Neanderpundit

Or someone who does the work of an engineerI see patterns. I look at the world through a pair of eyes trained to see specific things. Fingers that can sense surface roughness, tool marks, acid etch. The ability to taste fluids and sense dangerous acidity in motor oil, or damage in hydraulic fluid. (yes, I do taste oil. WHat? I don’t DRINK it)

When I look at a rifle, or a tractor, or a computer program, or an injection molded part, I see the creation through the eyes of it’s creator. I see how the operator ran the machine. I see how the designer solved casting problems. I see how the finishing department deburred/sanded/polished/painted the part. I see the wisdom or the folly that brought the product to me. I see the humility- and the hubris- in architecture, and the will to improve on nature in landscaping.

I look at the world, and I see the people who make it what it is. Sometimes the creations of man are elegant, sometimes merely functional, sometimes baroque and gross. But I see. I see because I look.

I look at the world, and I see the hand of a greater creator at work. This is the core of my theosophy. The knowledge that the hand of the creator is visible in everything I see. There is no magical mystical revelation, no bright light with Jebus calling to me from it’s midst. I have a solid faith in the Creator because I witness His Creation, and I feel as if I’ve been given a pair of secret goggles to view the world, in a way few others can see it. Is it possible that the subtlety of all creation came about utterly accidentally?

Not to me, it isn’t.

More: As Sir Fredrick James was so quick to remind me, I’m not a ‘real” engineer- That is, in fact true- I do not have a degree. Which just means I can do things right the first time, and not have to rely on the ignorance the educational system wanted to jam into me.

Funny how a guy would be so upset that I called myself an engineer- when he styles himself as royalty. And not even good royalty, just some lame asshole. I don’t know whether it’s the attention he craves, or the relation to all those inbred masses, or what, but I guess if doing the work of an engineer makes you almost an engineer, then being a fucktard almost makes you royalty.

Oh, and I know you never visit here, Jimmy baby, because this blog is so horrible, but tasting oil for acidity or signs of glycol antifreeze has been done by master mechanics for years. of course, you’ve never had your hands dirty for an instant, so I wouldn’t expect you to have any idea about that. What were your great engineering accomplisments again? oh, that’s right, none.

about thirteen thousand pair of Socks.

Now, DIck has seen and become unnaturally attracted to at least one pair.

Some days, it’s all I can do to find a pair that are the same thickness, let alone that match.

See, the family has a sort of a traditionof buying me extremely ugly socks for christmas. Some years have provided a bumper crop, some not so much. Years ago my sister had to resort to what I will euphemistically call “ethnic” stores to find ever more ugly socks.

Today I sorted and threw out hundreds of mismatched or holey socks. I got a plastic garbage bag full.

Damn, it will be good to have my sock drawer back. I also tossed thirteen pair of underdrawers that were just too damned big to keep up anymore. That was the best part.

Other than that, I got nothing.