Under a bridge...

I just want to note for posterity, as I pass under the Chesapeake bridge for the first time ever in daylight...

Single-hulled tank barges flex waaaaaaaaaaaaayyyy too much. I feel like I'm on a trampoline, and I can SEE the hull torquing. Feels... well, it feels kinda unnerving.

That is all. Pictures, maybe, another time.

City of Brotherly Love? My ass.

Thought you should know. Many thanks to Bitter End for the chart.
























This is my new home away from home. Packed inside this little box is a bedroom, bathroom, office/living room and kitchen...And two human beings in constant battle to prevent mildew.









Abandoned collier dock... that's a coal-loading chute in the background.











At the same site. This skyscraper-sized monster is a coal loading derrick. When we dock under this rusty and rotten-looking bugger, I always wonder about the condition of the cables that hold the loading arm upright. I don't think anyone inspects abandoned collier rigs. For some reason, our bunkhouse is always directly under the loading arm. Kind of feels like I'm sleeping under a fire ax that's been duct-taped to the ceiling.











First off, this last week has seen some great traffic to my blog. Big thanks to everyone who posted a link, commented, and offered their support, prayers and well wishes.
See, this is why I believe in God. Now, an unusual number of people have been telling me that they're praying for me, for my family, or, barring that, they're being supportive with all the BS that happened. Now, I believe that God knows that I am not a man who wants charity or any sort of freebie. Here's how my own little wish list got granted.
Normally, in this new nearshore job of mine, I would be working 2 weeks on/2 weeks off. When I approached the crewing manager and asked for a little extra work, I knew that I was asking for some punishing hours. So it goes. The economy being what it is, there isn't a lot of extra work to be had in my company's fleet, and my position as the brandiest-newiest Tankerman PIC is a millstone. No seniority. BUT, I got lucky. My stars got aligned. God was looking out for me. My heart Chakra was aligned with... well, you get the idea. Anyhow, rather than going home and spenging money on beer and sundries, I'm working on an elderly barge for the next 2 weeks, until my regular rotation comes up again... my total time at work will be 6 weeks total. That's some long-ass work hours, and I'm sure that I'll be a little buggy when its' done, but it will allow me to close the door completely on the recent disasterous Bank of America debacle. The bad news is that I'm going to miss 3 MORE weeks with my family, and, as I haven't seen them in over a month already, that's a long friggin' time to be away.





Anyhow, my family is still stuck in Brazil, so I'd be home alone for a full week even if I did go home on time. Last time that happened, look at what was in my fridge! I am a total caveman.









Oh, and the title, if you're wondering? I discovered today that in Philadelpia, men's antiperspirant/deodorant comes with an extra sanitary seal. That is to say, there wasn't enough plastic wrap on regular new deodorant to prevent people from cracking open a new stick in the store, using it, and putting it back on the shelf. Ew. What the hell, man?

where the flavor is

Self-unloading bulk carrier- close up of the gantry.


Today I return to maritime-themed blogging after taking a break to deal with the Bank of America issue.

In the pictures below, you'll see some stuff. And things happened. Just look. You'll see. Nothing too exciting today, because 1) I just got woken up, and 2) because my camera is only listed as intrinsically safe under certain conditions... there are certain places where I can take pictures, and places where I can't.




Not that most people would, but this is for anyone wondering how ships are fueled. Here, MGO (diesel) is pumped aboard. Diesel is used for starting the main engine and a few other odds and ends aboard. Most of the time, the main engine runs on heavy fuel oil, a black tarry oil.









Meeting people from all over the world is what this job is all about. 25% of the world's seafarers are from the Philippines. They are often a friendly, warm bunch of people, and when more than two of them stand together, it is unusual not to hear laughter at some point.

I suppose that it's inevitable; things have a way of working, but whether or not they work out well is another matter.

Let me explain.

When I was younger, dumber, and full of piss and vinegar, there was a period where I thought I'd try my hand at being a policy analyst in fisheries management. Why, I have no idea; I am a doer, not a talker. I forsook (is that a word?) my background as a marine scientist, and started playing catch up in such horrible subjects as international law and public policy. This is where I reached the terminal phase of my formal education. I was well into in my mid-20's.
Because I'm a spaz, I audited some classes in grad school. Since I was hanging out with all the policy wonks, and the 'show me' attitude of a scientist doesn't work with the wink wink nudge nudge say no more crowd, I also sat in on a labor relations class. I figured what the hell, it might come in handy when dealing with groups such as fishermen.

I learned a lot, but none of it seemed to apply to my life.

One of the most interesting things I took from that class was the constant reliance on concepts developed in game theory. This is, if you don't know it, the stuff that John Nash (the guy played by Russell Crowe in the movie 'a beautiful mind") worked on. One of the most important concepts in labor relations is the art of compomise. John Nash was the one who proved mathematically that in a compromise, no one wins, but, to maximize gain in a group setting, one must work towards the goal of purely minimizing loss to individual members of the group.

Now, that was cold comfort today, but it did help with some decision-making.

By now, you know about my battle with Bank of America. Today my local branch manager called, and begged me to make this go away. She was authorized to offer me a dollar amount that equates to about 30% of what I lost last week in terms of cash laid out. It didn't account for pain and suffering, or any sort of emotional factor. It didn't even cover the new tickets I had to buy for my family's airfare.

I took their offer, simply because I don't think that I could do more without a protracted fight, and what's the point? Every day I deal with this shit is a day closer to my death. I'm not talking big bucks, and I'm not a man who likes to beat his head against a wall simply because it feels good to stop at the end.

Anyhow, the little bit of money that they offered me is enough to keep my wife and boy comfortable for the duration of their wait in Brazil, with enough left over to pay back most of the money I borrowed to cover my shortfalls in the ticket price. So, all's well, sort of.

Sigh. Anyhow, done is done. I am reminded of the short version of the caution against compromise. In making compromise, no one gets what they really want.

So it goes. I minimized loss, anyhow.

busy day

So, in between skimming the algae out of our drinking water tank, organizing the paint locker and, oh, yeah, delivering a cool million dollars' worth of oil today, I also did some pot-stirring regarding the Bank of Unmerica problem.

So far, my state senator's office has called me back (and promised to 'make phone calls if I so desire' (I said wait till Friday)), AAA has called back and said that they think that my story is an excellent cautionary tale for travel-planning tips for their fall "AAA Horizons newsletter," and consumerist.com has been an invaluable ally.

You know what I like the most about these groups? Even though I'm not one of their biggest customers, THEY ALL CALLED ME BACK! Unlike my bank, who apparently are all too busy picking their nose and foisting 'service fees' on struggling families to call back, say, one customer whose family got completely boned by their shameful version of customer service reps.
That is all. For now.

I see you!

According to my stats widget, someone from Bank Of America has visited me! I don't know who (damn vague widget), but there it is. I has arrived. I hope that my frustrated ramblings have separated me from the tides of humanity who probably call and complain that there isn't enough parking in the lot.

Anyhow, in case my visitor comes back, here's something for them to look at. The people involved.


This is my wife and son. These are the people you've left in harm's way, 5,215 miles from where they should be. This is why I keep calling, day after day. If you were responsible for these two, you'd do the same.

Now, thanks to Bank Of America's less-than-stellar customer support staff, what should have been a 15- minute inconvenience has turned into a 3 week trial across two continents. So, to my friendly visitor, I'm asking you to please take at look at their faces, and think of your own families. If your spouse and child were taken out of arm's reach, and your precious and VERY limited time together was lost forever, how would you react?








Better days. See? This is how it's supposed to be.

My wife's gonna kill me if she finds out I posted a picture of her without her makeup on. Shhh.

Gahhh!

Is anyone else disturbed and disgusted with all the hiney-licking going on in the vicinity of a famous dead pedophile's casket? Honestly, the body should be sold to science (or science fiction!), and the proceeds used to pay down the medical bills of the kids that he molested.

Only proves one thing; if you're a celebrity, the law does not apply. You can murder or touch kids all you want.

Anyways, It's not nice to speak ill of the dead, so I'm going to think of something positive about Michael Jackson. He's friggin' dead, and I'm positive that for children, the world is a safer place without him.


Now...
I'm taking a 30 second break from reality to ask a philosophical question.

Anyone can buy a remarkable volume and diversity of fresh fruit at any grocery store. So, the deck watch on a fruit boat (a ship with refrigerated holds) throws down an ice-covered whole pineapple to me, by way of a thank you for the fuel oil I loaded on him today in the hot sun... and I feel like the guy just handed me a $100 dollar bill. Why does a $1 pineapple that came out of broken stowage become so valuable?

I have my answer. Anyone else care to venture?