A Big Work Area

One of the more inconvenient things in my life of renting apartments was the lack of workspace. I don’t mean for this to be an excuse for my lack of creation over all of those years, as I am sure that millions of the world’s best inventions were born out of broom closets or studio apartments. But I’m not in the “have one of the world’s best ideas” line – I need workspace.
As you may recall, I recently finished my greenhouse. Today, I built an 8’ x 3’ workbench in it, with a ¾” plywood top. It’s magnificent. Hell, it’s a bed!
I have left over lumber and that one-foot wide strip of plywood, so after I pick up a bit more hardware, I’ll build a shelf up above it, too. But for now, I’ll let the deck stain cure and then I’ll add coat after coat of polyurethane until it looks just right.
Note what I, your gracious storyteller, am doing here: I’m practicing a lesson that I have learned from my time in This Damn House. Sure plywood isn’t the most attractive stuff in the world, but why should I throw a few coats of paint on it right away? Let the wood show through and collect those dings and scratches that it should have. One can always add paint later on, but a surface can never go back to the way it was before that first drop of paint fell. Well, not without an infuriating amount of mind-numbing and finger-losing work. And – Sweet Jesus…that stucco wall haunts my dreams!!! – I don’t feel like doing that ever again.Now, what do I do on that big work area?

The Art of Stifling an Idea

The very first line of defense against ideas is you. Take this very story, for example. I had the idea for it many years ago, but fought my best to make sure nothing ever came of it. I would get the urge to write it down, but then would have a beer and forget all about it. Or clean the kitchen. Or decide that I really needed to watch a buddy comedy. But I'm out of beer, the store is closed, I just cleaned the kitchen and my cable is out. I am, now, defenseless. But no one man can stop ideas alone, try as we might. Ideas will always make it out of our brains sooner or later. So I'll leave it up to everyone else from here on out. I'll do my best to give you the tools necessary to stifle this idea.
To fortify our defenses, as a society, we must understand this terrible misnomer called a "good idea." Because it is perceived as good, it lulls us all into a positive mood. Like we can actually make things better if we nurture this idea and bring it to fruition. We'll start our journey here.
Let's get concrete. Reinvesting in America's ailing infrastructure is thought to be a good idea. How did this rotten notion make it out of someone's brain in the first place? How did it convince so many Americans to nurture it? And not just normal Americans, but business people and politicians – the very group that is designed especially to stifle ideas too! If we can understand this example, foolishness masquerading as "progress" – green energy, economic transparency, electric cars, metropolitan train systems, and universal health care – will definitely be able to be stopped before it can do any more damage.
A few years back, a 100 year old drain pipe, which was around four feet in diameter and carried millions of gallons of water away from the Philadelphia area every time it rained, burst. Roads buckled, of course, and houses collapsed due to the water washing away tons of dirt that had held up the surface of the city. Local citizens – panicked, I'm sure – yelled for reinvestment in the aging infrastructure. And there we see that emotions like panic, fear, or even love or some sense of entitlement, can break our normal strong internal defenses and let an idea escape.
I'm not here to pick on these poor bastards. I too have been afraid sometimes and had ideas escape me. Nobody is perfect.
How should have we responded as a society to ensure that this idea stopped right where it started? The answer is clear to us all, I'm sure, as we're sober and thinking in our right mind. The man whose house collapsed screamed "we need a new sewer" should have been reminded that he is but one man and who the hell does he think he is that he expects that his wishes and ideas can actually change anything? "I mean Jesus! Who do you think you are? There's a lot of other things going on in this world and you think you can make a difference? Think you can just lay a pipe like that [snap fingers]!" The man would have slunk away.
But this didn't happen. The local political system had an idea of its own.
This requires some examination. Notice that one idea getting out leads to other ideas finding their ways through the cracks. We'll deal with this aftermath next time…

A Need to Catch Up

The weather was beautiful on my recent trip to Ireland. I was standing outside of a pub called The Tara Arms in Tullow, talking as idly as possible to a lady who said "this is our Indian summer." Nice to know we've exported our racism along with our Hillbilly's Chicken. Is this really what people know of us overseas?

At the cost of a couple gallons gas, a pack of hot dogs, and a case of beer, I spent a wonderful evening last weekend around a campfire near a spring-fed pond. Good life can be so cheap. How is it that everyone is broke?

I've pulled all the plants from the garden and tilled everything into a picturesque scratching land, from the perspective of a chicken.

When did progress become a sign of weakness? The move to the suburbs was a movement of progress. Making those little pieces of paradise outside of the city carbon-neutral is socialism? Big inventions like the light bulb were progress. So using energy-saving light bulbs is left-wing nuttery? Oil is boring. Making wagers on the health of people is boring. War is boring. Where there hell are the flying cars that run on solar power? Where is the technology that lets me commute from Michigan to Paris in a few hours daily for pennies? Why do we kill off things that are new?

Come hell or high water, I'm finishing my greenhouse this weekend.

I spent a weekend in Washington D.C. with my parents. My father was meeting up with the survivors of Delta Company, Americal Division, 40 years after they went into Vietnam. The guy who, when he was 19, was the company commander for this bunch of one-time kids in the jungle, said "let's go to dinner." This statement made every man at the table jump up and move to the door without thought. Strong habit.

Congratulations, Mr. President, on your Nobel Peace Prize.