bridgetender

save the sauvie island bridge!

2006-06-22T17:47:00.000-07:00

(also published on my bike blog)

Reading the Bike Portland website recently, I heard of plans to move the Sauvie Island Bridge after a new bridge is finished in 2008. Even more recently, Jonathan announced that the proposed plan of moving the old, green bridge to Northwest Portland probably wouldn't go through, due to added cost and a lack of community support.

If moved, the bridge would create a pedestrian and cyclist path across the Willamette to NW Flanders Street. In addition to making one seriously awesome bridge for all of us who love to walk and ride in that area, the relocation would also be quite a coup as far as recycling goes. I was sad to hear that murmurs from within the City Commisioner's office hinted that the plan had been shot down.

Imagine my surprise, whilst sitting on the Broadway Bridge, to hear the local news report the move was still a possibility. Checking in at Sam Adams' website confirms the rumor, and leaves me to report that anyone who is at all interested in this prospect should write, call or e-mail our favorite commisioner with their support.

If you love Portland's wonderful bridges, and would like to see one saved from the junk heap, or if you believe in all parts of the recycling slogan (reduce, reuse, recycle...), or if you're a cyclist who loves more places to ride, then I urge you to show your support of this unique idea. At the very very least, please leave a comment on Sam's blog, so he knows we want him to pursue this option.

Thanks a lot, and good luck!

breakfast on the bridges!

2006-06-18T05:46:00.000-07:00

It seems that all the good Pedalpalooza events are slipping by.

So far, I've missed at least ten rides or parties I wanted to attend, due to my never ending work schedule and general tiredness. I'm sure I'll miss a whole lot more, too, but at least I made sure to take off the day of the Multnomah County Bike Fair. Of course, I was only able to do that after exasperatedly agreeing to work seven days in a row.

To my constant confusion and general dismay, I am just now beginning my third of those days, the first four of which are morning shifts. I keep coming in, thinking I'll spend the day updating both this and my personal blog, but instead sleepwalking through the day. Yesterday, I actually fell asleep.

I try to be a good person, and I try to go to bed early, but it's summer. Try as I may, I just can't fall asleep before dark. This has been leading me to average four to five hours sleep each night, and I can't help but wonder at which point that bottoms out. I keep thinking I'll go home and take a nap, but then I get there, and as tired as I am, it occurs to me it's pointless. A nap would just cause me to stay up later, possibly equalling less sleep.

This all results in a zombie-like state, including a half-dead stare, a dragging gait, and a level of grumpiness which has me scowling and snapping, biting off the heads of friends and loved ones for their tasty, tasty brains. Well, all except that last part.

Despite all of this, I at least got to see Breakfast on the Bridges this Friday. I wanted to go down and say hello and maybe have a bagel, but I just couldn't make myself move. Besides, I felt like a phony for not riding in that day (or any day this week), and didn't want to be that person who stands around saying things like, "Really, I usually ride my bike. I'd totally have it out here today if I hadn't been recently initiated into the cult of the living dead. Say, that's a pretty fixie..."

Instead of participating, I lazily snapped some photos from the cameras, so that people all over the world, just like me, could live vicariously through those actually appreciating a morning commute. Unfortunately, the files won't upload and, as expected, I'm too lazy to do anything about it. That was a nice story, though, right?

okay, fine then.

2006-06-06T03:59:00.000-07:00

At the request of one particularly loud critic (ahem!), I have turned on the comment option for the blog. I only turned it off back in the beginning, when I was worried as to whether I was allowed to have a blog or not, and all my other worries on the subject have since fallen away, so there's really no reason people shouldn't be allowed to speak up and ask questions.

Or, you know. . . continue ignoring me thusly.

I have, though, added comment moderation, just in case I do have hordes of fans, patiently waiting beyond the threshold for their chance to become unruly. Hey, a girl can dream.

that was a nice little nap.

2006-06-06T01:46:00.000-07:00

There's nothing quite like having three whole days off to ease the sting of so many days at work. I have slept long, luxurious hours, and I have seen my significant other, and I have played some Scrabble. However, I do get restless without anything to do, so I picked up some shifts at the theater, and celebrated my return to work late tonight / early this morning by wearing my pajamas. Okay, fine, I didn't have three complete days off, but I had three days off from this place.

Amazingly, my dear friend Dauby-- the tug who gives us perhaps the most patronage-- has a relatively early call-out tonight, and is making only a one-way trip. When I heard this from my dispatcher, I happily declared, "Sweeeeet" and ran on out the door. I ended up getting here a bit early, adding an unneeded 20 minutes to my workday, but that's fine, because I'll still get paid for over twice the amount of time I put in. Minimum pay requirements are grand, ain't they?

I've been occupying myself for the last hour by reading blogs of interest, and now I hear the radio chirping at me that the tug is almost here. Heh. I haven't even signed in yet. I suppose I better do that iffin' I want to be paid at all.

well, this is fun. . .

2006-06-02T06:08:00.000-07:00

The boats and barges are queued up, just waiting for the Steel Bridge operator to gain control of the lift. Everyone's been in a holding pattern for the last half hour, waiting for him to get the green light, and let through the boats, which will then head toward us.

The Steel Bridge is owned by Union Pacific, and thus the operators have to call a dispatcher and ask for permission to open the bridge, which is granted depending upon train schedules. It's got to be pretty frustrating to be the lowest bridge in town in relation to the water, with the most frequent openings, and have people constantly asking for something which you frequently can't give.

You should hear what they have to go through to lift the top span. I'd feel sympathy, but they work on one of the coolest bridges in the tri-county area, and rumor has it the cleanest one as well.

close calls

2006-06-02T05:01:00.000-07:00

I sent myself to bed early, knowing that I had to be on the Broadway by 9:00 this morning, and wanting as much sleep as possible. Of course, when one is used to waking up at the crack of noon, falling asleep at the dainty hour of 1:00 AM is no easy task. It took some doing, but I finally succumbed, and was awaken a few minutes later by my dispatcher.

Of course I was being called into work. It only made sense when I considered that I had left work a few hours ago, and had another shift scheduled in less than eight more. I mean, how could that time possibly remain so empty when I could clearly be working? Crazy Scout, I had assumed that the dropping water level meant I would be seeing a day off, but that's just crazy. I love working ten days and thirteen shifts in a row!

Yeah, I know that I don't actually do anything, short of eat too much, watch TV, gripe about sleep, and ogle pirate ships. It's just that I've gotten accustomed to seeing my husband, sleeping one full night a week, and seeing the occasional ray of sunshine from some place other than a stuffy, glassed-in room, and I like the occasional day of freedom. Alas, I'm on-call now for the next two weeks, so true freedom isn't to be had.

The mental anguish clearly bringing me down, I adjusted my wake up time from 2:30 to 3:30, and fell back into a fitful state of sleep. My husband, coming to bed at a much more reasonable time, asked me when I had to be on the bridge as he settled in between the sheets.

"Forefurdy," I grumbled.

There was a pause, and then he replied, "Do you know it's four o'clock now?"

Fuuuuck. I rolled out of bed, threw on some attractive sweats, grabbed my keys, and wandered out the door in a haze. I drove downtown, passing only one other person in the drive, pulled into my favorite spot in the empty lot, stumbled up the bridge, and made it here in the nick of time. Now I wait for the boat, and pray to Jeebus that I don't have to wait for him to come back downriver, too. In the mean time, I complain quietly to anyone who will listen.

you know, just your average day. . . with pirates!

2006-06-01T19:24:00.000-07:00

I wasn't supposed to work today; instead I planned to take my significant other downtown, where we could view the arrival of tall ships from the Morrison Bridge. Alas, I was rudely awaken this morning by the telephone, signalling me onto the Hawthorne for the afternoon shift. I was sad to miss out on potentially lifting the bridge for replica pirate ships, or (even better) to view them with cameras from the Morrison's pier, so I snapped some pictures from the security cameras as they headed into town.

Something which is amazing about working on the bridges is how much communication happens between different vessels on the water. Obviously, they're announcing their presence to one another and calling us for lifts, but the fanfare which culminated in the arrival of Lady Washington and Hawaiian Chieftain this afternoon took a whole lot of choreography, never seen or heard by the onlookers watching from the pier.

The ships were preceded by a Portland fireboat, which put on a fantasitic show of shooting water in all directions. This was followed with giant red and blue arcs of water, which briefly dyed the surrounding Willamette River accordingly. When the colors kicked in, the radio chatter fell briefly silent, and the ships let of canon fire! It was awesome, and cool to be so close to. I was all but hanging out the window, and several people crossing the Hawthorne were equally impressed. One jogger, however, could not be arsed to pay attention, and never flinched when the canons went off. Now that's the zone.

down, evil water! down!

2006-05-31T19:25:00.000-07:00

When I arrived on the Morrison today for my boring ass shift of watching television, I noticed that the water was at 12.29 feet, and two hours later had gone down to 12.07 feet. A while later, my interim boss called to inform me that my high water shifts had been cancelled, and I was back to being simply on call.

Hallelujiah! Between this and a shift I picked up at the theater last week, this was my eighth day in a row working. I need a break! I need to go home and, um, sit in front of a different TV.

high water and low-level boredom

2006-05-30T19:44:00.000-07:00

I've worked for six days in a row today, and I'm scheduled for another three, before I have one whole day off. This high water business hasn't ended (we're currently at 12.57 feet), and even if it does, Rose Festival begins on Thursday.

I had entirely forgotten that we staff the bridges full time during Rose Festival, as well.

It's not too bad, as I've lucked myself into the swing shift for all of these hours, and if I play my cards right on Thursday, I'll get to open the bridge for some pirate ships! They're not real pirate ships, of course, but any action would be sweet at this point, as I've been spending the last week watching TV, and trying not to be bored witless. Some times, I even won.

tonight, from my perch

2006-05-27T23:04:00.000-07:00

here yesterday, here today.

2006-05-27T17:48:00.000-07:00

We're still at high water, and I'm occupying myself once again on the Morrison Bridge. The rain doesn't want to stop, and there's little to do here. Amazingly, there's only so much time one can waste on the interweb.

I have five more hours left to work today, and I've already answered all my email, and watched a movie. Cléo from 5 to 7, in case you were wondering.

yay! yay! o, happy day!

2006-05-25T16:03:00.000-07:00

They're setting up for Rose Festival!

swing shift: morrison bridge

2006-05-25T15:56:00.000-07:00

I had to go to a mandatory training seminar this morning, where I learned the do's and don'ts of sexual harrassment. As if it's complicated or something, I walked away with the newfound knowledge that it's better to never speak to anyone. Ever.

While leaving, I got the heads-up from my boss that we were at high water again, and I need to work the swing shift today. Only problem is that I was already scheduled to work the graveyard shift tonight. A little bit of swapping around, and here I am.

I'm relieved with the change, as I was worried about being able to stay awake until 6:00 tomorrow morning after waking up at the same time today. If we stay at high water, I'm scheduled 40 hours for the coming week. Ordinarily I'm opposed to such work, but my slacker ass could use the money.

Here's hoping the water stays high!

whew!

2006-05-19T12:34:00.000-07:00

I've been sitting here for the last half hour, anxiously watching people board the Portland Spirit for its lunchtime cruise. Even though everything else seems to be working fine, the phones are still out, and it had me a bit nervous as to whether I would be able to perform a lift.

Boats came and went, but nobody needed my services until the Portland Spirit hailed me just after noon, asking if it would be possible to get a lift. Ummmm, sure, I said. Or, at the least, I think so.

As tends to happen when I get nervous, everything went off without a hitch, leaving me here to worry for nothing. I'd like to think that one day I'll learn my lesson, but I don't have a heap of faith in that eventuality. In the mean time, I cleaned the holy living hell out of the bridge house, ate lunch, and found a way to put a rather embarrassing rip in the front of my jeans. Luckily I'm wearing a long shirt, or my modesty could be compromised.

That's humor. Sorry, I'm tired.

day shift: hawthorne bridge

2006-05-19T06:57:00.000-07:00

Another sleepless night, and I return once more to the Hawthorne Bridge. I didn't ride my bike this morning, which is quite lucky, because the electric gate at the bridge shop wouldn't open, and I would have had to haul the damn thing up the scary ass stairs to the bridge house. No thanks. I parked outside the purview of our security cameras, and hoofed it up the bridge, where the operator I was relieving informed me that we only had selective power.

The video cameras are back up and running, so I can see the gate has been opened, but the phone on the bridge is still out, which makes me nervous. The other operator told me that some of the lights were out on the bridge, but neither of us knew if that included traffic signals. Also, sometimes when the power is out, the bridge doesn't like to do what it's told, so I'm hoping that I get a visit from one of the cuter electricians today.

Until then, I'll just sit here.

early morning lifts

2006-05-16T04:18:00.000-07:00

I need a nap. Nine or ten hours oughta do me...

01:56 - 02:06 (two tugs, two barges)
04:17 - 04:26 (and back)

oh yeah.

2006-05-16T02:16:00.000-07:00

Remember that gas / oil leak the other day? Well, it turns out someone did crash into the Willamette.

Fucking shit.

call-out: morrison bridge

2006-05-16T01:16:00.000-07:00

I agreed to take any call-outs which happened tonight, because the current on-call operator is on another bridge for the evening's graveyard shift. Of course, this meant that a boat would need a lift, and I'd have to haul my tired ass in to make it happen.

Of course, this also meant that I would have to be on the bridge at 1:00 in the morning after a record high of 93 degrees the afternoon before. It's still in the 80s out there, which is akin to begging every drunk loser in a ten mile radius to be wandering the streets on a Monday night / Tuesday morning, stumbling from bar to bar before last call.

After parking in the lot, I got out and locked the doors, then rounded the car to the staircase. There were no other cars in the lot, so I nearly jumped when I saw a guy at the foot of the stairs which I now needed to walk up. A couple steps closer, I could see that he was out like a light, and I didn't want to shock him by stepping over his body, resulting in a sitcom-like scream-fest (ah! ahh! ah! ahhhhh!), so I offered up a, "Hey."

There was no answer, so I cocked my head a bit and studied him for a second. He was a young punk, what we used to refer to as a crusty some time ago, and he was passed out on his back with a trail of Pabst Blue Ribbon cans leading up the stairs. Ah, memories. He was so still I couldn't tell if he was breathing or not. However, it was rather dark, so I asked, "Hey, dude, are you okay there?"

Nothing.

I convinced myself that I could see the slow rhythm of inflating and deflating lungs, probably to make myself feel better about having to step over the body of a fellow human. I didn't want to be callous, but I really had to get to work, and if he was in a bad way, there was little to nothing I could do for him there. In the control room, I called my dispatcher, and got the number for police non-emergency. I felt like a sell-out for calling in the fuzz, but I left my punkitude behind years ago, and am just old enough now to have naively embraced the idea that maybe the cops could do some good in this situation.

I hope they woke him up, and I hope he was pissed about being bothered from sleep and harrassed by the man. I hope I really didn't imagine him breathing, and I hope he lives to realize that PBR is more than simply the cause of and solution to some of life's problems.

I'm gonna go lift a bridge.

day shift: broadway bridge

2006-05-15T13:15:00.000-07:00

Bore-ing.

Oh, did I say boring?

2006-05-12T12:09:00.000-07:00

Shortly after I made my first post today, I received a phone call from the Morrison Bridge operator, asking if I could see an oil slick near the Broadway Bridge. I looked out the windows on the north side, and stepped outside to peer over the south catwalks, but couldn't make out anything. He couldn't see anything either, but told me the county radio was abuzz with curiosity.

Later, when one of our electricians came to check our weather center (the cord was ripped out of the wall when the bridge last opened!), I saw a guy leaning over one of the bridge railings. He was being all suspicious-like, so I peered outside to see what he was doing. That's when I saw the sheen covering the water to the north of the bridge. I used our cameras to snap these photos on both sides of the Broadway, which should give you an idea of how big it was.

It looks less like an oil slick, and more like fuel floating on top of the river, but now that everyone else in town is awake, I'm sure the mystery will be solved soon enough. The afternoon news is showing footage of ODOT and the Coast Guard sending down divers near the Marquam Bridge, where the mystery murk appears to originate. While all that happens, a helicopter buzzes back and forth past this bridge, shaking the shit out of me about every four minutes or so.

Repost, then repast.

2006-05-12T09:32:00.000-07:00

I wrote this earlier for my bike blog, but am posting it here, too, as it's mostly bridge related...

After what can only be described as a piffle of sleep, I rolled out of bed and drove into work this morning. I was sad to have broken a streak of riding to work, but a variety of factors conspired to get me behind the wheel so early this morning.

It was freaking early. For serious. I got a call from the boss around 9:00 last night, asking if I'd mind working the day shift today. No problem, save for the fact that I was currently at work already, and still had to ride my bike home. Four and one half hours of sleep later, I quite literally fell out of bed, and was out the door before the sun. Eff off, Sol, I kicked your ass today!
I was way too tired to ride. See above for articulation on this point.
The operators on this particular bridge are what we colloquially refer to as old timers. They have this weird insistence that relief operators show up one half hour before their scheduled shift, and get persnickety when they have to wait. This sucks for a variety of reasons, not the least of which is the fact that my relief doesn't always show up early for his shift. This means that instead of being here by 6:00 AM, I rolled up at 5:29 exactly. I haven't ridden my bike over here yet, and feared that I would screw up the route and be late, thus incurring the wrath of any number of old dudes named Bill. No foolies, there's like three of 'em.
There is no safe place to park my bike over here. Being a hop, skip, and a jump from The Rose Quarter, as well as any resultant hooligans such an area naturally possesses, I don't look kindly upon locking my lovely to a rusty gate out of sight. Also, a series of security gates and steep stairs prevent me from bringing it into "the office."
Another fine feature of being across the street from a major sporting arena is a decided lack of parking. To make up for this, the city has left exactly two unmetered parking spots with no posted time limit right across the street. The idea here is that one operator takes one spot, while his relief gets the other. This feature supposes that one unmetered, non-restricted parking spot will remain empty across the street from a major sporting arena, despite the fact that the city (in its infinite kindness to the fine folks who keep the bridges working) has in no way restricted the parking just to county employees. To make up for this, there is an elaborate dance, wherein the operator on duty takes a portable radio and a cordless phone with him down the street, to his car, where he meets his relief, who sits waiting patiently in her car. Phone and radio are swapped, current operator pulls out, relief operator claims the spot, ad infinitum. The only other spots available are for short term parking, which is difficult to juggle when working an eight plus hour day. Not driving my car means screwing my relief out of a parking spot.

Now, I know that it isn't my responsibility to assure a legion of drawbridge operators their due parking or their right to drive the resultant 4x4s, dualies, and Suburbans which such a testosterone-fueled crew ultimately posses; however, in the name of extra sleep and sheer, unequivocal laziness, I decided not to fight all of these battles today. Indeed, I chose to fight none of them.

If it makes you feel better, though, I'll ride my bike after I take a nap.

Day Shift: Broadway Bridge

2006-05-12T06:06:00.000-07:00

It's been a long time since I've showed up to work deprived of sleep, and I put an end to that today. Shifts have been so scarce this pay period that when my boss called me on the Hawthorne last night, asking if I'd work nine hours later, I jumped at the chance.

I still had to finish my shift, ride my bike home, make dinner, and fall asleep in front of Letterman before waking up four and one half hours later. Thank Jeebus I've been riding my bike so much, or I don't know how I'd have been able to fall asleep at such an ungodly hour.

I awoke, showered, and crammed every portable piece of food in my kitchen into my backpack. There wasn't a whole lot, but I improvised. Yesterday, I made a sensible lunch, but didn't eat breakfast before leaving. Obviously, I ate my sandwich within two hours of arriving, and had to sit there hungrily the rest of the day. And then ride my bike home. I swear I really do enjoy riding my bike; I just don't enjoy pedaling uphill on an empty stomach.

Anyway, now I'm sitting on the boring-est bridge in the county with a sackful of mismatched foodstuffs, and nothing else to do for seven hours and fifty-four minutes. Whee.

Lifts

2006-05-11T21:58:00.000-07:00

19:07 - 19:14 (a dinner cruise)
21:02 - 21:10 (and then back)

Day Shift: Hawthorne

2006-05-11T15:47:00.000-07:00

It's been almost a week since I've been called-in to work, and I was beginning to worry whether or not I'd get any more shifts in this pay period. Luckily, someone called in sick today, and I was next up. It's a slow day, but I'm cool with that because I like paying my rent.

Busy Day

2006-05-05T13:57:00.000-07:00

I asked the captain if he needed my address to make a proper delivery, but he said it wouldn't be necessary. Note the hot tub (make it hot!) on the second floor deck. I've always wanted a houseboat. . .

09:58 - 10:07 (sailboat leaving the marina)
12:07 - 12:15 (lunch cruise heading out)
12:21 - 12:31 (tug pulling a houseboat!)
13:00 - 13:11 (maintenance lift)
13:19 - 13:27 (maintenance lift + return of the cruise)
13:35 - 13:46 (maintenance lift)

Day Shift: Hawthorne Bridge

2006-05-05T12:37:00.000-07:00

After a couple of minor screw-ups on my part (as per usual), things seem to have sorted themselves out. Which is nice, of course, because I [heart] my job mega, and don't want to get canned.

Lessons for today:

1. When a boat calls asking for a lift, ask them who they are and how much clearance they need. No, I didn't smash anything; I just always forget.

2. Ask the boat if they know that the Burnside Bridge only lifts one leaf. More importantly, ask the boat if they need a tug assist to get through said smaller passage. No, nobody got stuck either; I simply forgot. Again.

Luckily, I only screwed up insomuch as I forgot to ask questions. The boat in question didn't need any more space than we had, and he brought his own assistant. Whew! I wrote myself the above admonitions on a Post-It, though, so I hope not to forget again. Again.

Maintenance Lift / Perfect Timing

2006-05-04T09:16:00.000-07:00

Just as the electrician came down from the engine room, I was hailed by that tug boat who had so patiently waited for the bridges to reopen at 09:00. All our switches reset and working properly, the test lift went fine, except for the fact that traffic didn't want to stop for our red lights. It took a bit longer than usual, but it worked, and that's what's important. That, and being able to use the internet.

09:01 - 09:11 (oh...now you come back!)

Oh yeah.

2006-05-04T08:38:00.000-07:00

What I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted by a power outage was...

I arrived on the bridge a bit early, and was informed of an incoming vessel. Twenty minutes later, our favorite itinerant tug showed up with two barges and an assistant. They all went through easy-peasy, and announced that they wouldn't be back until after 09:00. As our regular operators would be on duty by then, I released our on-call guys, and changed out of my bike gear.

Five minutes later, the assist tug was back, requesting a lift. Um, sure, but you aren't going to need those other bridges, are you? Indeed he was, so I scrambled to get ahold of our operators before they got too far away. Luckily, the operator hadn't left the Burnside yet, and the Morrison operator was only a couple minutes out. I initiated my lift, and informed the boat that we'd be ready shortly.

As it turns out, I wouldn't be ready just yet, as I had failed to flip a switch before initiating my procedures. Without this handy feature, I go through all the steps, but nothing happens. All of the operators do this occasionally, and now I've done it, too. I didn't even notice until I wondered why no one was stopping for what appeared to be red lights. Der. I backed it up and started all over again; this time actually lifting the bridge.

Once through, the boat made it under the Morrison without a lift, and had just cleared when the operator returned. I apologized like crazy, even though it was none of our faults (cough * bad boat* cough *), and sent the operator home for real this time.

05:58 - 06:08 (tug, two barges & an assist tug)
06:15 - 06:21 (the return of chaos)

Day Shift, Hawthorne Bridge

2006-05-04T08:35:00.000-07:00

I was just typing up the story of my morning when the power went out, turning off the computer and everything else in the control room, including the bridge's operations and the radio. The phone still worked, though, so I called the shop and told them about the problem. I turned on the portable radio to wait, and everything was up and running smoothly again in roughly five minutes.

Our lead electrician called back and said that he'd be out in a bit to check on things, then we'll do a lift to make sure we're A-OK. Fun, fun.

Morrison Bridge: Sailboat Redux

2006-04-30T14:04:00.000-07:00

As it approached the Steel Bridge, the sailboat requested a higher lift than it had yesterday. Apparently, the other operator fibbed his height a bit, and the sailboat dragged his tallest antenna across the bottom of the road deck as he passed underneath. Whoops.

The operator on the Steel (not employed by the same people as me!) said it could be an hour before they were able to lift the top span of the bridge, but if the sailboat wanted to give it a go, the water level was two feet shorter than yesterday. After inching up to the bridge, the sailboat decided to tempt the antenna gods and sneak back under, rather than waiting another hour.

I watched the whole thing unfold via our cameras on the Burnside, and I must say that (despite doing so with baited breath) it was a whole lot more boring than you might assume. The sailboat reported that he dragged a bit coming through, but all was good. Good enough for me, too, and I went home.

13:50 - 13:57 (bye bye, boaty)

Morrison Bridge: Recording

2006-04-30T13:38:00.000-07:00

There's a weird handheld computer-like thingy, which slightly resembles a tricorder, sitting on one of the counters inside of the control booth. Attached to it is a long, slender microphone akin to the ones hosts used to use on old dance or music shows. Shows like Solid Gold. Shows which were anything but solid gold. Shows that were a whole lot more like electroplated crap, and occasionally hosted by people who bore a striking resemblance to Adrian Zmed.

But I digress.

There's a little yellow Post-It adhered to the whole contraption which reads, "This instrument is measuring your air quality. Please do not disturb."

It was here when I came in yesterday, and it's here today, silently measuring the amount of noise pollution we are exposed to on the job. The county is doing some sort of study, which is nice enough, but I think it's intended more for the guys who work with jackhammers or backhoes than for someone who sits in a booth all day, watching reruns of Matlock and Perry Mason. You know, not that they're making new episodes or anything.

We've all been reassured by the county that the device isn't actually recording what we say, so much as taking samples of volume throughout the day. Which is a relief, because I may not sit around badmouthing my boss, but I do a whole lot of sitting. And watching TV. And updating blogs.

Also, and I can't stress this strongly enough, thank Jeebus it isn't measuring that kind of air quality. I ate a whole grip of vegan pumpkin waffles this morning, and their vast quantities of soymilk are working slowly out. Whew!

Morrison Bridge: Sailboat

2006-04-29T16:33:00.000-07:00

They won't be coming back today, so I'm outta here. It looks like they'll be back tomorrow, though, which should be another four hours worth of work on this paycheck. Whee!

16:19 - 16:26 (little boat, tall mast)

Morrison Bridge: The Rain That Fell Last Night Made Me Fall In Love With You

2006-04-29T15:57:00.000-07:00

It was cool and cloudy when I left the house this afternoon with the intent of scootering downtown to make some copies and visit a friend at work. Halfway there, it began misting, but was still a nice enough ride. By the time I pulled up at Kinko's, though, I was pretty close to soaked.

While making my fliers, I picked up a phone call from the Hawthorne. The operator on duty informed me that a sailboat was coming through, and they needed me on the bridge right away. It seems that the captain wasn't a local, and didn't know that a tender would need to be called in, so he was circling the harbor and waiting for me and the Burnside operator to come on duty.

I considered riding my scooter to the Morrison, but was even more concerned about parking than I was of the now pouring rain. Coming home this morning, I had left my parking passes in the car, which The Boy had taken with him to work. I scooted as quickly as I could over to the theater, swapped keys, and dropped off my helmet. Once parked under the Morrison, I hiked it up to the control tower in the now dumping rain, where the phone was ringing when I opened the door. By the time I unlocked the doors, disarmed the alarms, and made it upstairs, the ringing had stopped.

Picking up the marine radio, I announced that the Morrison operator was now on duty, and heard immediately back from the (still) circling sailboat. As it happens, I beat the Burnside operator in, and the sailboat is moving upriver, so I'll just sit in a puddle and wait for things to happen. Meanwhile, that boat will keep sailing in circles.

To be fair, I don't know if the boat is actually sailing in circles, but I like to believe that he is, and I refuse to accept statements to the contrary.

* title courtesy of the zine with the same name by Robert Sutter III

Morrison Bridge: The Sun Is Rising Earlier

2006-04-29T06:09:00.000-07:00

The boat is making its way back in this direction, and then I'm headed home. As predicted, it came through, and I'm still waiting for it to come back. The sunrise was nice, though, as I'm always glad to not have to walk to the car in the dark.

04:03 - 04:16 (that was a rather long opening, now wasn't it?)
06:09 - 06:15 (that's more like it)

2006-04-29T05:09:00.000-07:00

(courtesy of Flickr)

Morrison: Here Today, Gone Yesterday

2006-04-29T03:13:00.000-07:00

I spent the last two fantastically sunny days off by riding my bike all along the Eastbank Esplanade and a small piece of the Springwater Corridor. I usually stick to riding my bike near my apartment, as it's a fairly nice blend of flat areas, small hills, and enormous mountains with their own climates; however, I've been recently taunted by watching all the runners and cyclists and godforsaken inline skaters who people the paths under the bridges while I work, and I was determined to be one of them.

I haven't ridden the Esplanade in some time, mainly due to the crowds, and it was fun to do it again while pointing out all the interesting bridge sights to my better half. There's the cool bike markings on the Hawthorne (with thanks to the BTA). That's where I work on the Broadway. And here comes one of the boats I frequently open for, and we get to see the Steel Bridge lift its lower deck.

I really wanted to see the Hawthorne or the Morrison lifted, but it wasn't to be. On the west side, we took a detour behind the fancy schmancy restaurants and hotels down by the marina, and appear to have just missed an opening of the Hawthorne for the Portland Spirit. Oh well. Maybe I'm just not destined to see the bridges open from outside of the control booth.

I was destined, however, to tire myself out on the ride, and be lying in bed contemplating sweet, sweet sleep when I got the call to come in three hours later. Of course, with that kind of mandate, there was no way I was getting sleep of any value whatsoever. When my alarm went off, I could hardly lift my sad carcass out of bed. I stumbled around the kitchen in a stupid search for food before leaving for the bridge in a confused haze.

It turns out I left a little early, which is better than the alternative, but which also deposited me smack in the middle of downtown at 2:30 in the morning. Late Friday night / early Saturday morning, the city is still busy. Not being much of a drinker (though I would most certainly eschew the bar scene even if I were), I sometimes forget to stay off the roads when the local taverns empty, but tonight I had no choice. It was actually nice to see so many people outside, enjoying the cool breeze after a warm day, and it made me feel all summery and happy. Tired, but happy.

My boat should be here pretty soon, so I better go. Judging from its early hour, it'll probably be back again. I'd like to get back into bed, but it looks like I'll be tossing and turning in the daylight yet again.

Morrison: Going Home

2006-04-27T06:44:00.000-07:00

As it frequently happens, I was totally wrong about the boat not coming back. He came through shortly after I made my last post, then announced that he'd be back down river in about an hour and a half.

I watched patiently as the tug which pushes the barges made his way back toward the Morrison, and I got to watch his assist tug help him at a bend in the river. It's really impressive what the little boats can do; even more impressive when you consider that the tugboat billed as the 'assistant' in this scenario is half the size of the other one. They look like bath toys. Harmless little bath toys which aim right for me, then turn at the last moment like it ain't no thang, freaking me out a little bit. The boat had to get through by 07:00, and he just made it outta town.

I, on the other hand, now have to navigate rush hour traffic backwards!

04:38 - 04:48 (tug, three barges, and an assist)
06:40 - 06:51 (minus one barge, slowly, slowly)

Morrison: Call Out

2006-04-27T02:25:00.000-07:00

I was at home, watching the British Fever Pitch, when I received the call. It was just past midnight, so I gave up on the movie, and went to bed for two hours.

Unlike last time, my favorite tug is not early today, and won't be on time unless it gets here in the next five minutes. However, this bodes well for me going home early, so I am quiet of complaint.

Broadway: Huh? I'm Awake!

2006-04-25T14:20:00.000-07:00

Nothing ever happens on this bridge. Aside from my training and the one time I was told to do so by maintenance, I never lift the Broadway. Of course, at 90 feet off the water, it's rarely needed.

I was going to sit out on the balcony, eating my lunch and reading a book, but it was freakishly windy across the water today, and when I tried, I nearly froze. I'm sorry to admit it, but I spent most of the day watching the telly.

Came & Went

2006-04-25T06:40:00.000-07:00

04:37 - 04:46 (early tug)
06:26 - 06:32 (again)

And Again

2006-04-25T05:36:00.000-07:00

I totally called it.

The river went back down to below the high water mark after only four days. It's currently at 10.34, and it was around 9.5 when I worked yesterday. Maybe I should start my entries with a daily river reading...

Also, the rain has stopped, and we've had a spate of warm days, so I don't think the water will be rising again just yet. The mountains are still predominantly snowy, though, so high water seems almost inevitable for the future. I guess we'll just wait and see how magnificent my Carnac-like skills truly are.

Just when I thought I was out...

2006-04-25T05:23:00.000-07:00

I was hanging around, not doing much of anything on Sunday night, when my phone rang. Being on call, I'm finally getting accustomed to keeping it on me, and to answering it even when the phone numbers are unrecognizable. It was strange to be getting an unidentified call at 5:00 in the afternoon, but it wasn't unheard of, so I answered the call and prepared myself to hit the road.

It was my boss alright, but not the right one.

Remember that job I quit a few weeks ago? Well, it seems I wasn't the only one. Someone was scheduled to be there one half hour earlier, but hadn't shown up yet. Calls placed to her phone were met with a disconnected number, and with no one else available to work, I was asked in as a last resort.

I tried to think of a good reason why I couldn't do it, but gave in when I realized that I may as well. I showed up to surprised looks and thanks, which is how I prefer to start any day, and worked for three hours before heading out. It was kinda nice to swoop in, save the day, and get the hell out. Maybe I'll do it more often.

Or maybe I'll wise up and remember not to answer that phone number.

Morrison: Call-Out

2006-04-25T04:59:00.000-07:00

I intended to stay awake later than I did last night, but by 11:30 I was flagging. Crawling into bed, I wondered what my chances were of being called in, and I sort of knew in my soul that I wouldn't be getting much sleep. Finally passing out at 11:45 PM, I got the call at 03:45 for a 05:00 opening, which still makes more sleep than I got last night.

Coasting into downtown, my phone lit up and rang. It was the operator calling to see how close I was, as the boat was just downriver of my bridge, headed for the Burnside. I checked my watch, but it wasn't quite 04:30 yet. Am I late? Nope, he's early and wants to know if it's possible to eke by. I pull into the parking lot, driving past the late night / early morning junkies, and step lively up the bridge to the control tower.

As I begin to crest the bridge (which isn't flat, but arches slightly upward), I see that the Burnside is already up and has its green navigation lights on. I can see the tug's search light in the distance, but it hasn't yet gone through the other bridge. Perfect timing.

Arriving in the tower, I pick up the radio before I even set down my backpack. "Morrison Bridge operator on duty. Morrison to Tug," I announce.

"This is Tug. We're coming up on the Burnside right now."

"No problem," I say. "I'll get 'er rolling right away."

All thanks and bridges up, the tug announced that it should be back in about an hour and one half. The captain is really pushing water to make it back through before our close period. If he can't get unloaded and completely back down river before 07:00, he has to wait two hours before setting out again, and that can put quite a kink in a tight schedule.

I brought some snacks for the wait, and I hope to be home and back in bed by 07:00. I'd like to get some sleep before I work again tonight.

Hawthorne: Sunny Day

2006-04-24T12:26:00.000-07:00

I was well beyond tired when I got here, and even managed to fall asleep in the early morning light before being awaken by the ringing phone. Turns out that while I snoozed, a boat was attempting to radio me, but the previous operator had (for reasons entirely escaping me) turned the radio volume down. I'm supposed to check it when I come on duty, but... you know... duh.

The past couple hours have been fairly eventful. I've already done three lifts, and I still have at least another hour before I'm off duty.

For the noon lift, I was radioed by Portland Spirit that they needed the bridge raised, but could see that there were a crap ton of kids on the deck. I poked my head out the window, and sure enough there was a whole flock of munchkins holding hands and having a happy field trip kinda day. I got on the loud speaker and announced that the bridge was opening. Then I added that anyone wishing to watch the bridge go up should stand behind the white and yellow lines for their safety. I don't usually add the last part, but I didn't want to run the risk of the kids running away, when they had the awesome opportunity at a front row seat.

As I began lifting the bridge, I got back on the loudspeaker and said, "Allllllllriiight now, let's everybody give a big wave to the Portland Spirit!" Obligingly, the entire north side of the bridge, fueled by the kids' enthusiasm, waved to the boat on its approach. In response, the boat let out a couple bursts from its air horn, honking at the waving weirdos, and eliciting excited yells and whoops from the startled children. It was truly delightful.

10:14 - 10:22 (my first sailboat, leaving the marina and headed to sea)
10:32 - 10:41 (lunch cruise coming into port to pick up passengers)
12:03 - 12:12 (lift, wave, honk.)

Morrison: Called In

2006-04-22T05:24:00.000-07:00

Coming home from my second movie today (I love being paid to spend my days as I please), I received the call that a lift was required early this morning.

I got my things together, bundled up, and headed out. I arrived on the bridge at 02:30 for the 03:30 opening (as per the rules), and the tug radioed for the opening just before three. I sure would have loved to be payed the full four hours for only 30 minutes work, but it wasn't in the cards; I'm stuck here waiting for the boat's return trip, which was predicted for over a half hour ago. I suppose that makes up for arriving early, but it sure doesn't feel that way when I'm sleepy.

Oh, wait! Here it comes! What timing! Hold on, and I'll open this bad boy up while you fine folks sit and wait.

Cool. That said and done, I think I'll go home.

02:56 - 03:05 (tug, two barges, and an assist)
05:13 - 05:22 (one of those barges isn't empty anymore)

&

2006-04-20T05:58:00.000-07:00

Since you're all dying to know, the current river level is 12.24 feet above sea level.

Morrison: It Seems As Though I Was Just Here

2006-04-20T05:46:00.000-07:00

Now that my heart rate has returned to normal, following the fast-paced drive and brisk jog up the bridge, it occurs to me that I have entered that weird state of sleep deprivation where everything becomes distant and dreamlike. It feels a bit like hunger, with the shaky hands and the easily distractedness, except for the fact that I am not hungry.

I slept four hours before my first shift yesterday, then two hours between shifts. For some reason, I only slept six hours this morning / afternoon, and now I'm at work again, again. I know some people (who shall remain nameless) who sleep that much on a single day.
Oh, to be so lucky.

And sleepy.

Broadway to Morrison

2006-04-20T05:40:00.000-07:00

I'm defying the laws of quantum physics! I told you I was smart.

Around 03:30 this morning, while working on the Broadway, I received a call from the dispatcher, telling me there was a call-out for the Morrison. Well, that's lovely and all, but I can't be in two places at once. . . .
or can I?

Luckily, the tug doesn't need a lift until 06:00, and my relief for the Broadway showed up early. We did a quick swap of parking spots and the walkie-talkie, then I hopped in the car and hauled here. Luckily, there are only three cars on the road right now, and I navigated downtown in record time. My shift on the first bridge ends at 06:00, and I arrived on the second bridge at 05:31.

That string theory's amazing, isn't it?

New Lunchbox

2006-04-20T00:54:00.000-07:00

I got my tax refund last week, and went immediately shopping. One of the first things on my list was this awesome lunch kit I've had my eye on for some time, which I couldn't afford until the sweet, sweet day the IRS decided to give me some free money. Well, my money, but I digress...

The main part of the Zojirushi Ms. Bento Jar is a two-part thermos, which keeps food hot or cold. There's one large bowl on the bottom, and one smaller bowl on top, which has another removable demi bowl inside, all of which fits inside a canister, which in turn fits into a cool canvas bag. The thermos doesn't hold a whole lot, but there's extra space inside the bag-- presumably for a water bottle or other drink-- where I tuck things like granola bars, fruit cups, and other miscellany.

The best best best part of the whole set, though, is that since it's made for bento, it comes with a set of chopsticks, which fit into their own niche inside the bag. Sure, I have at least a half dozen sets of chopsticks within snappy plastic homes, but they don't hold a candle to the set which matches my new bento jar and corresponding lunch bag.

As an afterthought, I picked up a set of three rectangular plastic containers, which stack nicely and slip in beside the bento jar when the bag isn't crammed with other crap. It turns out they work spectacularly, and also match the bag splendidly, even though they don't have as tight of a seal as I thought. I clearly have this weird matching thing going on, and though I try not to let people in on the exact parameters of my psychoses, I guess the cat's out of the bag. The awesome matching bag.

Don't even get me started on my underwear and socks.

Today, I packed the thermos with vegan macaroni stars and cheez, which I made right before coming in. Then I crammed the rest of the bag with a Luna Bar, Oreo Thin Crisps, coconut yogurt, peachy / mango applesauce, and some individual packs of Crystal Light. Don't worry: the irony of eating yogurt after vegan pasta is not lost on me.

Also in there is a packet of oatmeal, which has been transferred in and out for the last three shifts, and which doesn't look like it's making the cut today either. Sad life for such delicious oatmeals, but it'll get eaten eventually. I never know what I'll be in the mood for, so I tend to overpack. Once I arrive on the bridge, there's no leaving, and (sadly) I can't just order a pizza.

The main idea behind the pricey (36 Frosties!) lunch carrier is getting me out of the habit of bringing frozen food and other such crap to work. Not only is it bad for me, but it quickly adds up. And it never really tastes as good as the picture on the box leads me to believe it will. Bastards.

I'm a trained culinary professional, dammit...I can make my own lunch. If I have time after sleeping for several hours on my face tomorrow, I'm going to hunt down some Grilled Cheese Uncrustables, and pack them with soup. Maybe I'll even wear pyjamas. Crap, there I go assuming I'm working again. I'm clearly doing it subconsciously, so that I can pack lunches. Oh well. I'll pack the lunch anyway, and eat it in my living room if I have to. I'm a lunch-packing maniac.

Broadway: Boredom Reigns Supreme

2006-04-19T23:05:00.000-07:00

I was hanging out with a friend today, when I received a call from my boss. He wanted to know if I could come in right away, but as I was ankle-deep in water getting a pedicure, I had to turn down the shift. Funnily, I was at home later when I made reference to what I would be eating at work tonight, forgetting that I wasn't even scheduled to come in. I just sort of assumed, what with the high water and being on-call, that I would be working another graveyard shift tonight.

And I was right.

So, here I sit, watching TV and interbotting, wondering how to spend the next six and one half hours. I brought a stack of DVDs, tho, so hopefully I can stay entertained on what has traditionally been (for me, at least) the boringest bridge in the bworld. Boo-yah.

Well, I didn't expect that.

2006-04-18T21:44:00.000-07:00

I guess that part of awesomely predicting the rise in river water is the obvious correlation of being hauled back into work eight hours after you left it. Or in my case, two hours of sleep later.

The current river level is 12.19 feet. It was 12.09 when I got here nine minutes ago. Of course, it was 12.25 when I left this afternoon, so it's all just part of tidal flow and what-have-you. I'll kick back and watch TV for now, and resume my goal of drinking bucketloads of water.

The toilet's in the building here, so I'm going hog wild.

Bridge 3: Lift Two

2006-04-18T12:47:00.000-07:00

I only managed to shave a minute off my time. I guess I wasn't as pokey as I thought.

11:00 - 11:07 (boats and barges back again)

Bridge 3: Long Time, No See

2006-04-18T10:14:00.000-07:00

One of the tugs which comes up and down river quite frequently was scheduled for an opening at 09:00, but had to push it back due to fog thicker than condensed pea soup. Oddly, it was only covering part of the river when I arrived at work, entirely obscuring the bridge to the South, while the one to the North was clear as day. Or, as clear as pre-dawn in this case. Over the next hour, the fog shifted when I wasn't paying attention, obscuring both bridges and myself as well.

An hour later, the sun shining (peculiarly) above, a maintenance crew was working on the bridge when I got the call the tug was on its way. I crossed four lines of traffic to reach the guys, who said to sound the horn when I was about to perform the lift, so they could move little things like traffic cones, trucks, and themselves out of the way. All no-problem and thumbs-up, I headed back to my post to wait for my boat.

Ten minutes later, I sounded the horn and began my procedures. The funny thing is, though, that I have been working on Bridge 4 for so long, I had forgotten there are still a couple aspects of lifting this bridge which are manual. I patiently waited for the crew to clear their cones, forgetting that I could be lowering the gates at the same time. Then, some random dude decided to keep walking across the bridge, despite the flashing lights and the warning sirens. Luckily, the crew gave him hell, and he picked up the pace a bit.

Of course, he did what everyone does, whether crossing the bridge or crossing the street: he gave a couple of jaunty hops, moving his arms a bit faster, but didn't really make much more progress. I began lowering the gates anyway, and when he saw the gate which he was headed toward coming down, he took off for it as if his life depended upon it. Of course I could see him the whole time and he was in no imminent danger, but if I can scare him a bit, then two boats, two barges, one maintenance crew, and dozens of drivers won't be sitting around waiting for one freakin' dude to get his shit together. Plus, it entertains me.

Gates down, no barriers on this bridge, locks released, brakes released, bridge up. I love this bridge; it all but flies skyward, and despite the small delays, traffic was only stopped for eight minutes. Not bad, and I hope to shave a minute or two from that time when the boat heads back down river in an hour.

09:58 - 10:06 (tugboat pushing two barges, escorted by an assist tug)

Morrison: High Water

2006-04-18T06:40:00.000-07:00

"I hate these stupid floodwater pants. Hey, they're working! My feet are soaked, but my cuffs are bone dry! Everything's comin' up Milhouse!"

On my last shift, in a rare spate of awesomeness, I predicted that high water was coming for the bridges. Yesterday, I was not only on-call, but on-call for a high water alert, as the water ebbed and flowed above normal. Today, I was scheduled to work at 07:30, but had to come in at 06:00 because the water was holding at 12 feet.

I don't know how deep the river actually is, but our depth readings are in relation to sea level. On any given shift, the water level fluctuates slightly, but maintains a general height. When it flooded late December / early January, all the bridges has to be staffed 24 hours, due to the heightened potential for problems. Boats which normally slide under bridges without hassle are in increased danger of bonking the bridges, so the county wants operators on duty to help avoid that.

Though there was pretty serious flooding in other parts of the state, I don't think that we ever hit the floodline (18') in town. Looking at the diary now, it seems to have peaked at 16 feet, but some of the operators aren't too meticulous with their entries. In addition to reduced clearance under bridges, the other obvious problem is that more water moves faster. Boats approach the bridges quicker, and have to maneuver more accurately in closer quarters. I'm sure it's a bit stressful being down in the water while this is going on, but it all seems like a bit of excitement to me, and I was disappointed that I was hired the day after the water level finally dropped below 12 feet again.

The weather hasn't cleared up yet, and it just keeps raining. As a clue to how odd this is, last year in March, several local governments were warning of impending drought and increased fire conditions. Granted, that was a little odd as well, but there seems to be no happy medium. Over the course of last week, I noted the water level rising slowly from eight to 11 feet. On my last shift worked, the water rose from 10.5 to over 11 feet in eight hours.

So, we're back at high water for the time being, and I don't think we've seen the end of it. It'll stop raining eventually, and the water level will probably go down again within the week, taking us off high alert. Interestingly, when the rain finally does stop, we'll be at increased risk of high water again, because the snow in the mountains melts and trickles down to us. And all this rain means lots of snow with nowhere to go but down.

As Shakespeare wrote in Troilus and Cressida (and, oddly & more recently, on walls in malls anticipating new outlets of consumerism),
"I am giddy; expectation whirls me 'round"

Hawthorne: Two Lifts

2006-04-15T21:09:00.000-07:00

19:05 - 19:12 (dinner cuise, heading upriver)
21:01 - 21:10 (dinner's over, get off the boat!)

Hawthorne: Holy Talulah Gosh

2006-04-15T15:30:00.000-07:00

I waited for a break in the rain, then ran quicly upstairs to pee. It was not only freezing cold outside, but the wind threatened to blow me right off the bridge. The rain picked up again almost as soon as I returned to the control room, and the wind has hit as high as 40 MPH. It's wiggly up here!

Hawthorne: DVD Review

2006-04-15T14:18:00.000-07:00

Sports Night: The Complete Series Box Set

It was shortly after I moved to a new town, in a new state, where I didn't know more than a small handful of people, that I began watching more and more T.V.

Now, I'm not one of those people with a Smash Your Television bumpersticker, as I actually watch more than my fair share of the thing. I do, however, agree that a large portion of what the networks spoonfeed us is total crap. I have a number of shows that I watch regularly(Scrubs, Edgemont, The Sopranos), but most of the things that everyone else is on about (The OC, Lost, etc.) evade me. Also, it takes me a while to get into things, mostly because I try to avoid giving my heart to something that will only break it when our relationship is cancelled.

Sports Night is a great example of this. It was a good show from its very first episode, and it quickly became a great show. It sucked me in, held me fast, and then started getting juggled around by the network. Sometimes it works better for a show to get a different night or a different time slot, but more often than not, this is a death knell for what's about to come: dropping a show into an unwatched Friday night lineup, and allowing it to languish there until its imminent demise.

Despite the fact that Sports Night was nominated for a bazillion awards (and won most of them in its two-year run), it seemed that ABC would not give it a chance. The writing was too smart, the cast was too talented, the style was too distinct. I don't know how network executives ever get it right when they so frequently blunder their way through scheduling. How does anything good ever get on the air, much less stay there, when most network television espouses a cut-and-run philosophy toward anything which isn't critically hailed from its conception? What's more, how does so much crap get left in the rundown, while shows which are critically hailed and widely praised get shown the door?

I've never run a network television station, nor am I likely to do so anytime soon. I obviously do not understand all the intricacies involved in corporate decision making. Alas, even I know to let My So-Called Life and Cupid run their course, and to cut ER the season after Doctor Romano gets his arm ripped off by a helicopter. I mean, does anyone watch that show anymore? When, oh when, will *I* be paid millions of dollars for my opinion?

Where the first season of Sports Night introduces us to the characters and their quirks, the second season is acutely aware of its forthcoming demise, and reflects it in the storyline. Amazingly, this leads to a fantastic season, even more compelling than the first, which (somehow) never seems to point fingers, make accusations, or get bogged down by this. Just like the show in real life, the cast of Sports Night keeps moving despite the grim face of impending fate, and maintains hope that everything will work out if they simply work hard enough and talk fast enough.

Aaron Sorkin, the creator and writer of Sports Night, is best known for creating The West Wing. In both shows, the writing style is fast-paced and distinct, allowing the viewers to be equally as smart as the characters purport to be. Once again, this proved too much for another network, and NBC booted Sorkin from The West Wing following its third season, citing only the fact that he insisted on writing every episode as their reason for the departure. What this really meant was that Sorkin was too obstinate for them to bully into plot arcs which may or may not have garnered more viewers.

The West Wing floundered for almost a season and a half after Sorkin's departure, trying a little of this and a little of that, before it finally got back into its old grove by mimicking Sorkin-esque dialogue. It's really quite funny when you think about it, especially when you consider that The West Wing was recently cancelled after finally getting back to the near greatness it had achieved before the switch-over. Apparently, Mr. Sorkin also refused to budge on Sports Night, but ABC didn't care enough to replace him. For this, at least, I am glad.

It occurs to me that I haven't given any details of the show or its cast, and I think that's for the best. If you've seen the show, you don't need my help; if you haven't even heard of it, there are literally hundreds of sites out there which will tell you more than I ever could. Either way, if you're considering it, it's worth every minute.

Rent it, buy it, borrow it from the library. You won't be disappointed. The special features are non-existent, and the disc is old and begs to be remade, but the show stands up on its own. When it ends, you'll feel just like the cast in the final episode: sad, but hopeful.

Hawthorne: Swing Shift

2006-04-15T14:03:00.000-07:00

It's another cold and rainy Saturday, with winds currently at 25-30 MPH. If the winds get any higher, I'm allowed to refuse a lift. I've never refused a lift before, though, so who knows if today will be the day. As it stands now, just sitting in the control room, I can feel the bridge swaying back and forth. Since this control room rides up with the center lift span (as illustrated below!), it can get pretty shaky up there even on a calm day. On a day like today, it's downright puke-worthy.

I arrived for my shift about 20 minutes early, and got to ride the bridge up for a lift performed by the operator I was relieving. I haven't done that since I was training, so it was kind of nice to just lean back and watch the magic happen without having to worry about little things like smashing pedestrians or angry cars.

On the plus side, I'm here in the daylight, which is a welcome change. This is my last shift before I go on call again at midnight tonight. Whee!

Lego bridge photo from here.

Hawthorne: Graveyard

2006-04-14T04:51:00.000-07:00

Somehow, I managed to work almost the whole night without posting. Very odd.

I watched some T.V., ate a ton of food, spent way too much time on the interbot, and watched a movie. Maybe I should do movie reviews, too. I have to clean up soon, though, because my shift is almost over. Therefore...

House of Games
A Movie Review

Even Lindsay Crouse's one-dimensional acting skills cannot overshadow Ricky Jay or a David Mamet vehicle. William Macy as a young man is shocking. Almost 20 years ago, Joe Mantegna already sounded like the mobster from The Simpsons. Thumbs up.

Thank-you, and good night.

Hawthorne: Single Lift

2006-04-13T04:15:00.000-07:00

The tug showed up as scheduled, and so did my operators. I'm realizing that I can't be a sissy about waking people up. It's my job, and it's their job, too, and everyone is used to it. Alas, I love sleep so much that I am destined to feel bad when I rob somebody of it.

03:48 - 04:01 (tug, barge, and tug assist)

Also

2006-04-12T23:43:00.000-07:00

I really did quit my other job.

I worked my last day on Sunday, and am now employed entirely as a bridge operator. I feel all grown up and responsible, except for when I have four days off in a row. Hmmm.

Hawthorne: Real Work

2006-04-12T23:22:00.000-07:00

I'm still adapting to the weird logic of operator scheduling. I received a call from the boss today, telling me that he needed a graveyard shift filled on Thursday. What that actually means is that he needed me to work tonight through Thursday. It's considered a Thursday shift, as the bulk of the work day lands on the second day. However, to the operators, the important information is when to go to work, not which little box to fill in on a spreadsheet.

Either way, I'm here now, working from 22:00 on Wednesday until 06:00 on Thursday.

Amazingly, there was actual work to do when I got here. A tugboat was tentatively scheduled to come through at 05:00 (that would be on Thursday...), and the operator I was relieving suggested that I phone the on-call personnel and give them a heads up. It seemed a bit strange to bother someone only to tell them that I would probably be bothering them later, but I followed the lead, and gave them a ring.

I told them that we had an unconfirmed opening, and that I'd be calling them back when I knew the exact time. I felt like a bit of an asshole for waking people up unnecessarily, but that's my job. Well, tonight at least.

I ate some crappy fast food, watched CSI:NY, then ran upstairs to pee out the poorly planned large Pepsi I had just finished. When I came back, the phone said that I had a message, leaving me to wonder how to retrieve a voicemail on a system I was only casually taught how to use several months ago. Lucky for all parties involved, I am a genius. Unluckily for my awesome potential, it was a hang-up.

A minute later, the phone rang again. This time it was the tug, letting me know that he was ahead of schedule, and would be coming through at 03:30 instead. Also informing me (though not actually) that I shouldn't have made any preemptive phone calls, because now I had to call everyone back. Der.

One day, I won't be so dumb. One day, I will get my shit together. One fine day.

In the mean time, I'll wait for my operators and for this boat. I won't hold my breath on all the other stuff.

Broadway: Book Review

2006-04-08T14:16:00.000-07:00

Not Even Wrong: Adventures in Autism
by Paul Collins

To be fair, I read the bulk of this book on the Hawthorne, but as I had to finish it at home later that night, I'm just now writing the review.

Some people may know Paul Collins for the fine work he does with the folks at McSweeney's, including but not limited to the impressively entertaining Collins Library, and his writings in The Believer.

As far as book nerds go (especially that very special subsect of historical literary nerds), Paul Collins is a goldmine. Truth be told, I haven't read half as much of his own writing as I should have, though I do read his too-occasional literary commentaries on his blog, and find myself frequently (and nerdily) giggling with glee. It's a very rare entry of Mr. Collins' that doesn't warrant a forward or a phone call on my part, directing someone else to his blog or one of his recommendations.

It was because of his journal, as a matter of fact, that I first learned of his autistic son, Morgan, and of the book which he had written about this discovery. Being constantly poor, either despite or because of my love for books, I put it on hold at the local library, and patiently waited my turn. However, as it so happens every time I venture into my local lender, I left with more books than I could carry, and have been sorting through them since. Some of the books only get flipped through and placed into my RETURN pile, some of them get read, most all of them are (I'm sorry!) returned late.

On Thursday, I received an automated e-mail from the library, informing me to return my damn books already. I was out of time, and I grabbed Collins' book from the stack, crammed it into my backpack, and brought it to work the next day. Once again, I found myself amazed at nearly every turn of the page, having to call my significant other at least once a chapter to read to him either a morsel or several pages in their entirety. I was actually disappointed when my relief showed up to send me home, still flabbergasted that I have not yet learned to read and drive.

The book opens with an introduction to three-year-old Morgan on an average day at the Collins home, where the prodigal son bounces on the furniture and reads from The Merck Manual. Already being able to count and do basic arithmetic, Collins and his wife assume that Morgan simply hasn't decided to speak fully yet. They are shocked when, at his annual check-up, the doctor suggests that they call on the help of a developmental therapist. After protective hesitation, they relent to the battery of tests which confirm Morgan's autism.

Part memoir, part historical document, Collins traces a too-brief timeline of autism in America, and a slightly larger body of work in Europe, begun by Dr. Hans Asperger. He is especially enamored with the tale of Peter the Wild Boy, and we slowly learn what this strange story of Peter tells Collins about his own son. We meet the pioneers of autistic research, as well as some noteworthy autists themselves. Some of these stories are marked with clear talent or genius; others are heartbreaking with disappointment and misunderstanding.

Collins goes on a literal and literary search for the definitions and parameters of his son's diagnosis, from buying stacks of occasionally misguided self-help books, to traveling Europe and meeting pioneers of autistic studies. Collins seems to be working it all out in his own head the only way he knows how: with intense research and study. Back at home, he and his wife struggle with teaching Morgan to utter so much as a single word, let alone to recognize his own parents when they enter a room or address him directly.

Where the historical facts are riveting, Morgan's slow-to-learn pace at home and in his new preschool are compelling. I have no doubt that 50 years from now, experts will be amazed by our generation's lack of understanding with autists, just as we are shocked by the slow advancements and the charlatans of the past. Today, however, the level of compassion and the sincere desire by experts to help is wildly impressing. The stage-by-stage instructions from Morgan's teacher on drawing the little boy enough out of his shell to say his first words to his parents strike me as inspired, and Morgan's response to his new flash cards borders on the existential.

I worried for a while that the book might turn into one of those and then I discovered what it meant to be a real father type tomes, but it never became patronizing or preachy. Instead, we're treated to the honest worries of a parent, all the time wondering how Morgan will fare in the world at each stage of his life, and barely noticing the disregard or scowls from passersby. Any frustration Collins does feel, though occasionally palpable on the page, seems rarely to migrate into his home life. Instead we're given the distinct impression that the Collins' son will always be not only loved, but also an enormous source of pride for his family.

Broadway: All Quiet on the Northern Front

2006-04-08T14:07:00.000-07:00

Swing shift today (14:00 - 22:00), which should prove to be rather boring. There's an enormous freighter just South of the bridge, which appears to be getting loaded up with grain. It may leave while I'm here, which would be swell, as it would be my biggest boat thus far; however, these boats take time to fill, so I won't count on it.

Also, I'm in the grips of a rather nasty cold / flu, and have been for the past couple days. I have a debilitating cough, muscle aches, and what seems like a raging fever until I take my temperature every couple of hours and find that it is markedly below average. I've seen enough '80s zombie movies to know that by this time tomorrow, I will be pasty in pallor and begging for brains. Or, you know, I'll be coughing more. Tuh-may-toe, tah-mah-toe.

Hawthorne: Slow News Day

2006-04-06T19:55:00.000-07:00

Not much happening here...I've read most of a book, taking occasional breaks to rest my eyes by watching T.V.

A cruise boat hailed me earlier, requesting a lift. I walked to the south window as it passed underneath me, watching for it to clear the bridge before I began the lowering procedures. While waiting for it to poke its nose out the other side, I glanced down and saw the boat right underneath me, gliding smoothly along its way. Funny that I had never thought to watch it through the metal grating of the roadway.

It seemed so obvious.

19:04 - 19:12 (dinner cruise, heading upriver)
20:56 - 21:04 (and back again)

Take a Look, It's In a Book...

2006-04-01T19:57:00.000-08:00

When I got home yesterday, fast food in hand after a weary day of being dumb, I sat in front of the living room television, and chewed french fries while watching Reading Rainbow. In addition to being leaps and bounds better than Judge Judy, I can never resist the awesome powers of Geordi LaForge.

As it so happens, they had an entire segment on bridges and their workers, showing all the daredevils who work on New York's George Washington Bridge. It delighted me immensely and made me feel a ton better.

Thanks, PBS!

Glories of the Herd Mentality

2006-03-31T14:19:00.000-08:00

I left the bridge in the capable hands of my relief, and also left the mechanics up the towers. I went down the sketchy staircase, and managed to get across the lane of traffic almost immediately. Sometimes I have to stand in what is essentially a body-sized cubby and wait, while cars pass inches from my feet and legs.

As I hopped onto the sidewalk, I heard the warning bells begin to sound that the bridge was opening. I had narrowly missed an opportunity for a lift, but this was the first time I had been on the Hawthorne as a pedestrian while it went up, and I decided to stick around and watch it.

I heard the operator make his announcement to clear the bridge, and was surprised at how muffled it was. I made a mental note to speak more clearly when I make my announcements, and I stepped lively until I reached a cluster of people waiting for the lift.

Before I go any farther, I'd like to point out that I was operating on only a handful of hours of sleep over the course of three days, so it wasn't at all my fault when I failed to notice that I was standing idly on the center lift span. I swear to all I hold dear that I had no idea what was going on, or why the operator was yelling at people to get behind the yellow lines. I simply stood behind two cyclists and a few pedestrians, and looked around to see if I could espy who was holding up the lift. I even looked ahead to the clearly marked yellow lines (which were 20 or so feet ahead of us) and wondered what was going on.

Despite the fact that I sat in the center tower all day, despite the fact that I know the center of the bridge lifts, and despite the fact that I consider myself a person of very slightly more than moderate intelligence, so long as I was standing with a group, I had no idea that I was on the wrong side of the warning lines. Apparently, neither did any of us, and I don't know how we eventually figured it out and moved along. When we did, though, I felt the rise of heat in my face and the distinctly fast-paced sick stomach of sheer idiocy. I know this, of course, because humiliating stupidity is one of my hallmarks.

I prayed that my fellow worker had no idea I was in the group, but as he had just seen my backpack and blue coat descend the stairs, he'd have to be even dumber than yours truly not to have noticed them again less than two minutes later.

I scurried from the bridge, my proverbial tail between my leg, and my head reeling. I walked down the stairs and away from the bridge. I never saw the lift.

Greasy

2006-03-31T13:47:00.000-08:00

I got to lift the Hawthorne again, when two mechanics showed up at 13:00.

Every couple/few weeks, operators apply grease to the enormous parts inside the bridges' engine rooms. I've only done this once, and it was an adventure. Two months ago, another trainee and I were shown how to grease this bridge, which required the donning of Tyvek suits and the general covering of all people involved in thick, black lube.

From the looks of the other bridges, I think we had the easiest time. On the Hawthorne, grease is applied to as many places as are reachable, then it's called a day. On at least one other of the bridges, the wheels must be moving in order to fully reach all the gears. I know this is the case on the Burnside, but I don't know if that's true for any of the others.

The very idea of this terrifies me to the core. I'm sure it's simple; that's not the problem. But we're talking about cranks and cogs and flywheels that range from several inches to upwards of seven feet in diameter, and which do not stop immediately just because the emergency shutdown button has been pressed. Errors go beyond the realm of losing a finger, and a whole lot closer to having an entire arm ripped out and your skull crushed before anyone could intervene. If there was anyone to intervene. I don't believe anyone has ever been injured, which is impressive in the long history of the bridges, but that doesn't mean it's impossible.

It could also be that I simply haven't been told of the horrific injuries or of the Institution for Disgustingly Maimed Bridge Employees, which is housed behind the tree line, at the end of a creepy road in the West Hills.

The mechanics arrived today to grease the bridge in places the operators never even see. Cogs, pulleys and cables which connect the counterweights to the engine room must also be greased, but they are nearly 200 feet above the deck (which is an additional 45+ feet off the water), and thusly must be gotten at by guys in bright orange jumpsuits connected via climbing gear. There are maintenance stairs which ascend the bridge, but the mechanics must be given hazard pay if they use them. These are the same type of stairs which we climb to reach the operator's station, and I cannot imagine anyone willfully using them for ten times the distance.

Instead, the mechanics and I turned on our two-way radios, and they went up the stairs to the engine room. From there, they walked across a series of catwalks to a maintenance platform. After closing the gates and clipping in, they called me to lift the bridge.

The Hawthorne is a vertical lift bridge. The bridge is divided into three sections, the middle of which rises when a boat comes through. To make this happen, two counterweights, housed in towers on either side of the center span, are lowered by the engine room. As they descend, the center span (and me!) are lifted away from the rest of the bridge. Here is an example of a bridge which is very similar to the Hawthorne.

As the mechanics and I went up into the air, the counterweights came level with their maintenance platform, and we stopped. The mechanics left the platform, and walked onto the top of the counterweights. When they gave me the signal, I put the bridge back down, and they rode the counterweights to the top of the tower. Humorously, this does not warrant hazard pay, as it's safer than using the stairs.

Once up the towers, the mechanics said they would radio me when they needed to come down. As this was shortly before a shift change, I informed my relief that there were workers on the bridge, and he took the healm before they came down.

I had been told about the need for this when I first worked on the Hawthorne, and had been concerned about when it would be my turn to perform the action. As it turns out, the mechanics are extremely nice, and quite helpful, and the only stress was entirely mental and (oddly) entirely mine. I'm glad that I was able to be a part of it, not just because I love lifting the bridges, but also because that's one less thing to worry about.

13:28 - 13:39 (lift for greasing)

Hoo-ray For Two Boats! Boo-urns For Bad Maths!

2006-03-31T11:08:00.000-08:00

A full hour and a half late, I finally got the call from the barge, saying they were heading downriver. The captain called again as he was leaving dock and asked, "KTD 521 Hawthorne, what have you got on the board?"

Uhm, uh, huh? I imagined a clipboard with lists of boats or team rosters, and that seemed to make the most sense (minus the intramural bridge volleyball aspect, mind you). I replied, "Just you today, Sir," and received a brief, stunned silence before laughter.

"Heh heh, Hawthorne, what's your river level?"

You see, outside one of the windows is a painted board with the current river level. So, you know, fuck me for not being literal enough. The operator on the Morrison chimed in with the laughter, too, as I blushingly checked the current river level, and reported it at 7.5 feet. Luckily, they know I'm new, and they don't give me too much crap for not understanding their weird maritime peculiarities just yet.

They needed 85 feet for the masts on the derrick barge to clear the bottom of my bridge, so I began a higher-than-usual lift. Of course, by the time I was about 80 feet off the shoes, it occurred to me that the boat only needed 85 feet of clearance, and the Hawthorne is 49 feet off the water when the river is at sea level.

Um, duh again.

Some quick math would have told me that, with the river at 7.5 feet, that means we currently have 41.5 feet of clearance. This also means that I only need to lift the bridge 43.5 feet for the barge to make it by unscathed. Alas, I was already up there, so I just enjoyed the view.

A few minutes later, I was hailed by a pleasure cruiser following the barge downriver, who asked me to hold the lift for him, too. "No problem," I said. I failed to mention that, having stopped my ascent 83 feet in the air, I could have started lowering the bridge anyway, and he still would have cleared. Whee!

So, then:

10:36 - 10:52 (Tug, Derrick Barge, and Pleasure Cruiser)

Hopeful of Lift

2006-03-31T09:18:00.000-08:00

At 6:30, I received a call from a local boat saying that he would be needing a series of lifts at 9:00 this morning. I called all the appropriate people, and set all the wheels in motion. Now I'm just sitting and waiting for the boat (which will be pushing a derrick barge) to show up.

Oooh! I'll call and ask what the hold up is!

. . .

Okay. Apparently, they're having hydraulic problems, and they might have to cancel the lift. Darnnit all to heck. I was going to see if I could record some video of the Hawthorne opening. Maybe I still can; we'll see...

Here's Something

2006-03-31T09:11:00.000-08:00

I keep forgetting this one, so maybe if I type it out, it'll stick in m'brain:

upriver : at or towards a point nearer the source of a river
downriver : outward, toward the sea

Later, a boat is coming back downriver. Previously, a boat went upriver. There has to be a better way for me to remember this.
Any suggestions from the gallery?

Also

2006-03-31T06:10:00.000-08:00

Thanks to my Google homepage, I get this:

"We cross our bridges when we come to them and burn them behind us, with nothing to show for our progress except a memory of the smell of smoke, and a presumption that once our eyes watered."

(Tom Stoppard)

Hawthorne: Sunrise Again

2006-03-31T06:03:00.000-08:00

The sun just flew up, getting quickly brighter until I had to close the blinds. I had no idea a sunrise could happen so quickly, since I'm not usually around for one. As the window I'm facing is directed East, I got spots on my eyes before I knew what was happening. I turned around to rub my eyes, and was confronted with a mirrored high rise in downtown, reflecting and magnifying it all right back at me.

The amazing thing isn't that I'm so cheery about being blind. The amazing thing is that I had no idea I could touch type!

2006-03-30T05:05:00.000-08:00

THE fog comes
on little cat feet.

It sits looking
over harbor and city
on silent haunches
and then moves on.

I checked the wunderground website, and it claims that visibility is currently five miles. Yet, I can't see the bridges North or South of me, and outside my windows is a dull grey haze.

I'm guessing (and bear with me here, as I have no depth perception to speak of) that I cannot see more than 150 feet. It's an eerie kind of quiet, and talk on the radio is limited mostly to, "Can you see anything over there?"

I snapped this picture from one of my surveillance cameras. The glowing orbs are this bridge's spotlights, which are reflecting the precipitation, making it even harder to see. I get off in about half an hour, and I get to walk back to my car in this. I hope it has gotten lighter by then...

---
*Fog by Carl Sandburg

Hawthorne: Drunken Mayhem

2006-03-30T02:36:00.000-08:00

After a couple hours on the bridge, I realized that I was freakishly warm. I turned down the heat (75 degrees?!) and opened the windows, hoping to drop my core temperature quickly. A couple hours later, with the windows still open, I heard shouts.

I sat quietly for a second, wondering if I was mistaken, when I heard, "Hey you up there! Hey! Come down here!"

I quietly turned off the lights in the booth, so that I couldn't be seen from the sidewalk, and made sure the door was locked. I walked up to the window, just close enough to make out the two drunk teenagers standing below without them being able to identify me. After quite a few minutes, they gave up and wandered off, but I had begun to wonder whether this would be the night someone tried to climb the bridge. Luckily, no.

I did watch the little hooligans as they walked off the bridge, and they spent even longer at the Southeast end than they did attempting to harass me. I zoomed in the video cameras, but couldn't quite see what they were doing. When I walk back to my car, I'll have to see if there's any new drunken graffiti.

Woot!

Hawthorne: Graveyard

2006-03-30T00:00:00.000-08:00

I've spent the first two hours of the shift watching television. I'm not usually much of a T.V. watcher, but with eight hours of not much to do, I try to space out the distractions I bring with me.

In the backpack I bring to work on the bridges, I keep a book or two, whatever magazine I'm reading right now, lunch, snacks, a DVD, and a fluorescent orange vest for when I have to go outside. There's also my keys, my cell phone, my wallet, my calendar, and a set of camping silverware. I find the camping silverware the most useful, as I need something to eat my lunch with, and it also entertains me because I always feel a bit like I'm hiking in my belongings when I come to work.

Much like the wilderness, the bridge houses have a sort of "if you pack it in, pack it out" policy. Every operator is required to clean house and leave the office at least as clean as he found it. About one half hour before my shift ends tomorrow morning, I will put the chairs back in place, Windex the desk, sweep the floor, take out the garbage, turn off the computer, and open the windows to air out the space. This was done for me before I got here, and will also be done by whomever works the shift following mine.

Some of the operators (very few, to be fair) will leave nasty notes if the garbage isn't taken out; even if there is only a single paper cup in it. Most everyone else is okay with things so long as the office is moderately clean and not smelly. The only problem is that one never knows who will be working after them, so I tend to just go apeshit with the tidying up. It's easier than hearing that I'm a slob from a yellow sticky note or a grumpy e-mail. Not that I have received any of these passive/aggressive comments, but I have heard tell.

Before the clean-up, though, the house is mine.

I kick off my shoes, catch up on e-mails to friends and family, read the newspaper, eat Japanese curry rice, watch C.S.I., play sudoku, and scan the newest issue of MacWorld. I update this blog, and read my friends' blogs and websites. I try not to fall asleep, and I (mostly) succeed.

Most of the time, I don't read more than a magazine or what's on the internet, because I have an immediate sleep response with heavy reading. It's happened since I was a kid, and I have very little control over it. I'm a pretty fast reader most of the time, and I have the tendency to devour a book once I begin it. Alas, if it's dark out, or I am at all tired, I find myself reading and re-reading the same sentence until I am entirely hypnotized and then completely asleep.

Sunday on the bridge was a day shift, but I didn't want to tempt fate. Getting up at four in the morning doesn't bode well for me staying awake all day, so I internetted a while before settling in to watch my Sports Night DVD. As luck would have it, the computer wouldn't play it. And T.V. reception on the Broadway is appalling. This left me with my magazine and a book. I figured it couldn't hurt, so I started the book. Five hours later, I was done.

I managed to stay awake by stopping every three to five chapters and attempting to fall asleep. Seriously. Everyone knows that if you need to stay awake, the best advice is to try falling asleep. Conversely, if you need to be asleep, your only hope is to force yourself awake. It works like a charm, and with only a few breaks, I wiled away the time to a more manageable 45 minutes. I then re-checked my e-mail and cleaned at a leisurely pace before leaving.

This brings me to the idea that I should start doing book reviews. I have little else to occupy my time, and I'm sure that my faithful readers have already grown tired of my tired rants. If you have any suggestions for books to read or want to send me a book, zine, or manuscript of yours to review, I would be delighted. Obviously, suggestions of War & Peace or any other Dostoevsky will be summarily dismissed. As will, I am sorry to say, most Nabokov; I have already read a great deal of it, and I don't think the sentence structure to be conducive to alertness. Entertaining, certainly. Sleep-inducing, even more so.

I've been trying to read more poetry. I want to discover what it is in certain poets that I enjoy, and I've been spending a lot of time at miscellaneous poetry websites, surfing from style to style, poet to poet, genre to genre, and I have yet to nail down my parameters. I would greatly like to receive suggestions of poets or poems that others enjoy.

In the mean time, I'll start my review of Sunday's book. Maybe you'll end up reading it, too...

Broadway: Quiet Sunrise

2006-03-26T05:53:00.000-08:00

Ending my on-call cycle last week was a bit jarring. I wasn't quite sure what would be expected of me when I wasn't on 24-hour standby, as (aside from my training period) that's the only position I've worked. As it turns out, it's fairly similar, barring the fact that I get sleep and days off.

When I am on-call, I am assigned a specific bridge. That bridge has one full time operator, but the on-call operator is ordered in if a lift is needed, and that person isn't there. This can be anything from the regular operator needing a day off to a boat coming through especially late. When I worked my on-call period, I was assigned to the Morrison Bridge, where I worked one full shift and six call-outs. I also worked two shifts on two different bridges when full time operators took days off. Of fifteen days, I worked nine.

Despite my constant complaints of sleep deprivation, I had more than the average amount of hours and days off. It's just that, occasionally, shifts would run back to back, or happen at unfortunate times. Add this to the fact that I have a second job, and I was doing more than the usual amount of running around like a maniac.

The off-call cycle still requires working at odd hours, but I work full shifts, and I usually get at least a day's notice. If there are any sudden needs for an operator, the person who is on-call this cycle takes care of it. If someone tells the boss they need a day off on Tuesday, I get a call asking if I can work that day. My pay rate is lower in this cycle, seeing as I don't have to leave movie theaters at the drop of a hat, or wake up to a ringing phone; also I am allowed to turn down a shift if need be.

I started off this period with three 8-hour shifts, which seemed auspicious, and I began to consider quitting my other part-time job. Then came last week's ordeal with my other boss, and I decided that I could live my life with less money if it involved less grief. I had a fairly nice talk with said boss, and gave him three weeks notice. This is unprecedented for me, as I have a low threshold for being bothered in any way, shape or form. I tend to lean more toward major meltdowns which require never showing my face at a particular job again, and I'm extremely proud of being mature enough to explain to him the exact reasons I was leaving, to do so politely and civilly, and to give more than two days' notice in the process. Granted, it took almost seventeen years of working to reach this pinnacle, so I won't exactly go breaking my arm trying to pat my own back.

Then I had almost a whole week off from both jobs, which is equally as unprecedented. I wiled away my time by rearranging the apartment, painting, and sleeping in for days at a time. Then I began to wonder if and when I'd work again in this cycle. Then I began to wonder whether quitting the other job was the smartest decision I could have made. Fanfreakingtastic. As luck would have it, my life of leisure was interrupted by filling in some shifts at that job, and now today, at this one. While here, I noticed that, even though I've only been scheduled four days this pay period, they have all been full workdays, and I'm working slightly less hours than I did on the other cycle. With all the running around, I didn't stop to think that I was working a few hours here, and a couple of hours there, so it doesn't add up as quickly.

Whew! I've never had to crawl back to a job on my hands and knees before, and I didn't want to start doing so for a job where I am wildly underpaid and even more amazingly ignored. So, for this one time, I offer a resounding, "Hooray for Me!"

Sing along if you so desire.

Home To Sleep Soon

2006-03-19T05:37:00.000-08:00

Staying awake is easier than it seems. Especially when you find out that you've closed your eyes for 15 - 20 minutes, and don't even remember it!

Ah, power napping.

Hawthorne: Testy, Testy

2006-03-19T02:56:00.000-08:00

It has been at least eight hours since the last lift.
Please perform a test lift as soon as it is safe to do so.

Well, I have trouble disregarding bold, highlighted messages from computer screens, so I went ahead and lifted the bridge. Luckily, it wasn't as windy as it was on Friday morning. Winds in excess of 30 MPH can make the lift dangerous and scary, and our wind-o-meter declared that they were between 40 and 50 MPH. No thanks.

Right now, the wind is calm, and barely registering at all. The river is at 3.5 feet, and all is well.

02:40 (no boat)
02:49 (still.)

Hawthorne: Don't Drink The Water

2006-03-19T00:44:00.000-08:00

I've been meaning to mention that on this bridge, the bathroom is outside.

To get to work, I walk up a set of steep stairs, and stop on a landing. To the left is the door to the control room, and to the right is more stairs. Up the stairs to the second landing, there's a room for equipment and some general cleaning chemicals. Up yet another set of stairs is the machine room and the toilet. It's not like it's a difficult walk, but there are a couple things of note.

One: when I say that I walk up stairs, I'm using the term loosely. Sure, there are steps and a handrail that ascend the bridge, but the footholds are small and made of galvanized metal grate-like material with gripper-action teeth. It's closer to a ladder than it is to stairs, what with the severe angle and the trying not to fall to my death. Also, unlike stairs, there is no way you could walk up or down without holding on for dear life. The landings are a thinner (yikes!) grate-like material, which you can see through to the roadway below. You can also see the river if you focus past the cars, and this is less unnerving than it sounds.

The other thing of note (two) is that you are exposed to all sort of weather when you have to climb the stairs. Last week when it was freezing rain, I had to walk up wet stairs with the wind in my face, and my mittens literally sticking to the handrail. Luckily, there's a heater in the bathroom itself, but you soon have to leave the comfort of the commode and venture back into the cold.

Once again, it's not as big of a deal as it seems. I climb quickly but carefully, I do my business, then I haul back to the office. It's an inconvenience mostly, but the hard thing is this: I sit less than four feet away from one of those awesome water coolers, complete with paper cups and hot/cold options.

Now, I actually hate water. I'll do anything I can not to drink it. Root beer, juice, milk, Kool-Aid, tea, ginger ale, froo-froo martinis...I'll drink anything but water. Even when I ride my bike 50 or 60 miles, I still have to splash a little Gatorade or something into the water. I've developed a lot of acquired tastes: soymilk, rice milk, Yogloo, Bombay Sapphire; I cannot acquire a taste for water. It bothers me.

Water is not supposed to taste like anything, yet it is surprisingly variant. Maybe that's what irritates me. I can tell the difference between tap waters and bottled waters. I can taste the uniquenesses of softened water. I can taste chemicals and minerals and all those heeby jeeby parasites which undoubtedly live in my crap-ass apartment plumbing. I've started getting those wee packets of Crystal Light to put into bottles of water, forcing myself to drink the foul brew so that I will stop walking through life so perpetually dehydrated.

I bring this all up because, for reasons unknown to me or Jeebus, I cannot turn down a water cooler. It's there. It makes burbly noises. And those damn paper cups are too cute. I'm a recycling maniac, and I can't resist a frickin' Dixie cup. Heaven have mercy on me if I ever stumble upon a water dispenser with those awesome, old sno-cone cups, for I'll probably stand there, drinking cone after cone of water until my bladder bursts.

So you understand my concern with the closeness of the water and the farthitude of le pissoir. I've told myself several times tonight to lay off the water, but I've already had to pee twice, and now I have to go again.

Up once more into the cold, cold night.

Hawthorne: Call-In? Call-Out.

2006-03-19T00:40:00.000-08:00

I was working at my other job when I got the call to be on the bridge at ten. I had told my boss this might happen, but he was still pretty grumpy about it. I've been meaning to quit, so I guess now's the time.

Sigh. I could use the extra money, but I'm tired all the time, and I'm sick of being talked down to by a boss who is never at work himself. C'est la vie.

In the mean time, I'm glad I got some extra sleep last night, because I'm here until six in the morning. At least I brought food...

Hawthorne: Graveyard

2006-03-17T03:08:00.000-08:00

After leaving the Broadway this afternoon, I forced myself awake for the drive home. Once there, I ate pizza and fell promptly to sleep. I awoke a few hours later, showered, made lunch, and headed back out.

It's been a cold and quiet night, with nothing in particular to report, giving way to a colder and quieter morning. Around 2:00 A.M., I noticed that the bridge was entirely quiet, as it was devoid of all traffic and pedestrians. This bridge is considered a fairly main roadway, so I'm still shocked an hour later when five or ten minutes will pass with only the sound of the wind outside. The silence will then be broken by a car or two, only to promptly return when they have passed.

I think I like it better when the whole room rattles and shakes with the constant presence of cars and buses. When it's like this, the rattle of single cars becomes so much more noticeable and disconcerting.

Broadway: Test Lift

2006-03-16T13:40:00.000-08:00

13:07 - 13:13 (better late than never)

Oops

2006-03-16T13:14:00.000-08:00

Getting ready to leave a bridge after shift usually means cleaning up the shack a half hour before it's time to go. I take out the trash, sweep the floor, and open a window. It's sort of like sitting in a potting shed for eight hours, and it gets a bit muggy and smelly. Some of the other operators dislike working after someone has smelled the place up all day, and rightly so. Therefore, we have a little cleaning list to get done before the next operator shows up.

And there I am, taking out the trash, when I see the Post-It note informing anyone that works on the Broadway to perform a test lift every Thursday morning. Uh, duh. So I look around, figure it's clean enough, and take out the trash. Then I glance up and down the bridge to make sure it's clear before initiating an opening. It's easy enough, and I've rarely had a problem with this bridge, but the reason for the test lift is to make sure that if anything is going to malfunction, it does so before the engineers leave for the day. That way, if anything serious breaks, they have all of Friday to fix it before the weekend.

I'm cutting it pretty close, but the bridge (thankfully) does exactly what it's supposed to. There's even a fun little bit where, when the lift span starts to rise, I first hear and then see all the rainwater pour off the girders and onto the roadway. I lift her about halfway, and figure that's good enough, then set everything back down real nice and smooth-like. No foolies, it was the quietest landing I've had yet.

I'm just getting ready to open the gates when the phone rings, and I pause to answer it. I don't want to pause too long, because traffic can get really antsy on this bridge, and I'm almost done, so I consider not answering at all. A split second later, I wonder if it's the engineers calling about the test lift, so I go ahead and pick up. We have some really amazing cameras on all the bridges, so it's entirely possible that someone back at the shop just watched the lift, and wants to know why it went up.

Nope. It's my boss, and he wants me to stay another hour. Sure, okay, I can stay another hour, I say while opening the gates and releasing traffic. But I misheard. He wants to know if I can stay another four hours. As I'm already planning on getting some sleep before hauling back for a graveyard shift on a different bridge tonight, I don't relish the idea of making it three shifts in one 24-hour period, so I say no. It's the first time I've refused work, which I am nominally allowed to do, and it feels weird to stand up for myself when I don't quite know everyone yet.

Better to do it now before they realize I'm a sucker, I figure, and give myself the opportunity to sleep every once in a while. It may feel strange today, but in the long run (I hope) it will help me out. In the mean time, I'm stuck here until they find someone to relieve me.

But, hey! At least the bridge opened!

Little Remnants Of Past Operations

2006-03-16T12:10:00.000-08:00

Nowadays, we open all of the bridges with touch-screen control panels that do pretty much everything for us. A couple of the bridges require that the operator manually close gates or barriers, but that isn't too much of a hassle. Not too long ago, at least one wall in each shack was covered with buttons and levers and gadgets to make the bridge open, and it took a whole lot more training than it does today.

Some of the bridges have remnants of the old controls. Fancy dials lost of luster, worn meters with ornate features, and buttons or toggles no longer connected to anything are common sights from one bridge to the next. One such remnant is the ominously-named dead man switch. Most of the bridges still possess a pedal which, were it still connected, would require the operator to stand firmly on it throughout the entire lift procedure. They've long since been disconnected, as the new system has built-in safety features which prevent the bridge from opening or closing without every previous step being completed in the proper order.

There's not much room for error, but there is also very little finesse that an individual operator can apply to the job. Even more impressive is the fact that all those whirling and dinging thingamabobs operated only one leaf of the double lift span bridges, and a second operator was required to raise the other side. As a nod to this, three of the four bridges that I work on have two control towers, though these days all of the operations are carried out in only one.

On the Broadway Bridge, the dead man switch is a tiny sensor underneath the computer screen, which detects motion in front of it. Though all the old pedals on the other bridges have been severed from their connections for some time now, this one makes a very slight clicking noise whenever I pass by it. Standing to operate the bridge, I hear it click once to signify that it has picked up my form. When I step away from the screen, a tiny red light comes on as it clicks again.

I haven't picked up on any obvious changes in the bridge's opening if I am not in front of the screen, so I'm beginning to think that this switch has been phased out as well. Still, it's reassuring to hear it chirp at me as I get up to get a drink or look out the window. I'm not sure if I'd have preferred all those old controls, but I should have liked to see them before they were carted out. And I'd like to think that if I lived 50 years ago, I would have been able to honk the horn at passing boats, signal to my partner in the opposite tower, then push all the buttons, and pull the requisite levers to raise our individual sides of the bridge in unison.

What fun that would be.

Sleep Studies

2006-03-16T07:08:00.000-08:00

Searching for the words to the famous American poem of the same name, I found this great article entitled Miles To Go Before I Sleep. It's a bit of a long read, but if you're at all interested in sleep patterns and the science of napping, then it's a must-read.

I must admit, though, to getting a good chuckle at the sentence which begins, "Stampi has been hanging around docks for the past 20 years..." Has he indeed? Way to go, Doctor!

Anyway, it's a bit funny to be trying to keep myself awake while reading an article on extreme sleep deprivation, but the irony is not lost on yours truly. I'm going to have myself a snack, and move onto some lighter fare immediately.

Broadway: The End Of The On-Call Cycle

2006-03-16T06:14:00.000-08:00

At 12:01 A.M. this morning, I officially went off-call. For the next month, I will get a few days' notice for each shift I am asked to work, and can finally give my cell phone the long-deserved nap it needs.

Last night, a few hours before the end of the line, I reached into my pocket to check the clock on my phone, only to realize that it had spontaneously turned off. The battery was fully charged, but its desire for real sleep became all too apparent as I fumbled with the battery, having to remove and replace it before it would turn back on, nervously wondering how long the bugger had been off and whether or not I had received any irate voicemails during that time.

Thankfully, I had not.

Today, I work the eight hour day shift on the Broadway, filling in for the full-time operator who requested the day off. One of the many perks of being a full-time operator is the ability to make someone lower on the ladder fill your shift. It's good for me, though, because I can't help but assume that I'll get less hours on this paycheck since I'm splitting any available hours with several other people. While on call, I am assigned a specific bridge, and any call-outs needed for that bridge are automatically directed to me. Off-call, someone else is relegated to those hours, and I exist in a wading pool of potential shifts, surrounded by other hungry little fishes.

Okay, enough of that analogy. It's time to stay awake!

Well, That Was Weird

2006-03-14T20:20:00.000-08:00

I was called in to work on the Morrison at 6:30 tonight.

Not for a boat or an opening, mind you, but to open the doors for the local police force, one member of whom sat in the window for an hour and a half, assisting cops in cruisers at street level. Assisting what? Giving tickets, of course!

You see, it's against the law to change lanes on the steel grating which covers the lift spans of the bridges, yet its a fairly common occurence. Tonight, I know that around 50 people in this town will never do it again. Either that, or they'll jump me when I lock up...

Here's hoping they're safety-minded tonight.

Morrison: Lift Me Up

2006-03-11T05:23:00.000-08:00

05:59 - 06:10 (tug + two barges)

Morrison: Surprise, Surprise

2006-03-11T04:46:00.000-08:00

I declined the offer to see a 10:00 movie last night, knowing that one of the area tugboats regularly calls in for an early Saturday morning opening. I worked on my bicycle (optimistically hoping that the snow would end soon), I surfed the web-net, and I did about 600 other piddly-ass things before finally committing to sleep around 1:30 A.M.

Yet I was still shocked when the phone rang some time after 3:00, and the dispatcher told me to be on the bridge at 04:30. Amazing how a person can be in anticipation of something, yet still remain entirely unprepared when it happens.

Of course, it didn't help that I was in that delicious stage of sleep where, when the phone rang, I tried in vain to turn off my alarm clock. It's a good thing there was no fruit nearby, or I could have been performing a one-person rendition of the famous Bert & Ernie joke. After finally managing to take the call, I struggled mightily to set my alarm clock for 20 minutes later.

The way I remember it, the alarm kept going off, and I kept wondering why, while somehow managing to reset it just a bit later each time. I should have just gotten out of bed when I initially knew what time to be here, but there was no way my brain could have figured it out. I finally fell out of bed, into some proper clothes, and made my way to the car in exactly the right amount of time. In my house, miracles never cease.

It's a strange thing driving to work at 4:00 A.M. on a Saturday. One rarely sees streets so deserted, and just about the only people I passed were the occasional cop car or shivering transient. Halfway downtown, though, I was greeted by the odd sight of an entirely closed road. Cop cars, road crews, and flashing lights appeared out of nowhere, and forced me to turn down an unknown road, which then flipped me around into who-knows-which direction. It took a couple minutes to reorient my internal compass (which is wonky enough on its own), and when I finally did, I was in the general area of where I needed to go, albeit heading the wrong way.

I followed the only driving knowledge I posses which is always true ("two wrongs don't make a right, but three lefts do"), and managed to make it to work with exactly a minute and a half to spare. Mental note: I must start avoiding these close calls, and leave earlier than the bare minimum required to get to the bridge on time.

My boat is scheduled for 05:30, and is supposedly a one-way, so I should be out of here soon. Of course, if I have anything to do with planning, I might end up spending the night here. I'm cool with that, though, because it'll give me time to figure out the lights.

Hawthorne: The Early Signs Of Sleep Deprivation

2006-03-09T20:25:00.000-08:00

Near the end of the day, I was barely hanging on.

I watched a movie, I did crossword puzzles, I internetted furiously. During a brief return of the flurries downtown, I snapped pictures of the city in its haze. I did every single thing I could think of to keep from falling asleep, and in the end I prevailed. I stopped off for some high quality fast food on the way home, ate in the car while stopped for a train (it was a really long train, I swear), walked in the door and passed out on my face. I woke up a couple times between then and now, looked around in a daze, and promptly fell back to sleep.

The snow in my part of town is almost completely absent after the day's wan sun melted it away, but there are still obvious signs of the mini blizzard which hit so early this morning: chunks of ice and snow on the roadside, cars driving around with a thick lid of snow on top, and the tops of houses flush with white. One day I'll remember that it takes all of ten seconds to snap a friggin' picture, and not put it off until the proverbial (or, in this case, actual) snow melts.

Well, I say that it'll happen, but don't hold your breath. I've also been promising friends that I'll write about things other than sleep, yet here we are again.

Morrison: Snow Day Call-Out Lifts

2006-03-09T06:29:00.000-08:00

04:47 - 04:57 (two tugs + a barge)
06:19 - 06:26 (back from whence they came)

What's your definition of holy shit?

2006-03-09T04:44:00.000-08:00

Knowing full well that I was working a fill-in shift on the Hawthorne at 06:00 this morning, I attempted getting to bed at around ten. Lying in bed being generally counterproductive to sleep, it was decided that a movie should be watched in order to make me pass out. I forgot to mention in one of my many rants about how hard I find sleep, that one of a handful of ways to knock me out instantly is to try staying awake for a movie.

Enter bed, play Bend It Like Beckham, pass out in short order.

Except that I watched the whole movie, showing no signs of fatigue, and it's not as short a movie as I remembered. Maybe it's because I had scarcely been awake twelve hours when I went to bed, or perhaps it was because the bedroom seemed extra cold last night, but I didn't manage to begin inching toward sleep until just past 01:30. Eyes close. . . phone rings. Of course.

A boat is coming through at 05:30 A.M., and I'll need to be on the Morrison at 4:30. Thinking that another on-call operator will have to be notified, I tell the dispatcher, "I'm scheduled to relieve you at 0600 hours."

"Hmmmmmm...." ponders the dispatcher. "Why don't you come to the bridge at 0415 hours, and we'll see if we can get that tug through a little early. Then you can come on over here when you're done." And then after a short pause, "Guess I'm getting some overtime today..."

No rest for the wicked, I suppose, and set my alarm clock for then.

It is unbelievably difficult to haul my sorry carcass out of bed two hours later. For some reason, and I cannot imagine why, the knowledge that I will be awake for twelve more hours doesn't make me move any faster. I forego a shower, and ramble around the apartment, picking up clothes and piling them on. It's still cold, but luckily it's a motivator to move faster. Grabbing my lunch and my keys and my hat, I'm out the door before the clock strikes four. I heave open the security door exiting the back of my building and instantly freeze.

Not because it's cold, mind you, because it's actually warmed up a bit. Warmed up? Oh, yes. The fluttering, falling snow is holding in some residual warmth, and I'm frozen in my tracks, staring at the inches of accumulated snow on the ground, and wondering how in the name of Sam Cooke I'm supposed to get to work. In seventeen minutes.

In the doorway, I do that pathetic little chicken dance of indecision, taking odd half steps back and forth and back, reaching for my cell phone and stopping short, then doing it all over again. I can feel my brain try to grok the situation, but I stripped some bolts up there years ago, and a few cogs are slipping. I stop altogether, allowing my feeble brain to pause and figure this out. I finally reach for my phone and check the time. Not that the time will help me here, as I have only one decision.

Get into that ridiculous rear-wheel-drive mobile that handles notoriously badly in the snow, including but not limited to several occasions of getting stuck on slushy hills that don't wind me on a bike, and one heart-stopping moment this past December where myself and the one person I love and am currently not trying to kill were spinning wheels in the fast-falling snow of the mountains while a semi did everything it could not to hit us. It didn't work out so well, but we survived remarkably unscathed, and promised that there would be no more snow driving. Ever. Again. Ever.

Until the job I landed a mere month ago deemed that I am never able to miss work. Ever. I weighed my years-old survival instinct against a weeks-old fondness for the most bitchin' job in the tri-county area, and truly shocked myself when I got in the car.

I wanted to take a picture of the parking lot and its cars blanketed in fluffy white splendor, like so many indistinct shapes in the dark, but I had ten minutes to drive six miles, and five minutes to trek through the snow to my post, and no matter what those pesky Rolling Stones claim, time is not on my side.

I took it slow and easy, driving in the tracks of those brave souls who had gone before me. The snow eased gradually as I came down the ever-so slight hill, and turned into slushy rain the closer I got to the city proper. I wondered whether the snow would even stick around for me to get off work and enjoy it, and for the first time it occurred to me why my bedroom had been so astoundingly cold earlier in the evening. Duh. It also explained why the cats sat in the cold window for the two hours I watched a movie, staring perplexedly out into the night, rather than sleeping on the bed where it was warm.

Cats being notoriously sharper than yours truly.

I reached the bridge in one piece, either five minutes late or ten minutes early, depending upon your interpretation of the facts in evidence. Upon arriving, I called dispatch, and was informed that the boat was indeed early, and almost here. I settled into the warmth of the control tower, powered up the computer, and waited for the boat I had risked life and limb for. Well, limb at the very least; let us not diminish the importance of events once they have passed.

From the vantage point of my desk, surrounded by windows, I can see traffic beginning to increase in earnest now. It's nearly six, and I'll be waiting here until my boat returns, at which point I'll trundle off to the next segment of my day. The sun hasn't even started its ascent yet, and I wonder how many of these drivers have no idea what they would have seen if they'd have left a couple hours earlier.

And had they seen it, I wonder if they would have left at all.

Morrison Bridge: Call-Out Lifts

2006-03-07T06:57:00.000-08:00

04:46 - 04:57 (tiny tug pushing 2 huge grain barges + one crane)
05:21 - 05:32 (twin tugs!)
05:36 - 05:38 (gates up, gates down, opening cancelled)

Morrison: Late To Bed, Early To Rise

2006-03-07T06:10:00.000-08:00

This afternoon, I got the call that I would need to be on the bridge at 03:15 the following morning. Yet, despite all my talk of sensible sleep patterns and all that jive, I remained restless in bed for several hours before finally succumbing to a fleeting moment's sleep. I still maintain that a couple hours sleep is better than naught, but I've never been good at forcing myself to nap.

My dad, who is a role model to many aspiring nappers, has the unique ability to fall asleep anywhere, at any time of the day, for any length of time needed. One famous episode occurred when he came to visit me at my new apartment when I was 19. While talking with my mom, he sat on the couch and announced that he was bushed. I informed him that we were meeting some people in half an hour, and would need to leave in 20 minutes. I had scarcely finished the sentence when he was out like a light. Ten minutes later, I said to my mother, "I think it's time to shake the crap out of Dad," when he suddenly opened his eyes, patted himself down for his phone, keys & wallet, then told us to get a move on.

This may be a singular event in my mind, but it is a frequent occurrence at my parents' house. Sadly, though I take after my dad in his love of action movies, cars, and all foods Chinese, I have always been a nervous and restless sleeper. When I was wee, I would wake up in the middle of the night, overcome with guilt for one thing or another. I would toss and turn until I finally padded to my parents' room, where I woke my mom and informed her of whatever sleight I had managed at my young age. She would invariably tell me that I should go back to bed and we would discuss it in the morning; my dad wouldn't so much as open an eye.

The unspoken rule on bridge duty, or so I have gleaned from my fellow all-nighters, is that sleeping is done, but not spoken of. Much like ending sentences in prepositions while you lazily watch the sun rise over the river. What was I saying?

Oh, yes. . .

Sleeping is a sport, really, and if you can manage to wake up when the phone rings or the radio squelches or you hear a door open at the bottom of the stairs, then you are golden. Granted, it helps to sound alert when these things happen, but I have figured that all is well in Bridgeland if the occasional resting of eyes occurs.

Sadly, this is not to be for yours truly. I may have more than my fair share of pre-sleep anxiety, but once I'm out, I'm down for the count. Oddly, I stir at the slightest sound, and have been known to snap rudely at people turning on lights, stepping too loudly in be-sockled feet, or rustling the covers in a way that could potentially irk me. All of this while still dreaming away merrily, and with no knowledge of it come morning.

Or so I claim.

That being said, I realize I'm just rambling stupidly at this point, and Frank the gull has arrived, so I will stare at him for a while.

Morrison: Two Tugs, One Crane Boat, And A Barge

2006-03-04T08:22:00.000-08:00

The coolest part of this job, so far, is the anticipation of a lift.

I know a boat is coming when I've been called to the bridge, as they aren't going to pay me to haul down here and feed Frank. I arrive an hour before the scheduled lift, then sit and wait for the boat to approach. As it comes in my direction, I can hear it calling all the other bridges in succession, and I can hear them responding that lift procedures are beginning.

As the boat approaches the County-run bridges, I can hear them take the call then watch them raise their spans. It sets me at ease to be a cog in the wheel, knowing I'm not really alone up here, and it strikes me as beautifully choreographed.

BOAT: Approaching St. Johns.
BROADWAY: Beginning lift procedures.
BROADWAY: Lifting bridge.
BOAT: Approaching Broadway, calling Burnside.
BROADWAY: Up.
BURNSIDE: Beginning lift procedures.
BOAT: Passing Burnside.
BURNSIDE: Lifting bridge.
BROADWAY: Closing bridge.
BOAT: Approaching Burnside, calling Morrison.
BURNSIDE: Up.
MORRISON: Beginning lift procedures.
BOAT: Passing Burnside.
MORRISON: Lifting bridge.
BURNSIDE: Closing bridge.
BOAT: Approaching Morrison, calling Hawthorne.
MORRISON: Up.
HAWTHORNE: Beginning lift procedures.
BOAT: Passing Morrison.
HAWTHORNE: Lifting bridge.
MORRISON: Closing bridge.
BOAT: Approaching Hawthorne.
BOAT: Passing Hawthorne. Thanks for the lift.
HAWTHORNE: Closing bridge.

To be fair, the Steel Bridge is involved in that dance, too, but as it's not a county bridge, we're not involved with it, and don't contact it.

Frank

2006-03-04T07:45:00.000-08:00

Also, I was awake enough to grab a fistful of cookies with my packet of hot cocoa while on the way out the door, knowing that there was no way I could disappoint a seagull two days in a row. I was, however, not enough on my game to grab something with which to stir my hot chocolate, forcing me to use a Bic pen (also good for opening bike locks! what a multifaceted tool!), but that is neither here nor there.

Frank enjoyed the first generic chocolate sandwich cookie, but when I went out to give him a second, it was stolen by renegade gulls. All the same, the one cookie appears to have been enough to avoid another round of high-pitched caws.

So, yay for my half-awake brain!

Morrison Bridge: Sunrise Call-Out

2006-03-04T07:20:00.000-08:00

After the crazy hours of my past few days, I tried as hard as I could to stay awake last night. I don't have to be at my other job until 4:00 this afternoon, so I was hesitant to fall asleep too soon, for fear of waking up so early that I would be dragging by the time my night was closing.

As luck would have it, I passed out on my face, despite attempts to the contrary, before 11:00. Maybe even before ten. I'm unclear, as I actually do pass out hard, and on my face.

Lucky, of course, because I got called onto the bridge at 05:30 in the morning.

I'm beginning to realize that, though the hours of this job are in no way peculiar to one who usually stays up all night, they can be just erratic enough to confuse and addle me. Therefore, I have decided that I can no longer live in a world where I decide where and when to sleep. I must give in whenever sleep wants me, as I have no idea when I'll be seeing it next.

There are too few things I've gleaned from my existence heretofore, but over the course of my life, one truth has never failed me: take whatever sleep you can get, whenever you can get it. This from an old friend touring with his first band, who learned p.d.q. what a commodity sleep was on the road.

I am not one with the camp who believes that there is a bare minimum of sleep. Sure, you're obviously going to feel better if the amount of time slept exceeds 45 minutes, but after you've been awake for 24 hours, you're going to be cherishing those precious minutes with sand in your eyes as if they were gold. Sweet, yummy gold, like so much manna from The Muppet Show.

I guess the point that I'm trying to make is that I got close enough to a full night's sleep yesterday, but I could have had more, and I let it slip away. I was alert enough to appreciate the sunrise from the control tower of the bridge, but I would have preferred to be cognitive enough to have stopped for a doughnut. Besides, what's better than more sleep?

Not a whole damn lot, but a maple bar is pretty close.

Morrison Bridge: Call-Out Lifts

2006-03-04T01:12:00.000-08:00

08:01 - 08:12
09:57 - 10:06

Walk out into the startling sunlight.

Morrison Bridge: One Lift

2006-03-03T16:09:00.000-08:00

10:19 - 10:31

Maintenance lift. East leaf opened so that crew could stand perilously close to the edge of the open roadway, and lower equipment into the maintenance pit via ropes and buckets. Ass-clenchingly fascinating to watch.