DECEMBER 2005 ARCHIVES
Wednesday, December 14, 2005--
Just some quick pics while I wait for my ride this morning:
From the job on Broad Street--
Just some quick pics while I wait for my ride this morning:
From the job on Broad Street--
The lobby. Reminds
you of your own
elementary school
years, doesn't it?
you of your own
elementary school
years, doesn't it?
We're working in the building on
the right. The NYSE is on the left,
lit up, up the street.
the right. The NYSE is on the left,
lit up, up the street.
Column detail.
And after all that, this is what they did with
the cafeteria. 5 different shades of Yuck.
We're installing the panel Yuck along the
walls.
the cafeteria. 5 different shades of Yuck.
We're installing the panel Yuck along the
walls.
Mark and Fynn at work. Hell, someone has to look busy...
The deadline on this job is getting close. You can always tell on a big job because the United Nations that is New York
City Construction fades away as the different trades finish up and pull out, replaced by the Parade of Anxious White Guys.
The Parade started yesterday, so today should be a hoot.
City Construction fades away as the different trades finish up and pull out, replaced by the Parade of Anxious White Guys.
The Parade started yesterday, so today should be a hoot.
Sunday, December 11, 2005-- Second week in a row I've missed football due to this damn ankle. I really,
really almost made it out today, but when I tried, yesterday, to jog half a block as a test (Not run...jog...) I was
a wincing mess and the whole ankle/foot area went into re-swelling aggravation mode, so it would have
been stupid and painful. And I would have sucked, which would be worse. It is best to suck without excuse,
chin up, leaning stalwartly into your own inadequacy.
This has taken me out of my weekly Sunday routine, which means I have also neglected to make my football
pool picks for the second week in a row. Not that it matters. I started the damn thing, I run the damn thing,
and I have never won a single week. Ridiculous.
A quick note here: Is it just me or do the steady stream of commercials touting luxury cars as great
Christmas gifts make everyone just a little bit thirstier for the Class War? I know, intellectually, those
beautiful, successful people in the ads are in reality beautiful, struggling actor/models who spend more time
standing in front of nightclubs with clipboards than driving Lexus stocking stuffers, but in my heart, I wonder
if that will be enough to save them from the guillotine, or if I even care...
The cool part is that at the present pace of worker indignation, the Class War will take place so far in the
future the guillotine will be all Laseriffic and the proceedings will be emceed by Richard Dawson's
reanimated head in an anti-gravity jar.
But I digress...
I know many of you are looking around for Christmas gifts around now, and that digital cameras are a
popular choice, so let me make a plug here for my camera the Canon PowerShot SD110 Digital Elph .
I'm not sure you can get it anymore, but they are selling another one on amazon, which I think is the next
generation.
I got mine at what I now realize was a ridiculously low sale price on amazon of $130.00 or something like
that and have been extremely happy with it. Like I always say on this site, unless you plan on printing out
8x10 glossies, 3 megapixels is way, way enough. Most people use their digital cameras to take snapshots
and send them over the net, and for that, you'll find yourself dialing down the default settings on the camera
because they contain too much info to be downloaded conveniently.
So why this camera? My main bragging point used to be that it was small enough to be taken to every party,
whatever, without a great deal of effort. It is about the size of a pack of smokes. But now, having had the
screen go blank on me after 11 months, I have a new perspective. The Amazon/Canon combo worked
amazingly for me, Mr. DIsorganized. I was well on my way to just buying a new camera when I figured I
would do the Hopelessly Naive and look into having my camera serviced. I went to the Canon website and in
about 20 seconds was at a screen where I had entered my model and info and needed to enter my receipt
info for date of purchase. I opened the Amazon site in another window and found that they actually keep track
of everything you've purchased there. I was able to find my purchase date, which was 11 months and 2
weeks back. Entering that info at the Canon site, they told me I was still under warranty as long as I got it
there within the next two weeks (one year) and that the repairs were free. Two days later I Priority Mailed the
camera and I got it back less than 5 business days later.
Is this a boring story? Yes. But in my experience it is a very unusual one. They even replaced the outer shell,
so it looks brand new. After being taken to many jobsites it was pretty worn, but I never thought about it.
I was absolutely shocked at how good the customer service was, so I feel they deserve a plug.
And speaking of my newly returned camera, how about we gussy things up around here with some
gratuitous photos!
really almost made it out today, but when I tried, yesterday, to jog half a block as a test (Not run...jog...) I was
a wincing mess and the whole ankle/foot area went into re-swelling aggravation mode, so it would have
been stupid and painful. And I would have sucked, which would be worse. It is best to suck without excuse,
chin up, leaning stalwartly into your own inadequacy.
This has taken me out of my weekly Sunday routine, which means I have also neglected to make my football
pool picks for the second week in a row. Not that it matters. I started the damn thing, I run the damn thing,
and I have never won a single week. Ridiculous.
A quick note here: Is it just me or do the steady stream of commercials touting luxury cars as great
Christmas gifts make everyone just a little bit thirstier for the Class War? I know, intellectually, those
beautiful, successful people in the ads are in reality beautiful, struggling actor/models who spend more time
standing in front of nightclubs with clipboards than driving Lexus stocking stuffers, but in my heart, I wonder
if that will be enough to save them from the guillotine, or if I even care...
The cool part is that at the present pace of worker indignation, the Class War will take place so far in the
future the guillotine will be all Laseriffic and the proceedings will be emceed by Richard Dawson's
reanimated head in an anti-gravity jar.
But I digress...
I know many of you are looking around for Christmas gifts around now, and that digital cameras are a
popular choice, so let me make a plug here for my camera the Canon PowerShot SD110 Digital Elph .
I'm not sure you can get it anymore, but they are selling another one on amazon, which I think is the next
generation.
I got mine at what I now realize was a ridiculously low sale price on amazon of $130.00 or something like
that and have been extremely happy with it. Like I always say on this site, unless you plan on printing out
8x10 glossies, 3 megapixels is way, way enough. Most people use their digital cameras to take snapshots
and send them over the net, and for that, you'll find yourself dialing down the default settings on the camera
because they contain too much info to be downloaded conveniently.
So why this camera? My main bragging point used to be that it was small enough to be taken to every party,
whatever, without a great deal of effort. It is about the size of a pack of smokes. But now, having had the
screen go blank on me after 11 months, I have a new perspective. The Amazon/Canon combo worked
amazingly for me, Mr. DIsorganized. I was well on my way to just buying a new camera when I figured I
would do the Hopelessly Naive and look into having my camera serviced. I went to the Canon website and in
about 20 seconds was at a screen where I had entered my model and info and needed to enter my receipt
info for date of purchase. I opened the Amazon site in another window and found that they actually keep track
of everything you've purchased there. I was able to find my purchase date, which was 11 months and 2
weeks back. Entering that info at the Canon site, they told me I was still under warranty as long as I got it
there within the next two weeks (one year) and that the repairs were free. Two days later I Priority Mailed the
camera and I got it back less than 5 business days later.
Is this a boring story? Yes. But in my experience it is a very unusual one. They even replaced the outer shell,
so it looks brand new. After being taken to many jobsites it was pretty worn, but I never thought about it.
I was absolutely shocked at how good the customer service was, so I feel they deserve a plug.
And speaking of my newly returned camera, how about we gussy things up around here with some
gratuitous photos!
Henry on the occasion of the first snow here.
I've recently been working across from the New York Stock Exchange where they are converting an
old bank into a fancy-pants prep school. I'm working for Fynn, installing these richlite panels
around the cafeteria, which used to be the vault room. The actual kitchen is inside the vault, the
doors of which had to be kept as part of the historical landmark demands of the building...
old bank into a fancy-pants prep school. I'm working for Fynn, installing these richlite panels
around the cafeteria, which used to be the vault room. The actual kitchen is inside the vault, the
doors of which had to be kept as part of the historical landmark demands of the building...
The stock exchange, all dolled up for Christmas. And who wouldn't be?
Now for the fun stuff. Friday was the annual Shop Party, the Shop now being 1/2 Caliper Studio and 1/2
Loosely Affiliated Woodworkers. There were two highlights of the party; an unbelievable Jungle Scene
"cake" made by Yo, one of the Caliper Studio employees, and a BB/Pellet gun that Mike and one of the
woodworkers had modified so it could be hooked up to the shop compressor...
Loosely Affiliated Woodworkers. There were two highlights of the party; an unbelievable Jungle Scene
"cake" made by Yo, one of the Caliper Studio employees, and a BB/Pellet gun that Mike and one of the
woodworkers had modified so it could be hooked up to the shop compressor...
The party. This was taken just after the cake was revealed, so it looks more crowded than it was. The
shop is 3000 sq. ft or so, I guess. Every party they hold, year after year, the ratio of tradesman to New
Yorker readers goes down, but what can you do?
shop is 3000 sq. ft or so, I guess. Every party they hold, year after year, the ratio of tradesman to New
Yorker readers goes down, but what can you do?
Masterpiece.
Detail. The parrot was handmade
out of marzipan.
out of marzipan.
Mike demonstrates the classic
muzzle-loading action.
muzzle-loading action.
The editors of Pellet America have a
tough choice with next month's cover...
tough choice with next month's cover...
Wednesday December 7, 2005--
Working like a madman, will update probably this weekend. This is a good day to say thanks to all the veterans
who fought those who actually attacked our country, and of course, all our vets, no matter how silly the cause they
were asked to answer for. There will be more than one day that lives in infamy. That's too bad.
Working like a madman, will update probably this weekend. This is a good day to say thanks to all the veterans
who fought those who actually attacked our country, and of course, all our vets, no matter how silly the cause they
were asked to answer for. There will be more than one day that lives in infamy. That's too bad.
Friday, December 2, 2005--
Friday already? Bummer. The chances of my ankle healing before kickoff on Sunday are starting to look as slim
as my other, healthy, chicken-ankle looks now. I could really have used a few more weekdays. Y'all don't mind a
little Groundhog Day sacrifice for the benefit of my personal weekend warrior needs, right? Aw, c'mon...
But it is healing like gangbusters.
It's the clean living...
Friday already? Bummer. The chances of my ankle healing before kickoff on Sunday are starting to look as slim
as my other, healthy, chicken-ankle looks now. I could really have used a few more weekdays. Y'all don't mind a
little Groundhog Day sacrifice for the benefit of my personal weekend warrior needs, right? Aw, c'mon...
But it is healing like gangbusters.
It's the clean living...
Photos from New Years/Mike's Birthday
Mike's eyeblack gift starts to get out of hand...
Christmas
Christmas Eve Dinner feels my wrath...
Shaving the beard off allowed me to do some Brokeback Mountain-style Henry Wrangling
Fathers must teach their children all the important things...
October 31st, 2005--
Happy Halloween and sorry about the forums! I went off all half-cocked and succumbed to the latest scary "security
issues" email from phpBB, who make the forum software. I've been running the .11 version and finally figured I
needed to bring it up to speed now that they are on version .18, which has brought us to version zero. I'm working
on it and hope to have it all sorted soon. The good news is that, as advertised, the forum is currently safe from
hackers...
Happy Halloween and sorry about the forums! I went off all half-cocked and succumbed to the latest scary "security
issues" email from phpBB, who make the forum software. I've been running the .11 version and finally figured I
needed to bring it up to speed now that they are on version .18, which has brought us to version zero. I'm working
on it and hope to have it all sorted soon. The good news is that, as advertised, the forum is currently safe from
hackers...
Friday, October 28th, 2005--
I have a few internet...pet peeves is too harsh...disapointments is more like it...
One of those is checking back at a blog I've seen before and finding it has been ages since it was updated. Why
does this person even keep the page up? It's stupid. And disappointing. And now its me.
Real nice.
I apologize about that. I was very busy for a while. Then I wasn't. Which led to being desperately poor, which is not
only expensive but remarkably time consuming. You'll notice that all the great autobiographical writing about being
poor was done just after the writer was poor. One can't take time out of a busy day of monetary worries to do
something as frivolous as writing. There is sitting and worrying to be done. Pacing. Walking to places to buy
ridiculously small guilty pleasures: newspapers, coffees, the occasional sandwich. These items take on such an
oddly satisfying crunchy outer shell of neurotic guilt. Once broken, that crust explodes, filling your mouth with a
delicious geyser of the pettiest decadence ever. Careful, there's always a hard pit of recrimination. Don't break a
tooth...
I have a few internet...pet peeves is too harsh...disapointments is more like it...
One of those is checking back at a blog I've seen before and finding it has been ages since it was updated. Why
does this person even keep the page up? It's stupid. And disappointing. And now its me.
Real nice.
I apologize about that. I was very busy for a while. Then I wasn't. Which led to being desperately poor, which is not
only expensive but remarkably time consuming. You'll notice that all the great autobiographical writing about being
poor was done just after the writer was poor. One can't take time out of a busy day of monetary worries to do
something as frivolous as writing. There is sitting and worrying to be done. Pacing. Walking to places to buy
ridiculously small guilty pleasures: newspapers, coffees, the occasional sandwich. These items take on such an
oddly satisfying crunchy outer shell of neurotic guilt. Once broken, that crust explodes, filling your mouth with a
delicious geyser of the pettiest decadence ever. Careful, there's always a hard pit of recrimination. Don't break a
tooth...
October 13, 2005--
Technically speaking, it is impossible to enter the same room twice. It's never exactly the same as you left it,
however short your absence. You may have to look closely to see the difference. Very close. Sherlock Holmes big
ass magnifying glass close, but it is most assuredly different. And so are you. You left. You've been somewhere.
The last breath you brought within you from the Great Out There spills over your lips as you walk through the door
and if nothing else, look; you've gone and Changed the Air.
That said, how is it possible to feel as if a well worn rut stretching forward with a straightness of laser purity has
climbed rib high? Fog ahead, more of a mist behind. A memory of the Rut as a Young Path, maybe ankle deep,
but no recollection of the trail head, the first fork. That Frost remembered the damn fork, saw it for what it was,
well, thats what makes poets and the insufferably dull, I suppose.
These are the thoughts that come with a toothache. Sleep won't, but thoughts do. Life takes on an intensity. For
the past thirty hours I have lived moment to moment in a way I rarely have before, in a way that would make a
hippie proud. No amount of oversimplified Buddhism, bastardized Hindi yoga terms or acid could compete with
Toothache.
Toothache has discipline. Toothache may rest, but will regroup, not retreat. Toothache will bring you to that
spiritual Promised Land-oh yes it will-because Toothache will break your shit down into a series of moments like
nothing else. Each one new, each one different. A moment filled with hope may lead to another moment of hope.
Or, it may crossfade immediately into a moment of despair, resignation, obstinance, panic, regret, euphoria....
One never knows.
This gamut of emotion may confuse the uninitiated. Understandable, because Toothache is working under an
alias; in a disguise of sorts to make the whole thing seem more simple. Like Zeus and the swan... without all the
parts that books fall open to...
Websters defines an ache as a "dull persistent pain."
And there's the lie.
Toothache pain is anything but dull and persistent. Thirty-one hours ago I thought that the phrase "Symphony of
Pain" existed only to issue forth from the vaguely Pan-european-accented mouths of movie villains. But a
toothache, a real, proper Toothache...it deserves the hyperbole.
There is a general theme. A sort of drilling..Soprano, really, is what I want to say, so maybe a symphony is not
such an apt metaphor. Perhaps an Opera of Pain. Yes, now I've really gone over the edge, which is good
because thats where this discussion belongs.
A sort of drilling Soprano supported generally by a deep Bass of pressure. A chorus of more general,
headache-style pain keeps things together and occasionally a great cymbal clap of blinding white lightning shoots
straight through the sinuses and out the top of the head just to wake the blue hairs in the boxes. Arias by each
Principal, Duets, Ovetures...not quite as much tap dancing as I'd like, but a little High Culture never hurt anyone...
The occasional intermezzo, when the Tooth in Question slips back to being taken for granted and inexplicably, the
tooth below it, on a different jaw for chrissakes, takes up the tune for a few minutes.
And then there are the pauses.
When at once all the music stops...and suddenly there is the awareness of all that air in the concert hall.
Suspended. Enclosed. Not.moving. A sense, with its absence, that the music was not-as some fool taught
us-evenly spaced concentric arcs being animated down a contour-line ear canal to move some sort of tiny elbow,
but a physical presence that until the silence had wrapped itself around us, holding us, and that we called it sound
only because our ears were the only ones who could see it.
That sense of absence of pain. When suddenly the shoulders drop and the lower jaw unlocks and even the
knees loosen from that state of unconscious tension. It's almost worth it. And clearly a lesson in appreciation.
***
Not of suffering, but the relief of suffering. To appreciate Not Suffering.
The Nobility of Suffering is a cliché. How? How did something so patently untrue become a cliché? Suffering is
anything but noble. That's how we recognize it as suffering.
The Nobility of Suffering is a defence mechanism we (and I sincerely hope you are in this group) the Not Suffering
use to avoid feeling horribly embarrassed and guilty.
Still believe in it?
You work for the United Nations Department of Suffering Alleviation. (Yes, it is a better future you live in) Your
assignment involves the delivery of a Huge Ship full of Relief Supplies to a Southern Pacific kingdom spread over
several islands. An unfeeling bureaucracy has stipulated you can only dock once, on one island, to reduce
paperwork. Wanting to help those suffering most, do you ask you guide to show you to the island of the Most
Noble or to the island of Those Living Without a Single Remaining Scrap of Dignity?
There you go.
Technically speaking, it is impossible to enter the same room twice. It's never exactly the same as you left it,
however short your absence. You may have to look closely to see the difference. Very close. Sherlock Holmes big
ass magnifying glass close, but it is most assuredly different. And so are you. You left. You've been somewhere.
The last breath you brought within you from the Great Out There spills over your lips as you walk through the door
and if nothing else, look; you've gone and Changed the Air.
That said, how is it possible to feel as if a well worn rut stretching forward with a straightness of laser purity has
climbed rib high? Fog ahead, more of a mist behind. A memory of the Rut as a Young Path, maybe ankle deep,
but no recollection of the trail head, the first fork. That Frost remembered the damn fork, saw it for what it was,
well, thats what makes poets and the insufferably dull, I suppose.
These are the thoughts that come with a toothache. Sleep won't, but thoughts do. Life takes on an intensity. For
the past thirty hours I have lived moment to moment in a way I rarely have before, in a way that would make a
hippie proud. No amount of oversimplified Buddhism, bastardized Hindi yoga terms or acid could compete with
Toothache.
Toothache has discipline. Toothache may rest, but will regroup, not retreat. Toothache will bring you to that
spiritual Promised Land-oh yes it will-because Toothache will break your shit down into a series of moments like
nothing else. Each one new, each one different. A moment filled with hope may lead to another moment of hope.
Or, it may crossfade immediately into a moment of despair, resignation, obstinance, panic, regret, euphoria....
One never knows.
This gamut of emotion may confuse the uninitiated. Understandable, because Toothache is working under an
alias; in a disguise of sorts to make the whole thing seem more simple. Like Zeus and the swan... without all the
parts that books fall open to...
Websters defines an ache as a "dull persistent pain."
And there's the lie.
Toothache pain is anything but dull and persistent. Thirty-one hours ago I thought that the phrase "Symphony of
Pain" existed only to issue forth from the vaguely Pan-european-accented mouths of movie villains. But a
toothache, a real, proper Toothache...it deserves the hyperbole.
There is a general theme. A sort of drilling..Soprano, really, is what I want to say, so maybe a symphony is not
such an apt metaphor. Perhaps an Opera of Pain. Yes, now I've really gone over the edge, which is good
because thats where this discussion belongs.
A sort of drilling Soprano supported generally by a deep Bass of pressure. A chorus of more general,
headache-style pain keeps things together and occasionally a great cymbal clap of blinding white lightning shoots
straight through the sinuses and out the top of the head just to wake the blue hairs in the boxes. Arias by each
Principal, Duets, Ovetures...not quite as much tap dancing as I'd like, but a little High Culture never hurt anyone...
The occasional intermezzo, when the Tooth in Question slips back to being taken for granted and inexplicably, the
tooth below it, on a different jaw for chrissakes, takes up the tune for a few minutes.
And then there are the pauses.
When at once all the music stops...and suddenly there is the awareness of all that air in the concert hall.
Suspended. Enclosed. Not.moving. A sense, with its absence, that the music was not-as some fool taught
us-evenly spaced concentric arcs being animated down a contour-line ear canal to move some sort of tiny elbow,
but a physical presence that until the silence had wrapped itself around us, holding us, and that we called it sound
only because our ears were the only ones who could see it.
That sense of absence of pain. When suddenly the shoulders drop and the lower jaw unlocks and even the
knees loosen from that state of unconscious tension. It's almost worth it. And clearly a lesson in appreciation.
***
Not of suffering, but the relief of suffering. To appreciate Not Suffering.
The Nobility of Suffering is a cliché. How? How did something so patently untrue become a cliché? Suffering is
anything but noble. That's how we recognize it as suffering.
The Nobility of Suffering is a defence mechanism we (and I sincerely hope you are in this group) the Not Suffering
use to avoid feeling horribly embarrassed and guilty.
Still believe in it?
You work for the United Nations Department of Suffering Alleviation. (Yes, it is a better future you live in) Your
assignment involves the delivery of a Huge Ship full of Relief Supplies to a Southern Pacific kingdom spread over
several islands. An unfeeling bureaucracy has stipulated you can only dock once, on one island, to reduce
paperwork. Wanting to help those suffering most, do you ask you guide to show you to the island of the Most
Noble or to the island of Those Living Without a Single Remaining Scrap of Dignity?
There you go.
Don Wood Online
For the love of Pete, who's in charge here?
For the love of Pete, who's in charge here?
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