EMERGENCY BALLAST 911!
For those of you that work in offices that have lay in flourescent lighting and have ever experienced a power outtage, you may have noticed that one or more of those fixtures stayed lit allowing you to make your way out of the room without clearing your desk of that mad collage of pictures, collecter coffee cups and whatever doo-dads you have scattered around your desk to remind you that you have a life beyond the cubicle.
You can thank an electrician for saving your prized collection of glass kitties holding balloons from a fate worse than death.
I had the honor of wiring in 3 emergency ballasts today...I won't go into the boring details, but it is a royal pain in the ass. But we do it for you, and your safety, and your inability to carry a lighter or a flashlight, just in case you find yourself in the dark. Don't laugh, I carry both. At all times. In case I find myself in the dark. And being a FNG electrician, darkness happens sometimes. It's the learning curve. Sometimes it follows an explosion, but not always.
Anyway, back to the emergency ballasts. Wires...lots of wires, everywhere. The mission is to figure out which wires off the ballast go to the wires already in the fixture. That depends on the type of fixture you're dealing with. The emergency ballast comes with instructions covering at least 10 schematics. You have to figure out what kind of ballast you have, is it instant or rapid start? How many lamps do you have in the fixture? What's the voltage? 120? 277? Did I mention the people who wrote these instructions also were responsible for the translation of gideons bible to the head of a fucking pin? It's true. And the lights are off. So...it's fucking tiny tiny writing and diagrams, and you can't see them because it's fucking DARK. (That's why I have a flashlight...but that eliminates a hand, which opens a whole new door of frustration ).
I'm ok with up to 6 or 8 wires, provided they line up color wise. But the wires coming out of the emergency ballast are like medusa. Orange or black? Yellow or yellow with a black stripe? Blue or blue/white? Red/white...there's 2 of those...white? AAAAAAUUUGHHHHH! I am overwhelmed.
And today is the day my journeyman decides I need to learn how to read and translate schematics and hook these emergency ballasts up on my own. He didn't help as much as he challenged my questions about what goes where. He answers my questions with questions of his own, he tries to trip me up. Needless to say, I traced and wired the third ballast on my own with no questions asked, and there was no explosion. It worked.
So, the next time you look up at the pencils you've lodged in the suspended ceiling and notice that little red light inside the fixture and say to yourself " I wonder what that is"? It's your emergency ballast bitch. The one that's gonna save your sea world magnetic paper clip holder from flying across the floor in case the lights go out. And you've got me to thank for it.
You can call me.
Thank you journeyman, for making me think.
Monday, February 28, 2005
Sometimes my job makes me laugh
By far the most amusing thing about my job is the assumption that most customers make about my age. I'm constantly told that "old age ain't for pussies, just wait until you hit 40" or that things which occurred in oh, say 1974, "happened before you were born." For the most part, I no longer dispel their notion of my youth unless asked directly about my age. In case you don't already know this, I'm 43 and while I'm not quite dust with boots on, I'm a still a bit older than many of the folks that call in for tech support. And I've learned over these past few months that customers are much more comfortable with the notion of a young whippersnapper having superior knowledge about computers than the reality that someone their own age or older might have some mastery of the subject. I won't lie about my age if asked directly, but what that does happen I can almost hear the bubble burst. There's always an awkward silence as the customer comes to grip with the realization that I'm not the person they thought I was. Fortunately those situations are rare and it's a pretty good bet that a customer who demands to know my age is also one of those customers that's behaving like an asshole so that moment of silence can be pretty sweet at times.
By far the most amusing thing about my job is the assumption that most customers make about my age. I'm constantly told that "old age ain't for pussies, just wait until you hit 40" or that things which occurred in oh, say 1974, "happened before you were born." For the most part, I no longer dispel their notion of my youth unless asked directly about my age. In case you don't already know this, I'm 43 and while I'm not quite dust with boots on, I'm a still a bit older than many of the folks that call in for tech support. And I've learned over these past few months that customers are much more comfortable with the notion of a young whippersnapper having superior knowledge about computers than the reality that someone their own age or older might have some mastery of the subject. I won't lie about my age if asked directly, but what that does happen I can almost hear the bubble burst. There's always an awkward silence as the customer comes to grip with the realization that I'm not the person they thought I was. Fortunately those situations are rare and it's a pretty good bet that a customer who demands to know my age is also one of those customers that's behaving like an asshole so that moment of silence can be pretty sweet at times.
Another day, another dollar
Today I realized why I hate the DSL calls. It's not so much that I'm a noob and bumbling around, but the fact that I never seem to fix the problem for the customer and it has to be escalated. I completely misunderstood what the level two employees meant when they said DSL calls are "easy". It's not that they are easy to fix, but that you only have to try a few things before it's out of your hands and becomes someone else's problem. In that respect, dialup customer calls are much harder. So maybe with this newfound knowledge the next two days will be less of a grind. I'm starting to suspect that the reason I ended up with this job in the first place is because I need a good lesson in "do what you can and ignore the rest".
Today I realized why I hate the DSL calls. It's not so much that I'm a noob and bumbling around, but the fact that I never seem to fix the problem for the customer and it has to be escalated. I completely misunderstood what the level two employees meant when they said DSL calls are "easy". It's not that they are easy to fix, but that you only have to try a few things before it's out of your hands and becomes someone else's problem. In that respect, dialup customer calls are much harder. So maybe with this newfound knowledge the next two days will be less of a grind. I'm starting to suspect that the reason I ended up with this job in the first place is because I need a good lesson in "do what you can and ignore the rest".
Sunday, February 27, 2005
Schedule strategies
I've had my eye on some of the more, um, well-adjusted staff at the place where I work hoping to glean some insights into that "zen-like nature" they seem to have achieved after working there a year or so. One of the interesting trends is that they all have an unconventional schedule. Some work a steady two days on, one day off, three days on, one day off; some work four ten hour days with three days off; some work a rotating four days on, two days off; some work a rotating two days on, one day off. No one on a day shift ever seems to work five days in a row and having done that myself a few times, I'm not sure it's actually possible to do that on a regular basis and stay sane. So I have decided to experiment and have scheduled myself a week of four ten hour days with a three day weekend. I'm sure this is a big mistake, but I'll try it at least once. Then I've switched to the more popular two on, one off, three on, one off schedule for a couple of weeks to see how that goes. From there I may try the rotating shift ideas. Fuck, why not? This is probably the only job I'll ever have where I have the opportunity to experiment with alternative work schedules. Might as well take advantage of it.
I've had my eye on some of the more, um, well-adjusted staff at the place where I work hoping to glean some insights into that "zen-like nature" they seem to have achieved after working there a year or so. One of the interesting trends is that they all have an unconventional schedule. Some work a steady two days on, one day off, three days on, one day off; some work four ten hour days with three days off; some work a rotating four days on, two days off; some work a rotating two days on, one day off. No one on a day shift ever seems to work five days in a row and having done that myself a few times, I'm not sure it's actually possible to do that on a regular basis and stay sane. So I have decided to experiment and have scheduled myself a week of four ten hour days with a three day weekend. I'm sure this is a big mistake, but I'll try it at least once. Then I've switched to the more popular two on, one off, three on, one off schedule for a couple of weeks to see how that goes. From there I may try the rotating shift ideas. Fuck, why not? This is probably the only job I'll ever have where I have the opportunity to experiment with alternative work schedules. Might as well take advantage of it.
THE HILL ( A VERY SHORT STORY...A PARABLE IF YOU WILL)
We crept up like a virus through the tall grass, making our way to destiny one step at a time, each of us as one climbing higher and higher towards our fate. Slowly at first, and as the cover of tall grass subsided and the small arms fire increased we increased our speed and hopefully our stealth until we reached the ridge. Another 100 meters and we would be exposed. Exposed on an an open plain for the final run up to the top of the hill. The hill we had been ordered to take. And just behind that line of tall grass we gathered under the thunder of increasing small arms fire and mortars, mortars that ended your life in a second if they met their mark, their schrapnel ripping you to the essence of flesh and blood. But we stayed at that line of tall grass and bullets and blood, waiting for the order to move on, to advance...to take the hill from the enemy.
And as the night wore on, I remembered my time in Colorado, in the Rio Grande National forest. Hiking there with my friends, and my son and my wife. And I remembered the tree line. 10,000 feet and you are barren,nowhere to hide. Just open feilds and rocks and the undeniable feeling that you are exposed, defenseless. In the rockies the enemy is the thunderstorm, here the thunderstorm is inherently different. It is a thunderstorm of bullets and rockets and men coming down the mountain that want simultaneously to kill you and survive. You are hardcore, but they are too.
And as you wait in the border of the tree line you wonder if you are more hardcore than the man that waits for you on the other side. He has the advantage, being on top of the hill you have been ordered to take. But you can't help but wonder if he's as scared as you are. Has he been able to wear you down with the lucky shots and lucky mortars that have thinned your number down on your journey through the tall grass before tree line. And there you sit and wait. And you try to reconcile your life before the war. You look around at the others who have made it this far up the hill and wonder what you have in common. Are you patriots, brothers in a national cause? Or are you just a bunch of guys that have murdered your way up a hill in the middle of some fucked up country for some fucked up reason-and then you shut that shit down in a hurry because it's not how you were trained.
And then the call comes in.
You and yours rush the hill leaving behind the relative safety of the tall grass...the tree line. And as you shoot your way up the hill, you are consumed with a feeling of mountain climbing- it makes you feel better somehow. It's funny how the mind works like that, in reality, you are charging up an open space with the members of your squad killing everything you see. But in your mind you are making the summit of sheep mountain with your buddy and your dogs in colorado. And it's 1984. Until your squad starts dropping around you. Ripped to shreds by the pigs on the summit. it's amazing what a pig can do to the human body. 50 caliber slugs , rapid fire into a body is so very different from what you've seen in the war movies you've watched over and over and over again. You think you know what to expect, but you are wrong. Dead fucking wrong.
When hit by multiple shots the forward momentum stops and the most important parts of you fly out the back, spraying your squad mates with the memory of you. The more that sprays on you, the more you try to pull of the razzle dazzle zig zag to avoid the bullets and the viscera that is turning your jungle camo blood red, all the while trying to aim and shoot and kill. And trying to keep your mind on those glory days, before the killing. when you were a young man playing in the woods with your friends.
And then it hits you. You're not sure exactly what it was, but one minute your charging up the the hill and the next you're on the ground with a hole in your shoulder that burns like the fires of hell. You hit the ground with such force that your gun and your helmet go clattering away back down the hill, and you are moot at that point, game over.
Laying there on the ground, screaming for the medic, until you realize that screaming attracts the snipers, you reach back into your memory as the fight rages on around you. After the tenth or so soldier jumps over you and you finally have the time to look around you and see the other bodies scattered on the ground, you realize there is no medic. Not anymore anyway, he's a few feet away from you...he no longer has a chest, but you can still make out the cross on his helmet. They're not suppose to shoot the fucking medics you think to yourself, but you quickly realize the difference between the movies you watched and the realization that this is fucking war.
You try to melt into the ground as the fire increases...helicopters fly by and blast the ground with mini guns and napalm. It's the middle of the day at this point , but the sky is nightfall gray from the smoke.
And then, all of a sudden, it stops. The ground below you is soaked with your own blood, it's like you're laying on a sponge. You figure you're a deadman and release yourself to light.
You wake up in the field hospital days later, you took a 7.62 x 39 round to the shoulder it turns out, hollow point, no less. you'll live, but that dragon tattooed on your shoulder will never look the same...curiously, this is what you focus on. You almost bought it, but you're pissed that whoever shot you fucked up your art. That's when they tell you who shot you. But after they give you a purple heart and a silver star and an increase in rank and a form to sign that says you won't seek further compensation from your government for the injuries caused by friendly fire. Friendly fire? That's right. You took the hill, only you took it from your own people.
And two miles away the real enemy was wondering where you were, and what was all that action on the other hill?
And when the gunfire stopped and the smoke cleared they moved out. Blessing their luck and our stupidity.
We crept up like a virus through the tall grass, making our way to destiny one step at a time, each of us as one climbing higher and higher towards our fate. Slowly at first, and as the cover of tall grass subsided and the small arms fire increased we increased our speed and hopefully our stealth until we reached the ridge. Another 100 meters and we would be exposed. Exposed on an an open plain for the final run up to the top of the hill. The hill we had been ordered to take. And just behind that line of tall grass we gathered under the thunder of increasing small arms fire and mortars, mortars that ended your life in a second if they met their mark, their schrapnel ripping you to the essence of flesh and blood. But we stayed at that line of tall grass and bullets and blood, waiting for the order to move on, to advance...to take the hill from the enemy.
And as the night wore on, I remembered my time in Colorado, in the Rio Grande National forest. Hiking there with my friends, and my son and my wife. And I remembered the tree line. 10,000 feet and you are barren,nowhere to hide. Just open feilds and rocks and the undeniable feeling that you are exposed, defenseless. In the rockies the enemy is the thunderstorm, here the thunderstorm is inherently different. It is a thunderstorm of bullets and rockets and men coming down the mountain that want simultaneously to kill you and survive. You are hardcore, but they are too.
And as you wait in the border of the tree line you wonder if you are more hardcore than the man that waits for you on the other side. He has the advantage, being on top of the hill you have been ordered to take. But you can't help but wonder if he's as scared as you are. Has he been able to wear you down with the lucky shots and lucky mortars that have thinned your number down on your journey through the tall grass before tree line. And there you sit and wait. And you try to reconcile your life before the war. You look around at the others who have made it this far up the hill and wonder what you have in common. Are you patriots, brothers in a national cause? Or are you just a bunch of guys that have murdered your way up a hill in the middle of some fucked up country for some fucked up reason-and then you shut that shit down in a hurry because it's not how you were trained.
And then the call comes in.
You and yours rush the hill leaving behind the relative safety of the tall grass...the tree line. And as you shoot your way up the hill, you are consumed with a feeling of mountain climbing- it makes you feel better somehow. It's funny how the mind works like that, in reality, you are charging up an open space with the members of your squad killing everything you see. But in your mind you are making the summit of sheep mountain with your buddy and your dogs in colorado. And it's 1984. Until your squad starts dropping around you. Ripped to shreds by the pigs on the summit. it's amazing what a pig can do to the human body. 50 caliber slugs , rapid fire into a body is so very different from what you've seen in the war movies you've watched over and over and over again. You think you know what to expect, but you are wrong. Dead fucking wrong.
When hit by multiple shots the forward momentum stops and the most important parts of you fly out the back, spraying your squad mates with the memory of you. The more that sprays on you, the more you try to pull of the razzle dazzle zig zag to avoid the bullets and the viscera that is turning your jungle camo blood red, all the while trying to aim and shoot and kill. And trying to keep your mind on those glory days, before the killing. when you were a young man playing in the woods with your friends.
And then it hits you. You're not sure exactly what it was, but one minute your charging up the the hill and the next you're on the ground with a hole in your shoulder that burns like the fires of hell. You hit the ground with such force that your gun and your helmet go clattering away back down the hill, and you are moot at that point, game over.
Laying there on the ground, screaming for the medic, until you realize that screaming attracts the snipers, you reach back into your memory as the fight rages on around you. After the tenth or so soldier jumps over you and you finally have the time to look around you and see the other bodies scattered on the ground, you realize there is no medic. Not anymore anyway, he's a few feet away from you...he no longer has a chest, but you can still make out the cross on his helmet. They're not suppose to shoot the fucking medics you think to yourself, but you quickly realize the difference between the movies you watched and the realization that this is fucking war.
You try to melt into the ground as the fire increases...helicopters fly by and blast the ground with mini guns and napalm. It's the middle of the day at this point , but the sky is nightfall gray from the smoke.
And then, all of a sudden, it stops. The ground below you is soaked with your own blood, it's like you're laying on a sponge. You figure you're a deadman and release yourself to light.
You wake up in the field hospital days later, you took a 7.62 x 39 round to the shoulder it turns out, hollow point, no less. you'll live, but that dragon tattooed on your shoulder will never look the same...curiously, this is what you focus on. You almost bought it, but you're pissed that whoever shot you fucked up your art. That's when they tell you who shot you. But after they give you a purple heart and a silver star and an increase in rank and a form to sign that says you won't seek further compensation from your government for the injuries caused by friendly fire. Friendly fire? That's right. You took the hill, only you took it from your own people.
And two miles away the real enemy was wondering where you were, and what was all that action on the other hill?
And when the gunfire stopped and the smoke cleared they moved out. Blessing their luck and our stupidity.
Friday, February 25, 2005
ALL I HAVE TO SAY IS THANK GOD
They're protecting us. Trolli pulled the controversial "Road Kill" Gummi candies off the shelves today in response to protests from the new jersey society for the prevention of cruelty to animals...their protective web now apparently encompasses gummi candies depicting snakes, squirrels and some other animal frequently squashed by us and our cars, flattened replete with tire tracks on the body.
The horror...the horror...
Thank god PETAhad the good sense to not get involvedgot beaten to the punch by those keepers of the faith in Jersey, could you imagine the protests and billboards? Protesters dressed as run over snakes pelting store patrons with road kill gummi candies chanting " gummi gummi-it's not funny! Let the road kill LIVE!" But wait, roadkill can't live...it's been crushed by a car! So much for the PETA angle...fucking idiots.
Is this really what it's coming to in the rights zeal to sanitize american society? Have they rabidly worked their way through all that is offensive that they are resorting to attacking fucking candy? Say it isn't so...but it is.
Apparently it's more important to get this atrocity of a gummi off the shelves than it is to put a stop to dog fighting or cock fighting and that scourge of the 70's cat juggling. Moving outside the realm of animal rights, how about addressing the continued epidemic of kids killing parents and grandparents and siblings and peers in a similarly energetic fashion that seems to be dedicated to boobs exposed on television, and harsh language, and off color humor on the radio, and today...candy. Fucking candy.
This move to all that is good and pure and right is wearing me the fuck out...next thing you know they'll be trying to repress homosexuals...oh...wait...
They're protecting us. Trolli pulled the controversial "Road Kill" Gummi candies off the shelves today in response to protests from the new jersey society for the prevention of cruelty to animals...their protective web now apparently encompasses gummi candies depicting snakes, squirrels and some other animal frequently squashed by us and our cars, flattened replete with tire tracks on the body.
The horror...the horror...
Thank god PETA
Is this really what it's coming to in the rights zeal to sanitize american society? Have they rabidly worked their way through all that is offensive that they are resorting to attacking fucking candy? Say it isn't so...but it is.
Apparently it's more important to get this atrocity of a gummi off the shelves than it is to put a stop to dog fighting or cock fighting and that scourge of the 70's cat juggling. Moving outside the realm of animal rights, how about addressing the continued epidemic of kids killing parents and grandparents and siblings and peers in a similarly energetic fashion that seems to be dedicated to boobs exposed on television, and harsh language, and off color humor on the radio, and today...candy. Fucking candy.
This move to all that is good and pure and right is wearing me the fuck out...next thing you know they'll be trying to repress homosexuals...oh...wait...
HELLO CARPORT!
The roll off arrived today, between 10 an 11 am as promised (10:15ish actually). At 2:30pm I came into the house for a shower, the job done and the dumpster almost full. 10 cubic yards of shit that had been residing under my carport and on my porch was gone in just over 4 hours. My journeyman and MB came by at lunch to see how it was going and hung out for a bit, that was cool.
After, Ann and I went and got our loveseat/sleeper/futon thing at Eurway, which is on the north end of town. Since it's Friday, and most folks leave work early, it only took us an hour and 45 min. to complete our mission, winding our way snakelike across town...mopac to enfeild, enfield to west,west to 26th, 26th to guadalupe, guadalupe to 45th, 45th to burnet,burnet to rutland, rutland to metric, metric to kramer,kramer to breaker and we were there. It pays to grow up here, as the main roads,even on early friday move like old people fuck.
We pushed chairs and ottomans and the new thingy around for awhile before settling on a pit group kind of config. I don't know if it's a keeper (the arrangement, I mean) but it works for now.
All in all a very productive day, I think.
Have a great weekend!
The roll off arrived today, between 10 an 11 am as promised (10:15ish actually). At 2:30pm I came into the house for a shower, the job done and the dumpster almost full. 10 cubic yards of shit that had been residing under my carport and on my porch was gone in just over 4 hours. My journeyman and MB came by at lunch to see how it was going and hung out for a bit, that was cool.
After, Ann and I went and got our loveseat/sleeper/futon thing at Eurway, which is on the north end of town. Since it's Friday, and most folks leave work early, it only took us an hour and 45 min. to complete our mission, winding our way snakelike across town...mopac to enfeild, enfield to west,west to 26th, 26th to guadalupe, guadalupe to 45th, 45th to burnet,burnet to rutland, rutland to metric, metric to kramer,kramer to breaker and we were there. It pays to grow up here, as the main roads,even on early friday move like old people fuck.
We pushed chairs and ottomans and the new thingy around for awhile before settling on a pit group kind of config. I don't know if it's a keeper (the arrangement, I mean) but it works for now.
All in all a very productive day, I think.
Have a great weekend!
Thursday, February 24, 2005
CHECK POKER
Every payday the guys play check poker...you add you net pay with your check number and that's your hand. You bet 5 bucks, if you win, you're up by 30 or more or less depending on how many play. I don't play check poker...because my 5 bucks goes to scratch tickets, yes, I admit it, I'm a scratch head...that's what the mohawk boy calls us.
Anyhoo...at morning break, our foreman was asking who was in for check poker, I, as always declined. And nothing was said about it, but when mohawk boy declined he got alot of shit from his journeyman and the foreman. We left, but the shit continued, and when mohawk boy shot back to the foreman "Rob didn't play and you didn't fuck with him" The foreman replied " That's because Rob's alot bigger than you" and the fucking with MB (mohawk boy) continued.
I am 90% positive that this statement was just more of the same game, giving MB a hard time, but when I was telling Ann the story tonight, she shared with me comments from a coworker of hers who has seen me waiting in the Rodeo in the parking lot and I made him nervous. I'm sitting in my Rodeo, listening to talk radio, waiting for my wife, probably 100 feet from this guy and I make him nervous.
I have never said a word to this guy, and at 100 feet enclosed in a vehicle, he's afraid. That's some fucking power I guess. That i can decline check poker and not get fucked with about it? I think that's my foreman protecting me, or continuing the fucking with MB. At least I hope that's it. Strangers being afraid of me I can deal with, in fact I kind of like it. But people I've known for years being afraid of me is kind of bothersome. I'm not out to hurt anyone, never have been. Then again, the people who really know me know that I am a threat to no one but myself. And I think my foreman knows this, he should, I've known him for years. This "intimidating thing" has followed me around all my life, and it gets old sometimes.
Maybe I'll play check poker next payday...just to throw them off.
Every payday the guys play check poker...you add you net pay with your check number and that's your hand. You bet 5 bucks, if you win, you're up by 30 or more or less depending on how many play. I don't play check poker...because my 5 bucks goes to scratch tickets, yes, I admit it, I'm a scratch head...that's what the mohawk boy calls us.
Anyhoo...at morning break, our foreman was asking who was in for check poker, I, as always declined. And nothing was said about it, but when mohawk boy declined he got alot of shit from his journeyman and the foreman. We left, but the shit continued, and when mohawk boy shot back to the foreman "Rob didn't play and you didn't fuck with him" The foreman replied " That's because Rob's alot bigger than you" and the fucking with MB (mohawk boy) continued.
I am 90% positive that this statement was just more of the same game, giving MB a hard time, but when I was telling Ann the story tonight, she shared with me comments from a coworker of hers who has seen me waiting in the Rodeo in the parking lot and I made him nervous. I'm sitting in my Rodeo, listening to talk radio, waiting for my wife, probably 100 feet from this guy and I make him nervous.
I have never said a word to this guy, and at 100 feet enclosed in a vehicle, he's afraid. That's some fucking power I guess. That i can decline check poker and not get fucked with about it? I think that's my foreman protecting me, or continuing the fucking with MB. At least I hope that's it. Strangers being afraid of me I can deal with, in fact I kind of like it. But people I've known for years being afraid of me is kind of bothersome. I'm not out to hurt anyone, never have been. Then again, the people who really know me know that I am a threat to no one but myself. And I think my foreman knows this, he should, I've known him for years. This "intimidating thing" has followed me around all my life, and it gets old sometimes.
Maybe I'll play check poker next payday...just to throw them off.
Wednesday, February 23, 2005
I'M REALLY LUCKY IF I THINK ABOUT IT
My son called me today, and he had an interview at Amy's Ice Cream, a stop on the road to nintendo, but a cool place to work. I supervised people who had worked for Amy's back in the day, and the memories were fond. Back in the day, they would hand you a delivery bag and instruct you to be creative, it was the application that bag, and you could write, draw and otherwise convince them you were worthy of employment. Things have changed since those heady days, but the interview was at least similar in tone and according to Kyle, went well. He should know by Sunday, lets all send him, and Amy's good job getting vibes. And for the record, he did all the right things in his interview.
How does that me lucky? Well, I have a kid who calls me and lets me know whats happening in his life, That's how it makes me lucky. Things were'nt always so good between us not so long ago...he's alot like me, just like me and my mom, and while I'm glad he's got that constitution, it hasn't resulted in the major conflicts me and my mom had...yet. Time will tell.
It might seem kind of weird to be singing the praises of a sucessful father/son relationship, but when you factor in his singular willfullness coupled with my background, it truley is a good thing.
I don't know exactly what he thinks about my performance as a dad, but I think we did OK. Neither one of us is in prison, yet.
And this leads up to the newest addition to my circle, another journeyman became a father yesterday...a boy, and to him I say welcome to the game. He is now a parent, I wish him luck and the same joyous experience I had with my son in those early days.
It's hard to reconcile the infant to the toddler to the teenager to the adult, but in my case, it was worth the trip, and I wish him that joy of hindsight.
My son called me today, and he had an interview at Amy's Ice Cream, a stop on the road to nintendo, but a cool place to work. I supervised people who had worked for Amy's back in the day, and the memories were fond. Back in the day, they would hand you a delivery bag and instruct you to be creative, it was the application that bag, and you could write, draw and otherwise convince them you were worthy of employment. Things have changed since those heady days, but the interview was at least similar in tone and according to Kyle, went well. He should know by Sunday, lets all send him, and Amy's good job getting vibes. And for the record, he did all the right things in his interview.
How does that me lucky? Well, I have a kid who calls me and lets me know whats happening in his life, That's how it makes me lucky. Things were'nt always so good between us not so long ago...he's alot like me, just like me and my mom, and while I'm glad he's got that constitution, it hasn't resulted in the major conflicts me and my mom had...yet. Time will tell.
It might seem kind of weird to be singing the praises of a sucessful father/son relationship, but when you factor in his singular willfullness coupled with my background, it truley is a good thing.
I don't know exactly what he thinks about my performance as a dad, but I think we did OK. Neither one of us is in prison, yet.
And this leads up to the newest addition to my circle, another journeyman became a father yesterday...a boy, and to him I say welcome to the game. He is now a parent, I wish him luck and the same joyous experience I had with my son in those early days.
It's hard to reconcile the infant to the toddler to the teenager to the adult, but in my case, it was worth the trip, and I wish him that joy of hindsight.
DSL Hell
I was tempted to think there were no other techs taking DSL calls today because call after call was a DSL call which made for a challenging day. It wasn't just that I'm a noob when it comes it DSL calls, but the call volume was so extremely low that I could barely make out what the customer was saying on each and every call. That has a tendency to make me sound stupid even when I DO know what I'm doing. I think if I hadn't started the day out with a pay raise and a compliment from my boss then my ego would have been completely deflated by the time I left work. As it is, it's only partly deflated and is also propped up a bit by the thought that tomorrow is my Friday. I know I can survive one more day of DSL Hell. If I were looking at two... well, I'm just glad I'm not looking at two. For all the moaning and groaning I've done about this job, it does have potential and there are things about my employer that I really like. Things I won't find if I go work for Mega-Corp. I'm hoping once I get past the learning curve, I'll settle into that "I like my job and it's cool" attitude that some of the longer term staff have. I haven't decided if it's experience or personality that gets a person to that point, but if I can achieve that almost zen-like experience that those staff seem to have then I'll work there forever.
I was tempted to think there were no other techs taking DSL calls today because call after call was a DSL call which made for a challenging day. It wasn't just that I'm a noob when it comes it DSL calls, but the call volume was so extremely low that I could barely make out what the customer was saying on each and every call. That has a tendency to make me sound stupid even when I DO know what I'm doing. I think if I hadn't started the day out with a pay raise and a compliment from my boss then my ego would have been completely deflated by the time I left work. As it is, it's only partly deflated and is also propped up a bit by the thought that tomorrow is my Friday. I know I can survive one more day of DSL Hell. If I were looking at two... well, I'm just glad I'm not looking at two. For all the moaning and groaning I've done about this job, it does have potential and there are things about my employer that I really like. Things I won't find if I go work for Mega-Corp. I'm hoping once I get past the learning curve, I'll settle into that "I like my job and it's cool" attitude that some of the longer term staff have. I haven't decided if it's experience or personality that gets a person to that point, but if I can achieve that almost zen-like experience that those staff seem to have then I'll work there forever.
Tuesday, February 22, 2005
IT'S PUNK ROCK
(and still rob...)
Austin was a cool town to be in in the early eighties, and the plethora of bands during that time defined regional tastes. But what's weird is to have lived through it and witnessed the permutations that have occurred from that freshman crop of bands that embraced the punk thing and be spit out on the other end, forever altered wondering what the fuck actually happened.
The Big Boys hold a special place in my heart. They spun off as Cargo Cult (Biscuits band), Poison 13 ( Gates and Kerr ) , The Lord high Fixers ( Kerr) and via LA, Junkyard ( Gates...with a Roach boy on vocals) I saw them at the back room with a band called Rhino Bucket...it was loud, it was awesome, I was late to work the next day and caught a load of shit from my girl at the time, and while I thought momentarily I deserved said load, I realized later on that she believed her job was to break my balls.
Then there was Scratch Acid...I think I saw the first show at Club Foot, just based on how shitty it was. I know I saw them at the opera house in 82 and they billed themselves as No Trend...The bass players mom was a nurse at the treatment center I was working at...They were reborn as The Jesus Lizard...singer and bass player taking the show to chicago and creating some of the ugliest music known to man. We love the Jesus Lizard to this day, they put out an impressive catalog but eventually imploded. And the list goes on...
The Dicks, The Huns (short lived but incendiary), Standing Waves, D-Day, The Judies ,The Offenders and The Band from Hell, all central Texas bands and most of them from Austin. Many I saw but have forgotten the names in the haze of those heady days.
"Maybe the stitches should be removed...I'd like to see the opening again"
(David Yow...The Jesus Lizard)
Indeed.
Now what do we do?
(and still rob...)
Austin was a cool town to be in in the early eighties, and the plethora of bands during that time defined regional tastes. But what's weird is to have lived through it and witnessed the permutations that have occurred from that freshman crop of bands that embraced the punk thing and be spit out on the other end, forever altered wondering what the fuck actually happened.
The Big Boys hold a special place in my heart. They spun off as Cargo Cult (Biscuits band), Poison 13 ( Gates and Kerr ) , The Lord high Fixers ( Kerr) and via LA, Junkyard ( Gates...with a Roach boy on vocals) I saw them at the back room with a band called Rhino Bucket...it was loud, it was awesome, I was late to work the next day and caught a load of shit from my girl at the time, and while I thought momentarily I deserved said load, I realized later on that she believed her job was to break my balls.
Then there was Scratch Acid...I think I saw the first show at Club Foot, just based on how shitty it was. I know I saw them at the opera house in 82 and they billed themselves as No Trend...The bass players mom was a nurse at the treatment center I was working at...They were reborn as The Jesus Lizard...singer and bass player taking the show to chicago and creating some of the ugliest music known to man. We love the Jesus Lizard to this day, they put out an impressive catalog but eventually imploded. And the list goes on...
The Dicks, The Huns (short lived but incendiary), Standing Waves, D-Day, The Judies ,The Offenders and The Band from Hell, all central Texas bands and most of them from Austin. Many I saw but have forgotten the names in the haze of those heady days.
"Maybe the stitches should be removed...I'd like to see the opening again"
(David Yow...The Jesus Lizard)
Indeed.
Now what do we do?
IF I WAS A WEATHERMAN
(rob posting under ann's profile)
I would want to be one here in Texas. Weather in Texas is always a crap shoot, except for may through october when you can phone it in everyday with two words...HOT and every other day throw in RAIN. You could be Johnnie Winter junkyfied and still make a decent living in Texas as a network weatherman...seriously. All you'd need is a dart board with weather shit on it instead of numbers, and between shots of jager just lob a dart and PRESTO! There's your fucking forecast. It was suppose to rain today, after a few hours of gray and dreary with a mini pissing of drizzle, the fucking sun came out. Now while this would not normally bother me, I was geared up for rain, rain being preferable to sunny and HUMID.
Meh...plus my knee is acting up again, I guess I have to just suck it up and accept the fact that I am officially dust with boots on and have the ol' rhumatize...hand me the jug granny!
And where's that cold front? It's been a mild winter and last night the crane flys were thick...not a good sign for the insect to human ratio this spring and summer.
(rob posting under ann's profile)
I would want to be one here in Texas. Weather in Texas is always a crap shoot, except for may through october when you can phone it in everyday with two words...HOT and every other day throw in RAIN. You could be Johnnie Winter junkyfied and still make a decent living in Texas as a network weatherman...seriously. All you'd need is a dart board with weather shit on it instead of numbers, and between shots of jager just lob a dart and PRESTO! There's your fucking forecast. It was suppose to rain today, after a few hours of gray and dreary with a mini pissing of drizzle, the fucking sun came out. Now while this would not normally bother me, I was geared up for rain, rain being preferable to sunny and HUMID.
Meh...plus my knee is acting up again, I guess I have to just suck it up and accept the fact that I am officially dust with boots on and have the ol' rhumatize...hand me the jug granny!
And where's that cold front? It's been a mild winter and last night the crane flys were thick...not a good sign for the insect to human ratio this spring and summer.
Monday, February 21, 2005
IT'S A DOGS LIFE
Recent events over the pond have gotten me to thinking about the dogs that have graced me with their presence throughout my life. I will forgo the childhood family dogs details and just say the there was Murphy, the most awesome Irish Setter EVER. Sometimes you go get a dog, you adopt it, you rescue it from the pound, you might even buy it from a breeder. I have bought one dog from a breeder, Skeeter, a brindle boxer who was fond of bass amps and bass drums and died before his time because, I believe, he was a bred dog.
But the best dogs find you. Take Sunday, for example. He came into my life quite by accident, and stayed with me for 3 or so years. He chose me. And during our time together, he was the best friend I ever had.
There was no need to train him, it was like he knew. In a sense, he trained me. He was an awesome dog, and a great chick magnet. I would take him to zilker park and brush him...he was a border collie mix, with a lush coat of black and white...hence the name Sunday,that and the fact that we found each other on a Sunday. Then one day he was gone. I saw him again a year and a half later on the trails in pease park. He remembered me, but he was with someone else then, our time was done.
Then there was Buddy, he was and is the dog love of my life. I got him at 6 weeks when I was living in coloration (I meant Colorado...jeez!) on my lonesome own. He went everywhere I went all of his life. He was the most connected pet I have ever had. 115 lbs.... of love. He lived with me for 14 years...I could just look at him in a certain way and he knew what it meant. We said goodbye on the floor of a pen at my vet on the wrong end of a needle,I'm not sure, but I think he knew what was coming, he knew his number was up and he went down with his head on my leg. With the first snap of winter kicking his hips ass, we both knew. And after all this time it still breaks me to think of my Buddy...the travellin' dog, companion, protector and really big scary looking dog who wouldn't hurt a flea.Unless I told him to. And I did a couple of times.
This bunch we've had now for awhile...the three black dogs. It's the same thing really if you think about it. I love these dogs and they love me. It didn't start out that way though...you got to get to know each other, learn the boundaries, come to an understanding, maybe even bite each other a couple of times so to speak.
But when Theo's in his favorite chair looking at me and that tail of his begins to bounce, you better believe I know I'm loved, and he is too.
And I wouldn't trade those moments for anything.
Recent events over the pond have gotten me to thinking about the dogs that have graced me with their presence throughout my life. I will forgo the childhood family dogs details and just say the there was Murphy, the most awesome Irish Setter EVER. Sometimes you go get a dog, you adopt it, you rescue it from the pound, you might even buy it from a breeder. I have bought one dog from a breeder, Skeeter, a brindle boxer who was fond of bass amps and bass drums and died before his time because, I believe, he was a bred dog.
But the best dogs find you. Take Sunday, for example. He came into my life quite by accident, and stayed with me for 3 or so years. He chose me. And during our time together, he was the best friend I ever had.
There was no need to train him, it was like he knew. In a sense, he trained me. He was an awesome dog, and a great chick magnet. I would take him to zilker park and brush him...he was a border collie mix, with a lush coat of black and white...hence the name Sunday,that and the fact that we found each other on a Sunday. Then one day he was gone. I saw him again a year and a half later on the trails in pease park. He remembered me, but he was with someone else then, our time was done.
Then there was Buddy, he was and is the dog love of my life. I got him at 6 weeks when I was living in coloration (I meant Colorado...jeez!) on my lonesome own. He went everywhere I went all of his life. He was the most connected pet I have ever had. 115 lbs.... of love. He lived with me for 14 years...I could just look at him in a certain way and he knew what it meant. We said goodbye on the floor of a pen at my vet on the wrong end of a needle,I'm not sure, but I think he knew what was coming, he knew his number was up and he went down with his head on my leg. With the first snap of winter kicking his hips ass, we both knew. And after all this time it still breaks me to think of my Buddy...the travellin' dog, companion, protector and really big scary looking dog who wouldn't hurt a flea.Unless I told him to. And I did a couple of times.
This bunch we've had now for awhile...the three black dogs. It's the same thing really if you think about it. I love these dogs and they love me. It didn't start out that way though...you got to get to know each other, learn the boundaries, come to an understanding, maybe even bite each other a couple of times so to speak.
But when Theo's in his favorite chair looking at me and that tail of his begins to bounce, you better believe I know I'm loved, and he is too.
And I wouldn't trade those moments for anything.
DOWN BUT NOT ENTIRELY OUT
We lost our internet connection at home, so I'm blogging from the field, and by that I mean Maudies. Hope to have it cleared up soon, but till then blogging will be light.
That's about it really. It was nice to have a whole weekend off with Ann...come to think of it, didn't really miss the lack of connectivity...internet, I mean. :)
UPDATE...WE'RE BAAAACK.
Back in the comfort of home, albeit with the wireless antenna hanging just outside the patio door from the rolling cage, but so be it. Deal with what ya got, right?
It's been a long time since we've been able to have an actual calander of events beyond work work and work followed by brief periods called paydays where we gave it all away
to "the man", ( well, it hasn't been all that horrible, but to go from not having to really worry about money and bills to having to scrimp like yer 18 again it is ). But we have plans baby!
#1...Picked up the vacation fund check today, and surprise! It was paid through december, so it was a bit bigger than we had anticipated.Yay!
#2...We were able to go to our beloved Maudies...I've been a couple of times over the last 3 months thanks to the kindness of friends, but Ann and I have not been able to have a dinner there
for quite some time. It was a nice treat.
#3...We can finally complete our living room with the purchase of a matching couch, it's been almost a year in the waiting/making and I actually think I'm more excited about this than Ann is...
But maybe not.
#4...Last but not least, the roll off will be delivered this Friday. The shitport will become a carport again, and white trash central will become the backyard we once had.
And after that, we will be back in the moment. But to have a week completely in our control, and to finally put some of the finishing touches on the house is a welcome return to order.
Oh yeah...The second annual Texas Independence Day Cordite Fest is fast approaching. The usual gun toting malcontents will be in attendance, with some guests, one of whom is in posession
of an old 45/70 rifle...the kind you have to pull the hammer back to shoot. The kind that has a bullet the size of longneck bottles neck. The kind that prompts the owner to say "maybe I'll bring my 45/70
and see who has the balls to shoot it, which prompts me to say " shit man...I'll shoot it. I'll shoot anything once".
Speaking of gun toting malcontents....Hunter S.Thompson...RIP. Shot himself in the head yesterday.Major bummer.Hunter was one of my favorite writers from way back. Hopefully, when it happened he was on his porch in Colorado, butt nekkid and full of mescaline.
Everybody knows that nothing goes better together than guns and drugs/alchohol...But some people (and maybe Hunter) forget that it goes in that order. Go shoot your guns, put them away safely and then eat that 4 way hit of blotter chased with valium laced tequila and kind bud.
See ya!
We lost our internet connection at home, so I'm blogging from the field, and by that I mean Maudies. Hope to have it cleared up soon, but till then blogging will be light.
That's about it really. It was nice to have a whole weekend off with Ann...come to think of it, didn't really miss the lack of connectivity...internet, I mean. :)
UPDATE...WE'RE BAAAACK.
Back in the comfort of home, albeit with the wireless antenna hanging just outside the patio door from the rolling cage, but so be it. Deal with what ya got, right?
It's been a long time since we've been able to have an actual calander of events beyond work work and work followed by brief periods called paydays where we gave it all away
to "the man", ( well, it hasn't been all that horrible, but to go from not having to really worry about money and bills to having to scrimp like yer 18 again it is ). But we have plans baby!
#1...Picked up the vacation fund check today, and surprise! It was paid through december, so it was a bit bigger than we had anticipated.Yay!
#2...We were able to go to our beloved Maudies...I've been a couple of times over the last 3 months thanks to the kindness of friends, but Ann and I have not been able to have a dinner there
for quite some time. It was a nice treat.
#3...We can finally complete our living room with the purchase of a matching couch, it's been almost a year in the waiting/making and I actually think I'm more excited about this than Ann is...
But maybe not.
#4...Last but not least, the roll off will be delivered this Friday. The shitport will become a carport again, and white trash central will become the backyard we once had.
And after that, we will be back in the moment. But to have a week completely in our control, and to finally put some of the finishing touches on the house is a welcome return to order.
Oh yeah...The second annual Texas Independence Day Cordite Fest is fast approaching. The usual gun toting malcontents will be in attendance, with some guests, one of whom is in posession
of an old 45/70 rifle...the kind you have to pull the hammer back to shoot. The kind that has a bullet the size of longneck bottles neck. The kind that prompts the owner to say "maybe I'll bring my 45/70
and see who has the balls to shoot it, which prompts me to say " shit man...I'll shoot it. I'll shoot anything once".
Speaking of gun toting malcontents....Hunter S.Thompson...RIP. Shot himself in the head yesterday.Major bummer.Hunter was one of my favorite writers from way back. Hopefully, when it happened he was on his porch in Colorado, butt nekkid and full of mescaline.
Everybody knows that nothing goes better together than guns and drugs/alchohol...But some people (and maybe Hunter) forget that it goes in that order. Go shoot your guns, put them away safely and then eat that 4 way hit of blotter chased with valium laced tequila and kind bud.
See ya!
Friday, February 18, 2005
LAST SATURDAY
As you loyal readers might recall, my buddy Joel sprung for rocks no salt at the hallowed Maudies, and after a multicultural visit to the twilight zone courtesy of my neighborhood Jihad Mini mart which is a bubbling mix of culture, we retired to my house for a serious bout of drinking that included vodka, crown royal and beer.
The CD player was in constant rotation although I'm not clear on the selections...I know there was alot of Cracker in there, but the rest is a bit fuzzy. During the course of the evening, we devolved to the trading licks ( that is, hitting each other on the arm over and over again) and arm wrestling, much to the amusement of Ann. Joel is alot bigger than me and handily beat me in the arm wrasslin', but I matched his punches with the same ferocity as his...after all, I'm not small-just wrapped tighter.
As with all drunken testosterone fests, this one went to the invariable. Joel gloating about his prowess in the arm wrasslin' zone, and me warning him that he should "fear me". Although the jury is still out, and he has the size advantage, I believe that in a real knock down drag out between us I would prevail. I believe this in a most feral and primitive way. Why? Because I have a bigger axe to grind than he does, not that we would ever come to no shit blows because at the heart of it all we are friends, and while it's fun to muck around, neither one of us wants to really hurt each other.
He called me on sunday and asked if my arm hurt...we laughed about how stupid we were but how much fun it was being so stupid.
No harm done.
The last real fight I had was broken up, if you don't count the thousands of "restraints" I did when I was a soldier in the psychic wars. But arriving for 8 hours of angry kids possibly trying to kick your ass for whatever fucked up reason and you have to contain them without hurting them ( as a sidebar I learned that extreme pain puts an end to this kind of bullshit in a hurry...call me/us animals if you want, but in the end, I finally accepted the fact to end hurt sometimes you have to hurt right back in a measured "therapeutic" sort of way).
Sure, he could win a arm wrasslin' contest everytime, no problem. But if it came down to it, and I had to tap into that 15 years of unreasonable and spontaneous violence thrown my way I would so crush his ass.
And I think he knows it.
Alchohol is a funny thing yo.
As you loyal readers might recall, my buddy Joel sprung for rocks no salt at the hallowed Maudies, and after a multicultural visit to the twilight zone courtesy of my neighborhood Jihad Mini mart which is a bubbling mix of culture, we retired to my house for a serious bout of drinking that included vodka, crown royal and beer.
The CD player was in constant rotation although I'm not clear on the selections...I know there was alot of Cracker in there, but the rest is a bit fuzzy. During the course of the evening, we devolved to the trading licks ( that is, hitting each other on the arm over and over again) and arm wrestling, much to the amusement of Ann. Joel is alot bigger than me and handily beat me in the arm wrasslin', but I matched his punches with the same ferocity as his...after all, I'm not small-just wrapped tighter.
As with all drunken testosterone fests, this one went to the invariable. Joel gloating about his prowess in the arm wrasslin' zone, and me warning him that he should "fear me". Although the jury is still out, and he has the size advantage, I believe that in a real knock down drag out between us I would prevail. I believe this in a most feral and primitive way. Why? Because I have a bigger axe to grind than he does, not that we would ever come to no shit blows because at the heart of it all we are friends, and while it's fun to muck around, neither one of us wants to really hurt each other.
He called me on sunday and asked if my arm hurt...we laughed about how stupid we were but how much fun it was being so stupid.
No harm done.
The last real fight I had was broken up, if you don't count the thousands of "restraints" I did when I was a soldier in the psychic wars. But arriving for 8 hours of angry kids possibly trying to kick your ass for whatever fucked up reason and you have to contain them without hurting them ( as a sidebar I learned that extreme pain puts an end to this kind of bullshit in a hurry...call me/us animals if you want, but in the end, I finally accepted the fact to end hurt sometimes you have to hurt right back in a measured "therapeutic" sort of way).
Sure, he could win a arm wrasslin' contest everytime, no problem. But if it came down to it, and I had to tap into that 15 years of unreasonable and spontaneous violence thrown my way I would so crush his ass.
And I think he knows it.
Alchohol is a funny thing yo.
TGIF - for real this time
It's been so long since I had a "real" Friday - as in the day of the week is Friday, it's my fifth work day in a row AND I have the weekend off, both Saturday and Sunday. However, it seems like the time at work is ticking by very slowly. I guess this is similar to that anticipation response that kids get on long trips because I have this urge to check the clock every 15 minutes which is very much along the lines of asking "Are we there yet?" constantly. I don't have any big plans for the weekend other than savoring the experience of sleeping a bit later and having a REAL breakfast of eggs, sausage and hashbrowns instead of microwaved stuff, all the while lounging around in my nightgown. It looks like the weather is going to be nasty so it might even involve a nap or two. Oh, I'm am soooo looking foward to this. Now if that clock would just speed up for the next four hours and THEN slow down again making the weekend seem to last at least as long as this day has so far.
It's been so long since I had a "real" Friday - as in the day of the week is Friday, it's my fifth work day in a row AND I have the weekend off, both Saturday and Sunday. However, it seems like the time at work is ticking by very slowly. I guess this is similar to that anticipation response that kids get on long trips because I have this urge to check the clock every 15 minutes which is very much along the lines of asking "Are we there yet?" constantly. I don't have any big plans for the weekend other than savoring the experience of sleeping a bit later and having a REAL breakfast of eggs, sausage and hashbrowns instead of microwaved stuff, all the while lounging around in my nightgown. It looks like the weather is going to be nasty so it might even involve a nap or two. Oh, I'm am soooo looking foward to this. Now if that clock would just speed up for the next four hours and THEN slow down again making the weekend seem to last at least as long as this day has so far.
Thursday, February 17, 2005
A VOTE OF CONFIDENCE, A BOOST OF CONFIDENCE
Today, my journeyman had an appointment that would require him to be gone for a couple of hours. We had a another IJ with us ( his journeyman was off ) who is green, only doing the IJ thing for 2 months. Usually when this happens, I get dropped off with the foreman until my journeyman returns, not this time. Since the circuits we're pulling are not hot yet, there was no danger of electrocution, so he lined me out on what needed to be done and left me in charge, with the blessing of the foreman. The new IJ and I did what was lined out and our efforts were met with approval upon his return.
This was significant to me because my journeyman trusts me enough to leave me unsupervised. He trusts me to not fuck it up, and believe me, when you fuck up while running circuits the results are fourth of july spectacular when energized and embarrassing, and above all, dangerous.
I feel fortunate to be able to work with this guy, an excellent electrician and a more than adequate teacher. As the adage goes " Just last week I couldn't even spell electrician ". Except in my case, it was 9 months ago. 9 months into a job that started out as "maybe a couple of weeks, but, hey, it's money, right"? I can't wait to terminate this maze of circuits into the sub panel I installed last week and fire it up!
NEW RULES
Ann and I are notorious packrats. We have 1600 square feet of shit in a 1000 square feet space. Our carport is and has been since last years reno a shitport. But no more! we say. Being a member of the local IBEW union has many benefits, and one of them is the way they deal with vacation time. It's a bank. Contributions are made each week and you can draw from it twice a year, for any reason. That's right, put in your request by friday, get a check the following monday after 3 pm. So...I'm cashing in my vacation fund and having a roll off dumpster delivered to the house next week. All of the shit under our carport and in the back yard(or as I call it, white trash central) will go into this dumpster plus a fair amount of shit that's been piled up in the back addition, hey its a 10 yard dumpster. We are shedding ourselves of clutter. The new rule around here is if you haven't need it or wondered where it was for the last year, fuck it...landfill here it comes. To actually park under the carport will be a dream come true. And we can finally convert the back addition into a studio again, which will clear out the office of extraneous musical equipment allowing us to renovate it. We can also get the matching couch for our chairs, completing our living room, and I might even be able to get a new pair of workboots! WooHoo!
See ya! Hey! Tomorrows Friday again! Already!
Today, my journeyman had an appointment that would require him to be gone for a couple of hours. We had a another IJ with us ( his journeyman was off ) who is green, only doing the IJ thing for 2 months. Usually when this happens, I get dropped off with the foreman until my journeyman returns, not this time. Since the circuits we're pulling are not hot yet, there was no danger of electrocution, so he lined me out on what needed to be done and left me in charge, with the blessing of the foreman. The new IJ and I did what was lined out and our efforts were met with approval upon his return.
This was significant to me because my journeyman trusts me enough to leave me unsupervised. He trusts me to not fuck it up, and believe me, when you fuck up while running circuits the results are fourth of july spectacular when energized and embarrassing, and above all, dangerous.
I feel fortunate to be able to work with this guy, an excellent electrician and a more than adequate teacher. As the adage goes " Just last week I couldn't even spell electrician ". Except in my case, it was 9 months ago. 9 months into a job that started out as "maybe a couple of weeks, but, hey, it's money, right"? I can't wait to terminate this maze of circuits into the sub panel I installed last week and fire it up!
NEW RULES
Ann and I are notorious packrats. We have 1600 square feet of shit in a 1000 square feet space. Our carport is and has been since last years reno a shitport. But no more! we say. Being a member of the local IBEW union has many benefits, and one of them is the way they deal with vacation time. It's a bank. Contributions are made each week and you can draw from it twice a year, for any reason. That's right, put in your request by friday, get a check the following monday after 3 pm. So...I'm cashing in my vacation fund and having a roll off dumpster delivered to the house next week. All of the shit under our carport and in the back yard(or as I call it, white trash central) will go into this dumpster plus a fair amount of shit that's been piled up in the back addition, hey its a 10 yard dumpster. We are shedding ourselves of clutter. The new rule around here is if you haven't need it or wondered where it was for the last year, fuck it...landfill here it comes. To actually park under the carport will be a dream come true. And we can finally convert the back addition into a studio again, which will clear out the office of extraneous musical equipment allowing us to renovate it. We can also get the matching couch for our chairs, completing our living room, and I might even be able to get a new pair of workboots! WooHoo!
See ya! Hey! Tomorrows Friday again! Already!
Wednesday, February 16, 2005
MY THUMBS ARE CRACKED AND SEEPING BLOOD
Unless it's just the low sodium teriyaki sauce I used to cook the turkey burgers tonight. Who knows? It sure looks like blood. Why are my thumbs cracked and seeping blood and or low sodium teryaki sauce? Because I burned through a box of 100 wire nuts in less than three days and cooked teryaki turkey burgers tonight, thats why. I'll admit it's not as glamorous as chasing down 14 year old girls on runaway from a psych hospital through traffic, but it's part of what I do now. Probably the funniest part about using wire nuts is that the box comes with instructions..."grasp the wire nut firmly between your thumb and index finger and turn clock wise". Yeah, OK, I got it. What they don't say and should is a warning that "excessive wire nutting can result in severe cracks in your thumbs resulting in the seeping of blood, please wire nut responsibly". I can't wait until my third year when my thumbs will be impervious to the hell that is the wire nut, when I can wire nut 5 (yes! FIVE wires inside one red and yellow wire nut) and scoff because my thumbs have achieved monster thumb status and are impervious to seeping anything and void of all feeling. I will no longer relate to Zappa's Dynamo Hum like I used to, but I won't care anymore because I can be the wire nut guy on the crew, the envy of all with my horribly calloused yet impressive thumbs. So impressive that I no longer need my kliens to twist four 12 gauge wires together, I can do it with my bare thumbs and index fingers ( also horribly deformed ).
That would be awesome.
Unless it's just the low sodium teriyaki sauce I used to cook the turkey burgers tonight. Who knows? It sure looks like blood. Why are my thumbs cracked and seeping blood and or low sodium teryaki sauce? Because I burned through a box of 100 wire nuts in less than three days and cooked teryaki turkey burgers tonight, thats why. I'll admit it's not as glamorous as chasing down 14 year old girls on runaway from a psych hospital through traffic, but it's part of what I do now. Probably the funniest part about using wire nuts is that the box comes with instructions..."grasp the wire nut firmly between your thumb and index finger and turn clock wise". Yeah, OK, I got it. What they don't say and should is a warning that "excessive wire nutting can result in severe cracks in your thumbs resulting in the seeping of blood, please wire nut responsibly". I can't wait until my third year when my thumbs will be impervious to the hell that is the wire nut, when I can wire nut 5 (yes! FIVE wires inside one red and yellow wire nut) and scoff because my thumbs have achieved monster thumb status and are impervious to seeping anything and void of all feeling. I will no longer relate to Zappa's Dynamo Hum like I used to, but I won't care anymore because I can be the wire nut guy on the crew, the envy of all with my horribly calloused yet impressive thumbs. So impressive that I no longer need my kliens to twist four 12 gauge wires together, I can do it with my bare thumbs and index fingers ( also horribly deformed ).
That would be awesome.
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