Working class Nero

Someone has to shovel while the empire burns

by Max Alexander

Item in a mail-order catalog:

 

A. Folding Writing Desk EXCLUSIVE

Sturdy, foldable, portable, and a bargain. The perfect desk for a small space or sudden urge to write . . . No rush or express delivery.

Back, fickle muse! — my desk is in the mail! In real life, my sudden urges to write are inspired by calendar notes like SEWAGE TREATMENT STORY DEADLINE TODAY!!! Until then, I’m out clearing land, liming fields, and stacking firewood.

Which got me thinking: Am I blue collar or white collar? And when do I have to decide? “You’re definitely white collar,” said Sarah over dinner the other night. “You earn a living at a computer.” But a few minutes later she stared at me and said, “Oh my God, your eyebrow hairs are so long, they’re curling back into your skull!”

“See, I am blue collar.”

Well, maybe. But as any self-respecting self-help guru will tell you, life is all about balance. It goes something like this: a pound of fresh, wet cow manure is equivalent to a page of writing. Shovel some, write some. See, when you reduce problems to their essence — and there’s plenty of essence around here — the clouds part.

So here is a typical, if theoretical, week ripped from the headlines, as they say, of my desk calendar:

 

Monday:

1. Write article for do-it-yourself magazine about home security systems; play up terrorism angle, per editor.

2. County extension officer comes at 10:00 to discuss pasture management.

 

Tuesday:

1. Mulch fruit trees, re-caulk greenhouse.

2. Revise proposal for how-to book on moving to Canada.

 

Wednesday:

1. Write article for home magazine on adding a library wing; include info on where to buy fake book spines to hide bigscreen TV. (Note editor’s advice: “Our readers aren’t do-it-yourselfers, they’re buy-it-yourselfers.”)

2. Town Mining Standards Committee Meeting: Vote on controversial proposal to ban gravel pits from elementary school playground.

 

Thursday:

1. Come up with theme for Woodstock-type music festival in my blueberry field. (Rejected ideas: Free drugs — too expensive; naked dancing — too cold; camping in the mud — too dry; benefit New York — New Yorkers might come.)

2. Re-work book proposal on ethnic restaurants to reflect stay-at-home comfort theme, per agent in New York. (“We need to get prairie in the title, but don’t make it seem forced.”)

 

Friday:

1. Buck and split maple limbs left by Central Maine Power trimmers on side of my road; chase turkeys out of winter rye patch.

2. Contact Etta James management to inquire on availability (with full Muscle Shoals horn section) to headline concert in my field (theme: Fight the Zeitgeist!); petition selectmen to allow 50,000 concertgoers to park along town roads; check on need for portable toilets (DEP: Are trees a viable alternative?).

3. Trim eyebrow hairs.

It feels good to have that balance. One of the ugly truths about September 11 is that many office workers regularly fantasize about watching their building blow up. There is something oppressive about vast, monolithic places of work. I know; I spent years of labor in such buildings, in both lower and midtown Manhattan. I suspect the terrorists’ deeds were at least partly a twisted manifestation of those universal feelings. (How strange, by the way, that the 1968 British film 2001: A Space Odyssey revolves around the discovery of an ominous alien monolith on the moon.)

The way we feel about our workplaces is unhealthy, and not just because skyscrapers have become scary targets. Work is now an out-of-body experience for most Americans; it’s something you do way over there, in that specialized building with its T-1 computer lines, recycled air, and “health clubs” (a cruelly vicarious way of getting exercise without getting a stack of wood). Office buildings don’t even have proper street addresses anymore. Where exactly was “One World Trade Center Plaza,” anyway? Just try that with your house.

I know we can’t go back to the pre-industrial era, when everyone worked at home. But if we are to be a nation of corporate Bartlebys and buy-it-yourselfers, some adjustments are in order. While we’re trying to understand the Middle East from our TV screens and computer terminals, let’s also think about how we can use technology so more people can perform their scrivening closer to their homes, and make work a part of their real life. Otherwise we risk a future controlled by the gizmos (including high-tech skyscrapers) that we invent — rather like that presented in the film 2001.

Technology is great, but sometimes manure is better. For me, a good day involves some downloading — and some truck loading. At the exact moment terrorists struck, I was up on the peak of my sheep shed, trimming the edge of some rolled roofing. It was hard work and I cursed as the craft knife slipped and wobbled through the thick asphalt, but it was the last step of a building project I had spent much of the summer on. Afterwards, I stood back and admired my amateur but capable work; it looked better than the roof a pro had put on my henhouse last summer, and I did it myself. An hour later, checking my email, the day turned immeasurably bad.

I’m happy I don’t work in lower Manhattan anymore, even if my “tech support” now consists of a paperclip to restart my computer. But when my IMac crashes on deadline, I never get the urge to throw it out the window. I just go outside and toss around some manure.

Max Alexander can be reached at malex@midcoast.com.