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Fun and games are over...
Jun. 1st, 2004 10:34 amOlga got the nod to be the interpreter for the kickoff of the combined operations phase of the campaign, hitting the road at 6 am this morning. I'm the on-call interpreter for the day (midnight to midnight), with time scheduled at the полтинник from 7 pm until 11 pm tonight. The safety guys were on the radio a few minutes ago, announcing the start of spacecraft movement out of the relatively small clean room it's been in since arriving about three weeks ago into the hall where I worked yesterday, where it will be mounted on the launch vehicle adapter, after which the mated items will be attached to the Breeze-M upper stage. (When I say "relatively small," that means you could probably inflate a hot-air balloon in the facility and not worry about rubbing against the walls.)
Yesterday, I interpreted for a session intended to familiarize operators with the cargo crane that will be used for today's operations (two hooks, capable of handling 50 metric tons and 10 metric tons, respectively). The smaller hook will be used for today's ops since the satellite weighs "only" 6 metric tons.
After that session was over, we looked over toward the approximately 5-story mobile service tower that will hold the satellite-adapter-upper stage stack during processing and noted an interesting safety feature installed at the very top level: a sort of long shute made of fabric that extended to ground level.
The idea is that you step into the open end at the top and attain a tolerable terminal velocity as the force of gravity is nullified by the friction of your body rubbing against the fabric. Extending your elbows is said to slow your descent even further, but I figure this maneuver is probably only useful to the last person to jump in (and consequently, probably not of great interest, since the point of the apparatus is to help people get away fast, and presumably, the last person has been waiting to jump in).
Anyway, the party thrown by the Brits on Sunday night was a blast, in more ways than one. I quit the party a few minutes after 11, not imagining in my wildest dreams that one of the Russian managers would arrive some time afterward. Since I and other interpreters had left, this left Sergey Z. - who was still there - holding the bag, and he ended up working past midnight, I am told. In any event, everyone had a good time (and, some say, perhaps too good a time, resulting in the moving of last night's party from the Proton Club to the courtyard in front of the Fili).
In comparison, last night's affair was fairly staid. The roasted lambs were stuffed with couscous and most of the two animals were consumed by the attendees. It turned out to be another toast-free night, although there was a modicum of one-on-one interpretation to do, mostly for management.
Near the end of the evening, Serge C., Ulrich (the ex-Legionnaire), Olga, and I were sitting at the periphery of the tables, when Serge noted the difference in the way he and Ulrich spoke French, saying that Ulrich's speech was flavored with much more slang. I nodded my head and mentioned how much easier it was for me to understand him than Ulrich, at which point Ulrich threw a wicked smile in my direction and began to speak to me, in French, distinctly pronouncing each word, saying something along the lines of: "well... if... I... speak... like... this... I... suppose... you... will... have... no... problem... understanding... me..., yes?...
We all had a laugh, but I was sitting there, compreheinding every syllable, thinking: That's right! No problem at all!
* * * I watched something called Swimming Pool the other day, starring Charlotte Rampling and Ludivine Sagnier. One aspect I found interesting was purely technical: the dialog was in French and English, but no subtitles were provided (I believe I was watching the English version of the film). I found the French fairly straightforward and easy to understand, however.
The story line was something else again. I understood the overall theme - angsty English female crime writer is invited to make use of her publisher's house in France, and ends up spending time with said publisher's daughter - but there are some nuances that I missed, unless I reconstruct the whole story along the lines of Harry, un ami qui vous veut du bien <nudge, wink>, a movie about which I wrote in a post some time ago.
In any event, in my capacity as the "on-call" interpreter, I've just received a call to support an RF link check at the pad this afternoon, starting at 1:30 pm. With any luck, I'll be back at the Fili in time for dinner, after which I'll be off to the полтинник per my previous schedule. I should probably grab a short rest before lunch.
(In other news: I've gotten back my chessboard, which was separated from me the day we were at the "zone of recreation, and I managed to send the UPS report in time to beat the June 1 deadline. Also, it may very well be that the problem of the persistent busy signal has been solved: This morning, I was able to call my mother to wish her a happy birthday; Galina, to tell her how much I missed her; and Drew, to say hi, chat, and speak with Huntür, without once getting a busy.)
Cheers...
Yesterday, I interpreted for a session intended to familiarize operators with the cargo crane that will be used for today's operations (two hooks, capable of handling 50 metric tons and 10 metric tons, respectively). The smaller hook will be used for today's ops since the satellite weighs "only" 6 metric tons.
After that session was over, we looked over toward the approximately 5-story mobile service tower that will hold the satellite-adapter-upper stage stack during processing and noted an interesting safety feature installed at the very top level: a sort of long shute made of fabric that extended to ground level.
The idea is that you step into the open end at the top and attain a tolerable terminal velocity as the force of gravity is nullified by the friction of your body rubbing against the fabric. Extending your elbows is said to slow your descent even further, but I figure this maneuver is probably only useful to the last person to jump in (and consequently, probably not of great interest, since the point of the apparatus is to help people get away fast, and presumably, the last person has been waiting to jump in).
Anyway, the party thrown by the Brits on Sunday night was a blast, in more ways than one. I quit the party a few minutes after 11, not imagining in my wildest dreams that one of the Russian managers would arrive some time afterward. Since I and other interpreters had left, this left Sergey Z. - who was still there - holding the bag, and he ended up working past midnight, I am told. In any event, everyone had a good time (and, some say, perhaps too good a time, resulting in the moving of last night's party from the Proton Club to the courtyard in front of the Fili).
In comparison, last night's affair was fairly staid. The roasted lambs were stuffed with couscous and most of the two animals were consumed by the attendees. It turned out to be another toast-free night, although there was a modicum of one-on-one interpretation to do, mostly for management.
Near the end of the evening, Serge C., Ulrich (the ex-Legionnaire), Olga, and I were sitting at the periphery of the tables, when Serge noted the difference in the way he and Ulrich spoke French, saying that Ulrich's speech was flavored with much more slang. I nodded my head and mentioned how much easier it was for me to understand him than Ulrich, at which point Ulrich threw a wicked smile in my direction and began to speak to me, in French, distinctly pronouncing each word, saying something along the lines of: "well... if... I... speak... like... this... I... suppose... you... will... have... no... problem... understanding... me..., yes?...
We all had a laugh, but I was sitting there, compreheinding every syllable, thinking: That's right! No problem at all!
The story line was something else again. I understood the overall theme - angsty English female crime writer is invited to make use of her publisher's house in France, and ends up spending time with said publisher's daughter - but there are some nuances that I missed, unless I reconstruct the whole story along the lines of Harry, un ami qui vous veut du bien <nudge, wink>, a movie about which I wrote in a post some time ago.
In any event, in my capacity as the "on-call" interpreter, I've just received a call to support an RF link check at the pad this afternoon, starting at 1:30 pm. With any luck, I'll be back at the Fili in time for dinner, after which I'll be off to the полтинник per my previous schedule. I should probably grab a short rest before lunch.
(In other news: I've gotten back my chessboard, which was separated from me the day we were at the "zone of recreation, and I managed to send the UPS report in time to beat the June 1 deadline. Also, it may very well be that the problem of the persistent busy signal has been solved: This morning, I was able to call my mother to wish her a happy birthday; Galina, to tell her how much I missed her; and Drew, to say hi, chat, and speak with Huntür, without once getting a busy.)
Cheers...
