P.P.S. - Jack, I keep getting hits from Google searches for WePackItAll + SOP.  I can only assume it’s you.  Just so you know, I thoroughly investigated the legal issues surrounding this post and my termination; you have no grounds for legal action of any kind.  I wouldn’t want you to waste your time, since you made some threats along those lines when you fired me.  Looking this up over and over isn’t going to make it go away, but it might bump me up in the search rankings, so by all means, keep reading it.

P.S. - I got fired about 6 months after posting this originally..

Current mood: Firm in my decision to keep this posted

I was testing the break-room chairs at work today to make sure they’re adequately cushioned (someone might snap their tailbone..), thinking about the operating procedures I’m re-writting, and I got to wondering what sort of person originally wrote them. I’ve become numb to the horrors of this man’s english, but his literary technique is profoundly diverse such that freshly appalling linguistic twists are revealed almost daily.

Here is the “Documentation” section of a machine shop procedure:

“Any and all maintenance performed on the Production Machine SHALL BE documented by the WePackItAll Technician in the Equipment Log. Machines cannot be scheduled for production until they are line clearanced by Quality Control. Computer Printouts will be generated.”

There are a couple interesting bits here, apart from the random capitalization and nouns used as verbs. Our S.O.P manual should really be called “The WePackItAll Commandments”, because it is chock full of SHALL’s and SHALL NOT’s. I’m convinced my predecessor had a God complex. “Shall” implies not only a moral command, but also the absolute authority to enforce it, and his boldface caps imitate the voice of the Deity. I really want to separate the boldface procedures into a “Commandments” section and add some of my own, such as “Thou Shalt Not adjust the Hot-Knives while they are in motion, or Thy Fingers shall be struck from Thee”, or “Thou Shalt Not be like unto the Pagans and enter the sanctuary of the Production Room with thy hands unwashed or thy head uncovered. This is an abomination in the sight of the Lord.”

My favorite bit, however, is the final, cryptic utterance: “Computer Printouts will be generated.” Is it an observation? A command? It is correct on the surface - computer printouts are generated daily in copious amounts at WePackItAll - but there is more to it than that. Profound truth is hidden in this sentence.

If we dig into the phrase we see a scathing indictment of the modern workplace. I must generate printouts from my Equipment Log, but what should they contain? How should they be formatted? Who should they be given to? What about the fact that nothing in the Equipment Log could possibly be made into a useful computer printout? The writter is telling us that none of these questions matter. The report must simply be generated for it’s own sake, to appease the corporate beast; it’s contents and destination are irrelevant as long as it is created and dispatched.

Digging deeper still, we begin to probe the ontological status of the Computer Printout. Does the nature of the Printout somehow necessitate it’s generation? Does it will itself into existence? Can we truely say “Computer Printouts will be generated” the same way we say “The Will of God will be accomplished”, or is the ubiquity of the printout merely incidental - an accident of time and chance? Are these questions even answerable? The mysterious author leaves us without answers, but profoundly enriched none the less..

Current mood: enthralled I haven’t posted in a while as I’ve been coppersmithing and became engrossed.  I started with standard metal sculpture and copper is a natural choice as it is cheaper than silver and easier to work than steal.  Copper rapidly oxidizes when heated, and while I was searching for a way to limit the oxidation I came upon something far more interesting and obscure - the art of flame painting.  Some of my results are in the profile picture, but the photo doesn’t do it justice.  The colors have a lovely shimmering, translucent quality, almost like pearl or opal.  I think I should be able to make some spectacular jewelry with a little more practice.

Under normal conditions copper transitions from it’s native to it’s oxidized state rather abruptly.  As heat is applied a black dot appears on the surface and spreads to cover the whole piece in less than a second.  It is difficult to see, but the edge of the dot is in fact a narrow fringe of rainbow color that forms as the copper passes through about 7 intermediary states before it is fully oxidized.   The idea behind flame painting is to stretch and control this rainbow band so it covers the whole piece with the pattern of your choosing.

Unfortunately for me, flame painting is a lost art.  It is practiced by maybe 20 people in the world and there are no instructions on the internet.  There are just 2 ways to learn it: through an ardurous 7 year apprenticeship to one of the masters, or by paying this dude on ebay $50 + S&H for an instructional video.  I am not willing to do either of these things, so I have been trying to re-discover the proccess through trial and error.

The trick seems to be carefully bringing the metal to the verge of oxidation, then applying combinations of heat and air to take it through the range of colors.  I’ve been able to produce solid areas of bright purple, orange, straw yellow, and green pretty consistently, but I can’t get the nice blue with any regularity.  The availability of oxygen plays a role also - reducing agents or particulate matter applied to the surface of the copper have produced interesting results.  The large peice in the profile photo was done with chopped up steal wool and salt.  I’ve been experimenting with oil and it seems promising but tends to form a film that is difficult to remove.  Sugar is another interesing possibility.

Current mood: amused

This is probably the most effective product we package:

Nasutra™ Maximum Sexual Performance

Harder erections. Longer lasting sexual experiences. That’s what every man wants. And their partners want it, too.

Nasutra™ is an all-natural herbal supplement for maximum sexual performance enhancement that is HIGHLY CONCENTRATED to help men achieve a new level of sexual performance and pleasure. The scientifically blended mix of ten Chinese herbs is extracted through a patented process to achieve potency levels that were previously unattainable.

-Provides up to 24 hours of powerful sexual performance enhancement.
-Enhances erections and sustains erections much longer than normal.
-Reduces recovery time between sexual intervals.
-Has none of the negative side effects of other erection products on the market.
-Has an energizing effect on the system.

While I haven’t experienced the performance enhancement of Nasutra first hand, I’ve always known that it must work.  A package of two is $10, and people don’t pay $10 for a placebo.  It’s one of the few products that we lock up - otherwise the warehouse workers steal it.

Today, I was validated in my belief.  Nasutra isn’t just another caffeine pill being passed off as a sexual tonic.  It is a magic blend of 10 ancient Chinese herbs and one extra special ingredient.  An extra special ingredient that isn’t on the label.  An extra special ingredient that caught the attention of the FDA.  An extra special ingredient more typically sold by Pfizer, pressed into little blue tablets and hawked by Bob Dole…

Thats right folks, Nasutra really does work.  Countless studies have shown sildenafil to be very effective at treating  E.D.  As an added bonus, Viagra is much cheaper when it’s cooked up in Mexico, purchased on the black market, and sold as an over-the-counter nutritional supplement.  Sadly, those men with, um, performance difficulties will no longer be able to enjoy the magic of Nasutra, as it has been recalled from US markets.

Current mood: sore

The Hope Lutheran church choir is performing Vivaldi’s Antiphonal Gloria a few weeks from now.  It is for double choir but we don’t have enough people, so this little girl Sara is taking the second part with her trumpet.  Sara is in the 6th grade I think, and is very good for her age; I get the impression she plays the work perfectly while practicing.  In front of us, though, she makes mistakes, and they are the sort engendered by performance anxiety - long flawless stretches, followed by a single wrong note then total collapse.  All the little old ladies in the choir are very kind of course; they encourage her, “Oh, Sara, that sounded so nice!”, even when she drops whole sections of the melody.

These ladies are well meaning, but flattery is never good.  I’ve gotten the “How nice!” response after screwing up and it makes me want to run from the stage.  “Yea, you messed up, but thats alright, try it again” means the audience supports me and wants me to do well.  Silence means they may not support me, but there is at least tacit acknoweldgement of the mistake.  “That sounded so nice!”, especially after a really hideous error, means they think either:

1) I’m not just bad, I’m so bad I’m not even capable of recognizing how bad I am,

2) I am not only bad but vain and will be pacified by a lie as long as it is complimentary, or

3) That my playing was fine.  They have no musical sense and aren’t worth playing for.

Kids get this comment more than adults, perhaps because it is patronizing and adults patronize children as a matter of course.  Kids aren’t stupid though.  I can see a look of pain on this girl’s face every time someone yells out how great she is - she looks like she’s trying to melt into the stage and disappear.  As a child I hated playing for my grandmother because it was, “Oh Matthew, how nice!” no matter what I did.  She wasn’t taking my playing seriously and was merely amused because I was cute - I could have banged the keys with my forehead and it would have been “nice”.

My father never let me win at board games, probably for this reason.  It’s ok to let kids win as long as they don’t know it, but once they figure it out it destroys their confidence - it shows you don’t have confidence in them.  I would have figured it out and I think he knew that.

———————–

Music is such a strange thing.  It seems like a metaphor for the whole of life at times, while other times it’s extremely personal and intimate.  Improvising with another musician can be especially intimate:  I remember auditioning for a band in college, playing blues with this girl I hardly knew, and feeling very exposed afterwards.  Just exposed to her though, like she must have known exactly what I thought about her and everyone else after playing with me.

Current mood: full of light

This may only be of interest to those who are prone to wandering in the hills..

I went to the rope swing after church since everyone is failing at coffee, and on a whim I skipped swinging and went up the trail behind (as if one hike a day isn’t enough - my legs hurt now).  If you take the left fork of Colby onto the plateau there are many paths that snake down the hillside, but they all seem to dead end.  Apparently one goes through, however, and I was able to find it by comming up from the bottom.  This means the rope swing is accessible from above, without tromping past back yards, waking up what seems like a whole pack of dogs, and having frightened rich people stare at you from their living rooms as if they are about to call the cops (Glendora is full of frightened rich people..)  It may be best to mark the trail, but I’ve not yet thought of a method.

It’s late enough in the year now for there to be a lapse between the sunset and moon-rise that’s darker than the middle of the night:  the stars are out for a while even with the full moon and the city streets form a delicate web of light underneath.

---

Perhaps the best use of our intelligence is to show us how much is forever beyond our understanding, thus begetting humility.  Life is singularly mysterious and full of glory.

Current mood: blank

I came to work each Monday of September with a new injury, and people naturally began to wonder what was happening.  This past week someone made a joke about secret cage fighting on the weekends, and the joke somehow turned into half the production staff thinking I really do cage fight.  I don’t see myself as cage fighter, but maybe I’m scary and don’t realize it.  Small children often cry when they see me, after all.

I’ve been going around trying to arrange matches with the IT staff and today I found an opponent (although he seems to be taking the fight rather lightly -  I think he doubts my abilities in the ring..)  The event will be billed as “Mad Matt vs. Charrrrrrlie Oreglia - Wire Mesh of Death!!!”  We’re trying to get pay per view coverage.  I haven’t found a cage yet, but if all else fails we can use the warehouse and do elbow drops off the pallet shelves.

---

After bible study last Sunday I started researching gender differences and found some interesting things.  For a long time it was thought that women must be stupider than men since they have smaller heads.  The smaller head theory was extensively studied in the mid 20th century and disproved, however - apparently women have the neurons packed more densely in their brains, which makes up for the size difference (head size does correlate with intelligence within gender).  This discovery was a big deal during the womens lib. movement since it was supposed proof of equality.

Modern science has discovered there is equivalency more than equality.  Men and women do think differently.  We often hear about men being better with math and women with language (I suspect because this is the most P.C. of the findings), but after digging a bit I found a more interesting fact that is never mentioned.  Women and men have the same average intelligence but there is much greater variance between men:  stupid men tend to be stupider and smart men tend to be smarter than their female counterparts (and consistently so, across culture and age groups).  I feel like I’ve been lied to with the same average intelligence statistic - it is technically true but this seems much more controversial (although I’m not quite sure why).

---

I went to a concert last night; Marc Broussard and some girl who’s name has left me.  Pop music is perhaps improving but there are still alot of artists out there way better than anything on the radio, and Mr. Broussard is one of them.  See if you can find some of his live tracks; it’s well worth the effort.  The girl was also very good.  A nice alto is about the sexiest thing I can think of.

The night reminded me of why I don’t like living in LA:

1) Traffic limits driving speeds to 5mph.
2) $10 to park 3 blocks from the club.
3) $7 for a gin and tonic, and not a very good one at that.
4) Sunset blvd. by the 405 is like a gauntlet of death, with six inches of clearance between the car and the center divider and big metal spikes in case you mess up.
5) Downtown smells like the bad parts of Rosarita.

Current mood: drunk

Sarah Wheeler recently moved back to Glendora, and she threw a housewarming party tonight to celebrate.  When she invited me last Sunday I agreed to go, even though I hadn’t been to a party in 4 years and I vaugly remembered there was a reason why.

I am just now home, and I must say this was truly a party.  I’ve seen and done many, many stupid things, but I saw things tonight I have never seen before.  Namely:

1)  The fire department showing up at a party instead of the police.

2)  A real live drunken brawl with upwards of 20 people, broken beer bottles used as weapons, and blood on the pavement.

I now remember why I don’t go to parties.  They are loud and full of people, I don’t know the people, and most of them aren’t people I would want to know anyway.  There is terrible thumping music that blots out all coherent thought, and when I stand against the wall in silence trying to ignore it people wonder why I’m not having fun and make me dance to the terrible music.  (Don’t take this badly Sarah, it was a spectacular party.  I’m just kind of lame)

I ended up drinking, as I always do at these things (please excuse the quality of my writting), to cut down on the sensory overload, but drinking causes other problems.  I left early for the party and spent half an hour beforehand lying on the flood control dam looking at the stars.  After a few drinks I started to think about how none of the people there would have enjoyed lying on the dam with me (drinking problem #1 - depression) and about how I only know one or two people who might want to lie on the dam (also depressing), and how instead of calling them up and asking them to lie on the dam with me and look at the sky I was wasting my life with a bunch of strangers I don’t know or care about (even more depressing).

Ultimately Candace and her sister and boyfriend showed up and I talked with them, which helped things.  I was in a much better mood by the time this girl announced her wallet was missing.  I’m not sure what happened exactly but someone decided someone else stole the wallet, punched them, and began whacking their head on the pavement.  I ran up and grabbed the first guy, and as thanks for my trouble one of his friends started pushing me (that shoulder pushing thing drunken angry men do).

I’ve always looked down on people who drink and get in fights, like they are especially weak willed or something, but now I understand a little better.  When this kid pushed me I felt I should wipe him from the face of the earth for insulting my intoxicated sovreignity.  My wrestling days came quickly back - he was small and slow and I wanted very much to hip-toss him into the fire pit or give his scrawny neck a good chop.  I resisted the temptation, but alot of folks didn’t and I had to leave before getting beaten or arrested or gutted with a broken beer bottle.

Afterward I drove back up to Big Dalton and hiked into the experimental forest, down to the river bed, and through the tunnel (drinking problem #2 - crawling through drainage tunnels at 1:00 am).  It is amazing at night.  In the middle it is utterly black; you can’t tell if your eyes are open or closed and everything centers around sound.  Clapping turns into a low roar that spreads down and out to either side for several seconds as it moves toward the openings and into the sky.  I want to take someone up there and through it but I don’t think anyone would go.  I know a few people who might lie on the dam though, and that makes me happy.

Current mood: happy

Linda Carrigan asked me to do the after-school piano program for Hope, which is great - I love teaching music.  I’m not sure why she thinks I play (maybe keyboard skills are hereditary?), but since it doesn’t start until October I’ll have a 2 week head start.  Kids rarely practice every day so I can build up a cushion of skill as we go.  I’ve been meaning to learn piano for years now and this will be good motivation.  I know some of you play, does anyone have a begginners lesson book they particularly like?  I need to come up with a lesson plan and I’m not sure what I want to use..

Current mood: irate

This is written to the guy riding his motorcycle down Colby (you know who you are), everyone else may not want to read.

You were mostly an abstraction until last night when I found out a friend on MySpace knows you, so I figure there’s a chance you might read this.  I finally took the dressing off my arm today and got a good look at it; I would describe it but that is again rather abstract and you might not appreciate the subtleties of language.  Here is a picture.  Fortunately it didn’t become infected, but there will almost certainly be a big scar.  A fair portion of my shoulder and leg look similar.

This is a direct result of the wreckage you caused.  Mountain biking entails certain risks, but they are manageable risks.  When I take a corner I expect to find the same trail as the day before, not pits, fallen branches, and three foot rocks you knocked loose from the hillside.  Imagine taking your motorcycle down GMR and suddenly finding a clothesline strung across the road - the effect is similar.  I’m sure anyone who’s ridden Colby in the past few days has met the same fate as me, and I’m going to have to spend hours with a shovel before the trail is useable again.

Apart from any empathy for your fellow man, consider that Colby is part of a wildlife preserve, upon which it is illegal to ride off-road motor vehicles.  If you do this again I will report you to the police.  I believe the fine for willful destruction of protected wildlife is ~$10,000.  There is an off-road park in Azusa Canyon, go over there.

Current mood: set

I’m going paintballing tommorow as a youth group chaparone.  It’s been 6 years since I played for OTP (the pinnacle of my dubious career), but the memories are incredibly fresh:  The slippery, bitter taste of the paint when it breaks through the mask, the perpetually fogging goggles, the chunk-crack of the Autococker (2″ from the right ear, no recoil like those trendy automatics), and the lovely red welts.

New players* think paintball will be an exciting, action-packed adventure; like playing G.I. Joe in real life, and the game is in fact remarkably similar to combat.  The similarity starts with a huge gap between imagining and participating.

Paintball is exciting (read frightening), and also painful, dirty, violent, and exhausting.  When someone walks off the field bleeding it doesn’t mean there was an accident, it just means there was a game.  New players casually jog toward the enemy, take 5 or 6 rounds in the chest and neck, and fear sets in.  I remember at least half my team in walk-on games hiding behind bunkers and refusing to move.

So why in the heck do people play?  Most don’t, more than once, but some love it and keep comming back.  I’m not sure why I did, although it may have to do with a heightened sense of reality.  It certainly wasn’t fun in a traditional sense.

There is an interesting theory in evolutionary psychology that may apply to paintball.  The theory states societies evolve so most people will function well in normal, everyday situations, but as an unfortunate consequence they don’t handle stress or danger well.  A much smaller subset (I think it was pegged at ~10%) feels at home when in danger but is otherwise ill-at-ease.  Cultures with only the first sort of person are destroyed by external forces while those with too many of the second self-destruct.  If there is a balance the culture survives, and the balance shifts as danger increases or diminishes.

This is said to explain the tremendous increase in crime over the past century.  There is no real external danger in America, so people who would have been expanding the frontier or fending off the British are stuck.  They can’t handle working in the office and end up creating their own danger, thus things like gang violence.

Many paintballers fit this profile.  I knew players who couldn’t hold a job (they would get bored and stop trying) and had all kinds of legal trouble, but on the field they were level-headed and calculating.  They did well because they could think clearly while being shot at - they would look for gaps and run to the bunker where all those people were hiding to pick them off.

There is a valuable lesson here.  What we need to do is take all the gang members and put them on a paintball field to keep them occupied.  The game even has matching colors - Bloods get the red flag, etc.

I think it will be amusing to see Joe Sanzo wield a marker.  All the biblical Greek in the world won’t help him when I get my hands on him :-D

*This is interesting in that men have a romantic view of the game, whereas most women have a picture much closer to reality and thus most women won’t play.

________________________________________

Postscript:

I’d forgotten a couple things, namely the inevitable dehydration and gun malfunctions.  Rental guns are really really crappy; I felt bad after a couple games and started passing the autococker around so people wouldn’t get discouraged.  Some kids brought good markers and it unbalances the game.  Joe compared it to fighting a gattling gun with a musket.  Joe has been twice before -  his explicitly stated strategy is to hide somewhere :)

Painball may also become less feasible as one ages.  I thought I was in pretty good shape with all the biking and weights but my body is currently very angry with me.  The excitement / pain ratio has changed for the worse..