February 2005 Archives
Mad Oilman is not much of a movie fan. Current movie fan. Old movies, Westerns, Kung Fu and Sci Fi are for the most part acceptable. Not being a current movie fan, I of course had no reason to watch the Oscars. But reading the blogsphere, it's tough to escape what happened.
Seems Mr. Rock's 'comedy' didn't go over to well. Mr Wisdom provides pertinent background information to one of Mr. Rock's ill written bits. Mr. Rock needs to hire Mr. Wisdom immediately. See for yourself:
Now this is what Mad Oilman likes to see. Successful missle interception tests. And although the news is good, the launch image is spectacular. Ship, missle and lots of flame. Hie thee hither.
Last week your humble correspondent had the distinct mission of visiting one of our many facilities worldwide. And although there are myriad wonderful international destinations where oil may be involved (as well as what we euphemistically call the 'garden spots' in the industry) this trip was relatively local. Odessa, Texas.
Odessa is flat. And for the most part a desert. This is the Texas most of the world imagines. Cowboys, horses, cattle, and harsh country. Due to the flatness of the surroundings, the sky is spectacular in this part of the world. Massive and endless.
This can be a harsh place, noted for the unrelenting sun and heat of summer. February lends its own special signature to this stark land. Rain, cold and northerly winds stopped by nothing make this oilman long for the oppressive summer heat. Three days of a February on the high plains is enough. The town of Odessa is impressive in the representation of so much technology in an area that seems to be slowly disintegrating.
Business successfully concluded, Mad Oilman boards the plane home. And in a curse of seating misses a beautiful thing. Halfway through our climb to altitude, the pilot makes an announceement. "For all those passengers seated on the right side of the plane, take a look out of your windows. There's a B-2 stealth bomber being refueled by a KC-135 in the distance".
Of course I was on the left side. And being a full regional jet (Embraer I believe) there was nothing I could do to see this magificent display.
Selfishly choosing the single row aisle of the jet upon check in, I missed the opportunity for a wondrous sight. Looking at the flesh mound seated across from me, I also missed a miserable 90 minute flight seated next to that behemoth. Easily 400+, that passenger nearly blocked the aisle and fairly cowered the wee passenger next to him into the wall of the jet.
Excitement over, flesh mound turns to nap. And the roar was something to behold. It can accurately described as the equivalent of a large chainsaw with stuck valves. Except for the belching smoke (but not by much). Still, it would have been worth it.
Mad Oilman
Is your junk basket full? No, my junk basket is empty.
Pitchers and catchers report this week. The hideous lull between the end of football and the beginning of baseball is beginning to fill. Pro basketball? You're kidding, right? Pro Wrestling is more realistic than the farce they call the NBA, And college hoops? Not interested.
And with the beginning of Spring Training comes another February ritual. Fantasy Baseball draft. There hasn't been that much buzz this year. Now I know why:
Fantasy players wonder where their games have gone.
Read it then come back.
Seems that in their infinite (greed) wisdom, the MLBPA and MLB have come to an agreement. To corner the fantasy market. To charge for it. The entry fees proposed for smaller fantasy leagues are ridiculous.
In their quest for every last penny, these jackasses are going to destroy one of the best new fan creation tools in existence.
As an example. Mrs. Oilman was not a baseball fan. But she is competitive and she likes games. I suggest she play fantasy baseball to see what is going on. Draft guide in hand, she plays. Starts to learn playersnames. Positions. Statistics. She's becoming a fan. And not just of our beloved Astros (bat, Drayton, we need another bat) but of baseball in general.
Many of the members of Mad Oilman's family participates in this endeavor. My young nephew is about to begin. Can you say "young fan" Mr. Selig? Of course you can't.
This issue is currently in the courts. Hopefully baseball loses (which means they actually WIN in the long term, short sighted morons). If they win? They alienate millions of fans. And what potential new fan is going to pay to play something they know nothing about. Exactly. That Baseball Package on cable is not looking so promising about now.
Yes, Mad Oilman has been busy lately. The oilfield stops for no man, and when it is booming there is business everywhere.
And then this weekend. Of course the Valentine's Day rears its ugly head, but then that day is also Mad Oilman's wedding anniversary. Which has its plusses and minuses. Plus is I will never forget my anniversary. Kind of impossible to do given the day it occurs. And (ideally) it kills two holidayswith one stone. Which is great in theory. Of course Mrs. Oilman is having none of the economies of scale present here.
As Mad Oilman is the Traditionalist, the selection of Anniversary gifts is fairly straightforward. This is Year Two. The theme is Cotton. I thought about a lifetime supply of shotgun patches for the Mrs. 20 gauge, but that may not have gone over too well. How about sheets? They're cotton, right? So off to the Internet to do some research. How we lived without this tool I will never know. Within an hour I know all about cottontypes, thread counts, weaves, etc. And some good pricing info as well. I had no idea it is possible to spend several thousand dollars on one set of SHEETS! Holy cow! A whole new world opened up in this little trek to the World of Linen.
Grabbing a yellow pages (the real, physical, doorstop kind) I found a local establishment, fairly near the Oilman Compound which offered these wares. What an adventure that was. Mad Oilman strolls in to the store and is promptly attacked by a sweet elderly lady. She started on the Egyptian cotton/Italian weave/thread count spiel. Armed with my recent research, I parried and thrust away these meager sales attempts. "I will not be confused by your linenly jargon!" I maneuvered around a display bed to create distance between me and my attacker. "I will not be goaded into spending way too much on something you believe I know nothing about!".
And they had some of those really fancy sheets. Not for the Oilman compound. Middle of the road is good enough for me.
Before the sale is complete, the sweet elderly lady swiftly jumps into attack mode once again. I wasn't ready for that one. She flew around the counter and started pointing to all kinds of smelly stuff. Things she thought the Mrs. might like. Defenseless, I was beginning to fall under her evil spell. But she went too far. She picked up this thing that can only be described as a giant salt shaker. "Oh you must have one of these" she said. Thoroughly confused, I asked meekly "what is that?"
"Oh it's for bed powder".
"Bed powder?"
"Oh, yes. You sprinkle this between the sheets every morning. Keeps your bed fresh. This one is lilac"
Lilac my ass. That stuff was hideous. Spell broken, I fought back. "Well Mrs. Oilman may like that but NOT IN MY BED!"
Realizing her mistake, she gracefully returned behind the counter to conclude the sale.
And the gift was a success. Being the non-Traditionalist, the Mrs. consulted the forums at Mr. duToit's site. And purchased me a spotting scope for the range.
And a good Anniversary was had by all.
Get home from part one of the Day of Culture and we take a brief respite. Time flies, so time to get ready. Symphony time. (Three times in nine words. What crappy writing). I'm still mixed about the symphony. I either really like it or am bored to tears. Guess I need to learn more.
Show starts at 8 pm and we need a nice dinner. If Mad Oilman is getting dressed up to go out, he's getting a nice dinner, dammit. I think of the place to go. Load up the petromuncher to head out and the Mrs. suggests two places. One of which I have already selected. This is getting strange.
It's off to Mockingbird Bistro. In the neighborhood and near the main thoroughfare which will lead us to the symphony. Arrive at 5:00. The Mrs. attempts to open the door of the restaurant and fails. Funny. There are three seated tables when we arrive. Manager has to determine if he can seat us. Basically says we have until 7:15. At first I'm a bit peeved at this but then I'm actually impressed. The place was booked solid with typical 7:00 reservations and we had none. Just taking care of his customers.
We are seated and to our horror the waiter we hate is near our table. Not good. Last time he served us we heard his sob story the entire evening. Thankgoodness he did not serve us. Instead we were served by a new girl. By the level of her service she has most recently worked at Chili's. Or Olive Garden. Come on people! Service is EASY! Hire some decent wait staff!
I convey to the Mrs. that our telepathy seems quite high today. She read my mind about the Museum and now the dining establishment. Being a scientist, I immediately looked for cause and effect to explain this observation. "We'll, I did go out with the guys last night. And now we're reading each other's minds. I see a link."
The Mrs. is having none of this line if inquiry; "So you need to go out with the guys every Friday, right?" I could tell with the rolling of her eyes she was not convinced.
I continue, "But if this result is valid, then going out with the guys actually brings us closer. I'm only doing this for us!"
At that point the laughter from the Mrs. basically told me this line of inquiry, although not dead, may need to be shelved for a bit. But in the true spirit of scientific inquiry, a future experiment is necessary.
Mrs. isnt very hungry due to the large portions Lupe's serves. Salad and appetizer for her. Not me. Salad and entree. Since I've had a majority of the things on the menu, I decided to go for the steak a poive. Meat and potatoes.
Salad rocked. That is always a winner here (boston bibb salad, Texas goat cheese, toasted pine nuts, roasted red peppers and red wine vinaigrette).
Entrees arrive. My steak is actually a bit difficult to cut through. Take the first bite and I realize why. It's nearly raw. Seems it was cooked to medium rare on one side only. Chef (or flunky) forgot to turn the steak for the additional three minutes required. I can deal with rare at times, but this was not rare. It was raw. Send it back. Manager conveys the Chef's apologies. Comes back. I don't want a fuss. It's now medium medium well. OK, DON'T order a steak here. The rest of the menu is great. Leave this one alone.
Eventually leave to the last mission of the day. The symphony. This is supposed to be a brass symphony. Good. I like the honk and power live horns project. Especially those of the lower registers. And this is an interesting setup. The horns will be in the balcony. We have ridiculously good seats for the show, basically five rows from the stage.
I'm excited. Brass symphony. We're seated. The conductor, Claus Peter Flor emerges. First thing I think is "What a magnificent head of hair!".
Show starts. We are hearing Sonata pian e forte from Sacrae Syphoniae, composed by Giovani Gabrielli in 1597. Period instruments would include the sackbut. What a great instrument name. Basically a trombone.
Since the horns are in the balcony, the conductor faces the audience. He's under a spotlight in the blackened hall. I learned new respect for conductors in general that day. Seeing him as the symphony sees him is something else. And the piece is absolutely magnificent. It's unfortunate I can't see the horns as they're behind me, but the sound and the conductor leave no disappointment.
And then the show changes. Lights on, horns gone. Standard symphony. This was Haydn's Symphony No. 62 in C major (The Bear). Didn't move me. In between movements I whispered to the wife that I was pissed. I was sold a bill of goods. I WANT HORNS, DAMMIT!
She shushed me. And I realize that everyone within 50 feet just heard what I said as the acoustics are so good. Oh well, my feelings are not changed. This piece bored me. I understood the underlying theme and knew where it was going. Just not a lot there for me. So I became focused on the conductor's hair. Mesmerized by it. I was trying to figure out what mammal was living on his head. Possum? No, they're not big enough. Raccoon? Still not big enough. Wolverine? Nah, the markings are all wrong. The creature on his head had a steel gray back with a whitish gray belly. And that creature really liked the symphony. Bouncing and vibrating along with the conductor's motions. Probably a quite stimulating place to be.
Unable to retrieve a proper mammal from memory,I decided there were actually two possums on the conductor's head. Tails tucked and heads hidden, they clutched his skull and provided him needed warmth as he provided them invigorating massage by rapid head movements. A symbiotic relationship.
Finally, the Haydn piece ends. Lights dim, and we now have another amazing piece, Canzon septmi toni No. 2 from said Sacrae Symphoniae. Breathtaking. I want nothing but this for the rest of the evening.
Intermission. Grab a program. Seems second set will be the same as set one. A Gabrielli horn piece, a Haydn symphony (in this case Symphony No. 88 in G Major) and some more Gabrielli. Lack of total brass is depressing.
Back to the show. The next Gabrielli piece is again magnificent. Such wonderful music from ten instruments. And then Haydn. At least this one was a bit more engaging than the last. The final Gabrielli will be the prize. And it is.
Shows over. Lights up, standing ovation, conductor leaves. I think it's about time to hit the door. But then Mr. Flor actually returns. For his customary bow, and surprisingly( as I have never seen this) for an encore of Gabrielli. Just perfect.
So I have to track this CD down now. I'm surprised they didn't play the entire Gabrielli Symphony. Since it's old, it must have been a fill the seats thing.
Leaving the hall and climbing in to the petromuncher for the brief drive home, I cue the CD player to Iced Earth . Disc 2, Song 5, Pure Evil. Yes, the symphony is fun. But the Mad Oilman LOVES his metal.
Update:
Koala bear. A big Koala bear.
Saturday was interesting. I had gone out with the office guys for a beer or four on Friday. A journey to the suburbs. Mad Oilman gets spoiled living in the city. The, er, clientele is a bit different out in the 'burbs. Not quite as edgy. No bother. And it is amazing what you learn when the beer is flowing. And in oilfield tradition, we were by far the loudest and most obnoxious group at the chosen establishment. Having said my farewells, Mad Oilman was not done. No, the night was fairly young.
Headed in town to a friend's bar. Good to know the owners of an establishment like this. Relatively small but with a liquor selection to rival any other in town, it is a welcome (albeit less frequent) stop on Mad Oilman's tours. A fine beverage, a Romeo y Julietta Reserva Real and good friends. Eventually head home to casa Oilman.
Wake up next day hungry. Real hungry. This calls for Lupe Tortilla. A carne asada, some refried beans, a Dos Equis or two and I'm rarin' to go. Since there's a symphony to attend later in the day, we need to find something to do during the afternoon. I was thinking about the Museum of Fine Arts. There's a Cartier exhibit the Mrs. really wants to see and it's only in town for the next few weeks. But I don't mention this thought.
About ten minutes later the Mrs. suggests we go to the MFA. Well how about that? So away we go. The Cartier exhibit was pretty amazing. Very dark room with very well lit display cabinets containing all manner of glittery sparkly things. The Mrs. was very happy. No idea of the value of the items in that exhibit but it had to be in the hundreds of millions of dollars.
At the end of the exhibit there was a film. We walked in halfway and saw the work required to take a Cartier design from artist's rendering to finished product. Very cool. We waited for the film to loop to see the half we missed. Unfortunately, we should have left when we were ahead. It seems the curator of this exhibit feels very highly about himself. And this display of artisanry. Started going off about the 'space' of the museum, this 'neutral space' which (through his 'brilliance') is now a Temple, a Church. Like the Japanese, or visiting an altar. Like I said, I should have left after the documentary part. So we listen to this jackass bloviate for a good five minutes. Then a weird thing happens. There's a hideously bad 'art' film with the curator and his models in some warehouse. The style of this crap looked like something created by a director for a Ministry video. Just before Ministry fired him for being an idiot. At this point I can take no more and I'm starting to yell at the screen so it's time to leave. I go to the message book to leave a comment but the pen is dry. Dammit. Well, probably for the best as my comment would have been a bit, well, critical.
Off to the next exhibit. Modern African Art. I was surprised. There was some damn good stuff on display (as well as the typical political message crap). Overall I thought about a third of the exhibit was of very high artistic merit. Great collection here. I was most impressed by two artists. First is Abu Bakarr Mansaray. Unfortunately the work related in the link is nowhere near the magnificence of what was seen at the show. Basically a fantasist, Mr. Mansaray creates maniacally detailed plans for machines with strange functions and stranger descriptions. They are something to behold.
The second was George Lilanga. (Link currently busted but it worked yesterday. Weird). I wasn't really blown away by Mr. Lilanga's paintings, although they are hugely saturated (and quite large) cartoons. It was his sculptures that really stood out. Fantasy again reared its head as these sculptures, carved of wood and painted in vivid colors were most fantastic. Cartoonish, but with such a level of skill, execution, and vison that they transcend the cartoonish. Beautiful, beautiful things. I want one.
And of course any trip to the Museum requires a trip upstairs to the classics rooms. Not a lot of people up here, but this is where the good stuff is. Amazing still life paintings from 1400 to 1600. I like those. It is a rare painter today that can match the skill represented in these rooms. Flawless techniques. Artists at the pinnacle of their craft. I'll write more about these rooms at a later date.
Cultural mission number one completed.
Mad Oilman has been very busy lately. That oil thing is relentless, especially with the price of oil and natural gas at fairly consistent high levels. But there's lots to report. Updates to resume momentarily.
