Lee Newberry (![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} cloveralmighty) wrote,@ 2008-09-08 08:39:00 |
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An example of my strange and wonderful life.
I wrote this four nights ago.
"So how was your evening?"
"Well. First I went out to the site where we burned the man. The chain of logic went like this: We've got a large office trailer that's way past its prime and needs getting rid of. So we strip it out, haul it to to man site and fill it with sawdust and gasoline. We've also got a twenty foot cubed wooden truss we're not using anymore, so that goes on top of the trailer. Then we've got a chopped up cadillac that has given us years of service and won't start anymore, so we decide to give it a viking burial by fitting it with gallons of fuel, strapping a voodoo test dummy in the front seat, and hoisting it by a crane one hundred feet above the trailer. A forklift picks up a pallet of burning barrels and places it on top of the trailer. We all stand back and someone pulls the quick release on the cadillac, dropping it straight through the truss, the barrels and into the trailer.
All the fuel goes up in a great FOOOM and the place gets really hot. As we stand around the bonfire, hands shielding our eyebrows from the searing heat, we realize the pyro team left fireworks and propane bottles scattered throughout the trailer; they go off at random intervals. Good times.
Awhile later, when the fire is dying down a bit, someone decides to revitalize it by pointing another broken down cadillac at the flames and stuffing a brick on the pedal. The car coughs and whines as the engine tries valiantly to burn and run at the same time. Cadillacs burn real pretty, but the giant black smoke plume lets us know we're being naughty.
At this point a couple of jackasses decide to throw a couch in. For some reason I decide to stop them, partially because we collectively decided to stop burning couches a few years back and partially because I'm feeling ornery. My crewmates indignantly tear off the cushions and throw those in and a few of us settle in the remains to watch the burn.
After the fire dies down and the dilapidated couch completely buckles on us, we bounce around what's left of the city, looking for another fire and some company. Along the way I discover one of my crewmates is a fellow sailor and chantyman.
We find what we're looking for at the heavy equipment yard and join several crewmates gathered on couches around a burn platform. It's a very chill scene under the cranes and lifts with an accordion band tooling away in the background. Within minutes, we've started a full-on chanty sing that lasts a full hour in spite of only three of us knowing any songs. As we sing the party slowly peters off and we turn in around 1:30am. I walk home full of human warmth and light."
I love this place.
I wrote this four nights ago.
"So how was your evening?"
"Well. First I went out to the site where we burned the man. The chain of logic went like this: We've got a large office trailer that's way past its prime and needs getting rid of. So we strip it out, haul it to to man site and fill it with sawdust and gasoline. We've also got a twenty foot cubed wooden truss we're not using anymore, so that goes on top of the trailer. Then we've got a chopped up cadillac that has given us years of service and won't start anymore, so we decide to give it a viking burial by fitting it with gallons of fuel, strapping a voodoo test dummy in the front seat, and hoisting it by a crane one hundred feet above the trailer. A forklift picks up a pallet of burning barrels and places it on top of the trailer. We all stand back and someone pulls the quick release on the cadillac, dropping it straight through the truss, the barrels and into the trailer.
All the fuel goes up in a great FOOOM and the place gets really hot. As we stand around the bonfire, hands shielding our eyebrows from the searing heat, we realize the pyro team left fireworks and propane bottles scattered throughout the trailer; they go off at random intervals. Good times.
Awhile later, when the fire is dying down a bit, someone decides to revitalize it by pointing another broken down cadillac at the flames and stuffing a brick on the pedal. The car coughs and whines as the engine tries valiantly to burn and run at the same time. Cadillacs burn real pretty, but the giant black smoke plume lets us know we're being naughty.
At this point a couple of jackasses decide to throw a couch in. For some reason I decide to stop them, partially because we collectively decided to stop burning couches a few years back and partially because I'm feeling ornery. My crewmates indignantly tear off the cushions and throw those in and a few of us settle in the remains to watch the burn.
After the fire dies down and the dilapidated couch completely buckles on us, we bounce around what's left of the city, looking for another fire and some company. Along the way I discover one of my crewmates is a fellow sailor and chantyman.
We find what we're looking for at the heavy equipment yard and join several crewmates gathered on couches around a burn platform. It's a very chill scene under the cranes and lifts with an accordion band tooling away in the background. Within minutes, we've started a full-on chanty sing that lasts a full hour in spite of only three of us knowing any songs. As we sing the party slowly peters off and we turn in around 1:30am. I walk home full of human warmth and light."
I love this place.
