Small Doings at the College

There was a little bit of excitement here. I embed a video of an electrical fire that we had. An outside drain is kept free flowing during the winter with electrical heat tape. The insulation  deteriorated, and a short developed, resulting in a fire. When I opened up the studio this morning, I noticed a funny sound, and at first thought some stupid person had fallen into the dumpster and was rather nonchalantly pounding out their distress. No, it was a short in the sewer. Was I in danger filming it? Nah, I don’t think so: 

Also, a student’s clay piece, not yet bisqued, and therefore ready to be knocked over and broken, was knocked over and broken. One of the night maintenance people did this. They left a note of apology and explanation. One of my student aides read the note, and mocked the poor syntax and broken English. 

My response to her was, “Hey! HEY! Can you speak two languages? NO? You can barely write in the one. I’ve seen your phone text messages to your friends. So. Yeah. Shut up.”

Actually, the apology and explanation, from Attie the Custodian is, after a measured reread, fucking poetry, and I now share it with you:

"It's broken, when I was trying to move.

Clean on blackboard.

It was fresh, maybe.

I didn't think to broke.

It was an accident.

Sorry this inconvenient.

Or matter.

                                                                                             -- Attie, Custodian"

Poesy in prose. Fucking great. Interesting how fluency in a different language so often does that. Or even translating from one language to another can do that.

And... I cleaned up the Rockwell Delta 14" metal cutting bandsaw which probably dates back to the 16th century. BC. And has an agglomeration of metal shavings and bits and pieces to prove it, because those accumulated detritus was actually slowing the saw down!

I fed the monkeys and birds that operate it, the ones that were still alive, and threw away the mummified remains of the ones that didn't make it, plus all their shit (being careful not to breathe the dried feces lest I get a brain worm, like you do with raccoon feces).

You know, we all vastly overestimate our abilities. Some call it hubris. I call it delusion.

But you know, reading through this, I got a strong sense of deja vu, as if I had written this up before. Going back and reading some of journal entries, I can testify to the fact that I am able to crack myself up.

So, at least I can entertain myself pretty well.