Up Shit Creek with an Architect

yesterday i found myself canoeing on the well swollen connecticut river in
the midst of this peculiar climate's annual state of autumnal
indecision.
the banks were eroding on account of the microburst rainstorms that we
had the night before. this had the double benefit of not only covering
up the otherwise (unsightly) muddy banks but also filling the river
with enough delightful assemblages of (turbine clogging) woody
debris that we were left alone for hours on an otherwise boat-free
river.
along the way, my wayfaring, wayward and oft philandering friend, matt and
i pursued some impressive beavers, slalomed driftwood, and extracted,
then salvaged, a long capsized 15' canoe. but it took about 20 minutes
after passing by some campesino encampment on one of the deedless
islands before the revelation came upon me:
why not throw a party on one of the islands? and why not a wild, gypsy
carnival sort of affair, with one of the local romani-styled bands
playing? and why not ferry party goers to the island by canoes gilded
by the breathing light of oil lanterns?
(indeed, why not?)
matt, a creative sort-- playwright, actor, conspirator in the new
england secession movement, and brooklyn home renovator-- then offered
the generous proposal of building a raft for much of the anticipated
bedlam to transpire. (he, being a werner herzog fan, is an admirer of
"aguirre, wrath of god", and also proposed a group reading of klaus
kinski's role. i offered "fitzcaraldo", but eventually bowed to aguirre).

and, here, my dear friend, is where things began to become complicated.

you see, there was only enough room on the roof of his car for his
(very fine) boat, not for the neon orange abomination we'd rescued. so
we called my friend, eric, who happened to live nearby in northampton
and who owns a truck. after all, it's black out now, and we haven't
the time or energy for superhuman feats or unconventional
boat-mounting arrangements. so eric arrives shortly and the next
milestone of the day takes place as we realize that we don't have any
extra rope or webbing (and the length of grape vine i'd cut for a tow
line earlier had already been disposed of in the currents streaming past the
boat dock where we took landing).
thus, we found ourselves lying in the wet bed of a pick up
truck, clutching desperately onto the rusted gunwhales of an inverted watercraft
with the sort of thrill which only comes in those certain instances of life
that threaten to leave you abandoned and mortally wounded along some
county highway-- or, alternatively, arrested, hungry and unexpectedly embarrassed to
be wearing your one pair of red and orange striped thong underwear on
the one day of your life you also happen to have been incarcerated.
but none of this is even the point.
the point is that nary an hour later we all find ourselves at a local
watering hole, tired, wet on our backs (yet somehow not lacking our
penguin edition joyce and beckett), and thrilled again at the prospect
of building a raft and organizing a bohemian island event. paper is
requested from the bar. pens are withdrawn from front pockets. the
dance of lines and banter of ideas begins.

five minutes later, irreconcilable differences emerge:
-damn architect.
-damn builder. and, hey, i may yet become a doctor.
-why do you have to complicate things?
-it's actually not complicated. same materials. same cuts. plus it's
better, it's sensible, and it's fitting.
why are you so scared of doing something 5% different than the hundred
other times you've built something?
half an hour extra labor, max.
-you see, this is what you architects always try to do. you meddle.
you muscle. you think you matter.
-no, carpenter. why don't you think positively? why don't you consider
how people would like to inhabit a space?
-not the point, prima donna.
-indeed, it is, simpleton.
-drama queen.
-prom queen.
-pozzo.
-"the fool doth think he is wise..."

etc. etc.

we're trying to overcome our differing attitudes and aspects and sail the
essential kernel of our once-dream to port.
sigh.
this thing better come together in the next two weeks before the
weather kills even that final germ of hope.