After three weeks working to develop a strategic plan for Arch Chemicals, I am slowly gaining an understanding of the biocides industry. Although it would have helped if I had paid attention to my chemistry class in college, I have at least learned that the suffix –cide is used to describe a product that kills while the suffix –stat identifies a product that merely inhibits growth.
(For those readers at Arch:) Thus far, I have found my experience at Arch to be interesting, challenging, and rewarding.
(For those readers at GE:) As great as life is at Arch, it can’t compare to the utopia that is the General.
(For everyone else:) It’s work.
On the weekend of June 24th, I traveled to New York to attend my friend Larry’s wedding on Long Island. I flew into Washington D.C. to visit college friends and then rode up to New York for the wedding. It was nice to see good friends and it made me realize how much I miss my friends while I am rambling around the Caribbean. I had planned to recount the stories of the trip in this journal, but, despite the eventful weekend, everything that occurred seems too personal, too difficult to describe, and too full of debauchery to be of any general interest. Suffice it to say, mummies, asexuality, and tequila were involved and the less said, the better.
In an attempt to balance the health benefits of running with the health detriments of drinking, my cousin Eric and I attended a Saturday meeting of the Atlanta Hash House Harriers. The group describes itself as “a drinking club with a running problem.” A full description of hashing can be found at their website at www.atlantahash.com, but the basic idea is to follow a series of markings over a challenging course that ends with an impromptu party in a corporate parking lot. After about five minutes, it became apparent that the trail was less for running than for survival. Although the course only covered about three miles, we waded, climbed, and stumbled through woods, rivers, and a few drainage tunnels. Upon reaching the finish, marked with war scars consisting of shoes full of pebbles and sand, pricker punctures, and poison ivy, we “virgins” were given the honor of pounding a beer while the other hashers sang a crude rugby song. We were instructed that if the cup left our lips before we finished the beer, that the remainder would be dumped over our head. This exercise was repeated for reasons as flimsy as being the first runner to finish, talking during a song, and for wearing a red shirt. Needless to say, the afternoon deteriorated quickly.
On Thursday, I celebrated my 28th birthday. Since I was born on 7/7/77, more people remember my birthday than my name. Thanks to all of those who remembered both. Despite Eric’s best efforts to make my birthday celebration a wild bacchanal, I managed to cling to my last ounce of dignity – barely. It was sad to wake up on my birthday to news of the terrorist bombings in London. The most recent attack underscores the dangerous world in which we live and serves as a reminder that Westerners are not universally loved throughout the world.
As I enter my 29th year of this existence, I am thankful for the experiences that I have had the opportunity to take part in and for the good people that I have been fortunate enough to meet. I hope that the upcoming year proves to be as interesting as the past year and I hope that my 29th birthday finds me a better person than I am today. Failing that, I wish for world peace.