As usual when posting during a dry dock I'm exhausted and I should be going to bed right now. But I guess my ego just won't let this site go. . . or I could just convince myself that I really do it for my family to know what I'm up to. No fun pics cause the company laptop just don't much like flickr. Gonna have to remedy that some day.

Five or so days into Infinity dry dock. Typical cluster (of nuts and berries) with all the same players following all the same stereotypes and utterly destroying the word fail and then dropping it down the tubes to the next, eagerly waiting, level of hades. Good thing I don't believe in the afterlife or I'd already be throwing three sticks for Cerberus just to see which way he goes. Point is that like most things is life that we don't do too often it's easy for me to look forward to dry dock when I haven't been on a tough on in a while. But the truth on the job is always so much uglier.

So far during the 5 days of this dry dock I have:
-- Thrown my hard hat twice (once in true frustration with a two handed dome cracker straight down into the dirt and once in a show of disbelief that sent my full-brimmed heat-trapper spinning beautifully along the dirt, sand grit and rock "pier" that we call South Beach here at the Freeport shipyard).
-- Yelled profanities at a level befitting a Bahamian dry dock but probably inappropriate for your local monster truck rally.
-- Made friends and gathered enemies.
-- Been offered a job that pays more and promises less stress (but is probably lying about both).
-- Worked more hours than. . . ah, nevermind. It doesn't matter how many hours I've worked when there's people out there like my Uncle, Cousin-in-Law and old college roommate who all regularly put in more weekly hours than I ever will (and my Uncle is RETIRED!).
-- Gotten a flat tire on the company F-150 and changed it with help from a fork lift and a passing Bahamian driver with a similar truck because mine happens to lack a jack, lug wrench and necessary bars to lower the spare tire. (Some good lookin' out when the company bought the truck at the Miami auction. "It's got 4 doors? Windows tinted so dark that you can't see anything at night? A/C works? Bald tires? Get's six-point-six miles to the gallon? Front end that needs more work done than Carrot Top? We'll take it!)
-- Chased, bribed, cajoled, belittled, praised, begged, cursed, insulted, drank and joked with riggers, slingers, crane operators, foremen, fork lift drivers, sub-contractors, vice presidents, rats, truck drivers and anyone else I need work from.
-- Bought a Bahamian cell phone for 45 bucks and kept the old Bahamian number I had when the local agent tried to rent me the same phone for 50 bucks a week AND I would have had to change my number.
-- Bouced a dozen mini-super balls off of, into and all around a large steel dry dock.

And I'm spent. Hope everyone who reads this is doing well and cutting me slack on spelling, grammar and class. Cause we all know I'm in a class all by myself. . . so quite asking if you can cut into my one-man line.

To shower
To bed
To do it all again



I just read a little bit of what I posted the other night. Scared myself by realizing that I wasn't even drinking for that one. Guess I really was that tired. Well I won't make the same mistake tonight. Work is going well and I'll be ready for the next job that starts on Sunday but it's amazing the amount of work I need to do before then. I keep justifying these long work hours to myself by citing that I must be one of the only men for the job due to my lack of house, family, dog, compost pile, hobbies and social life. . . but then a small part of me realizes what I just wrote and that it ain't quite right.

I'm very curious to know exactly how many hours I really should put on the clock each week. (And who made this magic clock that we all use to gauge our time?) And that being written, it's past my bedtime again.

Good night, and don't let the bed bugs bite because if you let them get away with it once there really is no stopping the little buggers.


One Down, One Falling and One at the Ledge

Well, here I am. . . in Freeport. . . again. I spent all of February here on a single job and now I'm spending all of November here, but now I have three jobs. I initially thought the Monarch of the Seas was only coming in for a shave and a hair cut (i.e. hull prep and paint with other minor works being done) but a 1.8 million dollar refurbishment package destroyed any hope I had of an easy dry dock. Thinking about it now, I guess it would have been easy (relatively) if it hadn't been for the Sovereign of the Seas coming in on the third day of the Monarch dry dock. And I guess even those two wouldn't have been so bad if I wasn't having to run around chasing shipments for the third job of the month which is the Celebrity Infinity dry dock.

But, as usual, I regress. I suppose I could digress but that would merely imply that I recognized my aggression and was stubborn enough to merely digress rather than regress. The world's a dress. (And if you can tell me what song the last sentence is from then I greatly admire your musical choices. . . and there might be points for you.)

Anywho, by now you've probably found typos, hippos and other general poes in this little opus. Even though it's before midnight and I slept in this morning (8am BABY) I still find my eyelids to be mysteriously heavy. . . hence the hippos I guess. There's not enough hours in the day to do every little thing that my employers wish for me to do and there's certainly not enough motivation for me to master the manipulation of time in order to create enuf time for me to do more work.

So, with hurricane Palona we're getting some cool weather here on Grand Bahama Island. Makes all the difference in the world. This may be rambling a little more than I ever thought I could but would that I could then I would yest I would. Making up words, it's on my list of things I enjoy. Lifivious. Yest it twer lifivious. I should start a cult. . . I bet I'd be good at is.