In a Just World, the Guy in Charge of the Generators Would Get Laid as Much as the DJ.

20 05 2010

He may not be the force behind the ‘wheels of steel’, but he sure does make the turntables go ’round. Surely his providing the power for the sound is worth just as much to the ladies as someone who is merely choosing which music to play and at which particular junctures. Running the gennies isn’t an easy task at all. Generators inevitably break down, disappear, run out of fuel and catch on fire.

Who are you gonna call to solve all of those problems? Can DJ CoolMofo fix the gennies? No he can’t.  You need the guy in charge of the generators.  Maybe you don’t know his name, but you know who he is.  He’s the guy you go up to and ‘borrow’ another extension cord so you can keep your air mattress inflated, or have your mini-fridge right in your tent, or be able to use some cosmetic device that requires electricity.

Between getting all of the equipment out to the desert, setting it all up and providing a camp-wide power grid, he’s likely doing enough work to deserve three times the sexual favors of your average camp DJ. And that’s before figuring in camp breakdown.

Look, I understand that a guy covered in oil and reeking of biodiesel is probably – on the surface – not as attractive as a dubstep DJ with a cool hat, well-placed tattoo and designer sunglasses. But, maybe if you look a little deeper you can see the bigger picture. That without him the RVs wouldn’t have AC, the speakers wouldn’t produce sound and the LEDs wouldn’t be blinking all night long.

If it’s prowess you’re concerned about, I’m sure the guy in charge of the generators can measure up. There’s no doubt the DJ can move his hands in circles and back and forth like no one since the Karate Kid, but the guy in charge of the generators has to be able to handle all kinds of tools and parts in various shapes in sizes.  He has to be able to get his hands and fingers into hard-to-reach places and be able to manipulate equipment and get it to work correctly.  He has to do this in the dark and under the most difficult conditions with the added pressure of having an entire camp counting on him to get it right. So maybe the universe will be fair one time and manifest a threesome for him one night and he can have the kind of mind-bending orgasms for which he longs.  Of course it’s unlikely.  I am, after all, a realist, but you can’t deny that the guy in charge of the generator deserves someone to make sweet, hot love to him.

Advertisements

Actions

Information

6 responses

20 05 2010
Commander Dazzle

Dammit! Don’t give away my secrets!!! Just what I need! Competition!

20 05 2010
Devyn

Damn straight!

22 05 2010
Paul

Hey, I was the generator guy. I never had to play the power card. I was the bass player in the camp band, DMT. Bass players usually get to the bottom of things.

26 05 2010
El Chino

Hehehehe… Julian must’ve written this expose… after watchign me sweat… which makes me wonder, WTF???

27 05 2010
Doug Gross

Won’t happen, brother. You are a Son Of Martha (as I am.) We give, with care and patience, and we do not receive. They — the Sons Of Mary — don’t think about us. We just grease their good times.

The Sons of Martha — By Rudyard Kipling

————————————————

THE Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part;
But the Sons of Martha favour their Mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart.
And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord her Guest,
Her Sons must wait upon Mary’s Sons, world without end, reprieve, or rest.

It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock.
It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock.
It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain,
Tally, transport, and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main.

They say to mountains, ” Be ye removèd” They say to the lesser floods ” Be dry.”
Under their rods are the rocks reprovèd – they are not afraid of that which is high.
Then do the hill tops shake to the summit – then is the bed of the deep laid bare,
That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware.

They finger death at their gloves’ end where they piece and repiece the living wires.
He rears against the gates they tend: they feed him hungry behind their fires.
Early at dawn, ere men see clear, they stumble into his terrible stall,
And hale him forth like a haltered steer, and goad and turn him till evenfall.

To these from birth is Belief forbidden; from these till death is Relief afar.
They are concerned with matters hidden – under the earthline their altars are
The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth,
And gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city’s drouth.

They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose.
They do not teach that His Pity allows them to leave their job when they damn-well choose.
As in the thronged and the lighted ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand,
Wary and watchful all their days that their brethren’s days may be long in the land.

Raise ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat;
Lo, it is black already with blood some Son of Martha spilled for that !
Not as a ladder from earth to Heaven, not as a witness to any creed,
But simple service simply given to his own kind in their common need.

And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessèd – they know the angels are on their side.
They know in them is the Grace confessèd, and for them are the Mercies multiplied.
They sit at the Feet – they hear the Word – they see how truly the Promise runs.
They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and – the Lord He lays it on Martha’s Sons !

In 1922, Rudyard Kipling was commissioned to create a ceremony for graduating Canadian engineering students. This secret “Ritual of the Calling of an Engineer,” which I went through in 1964, is held in early May. The only public manifestation is that Canadian engineers wear, on the little finger of the working hand, an Iron Ring symbolizing the engineering profession. Legend has it that the original iron rings were made from steel salvaged after the collapse of the Quebec Bridge in 1907, an engineering failure of such magnitude that it has not been forgotten to this day. Modern iron rings are stainless steel; mine, which predates that era, rusted for months until my finger came to an understanding with it. I often identify Canadian engineers by their rings, and I still have the one that my father received in 1931 and wore until his death.

In 1907, Kipling wrote a poem called “The Sons of Martha,” which he used as part of the iron ring ceremony. His inspiration came from Luke 10:38-42. Jesus visited Mary and Martha, the sisters of Lazarus, at their home. Mary sat at the feet of Jesus to hear him speak; Martha, worried about providing for her eminent guest, complained to Jesus that Mary was not helping. Jesus chided her gently, and, in Kipling’s poem, her descendants forever after are consigned to working in the background to help everyone else: the sons of Mary … …
Kipling’s poem speaks mostly of heavy machines and those who operate mechanical systems (and of course he wrote before women engineers), but the spirit of the poem applies far beyond that. Translated into modern terms, most of us pay no attention to those who work long and hard behind the scenes with little recognition, let alone thanks. Think about them the next time that someone nearly invisible keeps the machinery working for you. Where would we be without today’s sons and daughters of Martha?

27 05 2010
Doug Gross

PS – the comment parser dropped some stuff because I put it in brackets; the background info, about Kipling’s poem, came from: http://www.dailyprincetonian.com/2007/05/07/18407/

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s




%d bloggers like this: