Secret construction.

So, what're we building?

Beats me. Well, were I to guess, I would say it's a hotel, and likely a Hampton Inn. Hamptons have that center pile and wings that jut forth from the rest of the builting. They're also usually four or five stories, tops. 

A Hampton with all the doodads on it.

When they were framing this I thought it might be a Home Depot. You couldn't guess by the signs. You still can't. Construction projects in America always used to have big signs with the art from the architectural firm showing the glorious new thing being built and cueing in the citizens to what wonders awaited. 

The project could be a skyscraper; could be a dam; could be a school.* Whatever it was, the sign was intended to promote the community's interest in it.

But on this project, as on most I see now, there's no signage telling you a damned thing. Well, maybe one of the contractors on the project will have put a sign on the fence -- a dirty sign, toted from job to job -- as a way of keeping the company name up:

And that's it. 

I have to think this is part of a growing trend in the last fifty years to object to anything being built, even if the local town or county legislature approved it. Like Rufus T. Firefly, whatever it is, we're against it. Factory? Pollution. Power plant? Environmental destruction. New housing? Brings in more of THOSE people. Shopping plaza? Death to local businesses. Prison? Not here, bub. Road? Noise and pollution. Dam? What about the red-striped pootwangle fish?

No one wants to live next to a prison, but as for the rest, this is not the attitude of a great nation. 

And it's often not too smart. The local government that got elected by promising jobs becomes accused of taking bribes when the ground is broken for factories or shops that provide those jobs. Maybe we'd all like it if the whole town could be completely supported by a Christmas tree farm and a family-owned beeswax candle shop, but that's not how money works. That's not how anything works.

So we feel betrayed, everyone gets mad, the project gets built anyway, and only the lawyers are happy in the end. 

And maybe Joe of Joe's Cement.

This, I think, is why we never see information about the exciting project on signage. The less information, the less chance people will find an excuse to hate it, and go grab torches and pitchforks and cause trouble. 

It's all quite exhausting. 

Meanwhile, I really hope that is a Hampton Inn and not a prison. 

------

* My high school was supposed to be a brand-new building, and had the signs to prove it. Then the city teetered on the brink of bankruptcy, and all building projects were stopped. We had to attend the old 1930's building, which was so overcrowded that the fire marshall probably turned white with fear if he ever peeked in. The new school opened the year after I graduated. It looked pretty much like the art on the signs. 

Wire we even trying?

If there's one thing that gives me a Not-Quite-Third-World-but-Possibly-Second feel, it's do-it-yourself public utility repair.

So, what have we here? We have a house that was just sold and is undergoing some reconstruction by various men in unmarked trucks and vans. The chain-link fence runs all around the property but for the gate at the driveway. And the big wire from the utility poles seems to have been dangling uncomfortably low. So, the boys took some 2x6s and made their own booster poles on either side of the gate.

I do applaud the desire to get things moving and not wait around for the bland bureaucracy of the power company to answer the call -- a call that would be appropriate, with the wire about seven feet above the pavement, but not one that would trigger an emergency response. 

I applaud also their use of wood instead of metal for the wire supports. (Although note the lampshade on the ground in the top photo -- they used a trashed lamp to secure the ersatz pole by tying it to the metal fence with the lamp's electrical cord, which is just a wee bit suspect.)

However, monkeying around with utility wires is not only dangerous on its own, it's also dangerous because if you black out the whole block, people are going to be angry. Which is why it's always best to leave it to the pros. 

The Third-World-or-Maybe-Second feel springs from the thought that the people doing this come from someplace where you never expect authority to answer a call within months, and if they do, they will require palms to be greased. Meanwhile, these guys got a house to demo and clear out and new walls to put up and paint, and they don't have time for this crap. They have to be able to get the trucks in and out today. 

They also might not have expected any response from a call to the utility company, because it would have gotten ignored back home. 

"I see no problem here."

Well, I went ahead and put in a call yesterday. You know me -- safety first. Unless it has to do with my own acrobatics -- walking down some stairs, crossing the ice, you know. Then it’s Safety? What’s that?

I will let you know how long it takes for the saggy wire to get fixed. I hope it's before the first ice storm of the winter. I'm sure the power company employees would much rather fix it now than fix it then. 

See something, say something.

When I was a tiny tot of three or four years, Mater gave me an object that quickly became precious to me, and in fact would dictate my calling in life. 

"Reginald," she said, "this is known as a See 'N Say. Take good care of it, my boy, and it shall take care of you."

Indeed, Mater was correct, as always. From the first moment I spun the dial and pulled the string on my new treasure, I knew I had found my calling in life. To see. And to say.

By the time I was a precocious lad of six, I had already embarked on my hero's journey. "Doctor," I recall saying to the family doctor on one visit, "that is a blood pressure machine."

"Why, yes it is," he replied. 

"It says 'pst pst pst psssssst.'"

"I believe so."

"And that is a digital thermometer. It says, 'Beep.'"

"It does that, yes."

"And that is a nurse. She says, 'If Dr. Son of a Bitch doesn't divorce his old lady like he said, I'm going over there and telling her everything!'"

"Erm... How much you want to keep that on the QT, kid?"

So you see, at a tender age my gift was paying dividends. In this case, five hundred dollars and a lollypop.

Later I had established my own business, C-Say Inc. On a typical day I might be asked to consult for, perhaps, a building foreman.

Moi: That's a construction worker.

Foreman: Yeah.

Moi: The construction worker says "#*$^!&#^@+)&!!!!"

Foreman: Okay.

Moi: And "Look out bel--"

CRASH

Too bad about that one; Foreman Pete was a friendly chap.

Ah, my brilliant career. A recent job involved an interesting character. I was asked to have a look at this fellow named Epstein and report on what he said. I did the first part of the assignment, but there was some acute unpleasantness, and to make a long story short, he died. In fact, the agent who hired me was reassigned to investigating parents at PTA meetings, so I was left without a contract. 

But one cannot merely see and not say when one is as dedicated as I. So I have decided to use this forum to say the many things I overheard from Mr. Epstein. They were most enlightening. First, he said that among the most enthusiastic guests he brought to his private Caribbean abode, he would have to number Mr. --

Excuse me, that's the doorbell. I shall be right back. 

Known for shoddy construction.

 

Old World craftsmanship.

I was looking through the Book of Esther in the Old Testament. Esther is a fascinating book, a story of a narrow brush with destruction for the Jewish people in exile, a history of the origin of the holiday Purim, and a story of how the courage and faithfulness of two normal people can make an enormous difference. It also shows some amazing carpentry work, if you ask me. 

If you're not familiar with the story, here's the setup: King Ahasuerus of Persia gets a new wife (well, a new #1 wife -- he had plenty) named Esther, whom he does not know is one of the many Jews living in the 127 provinces he controls. The king's top man, Haman, just despises the Jews, especially that old Mordecai who hangs around outside the palace. Haman decides he's going to kill all the Jewish people he can get to, and the date is set for a general massacre throughout the kingdom. 

There's a few things Haman doesn't know beyond the fact that the queen is a Jew. He doesn't know, for example, that Mordecai is Esther's cousin and foster father. He also doesn't seem to know that Mordecai saved King Ahasuerus's life by revealing a plot against him -- not that Mordecai ever got rewarded for it. Oy, such ingratitude! 

Haman's skipping along home, knowing that in a few months' time all the Jews in Persia will be massacred. He sees old Mordecai and thinks: I'm happy as a clam, but that guy burns my bacon! If only I could bump him off now! Haman's wife says, well, so what are you waiting for? Just go ahead and have the old man hanged. 

And here's where the carpentry comes in. 

Haman's wife tells him to build a gallows fifty cubits high, and then tomorrow tell his buddy the king he would like to have Mordecai hanged on it for all the world to see. Haman likes this idea fine, and orders the gallows built. So I asked myself, Self, how high is fifty cubits that the palace crew could knock this together overnight?

Merriam-Webster says a cubit is "any of various ancient units of length based on the length of the forearm from the elbow to the tip of the middle finger and usually equal to about 18 inches (46 centimeters)". So fifty cubits would be 900 inches, or 75 feet tall! You know how many things in an ancient city were seven stories tall? Maybe none. And yet by morning the staff has whacked the gallows together. 

Say what you will against royalty and the lack of rights for individuals, but they could get things done. In the modern era, Haman couldn't have even gotten the forms to fill out for a building permit as fast as it took these guys to shoot a gallows up. When it came to murder machines, they were raring to go! 

Now, one of the interesting bits about Esther's book is that God isn't not mentioned in it. Some Bible scholars and others dislike the book for that reason. And yet, the providence of God is evident. First, Mordecai and Esther fast in preparation for the dangerous act of asking the king a favor (to please not kill us all!), which shows they know they need God. Second, the king is having trouble sleeping -- maybe because some fools are hammering away on a building project all night long, who knows -- and decides that good, soothing reading would be to have his scribes "bring the book of records of the chronicles" and read to him. Maybe it was so dull that it would put anyone out. But what part do the scribes just happen to read that night? The part where Mordecai saves the king's life. The king realizes he never rewarded the Jewish man. He decides it's time to do something about that. Sounds like the hand of God was pointing to the page to me,

By the time Haman gets to the office the next day he is doomed, but he doesn't know it yet. Mordecai becomes a public hero, Esther makes a request of her husband, and guess who winds up hanging from the gallows? Yep, and for centuries "Haman's gallows" was a term either for a weapon that turns on its wielder or a catastrophic reversal of fortune.

Anyway, I was very impressed by the building skills alluded to in this story. I'm told that the author of the book of Esther may have telescoped events for dramatic effect, but I don't know. I'd prefer to think that those Persian carpenters (International Association of Death Machine Workers, Local شش هفت پنج) just knew how to get things done. You want to hang a guy? Such a gallows they'll build! One night, no waiting!