You're right, I would have to become a serious seamstress, but think how awesome an eight-armed person would look -- like a Hindu deity.
The real problem would be the modification that would have to occur in the brain to be able to handle six more arms. Mine can barely keep up with two. I'd probably go into some kind of mental arrest.
Hm...Oompa Loompas...gaggle? gang? pride? tribe? I'd gladly accept their help -- they do EVERYTHING and they're so cheerfully (well, maybe not cheerfully...dourly?) musical about it. I just don't have an everlasting supply of chocolate with which to pay them.
I already have a monkey in a diaper at the office, metaphorically speaking [grimaces]. One of the reasons I'm working on a Saturday.
Haha. I hestitate to tell you about my "monkey," because it's highly uncharitable. Suffice it to say that sometimes it would be lovely to stuff chronically helpless coworkers into any available cracks in the walls, if I had eight arms and they could fit into a space 1/16 their size.
Sorry you had an office-based Saturday, too; hope it wasn't too bad. The best compensation for putting in hours on a Saturday is that I don't have to answer the phones and everything is so BLISSFULLY quiet and I get ten times more done in an hour than I do in three on a normal weekday.
It wasn't bad at all. When no one else is there, I get to blast the music, work in shorts and flipflops and take guilt-free internet breaks.
The cold Newcastle was a nice accoutrement, but that's not a treat reserved for the weekends. I work at a fairly lackadaisical firm, which is probably one of the reasons I don't mind putting in the occasional weekend.
And there's no chance of me stuffing MY co-worker/diaper monkey in a crack. It would take more of a chasm or gulch to envelop him. However, if he would put a bit more effort into keeping his crack covered, I'd be more than satisfied.
I like to paint pictures with my words. I call them "word pictures."
I'm having to cover the eyes of my mind to avoid your word pictures regarding cracks of any kind. Ugh. At least my monkey keeps hers well covered.
Fortunately yesterday was a hashing-out day at work -- a long, arduous hashing-out day, but one of those where at the end you know there's hope for improvement. It's about bloody time.
Lackadaisical firm, eh? Tell me more about this thing which I have always considered a myth.
As to the Newcastle -- right on. If you're ever in the eastern US, specifically in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, or Maryland, may I recommend you try a Yuengling? It's made in PA, but for some reason it's only available in those three states (as far as I know). I keep hoping they'll change the import laws in Ohio so that it can cross more borders. I miss it dearly.
I'd really like to keep a stash of The Dalmore under my desk. Some days, and some clients -- and some coworkers -- just demand the occasional strong, fiery gulp.
Wow, a scotch girl, huh? I'm impressed, to say the least...
I'm more of a bourbon kind of guy. I love me some Maker's Mark, and Knob Creek on the rocks has become an after-office staple.
As far as the relaxed work environment, it's an architectural firm and not a law firm, so I'm sure that has something to do with the disparity. Amongst designers, libations are seen as a catalyst for creativity and not as a detriment to the construction of a bullet-proof argument. Even better, this attitude spills into dress code, office decor, conversation topics, etc. I love the fact that my field is one that encourages the assertion of one's personality and individuality. It's a lot more fun that way.
I was finally able to become acquainted with the storied brew earlier this year. A buddy of mine grew up in Maryland and boasts incessantly about the delights of Yuengling, so I convinced him to ship a mixed case to me here when he was back home for the holidays. The porter and the black-and-tans were great, and the stout was tasty, but I imagine they would all be exponentially more enjoyable fresh off the draught. Unfortunately, while I have a trip to New Orleans gleaming on the horizon, I won't have much call to be in the Yuengling triangle in the foreseeable future, so I'll simply have to wait. I hate "wait".
I do enjoy a good bourbon – Knob Creek in particular (I salute your excellent taste). I’ve been told on several puzzling occasions that I drink like an old man. As I laughingly tell my guests, “What’s your pleasure? I have beer in the fridge, wine in the pantry, whisky in the cupboard and gin in the freezer!” (Occasionally, I also have a bottle of the, sadly, cheaper varieties of port.)
So you’ve experienced the joy of the Yuengers! Marvelous. And yes – on tap, it is peerless. Because it’s illegal, of course, I would NEVER consider bringing a case back with me across the border when I return from family visits...
Working at an architectural firm sounds grand. Poets tend to have similar views of the lubricant properties of alcohol when applied to creativity. Lawyers, however, as you said...not so much.
Although, because I do work in a small, one-lawyer firm, things can be considerably more relaxed than they would be in the cutthroat environment of a larger one. There’s a sort of family atmosphere here which permits a good deal of jocularity – and even in the pathologically stressful times, like the stretch we’re undergoing at the moment, we can get openly crabby with each other (when clients aren’t around) and there’s a kind of grim amusement in that. So, despite my restrictions to dressy clothes and sobriety and politeness toward people I’d rather execute than address in conversation, I can be myself much more here than in any other position I’ve ever held.
What sorts of structures do you design? Architecture isn’t exactly a blossoming field around here – most people, in fact, seem to build their own structures, and/or get into ugly lawsuits with shoddy/shifty contractors – so without vicarious or experiential knowledge, I find myself curious. What’s involved?
New Orleans has always sounded like fun (well, excluding its recent tragic tumult). I’m betting it’s pretty warm and muggy this time of year.
Thank God – five o’clock. Time for some libations.
I have nothing to add to the conversation, other than to point out that Yuengling distributes to Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Delaware, Maryland, Washington D.C., Virginia, North Carolina, Florida, South Carolina & Alabama.
Oh, and I think a group of Oompa Loompas should be referred to as a chorus.
And, Yax, you nailed it. I was toying mentally with a "jig" of Oompa Loompas, but I think a "chorus" is so much more apropos.
As a firm, about 90% of our design work is on commercial projects. It's much more lucrative and much less time consuming, and it, for the most part, allows us much more control over the ultimate design.
However, I do all of the residential design for our group. If the project is interesting enough, or if the client is right, I really enjoy residential design. The challenges are much more unique, and the personal relationships I establish with the clients over the course of designing their dream homes is my favorite part of the job. All told, though, I only spend about 30% of my time on residential design. The rest is commercial.
You're right, though. Because of the seismic issues and the crowded conditions, California requires that an architect or engineer be involved in the majority of building design here, but in other parts of the country it is not uncommon for buildings to be constructed without any input by an architect, or even without securing building permits.
I don't think that this is necessarily a negative thing. I'd hate to see the Amish being required to go through some sort of design review board before they can raise a barn. Unfortunately, though, a looser attitude toward construction regulation means a lot of shoddy or even dangerous structures get thrown together. Or, if the contractor is competent, you get a bunch of ugly buildings that won't fall down.
As far as libations go, the strike of three marks the beginning of the "Witching Hour" here at the office. Though technically two hours, everyone's free to toast and "drink what ya brung."
I was thinking perhaps that the seismic activity required a good deal of professional input, management and approval for even basic structures in California.
One of the weird terms I kept hearing in the Midwest with no idea of its meaning before I finally got fed up and risked sounding stupid and asked is "pole barn." What the hell is a pole barn? I kept thinking. I had visions of large empty skeletal structures with a May pole in the center, like a wooden circus tent. But in fact it's a building -- office, house, garage, barn, etc. -- without a foundation.
I had never heard of such a thing. As far as I know, in PA, EVERYTHING is what Midwesterners call "stick built" -- basement, foundation, the works. We have baby-hiccup seismic activity in PA, which I thought might account for some of that, but on a trip to visit my sister there recently, I was looking at all the houses and reveling in the oldness of the Appalachians and realized that foundations are probably a necessary aspect of building homes on sloped ground. Around here people just bulldoze a flat space, but I don't think that works in my native state.
Of course, what I know about architecture you could easily pack into a child's hat.
Ugh. You should see the house I'm renting. It was obviously someone's home job, and so were the additions and "renovations," and I don't think anyone bothered much with it since its conception, since it was supposed to be (I think) just a tiny summer cottage in one of the lake districts. I feel sorry for the house. "Shoddy" doesn't even begin.
Most of the homes in my little lake neighborhood are like that, and the fun part of this is taking walks in the evenings and staring at all the oddly shaped, whimsically designed buildings. There are a couple of houses that look like a four-year-old had a hand in the design; I built very similar looking things with my wooden blocks at that age.
Helping people design their dream homes sounds like Christmas -- or at least, parts of it must be like that, for the couple if not for you. Watching people get excited about a dream-turning-reality is always delightful.
Partaking in the creation of something, commercial or not, I imagine, has a certain sense of reward. As people we seem to love the tangible, the things we can hold or the things we have built "with our own two hands." As artists -- most especially as artists who belong to the faith -- we have the opportunity to celebrate our creation in the divine likeness by creating. And there's always this heightened sense of awe at God's creation, because our own, however beautiful or close to perfect, never quite match up to the originally conceived notion.
Anyway. Yours sounds like a great occupation with a terrific environment, the occasional downfalls (har) of coworkers' bodily orifices notwithstanding.
Well, then, I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya.
No foundation at all? Wow. I have a hard time wrapping my brain around that one. That would never fly around here. The slightest tremor would pancake that thing in a heartbeat. I know the seismic risk isn't as high in your area as it is in California, but I'm wondering why the wind out there doesn't knock those things over. There's got to be some way to counter the uplift.
Anyway, I'll try and avoid any jargon. Around here, a "pole barn" is, essentially, a roof on stilts. It's a barn without walls that is built to shelter a big pile of hay or alfalfa bales. They do have foundations, though. Well, technically, they have column footings, but no traditional foundation.
Your neighborhood sounds... charming. There's something special about a house built as a labor of love but, as I'm sure you've noticed, not everyone is blessed with an eye for aesthetics. Bad design abounds. But, I suppose, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I'm sure that even the most modest, awkward and homely of houses were loved at some point.
Creation is the most rewarding of endeavors. For myself, the thrill of designing a building is undoubtedly similar to the joy you derive in penning a poem or story. When an inspiration rooted in the depths of yourself begins to take the shape you envisioned, it's electric.
The joys of creation allowed by my art overshadow the risks of glancing, on occasion, an unsightly crevice. It's not a bad gig.
14 comments:
That may be, but an additional six arms would require the modification of most of your clothes, I'm assuming.
What you need is a cadre of Oompa Loompas. (herd? pack? mob? knot? What's the collective noun for Oompa Loompas?)
Or, at the very least, one of those helper monkeys in a diaper.
You're right, I would have to become a serious seamstress, but think how awesome an eight-armed person would look -- like a Hindu deity.
The real problem would be the modification that would have to occur in the brain to be able to handle six more arms. Mine can barely keep up with two. I'd probably go into some kind of mental arrest.
Hm...Oompa Loompas...gaggle? gang? pride? tribe? I'd gladly accept their help -- they do EVERYTHING and they're so cheerfully (well, maybe not cheerfully...dourly?) musical about it. I just don't have an everlasting supply of chocolate with which to pay them.
I already have a monkey in a diaper at the office, metaphorically speaking [grimaces]. One of the reasons I'm working on a Saturday.
I also think the ability to squeeze into spaces 1/16 of your size is an ability wasted on the octopus.
I am, likewise, in the office on a Saturday, though it's my own fault and not that of anything or anyone wearing a diaper.
I hesitate to ask about your monkey...
Haha. I hestitate to tell you about my "monkey," because it's highly uncharitable. Suffice it to say that sometimes it would be lovely to stuff chronically helpless coworkers into any available cracks in the walls, if I had eight arms and they could fit into a space 1/16 their size.
Sorry you had an office-based Saturday, too; hope it wasn't too bad. The best compensation for putting in hours on a Saturday is that I don't have to answer the phones and everything is so BLISSFULLY quiet and I get ten times more done in an hour than I do in three on a normal weekday.
Huzzah for the modern American life!
It wasn't bad at all. When no one else is there, I get to blast the music, work in shorts and flipflops and take guilt-free internet breaks.
The cold Newcastle was a nice accoutrement, but that's not a treat reserved for the weekends. I work at a fairly lackadaisical firm, which is probably one of the reasons I don't mind putting in the occasional weekend.
And there's no chance of me stuffing MY co-worker/diaper monkey in a crack. It would take more of a chasm or gulch to envelop him. However, if he would put a bit more effort into keeping his crack covered, I'd be more than satisfied.
I like to paint pictures with my words. I call them "word pictures."
I'm having to cover the eyes of my mind to avoid your word pictures regarding cracks of any kind. Ugh. At least my monkey keeps hers well covered.
Fortunately yesterday was a hashing-out day at work -- a long, arduous hashing-out day, but one of those where at the end you know there's hope for improvement. It's about bloody time.
Lackadaisical firm, eh? Tell me more about this thing which I have always considered a myth.
As to the Newcastle -- right on. If you're ever in the eastern US, specifically in Pennsylvania, New Jersey, or Maryland, may I recommend you try a Yuengling? It's made in PA, but for some reason it's only available in those three states (as far as I know). I keep hoping they'll change the import laws in Ohio so that it can cross more borders. I miss it dearly.
I'd really like to keep a stash of The Dalmore under my desk. Some days, and some clients -- and some coworkers -- just demand the occasional strong, fiery gulp.
Wow, a scotch girl, huh? I'm impressed, to say the least...
I'm more of a bourbon kind of guy. I love me some Maker's Mark, and Knob Creek on the rocks has become an after-office staple.
As far as the relaxed work environment, it's an architectural firm and not a law firm, so I'm sure that has something to do with the disparity. Amongst designers, libations are seen as a catalyst for creativity and not as a detriment to the construction of a bullet-proof argument. Even better, this attitude spills into dress code, office decor, conversation topics, etc. I love the fact that my field is one that encourages the assertion of one's personality and individuality. It's a lot more fun that way.
I was finally able to become acquainted with the storied brew earlier this year. A buddy of mine grew up in Maryland and boasts incessantly about the delights of Yuengling, so I convinced him to ship a mixed case to me here when he was back home for the holidays.
The porter and the black-and-tans were great, and the stout was tasty, but I imagine they would all be exponentially more enjoyable fresh off the draught. Unfortunately, while I have a trip to New Orleans gleaming on the horizon, I won't have much call to be in the Yuengling triangle in the foreseeable future, so I'll simply have to wait. I hate "wait".
Throw me the rope.
I do enjoy a good bourbon – Knob Creek in particular (I salute your excellent taste). I’ve been told on several puzzling occasions that I drink like an old man. As I laughingly tell my guests, “What’s your pleasure? I have beer in the fridge, wine in the pantry, whisky in the cupboard and gin in the freezer!” (Occasionally, I also have a bottle of the, sadly, cheaper varieties of port.)
So you’ve experienced the joy of the Yuengers! Marvelous. And yes – on tap, it is peerless. Because it’s illegal, of course, I would NEVER consider bringing a case back with me across the border when I return from family visits...
Working at an architectural firm sounds grand. Poets tend to have similar views of the lubricant properties of alcohol when applied to creativity. Lawyers, however, as you said...not so much.
Although, because I do work in a small, one-lawyer firm, things can be considerably more relaxed than they would be in the cutthroat environment of a larger one. There’s a sort of family atmosphere here which permits a good deal of jocularity – and even in the pathologically stressful times, like the stretch we’re undergoing at the moment, we can get openly crabby with each other (when clients aren’t around) and there’s a kind of grim amusement in that. So, despite my restrictions to dressy clothes and sobriety and politeness toward people I’d rather execute than address in conversation, I can be myself much more here than in any other position I’ve ever held.
What sorts of structures do you design? Architecture isn’t exactly a blossoming field around here – most people, in fact, seem to build their own structures, and/or get into ugly lawsuits with shoddy/shifty contractors – so without vicarious or experiential knowledge, I find myself curious. What’s involved?
New Orleans has always sounded like fun (well, excluding its recent tragic tumult). I’m betting it’s pretty warm and muggy this time of year.
Thank God – five o’clock. Time for some libations.
I have nothing to add to the conversation, other than to point out that Yuengling distributes to Pennsylvania, New Jersey, New York, Delaware, Maryland, Washington D.C., Virginia, North Carolina, Florida, South Carolina & Alabama.
Oh, and I think a group of Oompa Loompas should be referred to as a chorus.
Well, aren't you the Yuengling expert! I feel a little better knowing that more states are quaffing this magnificent beverage.
It doesn't do ME any good at all, however.
"Chorus." That's good. I like it. Very apt in so many ways. Well done!
Only if you give me your word as a Spaniard.
And, Yax, you nailed it. I was toying mentally with a "jig" of Oompa Loompas, but I think a "chorus" is so much more apropos.
As a firm, about 90% of our design work is on commercial projects. It's much more lucrative and much less time consuming, and it, for the most part, allows us much more control over the ultimate design.
However, I do all of the residential design for our group. If the project is interesting enough, or if the client is right, I really enjoy residential design. The challenges are much more unique, and the personal relationships I establish with the clients over the course of designing their dream homes is my favorite part of the job. All told, though, I only spend about 30% of my time on residential design. The rest is commercial.
You're right, though. Because of the seismic issues and the crowded conditions, California requires that an architect or engineer be involved in the majority of building design here, but in other parts of the country it is not uncommon for buildings to be constructed without any input by an architect, or even without securing building permits.
I don't think that this is necessarily a negative thing. I'd hate to see the Amish being required to go through some sort of design review board before they can raise a barn. Unfortunately, though, a looser attitude toward construction regulation means a lot of shoddy or even dangerous structures get thrown together. Or, if the contractor is competent, you get a bunch of ugly buildings that won't fall down.
As far as libations go, the strike of three marks the beginning of the "Witching Hour" here at the office. Though technically two hours, everyone's free to toast and "drink what ya brung."
I've had worse jobs.
No good; I've known too many Spaniards.
I was thinking perhaps that the seismic activity required a good deal of professional input, management and approval for even basic structures in California.
One of the weird terms I kept hearing in the Midwest with no idea of its meaning before I finally got fed up and risked sounding stupid and asked is "pole barn." What the hell is a pole barn? I kept thinking. I had visions of large empty skeletal structures with a May pole in the center, like a wooden circus tent. But in fact it's a building -- office, house, garage, barn, etc. -- without a foundation.
I had never heard of such a thing. As far as I know, in PA, EVERYTHING is what Midwesterners call "stick built" -- basement, foundation, the works. We have baby-hiccup seismic activity in PA, which I thought might account for some of that, but on a trip to visit my sister there recently, I was looking at all the houses and reveling in the oldness of the Appalachians and realized that foundations are probably a necessary aspect of building homes on sloped ground. Around here people just bulldoze a flat space, but I don't think that works in my native state.
Of course, what I know about architecture you could easily pack into a child's hat.
Ugh. You should see the house I'm renting. It was obviously someone's home job, and so were the additions and "renovations," and I don't think anyone bothered much with it since its conception, since it was supposed to be (I think) just a tiny summer cottage in one of the lake districts. I feel sorry for the house. "Shoddy" doesn't even begin.
Most of the homes in my little lake neighborhood are like that, and the fun part of this is taking walks in the evenings and staring at all the oddly shaped, whimsically designed buildings. There are a couple of houses that look like a four-year-old had a hand in the design; I built very similar looking things with my wooden blocks at that age.
Helping people design their dream homes sounds like Christmas -- or at least, parts of it must be like that, for the couple if not for you. Watching people get excited about a dream-turning-reality is always delightful.
Partaking in the creation of something, commercial or not, I imagine, has a certain sense of reward. As people we seem to love the tangible, the things we can hold or the things we have built "with our own two hands." As artists -- most especially as artists who belong to the faith -- we have the opportunity to celebrate our creation in the divine likeness by creating. And there's always this heightened sense of awe at God's creation, because our own, however beautiful or close to perfect, never quite match up to the originally conceived notion.
Anyway. Yours sounds like a great occupation with a terrific environment, the occasional downfalls (har) of coworkers' bodily orifices notwithstanding.
Well, then, I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya.
No foundation at all? Wow. I have a hard time wrapping my brain around that one. That would never fly around here. The slightest tremor would pancake that thing in a heartbeat. I know the seismic risk isn't as high in your area as it is in California, but I'm wondering why the wind out there doesn't knock those things over. There's got to be some way to counter the uplift.
Anyway, I'll try and avoid any jargon. Around here, a "pole barn" is, essentially, a roof on stilts. It's a barn without walls that is built to shelter a big pile of hay or alfalfa bales. They do have foundations, though. Well, technically, they have column footings, but no traditional foundation.
Your neighborhood sounds... charming. There's something special about a house built as a labor of love but, as I'm sure you've noticed, not everyone is blessed with an eye for aesthetics. Bad design abounds. But, I suppose, beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and I'm sure that even the most modest, awkward and homely of houses were loved at some point.
Creation is the most rewarding of endeavors. For myself, the thrill of designing a building is undoubtedly similar to the joy you derive in penning a poem or story. When an inspiration rooted in the depths of yourself begins to take the shape you envisioned, it's electric.
The joys of creation allowed by my art overshadow the risks of glancing, on occasion, an unsightly crevice. It's not a bad gig.
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