Went out for Tracey B's b-day last night. To "Tony Starlight's Supper Club". He did a fairly decent traditional Vegas style night club act. Decent at something that was pretty corny and worn out thirty years ago. He did the old shtick; impersonated Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra, sang Johnny Mercer songs, that kind of act. It was a thing I only need to see once, and since I managed to somehow not pay the $10 admission I guess it was worth it.

I brought out the suit I inherited from my Grand-dad (gotten a lot of miles out of that thing since I got into the scooter thing), which always gets compliments from friends. Says a lot about this town that a place requiring patrons to dress "business casual or better" is considered a novelty.

Julie G. was far funnier to watch. She had come from another birthday party and had several shots under her belt already. She kept shouting out requests, raising up her arms and yelling "Whooooo!", and talking really loudly during Tony Starlight's monologues. Her boyfriend Tom kept shushing her like a misbehaving child. To which she would slur through her hiccups with her un-muted "inside a punk rock club" voice, "Am I being too loud? Really?" to everyone at the table.

I amused myself by topping off her Jameson's and water with more water every time she turned her back to me. I believe I replaced the entire contents of her glass with water dram by dram before she noticed anything was amiss. "Thish drink tashtesh watered down! They mush water down the drinksh here."

As background to what happened next, starting friday, I've had the good old "man it really hurts when I pee" thing going on. I chalked it up to my recent experience with passing a chunk of crystallized calcium through my urethra a few weeks ago, thinking that I might have developed a bladder infection or the like. Not so. It had a big brother.

During the intermission, I went to the head, and unexpectedly forced out a sanguine trickle of rust colored urine and blood clots. I felt it physically move from my bladder into my pipe, which felt like having a red hot coat hanger shoved up my manhood. Not wanting get blood on the trousers of my favorite suit, or have to fight for the bathroom every thirty seconds, I made some hasty excuse of not feeling well and left for my own can. Spent the rest of the night in there trying to squeeze the thing out.

Finally, after much juice and water and a beer, I managed to get the damn thing to nearly the tip of my urethra. This turned an ordinarily straight stream of urine into a spray that went every direction except towards the toilet. All over the walls, the bathmat, but mostly me. After a couple times being showered in my own waste, it finally passed out. I nearly did the same for that matter.

This was the worst one yet. I'm making an appointment with a urologist for this week to see what is going on with my stupid body. I'm pretty sure this shouldn't be a monthly occurrence.

It's lager season again! Started this one today.

3 lbs bries dry light golden malt extract.
2 lbs clover honey

boiled in 2.5 gal Fred Meyer "drinking water"

2oz domestic Halterauer hops for 50 mins for bitterness
1oz imported czech Saaz hop plugs for 7mins for aroma

siphoned off into 2 gal distilled water. 1.060 OG

allowed to cool off, pitched Wyeast #2278 Czech Pilsner yeast. Placed in a bucket of iced water down in my garage.

Tags: beer, recipe

I have reached a level of apathy at work that I have previously only attained after giving two weeks notice. It's a certain zen workplace satori in which I receive the magical mantra "I just so f*cking don't care". I have cast off the corporeal philosophy of "That's the most retarded thing I've ever heard", the archaic belief "that's not my f*cking job here", as well as the false ego derived "No! F*ck you! You f*cking come out here and work on the shop floor and do this job for a day and come back and tell me to f*cking do that".

The first koan of industrial wisdom came when the manager of our area led an area meeting off with the question "Why is it that as soon as we began the program of reduced staffing and shortened hours did procedural mistakes, lot mixes, and accidents go up so fast? Do any of you have any idea?" He went on to proclaim "I was a drill sergeant in the army for 10 years, and I never had these problems." Great meeting.

The next clue to this enlightenment came to me during a training module last week, wherein someone from the training department gave an hour long presentation on this http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Four_stages_of_competence, which she claimed "her group has been working on since August", and that (even though I remember having this exact same training at my last job, and could have easily given the presentation from memory) they had created wholly on their own independently of any outside influences.

The woman giving this presentation also didn't realize that she was giving a lecture with words like "consciousness" and "competence" to a roomful of people who learned English as adults and who's comprehension is limited to around 100 English words (fifty of which are vulgar). Probably one in four truely understood those words going into the lecture, and only one in five understood them going out of it.

The last piece in this small puzzle came to me when I heard middle management's latest plan to improve wafer quality and yields. It was originally rolled out as part of the above (they probably stole it from somewhere off the internet as well). The idea was that every production worker should anonymously report another employee breaking procedure (without naming them specifically, but the breach of procedure only) every week on a form provided. From there the above team would take these "feedback forms" and decide what "corrective actions" would need to be implemented.

After getting no (as in none, zero, zip, nada) "feedback form" responses over the last week and a half, they decided to make it mandatory. That's right, unsolicited, anonymous, tattling on unspecified coworkers is actually mandatory. If it is found you haven't been doing it weekly could end up in getting a first level write up. Of course, how the hell are they going to know who hasn't done it?

After a few minutes of trying to conjure up a plan to narc myself out for various things that need to be fixed, and then try to claim that someone is unjustly persecuting me; a blinding light of apathetic enlightenment struck me, and I realized "this f*cking place is just going to close down soon, why f*cking even bother?" It hit me that it wasn't even worth the effort to wipe my ass on the "feedback form" and stick it in the anonymous box.

And, to bring it down emotionally, I found out my hilarious, fun to work with (although messy and tends to f*ck things up and spill sh*t everywhere), only one of two native english speaking co-workers (I was so glad to see him come back to work last spring so I could have someone to talk to), Clarence, has a brain tumor that is causing him to have blackouts and seizures, and will probably not be coming back to work. I'm really going to miss him.

Tags: my stupid factory job

According to the guy at F.H. Steinbarts (my homebrew supply store) the hop harvest was fairly decent for a change. They actually had some in stock. Not just some, but good imported ones as well as the usual Northwest domestic standbys.

No more damn pellets, or having to make due with pretending that Cascade hops can be substituted for every aroma hop that they never have in stock. If I have to make another domestic Fuggle/Cascade beer it'll be too soon.

Real Czech Saaz, German Haltertauer, Spalt, and Tettnanger hops! UK Kent Goldings! Cheap too. I paid half what I paid last summer. I went a little overboard and bought nearly $50 worth.

Just in time for lager season too. Can't wait to do some Pilsners and Maarzens, now that I figured out the trick to them. Just have to drain out a couple of cases of substandard ales first.

Tags: beer

In Flanders Fields the poppies blow
Between the crosses row on row,
That mark our place; and in the sky
The larks, still bravely singing, fly
Scarce heard amid the guns below.

We are the Dead. Short days ago
We lived, felt dawn, saw sunset glow,
Loved and were loved, and now we lie
In Flanders fields.

Having a beer. One of my own. Not bad.

Here's the costume I sported this year for Halloween



Thursday I woke up fairly uneasily. I slept in to nearly nine. Felt vaguely weak and wrong all day. Came home from my run (no dogs this time) feeling fatigue where I usually feel energized. Took a nap at noon. Went to bed earlier than usual.

Friday I woke up to the alarm clock blaring some god awful country song (that's the key, tune it to a station you hate more than anything and you'll never hit the snooze button, might hit other things or people later in the day, but not the snooze button) and knew what was up. Went into work hoping that I would (with the help of some prescription strength psuedo-phed) I would make it through one day, and could call in sick the next day (I get dinged if I call in three in a row). As luck would have it, there were a series of catastrophic disasters down the line that caused a huge pile up of material to be processed, and they didn't need me all weekend.

What should have been a set up for a last minute lame ass costume design coupled with my return to insobriety, turned into me running a 102F fever for 3 days, in crippling pain, and hacking up small gelatinized chunks of my lungs. Halloween saw me laying on the couch in and out of a fever delirium watching some type of bug traverse my ceiling.

It was the only thing I could vaguely focus on. The MST3k episodes I had previously been watching had become just noise, and the bug was so much interesting. It would scurry for a moment, stop to investigate something I couldn't see, and scurry onwards. In my delirious state, I tried to get inside it's mind to understand it's motivation and drive (with my luck it was probably laying eggs everywhere and now I'll be infested with them). I'm not sure how long it actually took to crawl across my living room ceiling, but it seemed to take all night. I was sad when it disappeared beyond my sight. That was Halloween for me.

Sunday, I became concerned about my inability to urinate. The fever had come down a couple of notches to 100F, but despite all the juice and tea I drank, I couldn't seem to shed a drop. What I had chalked up to being body aches in retrospect were the birth pains of a kidney stone. Just like I hadn't put being hyper-fatigued and a five minute sneezing fit together to come up with an impending cold/flu episode, I didn't put a shy bladder together with intense back pains to come up with a kidney stone. I passed the sucker this morning. My fever came down to normal within minutes and I pissed out a weekend's worth of liquid waste in even less. Still hacking up lung butter though.

So happy Halloween everyone! I'm going to have a NiQuil/Robotussin shooter (sadly the first taste of alcohol I had in a month turned out to be over the counter cold medication), and drift off into a dextromethorpan nightmare.

Cough... check
High Fever... check
Body Aches... check
Massive Headache... check
Fatigue... check
Vague Feeling of Unease Like I Have Inadvertently Ingested PCP on an Empty Stomach... check

Guess I have the Flu.

The day started off well enough, ended that way as well, but I had to wade through a waste deep slough of sh*t during the rest of it.

For some reason, the city turned off the water where I work (my friend Julie G who works for the water bureau said that the fire hydrants were bursting in that area and that's why) for five hours. There was no water at all, so I didn't have to go in until noon.

I slept in until 7:00 (that's sleeping in for me), and decided to go for a run before work. I met up with a dog off it's leash that likes to chase things that run, and it's owner who dismissed my views on strange dogs needing to be on leashes in public places. I then created a furor of debate on damnportlanders by posting a sarcastic open letter to dog owners. At last count up to 67 comments. Last time I do that. Here if you want to read it and all the 'tarded comments: http://community.livejournal.com/damnportlanders/15744643.html

Went into work where nothing had been done by the night shift, and I ended up doing a hot water/glycol flush on two saws. These flushes involve all my favorite work activities; getting covered in muddy slurry (any job that involves anything called "slurry" is bound to be an unpleasant career move), heavy lifting, and my supervisor coming out every five minutes to badger me about whether or not I'm done yet and how soon will it be ready to run production material.

Came home, showered, ate, and met up with Tom and Julie G to see Shonen Knife. I saw them almost twenty years ago with their original lineup. Now they're down to Naoko Yamano as the only original member left. Her sister, Atsuko, and Mitchie Nakatini are gone off to have kids and families. That's how dorky of a fan I was, I actually know their names.

I stood a shouted out the lyrics to "Twist Barbie", "Flying Jelly Attack", "Banana Fish", "Devil House", and "Johnny Johnny" at the top of my lungs, annoying everyone around me I'm sure. They didn't play "Red Kross", "Cycling is Fun", or "Burning Farm", but did "Antonio Baku Guy" as an encore.

They played at the Doug Fir, which was a major effort on my part. I had to lift my personal ban on ever setting foot in that place again I set nearly two years ago. Thankfully, I was spared the usual hassles from the westside swankers that I invariably get into some altercation with there. It was an odd mix of Japanese expatriates, feminists, and aging dorks like myself.

I forgotten how fun it is to lose yourself to a fantasy world of calico cats, choco bars, ice cream cities, brown mushroom hunting, and neon zebras. Even if they all are just reworded Ramones songs, I still love them. And, Naoko still looks cute as hell even though she's got to be pushing 50.

First was Chris, a Lao guy (that's how they say it) night shift guy in slicing (I work in slicing). Seemed like a nice guy, didn't really know him well. Died of pancreatic cancer. Worked up to three days before he died.

Then came Cuong. He was on my shift in slicing. A former Republic of Vietnam Major that was considered a hero by his people (well at least he said so). Arrogant and boastful (in his limited English, it was amusing I must admit) he was something else. He was a pain in the ass to work with, but entertaining. He lived life to the fullest. Drank expensive cognac straight out of the bottle (despite being diabetic), took viagra (despite having high blood pressure) and cruised prostitutes on 82nd Ave all night. He had at least one stroke at work, and was taken out on a gurney by paramedics at least two other times. I think his kidneys eventually imploded. He worked up to 10 days before he died.

Next was Charlotte. She was also on my shift in slicing. She was the conservative grandma you feel vaguely embarrassed by, but love all the same. She could be disagreeable, gruff, and cross most of the time, but we all loved working with her. She had a heart condition. She had three or four heart attacks while at work. From this she racked up over $100000 in medical bills over the years (despite having what is termed "health insurance"), and had two of her three good for nothing grown kids living with her and sponging off her. She worked six twelve hour days every week to pay for this. In fact she came back to work (on overtime no less) the day after being released from the hospital. Her daughter (the one that didn't live with her) came into some money, and took her to Ireland (which had been her lifelong dream to do one day). She died of a massive heart attack on a tour bus the second day there.

Larry was next. Maintenance tech in slicing on my shift when I started working there. He was a super friendly easy going guy. Always quick with a joke or a story. He was well read, and we would BS about books and movies to the detriment of production. I liked working with him. In 2004, the company laid off a ton of support staff, and cut nearly half of maintenance. He got put on the opposite night shift, so I only saw him after that once a week. He had some congenital heart condition that went unnoticed a la John Ritter, and literally dropped dead on the slicing floor. Sadly, he had just gotten married earlier in the year, and left a pregnant widowed wife.

Then was Michael. When I first started nine years ago, he was the equipment engineer in slicing. He was the epitome of the arrogant, socially maladroit, chip on his shoulder having engineer. He liked me though. Partially because I was college educated, but mostly because I didn't argue with him like everyone else. I could tell even then that he was overly stressed and losing it. He would seek me out to BS about anything not related to work. He was moved down to the Epi cleanroom at the other side of the building, so I didn't get to see him much after that. He committed suicide. I never heard the specifics, but still there's nothing worse than that.

Now Frank. Well he's not actually dead yet, but found out he has advanced terminal cancer. Frank is an old libertarian hippie (I'm sure you know the type) who's been working there since the place opened in 1980. He was actually my boss for a brief period of two months. Good guy, a friend. Works some what slow, but does it correctly without making a huge mess like many of my other coworkers. I think the company is actively trying to kill him. Earlier, he was put on extended furlough, and then sent to Fab2. He found out about the cancer a couple of weeks ago, and began radiation and chemo. They made him so sick he was unable to work for a week, and since he hadn't worked enough this year to qualify for FMLA, his supervisor wrote him up. Then, he was moved back to FAB1 and put on the graveyard shift. I tried to talk him into temporarily trading shifts with me, just to make it easier on him. But he logically pointed out that when he's gone they'll probably stick me there permanently. He's going in today for a CAT scan to see how involved the cancer is and how long he has. He plans on taking an early retirement, and slapping our supervisor's face as hard as he possibly can as soon as he signs the paperwork. I'm going to miss him.

I'm sitting here drinking my green tea, wishing it would stop raining so I can go for my walk up Mt. Tabor. Hoping that these little things I do will earn me a retirement longer than a week.

Tags: my stupid factory job, ongoing depression