We got back to the tree pile at around 5. It was beginning to get dark and it was raining pretty steadily, but I really wanted to give any stragglers a chance to join us. At that point we started getting text messages - Dave the Horrible asking if there'd be anything left burning by 6 (I said no, there wouldn't. We were wet and cold and the trees would burn at 5:30). Miss Tree informed someone that Sam had just agreed to haul the 7 trees she'd found and accumulated. Still, we were in no mood to wait until who knew when for more trees to arrive, plus, as Miss Tree and Sam are both fellow Cacaphonists, it was entirely possible that the trees would never show up. Nope, 5:30 was burn time, with whatever trees and spectators where on hand at that time.
I have this propane torch that I quite like. I bought it at Harbor Freight Tools, an establishment that is notorious for very inexpensive tools (most of which are made in China) that are not particularly durable. This torch runs on a small, camping style propane torch and is made for burning things on the ground, as it's shaped kind of like a cane. It's great for torching the heads of dandelions, decimating and and termite infestations, and, especially, starting fires. I've used this torch on numerous occasions to start campfires and fires in my backyard fire pit. It emits an impressive flame and a satisfying jet-engine roar. It's usually overkill for the uses I put it to, but the theatrics are half the fun.
So I brought my torch with me to Kelly Point to help get the pile of sodden trees going. It's worked for me many times in the past, helping to ignite things that were reluctant to burn. I had picked up a fresh tank of propane for it that afternoon, and was confident that we'd be able to use it to get a good bonfire burning. Wrong. This time, the torch was not overkill - we were going to need that kind of firepower to get the now soaking wet trees to do anything more than sit there and drip.But grace under pressure is not one of the hallmarks of a Harbor Freight tool. Simply put, the torch did not function. At all. And it was dark. And raining. Rich and I, being the old guys on duty, fiddled with it and futzed with it. there was much hissing and escapage of gas from the tank as we removed it from the torch and put it back on repeatedly. We were unaware that, at the first sign of torch failure, Alan decided to simply hold his lighter in one spot on the tree pile for as long as it took to get the thing blazing.
Right about the time Rich and I had decided to give up on the torch, the tree pile took off thanks to Alan's lighter. I was surprised by the sudden blaze since I didn't know that Alan had been attempting to get is started, and even more amazed that it had worked. So amazed and surprised was I that I didn't notice the fact that I was standing next to a rapidly expanding bonfire holding a hissing, leaking bottle of propane. Rich pointed this fact out to me and I quickly tossed the propane bottle aside without further incident.
Up next: Fireworks!
Friday, January 22, 2010
Monday, January 18, 2010
Yule Burn '10 - the continuing saga
So the location was selected and scouted. I wrote my report to Dave the Horrible, recommending Kelly Point as a viable spot to covert discarded holiday icons into waste heat. I figured at that point that my work was done - Dave would contact folks, point them to Kelly Point, give them pertinent instructions and my responsibility would be to simply show up with a tannenbaum and a lighter. Well, within days I started getting emails from people saying things like, "I'm told you're the guy to talk to about the Yule Burn". I... what? No, I just did recon. My work is done! But no, my work was not done.
Whether by intent, artifice, neglect or indifference, Dave the Horrible had set me up. The Yule Burn was to be my baby, and people already knew about it. Shit. by the time I realized this, I was less than a week away from a road trip to California, so if I was the guy that was going to make this happen, it would have to happen the following weekend or not at all. It was already nearly a week into January and people were recycling their trees at an alarming rate; each day that went by ate away at our fuel supply. So I got on the stick and started emailing people I thought might be interested. We'd previously agreed to keep any talk of the Yule Burn off the Cacophony Society discussion board since it's a well-known fact that local law enforcement and media types monitor the board for information about our various semi-legal activities.
Lots of offers for trees started springing up, but very few offers to schlep them. I own a small SUV that will hold 3 medium trees on top, so hauling a buttload of trees was not something I was going to be able to help with. I just kept forwarding the offers to the various people on the email list and hoped trees would meet trucks somehow. I had no idea if this event was going to take off, but I certainly wasn't going to stress about whether or not I would be successful in gathering a bunch of drunken pyros to light some trees on fire. This thing was going to happen or not, and apart from the "Butterfly Effect" there would be little net impact either way. I took my trip down to California giving the burn little thought
By the day of the event I had only 5 confirmed trees: my own, my friend Jason's, Jason's neighbor's (which I spotted while picking up Jason's tree), and 2 that Mackin had been carting around in the back of his van for who knows how long. Well, 5 reasonably dry Christmas trees could still make a respectable conflagration, so I decided to push on with the event. I paid a quick recon visit to Kelly Point just to make sure there was no better way to get to the beach than the one I'd already scouted. Nope, the 400 yard path was it. So I posted one final email to anybody who had expressed interest, hit up some Facebook friends, and hoped it would all come together.
Rain is a fact of life in Portland, especially in the dead of winter. If you live in Portland and you don't like going anywhere in the rain, you don't go anywhere for 9 months out of the year. That said, last year's burn took place on a gloriously clear, dry day, and everyone involved was able to stand around admiring the pyre without getting soaked. This year we experienced typically wet (if atypically warm-ish) conditions. It was raining when the first of us arrived at Kelly Point at 4pm. It continued raining as other folks started arriving. It rained harder while we dragged the trees to the beach, and harder still as we piled them up amid the ruins of an old dock that had washed ashore.
We had decided we would light the fire at 5:30, just after dark. I had announced that time to a few stragglers via text message, so I felt bound to stick by it. Still, by the time we'd gotten our 5 trees stacked and ready to go it was only about 4:40 (4:20 having already been recognized, with due ceremony) and it was, as I may have mentioned, raining. I remembered (or thought I did) a covered picnic area a little further up the main trail and suggested to the rag-tag bunch that had accumulated so far (maybe 6 of us) that we go there to get out of the rain until more guests (and hopefully more trees) showed up. so we trekked down the trail in search of the picnic shelter which, as it turned out, did not appear to exist. Whether I had seen it in a fever dream or another park or it had burned to the ground leaving absolutely no trace, there was no covered picnic area to be found. We had walked for at least 3/4 of a mile in the rain, looking for a place to get out of the rain. I eventually had to admit my error and suggested we turn back to wait for the stragglers by the pile of trees, where they could find us. All agreed (and, to their credit, nobody threw anything at me) and we headed back to the beach.
Next: Torch Troubles.
Whether by intent, artifice, neglect or indifference, Dave the Horrible had set me up. The Yule Burn was to be my baby, and people already knew about it. Shit. by the time I realized this, I was less than a week away from a road trip to California, so if I was the guy that was going to make this happen, it would have to happen the following weekend or not at all. It was already nearly a week into January and people were recycling their trees at an alarming rate; each day that went by ate away at our fuel supply. So I got on the stick and started emailing people I thought might be interested. We'd previously agreed to keep any talk of the Yule Burn off the Cacophony Society discussion board since it's a well-known fact that local law enforcement and media types monitor the board for information about our various semi-legal activities.
Lots of offers for trees started springing up, but very few offers to schlep them. I own a small SUV that will hold 3 medium trees on top, so hauling a buttload of trees was not something I was going to be able to help with. I just kept forwarding the offers to the various people on the email list and hoped trees would meet trucks somehow. I had no idea if this event was going to take off, but I certainly wasn't going to stress about whether or not I would be successful in gathering a bunch of drunken pyros to light some trees on fire. This thing was going to happen or not, and apart from the "Butterfly Effect" there would be little net impact either way. I took my trip down to California giving the burn little thought
By the day of the event I had only 5 confirmed trees: my own, my friend Jason's, Jason's neighbor's (which I spotted while picking up Jason's tree), and 2 that Mackin had been carting around in the back of his van for who knows how long. Well, 5 reasonably dry Christmas trees could still make a respectable conflagration, so I decided to push on with the event. I paid a quick recon visit to Kelly Point just to make sure there was no better way to get to the beach than the one I'd already scouted. Nope, the 400 yard path was it. So I posted one final email to anybody who had expressed interest, hit up some Facebook friends, and hoped it would all come together.
Rain is a fact of life in Portland, especially in the dead of winter. If you live in Portland and you don't like going anywhere in the rain, you don't go anywhere for 9 months out of the year. That said, last year's burn took place on a gloriously clear, dry day, and everyone involved was able to stand around admiring the pyre without getting soaked. This year we experienced typically wet (if atypically warm-ish) conditions. It was raining when the first of us arrived at Kelly Point at 4pm. It continued raining as other folks started arriving. It rained harder while we dragged the trees to the beach, and harder still as we piled them up amid the ruins of an old dock that had washed ashore.
We had decided we would light the fire at 5:30, just after dark. I had announced that time to a few stragglers via text message, so I felt bound to stick by it. Still, by the time we'd gotten our 5 trees stacked and ready to go it was only about 4:40 (4:20 having already been recognized, with due ceremony) and it was, as I may have mentioned, raining. I remembered (or thought I did) a covered picnic area a little further up the main trail and suggested to the rag-tag bunch that had accumulated so far (maybe 6 of us) that we go there to get out of the rain until more guests (and hopefully more trees) showed up. so we trekked down the trail in search of the picnic shelter which, as it turned out, did not appear to exist. Whether I had seen it in a fever dream or another park or it had burned to the ground leaving absolutely no trace, there was no covered picnic area to be found. We had walked for at least 3/4 of a mile in the rain, looking for a place to get out of the rain. I eventually had to admit my error and suggested we turn back to wait for the stragglers by the pile of trees, where they could find us. All agreed (and, to their credit, nobody threw anything at me) and we headed back to the beach.
Next: Torch Troubles.
Yule Burn '10
Over the past couple of weeks I've helped to "organize" this year's offering of what is becoming an annual event - The Yule Burn. This is simply a gathering of people, discarded Christmas trees and fire. Last year a fellow Cacophonist brought it together at the old abandoned factory below the University of Portland. This terrific spot had a kind of "Scooby Doo" creepiness to it, what with all the gutted buildings and atmospheric darkness. There was a semi-square of concrete traffic barriers set up that created a perfect fir pit, and you could drive right up to it to dump your trees. We ended up with about 35 trees, which made for a spectacular burn. Flames shot 50 feet in the air and the heat was intense.
This year we were all afraid that there wouldn't be a burn, since the U.P. had the old factory torn down and the area fenced off. Then, a few weeks ago, Dave the Horrible sent out an email asking a select few of us miscellaneous Cacophonists, culture jammers and creative miscreants if we had any interest in reviving the burn this year. We were, but nobody knew where we might hold such an event, given the incendiary nature of our little gathering.
Because I have a small speedboat, I have spent no small amount of time cruising the rivers around Portland, and I have visited Kelly Point Park on numerous occasions. Kelly Point is at the confluence of the Willamette and Columbia rivers, and about as far out on the edge of the city limits as you can get. Back in the day it was proposed as a possible site for the city that would become Portland, but it proved to flood-prone to be viable. That end of the North Portland Peninsula is home to all of the Port of Portland shipping terminals. The park has numerous wide, sandy beaches and, due to its remoteness, is sparsely visited. It also doesn't get locked at night anymore (perhaps due to budgetary constraints), all of which makes it an ideal place to hold a semi-legal bonfire.
So last week I popped out to Kelly Point on a Sunday night, just to make sure they still left the gates open at night. Sure enough, it was unlocked and empty at 9:30 pm. Perfect, except for the fact that there's no way to pull a car onto or even near any of the beaches. The closest parking lot still left us with about a 400 yard schlep to the beach, which can seem pretty long when you're dragging a dead tree behind you. Oh well - we have been known to go to a lot of trouble for an opportunity to do something stupid - a schlep is something we can handle for a few laughs.
Coming up: FIRE!
This year we were all afraid that there wouldn't be a burn, since the U.P. had the old factory torn down and the area fenced off. Then, a few weeks ago, Dave the Horrible sent out an email asking a select few of us miscellaneous Cacophonists, culture jammers and creative miscreants if we had any interest in reviving the burn this year. We were, but nobody knew where we might hold such an event, given the incendiary nature of our little gathering.
Because I have a small speedboat, I have spent no small amount of time cruising the rivers around Portland, and I have visited Kelly Point Park on numerous occasions. Kelly Point is at the confluence of the Willamette and Columbia rivers, and about as far out on the edge of the city limits as you can get. Back in the day it was proposed as a possible site for the city that would become Portland, but it proved to flood-prone to be viable. That end of the North Portland Peninsula is home to all of the Port of Portland shipping terminals. The park has numerous wide, sandy beaches and, due to its remoteness, is sparsely visited. It also doesn't get locked at night anymore (perhaps due to budgetary constraints), all of which makes it an ideal place to hold a semi-legal bonfire.
So last week I popped out to Kelly Point on a Sunday night, just to make sure they still left the gates open at night. Sure enough, it was unlocked and empty at 9:30 pm. Perfect, except for the fact that there's no way to pull a car onto or even near any of the beaches. The closest parking lot still left us with about a 400 yard schlep to the beach, which can seem pretty long when you're dragging a dead tree behind you. Oh well - we have been known to go to a lot of trouble for an opportunity to do something stupid - a schlep is something we can handle for a few laughs.
Coming up: FIRE!
Friday, January 15, 2010
Blogging for Sanity
I don't really remember why I started this blog. I guess it had to do with the fact that everybody was doing it and blogging had somehow begun to seem necessary. It didn't matter that I had nothing of value to say - blogging is just what people do, you know? Well, it should be obvious from the lack of posts over the past, what, year? that I really don't have much to say. Not that anyone else would be interested in, anyway.
And yet, here I am. I really need to write, and I need to stop worrying about whether anybody is interested or even reads what I write. I need to express myself so that I don't lose the ability to express myself.
I used to pride myself on my vocabulary, and on my ability to communicate clearly. Well, use it or lose it - I've noticed over the years that I'm slipping with regards to my communications skills. I don't read as much as I used to. I hardly write at all, except for quick emails or text messages. My eloquence is fading. Never mind that concise, thoughtful communication in our society is going the way of the steam locomotive; it's still important to me to be able to express a thought that is clear, creative, to-the-point and worth the time spent committing it to paper (well, to pixels at least - my ability to actually write anything by hand is almost completely gone, perhaps irretrievably so).
It doesn't help that I work for someone who, in addition to his numerous other shortcomings, believes himself to be a far better communicator than he really is. There was a time when my employers would ask me to write things for them and praise me for my impressive vocabulary, my easy way with difficult concepts, my friendly, conversational tone. When I started my current job six years ago I was stunned when my boss told me that I needed to work on my communications skills, and I took the comment very personally. I've had a long time to process this comment, and I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that it's not me, it's him. I think that, deep down, my boss is just a frustrated editor, unable to write anything himself, but equally unable to let others' work go untouched. He will regularly ask me to write something, then proceed to completely vivisect it as I stand watching. The end result is never better than my first draft and is, more often than not, less clear, longer and awkwardly disjointed. Still, he just can't leave anything alone.
Constantly having my writing second-guessed has quashed any confidence I had in my abilities. I don't try as hard to come up with a clever turn of phrase or succinct description., since I know it's going to get butchered anyway. I'd love to have the time and dedication to write creatively, for my own purposes, but the stress of my job and of day to day life just don't leave me with enough energy be creative. Yes, it's sad, but it is what it is. Someday perhaps I'll be able to finish my screenplay about shanghaied sailors in 1890s Portland, or flesh out my idea for an operetta based on the music of The Decemberists. Right now I just don't have it in me.
And so back to blogging. By sitting here, kvetching about the atrophy of my writing skills, I have actually used those old muscles, if only for a few minutes. If I were to do this a couple of times a week, I might forestall literary senility. I might be able to maintain just enough intellectual acuity to be able to do some serious writing someday when I have that kind of time and focus. If nothing else, at least at my next job I'll be able to write the way I used to.
And yet, here I am. I really need to write, and I need to stop worrying about whether anybody is interested or even reads what I write. I need to express myself so that I don't lose the ability to express myself.
I used to pride myself on my vocabulary, and on my ability to communicate clearly. Well, use it or lose it - I've noticed over the years that I'm slipping with regards to my communications skills. I don't read as much as I used to. I hardly write at all, except for quick emails or text messages. My eloquence is fading. Never mind that concise, thoughtful communication in our society is going the way of the steam locomotive; it's still important to me to be able to express a thought that is clear, creative, to-the-point and worth the time spent committing it to paper (well, to pixels at least - my ability to actually write anything by hand is almost completely gone, perhaps irretrievably so).
It doesn't help that I work for someone who, in addition to his numerous other shortcomings, believes himself to be a far better communicator than he really is. There was a time when my employers would ask me to write things for them and praise me for my impressive vocabulary, my easy way with difficult concepts, my friendly, conversational tone. When I started my current job six years ago I was stunned when my boss told me that I needed to work on my communications skills, and I took the comment very personally. I've had a long time to process this comment, and I'm finally coming to terms with the fact that it's not me, it's him. I think that, deep down, my boss is just a frustrated editor, unable to write anything himself, but equally unable to let others' work go untouched. He will regularly ask me to write something, then proceed to completely vivisect it as I stand watching. The end result is never better than my first draft and is, more often than not, less clear, longer and awkwardly disjointed. Still, he just can't leave anything alone.
Constantly having my writing second-guessed has quashed any confidence I had in my abilities. I don't try as hard to come up with a clever turn of phrase or succinct description., since I know it's going to get butchered anyway. I'd love to have the time and dedication to write creatively, for my own purposes, but the stress of my job and of day to day life just don't leave me with enough energy be creative. Yes, it's sad, but it is what it is. Someday perhaps I'll be able to finish my screenplay about shanghaied sailors in 1890s Portland, or flesh out my idea for an operetta based on the music of The Decemberists. Right now I just don't have it in me.
And so back to blogging. By sitting here, kvetching about the atrophy of my writing skills, I have actually used those old muscles, if only for a few minutes. If I were to do this a couple of times a week, I might forestall literary senility. I might be able to maintain just enough intellectual acuity to be able to do some serious writing someday when I have that kind of time and focus. If nothing else, at least at my next job I'll be able to write the way I used to.
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