Six inches, also known as 15.24 centimeters, is half of a foot, but some other interesting stats about that measurement,
6 inches also happen to be:
*The length of American monetary bills.
*The amount needed to go in either direction for the bullet to have missed JFK.
*The average length of an American man…
*The amount of space in between the margins in an MLA format essay.
*The size of the barrel of a Mark 16 Naval gun on board ships like the USS Little Rock.
*Way too far in either direction for the earth to be away from the Sun to either burn or freeze.
It ALSO happens to be the amount that I’ve lost off my waist since breaking up with that vicious woman on Valentine’s Day (2009). Most of you know what I’m talking about. An inch of that loss has happened in Australia, either during the last time I was here in June, or in the last 3 weeks.
For those keeping track, my last recorded run time was 20 minutes 49 seconds. This morning, I ran 1.56 miles in 19 minutes 19 seconds. After that, Adam and I did 2 full P90X videos, plus the bonus one. We did the Legs & Back disc, which is exactly like it sounds; the Ab Ripper, which focuses on your abs and the process of turning your keg into a 6 pack; and the Kempo disc, which is an exercise routine grounded and based in Martial Arts, which of course brings back many memories of when I was younger and in karate earning my black belt.
In other news… well, the last couple days have been fairly peaceful with very little news. I was going to go to the 8 am Italian Mass at the nearest Catholic Church, keep in mind, I live basically in the little Italy of Australia, but, I woke up late. I’ve been sleeping a lot better with no disturbances from cows, galahs, dogs, or El Chupacabra. I completed my Christ’s Mass shopping yesterday.
I have begun settling into life here for the most part, I still slip up on my Aussie-neese with mistakes like “cell phone” instead of “mobile” and “flashlight” instead of “torch”. The family does give me some credit and say that I have gotten better over the last couple weeks.
The countdown to Christ’s Mass is now accelerated, and soon I will experience my first “Boxing Day” (whatever the hell that is). For those who have never heard of it before, take a look at a British calendar, take a look, it’s there, for us in the US, it is the first day of Kwanzaa. But as soon as I figure it out… I’ll let you know.
Tuesday, December 22, 2009
Saturday, December 19, 2009
My Name’s NOT Toby!
…Nor is it Kuntea Kinte!
If you’re not laughing… go watch “Roots”, its ok… I’ll wait, go ahead, I’ll be here when you get back…
Do – dee – do – dee do… dum du dum du dummmm
OK! You done?
Great, back to business:
So, I had quite the unproductive day. When I woke up this morning, the weather didn’t look great, so I held true to last night’s decision of not going to work. Then, when I woke up again (a couple hours later) I find that not only is it beautiful and sunny out, but that it is also a nice cool mild temperature out. I did not however, regret my decision of staying home.
Before I continue bitchin and moanin… I have a thanks and an apology to say.
Ranger Larry… I still kinda believe my T-rex theory about your eye sight, and we might still have our differences of opinion like; in the order that things should be done,
the way certain things should be done,
who should do certain things,
where certain things should be placed,
what things should be kept and how,
what things should be thrown away and in what way,
the responsibilities of the OA,
the pronunciation of “Home Depot”,
religion,
philosophy,
psychology,
government,
politics,
scouting,
the camp,
how many things at camp should be named after me,
the method of taking care of Lake Janis,
the method of taking care of the pool,
how often the filters need to be cleaned,
who should clean the filters…
ok, ya know what, the rest of this list could take awhile, so I’ll just skip to the important part. Larry, in the end, on a personal level, you’re an alright and nice guy. I can hold a pretty descent conversation with you, in fact, have even enjoyed a few. And I’ll never forget that the day I left camp before my trip to Kenya, out of all the people sitting around that table, you gave me one of the best hugs. And, despite all the times you pinned the blame on me for something (whether I really had any part in it or not) no matter how little or non-existent the evidence you had for my involvement in how things got messed up… you still took my side of an argument once or twice, and helped me get my contract extended when I really needed the work and the money. You may have this amazing ability to test that whole “Brotherhood of Cheerful Service” thing like no one’s business, but you do at least allow for water breaks. You may take a group of scouts to the most secluded part of camp on the hottest day of summer to have them dig a trench (for you) but… you will make for damn sure that not one of them passes out, and that each one of them makes it back to the dining hall for lunch.
I always thought to myself, that between you, and my crazy high school football coach, I could withstand anything else life threw at me. Well you know what. You quite possibly have saved my lungs from bleeding out due to all the indoctrination and fear of the hanta virus that you have instilled in me. You have made me realize the “importance” (yes, sarcasm) of OSHA. And your forcing of me to do arduous labor on projects that I really had zero interest in, have helped build up my skills in patience, and putting up with crap I don’t want to be a part of. I thought that no matter who I work for, I can go into the situation knowing I can handle it, because of my time, with Ranger Larry.
Well, you know what, you deserve a thank you. Because I managed to not kill those assholes I was working with for the last three days. These guys, made you look like a saint. SAINT I TELLS YA, SAINT! You where NEVER that bad. Although, I did have an advantage with you, you couldn’t quite work me to death because I am a fellow scout and you’d feel bad for killing me, plus you knew you had to see me again. These assholes… a laborer is expendable. The phrase “day laborer” is quite literal with them, because that’s how quickly they go through them. I could have gone back today, but, my shoulder really did have a bit of pain. Pain that could have worked through, but I really felt was not worth it, monetarily speaking. Plus, to top it all off, hot Danish girls also weren’t going back today. I was reminded of the story of Nazi’s who would take some Polish people, have them dig a large trench, then line them up in the trench, shoot them dead, then have another group of Polacks bury them. The Nazi’s, having the first batch buried, would then have the newer group dig a large trench, have them line up in it, shoot them dead, and have another group of Polish repeat the entire cycle. I am not saying that these guys are Nazi bad… it just reminded me of Nazi bad. Although… I wouldn’t put it past them.
I finally get around to heading out to the vineyard to collect my monetary reimbursement for services rendered as was previously negotiated, and what is the situation that I drive into? The Boss, in his newly installed pool, WHILE the people are still working on the cement surrounding it. The wife standing there was watching the workers. Then, the stoner was fiddling around with something to give the appearance of being busy. Then the wife walks up to me.
“I’m here to get my pay”
“Oh, I haven’t gone into town to the bank yet”
“Oh… umm… what?”
“Yes, I’ve been a bit busy here”
(Ya… I can tell by the whole pool lounging and pointing your finger to the workers)
“Would it be alright if I dropped it off at the place your staying?”
“I suppose so…”
“Ok, will you be home around 3?”
“Well, I had some errands planned like open up an Australian bank account, but being that… I HAVE NO MONEY… I guess that won’t be happening”
“Oh, ok, well, I better get that done as soon as I can”
“Ya… if you would, that would be great”
Adam and I leave, we return home, and I go online. 3 o’clock comes and goes. Then so does 3:30. 4 o’clock arrives and soon after so does Paul from the farm. Patience is wearing extremely thin. I begin plotting all the horrendous things I could possibly do to the farmer if my money is not in my possession by 5. Many, many ideas come to mind. A meat pie is consumed, and still, no money. I text her son (being that his is the only number I have, and all I can do is text) a simple message, “Where is my money?” Another meat pie consumed. I look away from the window just long enough to put my plate away, I’m gearing up for war wondering if I should take my pocket knife with me to put some of those horrendous thoughts into practice, when suddenly I hear Adam’s voice from the other room, “There’s a blue ute outside Edward!” Finally, at last, my money, with 4 minutes left on the clock before something very bad potentially happened.
That’s the other thing Larry, you always made sure my hours where kept straight, so that I might earn and receive the proper amount of money. I never saw myself saying this, especially so publicly but…
Thanks for everything Ranger Larry.
P.S.
Note:
For those who might think the title and opening line is offensive… buck up biznatches. My Indian ancestors where the Spaniard’s bitches, and even Spain and England took their abuse from Rome back in the day, the whole world is one giant game of “tag” and right now, Hackmed is “it”, we all had our turn, big whoop. Deal with it.
If you’re not laughing… go watch “Roots”, its ok… I’ll wait, go ahead, I’ll be here when you get back…
Do – dee – do – dee do… dum du dum du dummmm
OK! You done?
Great, back to business:
So, I had quite the unproductive day. When I woke up this morning, the weather didn’t look great, so I held true to last night’s decision of not going to work. Then, when I woke up again (a couple hours later) I find that not only is it beautiful and sunny out, but that it is also a nice cool mild temperature out. I did not however, regret my decision of staying home.
Before I continue bitchin and moanin… I have a thanks and an apology to say.
Ranger Larry… I still kinda believe my T-rex theory about your eye sight, and we might still have our differences of opinion like; in the order that things should be done,
the way certain things should be done,
who should do certain things,
where certain things should be placed,
what things should be kept and how,
what things should be thrown away and in what way,
the responsibilities of the OA,
the pronunciation of “Home Depot”,
religion,
philosophy,
psychology,
government,
politics,
scouting,
the camp,
how many things at camp should be named after me,
the method of taking care of Lake Janis,
the method of taking care of the pool,
how often the filters need to be cleaned,
who should clean the filters…
ok, ya know what, the rest of this list could take awhile, so I’ll just skip to the important part. Larry, in the end, on a personal level, you’re an alright and nice guy. I can hold a pretty descent conversation with you, in fact, have even enjoyed a few. And I’ll never forget that the day I left camp before my trip to Kenya, out of all the people sitting around that table, you gave me one of the best hugs. And, despite all the times you pinned the blame on me for something (whether I really had any part in it or not) no matter how little or non-existent the evidence you had for my involvement in how things got messed up… you still took my side of an argument once or twice, and helped me get my contract extended when I really needed the work and the money. You may have this amazing ability to test that whole “Brotherhood of Cheerful Service” thing like no one’s business, but you do at least allow for water breaks. You may take a group of scouts to the most secluded part of camp on the hottest day of summer to have them dig a trench (for you) but… you will make for damn sure that not one of them passes out, and that each one of them makes it back to the dining hall for lunch.
I always thought to myself, that between you, and my crazy high school football coach, I could withstand anything else life threw at me. Well you know what. You quite possibly have saved my lungs from bleeding out due to all the indoctrination and fear of the hanta virus that you have instilled in me. You have made me realize the “importance” (yes, sarcasm) of OSHA. And your forcing of me to do arduous labor on projects that I really had zero interest in, have helped build up my skills in patience, and putting up with crap I don’t want to be a part of. I thought that no matter who I work for, I can go into the situation knowing I can handle it, because of my time, with Ranger Larry.
Well, you know what, you deserve a thank you. Because I managed to not kill those assholes I was working with for the last three days. These guys, made you look like a saint. SAINT I TELLS YA, SAINT! You where NEVER that bad. Although, I did have an advantage with you, you couldn’t quite work me to death because I am a fellow scout and you’d feel bad for killing me, plus you knew you had to see me again. These assholes… a laborer is expendable. The phrase “day laborer” is quite literal with them, because that’s how quickly they go through them. I could have gone back today, but, my shoulder really did have a bit of pain. Pain that could have worked through, but I really felt was not worth it, monetarily speaking. Plus, to top it all off, hot Danish girls also weren’t going back today. I was reminded of the story of Nazi’s who would take some Polish people, have them dig a large trench, then line them up in the trench, shoot them dead, then have another group of Polacks bury them. The Nazi’s, having the first batch buried, would then have the newer group dig a large trench, have them line up in it, shoot them dead, and have another group of Polish repeat the entire cycle. I am not saying that these guys are Nazi bad… it just reminded me of Nazi bad. Although… I wouldn’t put it past them.
I finally get around to heading out to the vineyard to collect my monetary reimbursement for services rendered as was previously negotiated, and what is the situation that I drive into? The Boss, in his newly installed pool, WHILE the people are still working on the cement surrounding it. The wife standing there was watching the workers. Then, the stoner was fiddling around with something to give the appearance of being busy. Then the wife walks up to me.
“I’m here to get my pay”
“Oh, I haven’t gone into town to the bank yet”
“Oh… umm… what?”
“Yes, I’ve been a bit busy here”
(Ya… I can tell by the whole pool lounging and pointing your finger to the workers)
“Would it be alright if I dropped it off at the place your staying?”
“I suppose so…”
“Ok, will you be home around 3?”
“Well, I had some errands planned like open up an Australian bank account, but being that… I HAVE NO MONEY… I guess that won’t be happening”
“Oh, ok, well, I better get that done as soon as I can”
“Ya… if you would, that would be great”
Adam and I leave, we return home, and I go online. 3 o’clock comes and goes. Then so does 3:30. 4 o’clock arrives and soon after so does Paul from the farm. Patience is wearing extremely thin. I begin plotting all the horrendous things I could possibly do to the farmer if my money is not in my possession by 5. Many, many ideas come to mind. A meat pie is consumed, and still, no money. I text her son (being that his is the only number I have, and all I can do is text) a simple message, “Where is my money?” Another meat pie consumed. I look away from the window just long enough to put my plate away, I’m gearing up for war wondering if I should take my pocket knife with me to put some of those horrendous thoughts into practice, when suddenly I hear Adam’s voice from the other room, “There’s a blue ute outside Edward!” Finally, at last, my money, with 4 minutes left on the clock before something very bad potentially happened.
That’s the other thing Larry, you always made sure my hours where kept straight, so that I might earn and receive the proper amount of money. I never saw myself saying this, especially so publicly but…
Thanks for everything Ranger Larry.
P.S.
Note:
For those who might think the title and opening line is offensive… buck up biznatches. My Indian ancestors where the Spaniard’s bitches, and even Spain and England took their abuse from Rome back in the day, the whole world is one giant game of “tag” and right now, Hackmed is “it”, we all had our turn, big whoop. Deal with it.
Friday, December 18, 2009
Swing Low… Sweet Chariot…
…Comin forth to carry me home… I looked over Leeton
And what… did I see
Coming forth to carry me home
A band of Aussies… abusing labor
Groin’ grapes to make more wine…
Ya… another rough day of work. I dare say, worst day so far. The Danish girls came back. Primarily because of their Yankee co-worker.
Got some more Intel on the boss. Out of the 270 rows of vines that where in need of de-suckling, 153 of them where done by over 6 other people who are staying at the hostel who served one day and quit, one even walking out the same day. My theory was correct, not a single one of them, was American. The 3 of us, in a day and a half, two Danish girls with the help of American Leadership and MANpower, did the remaining 117 rows.
Then, the boss decided to try the "divide and conquer" routine. He took me and one of the Dane Dames to the opposite side of the vineyard to clean out the irrigation hoses while the other girl was left to herself to finish the last 15 or so rows. He harassed the three of us individually. The girls took the hit, I spoke up. It was finally noon, me and Sigrid are almost totally out of water and are about to collapse. We finished the last hoses we had open, stopped working, walked to the side of the road from where we were working and awaited a pick up. We decided these jerks weren’t picking us up, so I gave her the last of the water I had in my bottle, and walked back to the other side of the vineyard to get my backpack (with more water) and Pernille (the other girl). Pernille and I finish the last 2 rows, and are finally picked up, but the guy doesn’t drive down the row like the boss did (his one redeemable quality) he sits there, and waits for us to walk back. After lunch, the boss asks us where we left off, we tell him we don’t know.
“Well didn’t you finish the section?”
“umm… no…” –Sigrid
“Well why not?!” – The Boss (yelling at Sigrid)
“HEY! It was noon! And besides, would you rather us knock off a couple minutes early, or have to go pick up two passed out bodies due to dehydration?” - me
“(silence and a mean glare)” – The Boss
Then the girls also had the question of pay, but wouldn’t ask. Of course, being the American, I stepped right in and asked for them. Then he tried to dodge the question.
“When do we get paid?” – me
“Yur last de, tumarro” – The Boss
“ok… that’s cool… so if I may ask, what’s the method of payment?” – me
“A-ight gurls… git yur things” – The Boss
(Standing still looking for my queue on what to do) – The Girls
“Well, is it cheque or cash?” - Me
“We goyna go bak tu work o yu goyna stan der aRgyuing?!” – The Boss
“Simple question that I think as employees we deserve the answer to” – Me
(Looking suddenly optimistic at the boss waiting for a response) – the Girls
“Cash… tumarro!”
“Well ok then… let me get my water bottle” – Me
That cleared up, I thought I would try to make some effort of being nice and spark up a bit of small talk. The reason for this: I don’t really know, especially seeing as how I could barely understand every other word that he spoke, but, I gave it a go. I asked if these grapes go to Casella wines, because Craig (one of the asshole rocket surgeons) left some doubt in my mind, primarily because of his cruddy answering abilities (being high at work I guess will do that). The answer… No. It goes to some Aussie wine group, that sends it’s grapes to the US, and the wine is made there.
Ok, remember that great awe inspiring speech I gave yesterday about America leading the way, because, we are leaders, and how we can withstand and accomplish anything we set our minds to… remember that? Ya… well, I still hold firm to all that, but, the key thing is, “anything we SET our minds to”. Once I found out that the grapes I am planting and helping maintain are NOT going to the production of Yellow Tail, I pretty much got Senioritis in labor terms and mentally checked out.
I tried to keep in mind the obligation of the Order of the Arrow (Scouting’s National Honor Society – of which I was in charge of the local lodge for 2 years) “I will seek to preserve a cheerful spirit, EVEN in the midst of irksome tasks and weighty responsibilities”. Well, I did manage to keep cracking jokes and keep the Danish girls morale at a fairly descent level.
Another new life experience accomplished: get caught in the middle of an Australian sand storm with just a hat and grapevines for protection (besides my cloths of course). And of course, just my luck, I had to get stuck in the storm with the one of the two girls WITH a boyfriend. Fail. After work, the boss’ wife drives us home, but, she has her older daughter in the car, which has to go to work immediately, so, I of course get taken on a crazy long detour. Proving to me, that the Boss and his son are not the only ones without a sense of time, it is apparently in the family, because when we did get to the girl's work, (2 minutes late) she took her sweet time moseying into the store like all was well.
There was supposed to be some little shindig or whatnot at the hostel the girls were staying at that I happen to get invited to. Only to find out it was cancelled due to the sand storm. FML moment for me. Last chance to see hot Danish girls before they move on to their next stop, wherever that might be. So, going back to American’s never giving up. We don’t, when we are interested in something. But, let’s face it, how often do we help the countries that we have no profit in? So, having learned I will most likely not drink the fruits of my labor, or at least not recognize it, I’ve just decided, the pain in my right shoulder really is more then what I want to work with. Besides, it should be raining tomorrow, it is right now.
This does of course mean returning one last time to pick up my money, but, money is always good, so I think I can handle it.
And what… did I see
Coming forth to carry me home
A band of Aussies… abusing labor
Groin’ grapes to make more wine…
Ya… another rough day of work. I dare say, worst day so far. The Danish girls came back. Primarily because of their Yankee co-worker.
Got some more Intel on the boss. Out of the 270 rows of vines that where in need of de-suckling, 153 of them where done by over 6 other people who are staying at the hostel who served one day and quit, one even walking out the same day. My theory was correct, not a single one of them, was American. The 3 of us, in a day and a half, two Danish girls with the help of American Leadership and MANpower, did the remaining 117 rows.
Then, the boss decided to try the "divide and conquer" routine. He took me and one of the Dane Dames to the opposite side of the vineyard to clean out the irrigation hoses while the other girl was left to herself to finish the last 15 or so rows. He harassed the three of us individually. The girls took the hit, I spoke up. It was finally noon, me and Sigrid are almost totally out of water and are about to collapse. We finished the last hoses we had open, stopped working, walked to the side of the road from where we were working and awaited a pick up. We decided these jerks weren’t picking us up, so I gave her the last of the water I had in my bottle, and walked back to the other side of the vineyard to get my backpack (with more water) and Pernille (the other girl). Pernille and I finish the last 2 rows, and are finally picked up, but the guy doesn’t drive down the row like the boss did (his one redeemable quality) he sits there, and waits for us to walk back. After lunch, the boss asks us where we left off, we tell him we don’t know.
“Well didn’t you finish the section?”
“umm… no…” –Sigrid
“Well why not?!” – The Boss (yelling at Sigrid)
“HEY! It was noon! And besides, would you rather us knock off a couple minutes early, or have to go pick up two passed out bodies due to dehydration?” - me
“(silence and a mean glare)” – The Boss
Then the girls also had the question of pay, but wouldn’t ask. Of course, being the American, I stepped right in and asked for them. Then he tried to dodge the question.
“When do we get paid?” – me
“Yur last de, tumarro” – The Boss
“ok… that’s cool… so if I may ask, what’s the method of payment?” – me
“A-ight gurls… git yur things” – The Boss
(Standing still looking for my queue on what to do) – The Girls
“Well, is it cheque or cash?” - Me
“We goyna go bak tu work o yu goyna stan der aRgyuing?!” – The Boss
“Simple question that I think as employees we deserve the answer to” – Me
(Looking suddenly optimistic at the boss waiting for a response) – the Girls
“Cash… tumarro!”
“Well ok then… let me get my water bottle” – Me
That cleared up, I thought I would try to make some effort of being nice and spark up a bit of small talk. The reason for this: I don’t really know, especially seeing as how I could barely understand every other word that he spoke, but, I gave it a go. I asked if these grapes go to Casella wines, because Craig (one of the asshole rocket surgeons) left some doubt in my mind, primarily because of his cruddy answering abilities (being high at work I guess will do that). The answer… No. It goes to some Aussie wine group, that sends it’s grapes to the US, and the wine is made there.
Ok, remember that great awe inspiring speech I gave yesterday about America leading the way, because, we are leaders, and how we can withstand and accomplish anything we set our minds to… remember that? Ya… well, I still hold firm to all that, but, the key thing is, “anything we SET our minds to”. Once I found out that the grapes I am planting and helping maintain are NOT going to the production of Yellow Tail, I pretty much got Senioritis in labor terms and mentally checked out.
I tried to keep in mind the obligation of the Order of the Arrow (Scouting’s National Honor Society – of which I was in charge of the local lodge for 2 years) “I will seek to preserve a cheerful spirit, EVEN in the midst of irksome tasks and weighty responsibilities”. Well, I did manage to keep cracking jokes and keep the Danish girls morale at a fairly descent level.
Another new life experience accomplished: get caught in the middle of an Australian sand storm with just a hat and grapevines for protection (besides my cloths of course). And of course, just my luck, I had to get stuck in the storm with the one of the two girls WITH a boyfriend. Fail. After work, the boss’ wife drives us home, but, she has her older daughter in the car, which has to go to work immediately, so, I of course get taken on a crazy long detour. Proving to me, that the Boss and his son are not the only ones without a sense of time, it is apparently in the family, because when we did get to the girl's work, (2 minutes late) she took her sweet time moseying into the store like all was well.
There was supposed to be some little shindig or whatnot at the hostel the girls were staying at that I happen to get invited to. Only to find out it was cancelled due to the sand storm. FML moment for me. Last chance to see hot Danish girls before they move on to their next stop, wherever that might be. So, going back to American’s never giving up. We don’t, when we are interested in something. But, let’s face it, how often do we help the countries that we have no profit in? So, having learned I will most likely not drink the fruits of my labor, or at least not recognize it, I’ve just decided, the pain in my right shoulder really is more then what I want to work with. Besides, it should be raining tomorrow, it is right now.
This does of course mean returning one last time to pick up my money, but, money is always good, so I think I can handle it.
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Spider Webs – Nature’s Trip Wire
Patience pays off, sometimes. It did this time. I showed up, just like I said I would. EVEN though, the three guys where douche bags, and then what happens… I get there, and I get to work with these two (not one, but count them, TWO!) hot blonde Danish girls. And what where we doing? De-suckling grape vines. Basically, a vine shoots off the main branch, and if it is not going the right way, it’s going the wrong way. So we went through the rows one at a time and cut anything out of place.
The boss, plus the two younger guys where all still being assholes. But, TWO hot blonde Danish girls. So, my day was difficult, and tedious. Still better then the day before though that’s for sure.
I dare say, these assholes actually make me almost miss working with Ranger Larry back at camp. I don’t think it can get much worse, hence, to stay on my original course like I said yesterday; I’m going back again tomorrow. Even if work is awful, there are still two hot blond Danish girls to spend some time with.
The boss, plus the two younger guys where all still being assholes. But, TWO hot blonde Danish girls. So, my day was difficult, and tedious. Still better then the day before though that’s for sure.
I dare say, these assholes actually make me almost miss working with Ranger Larry back at camp. I don’t think it can get much worse, hence, to stay on my original course like I said yesterday; I’m going back again tomorrow. Even if work is awful, there are still two hot blond Danish girls to spend some time with.
Wednesday, December 16, 2009
(Insert Clever Title About Long Hard Day)
Why am I telling you to do it… simple, I’m too tired to think of something witty and such. Today’s run: fourteen seconds faster than yesterday’s. Immediately after the run I got a call from a guy who finds jobs for backpackers. Today, I helped plant vines at a vineyard that sells grapes to Casella Wines, the makers of Yellow Tail.
When vines are planted (at least the way we did them today) one guy is in a tractor pulling a water buffalo that is connected to a drill. Another guy walks along and finds the place to insert the vine. And one guy does all the bitch work of bending over repetitively inserting the tiny vine into the newly dug hole, then carefully compact dirt back around the vine. I was working with two other guys today, with experience… so; guess which of the three jobs I ended up with. If you guessed bitch work, you would be right.
Not only, was I the one doing the bending and such, but this is after having ran a mile and a half, and having a half hour of time to get ready and get there, BUT! This is after having done the P90X work out yesterday. So not only where my muscles already sore, I got to do all the manual labor today. This is of course all in 36 degree heat, Celsius! Converted for those like me who hate making mathematical conversions (Sorry Michelle + Vic, but we can’t all be as left minded as you) that equals 96.8 degrees F.
All this sounds crappy enough (and if it doesn’t I don’t think you’re getting the full force of the crappyness of the situation). To top it all off, I got to work with 2 rocket surgeons. Australian rednecks with no concept of time or urgency. I know it is the country and all that, but come on. What was supposed to be a half hour lunch break, turned into two hours, because they had something pressing that had to be done right away that was only going to take “a quick sec”. Then, even though I was moving as fast as the machine was, and we could have finished by the time Paul was going to come pick me up, they still decided, even though I was the one doing the hard work, THEY were going to take a break. The problem is, if they take a break, I can’t do my job. I was working harder then these guys. So I had to keep at their pace. Paul came and left. So, forty five minutes AFTER when we should have finished, we’re free to go. Unfortunately, I have no means of my own transportation, so one of the rocket surgeons has to take me home (but not strait home, because the family was hanging out at Maccas [McDonalds] where the boys work).
But, even having someone waiting on him, does he hurry? NO. Does he show any effort to move faster? NO. Then he also has to drop off the other rocket surgeon before I can gain my freedom. Miserable heat. Miserable conditions. Miserable work. Miserable coworkers. There was I suppose one good thing that came out of work today, now if I ever use the phrase "I feel like I just got hit by a tractor pulling a water buffalo" I actally have a reference point for what that really feels like.
And yet, like the sick glutton for punishment that I am… I can’t wait for work tomorrow.
"Why?" One might ask. I came to this country for many reasons, one of which was to un-spoil myself. I made it through a day, of hard labor (outside of camp) in extreme heat (outside of camp) and with a couple assholes, who made my day difficult, that I did not punch in the face. They slowed down the work. Took their sweet time. Basically did everything possible to make the day miserable. Miserable enough to quit, and not come back the next day.
The Spirit of America however, is not one of quitting. It is one of perseverance. The Spirit of America keeps going strong, long after others have fallen. THAT is why we kick ass. THAT is why our nation leads the world. This boss is a douchbag who uses and wears down his day laborers to nothing. Looking at the paper of the names of other backpackers traveling in the area who had worked for him, in the last week and a half not one person lasted more than a day. But, also looking at the names, none of them sounded American. Not one. I will go back tomorrow. I will kick ass. I don’t care how much my muscles hurt, I don’t care how much of a jerk my “co-workers” are. I will go back tomorrow. I will out work the “professionals” that “work” there regularly. I will make Rod tell his friend Michael (aka. The orange guy who got me the job) “Next time you have a yankee bloke looking for work, send him to me”.
Oh, and did I mention that tomorrow is suppose to be at least 40 degrees (again, for those of us who aren’t left brained) that translates to about 104 F and so I have to be out the door at ¼ to 6 in the AM. Ya… this will be fun.
When vines are planted (at least the way we did them today) one guy is in a tractor pulling a water buffalo that is connected to a drill. Another guy walks along and finds the place to insert the vine. And one guy does all the bitch work of bending over repetitively inserting the tiny vine into the newly dug hole, then carefully compact dirt back around the vine. I was working with two other guys today, with experience… so; guess which of the three jobs I ended up with. If you guessed bitch work, you would be right.
Not only, was I the one doing the bending and such, but this is after having ran a mile and a half, and having a half hour of time to get ready and get there, BUT! This is after having done the P90X work out yesterday. So not only where my muscles already sore, I got to do all the manual labor today. This is of course all in 36 degree heat, Celsius! Converted for those like me who hate making mathematical conversions (Sorry Michelle + Vic, but we can’t all be as left minded as you) that equals 96.8 degrees F.
All this sounds crappy enough (and if it doesn’t I don’t think you’re getting the full force of the crappyness of the situation). To top it all off, I got to work with 2 rocket surgeons. Australian rednecks with no concept of time or urgency. I know it is the country and all that, but come on. What was supposed to be a half hour lunch break, turned into two hours, because they had something pressing that had to be done right away that was only going to take “a quick sec”. Then, even though I was moving as fast as the machine was, and we could have finished by the time Paul was going to come pick me up, they still decided, even though I was the one doing the hard work, THEY were going to take a break. The problem is, if they take a break, I can’t do my job. I was working harder then these guys. So I had to keep at their pace. Paul came and left. So, forty five minutes AFTER when we should have finished, we’re free to go. Unfortunately, I have no means of my own transportation, so one of the rocket surgeons has to take me home (but not strait home, because the family was hanging out at Maccas [McDonalds] where the boys work).
But, even having someone waiting on him, does he hurry? NO. Does he show any effort to move faster? NO. Then he also has to drop off the other rocket surgeon before I can gain my freedom. Miserable heat. Miserable conditions. Miserable work. Miserable coworkers. There was I suppose one good thing that came out of work today, now if I ever use the phrase "I feel like I just got hit by a tractor pulling a water buffalo" I actally have a reference point for what that really feels like.
And yet, like the sick glutton for punishment that I am… I can’t wait for work tomorrow.
"Why?" One might ask. I came to this country for many reasons, one of which was to un-spoil myself. I made it through a day, of hard labor (outside of camp) in extreme heat (outside of camp) and with a couple assholes, who made my day difficult, that I did not punch in the face. They slowed down the work. Took their sweet time. Basically did everything possible to make the day miserable. Miserable enough to quit, and not come back the next day.
The Spirit of America however, is not one of quitting. It is one of perseverance. The Spirit of America keeps going strong, long after others have fallen. THAT is why we kick ass. THAT is why our nation leads the world. This boss is a douchbag who uses and wears down his day laborers to nothing. Looking at the paper of the names of other backpackers traveling in the area who had worked for him, in the last week and a half not one person lasted more than a day. But, also looking at the names, none of them sounded American. Not one. I will go back tomorrow. I will kick ass. I don’t care how much my muscles hurt, I don’t care how much of a jerk my “co-workers” are. I will go back tomorrow. I will out work the “professionals” that “work” there regularly. I will make Rod tell his friend Michael (aka. The orange guy who got me the job) “Next time you have a yankee bloke looking for work, send him to me”.
Oh, and did I mention that tomorrow is suppose to be at least 40 degrees (again, for those of us who aren’t left brained) that translates to about 104 F and so I have to be out the door at ¼ to 6 in the AM. Ya… this will be fun.
Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Damn you Dr. Freud!
So, what do I have against him? Nothing really, just thought it made for a catchy title. Actually, a series of events over the course of the last day has made me realize something. And I will share this something with all of you, but first, I’ll back track to the beginning, give you the back story, then tell you what the blazes I’m ranting on about:
IN IL PRINCIPIO:
You see, during our morning coffee, Jan and I somehow came upon the subject of old people. Then of course, upon the topic of old people dying. I brought up my Grandmother. Reason being, this woman went down with a fight! Besides having diabetes for years, she had a stroke, pneumonia, and I believe a heart attack all at once. For years we all thought “oh no, this is the last time I see Abuelita” but no… she kept on truckin… and truckin… and truckin. All four factors were present at once when she finally breathed her last. Besides this of course, this is a woman who raised nine children in a 3rd world country. My Abuelita, was quite an amazing woman, who I miss dearly.
SECUNDI:
I came to Australia for multiple reasons. One of which being: what is it like to be an immigrant? Although, I totally cheated on this one. I went to a country that not only speaks the same language (kinda… technically…) but also where I have a support system of friends. My Mother on the other hand, different story. The woman left everything she had ever known. Left everyone she had ever known. All based on the promise of a better life in the greatest nation on earth, over that of the life she had in one of the poorer countries on earth. The promise was of course based on the love of a man, who would provide her with a son, and then… well… die. Not like it was part of the plan, but, shit happens ya know. Two options in this situation. A: retreat to Miami where there are more family members, but, still considered US property. B: stay on her own where she was, and be a working single mom with no family nearby. Thankfully for my love of California, she chose B. Amazing decision. But, not really a decision, she did what was needed of her. I think she did a fairly decent job raising me, but… I might be a bit bias on that one. But, the last week adjusting to life in Leeton, NSW, has made me think a lot about what transition to America must have been like. Note: English is the hardest language to learn. But, my Mother did it. As I told Kai in Sydney, I’m glad I was born into English, because I don’t know if I have the patience to learn it. As much adjusting as I am doing in a similar country in the modern day with technology like Skype, I can only imagine what her move in the 80’s was like.
TERTI:
My sister has had an interesting past few years. This last year my brother-in-law has been in Iraq, and my sister has been busting her ass in nursing school. I find if funny that the other night a young bloke at the twins high school used Rocky Balboa’s monologue to his son, and I find it funnier that I’m going to use it also to describe my sister, but… here goes anyway. You see, despite whatever my sister goes through, she keeps her Latina woman stubbornness, so, to quote Rocky Balboa:
“Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s very mean and nasty place. And I don’t care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me or nobody is going to hit as hard as life.
“But it ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forwards, how much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done!
“Now if you know what you’re worth, you gotta be out there willing to take the hits and not point fingers ‘cos of him or her or anybody if you aint’ where you wanna be. Cowards do that! And that ain’t you. You’re better than that."
Needless to say, my big sis is quite an inspiration to me. I don’t have half of her studying diligence ability. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t have the crappy GPA that I currently do and maybe it wouldn’t have taken me 4 years to get a 2 year degree.
Do me favor though and don’t tell them I said all this… it’ll go to their heads. Then living with them will be more impossible then it is already.
But Edward wait! That’s really nice of you saying all that awesomeness about some of the women that share the same blood as you and all that jazz… but what the hell does any of this have to do with Dr. Freud like your title suggest?
I’m very glad you asked!
You see, as filled with copious amounts of awesome as these women are… they are vicious, determined, stubborn Latinas. According to Freud, a woman gross up like her mother figure, a guy like his father figure, and a woman looks for her father, and a man his mother. Sick really. But… like I said before… shit happens, that’s just the way it is. And before you start to try to argue me on this: #1, you are really arguing a dead guy #2 think hard about everyone you’ve ever like… ya, thought so. Well unfortunately for me, this causes quite a high standard for any woman to try to win me which is so high, the girl I was engaged to for over a year didn’t even hit it.
Realizing how cool and amazing the last three generations of women in my family is (oh, and did I mention stubborn) I have also have made the connection between my conscience and sub-conscience reasons for liking the woman I’ve liked for years, (which, has a 95% chance of hurting me deep, but, I don’t really care about odds, and as my best friend so lovingly says… I’m a stubborn ass. Hmm… wait a minute…).
Believe it or not… that was actually me giving a complement. Next time I say something to you and you think to yourself “what a dick”. Remember, I most likely really do love you, this is just my way of saying it.
IN IL PRINCIPIO:
You see, during our morning coffee, Jan and I somehow came upon the subject of old people. Then of course, upon the topic of old people dying. I brought up my Grandmother. Reason being, this woman went down with a fight! Besides having diabetes for years, she had a stroke, pneumonia, and I believe a heart attack all at once. For years we all thought “oh no, this is the last time I see Abuelita” but no… she kept on truckin… and truckin… and truckin. All four factors were present at once when she finally breathed her last. Besides this of course, this is a woman who raised nine children in a 3rd world country. My Abuelita, was quite an amazing woman, who I miss dearly.
SECUNDI:
I came to Australia for multiple reasons. One of which being: what is it like to be an immigrant? Although, I totally cheated on this one. I went to a country that not only speaks the same language (kinda… technically…) but also where I have a support system of friends. My Mother on the other hand, different story. The woman left everything she had ever known. Left everyone she had ever known. All based on the promise of a better life in the greatest nation on earth, over that of the life she had in one of the poorer countries on earth. The promise was of course based on the love of a man, who would provide her with a son, and then… well… die. Not like it was part of the plan, but, shit happens ya know. Two options in this situation. A: retreat to Miami where there are more family members, but, still considered US property. B: stay on her own where she was, and be a working single mom with no family nearby. Thankfully for my love of California, she chose B. Amazing decision. But, not really a decision, she did what was needed of her. I think she did a fairly decent job raising me, but… I might be a bit bias on that one. But, the last week adjusting to life in Leeton, NSW, has made me think a lot about what transition to America must have been like. Note: English is the hardest language to learn. But, my Mother did it. As I told Kai in Sydney, I’m glad I was born into English, because I don’t know if I have the patience to learn it. As much adjusting as I am doing in a similar country in the modern day with technology like Skype, I can only imagine what her move in the 80’s was like.
TERTI:
My sister has had an interesting past few years. This last year my brother-in-law has been in Iraq, and my sister has been busting her ass in nursing school. I find if funny that the other night a young bloke at the twins high school used Rocky Balboa’s monologue to his son, and I find it funnier that I’m going to use it also to describe my sister, but… here goes anyway. You see, despite whatever my sister goes through, she keeps her Latina woman stubbornness, so, to quote Rocky Balboa:
“Let me tell you something you already know. The world ain’t all sunshine and rainbows. It’s very mean and nasty place. And I don’t care how tough you are it will beat you to your knees and keep you there permanently if you let it. You, me or nobody is going to hit as hard as life.
“But it ain’t about how hard you hit. It’s about how hard you can get hit and keep moving forwards, how much you can take and keep moving forward. That’s how winning is done!
“Now if you know what you’re worth, you gotta be out there willing to take the hits and not point fingers ‘cos of him or her or anybody if you aint’ where you wanna be. Cowards do that! And that ain’t you. You’re better than that."
Needless to say, my big sis is quite an inspiration to me. I don’t have half of her studying diligence ability. Maybe if I did, I wouldn’t have the crappy GPA that I currently do and maybe it wouldn’t have taken me 4 years to get a 2 year degree.
Do me favor though and don’t tell them I said all this… it’ll go to their heads. Then living with them will be more impossible then it is already.
But Edward wait! That’s really nice of you saying all that awesomeness about some of the women that share the same blood as you and all that jazz… but what the hell does any of this have to do with Dr. Freud like your title suggest?
I’m very glad you asked!
You see, as filled with copious amounts of awesome as these women are… they are vicious, determined, stubborn Latinas. According to Freud, a woman gross up like her mother figure, a guy like his father figure, and a woman looks for her father, and a man his mother. Sick really. But… like I said before… shit happens, that’s just the way it is. And before you start to try to argue me on this: #1, you are really arguing a dead guy #2 think hard about everyone you’ve ever like… ya, thought so. Well unfortunately for me, this causes quite a high standard for any woman to try to win me which is so high, the girl I was engaged to for over a year didn’t even hit it.
Realizing how cool and amazing the last three generations of women in my family is (oh, and did I mention stubborn) I have also have made the connection between my conscience and sub-conscience reasons for liking the woman I’ve liked for years, (which, has a 95% chance of hurting me deep, but, I don’t really care about odds, and as my best friend so lovingly says… I’m a stubborn ass. Hmm… wait a minute…).
Believe it or not… that was actually me giving a complement. Next time I say something to you and you think to yourself “what a dick”. Remember, I most likely really do love you, this is just my way of saying it.
Exercise… argggg
No matter how hard breaking up is… waking up is even harder (for me anyway). What is it about mobile phones and the alarm function not working for me… like ever. Whatever the case may be, I did at least wake up in a timely manner today. Had a nice cup of coffee in the morning, then… Adam woke up.
Last week Adam and I had a Rocky marathon so that he would know why I was here, and also to take notes from Burgess Meredith’s portrayal of “Mic”. Since then he has been yelling out helpful phrases at me like “you’re gonna eat lightning and crap thunder!” and also of course “Come on you bum!” So today we left the house with one of the twins timing us. I ran/jogged one and a half miles with Adam riding his bike next to/ahead of me. The other day on my scouting out of the run, it took 20 minutes 43 seconds. Today when I was actually doing it for the first time: 21 minutes 2 seconds. So, bad news, 19 seconds more, good news, I ran much more of it at a higher rate. Therefore, my recovery time when I went into jog/speed walk mode took longer. The Navy would like the time to be 12 minutes (minimum for my age group) considering this is really the first time I’ve run in about 5 years, I think it’s a realistic and reasonable time to ask or me.
After nearly dying from the run, Adam and I did our P90X video of the day. What is P90X you might ask? Well… it is an amazing workout routine. They always have infomercials for it at like 2 am, and I always thought it was like total bullocks. However, my brother-in-law uses it. Now… Pappy was always in shape, and thin, but when he left for Iraq, he was RIPPED! Ripped like Jesus (another story)
We both felt great afterward, but tired, and I know things are going to hurt when I wake up in the morning. It will however be that good hurt. You know the kind. Where everything burns, but you think to yourself, it’s totally worth it. Ya, that kinda hurt.
In other news; latest intel reports say that the twins' old science teacher who caught my eye the other night does in fact have a boyfriend :(
Another lovely teacher lost :(
I leave you with this for the day:
On the warning label of Paul’s medication it says the following:
“Do not take dairy products, antacids, iron or calcium supplements within two hours of each dose of this medicine”
Then open the package and it says this:
“It is recommended that tablets are taken with a glass of milk or liquid during a meal. Tablets should not be taken immediately prior to lying down”
Go ahead… let it sink in… it’ll hit you if it hasn’t yet.
Last week Adam and I had a Rocky marathon so that he would know why I was here, and also to take notes from Burgess Meredith’s portrayal of “Mic”. Since then he has been yelling out helpful phrases at me like “you’re gonna eat lightning and crap thunder!” and also of course “Come on you bum!” So today we left the house with one of the twins timing us. I ran/jogged one and a half miles with Adam riding his bike next to/ahead of me. The other day on my scouting out of the run, it took 20 minutes 43 seconds. Today when I was actually doing it for the first time: 21 minutes 2 seconds. So, bad news, 19 seconds more, good news, I ran much more of it at a higher rate. Therefore, my recovery time when I went into jog/speed walk mode took longer. The Navy would like the time to be 12 minutes (minimum for my age group) considering this is really the first time I’ve run in about 5 years, I think it’s a realistic and reasonable time to ask or me.
After nearly dying from the run, Adam and I did our P90X video of the day. What is P90X you might ask? Well… it is an amazing workout routine. They always have infomercials for it at like 2 am, and I always thought it was like total bullocks. However, my brother-in-law uses it. Now… Pappy was always in shape, and thin, but when he left for Iraq, he was RIPPED! Ripped like Jesus (another story)
We both felt great afterward, but tired, and I know things are going to hurt when I wake up in the morning. It will however be that good hurt. You know the kind. Where everything burns, but you think to yourself, it’s totally worth it. Ya, that kinda hurt.
In other news; latest intel reports say that the twins' old science teacher who caught my eye the other night does in fact have a boyfriend :(
Another lovely teacher lost :(
I leave you with this for the day:
On the warning label of Paul’s medication it says the following:
“Do not take dairy products, antacids, iron or calcium supplements within two hours of each dose of this medicine”
Then open the package and it says this:
“It is recommended that tablets are taken with a glass of milk or liquid during a meal. Tablets should not be taken immediately prior to lying down”
Go ahead… let it sink in… it’ll hit you if it hasn’t yet.
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