The Hive

I'm just another dude with too much time on his hands. It really doesn't have anything to do with ants.

Friday, November 18, 2005

Packin' my bags

And heading to Aruba for the next week+. I doubt whether the barbaristic practices of the Oranjestad Marriott will have changed in the two years since I've been there, so I probably won't have internet access during that time.

Aruba's a pretty interesting place: pretty much right off the coast of Venezuela, and unlike the rest of the Caribbean, it's all arid and totally not rainy. It's also only got like 100,000 people in an area of like.. well I dunno, 60 square miles or something, which is small enough to at least see pretty much the whole place in a single week. There's a pretty cool mix of Hispanic cultures with Dutch and Indian as well. The highlight of my first trip there was most definitely eating superb but modestly-priced Indian food and matching it with a crazy 11-ounce bottle of Heineken straight from Dutchland.

Anyway, I've got to pack up some more junk before heading to work. From there, I pick up Ken and drive to the Tri-Cities, where I should have roughly an hour to repack and get my car down to the snow tire place before we head to the airport and spend however long to fly all the way down there. It's a 3-4 hour time difference and probably three separate flights, so I bet we won't roll into Queen Beatrix Airport till about 10 AM tomorrow morning.

Thursday, November 10, 2005

Injury index

One of the many benefits to working with your hands all day, particularly around sharp-edged boxes (seriously, cut cardboard cuts YOU), box cutters, and jerry-rigged packing peanut hoppers with nails and wires sticking out of them is you accumulate a pretty nice collection of minor arm cuts and abrasions. For instance, right now I'm sporting the following:

- Modest cut on back of right hand from a concealed nail in the peanut hopper

- Couple small scrapes on back of right wrist, origin unknown

- Peeled skin on palm of right hand, too much jerking--no wait, this time it's from constructing odd-size boxes; part of our instructions in the building phase is to press down on a glued seam and rub until your hand gets friction-burned, which usually just results in pleasing exfoliation but occasionally causes a layer of dead skin

- Numerous bloodless scrapes up and down my inner wrists and forearms from carrying heavy boxes around. Could potentially be mistaken for old suicide tracks, but as they mostly run across the veins instead of alongside, it would either be a cry-for-help suicide or proof I'm stupid

My left hand seems completely unharmed at the moment, but that's no big surprise given I wear a single white goatskin glove at all times.

Friday, November 04, 2005

So guess who came in the other week?

I dare you. I could give you 6.5 billion guesses and you'd never get it.

Well, last Tuesday two Bikers for Christ rolled in and shipped some stuff to themselves over in Deadwood, South Dakota. And guess who one of them was? That's right, the dude who plays Wild Bill in the daily historical reenactment of Wild Bill getting shot by Jack McCall.

What with the show Deadwood totally ruling, I was honored to ship his packages.