Injuring my hand has made a mess of my work schedule! Alaska gets canceled. Egypt was next, but suddenly I was booked for New Zealand with Egypt on hold. Just a couple days ago I found myself scheduled for Mexico instead and assumed New Zealand was out. This morning I find out I'm scheduled for both countries at the same time, but the office just realized they can't split me in two, so now both jobs are on hold. Deer season off? Christmas off? Who fucking knows? I can only assume from all this that I'm really headed to the moon, next. I'll pick up a moon rock for you, Blondie.
I've spent the last 3 hours draining, flushing and installing two new elements in my water heater. What a thankless, shitty job.
Tomorrow night I am going to spend the night at a hotel with my oldest daughter and four, or five of her teen-age friends. I suspect this too, will be a thankless, shitty job...
Pictures are coming, I swear.
Thursday, November 1, 2007
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Book Review: Where Did I Come From?
Still can't type w/out pain, so a re-run from the now defunct FTTW-a book review on my favorite children's book...
I should preface this by warning that it contains some pretty graphic sex and quite possibly some hot photos, thereby insuring that everyone will read it…
Over the years I have read many books. To say I read a lot is an understatement. Oh hell, I’ll even admit that I used to read while driving, but I’ve never been arrested for it. Well, not yet, anyway. And I have never done a book review, until now. I have finally found a book worthy of review by me. I give you an unsolicited review my latest read:
Where Did I Come From? By Peter Mayle, with illustrations by Arthur Robins
I was taken aback at first by the golden emblem on the cover proclaiming “Over 2 Million Copies Sold!” I haven’t had much luck with the tofu and latte mainstream crap on the bookshelves, today and I shy away from pretty much anything “award-winning”, or “best-selling”. I tend toward the more obscure gems to be found when digging deep into the local used book dealer, with the only exception to popular authors being Stephen King. I don’t care what anyone says, Mr. King is a real storyteller, but I digress.
The reference on the back cover is however, impressive: Doctor Spock gives it top grades for humanness (I’m not sure what that is, but it sounds important) and honesty (I know what this is-honestly), but says some may be offended. I should note that Peter and Arthur have also teamed up to bring us What’s Happening to Me? and hopefully after this offering will reunite to answer the timeless, Whisky Tango Foxtrot? The current Mayle/Robins books are part of an awe-inspiring series that includes the powerhouse, Why Am I Going To The Hospital? and the chilling, ball-breaker titled, How To Be A Pregnant Father. Guys, don’t read this alone at night. Scary. Scary. Shit.
The storyline is pretty straightforward with a mere casual glance. A healthy nod is given to red-faced parents all over the world to jump-start the topic.
If you have a kid older than 3, chances are you’ve been nailed to the post with at least one tough question posed 23 years before you were ready to give an answer. You know-your 3 yr old daughter catches you coming out of the shower and asks why your package is smaller than her tootsie-roll. “How do you pee with that little thing, daddy?” Yeah, kids are great.
The kids, themselves take the spotlight next with a few choice examples of speculation on where they came from. My personal favorite is little Tommy who nails it when he says that his dad got him from the saloon.
How does one become so wise at five? So far, I’m thinking this is a great book and I’m gonna read it to the little one and then I turn the page. Holy Shit! There’s mom and dad playing together with a plastic boat in the tub. Pop’s wang is swinging in the breeze and he’s hung like a horse. Hello! What are they going to do with that little boat? Mom? Yeah, she’s got a decent rack, but fuck me if she doesn’t look like DAD wearing a wig! 
Like I said, they need to reunite and answer the inevitable WTF? So while the fact that mom and dad are not made the same way is covered, you are left with a queasy stomach and wondering exactly how mom and dad are related.
The author tackles the subject with relish and doesn’t pull any punches when he tells children that breasts are like mobile milk bars and gives a quick thank you to breasts in general before moving on. One gets the feeling he wasn’t breast-fed as a child. A sort of honor roll of breast names is presented so our kids don’t get lost when their older siblings start talking trash about titties, boobs, bazookas, etc. After he touches on breasts, he moves on down, but I should not forget to mention I love the shot of the little dude getting a feed on, thinking, “ Ahhh. Milk. Wonderful Milk.”
When covering (or in this case, uncovering) the genitals, Mayle neglects the honor roll of slang. Wang, dang, sweet poontang, and all that. Then, he says that a penis is like peanuts, except without the “t”. WTF? I’ve been looking at mine for an hour and I just don’t see it. His only saving grace is that he promises mine is going to grow bigger someday.
I am patiently waiting… He also notes that vagina rhymes with Carolina, so he must have heard the one about, well, never mind. Anyway, no slang terms here-I was disappointed. I mean, what a dick!
Nonetheless, he dives into bumping uglies with gusto! I mean he goes out on a limb to note that we only play hide the sausage in bed most of the time and only because a bed is nice and comfortable. Obviously he’s never done the horizontal bop on a pool table, or pulled the “O” face in the mud at a rock concert, but he’s obviously given the missus a really tight hug, once or twice. That’s right, according to this book, babies come from really tight hugs and the guy’s penis gets bigger because it has lots of work to do. (That’s what she said) Making love (that means fucking) tickles and makes you wiggle. He says it’s like scratching an itch, but a lot nicer and yeah, I suppose that is right on target, isn’t it? Anyway, he says it all ends with a big sneeze
and then it’s all sperms, eggs and babies growing in the “woom” with a b. The book closes with a baby who comes out yelling like a pissed-off football fan.
I suppose this book is appropriate for all ages under 13 and lays out all the necessary bits for a complete birds and the bees story. Sex and babies are covered honestly and simply, just what every parent needs to educate the little ones with only two faults, in my humble opinion. First, the author uses to many analogies. I think the child will toddle away remembering itches, tickling, wiggling and a big, fucking sneeze. I think the analogies should be left up to the parents, tailoring to the child’s age and environment. Second, the image of mom and pop in the tub getting ready to utilize a plastic boat is wrong and for fuck’s sake, mom should NOT look like dad with a wig!
I should preface this by warning that it contains some pretty graphic sex and quite possibly some hot photos, thereby insuring that everyone will read it…
Over the years I have read many books. To say I read a lot is an understatement. Oh hell, I’ll even admit that I used to read while driving, but I’ve never been arrested for it. Well, not yet, anyway. And I have never done a book review, until now. I have finally found a book worthy of review by me. I give you an unsolicited review my latest read:
Where Did I Come From? By Peter Mayle, with illustrations by Arthur Robins
I was taken aback at first by the golden emblem on the cover proclaiming “Over 2 Million Copies Sold!” I haven’t had much luck with the tofu and latte mainstream crap on the bookshelves, today and I shy away from pretty much anything “award-winning”, or “best-selling”. I tend toward the more obscure gems to be found when digging deep into the local used book dealer, with the only exception to popular authors being Stephen King. I don’t care what anyone says, Mr. King is a real storyteller, but I digress.
The reference on the back cover is however, impressive: Doctor Spock gives it top grades for humanness (I’m not sure what that is, but it sounds important) and honesty (I know what this is-honestly), but says some may be offended. I should note that Peter and Arthur have also teamed up to bring us What’s Happening to Me? and hopefully after this offering will reunite to answer the timeless, Whisky Tango Foxtrot? The current Mayle/Robins books are part of an awe-inspiring series that includes the powerhouse, Why Am I Going To The Hospital? and the chilling, ball-breaker titled, How To Be A Pregnant Father. Guys, don’t read this alone at night. Scary. Scary. Shit.
The storyline is pretty straightforward with a mere casual glance. A healthy nod is given to red-faced parents all over the world to jump-start the topic.
If you have a kid older than 3, chances are you’ve been nailed to the post with at least one tough question posed 23 years before you were ready to give an answer. You know-your 3 yr old daughter catches you coming out of the shower and asks why your package is smaller than her tootsie-roll. “How do you pee with that little thing, daddy?” Yeah, kids are great.The kids, themselves take the spotlight next with a few choice examples of speculation on where they came from. My personal favorite is little Tommy who nails it when he says that his dad got him from the saloon.
How does one become so wise at five? So far, I’m thinking this is a great book and I’m gonna read it to the little one and then I turn the page. Holy Shit! There’s mom and dad playing together with a plastic boat in the tub. Pop’s wang is swinging in the breeze and he’s hung like a horse. Hello! What are they going to do with that little boat? Mom? Yeah, she’s got a decent rack, but fuck me if she doesn’t look like DAD wearing a wig! 
Like I said, they need to reunite and answer the inevitable WTF? So while the fact that mom and dad are not made the same way is covered, you are left with a queasy stomach and wondering exactly how mom and dad are related.
The author tackles the subject with relish and doesn’t pull any punches when he tells children that breasts are like mobile milk bars and gives a quick thank you to breasts in general before moving on. One gets the feeling he wasn’t breast-fed as a child. A sort of honor roll of breast names is presented so our kids don’t get lost when their older siblings start talking trash about titties, boobs, bazookas, etc. After he touches on breasts, he moves on down, but I should not forget to mention I love the shot of the little dude getting a feed on, thinking, “ Ahhh. Milk. Wonderful Milk.”
When covering (or in this case, uncovering) the genitals, Mayle neglects the honor roll of slang. Wang, dang, sweet poontang, and all that. Then, he says that a penis is like peanuts, except without the “t”. WTF? I’ve been looking at mine for an hour and I just don’t see it. His only saving grace is that he promises mine is going to grow bigger someday.
I am patiently waiting… He also notes that vagina rhymes with Carolina, so he must have heard the one about, well, never mind. Anyway, no slang terms here-I was disappointed. I mean, what a dick!Nonetheless, he dives into bumping uglies with gusto! I mean he goes out on a limb to note that we only play hide the sausage in bed most of the time and only because a bed is nice and comfortable. Obviously he’s never done the horizontal bop on a pool table, or pulled the “O” face in the mud at a rock concert, but he’s obviously given the missus a really tight hug, once or twice. That’s right, according to this book, babies come from really tight hugs and the guy’s penis gets bigger because it has lots of work to do. (That’s what she said) Making love (that means fucking) tickles and makes you wiggle. He says it’s like scratching an itch, but a lot nicer and yeah, I suppose that is right on target, isn’t it? Anyway, he says it all ends with a big sneeze
and then it’s all sperms, eggs and babies growing in the “woom” with a b. The book closes with a baby who comes out yelling like a pissed-off football fan.
I suppose this book is appropriate for all ages under 13 and lays out all the necessary bits for a complete birds and the bees story. Sex and babies are covered honestly and simply, just what every parent needs to educate the little ones with only two faults, in my humble opinion. First, the author uses to many analogies. I think the child will toddle away remembering itches, tickling, wiggling and a big, fucking sneeze. I think the analogies should be left up to the parents, tailoring to the child’s age and environment. Second, the image of mom and pop in the tub getting ready to utilize a plastic boat is wrong and for fuck’s sake, mom should NOT look like dad with a wig!
Thursday, October 25, 2007
promises, promises
Bad blogger. I know, I know...
Typing is still difficult and my left hand has a long way to go. I "promise" to put up some pictures, at least, very soon. I've got shots of my as yet, unfinished bathroom, the winery and LP and I making our first batch of the Sangiovese. Yes, she helped the gimp draw the wine off the lees the other day. I also have some shots of mr. bud working his "other" job while I directed traffic (one handed) around the crane he used to set some rather large beams and a foray to some of the local waterfalls with he and the boys.
Life continues much as it has this break, slow progress on the bath, and on rehabilitation of my hand. Weather has been rainy every single day of the break until today, but the day is only half over. Yesterday, we awoke to a good snow storm and snow on the ground. Neither lasted long, but winter is here in the Copper Country, like it or not.
I'm still reading you guys, just not commenting much d/t the hand. Trolling is too damn easy with Google Reader, too!
peace
ps. Blogger wants to correct Sangiovese to "angiosperm", which I believe is the scientific term for flowering plants that carry their seeds inside a structure called a carpel, or something like that-the other type being a gymnosperm, which I think are plants that have seeds on the outside of a structure called a sporophyll, like pine cones. Don't take that as gospel-i just read a lot and I think I remember it correctly, but I don't even know where I picked these tidbits up at...
Typing is still difficult and my left hand has a long way to go. I "promise" to put up some pictures, at least, very soon. I've got shots of my as yet, unfinished bathroom, the winery and LP and I making our first batch of the Sangiovese. Yes, she helped the gimp draw the wine off the lees the other day. I also have some shots of mr. bud working his "other" job while I directed traffic (one handed) around the crane he used to set some rather large beams and a foray to some of the local waterfalls with he and the boys.
Life continues much as it has this break, slow progress on the bath, and on rehabilitation of my hand. Weather has been rainy every single day of the break until today, but the day is only half over. Yesterday, we awoke to a good snow storm and snow on the ground. Neither lasted long, but winter is here in the Copper Country, like it or not.
I'm still reading you guys, just not commenting much d/t the hand. Trolling is too damn easy with Google Reader, too!
peace
ps. Blogger wants to correct Sangiovese to "angiosperm", which I believe is the scientific term for flowering plants that carry their seeds inside a structure called a carpel, or something like that-the other type being a gymnosperm, which I think are plants that have seeds on the outside of a structure called a sporophyll, like pine cones. Don't take that as gospel-i just read a lot and I think I remember it correctly, but I don't even know where I picked these tidbits up at...
Friday, October 19, 2007
Sangiovese and a shower
So I'm still around, but trying not to type much. My left hand still goes numb, hurts and is really weak. Tonight was the night. Mr. Bud once again showed up after a rather nasty, wet day on the job and pitched in a few hours of plumbing and now everything is working, bar a nasty leak in the new sink drain (WTF??) and a temp install of the shower head until that particular piece of drywall is hung. In fact, two walls are stll waiting for drywall, but I plan to hit that tomorrow w/ PW. Still to come: Drywall, taping, mudding, painting and base molding. Hang the door, hook up the light/fan/outlets, install the shower door and cut in a new heat vent. Details.
Anyhoo, tonight I actually took a fucking shower, after re-plumbing the kitchen sink drain and screwing in the shower head.. It's been a while and damn it felt good:) I decided to celebrate and now I'm lounging around in sweats, with some leftover pizza from the corner bar and a bottle of Sangiovese.
By the way, in the midst of all this negative bullshit going on the past few weeks, I decided to do something positive. Tuesday, I stopped in at my local winery and started a batch of exactly what I'm drinking right now, the Sangiovese. It is yummy. Sweeter and less bodied than my favorite wines, like the Syrah and Multipulciano, but I felt PW would be more inclined to join me in heartily downing the first 32 bottles with this selection;)
I think tomorrow is the day I stop in to take the wine off the lees (sediments) and get it into a secondary fermentation vessel. I should note that as a geologist, I was pleased to see that wine starts with muddy water made from Bentonite, an aluminium phyllosilicate clay, consisting of mostly of the mineral, Montmorilinite. It is formed from the weathering of volcanic ash and it's purpose in wine making is to bond with undesirable proteins and precipitate out with the other sediments ( the lees) such as the toasted oak sawdust added to make up for not hanging out in a barrel for a couple years. My winery owners, Frank and Carmen were very informative as I whipped up my first batch and I find this shit fascinating.
Oh, one last observation: I love grape juice in addition to wine, of course. Frank had me taste the grape juice used for the Sangiovese and holy shit it was the best grape juice i have ever tasted. If you could put that shit in a carton for a decent price you could put Welches out business in a heartbeat.
To wrap things up; I'm most likely not heading to Alaska, or anywhere else for that matter, any time soon. The injury just threw off everything. Maybe Egypt or Angola in a3-4 weeks, but I'm getting a well-deserved break after all. I'll post a few choice pics of my bathroom experience in a few days, after the drywall, door and electrical is complete and I give my first born to Mr. Bud. By the way, please pray for dry weather and no wind before Mr Bud drowns or blows away. This has been the worst weather I have ever experienced up here and he has had a house COMPLETELY opened up for the last week:(
Anyhoo, tonight I actually took a fucking shower, after re-plumbing the kitchen sink drain and screwing in the shower head.. It's been a while and damn it felt good:) I decided to celebrate and now I'm lounging around in sweats, with some leftover pizza from the corner bar and a bottle of Sangiovese.
By the way, in the midst of all this negative bullshit going on the past few weeks, I decided to do something positive. Tuesday, I stopped in at my local winery and started a batch of exactly what I'm drinking right now, the Sangiovese. It is yummy. Sweeter and less bodied than my favorite wines, like the Syrah and Multipulciano, but I felt PW would be more inclined to join me in heartily downing the first 32 bottles with this selection;)
I think tomorrow is the day I stop in to take the wine off the lees (sediments) and get it into a secondary fermentation vessel. I should note that as a geologist, I was pleased to see that wine starts with muddy water made from Bentonite, an aluminium phyllosilicate clay, consisting of mostly of the mineral, Montmorilinite. It is formed from the weathering of volcanic ash and it's purpose in wine making is to bond with undesirable proteins and precipitate out with the other sediments ( the lees) such as the toasted oak sawdust added to make up for not hanging out in a barrel for a couple years. My winery owners, Frank and Carmen were very informative as I whipped up my first batch and I find this shit fascinating.
Oh, one last observation: I love grape juice in addition to wine, of course. Frank had me taste the grape juice used for the Sangiovese and holy shit it was the best grape juice i have ever tasted. If you could put that shit in a carton for a decent price you could put Welches out business in a heartbeat.
To wrap things up; I'm most likely not heading to Alaska, or anywhere else for that matter, any time soon. The injury just threw off everything. Maybe Egypt or Angola in a3-4 weeks, but I'm getting a well-deserved break after all. I'll post a few choice pics of my bathroom experience in a few days, after the drywall, door and electrical is complete and I give my first born to Mr. Bud. By the way, please pray for dry weather and no wind before Mr Bud drowns or blows away. This has been the worst weather I have ever experienced up here and he has had a house COMPLETELY opened up for the last week:(
Thursday, October 11, 2007
injured, can't type, can't finish bathroom, can't go to work, family living in hotel
UPDATE: no typing allowed, yet. everything is still the same and still suks. tomorrow i see my physical therapist again. hotel suks but the sauna was nice tonite...
this sucks
this sucks
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Lay my headstone at the foot of the bath
I'm toast. Laid down for an hour an a half, Thursday night. Since then, I've divided my time between the basement, bathroom, attic and the local lumber yard/hardware stores. I think I've been up for 48 hours straight. They would be the only straight things I've come across in this odyssey of wood, plumbing, electrified wires and bad coffee. The general plan is to keep working right through tomorrow morning, throw some shit in a bag and head for the north pole about noon if the weather changes drastically from the constant downpour and mind-numbing fog that has not let a flight out of here in days. Still no bathroom fixtures, but the electrical is roughed in and, OH, my coffee is ready...
-later
-later
Tuesday, October 2, 2007
...and now I live in there (read: I am dying in here)
UPDATE, Friday night, midnight: PW and LP are living in a hotel. I visit every two days to shower and use the facilities. So far, I've managed to gut the room, tear out the floor, rebuild a rotten wall, sister in new floor joists, lay the sub-floor, frame in the enclosure for the tub/shower and put in all the missing nailers (it was built in the days of horsehair plaster and insulation-hence no nailers for drywall). Tonight (midnite to 6am) I'll plumb in the vent pipe, rough in and wire the exhaust fan, light, switches and outlets and insulate the walls. Tomorrow comes the hanging the vapor barrier, laying the finish floor and linoleum, building the final tub enclosure wall to be installed after the tub is laid, and getting the drywall purchased and started. Sunday is drywall, plumbing in tub, toilet, vanity and sink. HOLY FUCK am I screwed. I leave Monday morning if PW doesn't kill me for lack of a bathroom in the face of my imminent departure.
Promises are meant to be broken. I'm not posting pics of anything before I head for Alaska. I leave in 6 days. I have a bathroom that still has a floor, a few bits of lath on the walls and a working shower and toilet. I need to yank all that shit out, walls and floors included before I can even think about new floors (sub floor and even some joists-yay!), wall, plumbing, electrical, tub/shower, toilet, vanity/sink. I haven't done some of this shit in 20 years, I have 6 days and this is a 100 yr old house. PW and LP are leaving for a hotel in town and I'll be sleeping in the bathroom, at least once it has a new floor. Thank the gods mr. Bud has a cell phone and lots of patience.
Promises are meant to be broken. I'm not posting pics of anything before I head for Alaska. I leave in 6 days. I have a bathroom that still has a floor, a few bits of lath on the walls and a working shower and toilet. I need to yank all that shit out, walls and floors included before I can even think about new floors (sub floor and even some joists-yay!), wall, plumbing, electrical, tub/shower, toilet, vanity/sink. I haven't done some of this shit in 20 years, I have 6 days and this is a 100 yr old house. PW and LP are leaving for a hotel in town and I'll be sleeping in the bathroom, at least once it has a new floor. Thank the gods mr. Bud has a cell phone and lots of patience.
Monday, October 1, 2007
I've been in the bathroom
Been busy, busy, busy. Working well past midnight lately, to completely gut the bathroom and keep it functional for the girls at the same time. A few minor setbacks like broken cast-iron drain pipes have cost me a day's work. Today we finally make the pilgrimage to Marquette for tub, toilet, vanity, etc. We'll wave to the bro as drive by, Maeve.
I promise to post pics at some point before leaving for Alaska next Monday...
I promise to post pics at some point before leaving for Alaska next Monday...
Saturday, September 29, 2007
and more home
I've been meaning to post, but housework is taking all my time and while I took photos of the bathroom I've gutted, I don't have time to deal with them and anyway my fingers are too swollen to type more than this. You too can have fingers like this-take a flat bar and scrape plaster off of wooden lath walls and a ceiling for 8 hours. It's 11am and I need a drink, but LP and I are headed out to empty my pickup of bathroom wreckage so we can go buy a tub, enclosure, door, sink and vanity in Marquette, tomorrow. How many of you out there have to drive 150 miles to buy a bathtub?
Saturday, September 22, 2007
There's no place like home...
I'm finally home. Made it in about 8pm last night. Showered and passed the fuck out.
First off, I must say that I was wracking my brains for a creative solution to the puzzle of getting home, something your average bear would never think of and Doug nailed it. From now on, U-Haul will be another possible weapon in my arsenal. Without that advise, I finally managed the following:
Set up the two rental cars from two companies; Hertz from Minnie to Green Bay, then National from Green Bay to Houghton. Why? Hertz doesn't go to Houghton and National had no cars left in Minnie after all the cancellations. One of the stranded travelers from my canceled flight agreed to share the driving-a girl trying to get to a Saturday wedding up in Copper Harbor. Then, yesterday morning, at the last possible minute, two seats on a flight to Green Bay opened up, so we flew to Green Bay, rented a car and drove up to Houghton. As a final insult, the skies open up and dumped a shit-load of rain on me just as I went to drop off my car. Like Noah's Ark kind of rain, flooding parts of the city and all that.
PW and LP picked me up from the airport, where I ditched the rental. LP had a little surprise package from the Queen and was dying to open it, shaking it in my face, "Come on, Papa. OPEN IT!!!!!" So I ripped the top off and handed it back to her. Oh yeah, she pulled out the postcard with the naked butts, first thing. Laughing, "What's this for papa? Whose butts are those?" Wisely, I explained that it was for one of those moments when you need a whole bunch of naked butts. "You never know when you'll need a bunch of naked butts and now I'm ready." She thinks I'm nuts. PW asked if the queen was the one in the middle of the line-up. I could only state that I wouldn't recognize her from that particular angle.
After handing off the postcard to PW, LP pulled out the goodies and the letter. We all got a good laugh at the warning about LP seeing the postcard:) LP was gracious enough to let me eat one of the goodies, but I forgot that I hadn't eaten all day and I was bouncing off the ceiling all the way home. THEY WERE AWESOME!! LP, PW and I all say THANK YOU:) and PW wants the recipe. Roughly 10 minutes after getting home, the sugar buzz wore off, I started mumbling, took a shower and like I said, passed the fuck out.
Today, I managed to drag myself out of bed long enough to make coffee and cinnamon rolls for LP, drive into town to get MP, bring PW a pasty from BP's bakery and pick up my luggage from the airport. I'm now passing out on the couch until PW gets home and cracks a bottle of wine...
First off, I must say that I was wracking my brains for a creative solution to the puzzle of getting home, something your average bear would never think of and Doug nailed it. From now on, U-Haul will be another possible weapon in my arsenal. Without that advise, I finally managed the following:
Set up the two rental cars from two companies; Hertz from Minnie to Green Bay, then National from Green Bay to Houghton. Why? Hertz doesn't go to Houghton and National had no cars left in Minnie after all the cancellations. One of the stranded travelers from my canceled flight agreed to share the driving-a girl trying to get to a Saturday wedding up in Copper Harbor. Then, yesterday morning, at the last possible minute, two seats on a flight to Green Bay opened up, so we flew to Green Bay, rented a car and drove up to Houghton. As a final insult, the skies open up and dumped a shit-load of rain on me just as I went to drop off my car. Like Noah's Ark kind of rain, flooding parts of the city and all that.
PW and LP picked me up from the airport, where I ditched the rental. LP had a little surprise package from the Queen and was dying to open it, shaking it in my face, "Come on, Papa. OPEN IT!!!!!" So I ripped the top off and handed it back to her. Oh yeah, she pulled out the postcard with the naked butts, first thing. Laughing, "What's this for papa? Whose butts are those?" Wisely, I explained that it was for one of those moments when you need a whole bunch of naked butts. "You never know when you'll need a bunch of naked butts and now I'm ready." She thinks I'm nuts. PW asked if the queen was the one in the middle of the line-up. I could only state that I wouldn't recognize her from that particular angle.
After handing off the postcard to PW, LP pulled out the goodies and the letter. We all got a good laugh at the warning about LP seeing the postcard:) LP was gracious enough to let me eat one of the goodies, but I forgot that I hadn't eaten all day and I was bouncing off the ceiling all the way home. THEY WERE AWESOME!! LP, PW and I all say THANK YOU:) and PW wants the recipe. Roughly 10 minutes after getting home, the sugar buzz wore off, I started mumbling, took a shower and like I said, passed the fuck out.
Today, I managed to drag myself out of bed long enough to make coffee and cinnamon rolls for LP, drive into town to get MP, bring PW a pasty from BP's bakery and pick up my luggage from the airport. I'm now passing out on the couch until PW gets home and cracks a bottle of wine...
Friday, September 21, 2007
Fuck me
It's about 2am, I'm still in Minneapolis Airport. I cannot rent a car from here to Houghton for three days. I cannot fly out for two days. Yes, fuck me. Oh, but I have Subway.
Live blogging from Minneapolis Airport at 3:19 am. Out of the 30-odd passengers, everybody else either passed out, or left for a hotel. Two of us, hit every ticket agent, tram, car rental agency and hidden places to sleep in the entire fucking airport. There is no easy way out and nowhere comfortable to crash.
Mr. bud, you might be interested to know that I went to the hidden balcony and found it full of people. From there, I took the hallway back across the entire length of the main terminal, passing dozens of offices and doors with "HIGH SECURITY-DO NOT LEAVE UNATTENDED", or "TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT" printed on them. From there, you can cross over to the other side and find a police station and a small balcony above the new restaurant with chairs and tables. That's where I'm at now, hungrily eying the coffee shop.
***
Had to move -battery was dying and I had no plug. Now I've got my laptop on top of a garbage can.
Northwest is useless. The best they came up with is still a flight home the day after tomorrow. I may be able to get a flight to Duluth and get PW to close the shop, pull LP out of school and drive 5 hours to get me. Or, I can drive a Hertz rental to Green Bay WI., then rent a National car and drive it to Houghton. At Least 11 hours on the road and probably an hour to turn in one rental and get another.
This is the shit I go through to get to and from work. By the way, yes, I am still flapping my sore fucking arms and the low-grade fever I received courtesy of a yellow fever vaccination is doing wonders for my attitude. I was planning to sleep, but the ticket counters open again in a half hour, So I'm sitting here at the end of the main terminal keeping a watchful eye on the coffee shop. A four-shot latte just might keep me awake long enough to make a coherent decision about getting home.
Eleven hours driving is probably the only real option and I have, but one passenger, a girl from Portland, I think is still here and we have call numbers of a few others who opted for a hotel. Car pool...
***
9am, I'm still here and out of crack. Starting to get the shakes...
Live blogging from Minneapolis Airport at 3:19 am. Out of the 30-odd passengers, everybody else either passed out, or left for a hotel. Two of us, hit every ticket agent, tram, car rental agency and hidden places to sleep in the entire fucking airport. There is no easy way out and nowhere comfortable to crash.
Mr. bud, you might be interested to know that I went to the hidden balcony and found it full of people. From there, I took the hallway back across the entire length of the main terminal, passing dozens of offices and doors with "HIGH SECURITY-DO NOT LEAVE UNATTENDED", or "TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT" printed on them. From there, you can cross over to the other side and find a police station and a small balcony above the new restaurant with chairs and tables. That's where I'm at now, hungrily eying the coffee shop.
***
Had to move -battery was dying and I had no plug. Now I've got my laptop on top of a garbage can.
Northwest is useless. The best they came up with is still a flight home the day after tomorrow. I may be able to get a flight to Duluth and get PW to close the shop, pull LP out of school and drive 5 hours to get me. Or, I can drive a Hertz rental to Green Bay WI., then rent a National car and drive it to Houghton. At Least 11 hours on the road and probably an hour to turn in one rental and get another.
This is the shit I go through to get to and from work. By the way, yes, I am still flapping my sore fucking arms and the low-grade fever I received courtesy of a yellow fever vaccination is doing wonders for my attitude. I was planning to sleep, but the ticket counters open again in a half hour, So I'm sitting here at the end of the main terminal keeping a watchful eye on the coffee shop. A four-shot latte just might keep me awake long enough to make a coherent decision about getting home.
Eleven hours driving is probably the only real option and I have, but one passenger, a girl from Portland, I think is still here and we have call numbers of a few others who opted for a hotel. Car pool...
***
9am, I'm still here and out of crack. Starting to get the shakes...
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Miscellaneous Shit
The queen wondered aloud on my lack of postage. It's a combination of many things, but mostly the amount of work that piles up as a trip onboard concludes. That and the stress of things looming at home as I retire for a very short break to the great north woods. Many things to do and very little time as my break is cut short for a stint at the North Pole this month. This stress has made me decidedly uncreative and pissy in the extreme. Not smoking has undoubtedly contributed to this, as well.
Nonetheless, faithful blogger that I am, I knew this and decided to buy the Internet service here in Minneapolis Airport for 8 bucks and post something, anything. So here I sit in front of the sushi bar in the food court, wasabi smeared on one cheek, bits of ginger in my beard trying to be be witty, interesting and creative while listening to Bach; Sarabande from Cello suite no. 5. All that comes to mind is that only a few hours ago I had an offshore physical and some doctor stuck his finger up my ass. And no, I didn't get a reach-around. That was my day and this is what you get for asking Queen. Eye bleach required.
I also was once again vaccinated against yellow fever, typhoid, diphtheria, tetanus and hepatitis-A; two shots in each bicep, so periodically I have to flap my arms like a bird, or I won't be able to move them, tomorrow, which happened to me the last time I was stuck with all these shots. So, I'm on an airplane. Flapping my arms like a bird. On an airplane. Yes, the stewardess finally came over and asked if I was OK, needed my medicine, or my hands cuffed behind my back with a plastic tie. Now, I shit you not-I told her about my shots and showed her the Spiderman band-aids to prove it (NO plastic tie cuffs for me). Her response? "I bet that hurt" and she punched me in the arm. Bicep. Right one. Yellow fever plus Typhoid. Nearly shit myself. Bitch.
I was also given a large, plastic shopping bag at the medical center. Inside was a clear, plastic bag labeled "BIOHAZARD" containing a bucket to crap in. Now, I was made to fast before this physical and while I managed to squeeze out about an ounce of pee, I cannot and will not crap on demand. For anyone-not even if you stick a finger up my ass. So they made me take it home. Since they watched me get into my limo, I had to take it with me to the airport. BIOHAZARD, my ass. or I should say, not my ass. By the way, if you want a laugh while traveling, lean over to the couple eating next you and tell them you typed "stick a finger up my ass" while listening to a Mozart Symphony. I'm a barrel of 'em today.
Did I mention that I farted in the sound booth halfway through my hearing test? Apparently I am nearly deaf in one ear and falling off the stool, gagging, is not an excuse to take the test over.
I could go on, I'm stuck here for at least five hours until Northwest tries to bump me off the last fucking flight of the day. Bastids. The 2:30 flight was canceled for some odd reason, so there's gonna be a shit-pot full of angry people trying to take the Pirate's seat tonight. If had known it would come to this I would have crapped in the bucket and used it as a weapon. Do you sense a theme here? I'm sitting in a food court talking shit. What's wrong with me?
A non-fecal anecdote- My limo driver tells me his wife works at the medical center we're heading to, this morning. He also says it's fucking huge. It's been 4 years since I've been there, but I remember it's easy to get lost. 35,000 people work there-no kidding. Well, after the physical, the guy is driving me through the med center campus, remarking on the number of new buildings, their functions and what-not, when he says that the place is full of hot women. I have to agree at this point and he rolls down his window and gives a gaggle of gals the old "hey baby" routine as we pull up to a light.
Suddenly, a woman turns around from another group and starts screaming at him. It was his WIFE. He actually made to run the red light, but traffic was heavy. She gave him a pretty good tongue-lashing until people started beeping behind us, then said she'd see him at home tonight if he had the balls to come home. He acted all tough and shit, but I bet he doesn't go home. That's how I knew 35,000 people work at the med center campus-he kept shaking his head and saying,"35,000 people! Why'd my wife have to be there?". Poor bastard, he was probably just trying to show off in front of me and now he's in a heap of trouble. In the shit, as it were.
Speaking of shit-here's some- A guy just tapped me on the shoulder, motioning me to remove my wonderful, noise cancellation headphones by Bose for 300 bucks at fine audio dealers across the country. He's asking me about how to log onto the airport wireless. Then he tells me to look at the windows and watch for a tornado. The airport itself must once again, have tornadoes on the infield. They are clearing people away from the glass and all that stupid crap. Last time this happened here it was a nightmare getting home. I had been awake for 3 days straight crew-xing out of Trinidad, West Indies and had a helluva time getting a rental car to drive home nine hours, then having to remove downed trees from the roadway to get out of the city. Great. maybe I'll end up live-blogging a tornado...I need a fucking drink.
Nonetheless, faithful blogger that I am, I knew this and decided to buy the Internet service here in Minneapolis Airport for 8 bucks and post something, anything. So here I sit in front of the sushi bar in the food court, wasabi smeared on one cheek, bits of ginger in my beard trying to be be witty, interesting and creative while listening to Bach; Sarabande from Cello suite no. 5. All that comes to mind is that only a few hours ago I had an offshore physical and some doctor stuck his finger up my ass. And no, I didn't get a reach-around. That was my day and this is what you get for asking Queen. Eye bleach required.
I also was once again vaccinated against yellow fever, typhoid, diphtheria, tetanus and hepatitis-A; two shots in each bicep, so periodically I have to flap my arms like a bird, or I won't be able to move them, tomorrow, which happened to me the last time I was stuck with all these shots. So, I'm on an airplane. Flapping my arms like a bird. On an airplane. Yes, the stewardess finally came over and asked if I was OK, needed my medicine, or my hands cuffed behind my back with a plastic tie. Now, I shit you not-I told her about my shots and showed her the Spiderman band-aids to prove it (NO plastic tie cuffs for me). Her response? "I bet that hurt" and she punched me in the arm. Bicep. Right one. Yellow fever plus Typhoid. Nearly shit myself. Bitch.
I was also given a large, plastic shopping bag at the medical center. Inside was a clear, plastic bag labeled "BIOHAZARD" containing a bucket to crap in. Now, I was made to fast before this physical and while I managed to squeeze out about an ounce of pee, I cannot and will not crap on demand. For anyone-not even if you stick a finger up my ass. So they made me take it home. Since they watched me get into my limo, I had to take it with me to the airport. BIOHAZARD, my ass. or I should say, not my ass. By the way, if you want a laugh while traveling, lean over to the couple eating next you and tell them you typed "stick a finger up my ass" while listening to a Mozart Symphony. I'm a barrel of 'em today.
Did I mention that I farted in the sound booth halfway through my hearing test? Apparently I am nearly deaf in one ear and falling off the stool, gagging, is not an excuse to take the test over.
I could go on, I'm stuck here for at least five hours until Northwest tries to bump me off the last fucking flight of the day. Bastids. The 2:30 flight was canceled for some odd reason, so there's gonna be a shit-pot full of angry people trying to take the Pirate's seat tonight. If had known it would come to this I would have crapped in the bucket and used it as a weapon. Do you sense a theme here? I'm sitting in a food court talking shit. What's wrong with me?
A non-fecal anecdote- My limo driver tells me his wife works at the medical center we're heading to, this morning. He also says it's fucking huge. It's been 4 years since I've been there, but I remember it's easy to get lost. 35,000 people work there-no kidding. Well, after the physical, the guy is driving me through the med center campus, remarking on the number of new buildings, their functions and what-not, when he says that the place is full of hot women. I have to agree at this point and he rolls down his window and gives a gaggle of gals the old "hey baby" routine as we pull up to a light.
Suddenly, a woman turns around from another group and starts screaming at him. It was his WIFE. He actually made to run the red light, but traffic was heavy. She gave him a pretty good tongue-lashing until people started beeping behind us, then said she'd see him at home tonight if he had the balls to come home. He acted all tough and shit, but I bet he doesn't go home. That's how I knew 35,000 people work at the med center campus-he kept shaking his head and saying,"35,000 people! Why'd my wife have to be there?". Poor bastard, he was probably just trying to show off in front of me and now he's in a heap of trouble. In the shit, as it were.
Speaking of shit-here's some- A guy just tapped me on the shoulder, motioning me to remove my wonderful, noise cancellation headphones by Bose for 300 bucks at fine audio dealers across the country. He's asking me about how to log onto the airport wireless. Then he tells me to look at the windows and watch for a tornado. The airport itself must once again, have tornadoes on the infield. They are clearing people away from the glass and all that stupid crap. Last time this happened here it was a nightmare getting home. I had been awake for 3 days straight crew-xing out of Trinidad, West Indies and had a helluva time getting a rental car to drive home nine hours, then having to remove downed trees from the roadway to get out of the city. Great. maybe I'll end up live-blogging a tornado...I need a fucking drink.
Sunday, September 16, 2007
[Insert witty title here when sober]
I know I've pissed and moaned many times about the lack of blogs to read on the weekend,but man, I hate the weekends. I feel like an abandoned child. I know a few of you hearty souls post right through the weekend and Jay usually does a Sunday post, bless him. Still, it gets lonely:(
Today I woke up and scrubbed my head (read bathroom, land-lubbers) with a brush only slightly larger than a toothbrush. I gave up and used a rag to do the bulkheads and deck, it was so small. I found an Esquire magazine my cabin mate must have left in there when he moved to another ship two weeks ago. Read it while sitting on the floor in my tiny head. Kind of strange, sitting on the floor of a dirty head reading an article on the art of being Faaaaaabulous. All kinds of useful advise like making sure your belt matches your fucking shoes. Guys DO this?? What else? Oh, buy an expensive umbrella because it makes you seem important-not to keep you dry. Well, I own some pretty decent rain gear and even then have resorted to garbage bags, but have no umbrella so I'm obviously anything but Faaaaaabulous. Sorry PW, I'm just not the male model/CEO guy with a $400 umbrella:(
Yesterday, our medic (MEDIC!! MEDIC!!)..um, we always yell that when he walks into a room...he kindly put together a slide show, complete with a moving musical score, of the long, tough history of this little fleet-aptly title "Death of a Legend". Twenty-Five guys with a total of over 350 years combined experience sat in silence and watched their history and lives flash by on a bed sheet hung from the ceiling. Guys with names like Jimmy The Buckle, Tuna, Hemorrhoid and Mule Dick and not a dry eye in the house. I wish I could post it on here, but PowerPoint doesn't play well with Blogger and even runs with scissors. Anyone that curious can email me and I would be glad to email you a copy, if it zips down from 600MB..
I've found this trip that I love to listen to both classical piano and cello when I'm really whacked out on my muscle relaxers, like right now. Sonata #14; Moonlight by Beethoven is perfect for drooling on yourself.
***
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..........
***
Because we work 12-14 hours shifts non-stop for 5-6 weeks, sometimes, if there is absoutely no work going on-say due to a hurricane, some of the crew will sneak off for a cat nap. It's a very rare thing, but pretty much everyone out here has done it once or twice, except me. That is until tonight. I've been getting steadily more and more worn out. My neck has been twisted in knots for the past 3 days and today I took a double-dose of my muscle relaxers. This resulted in getting very sleepy, but still with a sore neck. After dinner I blanked out at my computer for quite a while, I think. I closed my eyes but kept working-typing, pushing buttons, moving the mouse around and clicking it a lot. I was dreaming about working the whole time. Finally, I opened my eyes and saw that I had caused all my jobs to crash, deleted some important stuff and made a mess of my windows-all with my eyes closed. I fixed the mess and snuck down to my cabin for a 20 min cat-nap. Woke 30 mins later only to find the crew had scoured the ship looking for me because PW called.
Made me feel so guilty I even told PW that I was "working" and that's why I didn't call her back right away. This is why I never break the rules, why I would never be a criminal. I get caught every time.
Today I woke up and scrubbed my head (read bathroom, land-lubbers) with a brush only slightly larger than a toothbrush. I gave up and used a rag to do the bulkheads and deck, it was so small. I found an Esquire magazine my cabin mate must have left in there when he moved to another ship two weeks ago. Read it while sitting on the floor in my tiny head. Kind of strange, sitting on the floor of a dirty head reading an article on the art of being Faaaaaabulous. All kinds of useful advise like making sure your belt matches your fucking shoes. Guys DO this?? What else? Oh, buy an expensive umbrella because it makes you seem important-not to keep you dry. Well, I own some pretty decent rain gear and even then have resorted to garbage bags, but have no umbrella so I'm obviously anything but Faaaaaabulous. Sorry PW, I'm just not the male model/CEO guy with a $400 umbrella:(
Yesterday, our medic (MEDIC!! MEDIC!!)..um, we always yell that when he walks into a room...he kindly put together a slide show, complete with a moving musical score, of the long, tough history of this little fleet-aptly title "Death of a Legend". Twenty-Five guys with a total of over 350 years combined experience sat in silence and watched their history and lives flash by on a bed sheet hung from the ceiling. Guys with names like Jimmy The Buckle, Tuna, Hemorrhoid and Mule Dick and not a dry eye in the house. I wish I could post it on here, but PowerPoint doesn't play well with Blogger and even runs with scissors. Anyone that curious can email me and I would be glad to email you a copy, if it zips down from 600MB..
I've found this trip that I love to listen to both classical piano and cello when I'm really whacked out on my muscle relaxers, like right now. Sonata #14; Moonlight by Beethoven is perfect for drooling on yourself.
***
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz..........
***
Because we work 12-14 hours shifts non-stop for 5-6 weeks, sometimes, if there is absoutely no work going on-say due to a hurricane, some of the crew will sneak off for a cat nap. It's a very rare thing, but pretty much everyone out here has done it once or twice, except me. That is until tonight. I've been getting steadily more and more worn out. My neck has been twisted in knots for the past 3 days and today I took a double-dose of my muscle relaxers. This resulted in getting very sleepy, but still with a sore neck. After dinner I blanked out at my computer for quite a while, I think. I closed my eyes but kept working-typing, pushing buttons, moving the mouse around and clicking it a lot. I was dreaming about working the whole time. Finally, I opened my eyes and saw that I had caused all my jobs to crash, deleted some important stuff and made a mess of my windows-all with my eyes closed. I fixed the mess and snuck down to my cabin for a 20 min cat-nap. Woke 30 mins later only to find the crew had scoured the ship looking for me because PW called.
Made me feel so guilty I even told PW that I was "working" and that's why I didn't call her back right away. This is why I never break the rules, why I would never be a criminal. I get caught every time.
Saturday, September 15, 2007
Good Day
So the guy made it home late last night and his wife delivered a healthy baby boy early this morning:)
However, the lowdown cocksucker that stole my red stapler still has not returned it and I am continuing to be very stupid, today.
However, the lowdown cocksucker that stole my red stapler still has not returned it and I am continuing to be very stupid, today.
Bad day
One of those days, out here in the Big Blue, yesterday. I put the morning's nicotine patch in a new place for the first time since starting these little buggers. OMG did it itch for hours! Evidently, you are supposed to rotate the location, which is no fun. The first time an area gets the patch, it itches like a motherfucker. Subsequent patches in the same area are no bother, but I guess that’s a no-no, so those days are over. Evidently, I will spend my mornings trying not to chew off various parts of my body until I can stop taping nicotine to it. Nice.
About 2 hours into the shift, our navigator gets an instant message from his very, very pregnant wife-"I'm on the way to the hospital". He's now gone, but won't be home until tonight, or early tomorrow morning and either way, most likely arriving at the hospital already a father since they were talking emergency C-section. He was such a wreck, the rest of us were freaking out with him. On the plus side, he made me forget about my itchy arm.
Received an email from the office today. It tells me that my future location is no longer in question. I will be working somewhere in the western, or the eastern hemisphere...that rules out the moon, at least. Seriously, it actually just threw a few more options into the mix and while I may not be scaling the pyramids next month, I may be instead, once again hanging with Santa in his back forty-for those of you who've been reading my shit since last September.
Some lowdown motherfucker stole my red stapler. Unless they left the ship with it, I swear by all that’s holy I will rip their head off and shit down their neck. I want to cry.
Finally, for the last half of the shift my job went completely haywire. Nothing worked. All of my work runs on one of those pc cluster supercomputers using a proprietary software package that in effect, takes a bunch of data and runs a series of computer programs on it, making millions, no, at least trillions of mathematical alterations to it. Something was wrong with an alteration, so I fixed it. Which led to another one showing up wrong, so I fixed it, which led to another and another and so on. After an hour or so of this, I realized that I had modified dozens of alterations, but shouldn’t have-something else was changing the alterations. So I went after that in the same method as above (After fixing the dozens of changes above). The problem kept cascading until I had made hundreds of changes, on different levels, in different programs and scripts. Still, nothing working. I put it all back the way it was originally. Six hours to get back to where I started-nothing working. My opposite walks in at shift change and before their first cup of coffee, changes a few numbers here and there and BAM! It all works. Words cannot describe my pain.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
We ain't afraid of no stinking hurricanes
Many years ago I lived in Orlando, FL. Myself and three other idiots packed up our shit a week after high school graduation and drove off to the land of sun and fun, from Michigan. The sum total thoughts on the whole adventure were something like, "beer, bikinis, beach". We decided to take the coast down instead of I-75 straight down. Why, I don't know. Most of the drive was completed in the dark, we only stopped for gas and nobody had any particular place they wanted to visit. Such is the folly of youth.
The only things I remember of the drive are driving through DC at four in the morning and deciding where exactly in Florida we were going to live. That's right, when we left only the state had been nailed down. Fortunately, the buzz had worn off before we started in on where we wanted to live. Cooler heads prevailed and we decided that living on the beach might hamper our efforts to find and keep a job, so we decided on Orlando, which looked to be about an hour from Daytona Beach on our map. We drove straight to Daytona, first, arriving after dark and went for a midnight swim to end the road trip.
The next day, we found ourselves in Orlando, snagged an apartment and settled in. We even found work and kept our jobs, only raiding the bikinis at Daytona on the weekends and limiting our time in the Booby Trap (Famous strip joint shaped like two boobs, two blocks from our apartment. Really.) to Monday, Tuesday and Thursday nights. So many weird and wonderful things happened to us the two years we lived there, that I can't even begin to explain. Anyway, this post isn't about our time in Orlando. However, before I discontinue my digression, I feel compelled to tell you that while living there I saw a UFO, or actually many UFO's, one night. I was joined by about 25 other people-most of them sober, so it wasn't the contact buzz from my toluene-huffing next-door neighbor, the mushrooms I ate that night, or the killer Thai stick I burned by the bale. It was one of my house mates' birthday that night, but his appendix was bursting so we left him puking in the bathroom while we got shit-faced. He missed seeing UFO's on his birthday-the poor bastard.
No, the reason I brought up Orlando is that one day after working all night, I passed out back at home and slept soundly as a tornado ripped down my street, passing right by me and destroying literally everything but our apartment block. My house mates, finding me passed out in front of a window displaying total carnage assumed I had been caught out in the monster, injured and then somehow crawled back inside to die. I awoke to a bunch of really terrified faces. I don't think to this day they really believe I just slept through it and I admit it was hard to believe as I walked down the street that day, looking at smashed buildings, then looking back at the window I had just been sleeping in front of. Kind of unreal.
I've never been known as a heavy sleeper, but there you go.
So last night I hit the rack, snooze all night, accompanied by freaky, vivid dreams supplied by my nicotine patch and wake to find I just slept through a hurricane. Yes, hurricane Humberto just passed us in the night like....like something passing us in the night. Granted he was only a category one, but I slept right through a freaking hurricane, in a very small ship. They tell me it got rough last night and my cabin and head are testament to the violence. Everything not tied down was strewn around the room, except for a package of toilet paper that had been sitting in the porthole above the toilet. It was nestled in the toilet, as if it was trying to get to it's final destination, bypassing what must be a somewhat bad experience for anybody, that is, except for the brown-nosing motherfucker next to me.
And finally, I believe that brings my total to ten of these bastards. Oh yeah, Honey, in case you heard about Humberto, I guess I'm fine and we're already back working. I've got my rough weather headache, but that's it. Weird, huh?
p.s. The tornado did not destroy the Booby Trap, in case anyone's worried. I even found it on Google Earth a few months back and they're still standing proud, though it looked like it was kind of cold...
The only things I remember of the drive are driving through DC at four in the morning and deciding where exactly in Florida we were going to live. That's right, when we left only the state had been nailed down. Fortunately, the buzz had worn off before we started in on where we wanted to live. Cooler heads prevailed and we decided that living on the beach might hamper our efforts to find and keep a job, so we decided on Orlando, which looked to be about an hour from Daytona Beach on our map. We drove straight to Daytona, first, arriving after dark and went for a midnight swim to end the road trip.
The next day, we found ourselves in Orlando, snagged an apartment and settled in. We even found work and kept our jobs, only raiding the bikinis at Daytona on the weekends and limiting our time in the Booby Trap (Famous strip joint shaped like two boobs, two blocks from our apartment. Really.) to Monday, Tuesday and Thursday nights. So many weird and wonderful things happened to us the two years we lived there, that I can't even begin to explain. Anyway, this post isn't about our time in Orlando. However, before I discontinue my digression, I feel compelled to tell you that while living there I saw a UFO, or actually many UFO's, one night. I was joined by about 25 other people-most of them sober, so it wasn't the contact buzz from my toluene-huffing next-door neighbor, the mushrooms I ate that night, or the killer Thai stick I burned by the bale. It was one of my house mates' birthday that night, but his appendix was bursting so we left him puking in the bathroom while we got shit-faced. He missed seeing UFO's on his birthday-the poor bastard.
No, the reason I brought up Orlando is that one day after working all night, I passed out back at home and slept soundly as a tornado ripped down my street, passing right by me and destroying literally everything but our apartment block. My house mates, finding me passed out in front of a window displaying total carnage assumed I had been caught out in the monster, injured and then somehow crawled back inside to die. I awoke to a bunch of really terrified faces. I don't think to this day they really believe I just slept through it and I admit it was hard to believe as I walked down the street that day, looking at smashed buildings, then looking back at the window I had just been sleeping in front of. Kind of unreal.
I've never been known as a heavy sleeper, but there you go.
So last night I hit the rack, snooze all night, accompanied by freaky, vivid dreams supplied by my nicotine patch and wake to find I just slept through a hurricane. Yes, hurricane Humberto just passed us in the night like....like something passing us in the night. Granted he was only a category one, but I slept right through a freaking hurricane, in a very small ship. They tell me it got rough last night and my cabin and head are testament to the violence. Everything not tied down was strewn around the room, except for a package of toilet paper that had been sitting in the porthole above the toilet. It was nestled in the toilet, as if it was trying to get to it's final destination, bypassing what must be a somewhat bad experience for anybody, that is, except for the brown-nosing motherfucker next to me.
And finally, I believe that brings my total to ten of these bastards. Oh yeah, Honey, in case you heard about Humberto, I guess I'm fine and we're already back working. I've got my rough weather headache, but that's it. Weird, huh?
p.s. The tornado did not destroy the Booby Trap, in case anyone's worried. I even found it on Google Earth a few months back and they're still standing proud, though it looked like it was kind of cold...
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
How do you find a lost millionaire?
Yesterday I came across something that irks me. Every day our real heroes die and it often makes for little news. Usually nothing more than a passing thought, or a footnote in the paper when someone serving their country, or community passes. Yesterday, it was brought to my attention that you too, can add to the massive resources being expended to find the millionaire adventurer Steve Fossett, who disappeared in his small plane on September 3rd. From your personal computer, you can log onto Amazon.com (Amazon Mechanical Turk) and assist in the review some 100,000 aerial photos, in an attempt to spot Mr. Fossett's plane, presumed crashed somewhere in an area of Nevada desert twice the size of New Jersey.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
A call for musical information...
Has anyone out there actually been to a Trans-Siberian Orchestra concert? I'm thinking about a road trip to see them and wonder if the atmosphere would be appropriate for LP. I know she likes the music, but the composers have Rock God PHD's and I'd hate to drag LP into a stage rush, if they attract that sort of crowd. Oh, and if you have no idea who they are, they combine so many different styles (take a look at the list of vocalists in their band list!) into their music I don't think I can accurately describe it, so definitely poke around their website and have a listen to their audio files, or peak at a video. I can say that I think my favorite tune is A Mad Russian's Christmas from Christmas Eve and Other Stories. Or maybe, Mephistopheles' Return off of Beethoven's Last Night.
Helix Nebula
The Helix Nebula is our closest nebulous neighbor, at a mere 650 light-years, roughly three-quarters of the distance from our Sun to the nearest star. With a diameter of nearly 3 light-years and it's close proximity to Earth, it took nine orbits and exposures to capture the entire nebula, which appears to be about one-half the diameter of the moon in our night sky. You are now looking down a Trillion-mile long tunnel of glowing gasses. A beautiful, fluorescing tube pointed directly at Earth. I suggest you take the time to click on it and have a look at the full-size image.
[Composite image courtesy of the folks at NASA, NSF, the Hubble Space Telescope and the Mosaic Camera at Kitt Peak National Observatory]
[Composite image courtesy of the folks at NASA, NSF, the Hubble Space Telescope and the Mosaic Camera at Kitt Peak National Observatory]
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