I thought I was the bionic man

I think my friends and acquaintances would agree that my current occupation is unique. In order to work on an oil rig you must live on or near the jobsite. Drilling doesn't happen in Manhattan. Needless to say my lifestyle has changed a bit. It's kind of like camping everyday...with satellite TV and internet...and a microwave. Gym access is hard to come by so push-ups, sit-ups and running are my options. The nearest restaurant or Wal-Mart is usually about 30 miles away and Mom's home cookin' might as well be on Mars.

So one gets to thinking about their body and lifestyle. Which has me contemplating the vast and inconceivable genius that lies within our own flesh. We have the perfect machine. The human body is always working and many industries have copied our biological functions for profit and posterity.

An oil rig is just like a human body. Bare with me. Mud pumps, like our very own heart, pump drilling fluid through the standpipe (comparable to our aorta) and down the kelly to the bit or bottom end of the drilling pipe (like our hand or foot).

The mud or drilling fluid, much like human blood, then flows up the wellbore annulus, just as veins would carry un-oxygenated blood, and returns to the shakers and mud pits to be purified and recycled. Just like our lungs, kidneys and liver would do.

Of course there are computers and sensors all about the rig that act as our brain and central nervous system would- monitoring and adjusting the mechanical process of the rig. However at the end of the day we men are still responsible for turning these machines on. And while we rest our body regenerates and cleans itself when the rig just sits atop a mountain waxing rust. We are ultimately the brains and muscles of the rig...making human once again victorious as captains of the food chain.

But when this blog starts typing itself, that's when I'm heading for the hills...or Cuba, I hear it's nice this time of year.

Don't stop believing.
RF