Diggin' Ditches in The Rain

(Originally written 5/24/8)

Really, that’s all I got. Just the title, and a vague idea how to expand upon it. But not much else. I think if I ever released an album, I would call it that. “Diggin’ Ditches in the Rain”. I don’t know if I can make this entertaining, but let’s give it a shot, eh?

Actually, it sounds like something Springsteen would ramble on about in concert. (This will probably work better if you imagine Bruce actually saying this as opposed to any shitty impression I might do. )“Yea, man, when I was in my 20s, I didn’t have no job. Every summer all my friends would want to go to the beach. An’ I was like “C’mon, man, I don’t got no money.” (Incoherent laugh here) I was playing some clubs, but not enough money to even fill the tank. So if I wanted to go, I had to get a job, man. Now there wasn’t much happenin’ on the account of the economy. I searched high and low, man, high and low. I finally got a job. I got a job diggin’ ditches in the rain. It was awful, but it put money in my pocket.”

So there I was on Monday, “working”. Today’s lesson is how to build a deck. Previously, Paul & Mikey laid out how this deck was going to be built. I won’t bore you with the specifics, but the end result is the thing you do now is lay out where the concrete supports will go. You spray paint the ground where they are to go. Then, you dig, dig? Suffice it to say, this is not the kind of labor most sane people would want to do, let alone on a cloudy Monday morning. You would think digging a hole requires a shovel. But no, there are a few tools one can use to create a hole and also give themselves Carpel-Tunnel syndrome. And these ain’t no ordinary holes. They have to be 3 feet deep. Let me repeat that. THREE FEET DEEP. Not only that, some have to be 8 inches wide, while others have to be 12 inches wide. And we have to dig 9 of them. NINE. Paul spraypaints the ground where the holes are to be dug. Then promptly vanishes. He’s no fool. Who wants to be around2 guys shoveling all day? Hell, who wants to read about 2 guys shoveling all day? Fuck, who wants to be one of those 2 guys shoveling all day?

You push you arms together to open it. Then plunge it into the ground. After such, you pull your arms apart, to close the ‘mouth’ on the bottom. With that, a chunk of soil is trapped. You then lift the implement up, and deposit the soil away from the hole in a pile. Basically, you expend a ton of energy to remove a pittance of soil. Repeat.

Thought your job sucked? But wait, there’s more. You can use a shovel at certain points. After the first few inches of soil, you will be lulled into thinking while this task is certainly arduous, it’s apparently easy. You, kind reader, would be FUCKING WRONG. ‘Cause when you get past those first few inches, you get to where the rocks, roots and CHUD (anyone get that joke?) live. And they don’t come up without a fight. I am sure there is some sort of scientific principle that says rocks actually increase in size in the soil the lower you go. Because that was sure my experience. O, but don’t worry, they have a tool you can use for such cases.

I can tell you in order to bust through rocks and roots, this SOB has gotta weigh 50 pounds. 50 FUCKING POUNDS. You then become some Ogawa tribesman, throwing this spear down a hole to achieve your purpose.

I can tell you after about a half hour of such merriment, your chest and shoulders are on fucking fire with fatigue. Your mind is screaming “WTF am I doing?” And this is just the first hole. I should point out that I knew there was a problem with my first hole going in. There is a drain pipe that runs under the area. From the looks of it, it would be right under my hole. So I knew I would have to dig for a bit, and if I hit it, I would have to dig away from it. Sure enough, the white pipe shone through, and I had to ‘move’ the hole over a bit. It’s one thing to dig down a bit, but when you have to dig down three feet below your feet, pretty much your entire body will be in for a hurting. It’s bad news once you start digging below horizontal. Legs, back, shoulders, chest, arms-all burning and fatiguing.

I developed a Kung-Fu grip from holding the digger thingies so long, opening and closing them, lifting them up and thrusting them down to the evil earth. The earth would fight back. I don’t think I can properly explain the sensation you get when you’re thrusting the diggers down the hole-only to hit a rock. The pain that rattles your fingers and wrists is astounding. I got to know when I heard that sound, it was time to take the 50 pound soil spear and rattle my hand joints some more. Seriously, there has got to be a better way to do this shit in the year 2008. Mike pointed out that there are gas powered diggers that can make these holes in like 4 minutes each. But, no, I am the gas powered digger on this sad day.

The weather report had called for rain. I was pulling for this, because I don’t think I can handle all day of this shit. You ever heard the phrase “well, it beats diggin’ graves?” Well, I have lived the tale of something that is worse than digging graves. This is rock bottom. My mind was playing tricks on me. I knew inside there were 50 CDs of bands I am good enough to work for (or have worked with in the past), but no, I’m out digging fucking holes. Another loud and painful CLANG rings from my diggers. Damn, I guess I am still in the rock game.

Every once in a while, we do the tale of the tape, to see how far we still have to go. It’s never good news. It’s never that we dug too far. No, we were always too short. We finally dig the first 2 holes. Mike moves on to do the middle hole in the line, while I drop down to start the first hole in the next line. I am almost a foot in (get your minds out of the gutter), when Mike’s phone goes off. It’s the call I really don’t want to hear. It’s Paul, and he laid out the holes wrong. FUCK ME. Wanna guess what hole is off? Right, the one I am digging right FUCKING now. So we relay the holes (again, mind out of the gutter) and git to digging.

Me and Mike develop a gallows humor about this. We know this sucks, but it’s gotta be done. What’s worse, the clouds are gathering. At this point, I am praying for rain. I’ve just had enough. My body is fried, my mind is fried. This is the most tiring and physical day I’ve had at this gig yet. Any other night, I would be madly crashing on the couch, popping Aleves. Alas, tonight is the last PMB show. (If you read the previous post Good Night for Bad Decisions, you knew that by now. If not, I recommend you read that right Goddamn now.) So I would somehow try to keep some sort of energy in reserve for the show. But this shit wastes you. The rain starts to fall. Certainly not enough to stop digging holes and hitting rocks. Good lord, I don’t want to imagine how this can get any worse. And the rain comes down.

Diggin’ ditches in the rain.

I admit, maybe somewhat happily, that I cannot remember much more. I guess my subconscious is working on my behalf, trying to make sure I erase this memory from my mind. I just remember it sucking. Somehow, we plodded through. We dug all the holes. There in the yard are nine large holes, with corresponding piles of dirt next to them. It looked like the lawn was attacked by nuclear gophers or something.

I suppose there is some sort grand analogy in all of this. But fuck if I can find it. I was just some loser. Diggin’ ditches in the rain.

So how was your day?

DVD Bonus material

Alternate titles: Hello, Chinamen, Hitting Rock Bottom, Did I Just Hit a Gas Line?, Mikey Kill Me Now, Kevolution Theory & the Kingdom of the Crystal Skulls

Added Footage

(Added 4 days after original writing) So guess what one of my tasks was today? Turns out we digged one/another hole more than we should have. For days now, it just laid there. We built around it. And by that, I mean we crossed 2 beams over it. Still, it just laid there, almost saying “Yo, I’m just here and I am cool, pay me no mind. Fuck, I won’t even let you fall into me. That’s how I ride.” So today, vainly hoping to get out early, it becomes apparent that won’t happen. Paul leaves me a list of things to do. Kind reader, being a (hopefully) regular reader, you see where this is going. One of my assigned tasks is to fill yet another hole. That hole. Like I said above, this hole is almost directly below 2 beams, so this ain’t simple. At this point, it’s Friday before a 3 day weekend. My body is betraying me. I am empty.

I pause. I think how my family will be standing on this deck. Fuck that, I think how I will be standing on this deck. I can’t fart around here. I take wheel barrows full of dirt from one side of the yard to the other. Ugh, I thought I was done with this. It’s everything in me to plunge the 50 pound dirt dart of death into the hole. My shoulders and chest are saying, “Yo, seriously, dude, what dafuck up with this shit?” It’s the allure of coconut rum pulling me through. I ain’t no junkie, but I will happily take coconut rum over fucking Aleve every day of the week. Of course, that might lead to hardcore alcoholism, but fuck it, let the chips fall where they may. I plod through, with every tampering strike yielding less and less results. Sure, the dirt goes down, but so does my spirits. Kind of ironic I need more spirits, eh? When it’s all over, I fill the holes (again, mind out of the gutter) and I type this now full of rum when I should be sleeping.