insanity is...

...now that I'm out of day-to-day life in Philthydelphia, I've slacked off on keeping tabs on what's going on with Aker Philly's wrap-up shipbuilding program. Aker's 4-year blitz of building OSG tankers is in it's twilight, and, with nothing on the books, and the next potential customer being only potential, and 3 years away from keel-laying, it looks grim for the folks at Aker.
I'm a fan of the Jones Act, the law that requires that port-to-port calls in the US be carried preferentially on American-built and operated tonnage. I interact regularly with foreign-built and manned ships, and, while the construction of these vessels is usually superior to ours (sorry, my opinion), the manning is insanely variable- Filipinos and Indians make up the largest proportion of unlicensed crew in the world, and have a high standard of training that makes them good seafarers- other guys? Not so much, IMHO. There are a lot of North Africans and Russians that do scary stuff while I'm in eyeball range as part of my job... but for $500 a month, sometimes less, what do you expect? The absolute shit treatment that unlicensed international crew can expect to receive is not conducive to productivity. I've been fortunate enough to work with some good companies that do better for their people, and the variation of quality in the help is far less.
So, I'd rather see well-paid and well-trained people out on deck on all ships- American ships should have ultra-superior crew, considering the pay, though this is not the case. The truth is that most American unlicensed crew can make more money shoveling elephant shit for the circus.
Now, with the market being what it is, and the supply of tonnage to haul oil being sufficient to meet our needs, there's no demand whatsoever for new ship tonnage in the US. This is seen in the current rates for small- and medium-sized parcel jobs on the spot market. The economy of scale here in the US favors smaller vessels. While ships can deliver large cargo to market in bad weather faster than smaller ATB's and tank vessels, the market still favors the cheaper-to-build (and maintain, operate, crew and insure) limited-tonnage vessel for Jones Act trade.
So, in order to keep the shipbuilding talent pool local, Aker Philly, a subsidiary of the nordic superconglomerate Aker companies, is building two more ships on speculation... meaning on speculation that they'll find a buyer. This is insane on many levels, but more on that later.
Now, unless a military contractor is secretly operating under the table elbow-deep in Aker's operations department, I can't think of anyone who wants a $130 million dollar tanker for Jones Act trade. It's not like they're building homes on spec, where eventually a buyer will be found... oh, wait, yes it is. It's exactly like that, where NO ONE is doing such things anymore.
Aker, to their credit, offered up a sacrificial lamb this week, by putting an inexperienced 20-something year old kid in charge of the shipyard- said kid, of course being a scion of Aker's CEO. I was impressed by both the ruthlessness of this move and the political deck-stacking that this does for the Aker family. It's not a novel idea, putting a new captain on the titanic somewhere between the time of the iceberg and the mandatory swimming lessons- it's a good way to learn, when there's almost no chance of success- failures can be pointed at as the fault of the last administration, while any modicum of success is all your own... much like the current US President's administration.
Anyhow, because shipbuilders are in high-demand in other trades (imagine an apprenticeship where you are given an education in steelwork, electric, pipefitting, HVAC and plumbing all in one... making you a polyglot of the building trades), a closed yard creates a diaspora in the talent pool. Aker is trying to avoid that, even though there's still not enough work to get them to the next potential shipbuilding contract.
Enter the insanity. Aker isn't going to pay for this crazyness. The City of Philadelphia is. The people of Philly are paying for two ships that no one will want. In a city where poverty is the norm, two 600-foot long white elephants are being built for fun and profit...for a European family. Yes, the tradesmen will be kept working for another year... but should taxes be used to keep tradesmen working, when those tradesmen are the most desired and sought-after tradesmen available? It's not like the city is taking an ownership stake in the yard. Exactly what are they getting for their efforts. And not to belabor a point, but if someone wanted a Jones Act Tanker, there's a 90% complete twin-engine variant sitting in Mobile, AL, available for a fraction of the cost of one of these Aker ships courtesy of a bankruptcy auction... why buy a new economy car when you can get a Cadillac for 1/3 of the price or less?
Anyhow, I'm saddened and disturbed by all this, and, as someone who spent almost 2 years working around the Philly waterfront, I know that there are plenty of kids who are going to bed hungry in that city,and $200,000,000 would buy a lot of dinner.
On the other hand, let me give a pre-construction congratulations to MARAD and the Military Sealift Command, who will now be given more federal tax dollars after next year to care for these ships that no one wants. I suspect that MARAD won't exist after next year, so I'm assuming that MSC will take over for them.
So then, I guess, these aren't just Philadelphia's tankers. They're everyone's. Your tax dollars at work.

teamless

Not every evolution on deck can go seamlessly. From my limited (read: nonexistent) tugboat experience, I make a great effort to keep my mouth shut when I watch a tugboater struggle in mooring or un-assing. I haven't been there, simply put, so it's not my place to comment.
Unfortunately for me, I'm also not a saint. When frustrated, barring relief, I'll lash out as much as the next guy. So this morning, during a not-so-smooth mooring evolution, I got frustrated. The details are irrelevant. I didn't lash out, thankfully- the man at the wheel didn't deserve a raspberry from the peanut gallery; I guess the morning fell under the category of "shit happens," or, as is said here, "Tugboating is a contact sport sometimes." From the tug's vantage point, I probably looked like a meth addict tweaking on deck, however, as I was absolutely cursing aloud and throwing bits of ruined hawser everywhere. I hate, fear and loathe a parted mooring line.
SO, I walk away with two lessons learned:

1. I'm glad I wasn't the man at the wheel of that tug today- the man had a tough job and even though I didn't communicate with him, I'm sure that seeing me fuss about was not helpful or welcome.

2. I know full well I could not have done a better job, parted line or no; all the same, there is always an aftermath when you experience that tangible frisson that enervates you at the moment when you realize that the moment of shit happening is imminent, and there isn't a single thing that you can do to protect your property. It's human nature to get defensive at that point; I credit the man at the wheel for smoothly making the transition from shit sandwich to a controlled evolution after the fact, and not saying a word about it after.

at first I was all like, yeah, but then I was all like, no.

In my spam filter was an email for "Angelina Jolie free sample." the other day.


I haven't been so tempted to open a spam mail since I first infected my first computer back in the day. I almost gave in to this one. I mean, it could be anything related to Angelina Jolie, whom I find attractive, incidentally. Anyhow, with great reluctance, I deleted the email, and will be forever questioning what was in there. It was probably something good, like candy.

Anyhow, today I get another email from the same address, entitled "Ellen Degeneres free sample." And thus, the temptation dies.

I'm almost certain that that one didn't have anything good in it. There was almost definitely no candy there.

ephemera

1. We had 2 days of sleet, rain, and snow. There was some lightning and hail in there, too. What a nice feeling when I woke up for watch before noon and saw the sun for the first time in I don't know how many days.

2. I know I've been writing about food too much, but today, with a 12-hour gap between loading cargo and discharge, I threw together some stuffed peppers for 2:

What a shock to discover that I missed Wednesday, being Prince spaghetti day. I really have no idea what day it is most of the time I'm out here.

3. There's an awful lot of silence coming from the media about the President's decision to bomb Libya without informing Congress first. I'm no constitutional scholar, but doesn't he have to do that first?

The Invasion

In the era of sail, when the officers of one ship would be invited to dine on another, the crew, with the complicity of the Captain of the mess, would refer to the luncheon as an 'invasion.' The rigid and extremely well-enforced rules of communal dining aboard ship were followed, including the rules which dictated where and when rules could be relaxed.
One thing that stood out, at the time, was that if the hosting senior officer decided that everyone was going to get well and truly stinking drunk, there was little choice in the matter. This led to world-class hangovers and good times, apparently, for the most part.
Well, the days of drinking afloat are dead and gone forever, but the invasions continue. Yesterday we hosted a visiting officer for birthday cake, his 36th birthday having come while his vessel was moored alongside us. As the old doryman's creed of "share and share alike" is still obeyed here, today we're invited over for a lunch of lasagna with peach cobbler for dessert... something to brighten up the day here, which, being a rainy mess of a nor'easter, is eagerly looked forward to.
If we're still here tomorrow, I'm going to make some Brazilian stroganoff, in an effort to one-up our Italian neighbors here in the anchorage.

Lazy Sunday

Not since my days on the tanker Ner River have I been really able to enjoy a Sunday at sea.

In the heyday of the British navy, Sunday was always something special. In the morning, the crew would turn out to scrub and clean everything, including themselves- nonessential work was let go in the afternoons- provided the crew was clean, shaven and their areas tidy, after the captain's weekly inspection of the appurtenances and crew, and lunch, the crew was given a double tot of rum. Man who had saved up their daily tot might then enjoy the afternoon in a state of drunkenness, or barter or sell their tot to those who wished to catch a buzz. This was done for the most intelligent of reasons: despite the comfort of routine, the hardest of men can become brittle under heavy stress, and need time to calm down.
Being here, and being on a management level now, I can't have a carefree Sunday quite like I used to when we manage to have a free day, but I can manage something.

We had a nice system on Sunday. Both of the Chief mates were fairly lenient- I surprised myself by becoming a sea lawyer when one of them took away our Sunday at sea under duress from the home office- I didn't so much sew discontent as I did become a loudmouth prick about it; in hindsight I'm ashamed, in fact. The mate in question was a fine person, and caught in an unenviable position between being harangued by the office over the state of repair of the vessel, and a near-visible fug around the crew when he had to push us to work through a Sunday at sea to shut up the talking heads (in our defense, there was no overtime involved except for any individuals who happened to be standing watch that day were working in their off time).
Needless to say, being disappointed wasn't the best motivator for the crew, and morale and productivity suffered. In a short time, we were able to get our Sundays back, and morale improved. I'm fairly certain that the mate in question probably got some shit for it, but it did make us a happier bunch, and more productive come Monday.
Our Sunday ritual in the deck department was as follows:
0720: Wake up calls
0720-0800 Breakfast
0800 meet in the unlicensed crew mess hall. Complain. Then morning meeting with Chief mate and bosun. Praying for announcement that today will be a clean-up day until noon.

0800-0900 Hurriedly and with gusto, clean, wipe down and mop out the Cargo control room, Inert Gas Generator room (sometimes), deck department communal head (this was an old ship; there were no personal heads for unlicensed crew) laundry and TV room, and crew deck passageways. Complain about the QMED's, who never, ever clean their head or passageway, or the TV room. Or laundry.

0900-1000 laundry, hide in one's room
1000-1030 Coffee break. Hang out with steward, complain about things, argue with steward's helpers.
1030-1150 Hide out in room, work on personal projects, visit other crewmen's rooms, complain about things.
1200-1300. Lunch. Complain about soup, possibly complain about fat and/or salt content of lunch. Depending on which steward was on board, there was a 50/50 chance that Sunday lunch would result in stomach cramps and diarrhea.
1300-1500. Nap, clean, play video games, watch movie, complain.
1500-1530. afternoon coffee. Listen to steward complain that we were all going to come too early to Sunday dinner, and make him stressed.
1530-1600. Fire drill and safety exercise. In summer, this often ended in rinsing the ship off using the fire monitors.
1600-1630. Stow hard hat and gumby suit, watch TV.
1630-1645: instigate an intense argument between Pumpman and someone from the Steward's department while waiting for dinner. Eat all the dinner rolls set out by the Steward, possibly start a rumor that the officers were getting better rolls.
1645-1730. Dinner and conversation. Thank the steward, then hope that the captain put porn on the TV again.
1730- relax, prepare for night watches if on watch that week, or watch movies.

You're Effing Welcome

... while I was home, I dutifully paid my taxes to the Massachusetts Department of Revenue and Ministry of Love.

...considering that I spent less than 16 weeks in Massachusetts last year, and they got 5.3% of my income, I'd say "You're welcome, and I hope you choke on it." 16 weeks of shitty roads, traffic, no political representation, a 20% increase in sales tax, a frigging SHOOTOUT the next street over, learning that Massachusetts taxes you extra if you die, including taxing your savings twice... WTF? When I showed Inappropriately Hot Foreign Wife how much we were forking over to the People's Republic, my wife finally folded and said that we could buy a house in Florida if I wanted.
Something about being able to buy a car with the money that we hand over annually with absolutely jack shit in return (really, does anyone think that no one answers 911 when you call in a no-state-tax state? So far as I can tell, the only ones who lose in a no-tax state are the welfare bums and the unions) finally pushed my wife into my corner. Plus, for the money I would spend on a shitbox house with no land here, I could buy a home with an indoor pool in Florida. I've looked.