National Hug a Librarian Week

Banned Books Week started on September 29th. I'm late so bear with me, but IRL I have a sorta excuse because I was reading One of the Guys by Robert Clark Young. You probably haven't heard of this book. It's a fantastic tale about a man that impersonates a US Navy chaplain and finds his way onto an LST that's headed for the Pacific. It's pretty funny, and explicit, however I'd say this is a total must read for all sailors past and present. I didn't know of it myself until I was on a Wiki click through a couple of Fridays ago.

You know how sometimes you'll start reading about one thing, and then 'Ooh, that looks interesting' so you open it in another window and then there was that other thing you remembered and you're listening to NPR and Bill O'Grady's like 'David Foster Wallace found dead' and you have no idea who that is, so you find out, and your browser crashes because you have 8 windows open and the next thing you know you're buying a used book at 2am and when you wake up in the morning you're not sure if you've dreamed the whole thing or not. Ever happen to you?

The act of banning books, fosters a preposterous notion that a human being is incapable of independent thought. I also believe that making things taboo has the opposite effect. In the case of a book, I feel it is far more dangerous thing to suggest that an idea is taboo.

What is a book? At the very core, a book is an author's vision, and I can only speak for myself, but I've never allowed one person's vision to color my opinion of things. It is a shallow, conceited belief to think that you are doing a service to someone by preventing them from forming a judgment on their own, by denying them exposure to something that may or may not benefit them. Really, it's their choice to find out, and if you have faith in a person's character than there's nothing to be worried about.

So hug your librarian, because they're the ones out there fighting for this stuff.

Ideas should not be locked away from the world to die when they can be housed in a perfectly good library.

Two Words...

I'm beginning to despise are "stared" and "wondered." So help me, my next piece will be about eyeless, brainless, something or others just so I won't have to type those words out onto the screen ever again!

Are there adequate synonyms? Merriam Webster Online refers me to gape. That's a bad sign right off the bat, but I'm curious so let's see:

gawk = No.
gaze = Maybe.
goggle = F*k no.
peer = Wtf?
rubberneck = Depends.
stare = Wait...

The related words are even worse

glare = A glare is not a stare.
gloat = I didn't know gloating involved eye contact.
glower = He glowered at the key... no.
eye = maybe, but it would get tedious after the fifteenth time.
observe = Observe is strictly reserved for characters with monocles and Austrian accents.
watch = Not a stare. Watching suggests an active form of observing to me.
leer = Mom always said it was rude to do that.
ogle = See above.

I'm not even going to bother with wondered since I value my sanity.

Addis stared at the page and rubbed his eyes until they felt raw. He rubbed them a little more to be sure, and his suspicions were confirmed: They were raw.

He was tired, tired of all the headaches and hangups, rejections and redoes. He was getting nowhere, and he wondered if there would ever be an end to the madness.

As with most things, the end would only be the prelude to another beginning and so our story begins... with an ending.

Solidarity (Short Fiction)

I've never thought of myself as nostalgic, unless holding a grudge was considered a form of that. I’ve always been good at that, but I’ve had my reasons.

Nostalgia snuck up on me in the form of a woman that I’d gone to school with, when I saw her at the SeaTac airport. I recognized her from the back, the shape of her head… It’s funny what one remembers.

We’d barely been on a first name basis back then, but we knew the same people, and had always been polite to one another. I was content in knowing that I’d seen someone from back home, so the thought of going over and talking to her never occurred to me.

She had other plans and found me at my gate. She’d probably caught me from behind as well when I walked past. Lots of folks tell me they can spot my walk from a mile away.

We talked about memories, and asked each other about people from home. I found out that she was going to UCLA for something or other, she found out that I was going back to gather the rest of my things in order to ship them back to Seattle.

“Do you miss it?” she had asked.

I thought for a moment. There were things I missed about Anchorage, but most of those things were tied up in people. A lot of those relationships with people had turned into the grudges I couldn’t let go of. Did I miss it though? “Yes,” I said, surprising myself. Anchorage never felt like home to me, and being away from it and experiencing the world without a filter had reinforced that. Did I miss it?

“I do too,” she said. “I’m going back when I finish school.” We hugged each other and that was the last time I saw her.

I never planned to go back after that trip.

My job had a heavy travel requirement, so I spent a lot of time in the SeaTac airport going to Portland, or San Francisco, occasionally as far east as Denver. My company operated on the cheap which meant I never got a chance to get out and experience the cities. A routine trip for me involved flying in on the late flight, checking into the hotel, grabbing a bite and crashing.

The next morning, I’d do my presentation and catch an afternoon flight back to Seattle, where I’d have the pleasure of fighting my way through rush hour traffic, back to my apartment.

There really wasn’t much time for living in my line of work. I was either prepping, or decompressing, traveling or just returning from a trip. I didn’t mind it so much. I knew what would happen if I gave myself the time to be alone with my thoughts. I’m not a bad dude, it’s just those grudges. They’re hard to let go of.

It was inevitable that spending all that time in an airport that was practically on Anchorage’s doorstep, I’d start running into people I knew at every trip.

Okay I’m exaggerating, but the frequency with which it occurred, I began to suspect that the average Alaskan’s number one hobby was to flee the state only to come slinking back when they found out the real world wasn’t as quaint as Anchorage.

I ran into the Captain of the Hockey Team on one trip. His mullet was gone and I took that as a good sign since it had been 8 years from when he’d strapped the skates on for the Varsity Team.

I didn’t follow sports then so I had no idea if the team had been any good. We shared many classes through High School, and had had a friendly relationship. Running into him turned out to be a pleasant experience, until he brought up Sophia.

“Whatever happened to her anyway?” We’d stopped at one of the restaurants in the airport mall, and had treated each other to a pint. He’d danced around the subject earlier, but the alcohol had loosened his tongue.

I wanted to say something witty, or spin the conversation back to something tame, but really, there are only so many things you can talk about with a fellow Alaskan. Anchorage is such a small burg that it’s impossible to have your personal business remain personal. Eventually it will find its way into a conversation. For all I knew, he was probably related to Sophia, or knew someone that was. It always seemed to go like that with me.

“I don’t know,” I said, after about 3 minutes of staring at the head of my beer. I decided it would be better to start cutting my departure times closer. I couldn’t weasel my way out of this conversation by saying I needed to get to my flight, because I still had an hour before they opened the doors. Punctuality, it’s a blessing and a curse.

He realized that he had hit a nerve and redirected the conversation accordingly. We spent the rest of our time together reminiscing about the Senior Kegger and joking about the upcoming 10 year reunion.

When we parted, he surprised me be by giving me an awkward hug. I didn’t think any less of him for it. I’d have done it first if I'd known he’d planned to.

Beer Control

We took a trip to what has to be my third or fourth favorite place on Earth, the Deschutes brewery in lovely Bend, Oregon.

Since building control panels is part of what puts food on the table, and a roof over my head, I'm always intrigued by the work of other craftsmen.

So here's a picture of a cute little number that I saw there. It sure would have been nice to open her up and take a peek inside.

Mountains (Haiku)

Snow capped peaks make homes
the gods of antiquity
eagerly covet

The Rules

10. Get a hammer. If you own a single tool it must be ball peen hammer, and you must not be afraid to use it. Go one step further and carry a small chunk of 2 by 4. Makes a great cushion when you don't want to mar that thing you're smacking.

9. Don't be THAT GUY. Oh hey, that's great that you fixed that one thing that was really hard to do that one time, but nobody wants to hear about it for the rest of their lives. Get over it. We all overcome obstacles.

8. Electricity is your friend, and it can just as quickly kill you dead, blind you, or create a horrible fire that will make you mentally unable to function in that kind of environment again. If you have to work on a live circuit, make sure everyone around you knows it, take the correct precautions. Or better yet, don't work on live circuits. Disconnect them and go nuts.

7. Horseplay is stupid. Feel the need to grab-ass with your buddy? Take it outside and preferably off the job site. Bad enough things happen when people mind their own business and pay attention. No need to create a situation that could potentially injure someone.

6. GO HOME! Do not stay on a job and be the walking dangerous zombie if you can't keep your eyes open. Do not neglect your breaks in order to get things done that a reasonable person couldn't, or wouldn't. Practice saying "NO." Stand in front of a mirror and say it until you feel comfortable to do it when it matters.

5. Shortcuts are bad. My favorite example of this are the contractors that want to bypass a boiler safety in order to run a piece of equipment. Just because I know how to do all kinds of stupid, dangerous things doesn't mean I'd do them, especially for a guy I've just met. If a safety fails, most likely it's protecting you from an unsafe situation. You jumper around it, you're taking yours and other folks' lives into your hands. Assess the situation, take the means to correct it and come back later when you can do it right or have the right part.

4. Know your limitations. It's impossible to know everything. Knowing what you don't know is just as important as recognizing what you do. Find the people that can answer the questions you don't know, remember their names, and respect their abilities. You'll never suffer for it, and you'll learn from it.

3. Don't over explain. I cringe when people ask me what I do, because I like to talk about it way too much. Most people really don't care where their heat or whatever technical thing you work on comes from. Keep that in mind when someone asks you what it's going to take to get something done. In other words, know your audience and tailor the conversation accordingly.

2. You are smarter than the equipment, because equipment for the most part is a big hunk of inanimate parts assembled by another human being. Don't be stupid and try to lift heavy objects when you don't have to. Find someone to help, use chains, hoists, come-alongs and whatever else you can get your hands on. Pride goeth before a bad back.

1. Never lie. Don't tell people what they want to hear just because it's going to get you off a job quicker. You will just end up having to come back and spin another tale. If you can't make something work and you don't know why, document what you see and share it with wiser heads. Don't ignore a bad situation because you think an installer is your buddy. People's allegiances can suddenly change when the equipment that you touched last is not doing what you said it was going to do.

If you want people to respect you, say what you mean, say what you see, stand behind your work, and admit your mistakes. You will go much further if people understand that you are a person of your word and are not saying things to play the blame game or hiding behind your own lack of understanding of a problem.

What do you guys have to add to this?

Trust

Whenever I've found myself in the position of checking on someone's work, it's made me feel icky. Especially if the person is a reasonably competent adult. I'll admit to sneaking a peek or two at the way others do things to see if I can learn something but hand holding ain't my gig. If I can figure something out, than I don't think another person is that far away from figuring it out, with a little nudging in the right direction.

If someone tells me they can do something, I'm not going to second guess them on it, and if they need help doing it I'll gladly lend any assistance I can, but I refuse to stand over their shoulder and cluck my tongue, or wait for them to finish than explain why they did it wrong... unless they ask, which is entirely different, or they've made a mistake that would endanger people's lives. Then you kind of have to.

I'm certain that this stems from my own insecurities. I don't like when people come behind me, so I wouldn't want to give someone else those feelings with my actions. It's even worse when they go around me and I get the criticism second or third hand. Yikes!

I always appreciate constructive criticism though, and if I'm in the process of doing and a coworker has a suggestion that will make my life easier, I'll be eternally grateful. That's what makes us all better. It's the nitpicking I can live without.

That's what makes us turn into chickens.

Pants (Part II)

I was supposed to be working on my book tonight, but something had been kicking around my mind lately and distracted me.

It all started a couple of weekends ago. I turned the TV on to scan the guide and see if there were any interesting movies coming up that I'd want to record and lo and behold, the intro sequence to Top Gun was playing. Yes, that Top Gun, which I'll readily admit is one of the cheesiest movies ever to grace a movie screen, but I can attest to that movie playing a central role in the decisions I've made in life. Kind of.

Ever since I can remember being able to get upset at people telling what to do, and how to do it, my Mom used to tell me that I was going to grow up to be an engineer. Mind you, Mom never told me what engineers did, or why I would want to be one, so I was never too enthusiastic about the prospects. In my mind it had something to do with the running of trains and things of that nature, which really didn't interest me at all.

What I did find captivating though, was the military. My father was Special Forces and he was always going to cool places to train, and bringing back shirts and other nifty swag that totally projected that "Snake Eater" mentality of the Special Forces. Every now and then, we'd get to go to the airfield and watch him and the members of his unit paradrop from a plane. I thought that seemed like the real deal to me, and I wanted in.

Until I saw Top Gun and became obsessed with everything there was to know about the US Navy. This led me to read the classic Red Storm Rising, and then Hunt for Red October just as the movie was made. By the time I got through devouring every source of info I could find on the subject, I was convinced that I was born to pilot an SH-60B off the tail of small boy doing port and starboard ASW ops until they pried me away from the thing, kicking and screaming.

There was just one problem with that. My vision has been atrocious since I was about 9 years. Which means I couldn't meet the bill for the military in that regard. I chased the red herring of all red herrings, and because of that, I settled into a rut where I didn't allow myself to dream about what could be.

I'm not sure when I consciously decided that I wasn't going to go to college, but it was a choice that I made on my own, that I'm certain. I know part of it had to do with the writing part (surprise). In those days, I hated writing with a passion, even though I'd always been a voracious reader, and still am one. Something about putting together a structured paper turned me off. I suppose it may have been the research element.

David Sedaris mentions something along the lines in Me Talk Pretty One Day, where he suggests the idea of telling a writer to "Create!" may be a little draconian. Now granted, there are journalists and media writers that do that type of thing at will, but for me, it's always been a constant struggle. The idea is there, or it's not, I can't just produce one or pretend to be excited because it's an assignment.

Then there was biology, which I loved, but when I finally got to take the class in Sophmore year, the teacher decided to change the curriculum. From now on the grade would consist of a weekly project, that had to be some kind of art presentation, and a final test at the end of the year graded on a curve. 50% of each score would determine your final grade.

I loved biology, still do, but jeezohcriminy I've never been able to freehand a straight line in my entire life, and never had any desire whatsoever to participate in anything resembling an art class so I thought the teacher was playing a dirty trick on us by turning a class about science into a hybrid art class. Luckily, I've always been a pretty good test taker, especially when it comes to things I like, so it was easy enough for me to squeak out a C without doing any of the projects, and blowing the test up. How's that for motivation?

So PSAT's came, I never took them. Then SAT's. Skipped those too. No one asked me why, and life went on, me with no plan, until I sat down with guidance counselor, probably the tail end of junior year.

Mary Ellen Shea was a friendly woman, that remembered who you were. She had short hair that in my estimation had greyed prematurely, and a friendly warm smile. She was also no nonense, and when I sat with her she noticed immediately that I had done absolutely no college prep work.

There were other things going on in my life at the time, and I was probably only there because it was a requirement. I skated pretty hard the last two years of school. It wasn't like I was going to college anyway? Why should I care about grades and transcripts and the like?

She asked me if I'd thought about Voc Tech, which I hadn't. She pointed out that over the next ten years 24% of the job growth was going to come in skilled trades and that the labor pool wasn't being replenished fast enough and that I should really consider that when making a career choice.

And that was that, probably the longest and most serious discussion I ever had about my future with another human being at that point in my life. Needless to say, when I sat in front of the career counselor at the MEPs station in Anchorage, choosing my job I heeded those words and remembered that disscusion. My ASVAB scores put me in a postion to choose my fate and I did, choosing Electronics Technician, because it sounded like a job with a civilian equivalent, unlike Fire Control Technician, or Gunner's Mate. Also, all the nuclear fields scared the pants out of me, even though they had the fastest rates of advancement. Probably all those Tom Clancy novels.

They say that people never forget a memory. Once something happens it becomes part of you, but if you neglect the memory enough the pathways to it become it worn and tangled and harder to reach over time even though it's still there buried in the recesses of your mind.

As I go on through time, I reflect a lot on the choices I've made, conversations I've had, friends that I've lost contact with and the people that have said things that have stuck with me. I find it especially endearing when I'm speaking to a friend of mine and they bring up a little anectodote that I've said years ago, even though I may take some coaching to remember it, because then I know that I made an impression, and that I'm part of that person, just as they are part of me.

I'd like to think that a counselor would be happy to know the same, and I wish that I could tell her that she did steer me towards the right path. There was no way that I was ready for college then, heck I may never be ready. We all have to take our path, we all have to find our own way, and people may push or pull us one way or the other, but the choices we make, in the end are our one. I would never complain about the way my life has gone. Other than a brief period of self inflicted unhappiness, it's been more than I could have asked for.

I had thought about writing this on Friday, partly because of the piece that Steve Scher did on NPR about the job growth opportunies for skilled labor, and the fact that they're still not really being promoted as a viable alternative to college. For some, working with your hands suggests that you're condeming yourself to a life of menial servitude, poverty or somesuch. Well, I'm certainly not going to waste my time debunking that, but if you ever get bored go look up the prevailing wage rates for King County trade workers, and you'll probably come away with a different opinion of your average Plumber, Electrician, Sheet Metal Installer, Heavy Equipment Operator, etc, if you didn't know before.

So I looked her up today just to see what she'd been up to, because I knew she ran sled dogs, back then, even participating in the Iditarod, and came to find that she'd died March 6th 2006, at the all too young age of 55, from cancer.

That's when I knew I had to write this, just to say thanks and to acknowledge the forward thinking woman that helped set me on my path, with I'm sure were the best of all intentions.

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Ms. Shea's Obituary on Sled Dog Central

Steve Scher's piece on Training for The Blue Collar Job