Subject: master builders
From: Scottie Bowman (rbowman@indigo.ie)
Date: Sat Jan 29 2000 - 07:50:19 EST
I used to have a secret fantasy of being an architect too
- until I got to know two or three of them in the course
of my work. (These were all jolly good designers -
not in any way mad or significantly more neurotic
than the rest of us. And they had to their names
a number of fine, original, individually stylish houses:
houses I'd have been delighted to live in.)
But in their actual, day-to-day work they seemed to spend
their entire time drumming up trade, squeezing money
out of bankers, arguing over contracts, fighting with builders
& - above all - trying bully, placate or otherwise manipulate
mentally retarded clients.
What a life.
My fantasied self had been a Frank Wright character
dreaming all day long over a cool drawing board &
creating heart-breakingly beautiful, water-tinkling,
wood-grained, ranch houses to place in various picturesque
Western settings. But all my friends ever seemed to have
time to do was sketch a little something on the back
of a menu, get the the slaves back in the office to run it
all up - then watch the next six months of their lives
gurgle down the plughole arguing the toss with people
you'd normally cross the street to avoid.
Not wishing to be the skeleton at the feast yet again,
but I hope you know, Catherine, just what you're
getting into.
Scottie B.
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