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Saturday, 30 October 2010

Roasted Hong (not on a stick)

That's what almost happened yesterday. The past week we've been working 16s doing prescribed fire projects down south, and of course this work is somehow harder than actual suppression fire work... how it managed to be that, I don't know. Perhaps it was humping drip torches and 5 gal gas cans full of burn mix (3 gals diesel, 2 gals 87 octane unleaded) up and down this steep ass mountain... :-/
Course things started taking a toll.... Thursday we had two fairly serious injuries due to falls in the fucked-up terrain (think REALLY steep and rocky), which meant lots of work for me (as senior Line Medic present on the burn, I got to hike to them, assess injuries, and make the final treatment/transport decision). As if that wasn't enough, yesterday I ended up surrounded by fire and got a bit singed around the edges! JOY!
We were working downhill on the bottom quarter of the mountain, almost tied-in to the road we were using as a holding point at the bottom of the hill... we ended up having to go down this steep (as in, near-vertical) drainage, but my line had me crossing the drainage at a diagonal, while the guy above me went straight down a spur ridge, and the guys below me went down into the bottom of the drainage to light.
Ok, hang on. You're probably lost as fuck right now, so let me give you a quick "Firing Operations 101" class.
In fire there are many "patterns" one can follow that create various fire effects and burn differently, though the most common and widely used is the "strip" pattern, commonly referred to as a "3-2-1" or "1-2-3" pattern, depending on which way you're going. Basically, the terrain and winds dictate which way you go... basically like this:
"1-2-3" goes like this ( ---- indicates a line of fire that person is putting down)
                3--------
         2-------------
   1-----------------
Now obviously if this is on a hillside and 1 is the lowest burner, he's going to send fire up and burn guys #2 and 3, which is where the reverse pattern "3-2-1" comes in:
     3------------------
           2--------------
                    1--------
In this case, burner #3 is out of the way when fire from #2 and #1 burns uphill to where he's already burned and created "black" (burned area), stopping the fire from #2, likewise #2s burning stops #1s fire from going up.
Ever hear the phrase "Fighting fire with fire"??? We invented it back in the 1940s.
Well, anyhow, because of how steep and gnarly (and slippery) this drainage was, we went from "3-2-1" to "3-1-2", where I was 2. The guy at the top of the drainage went ahead and burned the top where I was going to come out and start laying down fire, and the guys below me got ahead of me, so it looked something like this:
3----------------
              2-------
     1-------------
So now my way out up and down drainage were both cut off by fire that was burning fairly hot and coming towards me from both directions. The side of the drainage was REALLY slippery with loose needles, so going sideslope along the drainage probably would've meant falling to the bottom into the fire anyhow, so the only option was really up.
Course all this thought happened in about 2 seconds, in the form of "Oh FUCK....fire above and below....fuck, I'm trapped!" Followed a second later with "All Crew-2 lighters, CEASE FIRING!!!! EVERYBODY HOLD!!" at the top of my lungs, while trying to madly scramble up the loose needles with two drip torches in hand, taking a step up, then sliding 2 ft back down. I managed to get a foothold on a stump that my scrambling uncovered, and popped out on the little spur ridge, to find the entire thing on fire, to my right and left, and through the flames I saw 2 of my guys on the left, holding their torches up to keep from dropping fire on the ground, and heard "Mark, RUN!!!"
No shit, sherlock. I put my face in my arms and ran like fucking hell between spots and lanes of fire, going "Ow, WOW, shit this is HOT!!!" as I felt lots of heat, even through my thick Kevlar pants, then dashed through a short wall of fire that had formed where the two lines of fire had grown together up ahead, screaming "I FUCKING HATE YOU MOTHERFUCKERRRRRRRSSSS!!!!" at the two guys from my squad who were standing on the other side of the fire gaping at all this.
"Dude, you're steaming," remarked the more talkative of the two, to which I replied with an icy glare which was immediately interrupted by the handheld radio clipped to my line pack, "Hey Mark, why aren't your guys moving? What's the holdup down there?"
Figures. So I take my radio off my pack, and put on my best nonchalant "move along, nothing to see here" voice: "Oh, I just almost got cooked, no big deal."
Lookin over, I could see where the road was less than a couple hundred feet away down the hill, "Ok, you boys can finish this shit up, I'm gonna go cool off by the road," and walked down to the road...
Thankfully that ended our firing ops for the day, because I really did not feel like playing anymore if the rules were gonna be "try to kill Mark at the next possible opportunity." heh.
The situation was probably a lot more serious and harrowing than I make it sound, simply because I came out ok with nothin but singed fire gear and a lil redness where my arms didn't cover my face and neck, and hey, making jokes is a good way of dealin with shit like that.
Anyhow, yeah... lesson learned: when doing firing ops with n00bs, keep a MUCH tighter leash on them.... unless you wanna get overrun, again. :-/
So that's what I've been up to the past week or so and why I've been incommunicado... 2 more weeks, then back home to my own District. I cannot wait. Seriously.

Thursday, 14 October 2010

Fucking Doneskis

So a week ago today I had this massive thermonuclear rage-meltdown.... on a magnitude I've not had....ummmm....ever. The Dark Side didn't "flow through me", I didn't feel hatred or anger, I was the Dark Side, was anger, hatred, and vehemence incarnate in physical form. How I managed not to kill anyone (by my own bare hands, duh, not using the "Force" heh), is something I still have yet to figure out.
I'm feeling it again, right now. Red, dark blood-red rage, crawling around behind my eyes. I am angry at my circumstances, and I am even angrier at myself for how I deal (or, more accurately, don't deal) with them. It's funny, I talk a good game, and I am filled with bubbling hot magma of virulent hatred, ready to burst forth in an explosion to make Krakatoa look like an M80.... but when it comes down to it, I am the world's most spineless, conflict-avoidant pussy .... period.
Stand up for myself? HAH. That's never happened. Hell, I won't even sit down for myself. In a way, I blame the Step for this. I was raised that he was always right, I was always wrong, and any conflict to that end would be resolved with me agreeing .... by force, if necessary. Now I have this .... inability .... I guess that's the word, to deal with conflict or disapproval from authority figures in my life, bosses, etc. Central issue of my life.
Remember that MTV show ages ago, Claire Danes, "My So-Called Life"? Wasn't that it? Hah.... should make one starring me, "My Fucked-Up Life".
In other news, I'm 99% sure I am leaving the Fire Service. I remember my first days, when I would hear the alert tones and think "YES, a call! Let's GO!!!" .... and now I hear the three-beep pre-alert, and silently say to myself "Please, please, please not us... I don't feel like going on a call right now. No fires today. Let it be someone else's run...."
The moment you start doing that, it's time to hang up the helmet and say goodbye.
Everything I have ever really, truly wanted, I have never achieved. Everything I ever truly, deeply loved, has been taken from me. Why not beat it to the punch this time? Can't take what you freely give up.

Thursday, 07 October 2010

Wow....

Man, it's been a while since I've written here.... or anywhere for that matter. I've been kinda an eHermit lately, flying under the web-radarz and shit...no facebook, no xanga, no anything, really. Just caught up with IRL stuff. Between trying to keep from killin my co-workers (no, I'm actually dead serious--no pun intended, lately they have been enraging me to homicidal levels, I really have no clue what's kept me from trying to off them), and balance a new version of life which now includes a girlfriend....
....yes, *gasp* some chick was actually deaf, dumb, and blind enough to fall for me. No, I really didn't prey on the local Helen Keller playground, she's not really deaf, actually very smart, and apparently completely unconcerned about looks (I really is an ugly fucker, ask Carri and Bianca, they've seen pics of me)... though she is missing the fingers on her left hand. Dead serious on that one.... was born without fingers on her left hand. Has a palm, has a thumb, no fingers. Makes handsex really interesting. lol. I'd tell you all her name, but it's so extremely unique that you'd all find her, and by extension me, very, very quickly. Those of you I want facebook-stalking me, yer already on my facebook (except Jade--I don't even know if you have a facebook, girl lol).
Anyways, now that the initial flurry of dating, sex, etc, has quieted down a bit, and things are settling into something of a comfortable routine for me and the girl, I'll probably be around on here a lil more often, especially if this winter proves to be a slow one.
Well, it's early, and I'm old (also had a birthday in the intervening time between last entry and this one), so some sleep is in order...

Friday, 13 August 2010

The Stages of Being a Firefighter

I'm finally feeling half-alive again after a serious case of good ol smoke, dirt, and sleep-deprivation-induced bronchitis... so I figured I'd regale you all with a bit of amusement....
Believe it or not, at some point in their life, a vast majority of boys and men, and even some girls and women, are Firefighters. Let me explain how, with the simple Stages of being a Firefighter:
Stage 1: I always rib my cop pals, "Hey, you know what lil boys and cops have in common? No? Give up? They both wanna be Firefighters when they grow up!!!" Usually even the law dawgs get a good laugh from that one, especially the couple who were in Fire before jumping over to the "Blue Side". Stage 1 is simple: you are a young boy (or girl, hey, it's the 2000s) and see a fire truck go by, lights flashing, sirens blaring, the airhorn with an eardrum jarring BROONNNK!! BRRROONNNNNNK BRONK BROONNNKKK!!!! Your heart soars, you run to the end of the block and wave crazily.... yeah, I knew you'd remember that. You had toy fire trucks, and always rescued the hawt blonde from imminent death by char-broiling...
Stage 2: You're an early or mid-teen. Your HS teachers and guidance counselor start hounding you about things like education, career, etc, maybe you go to a career day and some Firefighters are there, lookin cool in sharp blue Nomex with their gear on display: turnouts, breathing apparatus, and toys of mass destruction--axes, prybars, sledgehammers, and oooohhh, is that the Jaws of Life???? Sure is. "Sure you can spray some water," says a Firefighter, handing you a charged 1.5" hoseline and nozzle, puttin a helmet on your head... you think this may just be the coolest career ever.
For most people, being a Firefighter stops at stage 1 or 2.
Stage 3: You're an adult (*sadface*), and are out of school. You have probably wandered through a couple jobs already, and at this point you see a recruiting flyer or booth. Maybe it's your local Podunk VFD, looking to recruit new volunteers that will spend more time at the bake sale than the fireground... or maybe it's LA County Fire's recruiting unit, promising you tons of fire, fame, glory, and a 6-figure paycheck by your 4th year, and yes, hawt chicks too. Whichever it is, you show up bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, ready to learn. It's time for a Fire Academy....whether a big department-run one like FDNY or LA City/County, or just classses and training held in the apparatus bay of your VFD's meeting hall, you get to learn, train, practice, and learn some more. And when you graduate, guess what? As they hand you your Firefighter I certificate, the Chief smiles, shakes your hand, and tells you "The learning has just begun, rook. Enjoy it!"
Stage 4: You're a Probie. Whether you went through Podunk VFD's training, a big city/county department's in-house Academy, or a community college Fire Academy and got a job with a smaller city/county department.... you're now officially a "for-real" Firefighter. You can generally spot these guys very easily off-duty in public. Virtually all will have a department T-shirt, or worse, one of the gimmicky bullshit ones, the house with a firebreathing dragon on it, a bunkered-up FF with a small hoseline pissing in the wind at it, with the caption "I FIGHT what you FEAR!!!", or perhaps a graphic of a cast-iron maltese cross (the universal symbol of the Fire Service) with flames appearing to blow out of it, with "FEEL the HEAT!".... young Firefighters feel the need to proclaim their Fire ferocity....older ones feel the need to laugh. Yes, you're a "for-real Firefighter", but there's a catch: as a Probie, you're "just another Firefighter" in the eyes of John Q Public....but in the eyes of your fellow Firefighters, you're lower than the slime off a slug's belly. Remember the Chief telling you you're just beginning your learning? Now it's time to learn other things. Cooking. Cleaning. Especially cleaning. As a Probie, you will clean the station, you will clean the apparatus, you will cook the meals, then clean the dishes... and then you'll go clean the apparatus again, because the Captain brushed against the bumper and left a smudge in the freshly-polished chrome. Time to go polish the whole thing again. You will learn to love menial chores. And just as you learn to love them, it's time for...
Stage 5: Someone else is the Probie! You've got a couple years in. The guys start to accept you as someone who knows his axe from his ass, and may just know the difference between steam and smoke, and recognize you as "basically competent" as a Firefighter. A new academy class graduates, or new people are hired, or new volunteers recruited. Now you're "one of of the guys", and someone else is the Probie. You're still, however, technically a Rook.
Stage 6: It's years later. You're no longer the Rook. You've made a name for yourself in your Company and department, for better or worse. You've been around, seen some fire, done some cool shit. At this point, it splits. Maybe you have no aspirations of being a Company Officer. Maybe you just wanna ride the back seat, hump hose, run saw, and smash things for a living. Absolutely nothing wrong with that. If that's you, congratulations, you become and remain the Senior Firefighter, as FDNY calls, a "whip". The grizzled old vet even the Lieutenants and Captains pay heed to and listen up when he speaks. Your retirement check, however, will suck. You will almost certainly require a 'retirement job' just to keep the bills paid. I hear JetBlue's hiring.
If you aspire to money, shiny bugles for your collar, responsibility, and most of all, paperwork, it's time to go back to school. Not just more Fire stuff, though you'll go to school and have LOTS of additional training there, but college, too! Most career departments are starting to require at least Bachelor's degrees for Chief Officers (Battalion Chief and above), advanced degrees are a shoe-in, and some are even starting to require BA/BSs to promote to Captain.
By Stage 6 you have usually seen and done a lot of shit. The pager or alarm bells go off, and while the probies are running around like decapitated poultry, tryin to put their turnout coats on their legs, you cooly step in the men's room to take a whizz--after all, opening your fly to take a leak when on the 3rd floor when the temp is 375F at 2ft from the floorboards, is not going to be the best move of your career....if you can even manage it with the heavy gloves ya got on. You know this... the probies, well, they'll find out about the nurses in the burn ward and the "roasted weiner" jokes on their own.
Stage 7: Old Firefighters don't retire, they just don't get paid for comin round the station anymore. Just as with the cycle of life, where in old age you eat pureed food and crap yourself like an infant.... Firefighters in retirement tend to revert to Probie habits. They hang around the station, trading war stories and offering to help clean (forgetting that this is the Probie's job), and can be spotted easily by copious amounts of attire proclaiming their Fire affiliation. Old Firefighters will regale younger ones with stories of daring-do during their Stage 4 and 5 years, often exaggerated but never fabricated... excepting perhaps the old yarn about the unnamed volunteer Engine Company who rolled into the middle of a blazing forest fire, the crew jumping out and putting 3 hoselines into operation, and containing the blaze within minutes... when the experienced career Battalion Chief came to ask the volly Captain what the hell that was all about, the Captain (which role is reserved for the storytelling retiree) exclaims: "Well, I told the damn town Aldermen we needed money for new brakes for the Engine!!!"
I hope you've enjoyed this short look into the Stages of being a Firefighter, and can now properly appreciate the progression of becoming a Firefighter--even if you stopped at Stage 1 or 2.
In case you were wondering.... I'm in the transition between Stage 5 and 6, a lil early at only 6 yrs on the job... but it's been a pretty busy 6 yrs, lots of training, quite a few calls, a number of them pretty goddamned crazy. Who knows, I may just write a few of them out on here someday.

Wednesday, 04 August 2010

I am...

....at this very moment, tired, sore, lonely, and bored. And sitting in a Starfucks where a particular barista seems completely enamored with the idea of being as unhelpful and customer-unfriendly as possible. I think perhaps she missed her calling as a meter maid, or mall cop extraordinaire--any profession which is grossly underpaid and takes the utmost glee in tormenting people with overzealous enforcement of the most miniscule rules...
It seems from my particular vantage point, which is more than occasionally atop some of the higher elevations of the Sierra Nevada mountain range, that there are two things which are currently in a dire strait of overabundance: rules, and rights.
This country has become enamored with bureacracy, rules, and regulations, and regulations to regulate the promulgation of rules and bureaucracy.... life nowadays is more about what you can't do, than what you can. And rights....ahhhh yes, "rights". I have a particularly bad case of "the Rights" at work. While we try hard to imitate the highly regulated, authoritarian style of the military, we don't quite get it "right"--lol, yes, pun intended. I am astounded by the foolish bullshit I hear all flown under the flag of "rights". Gee, I wish I had the "right" to sleep in a hotel bed like the Staties and Local Gov FFs.... instead I get the "privilege" of a Therma-Rest cushion to pad the nice hard ground. Yet to listen to some of my rooks, you'd think hotel beds and catered meals were a God-given, Inalienable Right, right up there with Freedom of Speech/Press, and the Right to Ursine Arms (just to be clear, the Founders were actually referring to bears, as in the animal)... Then again, if the 4th Amendment (if you don't know which one that is, stop reading this now, and go look it up) can be sundered by a simple, yet Patriotic, Act which has yet to be successfully challenged, I think the Right to Hotels and Catered/Restaurant Meals fairly suspect. The 69th District Court is very seriously considering overturning this supposed "right" on the grounds that it would amuse me greatly to do so.
Anyways, this wasn't intended as a rant about rights... I'll just say that I believe each and every one of us has only one right, really, and that is the right to die. Considering that it's a virtual requirement, its value as a "right" is highly suspect as well. But you want something to hang the word "right" on, I guess that's the one I'd pick. After all, I can alienate your "right" to life in so many ways with so many common household objects ... liberty, likewise. That's a "right" that exists only when it's convenient. Pursuit of happiness.... well, sure, you can pursue, but like Wile E Coyote, who never read the script through when he accepted the part in the RoadRunner cartoon--you can pursue all you like, but attain? lol, sorry, no guarantees there.
Rights. Bullshit.
Rules. For the most part, equally bullshit. We make rules, because "your rights end where my rights begin...and my rights are more important than yours." Well yes, in our lil encapsulated Narcissistic world, "my" anything is by virtue of being "mine" more important than anything anyone else's. me > you. Yay, world. Good job there.
And people wonder why it is I would happily watch the world burn to a glowing cinderball of stellar ash.........