(Stay) Out Of My Way

Human beings, who are almost unique in having the ability to learn from the experience of others, are also remarkable for their apparent disinclination to do so. Douglas Adams

[Editor’s Note: First offered two years ago.]
{Author’s Note: This is the Intertunnel. An Intertunnel Year is seven dog years. So this item is ninety-eight years old. We can re-run it. No one remembers nuffin’ anyway. And there is no editor.}

I found out something fascinating yesterday. You can be educated, by the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, for free.

No, I don’t mean the rheotorical you; I mean you. And me. Anybody.

Well not anybody, of course, because not everybody is educable. But there are no entrance requirements, no interview, nothing; they just put the curriculum up on the Internet and let you use it. As Lawrence of Arabia says to Ali, pointing across the trackless waste of the Nefu desert towards Aqaba: “It’s just a matter of going.” Simple, really.

Indeed. Now, you’re not going to get to ask anybody any questions, get help from your peers, go to any keg parties, or clap any erasers for brownie points or anything. The stuff is just laying around there. You’ve got to do something with it, no one’s going to show you the way.

Experience is a dear teacher, but fools will learn at no other. Ben Franklin

Now, if you know the vernacular of the 1700s, you’d know that “dear” means “expensive” or “difficult” in that aphorism. And Ben knew what he was talking about, because he was talking about himself, really. He’s one of a long list of people that taught themselves what they wanted or needed to know. Like most autodidacts, he knew amazing and voluminous amounts of things, but there were large gaps in his learning. This is the danger in not having a curriculum set out for you.

I’ve never been able to learn things properly. I always just wanted to be left alone in the library with the information that interested me. But you’ll notice that Ben Franklin didn’t espouse his method of learning, and neither will I. It’s a self-selecting cadre I inhabit, and if you join because you think it’s sexy, you’ll likely make a mess of your life. Try going into IBM and telling them you know the things an MIT education encompasses, but you have no credentials to prove it. The tests you didn’t take online aren’t in the Human Resources person’s desk, either. Grab a broom.

The only real way to learn anything in this world is to do it alongside someone that knows what they are talking about. But the person that knows what he’s talking about is a rare thing, and rarer still is that person that will help you. They’re busy. But sometimes they write it down. And you can learn it from them, even if they’re halfway across the planet, or dead as a Pharoah.

People drop out of college now, and say: “Bill Gates dropped out of college, and he’s rich. No problem.” Believe me, you’re not Bill Gates. If you were, you wouldn’t be looking around to see what other people were doing, and mimicking their approach. Being an autodidact is a force-play. You run to second base on a ground ball or you’re out. There’s no deciding in it. You are or you ain’t. Bill Gates and his ilk stole second and third and home, and you’re still trying to bunt.

A sympathetic Scot summed it all up very neatly in the remark, “You should make a point of trying every experience once, excepting incest and folk dancing.” Sir Arnold Bax

Regular people make the world go round. By definition, most people are regular people. But if it’s enough for you to have the stuff in your head, because you can use it, and know how to pan through the whole placer to find the glittering dust that’s there in the ore, it’s there now.

It’s just a matter of going.

Are You Popular?

I watched the entire video, and I’ve only come up with one observation about the late forties: It’s just like now, of course; but altogether more poorly wallpapered.

They Didn’t Vote For Summer

My older boy is in Junior High School.

He is sophisticated enough now to occasionally be inscrutable to his father. He can’t keep it up for very long, and under hard questioning you can always figure out what’s up. I think. But he really does keep his own counsel from time to time. It’s interesting to see a person develop out of the unthrown pot of childhood.

He goes to regular school. He participates in most everything, but he has no monomania. You can already see the kids who won’t do anything but play sports until they’re adults and will then spend the rest of their lives telling everybody that they used to play sports. The busybody girls already exist. Geeks, joiners, loners, emo kids, jocks, princesses and so forth are already are forming in the little larvae.

My boy isn’t any of those things. He drifts among them all, it seems to me, and is friend to all, or at least all the kids that aren’t entirely meatheads.

You make people, and then you raise them, and you’re still in a sort of wonder at how they turn out. In general, whenever the kids are charming I see my wife in there somewhere, and when they blot their copybook it’s all me. I’m not sure if that’s human nature or the opposite of human nature on my part but it’s the truth.

If I put on my human nature cap, and use it to figure out what happened yesterday based on sketchy information, here’s what happened to my boy:

The teacher was looking for someone cooperative enough to lose the Class President election to whatever monomaniac girl was running unopposed in it.

My boy don’t care and he won anyway.

I (Still) Wanna Be Nefarious


Someday I’m going to be really rich… an OVERLORD! Yeah, that’s the ticket. An EVIL overlord at that. Plottin’ and schemin’ and living in a fortress of solitude or sostenudo or whatever the hell you call that cave with all the computers that evil dudes keep in the Arctic Circle or wherever they are where’s it’s all ice outside but nice and comfy in the cave. And I’m going to have a heliport so I can flit all over the globe at a moment’s notice, doin’ evil and whatnot.

And I’ll have a phalanx of leggy supermodels with guns with elaborate pointing devices involved, yeah… both the guns AND the women will have elaborate pointing devices! And lasers. Gotta have lasers. And nunchucks. Like Ghaddafi, but I don’t wanna write right to left. What am I, Da Vinci?

And with all the money I get from all that evil –evil pays good doesn’t it? I don’t really know… I guess it does; but they all seem to be evil for the love of it anyway, but maybe they invest wisely and just do the evil as a sort of hobby — I dunno–anyway, with all the evil money I get from all my evil…

Strike that! — I wanna be nefarious. Nefarious sounds so much cooler than just evil. Can you imagine calling a good restaurant and tellin’ them you’re coming on down and you’re freaking nefarious? Huh? Oh man, they’d tell the lame evil people they’d have to move them to another table even though they’re halfway through an arugula salad with balsamic and shaved cheese and they’d put me right down front and the evil guy’s dates would nudge their elbow and say: “How come you don’t lay a beatdown or a fatwa or whatever on that guy if you’re so evil?” And they’d just fidget in their chair and look shifty and mutter:” No way… that guy’s nefarious!” And then his chick would slip me her number when they slink out after the fish course and she’d be all wanting to join my cadre or army or gang or whatever, as long as it’s nefarious and not just evil. And if she’s hot and looks like Emma Peel in one of those good Avengers episodes with not so much of the fruity dude with the brolly and a whole lot of Emma Peel in a leather jumpsuit it’s welcome aboard, baby!

Anyway, with all my nefarious evil ill-gotten gains I’m gonna hire this guy to walk around behind me playin’ this all the live-long day while I’m nefariating all evil-like:

I’m warning you: If you try to tip him or call him over to your table and ask for Besame Mucho or something I’m going to have to get medieval on you.

The Tell-Tale Lie

I need to be a little bit tedious here for a moment.

No, really; more than usual. It’s because you have to grasp the enormity of this foolishness first. So here goes:

I’ve worked every kind of construction there is. Commercial construction, residential construction. I’ve painted the inside of a doghouse, and I’ve built football stadiums. Rough arts? Check. I’ve painted murals and wallpapered, too, so it’s not just the barbarian arts I’m talking about. I’ve worked alongside many a homeowner, and at their direction in their occupied homes, as well as out in the field where no end user comes.

I’ve worked on single family homes a lot. Duplexes? Sure. Multi-family? Check. Condos? Absolutely. Big ol’ apartment buildings? Of course. Call them what you like –whip out your PUD. I’ve already seen it.

I’ve cleared the land. Dug the hole. Stacked the blocks. Poured the chowder. I’ve stuck a spud into the steel. Welded? Name your metal. Hell, I’ve paved the street. Put in the sewer and the drainage.

Office buildings? Yeah. Hotels? Yeah. Getaway cabins? Sure. Mansions? Absolutely. McMansions? I guess.

Exurb, suburb, city, village, town, township, outpost. Atlantic? Pacific? Great Lakes? Pah. Done.

I’ve screamed into the phone and the ear and the air alike. Worked alone. Directed hundreds.

I’ve drawn the plans. Applied for the permits. Put in Environmental Remediation. Sat in interminable meeting for the privilege of being yelled at before being denied and approved alike.

I’ve worked on houses where the owners showed me where their ancestors hid during King Phillip’s War. I’ve worked on houses that had graywater recovery and passive solar.

Railroad, Colonial, Adam, Georgian, Second Empire, Stick, Eastlake, Colonial Revival, Tudor, Queen Anne, Ranch, Prairie… this is getting tedious. If I can think of a kind of house I’ve had nothing to do with I’ll mention it. Ummm……

People? Black, white, brown — all the hues of the rainbow and the UN combined. Disfigured or whole, ancient or young, from every continent. Well, maybe not Antarctica. I’ve worked with every race, color, and creed. Gay, straight, and just plain strange. Men, women, boys, girls. Disabled people I couldn’t keep up with, and able-bodied lazy people. Everybody.

I’ve worked for customers so imperious that they wouldn’t allow us to drink from their garden hose while we were working. Outside. In August. In Massachusetts. Some people, conversely, would set a place for us at their table if we were in their house at dinnertime.

In short, I’ve done every single thing I can think of in construction at one time or another, by and for every sort of person– short of scouring other galaxies for odditities — in every sort of setting you could conjure up, and for every sort of customer you can imagine.

I’ve seen most all the Do It Yourself kinds of shows now. And I can tell you, without fear of contradiction, that in the hundreds of thousands of hours I’ve worked, and during the gazillion man-hours of other people’s work I have observed, not one, single, solitary human being in the real construction world has every given any other person a “high-five” before, during, or after the job. It has literally never happened in my presence.

I don’t know what you people are watching, but it ain’t work.

Month: September 2008

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