy shit, because I like being able to understand what's being said, screamed, or even sung. Number 1 on my metal list would have to be Lamb of God. The most talented drummer today, two absolutely incredible guitarists, an ordinary metal bassist, and a vocalist who could put a meat-grinder to shame compose a powerful, devestating band, where people get hospitalized at their shows, and band members punch each other out in drunken rages before going on stage.
There is a point to this. Like I said, I've never been a fan of really heavy shit. I know it might sound weird, but if you listen to their albums, you know what I mean. I've always enjoyed their 'softer' songs. Right?
So I was walking. And LOG was blasting in my ears. And the song 11th Hour came on. This is one of the heavy songs, but instead of me simply just enjoying it, it fucking gave me chills. Let me explain how big of a deal that is.
Here's the scale.
Changing the channel/song- I dont enjoy it very much at all.
Turning it down- I dont enjoy it.
Bobbing/tapping/swaying- I like it or am just in the groove and dont care anymore.
Turning it up- I really like it.
Turning it up and singing along- I really like it very much.
Shushing people- It's one of my faves.
Getting fucking chills- I will fucking kill you if you disrupt this mood.
Crying- Only 4 songs have ever made me do this. These are the most powerful songs on the face of the Earth.
Get it? One of the heavier songs gave me chills. It was weird. But the chills never lie. The moral of this story? Don't predetermine what might happen based on what you think you know. It's gonna be wrong.
The next brilliant little tidbit comes from the same walk.
As I was walking, I noticed something. Being on my feet all day for work, walking all the time, running alot and doing plenty of other things that involve my feet gives me superpowers. I'm very good at noticing the small things, especially when they involve me. I develop super senses over time, as many people can attest to. My sense of hearing is excellent, as is my sense of smell. I consider my taste really good, but recently, I've noticed my touch becoming more sensitive.
Being that we live in a desert state, there are plenty of variations on terrain. The city provides asphalt, concrete, grass, dirt, rocks, gravel, carpet, tile, and more. It first came to me when I would walk to work and cut through a dirt ditch. Upon crossing over onto the sidewalk, I would notice that my shoes no longer felt the same when they impacted on the concrete walk. It dawned on me. Stopping, I lifted my leg up, and started pulling goatheads (a spiny protrusion) out of the bottom of my shoes. I realized that I had been doing this for a long time. Whenever rocks got stuck in my treads, or I stepped in gum, I would always notice.
It got to the point that I would be able to count how many stickers I had in each shoe simply by taking a step. Again I am going somewhere with this.
It was hot outside today. Not very hot, but hot enough that the heat coming off the sidewalk made a difference in my stride. Upon crossing a small, intersecting street, I stepped in a puddle in the gutter. My mind was blown the next moment. I stepped onto the sidewalk, and as the water on the bottom of my shoe touched the searing ground, it evaporated so quickly that all traction dissapeared for the most brief moment I've ever known. I stopped. This was facsinating. Never before had I lost so much traction so quickly. Even when I've been lifted off the ground, or hydroplaned a car.
The moral of this story? I totally have the coolest fight scene ever planned out, revolving around this mysterious puddle incident. Yup. I have a life-altering, mind-expanding experience, and all that happens is visions of beatdowns. EPIC beatdowns.
Goodnight.
Authors note:
Now, I had originally intended to post more in this one, but due to the time, and the fact that I need to be up way too early tomorrow morning, I've decided to cut it back. Also, if I had included my next post in this one, it would be rediculously long, and even I wouldn't want to read it. So with that, 'Musings and Food Follies' becomes simply 'Musings', with 'Food Follies' to be posted the next long moment I have around the intronots.
-That guy
I was walking today. I do that from time to time, partially because it's a convenient, healthy, pleasant way to move from one way to another, and partially because I don't own a car at the moment. Plus, my bike is still in the oppressive grasp of a terrorist regime.
Anyways, I was walking. During my walks, I usually have my headphones in to help block out the disgusting sounds of traffic and the human disease called life. When I have my headphones in, I tend to be either much more observent, or totally spacey. It's a hit or miss, and truely follows no pattern. This can lead to some interesting events. Now, for those who don't know, I love music. Far more than almost anything else. The variety of music I listen to even shocks me at many a time. But when I'm trying to drown out an obnoxious, construction filled, lunch-hour traffic road, there is only one way to go.
Metal.
I'm a pretty big metalhead. I've never been a huge fan of the REALLY heavy shit, because I like being able to understand what's being said, screamed, or even sung. Number 1 on my metal list would have to be Lamb of God. The most talented drummer today, two absolutely incredible guitarists, an ordinary metal bassist, and a vocalist who could put a meat-grinder to shame compose a powerful, devestating band, where people get hospitalized at their shows, and band members punch each other out in drunken rages before going on stage.
There is a point to this. Like I said, I've never been a fan of really heavy shit. I know it might sound weird, but if you listen to their albums, you know what I mean. I've always enjoyed their 'softer' songs. Right?
So I was walking. And LOG was blasting in my ears. And the song 11th Hour came on. This is one of the heavy songs, but instead of me simply just enjoying it, it fucking gave me chills. Let me explain how big of a deal that is.
Here's the scale.
Changing the channel/song- I dont enjoy it very much at all.
Turning it down- I dont enjoy it.
Bobbing/tapping/swaying- I like it or am just in the groove and dont care anymore.
Turning it up- I really like it.
Turning it up and singing along- I really like it very much.
Shushing people- It's one of my faves.
Getting fucking chills- I will fucking kill you if you disrupt this mood.
Crying- Only 4 songs have ever made me do this. These are the most powerful songs on the face of the Earth.
Get it? One of the heavier songs gave me chills. It was weird. But the chills never lie. The moral of this story? Don't predetermine what might happen based on what you think you know. It's gonna be wrong.
The next brilliant little tidbit comes from the same walk.
As I was walking, I noticed something. Being on my feet all day for work, walking all the time, running alot and doing plenty of other things that involve my feet gives me superpowers. I'm very good at noticing the small things, especially when they involve me. I develop super senses over time, as many people can attest to. My sense of hearing is excellent, as is my sense of smell. I consider my taste really good, but recently, I've noticed my touch becoming more sensitive.
Being that we live in a desert state, there are plenty of variations on terrain. The city provides asphalt, concrete, grass, dirt, rocks, gravel, carpet, tile, and more. It first came to me when I would walk to work and cut through a dirt ditch. Upon crossing over onto the sidewalk, I would notice that my shoes no longer felt the same when they impacted on the concrete walk. It dawned on me. Stopping, I lifted my leg up, and started pulling goatheads (a spiny protrusion) out of the bottom of my shoes. I realized that I had been doing this for a long time. Whenever rocks got stuck in my treads, or I stepped in gum, I would always notice.
It got to the point that I would be able to count how many stickers I had in each shoe simply by taking a step. Again I am going somewhere with this.
It was hot outside today. Not very hot, but hot enough that the heat coming off the sidewalk made a difference in my stride. Upon crossing a small, intersecting street, I stepped in a puddle in the gutter. My mind was blown the next moment. I stepped onto the sidewalk, and as the water on the bottom of my shoe touched the searing ground, it evaporated so quickly that all traction dissapeared for the most brief moment I've ever known. I stopped. This was facsinating. Never before had I lost so much traction so quickly. Even when I've been lifted off the ground, or hydroplaned a car.
The moral of this story? I totally have the coolest fight scene ever planned out, revolving around this mysterious puddle incident. Yup. I have a life-altering, mind-expanding experience, and all that happens is visions of beatdowns. EPIC beatdowns.
Goodnight.
Authors note:
Now, I had originally intended to post more in this one, but due to the time, and the fact that I need to be up way too early tomorrow morning, I've decided to cut it back. Also, if I had included my next post in this one, it would be rediculously long, and even I wouldn't want to read it. So with that, 'Musings and Food Follies' becomes simply 'Musings', with 'Food Follies' to be posted the next long moment I have around the intronots.
-That guy
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Meghan: The Kit
One fine day in the middle of whenever, four of the Fearsome Fivesome decided to go see a movie.
Not just any movie. Iron Man.
(If you’ve seen this movie you know just how epic it is and fanfare probably starts playing in your head whenever you hear the name)
Anywho we drove to the theatre and bought our tickets while Doug and That Guy ranted in line about the film we were about to partake. If there was an alter to Iron Man, I’d say they would have sacrificed young children on it.
After snagging bags of candy we marched into the theatre to claim our seats.
The movie started.
Words cannot describe, you just have to see it.
If you want a spoiler, here’s the one I give to anyone who ever asks me for one: EVERYONE DIES!!!
There happy? Feel better? Okay let’s continue…
The movie ended and people filtered out slowly as the screen listed off the credits.
But the show was not over.
Jasmine and I turned slowly to look at Doug, holding our breath, tensing for the moment…
He started to twitch.
No, twitch isn’t the word that comes to mind; seize would probably be more accurate. And as he thrashed about in his seat he ranted maniacally about the pure epic-ness of the movie he’d just seen.
“Shit, it’s happening.” I said tersely, “GET THE KIT!!!!”
Jasmine pulled a gigantic briefcase out from under her chair that we bring with us when we see movies. She popped it open on her lap and rows of pills and bottles could be seen. She searched frantically for the bottle labeled ‘Iron Man’ but there were a lot of pills to go through. We really should have reorganized the thing after we went to see Wall-E. I climbed over to help her search while Doug continued his thrashing. Batman, 27 Dresses, Star Wars, Rambo, and Bearkillers all flew past my fingers. Aaaahhh… Those were good times. I stared off into the air with misty nostalgia until a bottle pinged off my forehead. I looked at Jasmine, who had thrown it.
“Quit getting distracted!” She held up the Iron Man bottle “We have to administer this.”
We looked at the writhing Doug, then at the bottle.
Normally we could have That Guy restrain Doug while we forced the pills down his throat, but That Guy was still basking in his own post-movie glow.
So I pulled out a pair of handcuffs as well as a long length of rope that I keep in my bag for such emergencies.
Jasmine and I circled Doug warily; climbing nimbly over the chairs. She was armed with the pills and me with the restraints. I lassoed him with the rope and jumped on his back. He bucked like a bronco, but I rode him down and as we both collapsed I handcuffed him to his movie chair. Jasmine jumped on his lap and forced his head back by his hair, popping his mouth open. She flicked the lid off of the bottle and poured in five metallic red pills. Then she closed his mouth and pinched his nose, forcing him to swallow. We both tried to hold him still as he thrashed violently. Then the pills slid down his throat and into his stomach (this took a matter of seconds; they were Iron Man pills after all). Doug quieted and Jasmine took her hand from his mouth.
We looked down at him warily.
“I’m okay.” He panted,
“Yeah right.” Jasmine said, “That’s what you said after you watched 27 Dresses and then you started crying.”
“I did not cry.”
“Yes you did”
He growled and she whacked his head with the bottle.
I sighed and started untying the restraints. Another disaster averted, another world saved, just another day.
-Meghan
Not just any movie. Iron Man.
(If you’ve seen this movie you know just how epic it is and fanfare probably starts playing in your head whenever you hear the name)
Anywho we drove to the theatre and bought our tickets while Doug and That Guy ranted in line about the film we were about to partake. If there was an alter to Iron Man, I’d say they would have sacrificed young children on it.
After snagging bags of candy we marched into the theatre to claim our seats.
The movie started.
Words cannot describe, you just have to see it.
If you want a spoiler, here’s the one I give to anyone who ever asks me for one: EVERYONE DIES!!!
There happy? Feel better? Okay let’s continue…
The movie ended and people filtered out slowly as the screen listed off the credits.
But the show was not over.
Jasmine and I turned slowly to look at Doug, holding our breath, tensing for the moment…
He started to twitch.
No, twitch isn’t the word that comes to mind; seize would probably be more accurate. And as he thrashed about in his seat he ranted maniacally about the pure epic-ness of the movie he’d just seen.
“Shit, it’s happening.” I said tersely, “GET THE KIT!!!!”
Jasmine pulled a gigantic briefcase out from under her chair that we bring with us when we see movies. She popped it open on her lap and rows of pills and bottles could be seen. She searched frantically for the bottle labeled ‘Iron Man’ but there were a lot of pills to go through. We really should have reorganized the thing after we went to see Wall-E. I climbed over to help her search while Doug continued his thrashing. Batman, 27 Dresses, Star Wars, Rambo, and Bearkillers all flew past my fingers. Aaaahhh… Those were good times. I stared off into the air with misty nostalgia until a bottle pinged off my forehead. I looked at Jasmine, who had thrown it.
“Quit getting distracted!” She held up the Iron Man bottle “We have to administer this.”
We looked at the writhing Doug, then at the bottle.
Normally we could have That Guy restrain Doug while we forced the pills down his throat, but That Guy was still basking in his own post-movie glow.
So I pulled out a pair of handcuffs as well as a long length of rope that I keep in my bag for such emergencies.
Jasmine and I circled Doug warily; climbing nimbly over the chairs. She was armed with the pills and me with the restraints. I lassoed him with the rope and jumped on his back. He bucked like a bronco, but I rode him down and as we both collapsed I handcuffed him to his movie chair. Jasmine jumped on his lap and forced his head back by his hair, popping his mouth open. She flicked the lid off of the bottle and poured in five metallic red pills. Then she closed his mouth and pinched his nose, forcing him to swallow. We both tried to hold him still as he thrashed violently. Then the pills slid down his throat and into his stomach (this took a matter of seconds; they were Iron Man pills after all). Doug quieted and Jasmine took her hand from his mouth.
We looked down at him warily.
“I’m okay.” He panted,
“Yeah right.” Jasmine said, “That’s what you said after you watched 27 Dresses and then you started crying.”
“I did not cry.”
“Yes you did”
He growled and she whacked his head with the bottle.
I sighed and started untying the restraints. Another disaster averted, another world saved, just another day.
-Meghan
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Meghan: college...
Who would want to read my blog?
That was my first thought when I was asked to write this thing. I mean, sure everyone loves to yack about themselves on a continual basis but it takes a rare individual to read the blather and choke out loving sympathy. If I vomit out my thoughts onto a piece of paper it ain’t going to be pretty, and I doubt that there will be old folk dabbing at their eyes and squeezing my hand. Yes, I know, I’m a bitter and crabby young thing; life just can’t be that full of gloom and glum. It’s full of butterflies and rainbows and happy frolicking children. However I’ve recently moved into a tiny concrete room and I’m not feeling all that charitable towards the world right now. That’s right, I’ve started college. A college that for some reason has an air conditioning fetish so I sit here wrapped like an angry turtle in three blankets with just my head and hands poking out. Laugh it up people. But you’ll find that I’m dangerous even in my snug state. I could throw a coffee mug at you, or just roll on top of you until you’re smothered. In fact that’s just how I plan to kill the hobos that will creep in if one of my suit-mates leaves the door open. Yes hobos, our RA warned us and we are prepared. Be afraid, be very afraid. However if you don’t attack me I will be more than happy to serve you tea and cookies.
-Meghan
That was my first thought when I was asked to write this thing. I mean, sure everyone loves to yack about themselves on a continual basis but it takes a rare individual to read the blather and choke out loving sympathy. If I vomit out my thoughts onto a piece of paper it ain’t going to be pretty, and I doubt that there will be old folk dabbing at their eyes and squeezing my hand. Yes, I know, I’m a bitter and crabby young thing; life just can’t be that full of gloom and glum. It’s full of butterflies and rainbows and happy frolicking children. However I’ve recently moved into a tiny concrete room and I’m not feeling all that charitable towards the world right now. That’s right, I’ve started college. A college that for some reason has an air conditioning fetish so I sit here wrapped like an angry turtle in three blankets with just my head and hands poking out. Laugh it up people. But you’ll find that I’m dangerous even in my snug state. I could throw a coffee mug at you, or just roll on top of you until you’re smothered. In fact that’s just how I plan to kill the hobos that will creep in if one of my suit-mates leaves the door open. Yes hobos, our RA warned us and we are prepared. Be afraid, be very afraid. However if you don’t attack me I will be more than happy to serve you tea and cookies.
-Meghan
Doug: America!
Dear Reader,
So today, I'm going to toot my own horn here for a little bit. International readers are going to be pissed, I'm pretty sure our total readership right now consists of about eight people though, so latecomers get no consideration.
Michael Phelps won his eighth Olympic gold medal about an hour ago. I know I was down on medals on my last post, but basically what it boils down to is that Phelps is the best swimmer in the world, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't need all those shiny necklaces to tell him that. Not that he doesn't like them of course, I certainly would. That being said, Phelps is not what we are talking about tonight. Phelps is merely the opening evidence that I offer to back up my next statement.
America is the best.
I know, I know, even if it's true (which of course it is) it's still a pretty dick thing to say to all those other places that call themselves countries, but are really just places with borders that wish they were America. Guess what? I'm a dick.
Basically, America is responsible for the most awesome things in the past century. There is no significant human accomplishment in recent times that America has not been in on. I'll take us through a quick timeline.
Early 1900's. The First World War breaks out because Austria-Hungary has difficulty dealing with the fact that Serbian nationalists are really good at terrorism. Points to Austria for starting the very first War on Terror. How's that working out for you? Powers align, favors are called in, and in about half a year all of Europe is sitting in trenches wondering what the fuck happened. A British reporter asked Winston Churchill, (who was a minor political figure at the time) "How did WE get involved in this?" Churchill replies with: "I have no idea."
Meanwhile, the Allies (Brits) are getting their collective assholes reamed by the Central Powers (Germans). In desperation, the Brits fake a telegram by the Germans to the Mexicans saying that if the Mexicans attack America, the Germans will back their shit up. The Brits then arrange for us to intercept the telegram. We get our collective rage on towards the Hun, enter the war, and mess them up in a big way. We turn the war around, and put the Germans and the other Central Powers in the kind of position that African third world shit holes don't want to be in.
Yeah, we kick that much ass.
1930's. So, we have a bad first quarter in this game. To be fair, the world economy was failing as well, we just caught it the worst. Overall though, I think Europe fails us once again by letting a manic depressive former art student take over Austria, Czechoslovakia, and The Sudetenland. By the end of the decade, what was 20 years ago the most powerful united military force in the world is now shitting it's collective pants at the thought of said art student deciding he wants more territory.
1940's. At the beginning of this decade The Axis powers have the Allies (not the USA yet.) by the balls and are heating up the wires. France is overrun (no surprises there), Russia's in pretty bad shape, and the Brits are fighting a losing air war for the skies over THEIR OWN COUNTRY. I'd like to take this time to point out that the skies over America have never even been CONTESTED, much less fought over. In fact, we've never even lost territory, sometimes we get so tired of owning places that we just GIVE THEM BACK though. Like the Philippines.
Long story short, America finally enters the War, beats the Axis like a bad puppy. No real contest even.
I'm gonna shorten the history lessons to a few dates and facts, just so we can move this along.
1945-89 America and Russia get into a not quite shooting war over who has the biggest and baddest toys. We do of course, big boys like big toys, and we like ours radioactive.
1950's The French get tired of fighting for their territory, so we step in to stop those filthy commies. North Korea gets trashed. UN steps in and tells us to calm the Hell down sometime around 1951. First and LAST time we listen to THEM on a serious issue.
1960's Nobody does sex, drugs, and rock and roll quite as good as we do. While we can't take credit for the Beatles, Queen or the Stones, We can say that almost all of their surviving members live in the States.
1964 JFK says every one is equal, and when JFK speaks, we listen.
1968 An assassin shoots Rev. Martin Luther King, killing him. An attempt to divide us brings us together like never before.
1969 In the midst of all our partying and fighting we still manage to land a man on the moon. Yeah, that's how we roll.
1963-73 Once again, we are called in to clean up the French's mess. This is getting tiresome, next we'll be trying to take back Paris from the Germans again. Although the South Vietnamese eventually lost to the North commies, Russian documents revealed after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the dissolution of the Soviet Union reveal that trying to fund this colossal cluster fuck was the straw that broke the Soviet's financial back. In other words, South Vietnam fell, but it was losing one battle to win the war. Incidentally, the United States never lost a battle in the entire Vietnam war. VC and NVA were outclassed and outgunned, what was lacking was home support.
1989 Gorbie throws in the towel, the Soviet Union breaks up, and we win the Cold War by sheer production power. Outstanding, where do we go from here?
2001 After a decade of prosperity, peace in the United States is shattered by the first successful active attack on our home soil for more than a hundred years. A bunch of third world monkeys in caves have just declared war by killing a bunch of unarmed civilians in a surprise attack. Yep, they're making a statement all right. We make one right back and send them packing back to their holes.
2003 Good o'l W decides we need to take down a dictator his dad spanked a decade earlier, I can understand a grudge, but really, wouldn't an assassination team have done better? We go in and beat the living daylights out of the Iraqi army. No surprise. What no one wants to admit is the fact that we're running out of oil, and someone in power thinks this will get us more of it. The most important thing to take away from this is the fact that when we run out of resources, we don't negotiate for a thing, we just take. We have that kind of power. Now, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely too, but it also absolutely rocks as well.
We wrap up the century and begin a new one as the most prosperous country on the planet. We've also got the best military, and the highest standard of living. Our people are as safe as they're going to get without turning ourselves into a police state, and they're mostly happy too.
It's 2008 now and we're still going strong. Just look at the Olympics. This is a competition that puts all the world's athletes together and says "Who's the best?" Well, I gotta tell you, we're the best. At this precise moment we lead for the most medals, our closest rival being China, who's paltry 49 is nothing to our 57. They lead in gold medals, 27-17, but not for long. We got that handled.
That raises a good point about the United States though. I want you, Dear Reader, to describe an American, just in your head. Got it? Good.
For some of you this will be easy. Tall white guy, brown hair, blue eyes, skinny, and wealthy. To those of you that thought this I will say this, you aren't very imaginative, are you?
One of the things I really like about America is the fact that if you get fifty of us in a room and ask us all where our ancestors are from you'll get some pretty interesting answers. Some fairly obvious ones are places like Italy, England, Germany, Scotland, Ireland, Mexico, Africa via the South. Not obvious ones are places like Egypt, Japan, China, Vietnam, Russia, Ukraine, Bulgaria, even Iraq.
Then ask them what religion they are. Well let's see, we've got the big one, Christianity, but we've also got Judaism, Buddhism, Shintoism, Muslim, Hindu, Pagan, We'll even let you worship Satan if you feel like it.
They won't be the same color either.
If you ask their opinions on one issue, you will get 50 different answers.
Ask what their jobs are. This guy trades stocks. This guy builds fences, This lady's unemployed, this one's a single mom. This woman is the CEO of a company. This guy is a senator. This guy builds roads. This little girl wants to be president when she grows up.
And she will be.
A lot of what I said in here is sarcastic, a bitter response to a World that consistently calls for our blood. But I will say this, no other country is as diverse as we. And that is what makes us different.
WE. The word is so simple. Two letters. But ask an American to speak of his country, and they will start off with this word. WE. We are a unit, a family of faces that are different colors. A brotherhood of ideas so different and yet so similar.
It's not our military might, nor our penchant for winning medals, nor our technological superiority, nor our democratic process that makes us superior. It is our people, our melting pot, that makes us better. We are America, and our differences, and our acceptance of those differences in each other is what makes us great, and my opinion, the best.
-Doug
"I'm a lead farmer Motherfucker!"
-Robert Downey Jr.
Tropic Thunder
So today, I'm going to toot my own horn here for a little bit. International readers are going to be pissed, I'm pretty sure our total readership right now consists of about eight people though, so latecomers get no consideration.
Michael Phelps won his eighth Olympic gold medal about an hour ago. I know I was down on medals on my last post, but basically what it boils down to is that Phelps is the best swimmer in the world, and I'm pretty sure he doesn't need all those shiny necklaces to tell him that. Not that he doesn't like them of course, I certainly would. That being said, Phelps is not what we are talking about tonight. Phelps is merely the opening evidence that I offer to back up my next statement.
America is the best.
I know, I know, even if it's true (which of course it is) it's still a pretty dick thing to say to all those other places that call themselves countries, but are really just places with borders that wish they were America. Guess what? I'm a dick.
Basically, America is responsible for the most awesome things in the past century. There is no significant human accomplishment in recent times that America has not been in on. I'll take us through a quick timeline.
Early 1900's. The First World War breaks out because Austria-Hungary has difficulty dealing with the fact that Serbian nationalists are really good at terrorism. Points to Austria for starting the very first War on Terror. How's that working out for you? Powers align, favors are called in, and in about half a year all of Europe is sitting in trenches wondering what the fuck happened. A British reporter asked Winston Churchill, (who was a minor political figure at the time) "How did WE get involved in this?" Churchill replies with: "I have no idea."
Meanwhile, the Allies (Brits) are getting their collective assholes reamed by the Central Powers (Germans). In desperation, the Brits fake a telegram by the Germans to the Mexicans saying that if the Mexicans attack America, the Germans will back their shit up. The Brits then arrange for us to intercept the telegram. We get our collective rage on towards the Hun, enter the war, and mess them up in a big way. We turn the war around, and put the Germans and the other Central Powers in the kind of position that African third world shit holes don't want to be in.
Yeah, we kick that much ass.
1930's. So, we have a bad first quarter in this game. To be fair, the world economy was failing as well, we just caught it the worst. Overall though, I think Europe fails us once again by letting a manic depressive former art student take over Austria, Czechoslovakia, and The Sudetenland. By the end of the decade, what was 20 years ago the most powerful united military force in the world is now shitting it's collective pants at the thought of said art student deciding he wants more territory.
1940's. At the beginning of this decade The Axis powers have the Allies (not the USA yet.) by the balls and are heating up the wires. France is overrun (no surprises there), Russia's in pretty bad shape, and the Brits are fighting a losing air war for the skies over THEIR OWN COUNTRY. I'd like to take this time to point out that the skies over America have never even been CONTESTED, much less fought over. In fact, we've never even lost territory, sometimes we get so tired of owning places that we just GIVE THEM BACK though. Like the Philippines.
Long story short, America finally enters the War, beats the Axis like a bad puppy. No real contest even.
I'm gonna shorten the history lessons to a few dates and facts, just so we can move this along.
1945-89 America and Russia get into a not quite shooting war over who has the biggest and baddest toys. We do of course, big boys like big toys, and we like ours radioactive.
1950's The French get tired of fighting for their territory, so we step in to stop those filthy commies. North Korea gets trashed. UN steps in and tells us to calm the Hell down sometime around 1951. First and LAST time we listen to THEM on a serious issue.
1960's Nobody does sex, drugs, and rock and roll quite as good as we do. While we can't take credit for the Beatles, Queen or the Stones, We can say that almost all of their surviving members live in the States.
1964 JFK says every one is equal, and when JFK speaks, we listen.
1968 An assassin shoots Rev. Martin Luther King, killing him. An attempt to divide us brings us together like never before.
1969 In the midst of all our partying and fighting we still manage to land a man on the moon. Yeah, that's how we roll.
1963-73 Once again, we are called in to clean up the French's mess. This is getting tiresome, next we'll be trying to take back Paris from the Germans again. Although the South Vietnamese eventually lost to the North commies, Russian documents revealed after the fall of the Berlin Wall and the dissolution of the Soviet Union reveal that trying to fund this colossal cluster fuck was the straw that broke the Soviet's financial back. In other words, South Vietnam fell, but it was losing one battle to win the war. Incidentally, the United States never lost a battle in the entire Vietnam war. VC and NVA were outclassed and outgunned, what was lacking was home support.
1989 Gorbie throws in the towel, the Soviet Union breaks up, and we win the Cold War by sheer production power. Outstanding, where do we go from here?
2001 After a decade of prosperity, peace in the United States is shattered by the first successful active attack on our home soil for more than a hundred years. A bunch of third world monkeys in caves have just declared war by killing a bunch of unarmed civilians in a surprise attack. Yep, they're making a statement all right. We make one right back and send them packing back to their holes.
2003 Good o'l W decides we need to take down a dictator his dad spanked a decade earlier, I can understand a grudge, but really, wouldn't an assassination team have done better? We go in and beat the living daylights out of the Iraqi army. No surprise. What no one wants to admit is the fact that we're running out of oil, and someone in power thinks this will get us more of it. The most important thing to take away from this is the fact that when we run out of resources, we don't negotiate for a thing, we just take. We have that kind of power. Now, power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely too, but it also absolutely rocks as well.
We wrap up the century and begin a new one as the most prosperous country on the planet. We've also got the best military, and the highest standard of living. Our people are as safe as they're going to get without turning ourselves into a police state, and they're mostly happy too.
It's 2008 now and we're still going strong. Just look at the Olympics. This is a competition that puts all the world's athletes together and says "Who's the best?" Well, I gotta tell you, we're the best. At this precise moment we lead for the most medals, our closest rival being China, who's paltry 49 is nothing to our 57. They lead in gold medals, 27-17, but not for long. We got that handled.
That raises a good point about the United States though. I want you, Dear Reader, to describe an American, just in your head. Got it? Good.
For some of you this will be easy. Tall white guy, brown hair, blue eyes, skinny, and wealthy. To those of you that thought this I will say this, you aren't very imaginative, are you?
One of the things I really like about America is the fact that if you get fifty of us in a room and ask us all where our ancestors are from you'll get some pretty interesting answers. Some fairly obvious ones are places like Italy, England, Germany, Scotland, Ireland, Mexico, Africa via the South. Not obvious ones are places like Egypt, Japan, China, Vietnam, Russia, Ukraine, Bulgaria, even Iraq.
Then ask them what religion they are. Well let's see, we've got the big one, Christianity, but we've also got Judaism, Buddhism, Shintoism, Muslim, Hindu, Pagan, We'll even let you worship Satan if you feel like it.
They won't be the same color either.
If you ask their opinions on one issue, you will get 50 different answers.
Ask what their jobs are. This guy trades stocks. This guy builds fences, This lady's unemployed, this one's a single mom. This woman is the CEO of a company. This guy is a senator. This guy builds roads. This little girl wants to be president when she grows up.
And she will be.
A lot of what I said in here is sarcastic, a bitter response to a World that consistently calls for our blood. But I will say this, no other country is as diverse as we. And that is what makes us different.
WE. The word is so simple. Two letters. But ask an American to speak of his country, and they will start off with this word. WE. We are a unit, a family of faces that are different colors. A brotherhood of ideas so different and yet so similar.
It's not our military might, nor our penchant for winning medals, nor our technological superiority, nor our democratic process that makes us superior. It is our people, our melting pot, that makes us better. We are America, and our differences, and our acceptance of those differences in each other is what makes us great, and my opinion, the best.
-Doug
"I'm a lead farmer Motherfucker!"
-Robert Downey Jr.
Tropic Thunder
Wednesday, August 13, 2008
Doug: Work
Dear Reader,
This was going to be an introductory post to everyone, but I decided that was lame, and was too much like writing a novel. This is not fiction, this is real life, which, as Chuck Palahniuk says, "is often stranger than fiction". Therefore, I'm just going to jump into this bitch, and you can just HTFU.
Today I'm going to talk about my work. I work in construction, which is quite possibly one of the most frustrating, difficult, and physically demanding jobs on the planet. It's just a summer job for me; I have the good fortune to know my boss via another venue and therefore acquiring said job went sort of like this: Doug: "Hey, uh, I need a summer job." My boss: "Word, show up at this location at six tomorrow." Doug: "It's that easy?" My boss: "You want to fill out a job application?". Doug: "Not so much, no."
Before this I had spent almost a month and a half trying to find a job in the rest of the world. I tried Dions, I tried Smiths, I tried Fed Ex, Cold Stone, plenty of places. The one rule I had was that I would not allow myself to sink to the level of working at places like Wendys, McDonalds, or Whataburger. I know I sound arrogant, or at the very least elitist, but I like to think I'm better than that.
It's a proven fact that if you are 18, just out of High School, and male then you are practically unhirable. This is due to several reasons, the first being that there are just so damn many fresh out of High School kids out there hunting for jobs. The second reason is that for most of these guys it's their first job. No one wants to hire some stupid teenager that has absolutely no experience whatsoever in the service industry. First off, you have to train the fucker. That takes time, and costs money, which is of primary importance to the suits back at corporate. The second is, he or she is a teenager, their concept of on time is mostly suspect, if it's there at all. If i were to get all my high school classmates together in one room, get their collective attention (some feat) and yell "Hey, how many of you been late to work this week?" I'd get about three quarters of the hands in the room raised. High School labor is just unreliable, they, unlike their border hopping or recently retiredanddidn'tsavemoneyforretirement coworkers, don't have to rely on their work cash flow for survival. Most of them are only working seasonally anyway, once you get them trained up they work for about two weeks and then bounce off to college or other parts unknown.
Basically, getting a job's a bitch and a half.
But back to my work, which is what I was talking about in the first place. Construction. Dirty, dangerous, physically demanding, frustrating, and most of all HARD. Working in up to one hundred degree heat for eight hours a day with few breathers and even fewer actual rests is difficult. The equipment you use is often damaged or altogether broken for no apparent reason, and always requires hard physical effort to use. The machines that make the work easier are dangerous, and the second you stop respecting them they will hurt you. The work order is often frustratingly vague, and oftentimes you will have to redo a job twice or even three times before it's done correctly. Tools that are an absolute necessity are missing or left at other work sites, and you must make do with what you have because you don't have the time to go get the proper tool. The person you're building the whatever it is for will often change their minds, causing an entire day's work to be not only rendered worthless, but now actively hindering the new plan. Electric and gas lines are mislabelled and manpower is tied up trying to figure out where a pipe goes or what powers what. I once saw work on a site suspended for six hours because a gas line was punctured and the gas contractor couldn't fix the problem, or even look at it for that long. Contractors are another problem, to build something the work is often divided up between several contracting companies, all of which are hired to do specific jobs such as plumbing, ventilation, roofing, drywalling. The problem is that none of these people have worked with each other before, or if they have it's only been for a brief time. They get in each other's way, or at worst actively hinder the others. Language is a barrier too, many times workers only speak English or Spanish, so any kind of coordinated effort or plan is reduced to sign language and much Spanglish.
Despite all of this, I love my job and think that I have possibly the greatest job in the world. I get to WRECK shit. I get to use tools that have little warnings on them about how they could maim or kill me. I get to hang upside down from ladders thirty to forty feet in the air and nail gun stuff. I balance on scaffolding that makes a rickety rope bridge look tame. I hammer nails, I saw wood, I wire buildings, I plumb houses, I hang doors, I am the quintessential handyman. If there's a problem I can't fix with a nail and a hammer, I'll find the appropriate tool and I'll fix that sonofabitch if it's the last thing I do.
When I'm not building something, I'm tearing something up so that something can be built. Here's a few of the tools I use on a daily basis:
Crowbar, my personal fave, if I can't wreck it, take it out or otherwise remove it from my path of destruction with my crowbar, then it simply cannot be moved.
Hammer: Not my favorite, but damned useful. It's just so simple: Place nail, apply force, job finished. Bitchin.
Sawzal: Basically a power saw shaped like a gun. I've seen sawzals cut through concrete, metal piping, nails, and anything else that could possibly exist on a construction site. I've yet to meet a force that can stop this bastard. I'm pretty sure that if I decided to take a sawzal to Wolverine he's be like "Oh shit, my adamantium skeleton just got SAWED IN HALF!"
Ninety percent sure on that last one.
That's just a sampling of tools, there are many more, all of them awesome. They ooze awesome. Like pop tarts.
But my all time favorite thing about work is the people. The people I work with and for are absolutely insane, every one of them. I have three bosses, and one co worker. My bosses are not people who wear suits and sip Cognac. My main boss comes to work wearing jeans and a polo, and by the end of the day is covered in sawdust, glue, cuts, and various other construction related ejecta. He leads from the front, and despite being a fifty year old man does more work than anyone else on the job. I will often see him attacking a set of wooden studs with a sawzal, laughing manically, and surrounded in a haze of smoke from the massive stogie he's got clenched between his teeth. My first day at work I was told to take out the drywall in a house that had been burned out. I grab my crowbar and start gently peeling the drywall off the studs. My boss comes over, says "no no no no no no. no." grabs my crowbar and slams it into wall, knocking a massive sheet of drywall off. "We don't half ass around here." was his only comment.
My other two bosses are about ten years younger, and I spend most of my time with them. One is short and muscular, with a mustache that while not particularly large still manages to intimidate if you get too close. The other is tall and gangly, with facial hair as well, whatever it's called when you shave the chops but nothing else. The short one is dark, the other light, and they contrast each other similarly. Greg (the short one) is quiet and professional, but with a funny side too. Kevin, (tall and white) is gregarious, and rarely stops talking. They have been friends since high school, and harass each other with the ease of people who know each other so well they don't even have to ask what the other is thinking. Both are really nice guys that work like dogs to get the job done. They both smoke like chimneys, and don't take water breaks but rather "smoke breaks". Kevin smokes Marlboro Lights and Greg likes Camels.
My co worker and I went to the same high school together, although we didn't run in the same social circles, so our first real meeting took place at work. We'll often start to talk about people at school and then ask if the other knows them, to which the reply will often be, "Yeah! I didn't know you hung out with him!" He is tall, thickset, not overweight, but large. Despite his football player exterior (which he didn't actually play) he is quite intelligent, and often comes up with alternative solutions to problems that are actually more efficient than the ones proposed by our bosses. He likes country, and will often sing along (loudly) with the radio when a favorite of his comes on.
My personal faves are the clients though. They always make things interesting, and at times, frustrating. For example, one of our clients keeps changing the plan for what she wants done, so we'll often have to do a job, twice or even three times on her whim. I'm not going to say she's the we make fun of her behind her back, but we do. Another is totally cool, she'll give us drinks out of her cooler if we look tired, and jokes around about construction mistakes as if she was one of the guys. Another guy had his house burned down, and we keep finding empty cases of beer on the work site. We know it's not us, not because none of us drink, but because none of us drink the beer that we find. It's kind of sad.
Also, the things we build are great. For example, one of our customers wants a Tai Chi room, where she can practice Karate and Zen out. The room is off her master bedroom and is, incidentally, bigger than it. It's going to have a rock garden in it. Another Customer is building a 4,000 square foot closet. For just her shoes. I'm not even going to go there right now, I'll just let you ponder exactly how much space that is... for shoes.
Insanity tends to arise on construction sites. You really get a feel for how much you personally can accomplish with hard work. It becomes easy to see how things like the Pyramids and the Great Wall of China were built using the most basic of tools. Situations arise where proper equipment would either cost too much to rent or simply isn't available. For example, At a site where we were replacing doors for a family, we had to get a three to four hundred pound door up twenty vertical feet. It was too big to go up the stairs, and was made of glass, so we couldn't really abuse it without suffering financial consequences, namely, none of us would get paid for a few weeks if we dropped it. So we used raw muscle strength, hauling it up to where it needed to be using our bare hands, knowing that a single missed command or failure of our bodies could lead to the door falling. This would not only cause thousands of dollars of property damage, but possibly kill or maim those shoving it up from the bottom.
Long story short: We did it.
A few hours later we realized that we'd made a mistake, and this door that we'd nearly killed ourselves hauling up actually belonged on the ground floor. At this point we were so exhausted, physically, emotionally, and mentally that the simple thought of facing that door again was almost completely demoralizing. Getting it up was such a triumph, and now we had to tear our accomplishment down. On top of that was the sheer physical impossibility of it. Getting things up without breaking them is easy, getting them down is so much harder.
We devised a plan to use two extension ladders as a ramp, and ropes to lower it down. Our main fear was that the ladders would kick out because of the weight of the door, causing it to fall. It would be impossible to hold on to an object of such mass, any attempt and you would be dragged over the ledge with it. Slowly, very slowly, we brought our plan to fruition.
When that door touched the ground safely I was more euphoric than I have ever been at any medal ceremony, graduation, or commencement event I've ever been at. Medals are just pieces of ribbon, diplomas just pieces of paper, they mean nothing. This door was insignificant in the scheme of the house, but we had poured ourselves into this door. When we brought it down safely, it was as though we had averted doomsday. Sheer dogged determination had won the day. To see with your own eyes your accomplishments, your plan put into effect, the physical results of your hard work, is far more powerful than any scrap of paper, any ribbon on a uniform.
Crazy bosses, A four thousand square foot shoe room, broken beer bottles, old sweat and cigarette smoke, the hiss-thunk of a nail gun, the low growl of the sawzal, the squeak of a screw slamming home.
It's just a summer job. But I love it. Tomorrow we have a one thousand pound door to get up twenty vertical feet. As the Wu-Tang say:
Bring it on.
-Doug
"When you can't run you walk,
When you can't walk you crawl,
And when you can't do that,
You find someone to carry you."
-Malcolm Reynolds
Firefly
This was going to be an introductory post to everyone, but I decided that was lame, and was too much like writing a novel. This is not fiction, this is real life, which, as Chuck Palahniuk says, "is often stranger than fiction". Therefore, I'm just going to jump into this bitch, and you can just HTFU.
Today I'm going to talk about my work. I work in construction, which is quite possibly one of the most frustrating, difficult, and physically demanding jobs on the planet. It's just a summer job for me; I have the good fortune to know my boss via another venue and therefore acquiring said job went sort of like this: Doug: "Hey, uh, I need a summer job." My boss: "Word, show up at this location at six tomorrow." Doug: "It's that easy?" My boss: "You want to fill out a job application?". Doug: "Not so much, no."
Before this I had spent almost a month and a half trying to find a job in the rest of the world. I tried Dions, I tried Smiths, I tried Fed Ex, Cold Stone, plenty of places. The one rule I had was that I would not allow myself to sink to the level of working at places like Wendys, McDonalds, or Whataburger. I know I sound arrogant, or at the very least elitist, but I like to think I'm better than that.
It's a proven fact that if you are 18, just out of High School, and male then you are practically unhirable. This is due to several reasons, the first being that there are just so damn many fresh out of High School kids out there hunting for jobs. The second reason is that for most of these guys it's their first job. No one wants to hire some stupid teenager that has absolutely no experience whatsoever in the service industry. First off, you have to train the fucker. That takes time, and costs money, which is of primary importance to the suits back at corporate. The second is, he or she is a teenager, their concept of on time is mostly suspect, if it's there at all. If i were to get all my high school classmates together in one room, get their collective attention (some feat) and yell "Hey, how many of you been late to work this week?" I'd get about three quarters of the hands in the room raised. High School labor is just unreliable, they, unlike their border hopping or recently retiredanddidn'tsavemoneyforretirement coworkers, don't have to rely on their work cash flow for survival. Most of them are only working seasonally anyway, once you get them trained up they work for about two weeks and then bounce off to college or other parts unknown.
Basically, getting a job's a bitch and a half.
But back to my work, which is what I was talking about in the first place. Construction. Dirty, dangerous, physically demanding, frustrating, and most of all HARD. Working in up to one hundred degree heat for eight hours a day with few breathers and even fewer actual rests is difficult. The equipment you use is often damaged or altogether broken for no apparent reason, and always requires hard physical effort to use. The machines that make the work easier are dangerous, and the second you stop respecting them they will hurt you. The work order is often frustratingly vague, and oftentimes you will have to redo a job twice or even three times before it's done correctly. Tools that are an absolute necessity are missing or left at other work sites, and you must make do with what you have because you don't have the time to go get the proper tool. The person you're building the whatever it is for will often change their minds, causing an entire day's work to be not only rendered worthless, but now actively hindering the new plan. Electric and gas lines are mislabelled and manpower is tied up trying to figure out where a pipe goes or what powers what. I once saw work on a site suspended for six hours because a gas line was punctured and the gas contractor couldn't fix the problem, or even look at it for that long. Contractors are another problem, to build something the work is often divided up between several contracting companies, all of which are hired to do specific jobs such as plumbing, ventilation, roofing, drywalling. The problem is that none of these people have worked with each other before, or if they have it's only been for a brief time. They get in each other's way, or at worst actively hinder the others. Language is a barrier too, many times workers only speak English or Spanish, so any kind of coordinated effort or plan is reduced to sign language and much Spanglish.
Despite all of this, I love my job and think that I have possibly the greatest job in the world. I get to WRECK shit. I get to use tools that have little warnings on them about how they could maim or kill me. I get to hang upside down from ladders thirty to forty feet in the air and nail gun stuff. I balance on scaffolding that makes a rickety rope bridge look tame. I hammer nails, I saw wood, I wire buildings, I plumb houses, I hang doors, I am the quintessential handyman. If there's a problem I can't fix with a nail and a hammer, I'll find the appropriate tool and I'll fix that sonofabitch if it's the last thing I do.
When I'm not building something, I'm tearing something up so that something can be built. Here's a few of the tools I use on a daily basis:
Crowbar, my personal fave, if I can't wreck it, take it out or otherwise remove it from my path of destruction with my crowbar, then it simply cannot be moved.
Hammer: Not my favorite, but damned useful. It's just so simple: Place nail, apply force, job finished. Bitchin.
Sawzal: Basically a power saw shaped like a gun. I've seen sawzals cut through concrete, metal piping, nails, and anything else that could possibly exist on a construction site. I've yet to meet a force that can stop this bastard. I'm pretty sure that if I decided to take a sawzal to Wolverine he's be like "Oh shit, my adamantium skeleton just got SAWED IN HALF!"
Ninety percent sure on that last one.
That's just a sampling of tools, there are many more, all of them awesome. They ooze awesome. Like pop tarts.
But my all time favorite thing about work is the people. The people I work with and for are absolutely insane, every one of them. I have three bosses, and one co worker. My bosses are not people who wear suits and sip Cognac. My main boss comes to work wearing jeans and a polo, and by the end of the day is covered in sawdust, glue, cuts, and various other construction related ejecta. He leads from the front, and despite being a fifty year old man does more work than anyone else on the job. I will often see him attacking a set of wooden studs with a sawzal, laughing manically, and surrounded in a haze of smoke from the massive stogie he's got clenched between his teeth. My first day at work I was told to take out the drywall in a house that had been burned out. I grab my crowbar and start gently peeling the drywall off the studs. My boss comes over, says "no no no no no no. no." grabs my crowbar and slams it into wall, knocking a massive sheet of drywall off. "We don't half ass around here." was his only comment.
My other two bosses are about ten years younger, and I spend most of my time with them. One is short and muscular, with a mustache that while not particularly large still manages to intimidate if you get too close. The other is tall and gangly, with facial hair as well, whatever it's called when you shave the chops but nothing else. The short one is dark, the other light, and they contrast each other similarly. Greg (the short one) is quiet and professional, but with a funny side too. Kevin, (tall and white) is gregarious, and rarely stops talking. They have been friends since high school, and harass each other with the ease of people who know each other so well they don't even have to ask what the other is thinking. Both are really nice guys that work like dogs to get the job done. They both smoke like chimneys, and don't take water breaks but rather "smoke breaks". Kevin smokes Marlboro Lights and Greg likes Camels.
My co worker and I went to the same high school together, although we didn't run in the same social circles, so our first real meeting took place at work. We'll often start to talk about people at school and then ask if the other knows them, to which the reply will often be, "Yeah! I didn't know you hung out with him!" He is tall, thickset, not overweight, but large. Despite his football player exterior (which he didn't actually play) he is quite intelligent, and often comes up with alternative solutions to problems that are actually more efficient than the ones proposed by our bosses. He likes country, and will often sing along (loudly) with the radio when a favorite of his comes on.
My personal faves are the clients though. They always make things interesting, and at times, frustrating. For example, one of our clients keeps changing the plan for what she wants done, so we'll often have to do a job, twice or even three times on her whim. I'm not going to say she's the we make fun of her behind her back, but we do. Another is totally cool, she'll give us drinks out of her cooler if we look tired, and jokes around about construction mistakes as if she was one of the guys. Another guy had his house burned down, and we keep finding empty cases of beer on the work site. We know it's not us, not because none of us drink, but because none of us drink the beer that we find. It's kind of sad.
Also, the things we build are great. For example, one of our customers wants a Tai Chi room, where she can practice Karate and Zen out. The room is off her master bedroom and is, incidentally, bigger than it. It's going to have a rock garden in it. Another Customer is building a 4,000 square foot closet. For just her shoes. I'm not even going to go there right now, I'll just let you ponder exactly how much space that is... for shoes.
Insanity tends to arise on construction sites. You really get a feel for how much you personally can accomplish with hard work. It becomes easy to see how things like the Pyramids and the Great Wall of China were built using the most basic of tools. Situations arise where proper equipment would either cost too much to rent or simply isn't available. For example, At a site where we were replacing doors for a family, we had to get a three to four hundred pound door up twenty vertical feet. It was too big to go up the stairs, and was made of glass, so we couldn't really abuse it without suffering financial consequences, namely, none of us would get paid for a few weeks if we dropped it. So we used raw muscle strength, hauling it up to where it needed to be using our bare hands, knowing that a single missed command or failure of our bodies could lead to the door falling. This would not only cause thousands of dollars of property damage, but possibly kill or maim those shoving it up from the bottom.
Long story short: We did it.
A few hours later we realized that we'd made a mistake, and this door that we'd nearly killed ourselves hauling up actually belonged on the ground floor. At this point we were so exhausted, physically, emotionally, and mentally that the simple thought of facing that door again was almost completely demoralizing. Getting it up was such a triumph, and now we had to tear our accomplishment down. On top of that was the sheer physical impossibility of it. Getting things up without breaking them is easy, getting them down is so much harder.
We devised a plan to use two extension ladders as a ramp, and ropes to lower it down. Our main fear was that the ladders would kick out because of the weight of the door, causing it to fall. It would be impossible to hold on to an object of such mass, any attempt and you would be dragged over the ledge with it. Slowly, very slowly, we brought our plan to fruition.
When that door touched the ground safely I was more euphoric than I have ever been at any medal ceremony, graduation, or commencement event I've ever been at. Medals are just pieces of ribbon, diplomas just pieces of paper, they mean nothing. This door was insignificant in the scheme of the house, but we had poured ourselves into this door. When we brought it down safely, it was as though we had averted doomsday. Sheer dogged determination had won the day. To see with your own eyes your accomplishments, your plan put into effect, the physical results of your hard work, is far more powerful than any scrap of paper, any ribbon on a uniform.
Crazy bosses, A four thousand square foot shoe room, broken beer bottles, old sweat and cigarette smoke, the hiss-thunk of a nail gun, the low growl of the sawzal, the squeak of a screw slamming home.
It's just a summer job. But I love it. Tomorrow we have a one thousand pound door to get up twenty vertical feet. As the Wu-Tang say:
Bring it on.
-Doug
"When you can't run you walk,
When you can't walk you crawl,
And when you can't do that,
You find someone to carry you."
-Malcolm Reynolds
Firefly
Ladies and Gentlemen.
Welcome to the boarding station for the train of thought of the most powerful group of people ever. Us. The Fearsome Fivesome.
We will laugh at you. And make you feel small and unwanted, because you couldn't do a single pullup.
But seriously. This is going to be a combined effort amongst the 5 of us. Let me introduce you.
-Doug
-Meghan
-Jasmine
-Sarah
-That guy
Beware. We will write you to death.
-That guy
We will laugh at you. And make you feel small and unwanted, because you couldn't do a single pullup.
But seriously. This is going to be a combined effort amongst the 5 of us. Let me introduce you.
-Doug
-Meghan
-Jasmine
-Sarah
-That guy
Beware. We will write you to death.
-That guy
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)