Parents? Grandparents? I was born during WW2. Those are all people that I might have met (but didn't).
In my day job, I'm a building inspector. My state is rapidly approaching an absolute crisis because as old[er] building inspectors retire or just leave the field to earn a living wage, more and more towns around the state are shifting the job to a part-time position with a comparatively low salary (sorry -- hourly rate, no "salary" involved) and no benefits. I talked to the mayor of one town. They wanted to hire a building inspector, to work 16 hours per week. I asked how many permits they process in a year. Answer: over 400. Do the match, and that works out to about two hours per permit. In that time, the building inspector has to process the application; do the plan review (and hope it's good enough to pass on the first try -- which it never is); issue the permit; conduct multiple inspections (including travel time to and from the site for each inspection); conduct a final inspection (and hope it passes on the first try -- which it rarely does); issue the certificate of occupancy; do the close-out paperwork; and then archive the plans and the files. All with no clerical support, plus the town wants the inspector to be in the office to answer the phone and respond to questions for at least an hour or two every day, so they weren't amenable to doing the 16 hours as two 8-hour days. Another town only funded their building inspector for 12 hours per week. And then they wonder why they can't find qualified building inspectors. It's a race to the bottom.
I'm an outsourced "professor." I have 21-24 classroom hours per week, which I'm told is insane, but that's my courseload before I go to my part time job(s). A "full-time" professor has between 9-12 classroom hours a week (plus office hours and committees) and makes a little less than twice what I do. There are other factors in play that make my situation better, like the fact that full-timers can only work for five years at one school without either getting tenure or being forced to move on, but it's still kinda topsy-turvy since the school officially says that I'm a part-timer.
Respectfully, you need to explain where you are located. Nothing you stated would be correct in my corner of the U.S. Ordained clergy here are automatically authorized to perform weddings. So are justices of the peace. We do not have anything like a "single event license" to perform weddings.
Right. My dad's generation fought that war. I lost an uncle who's ordeal was supposedly accurately depicted in Band of Brothers. My dad was a huge fan of Steinbeck, who I beleive died in the sixties too, because of his descriptions of the western landscape of his youth.
That little silver button on the floor is a dimmer foot switch for the headlights. For the young folks the left pedal of the two on the right is the clutch. and that black lever dropping from the steering wheel is the parking brake.
As we get older the celebrities and other notables start passing on to the great gig in the sky. Sort of sad, and a frightening reminder of our own mortality. It really hit me hard when my high school hero, Keith Emerson, passed away in 2016.
I've had two heart attacks and open heart surgery. I now walk about thirty miles a week, feeling very liberated by total acceptance of my own mortality.
Here we are again at the store: it’s raining. Crappy weather equals crappy business. You customer types are a fickle bunch.
Guest: "you're so helpful! You should be a librarian. Are you going to school?" Me: im already a librarian Guest: -gapes- "i thought you were in high school!" (This occured in the library ... At my desk)
Ruined life of Robert Hichens - 'the man who sank Titanic' - BBC News Yeesh, he lived through what's basically my worst nightmare, and his whole life spiraled out to a tragic end. Became a heavy drinker, tried to commit suicide twice, and did a stint in jail for attempted murder. He would die in 1940 in his bunker due to heart failure. The article said he had what is now known as PTSD. No kidding! To be the guy who caused the sinking despite frantically turning the wheel to avert the iceberg, causing 1,700 people to die? No damn wonder!
I read an article once on railroad engineers being frequent victims of PTSD from the all suicides they assist and are powerless to prevent. It is rare in the career of train drivers to have never experienced it. Do it long enough and it will likely happen multiple times.
Ugh. Yeah, I was on a commuter train that hit someone once, and the look on the engineer's face afterwards will haunt me till the day I die. I sincerely hope he got some good therapy for that.
In the eight years I commuted by train it happened twice. One other time it was attempted. The train was stopped at a station in the afternoon when some guy went out on an overpass threatening to jump on the tracks. We were all watching the guy as we waited on the busses to take us home. I later learned that they were able to talk the guy down at four the next morning.
Well this place is a bit of a wet blanket of depressing. On the other hand, I'm in a good mood, been working on a couple of different stories. So, it's been fun along the way. And it's nice to putting pen to the page, so to speak. The first being a gritty Space Pirate adventure story that is kinda interesting, considering I've opted to follow a single MC, that has a bit of a stoic nature to him. The second, a re-imagining of an old (and lost to time and the recycle bin) Erotica. Been really fun capturing the spirit and the characters from it. Also a bit of the humor. “Alright cowboy, we’re going south of the border.” She flexed her latex clad fingers, putting on her best John Wayne impression. Okie dokie, off I go. Much to write.
I’ve noticed a trend just recently for people wearing hooded cloak type things. But not with the hoods pulled tight, left loose so they gape and cast deep shadows over their bowed faces. It’s like being in the wrong end of Diagon Alley some days!
The Americanism ‘Can I get...’ when asking for things in shops has taken over and it winds the tits off me. Fuck off! You’re not American. It’s ‘Can I have...’
