The Agrinautica

   After morning chores every morning (every morning the entire boat gets cleaned, the deck washed (except when it's below freezing), the brass polished, and the heads cleaned) there's a little lull around 4 bells 10am when you've finished your chore but not started a maintenance project, and some people are still working on their chores. If the remaining chores aren't something one can easily jump in and help them finish (like polishing the brass, plenty to go around without getting in anyone's way), I like to use this opportunity to make my visit to the shore head.

   This usually entailed a nice refreshing walk through crisp morning air for a few hundred yards, at the end of which awaits a gloriously warm and spacious head "restroom" (We always forget they call them restrooms on land, much to the confusion of staff at restaurants and bars when we mistakenly ask for the shorehead). This walk also provides a good opportunity to call one's mother, but I usually wait until the trip back to do that, so I'll, you know, have less on my mind.

   In Aberdeen the nearest shorehead happened to be in the gigantic nearby Walmart. Some shipmates were reluctant to go in there at all, as if it was a unholy cursed place the filth of which they would never be able to cleanse themselves of. Others wisely observed "I'd gladly shit on in walmart!"
   The first time I made the quest for the porcelain alter into Walmart my first shock was how very many people were in there. I hadn't seen that many people altogether --much less in one place-- since I joined the boat three weeks ago! And the people were so.. strange! If you're not familiar with what "people you find in walmart" look like, turn to bad daytime reality court shows and tabloid talk shows (ie Jerry Springer). If you have the good fortune of having no knowledge of this just picture someone who seems to be only culturally attuned to the most obnoxious and wretched trends of modern society.
   Meanwhile of course I probably looked to them like I'd just fallen off a 19th century boat (well they'd be wrong, it was an 18th century boat!). To wit:

   Daisy later went over there dressed more the correct century* (18th that is) --

(though she was on an official mission to try to drum up people for tours. Not surprisingly, "Wal-mart people" weren't terribly interested. We probably could have sailed in on Colombus' original vessel and they'd have preferred to attend the party at Jack in the Box)

   As I entered the Walmart restroom itself, the faucets trumpeted a greeting of sprayed water as I walked past. Entering the bathroom stall, the toilet flushed indulgently. Then it did so again as I tried to put the wax seat cover on, devouring it.
   After I finished my business I looked for the flush lever but of course there was none. I walked away from it.. nothing. I walk back to it and wave my hand in front of the little motion sensor, nothing. I do a little jig, still nothing. Okay I didn't do a jig but I moved around a bit.
   I have a strong sense of civic responsibility. This includes both the belief that one should educate oneself about and vote in local elections ... and also that one should flush toilets when one leaves. However, in frustration I'm contemplating just leaving it unflushed, when I see a little button next to the sensor.

   The sink greets me with an enthusiastic spray. I put my hands under it and it obligingly sprays my hands with water ... for about five seconds. A little waving and it goes long enough for me to get the other half of my right hand wet. Mildly inconvenient but in about four spurts I'm able to get my hands entirely wet and move on to the soap dispenser, which thankfully is actually manually operated (how quaint!).
   With hands now covered in soap I place them under the faucet. Nothing. I wave them in front of the faucet. Nothing. I walk away and come back. Nothing. I give it a "ARE YOU SERIOUS?!" look. More waving, more pretending to arrive and place my hands under it, nothing at all. I look for a manual override button like on the toilet but there's none to be found. I'm stuck with hands covered in soap!
   Then I remember there's a drinking fountain outside the restroom. I go out there and wash my hands off, giving a passing employee a dirty look.

* but the above picture isn't me dressed in period attire, that's just how I dress ;D


See Also: Using a restroom in Cairo (AKA "the price you pay for that human touch")

   "Such sauce!" is a favourite phrase of mine. In my opinion most stories worth telling could begin with "it was such sauce!" I often forget that this is not a normal phrase to most people, and the fact that my friends tend to pick it up makes this even easier to forget.

   In the phrase "such sauce" emphasis is usually strongly placed on the "sauce," as in "it was such SAUCE!" but sometimes placed on the SUCH, and in some cases even both, to form an emphatic "SUCH SAUCE" ... but basically it's hardly ever just "such sauce" casually uttered without an emphasis.

   At it's most basic, it means "this is [was] so saucy!" Meaning the story I'm about to tell that's prefaced with "It was such sauce..." is about some saucy situation. The dictionary defines saucy as "impertinent, insolent, or boldly smart," but I don't think that does the word justice. I think of it as more of someone doing something devilish with a grin. Something cheerfully (and knowingly) arrogant. Most jokes that are actually funny could probably be said to be saucy.


   I think the phrase's etymology, however, at least in how I came to be using it, took a different route to get to it's current meaning.
   In the California Bay Area "weak sauce" (or weaksauce) is a fairly common phrase for something that is disappointing. I picked up this phrase from my exgirlfriend Kristy, who was a Bay Area native. We also started using the corollary "strong sauce" which isn't in normal use.
   Eventually I started using the phrase "such sauce" simply to mean the situation was either unspecified strong or weak sauce. Usually the flavour of the sauce was obvious from context and the comment was just an observation on the sauce without actually using the normal prefix.

   So basically, "such sauce" can mean either "so saucy" or be a remark about something being strong or weak sauce.


And now for an unrelated photograph


         A sauce delivery device?


Other photos uploaded yesterday include many more of that tube, a firefighting aircraft hanging out in a lake, and me eating a gigantic hotdog at the fair.



If you or your friends have any unique phrases of your own I'd be interested in hearing about them!

   I wouldn't say I care much about fashion. I don't give a rats ass about fashion. In fact I think "fashion" is the most ridiculous waste of time anyone has ever bothered to be concerned about.
   Or at least that's true when we're talking about "Fashion" in the sense that some things are in fashion (and some things are SO (like totally) out of fashion by a month or something). But in terms of thinking about how I'm going to dress, well I do that, and so does everyone else. Even that guy I know who wears a hawaiian shirt and fedora every single day. Or for that matter, even if you dress in the most unnoteworthy way imaginable, you're still sending a distinct message about who you are.
   The way you dress is of course the first impression you make on nearly everyone, it is the most basic form of what is basically social marketing. The guy in the fedora and hawaiian shirt probably thinks it says "laid back and quirky" (though somehow it mainly says he's the go to guy to find a game of dungeons and dragons, or at least that's my own wild assumption).

   For the latter part of high school and through college I dressed punkish. Now at 27 I've become suspicious of anyone who is still trying to "live the dream" and dress and act punk (in their late 20s at least. Younger folks have at it!). But first let's go back and examine what it was all about:

   A common criticism leveled by the totally-baffled-by-punks is that "they all dress the same!!" It is true that by and large a lot of the punks I knew could pretty consistently by found with their black converse shoes, grey dickies shorts, studded belt, band shirt (usually black), and dickies jacket (usually grey, sometimes dark blue or black) covered in band patches. But the criticism that they all look the same misses the point of why they dress like that. Possibly the primary reason one dresses a certain way is to attract like-minded people -- to instantly recognize in eachother that you're the same kind of person.
   People, even people who hate punks, seem to assume that punks are all creative and should apply that creativity to the way they dress (I guess because the whole mess looks "creative" on a whole to the uninitiated) ... but the fact is that I found most punks were not necessarily any more imaginative than any other person. They may perhaps have been more musically inclined, but a lot were just your average people who liked the music and therefore decided to dress the part. And like most normal people, dressing the part meant seeing what everyone else was wearing and immitating it. Even the piercings, tattoos and dyed hair, it was all just what their friends were doing.
   Which isn't to say there wasn't ANYTHING more to it and everyone was just a poser. I myself had a large green mohawk for about two years, and there was definitely a lot more to it than just "it's the punk thing to do."
   When you have a great big green mohawk, everyone stops and looks at you. It sets you apart from 99% of everyone else people see during the day (unless you're in berkeley). First of all it takes a little guts to put yourself in the spotlight like that, and people recognize that, at least subconsciously, and see you and think "wow they have some guts." Conversely it also makes wanna-be gangsters who hate punks want to beat you up if they catch you alone, so you've got to be prepared for that. Thirdly, people assume you're prepared for that, and I was amused to find big tough guys would get out of my way on the sidewalk.
   I think my favourite aspect of it though, was that people would assume they had no idea what I thought about things. Normally, people tend to assume they know what you're thinking, and they assume you agree with them. I don't really like this, and greatly enjoyed the way people would act like they had no idea what I thought about things (and were thus very interested to find out).
   The day I shaved off my mohawk and went into the city to interview for a Diplomatic Security job, I first had to get used to people no longer getting out of my way on the sidewalk, and then was saddened to find when I walked past a group of punks they no longer all jumped up to make my acquaintance. I was just another guy in a suit. ):

   I never liked the idea of looking like everyone else though. That's why even during my most punkish stages I never owned a pair of converse or dickies shorts (but I did end up with the rest of the outfit I guess).
   Other than the punk look though I've always liked to dress in a way that sort of harkens back to sometime between the 18th century and 1850s (or friends joke that my look is "sea captain"). Muttonchops, suspenders, peacoat... I figure if I dress in a way that never is IN style (my century anyway), it'll never be specifically out of style. Dear current trendy guys: you think those bell bottoms from the 70s look funny? Wait till your kids see pictures of you wearing your girl pants!!


Vaguely Related Picture of the Day

Well after all that I realized I pretty much had to post a picture of myself dressed "typically." I like this picture because it reminds me of clockwork orange.
(this is what's in my hand btw)

(and as an added bonus here's me dressed particularly UN-typically (and fifteen!)

   Previous to getting into professional beekeeping, if I were to picture a beekeeper, I would have pictured a gentle nature-loving individual lovingly taking care of a few dozen beehives in a picturesque meadow.
   My first impression upon arriving at a "real" commercial bee yard? A vast muddy yard that smelled of diesel and was filled with rows and rows of hundreds of beehives. The head beekeeper was already drunk when we got there because he wasn't expecting us (it was early evening) and a number of farmhands in bee suits were hurriedly checking hives under the watchful eye of a supervisor. I nearly lost my boots in the thick mud as we unloaded our hives (this was a staging area for hives going out to pollination) and the aforementioned head beekeeper cursed a blue streak as he got stung (but didn't bother putting on any protective gear) ... and if I hesitated for a second some profanity might be directed toward me for motivation. I had about 130 stings by the time the night was over. It was not exactly what I expected.

   The thing with beekeeping is that there are two things which most distinguish it from most other career paths. Beekeepers don't have to deal directly with people very much, and beekeepers must basically laugh at pain. These two things ensure that by and large, professional beekeepers are grizzly old men who don't necessarily like working with other people and think getting stung a few dozen times in the face is just another day at work.

   My boss, Dave, is pretty crazy, but I get the impression that's about par for the course. That guy Mike we had working for us for awhile had some interesting stories about his old boss, which make Dave sound mundane in comparison.
   Apparently on one occasion he drove past another bee yard and decided to stop by and check it out. Little did he know the owner of the bee yard happened to be nearby with a shot gun ... received a shot gun blast in the chest (at range, so it didn't like, you know, kill him) before he could escape.
   Sounds a bit crazy, but beehive rustling is actually a serious issue. Just a few months ago there was a news item about a beekeeper killing another while stealing his hives in Australia. Dave once had several hundred hives stolen, only to receive a call months later from a sheriff in Oklahoma saying they'd found beehives with his phone number on them there. They actually make tracking devices you can hide in your hives to guard against this. We don't do that but we do have theft insurance on our hives.

   On another occasion Mike's former boss got bit by a rattlesnake while working the bees. He continued working for another hour or two until he was done before going to the hospital. There he was informed that at this point too much time had passed for the hospital to do anything about it.. BUT because this particular rattlesnake has a venom similar to bee venom, it was barely having an effect on him due to the tolerance he'd built up.

   The beekeeper in Redding we've bought a lot of hives from is semi-retired now because he's lost too many fingers making his own equipment. At convention someone mentioned that back when most beekeepers made all their own equipment it wasn't uncommon for half the people at convention to be missing fingers. Now fortunately there are professional woodshops we can order equipment from and keep all our own fingers. We keep our friends at Shastina Mills in business so that Dave can continue to use his middle finger as a critical element of his driving technique.


   So yeah, the world of professional beekeeping is kind of the wild west. Hobbyist beekeeping however does tend to be more along the lines of nature-loving individuals lovingly tending to a handful of hives.

   Upon my return to the muddy pollination yard I started out in, the grizzly beekeeper there was clearly impressed that I was still around after the stinging I got last time. And then thinking back to my lack of sympathy for that guy Mike when he couldn't work through his alleged "forty stings," I start to worry that I'm halfway to becoming a grizzly old beekeeper myself. But at least with our newest bee yard locations, I finally have my picturesque meadow.

Seriously I'd like to go camping out here

(Pictures added today and some yesterday of the new locations)

   Zero calories! Zero carbs! Sugar free!! What IS in this stuff*? I am highly distrustful of anything that is zero calories or sugar free (that should normally have sugar in it). Personally, I take "zero calories" or "sugar free!" as an automatic veto on buying a product. But then again, I'm someone who once saw a headline about how chili cheese fries are one of the worst things you can eat and felt inspired by it to buy them for lunch that day.

   I feel like health food junkies are moving in two completely opposite directions. Organic and [everything]-free. ____-free food is patently "non-organic" -- naturally occurring sugars or calories have been replaced by complicated synthetic formulations engineered to mimic the original. Yet the same people who are religious about getting their organic food will happily put their sugar/calorie/carb-free food-like synthetic in the same re-usable hemp grocery bag with their organic multi-grain bread**.

   And the calories thing. Sure you probably shouldn't be eating 3000 calorie chili cheese fries, being as you're only supposed to eat 2000 calories a day. But you ARE supposed to eat 2000 calories a day so are you really injesting so much material that you have to eat zero calorie foods so it doesn't edge you over that limit? Food is supposed to have calories! If it doesn't.. it's not food!

*(phenylalamine apparently)
** by the way do you know how many cute little furry animals were killed by the grain harvester? a lot. But thank god no one sprayed (organic) pyrethrum on those plants first.


Unrelated Picture of the Day

Here is a boat. That is upside down. And raining.
(Dali Museum)