Here are some photos of the arch crew in Mexico -- photos you didn't even know you didn't want to see.
Here
Here
and Here
And I'll give you three guesses what there is to do in Rosarito, Mexico (hint: it's just down the street from Tijuana). The answer's here.
Wednesday, June 30, 2004
Monday, June 28, 2004
Big Top Indy
Here's a nice photo from the New York Times showing the site and one of the Native American monitors (the one quoted in the Times piece is shown here).
In other news, just got back from Tucson last night, feeling very melancholy about being away from Janine for another week. She is, however, going to be flying here this coming weekend -- I was thinking maybe dinner at Spago, but after tasting Wolfgang Puck's soup from Safeway, all I have to say about that guy is: Wolfgang PUKE!!! That stuff Wolfgang SUCKS!!!!! I'm thinking the crap in his restaurant has to be better than the gruel he lends his name to from the supermarket, but c'mon! What's next, Paul Prudhomme's cajun pork rinds?
Here's a nice photo from the New York Times showing the site and one of the Native American monitors (the one quoted in the Times piece is shown here).
In other news, just got back from Tucson last night, feeling very melancholy about being away from Janine for another week. She is, however, going to be flying here this coming weekend -- I was thinking maybe dinner at Spago, but after tasting Wolfgang Puck's soup from Safeway, all I have to say about that guy is: Wolfgang PUKE!!! That stuff Wolfgang SUCKS!!!!! I'm thinking the crap in his restaurant has to be better than the gruel he lends his name to from the supermarket, but c'mon! What's next, Paul Prudhomme's cajun pork rinds?
Monday, June 21, 2004
Just arrived back at the Residence Inn in Manhattan Beach (my non-comped home away from home away from home) from Rosarito, Baja, Mexico with about 14 of my closest aquaintances from the excavation. Besides the beaches, it's not a particluarly impressive area, although the food's alright. It appears to be a slightly upscale Tijuana, which is anything but a compliment, but fun was had. My first experience with a mechanical bull, no less -- disappointingly lacking in violent lunging motions, but it still had me on the mat in a few seconds. But I didn't want to just hit the floor, I wanted to leave an impression in it. Oh well.
Addendum: I see from Matt's blog that he's had some recent experiences with mechanical bulls himself. Happy birthday to everyone's favorite mile-high baritone -- hope it was a good one, and I hope the good ole American bulls gave you a better thrashing than my panzy Mexican ones did! And nothing in that sentence was meant..., well, hell, take it anyway you want.
Addendum: I see from Matt's blog that he's had some recent experiences with mechanical bulls himself. Happy birthday to everyone's favorite mile-high baritone -- hope it was a good one, and I hope the good ole American bulls gave you a better thrashing than my panzy Mexican ones did! And nothing in that sentence was meant..., well, hell, take it anyway you want.
Wednesday, June 09, 2004
Here Goes!
At last (which was, incidentally, the only cover played last night), I saw Sofia Sunseri at the Temple Bar in Santa Monica, after about five years of wanting to. It was a stripped down set -- only her on vocals, her husband Rick on guitar and stand-up bass, and Hiro Goto on violin and Apple computer, but fantastic! Interesting thing, though -- Rick's a lawyer by day, who was recently looking into assisting the Indian groups involved with the dig I'm working on in an effort to close the site down and stop the exhumation of the Indian burials there. I suppose it could have been an awkward moment, but Rick's a great guy, and I'm a great guy, and we were two great guys appreciating the crazy morally ambiguous world we live in. And I got a couple of hugs from Sofia. It was a good night.
And bringing in the issue of morally ambiguity about the site, here's an editorial about the excavation from the LA Times, an opinion (along with Rick's, and a part of my own) that's hard to disagree with on the whole. The minority's getting screwed once again, and in grand fashion, by a developer and constructor of million-dollar condominiums. Contract archaeology does often seem to be a very melancholy occupation -- I've seen clips of archaeologists with mere hours to collect as much information as possible, digging literally in front of the bulldozers eradicating whatever they don't time to get to. And when you throw in issues like Native American land and burial rights and gargantuan ethical and legal dilemmas, it's hard to feel entirely good about one's role in the effort, even when the goal is to salvage what would have, not long ago, been plowed under. I don't really know what the Native Americans' legal options are in this case -- the fact that the land is private goes a long way in giving the developers control over the proceedings. I can only assume that the Tongv'a tribe would rather suffer the excavation and reburial elsewhere than see the remains summarily shoved into a pile by an earthmover. I hope so, anyway -- if not, the only ones who are benefiting from this exercise are us archaeologists and the very few whities who are interested what's coming out of the ground here.
And next, it looks like Pittsburgh has been chosen to host the 2004 Bockhorst family, effective anytime from next month to September. With a wedding around the same time. With me in LA for a lot of the time. I'm driving back to Tucson to plan and commiserate with Janine this weekend. Holy shit, YOU THINK YOU'RE BUSY?!
And last weekend's trip to the Sequoia National Park kicked ass; made me feel about thaaaat big, a very Alice in Wonderland sensation. And yes, Caren, that is some big wood. The biggest wood in the whole world! And believe it or not, I did not even see that one coming. I felt like a guy asking directions in a boxing ring. I tittered my ass off.
Big wood. Jeez.
Oh yeah, from Stacy's page
1. Who are you?
2. Have we ever met?
3. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
4. Describe me in one word.
5. What reminds you of me?
6. If you could give me anything, what would it be?
7. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
8. Are you going to put this on your weblog and see what I say about you?
9. What do you love like a fat kid loves cake?
10. What makes you come back here?
At last (which was, incidentally, the only cover played last night), I saw Sofia Sunseri at the Temple Bar in Santa Monica, after about five years of wanting to. It was a stripped down set -- only her on vocals, her husband Rick on guitar and stand-up bass, and Hiro Goto on violin and Apple computer, but fantastic! Interesting thing, though -- Rick's a lawyer by day, who was recently looking into assisting the Indian groups involved with the dig I'm working on in an effort to close the site down and stop the exhumation of the Indian burials there. I suppose it could have been an awkward moment, but Rick's a great guy, and I'm a great guy, and we were two great guys appreciating the crazy morally ambiguous world we live in. And I got a couple of hugs from Sofia. It was a good night.
And bringing in the issue of morally ambiguity about the site, here's an editorial about the excavation from the LA Times, an opinion (along with Rick's, and a part of my own) that's hard to disagree with on the whole. The minority's getting screwed once again, and in grand fashion, by a developer and constructor of million-dollar condominiums. Contract archaeology does often seem to be a very melancholy occupation -- I've seen clips of archaeologists with mere hours to collect as much information as possible, digging literally in front of the bulldozers eradicating whatever they don't time to get to. And when you throw in issues like Native American land and burial rights and gargantuan ethical and legal dilemmas, it's hard to feel entirely good about one's role in the effort, even when the goal is to salvage what would have, not long ago, been plowed under. I don't really know what the Native Americans' legal options are in this case -- the fact that the land is private goes a long way in giving the developers control over the proceedings. I can only assume that the Tongv'a tribe would rather suffer the excavation and reburial elsewhere than see the remains summarily shoved into a pile by an earthmover. I hope so, anyway -- if not, the only ones who are benefiting from this exercise are us archaeologists and the very few whities who are interested what's coming out of the ground here.
And next, it looks like Pittsburgh has been chosen to host the 2004 Bockhorst family, effective anytime from next month to September. With a wedding around the same time. With me in LA for a lot of the time. I'm driving back to Tucson to plan and commiserate with Janine this weekend. Holy shit, YOU THINK YOU'RE BUSY?!
And last weekend's trip to the Sequoia National Park kicked ass; made me feel about thaaaat big, a very Alice in Wonderland sensation. And yes, Caren, that is some big wood. The biggest wood in the whole world! And believe it or not, I did not even see that one coming. I felt like a guy asking directions in a boxing ring. I tittered my ass off.
Big wood. Jeez.
Oh yeah, from Stacy's page
1. Who are you?
2. Have we ever met?
3. Give me a nickname and explain why you picked it.
4. Describe me in one word.
5. What reminds you of me?
6. If you could give me anything, what would it be?
7. Ever wanted to tell me something but couldn’t?
8. Are you going to put this on your weblog and see what I say about you?
9. What do you love like a fat kid loves cake?
10. What makes you come back here?
Sunday, June 06, 2004
Wednesday, June 02, 2004
Four new things:
1. My dear, dear mum's sent me a spare laptop. I'm using it now in a posh-as-an-archaeologist-can-expect hotel room, and it's working quite well.
2. The Mock-Morrissey show, incidentally, was fun in a strange way -- the guy pulled off the well-known Moz mannerisms expertly, although he himself looked more like John Hannah (the goofy brother from the recent Mummy movies) attempting to be all Morriss-ey. The strangeness entered when I realized that there was no rock star in the room, just a bunch of fans -- we, as base fans, cheering on another fan-as-quasi-rock-star/kareoke artist/specialty actor and his cover band. It got really weird when he started talking between songs in a disorienting American accent. That's all I'll say about anything Smiths for a while -- I'm starting to bore myself.
3. We may be moving soon to Pittsburgh. Janine might be reallocating herself in the Bayada Nurses network, and it appears to be a choice between P-burg (the Greater) and one of the Carolinas. Nothing, let alone the timetable, is set, but the chances look pretty good. I recently found out that Pittsburgh is one of my Dad's favorite towns, which is interesting 'cause I always assumed it was a hole. I've been there all of maybe twice, I think, and I can't remember if one was for Robert Palmer or the Cure.
4. The job continues to be very cool -- lots o' bones, lots o' rocks, lots o' bad-for-you lunches from the freelance catering van that comes daily, lovingly deemed the Roach Coach by us. My diet's changed somewhat since watching Morgan Spurlock's Supersize Me over the weekend. It's a wonderful flick -- I insist you see it immediately -- and I defy you to come out of the viewing and not recoil in horror at the first Golden Arches you pass by on the way home to throw away everything in your refrigerator.
1. My dear, dear mum's sent me a spare laptop. I'm using it now in a posh-as-an-archaeologist-can-expect hotel room, and it's working quite well.
2. The Mock-Morrissey show, incidentally, was fun in a strange way -- the guy pulled off the well-known Moz mannerisms expertly, although he himself looked more like John Hannah (the goofy brother from the recent Mummy movies) attempting to be all Morriss-ey. The strangeness entered when I realized that there was no rock star in the room, just a bunch of fans -- we, as base fans, cheering on another fan-as-quasi-rock-star/kareoke artist/specialty actor and his cover band. It got really weird when he started talking between songs in a disorienting American accent. That's all I'll say about anything Smiths for a while -- I'm starting to bore myself.
3. We may be moving soon to Pittsburgh. Janine might be reallocating herself in the Bayada Nurses network, and it appears to be a choice between P-burg (the Greater) and one of the Carolinas. Nothing, let alone the timetable, is set, but the chances look pretty good. I recently found out that Pittsburgh is one of my Dad's favorite towns, which is interesting 'cause I always assumed it was a hole. I've been there all of maybe twice, I think, and I can't remember if one was for Robert Palmer or the Cure.
4. The job continues to be very cool -- lots o' bones, lots o' rocks, lots o' bad-for-you lunches from the freelance catering van that comes daily, lovingly deemed the Roach Coach by us. My diet's changed somewhat since watching Morgan Spurlock's Supersize Me over the weekend. It's a wonderful flick -- I insist you see it immediately -- and I defy you to come out of the viewing and not recoil in horror at the first Golden Arches you pass by on the way home to throw away everything in your refrigerator.
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