Categories
Just Shelley

My first and only hydroplane race

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

At the Ford Service Center waiting on my 5000 mile service and thought I would write a story into my nifty energy efficient wireless weblogging tool, and download to the web later.

Chris asked for stories of pain. He is one sick puppy…probably why I like him so much. Well, I never deny my favorite chicken, so…

In my late teens I was going out with a guy who was heavily into hydroplane racing — stock outboard racing to be exact. Brian raced A stock, one of the smaller types with a maximum speed of 50-55 MPH.

I became a fairly decent and respected crew member, with Brian as well as other racers, to the point where they would allow me to take their boats for a ride after the races. There’s few experiences you can have in life to equal being on your knees at water level in a boat made of 1/4 inch plywood, racing over the water at 50+ milers per hour.

To set the stage for the rest of this story, I need to tell you that at that time there was a real sex bias in boat racing circles. Men raced, women supported. I was unusual in that I would help carry the boats and worked on the mechanics, including being able to set up a boat quickly and efficiently.

Once a year, at the biggest of the local (Seattle) races, the guys would let the ladies have a turn in a ladies-only racing competition — the annaul Powder Puff Race.

Now that you all have had your laugh for the day, I’ll continue with my story.

Brian’s hydroplane was a sharp turning little beastie, but didn’t have the power that some of the other boats had. For the race, he trained me to stay tight in the turns and to hit the mark (the clock) at the start line.

The day of the raced dawned. This type of hydroplane race is run in two parts, and the best overall score is declared the winner. A field of 11 boats took to the water for the first round, slowly circling, moving into start position. I circled the “field”, keeping my eye on the clock and determined to end up at the start line just as the clock hit zero, and also determined to own the inside lane.

The one minute gun sounds. I’m moving closer….closer…closer…mark!

I owned the inside and was fairly sure I hadn’t “jumped the gun” (crossed the start before the clock was finished). However, right beside me was the hottest boat of the show, driven by the woman who had won two years running. The Nemesis.

We stayed side by side all throughout the race, me able to keep up because I kept tight to the turns, her always ahead because she had the more powerful boat.

Round the field we went until I saw the green flag for the last lap (you actually don’t remember what lap you’re one when you’re racing). I poured on the power, I cut the corners, I leaned forward and down into the wind. Regardless of my last efforts, the Nemesis crossed the line ahead of me.

Damn!

I headed into shore to get re-fueled and was surprised to be met by a large group of people jumping up and down screaming at the top of their lungs. I had won!

It seems that I did hit the mark exactly — Nemesis had jumped the gun and was disqualified that round. Big huge smile. Too bad. So sorry. Big huge smile.

Next round. Again I circled the field, lining up … wind is picking up … circling closer … more chop in the water … closer…

Time does slow down. As I headed into my final approach, one of the other racers, Janet, lost control of her boat trying to fight the increasingly rough water. She wasn’t aware that I was on her inside, and yanked her boat to the left, right at me.

There are no brakes in a hydro. There’s no horn, either. And you can’t yank a boat around or you’ll flip it. Taking your hand off the gas will drown your boat with backwash. All I could do was gun the motor and hope to speed past her. But it was too late.

Janet hit me in the right side just as my boat dipped to the right, forcing the front of her hydro over the top of my sponson, crashing through the side of my cockpit and directly into me. Luckily, the hit on the cockpit slowed the boat, and she only hit me at about 40 MPH, we estimated later.

The force of the blow knocked me over into the other side of the cockpit and pushed Janet’s boat over, dumping her in the water.

I passed out, and when I came to I was lying across the front of the boat, which was, remarkably, still afloat — my falling forward kept it from being swamped by the backwash.

I turned towards the beach and saw Janet in the water, signaling that she was okay. Good. Good. I couldn’t move and just lay there looking at Janet and the people on the beach, not quite sure where I was or why I was laying across the front of the boat.

During this time, the emergency crew who originally thought I was leaning forward to check on boat damage finally realized that I wasn’t moving or signaling that I was okay and sped towards me. As soon as they realized that I must have received a direct hit from the other boat, they sank my boat in order to use water rescue techniques to minimize further damage to me.

After carefully loading me into a stretcher, they sped me to shore where a double line of racers was waiting to keep the crowds back and a clear path to the ambulance.

I don’t remember a whole lot of much of anything until I got to the hospital. I didn’t even hurt that much, though this was to change — drastically — over the next four months of treatment.

Janet’s boat caught me in my right thigh, literally liquifying the muscle, and shredding it into two pieces. Because of my kneeling stance, my bones were cushioned from much of the shock and weren’t broken. I did have cracked ribs from the hit to the cockpit side when I was thrown. Still, all in all, pretty damn lucky.

The result of the second round? Six of the original eleven boats were totalled, and the round was cancelled. Since I won the first round, I won the race. It was the last Power Puff competition held, as by this time, more women were getting into racing.

Today I have a huge dent — literally a dent — in my right thigh as a remembrance of my first, and last, hydroplane race.

Categories
Writing

The Writing Mystic

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

There’s some form of mystic associated with writing professionally that, in some ways, I don’t understand.

It doesn’t exist with, say, web development — there are scores of web page designers and developers who would be appalled at having to do what they do as a hobby, as a job, day in and day out. In addition, there are those who garden, cook, drive, sew, and care for children who wouldn’t even consider doing the same for a buck.

But writing, well, writing professionally somehow imbues the written word with a higher degree of importance than the word that’s given freely. Even if the written word is included in the biggest jumble of disorganized crap that ever existed on any planet in the universe, and the freely given word is the epitomy of elegance, grace, and clarity.

Perhaps the reason for this mystic is that if one is paid for the word, one is somehow supposed to be more proficient with the use of the word. I write this word — apple — and I am not paid for it. Therefore, the value of –apple — is worth less then the word — Apple — as long as it is followed by OS X and I’ve convinced some editor somewhere that it is worthy of inclusion within their magazine, eZine, book, or other form of publication.

It is true that when one is paid for an act, one improves over time. Based on this we can conclude that when we pay for an action, we should be able to expect more from that action.

This works for sex — why not writing?

The act of writing professionally. The publication process.

As an example of the publication process, take a look at the following sentence:

My recommendation would be that you flibit the gidbet and then flummer the dummer.

One publication prefers that writers not use the familiar, so can the professional writer remove all familiar references?

Okay, how’s this:

It is accepted practice to flibit the gidget and then flummer the dummer.

Another publication prefers the familiar form, and also prefers witty repartee with the reader. Can the professional writer please adjust accordingly?

Okay, how’s this:

My recommendation would be that you flibit the gidbet and then flummer the dummer, and you’ll be kicking ass at that point.

A third publication hastens to add that words such as “ass” might be offensive to some readers. Please edit this remark.

Okay. Is the following acceptable:

My recommendation would be that you flibit the gidbet and then flummer the dummer, and you’ll be much happier with the results.

There’s another publication. This one likes to have notes, sidebars, and annotations.

Okay. Then how the hell is this:

My recommendation (being aware that I have enormous experience with this) would be that you flibit the gidbet (see www.gidbet.com for more info) and then flummer the dummer, (see sidebar A1), and you’ll be happier with the results (happier: increased sense of well being).

Are these examples of writing somehow worth more than the unpaid version of the same, such as one could find at a weblog?

Weblog version:

To hell with the gidbet, who cares about the flummer, go get a beer, and screw it all until tomorrow.

I think not.

(Legal Disclaimer: The publications referred to in this document are entirely fictional. Any similarity to an existing publication is purely coincidental.)

Categories
Diversity Weblogging

Blogsisters

Recovered from the Wayback Machine.

Steve at OnePotMeal provides his interpretation of a men’s blog in response to a challenge for same from the Blog Sisters weblog. Cracked me up, big time.

I’ve been following the initial efforts of Blog Sisters with a great deal of interest. A couple of times I even thought about throwing a posting or two into the stew; however, I refrained because me thinks the stew has too many spices, already.

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? Individually, the members of this new weblog are fascinating, well written, interesting, gusty, bold, and incredible women. However, I am finding that taken together, the sound is becoming overwhelming.

Question: Can a group weblog whose only limitation to membership is sexual classification survive without imploding under the weight of all the voices? The topics range in a dizzying spiral of sex and melted wax and vibrators and motherhood and death and RageBoy and Daypop — all in the course of an hour.

What happens over time as the membership continues to grow, the members become more comfortable, and, one can assume, consequently more verbose? Will weblogs.com finally meet its match?

I will continue to watch the metamorphisis of Blog Sisters in fascination, not sure if it’s because I’m seeing the evolution of a new way of communicating on the web, or because I’m about to witness weblogging’s first 100 car pile up.

Regardless, what a bold bold move.

Categories
Weblogging

Blogsisters invite

I received the nicest invite to join Blog Sisters from Jeneane Sessum. As much fun as this organization looks to be, I’m going to have to keep my weblogging to the two existing blogs or I’ll never finish the damn books and you’ll have to listen to me bitch about living on the streets and blogging from the San Fran public library. However, I plan on being a regular reader and comment dropper.

There were several different responses to the “weblogging criticism” topic, as it can be called. Jonathon does own it, but others such as Mike (who elected me mayor, BTW), AKMA, and OnePotMeal have added deft and talented touches to what is a non-trivial and difficult topic.

However, it was Victor who put this whole thing into perspective for me, and he really wasn’t necessarily a part of the “criticism” discussion.

As he and I chatted in his comments related to a posting where he was basically blasting Cluetrain to ribbons (and dragged my name into the mix at one point, the bad boy), he mentioned “You mean it’s like a Sunday lunch?”

Say what?

Victor defined this expression to mean sitting around lunch on Sunday, getting into heated discussions on “…any topic under the sun.”

It’s a Sunday Lunch. There is a world of meaning in this simple little phrase, isn’t there?

With this expression, criticism has now removed it’s fat ugly butt from the realm of “You’re an idiot, you lack sophistication, you’re not smart, and your weblog design stinks…and so does your breath…and your mama’s breath, too!” (a connotation somewhat due to the association with Dvorak’s unfortunate comments), and has now plunked its much cuter, slimmer, and firmer little ass into the realm of “You have said something interesting and I don’t necessarily agree — let’s have a grand old time talking about it, shall we?”

It’s a Sunday Lunch — this works for me.

Categories
Weblogging

Consequences

Nothing like throwing my own self into the pot of hot, boiling oil, but I know I’m going to get slammed big time for the following:

A big number in Daypop yesterday and today was the now unemployed Heather Hamilton, who lost her job because of her weblog postings (also more at MetaFilter and check Daypop for numerous citations).

I do sympathize with Heather and hope that she finds something that she likes quickly. And I do agree with her that she should post whatever she feels comfortable posting — as long as she realizes that there are consequences to her actions. When Heather states the following:

As for those of you who think I was stupid to post things on my website about my job and about co-workers: I refuse to live in fear. I refuse to be censored.

I’m right there with her…as long as she’s aware that these postings can hurt other people or herself. I, like Heather, can write anything I want with this weblog and that’s true power. However, with the power comes responsibility.

In some ways this follows from earlier discussions about weblogging and criticism, but the issue goes beyond personal feelings of hurt — it enters into issues of personal freedom and censorship, and when one can safely cross the line in what one writes. This is a serious question: can you write whatever you want within a personal weblog and not be penalized for it? I’m not talking about getting somebody angry and they stop talking to you. I’m talking about being fired, being sued, and even being jailed.

A weblog is not the same as a personal paper diary, which no one will read unless you allow them to read it. It is a online publication that can, as we found out from our very missed friend, Allan Moult, be granted an ISSN as a publication similar to Time and Newsweek.

Within this weblog, if I were to say (and to any authorities listening, this is purely hypothetical) “I want to blow up so and so”, then chances are someone’s going to be keeping an eye on me, or be at my door. We’ve learned through too many incidents with kids and schools that not listening to rants such as these have dire consequences.

If I were to say (and to any O’Reilly people listening, this is purely hypothetical) “O’Reilly books are so lame”, then O’Reilly has a very real right not to have me write for them, rather than give me all the opportunities I want (in point of fact, I love the O’Reilly folks, they take very good care of me).

There are consequences to our actions. If Heather says the following about VP of her company:

I hate that one of the 10 vice-presidents in this 30-person company wasn’t born with an “indoor” voice, but with a shrill, monotone, speaking-over-a-passing-F16 outdoor voice. And he loves to hear himself speak, even if just to himself. He loves to use authoritative expressions such as “NO! NO! NO! IT’S LIKE THIS!” and “DUDE, NO! YOU SHOOT IT LIKE THIS!” because, well, he’s a VP and must be an authority on something, right? Lately he’s been an authority on patently grotesque facial hair patterns.

Well, she’s going to get fired. After I read some of her postings, I hate to say it, I’d fire her, too.

Heather has a right to say whatever she wants on her weblog, as long as she’s willing to take responsibility for her actions, and accept the consequences of same. I may admire her for the courage of her convictions, but there’s a key element to that concept and that is courage. Taking a stand without any possibility of negative reprecussions, or refusing to accept that you may be held accountable isn’t really courageous, is it?

In reading through the many citations referencing Heather’s site, I found the following at Blog Hit:

Heather of dooce’s recent troubles really has me thinking about the nature of my blogging. I lay it all out here. I talk about drinking, drugs, all the nasty things in my life that I wouldn’t want a prospective employer to know about.
…
Honestly, I don’t see myself censoring anything I talk about here. It’s my personal space, done on my personal time, and would never affect my performance at a job. You can’t live in fear of expressing yourself publicly.

What is there about weblogging that seems to give us all the impression that our personal space is surrounded by an inpenetrable force field that separates our personal lives from our professional? If you’re doing something that violates company policy, such as drugs, and your talk about it online, you’re going to get fired.

Still, where’s the line in what you can discuss without fear of being jailed, sued, or fired? I should be able to say, and have said, that Bush is an idiot, and Ashcroft scares the hell out of me, without reprecussion — unless I happen to work directly with both.

Would I fire someone for exposing past drug use or personal difficulties? No, and I would hope that most companies wouldn’t be this shallow. As we have seen with Diveintomark, firing a person because they talk about recovering from past addiction is not only morally wrong, it should be illegal. However, this is not the same as Heather’s situation, as Jan Karlsbjerg has noted in his weblog.

Would I fire someone who makes racists comments online, or pokes fun at his or her co-workers, and says negative things about the company, or talks about taking drugs? Chances are, I would. Does this me an iron-clad member of the establishment? Maybe.

This, is a discussion that needs to happen among the weblogs, if only to serve to remind us all that we don’t write in a vacuum — people read what we write.

It’s interesting but poofle.com talks about accountability in a related posting. Among the comments was:

And if you send an anonymous email that results in someone getting fired, own up to it. Innocuous, generalized comments are one thing, emailing someone’s boss is taking things to an entirely different level.

This is directly related to Heather losing her job, because a person sent an anonymous email about Heather’s writings. Yet, there is an accountability that Heather must also accept herself, for her own writings, something we all need to understand. You can’t pick and choose accountability or responsibility based on a “we’re webloggers and we stick together” attitude..

We are what we write. No one forces us to write anything in our weblogs, and we have to accept responsibility for our writing as we do with all of our other actions in life.