I've been meaning to sit down and type out a long-winded, detailed reflection of the past week or so, but things got busy over the past few hours and my well-meaning came to naught, which probably doesn't bode very well for the upcoming month of well-meant noveling. I have changed my strategy somewhat from last year, i.e. I'm not worried about being particularly good, let alone attempting to match Dan's knack for likeable characters or coherant, flowing storylines. I'll start with wordiness and see what emerges, and if it's monstrous, well, I'll just lock it in my basement.

Anyway, I'm back out to Gila Bend for another week of bombing range walking around (more on this in a while). Actually, this is a pretty good time to start something like NaNoWriMo, as I'll be holed up in a low-rent hotel room on an Air Force base during the evenings -- no baseball, no interruptions, and no bombings during off hours. So now I've gotta get my crap together, get to bed, and be up at 4 am and off for a full day wandering in the desert looking for manna and flagging sites. Yes, more soon.

And good luck to all those making the attempt to novel once again -- may you all be entirely seduced by your muses.

I find this deeply disturbing (you have to register with Mercury News to read it, but it's more than worth it if you're interested in some clarity). I find it very awkward to write about large blocks of people in sweeping, blanket condemnation, but, y'know, when I have studies like this to back it up, it becomes slightly easier. I always wondered about the mental workings of Bush supporters -- the intellectual machinations that produce a bottom line that reads, "Bush is the better candidate." And I've seen polls that indicate the majority of Bush supporters aren't actively voting against John Kerry (it's much lower than Kerry supporters who are trying to oust Bush) -- THEY LIKE BUSH.

And according to the article above, nothing will stand in the way of their love for Bush (no snickering at that last sentence, please). Not facts, not Congressional reports, and especially not reality. The majority of Bush supporters surveyed believe that Hussein did indeed have WMDs or a major program to develop them, and provided assitance to Al Qaida. And a majority of these same people said it would have been wrong to invade Iraq if the above had been not been true. So these inner machinations aren't so much, "Bush is a strong leader and righteous Christian who will continue to guide this country through our current battle against terrorists and make us all safe," so much as, "LALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALA... is the news still on? LALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALALA, etc."

So fuck campaigning -- I have no idea WHAT to do in the face of that kind of psychological blockade.
"Here's some critical information regarding the future of our country!"
"No, thank you. I've got my delusions just the way I like 'em!"

And this is just too freakin' cool. I got mine this week -- I think Orrin Hatch and Pat Robertson might be the most chilling, and Rumsfeld has a good "Demon King" vibe going on.

And this Monday, I'm off to Luke Air Force Base in Gila Bend (BF AZ, for those curious as to its exact location) for two weeks for some leisurely surveying and desert strolling.

A really funny incident occurred over the weekend while I was listening to one of the final regular-season Cardinal games of the season. MLB.com has a Cardinals chatroom, where you can, well, basically waste your time with other Cardinal fans who are in the process of wasting their time. I log on occasionally to go ALL CAPS when we win or group-mope when we lose.

One of the participants was being an absolute pest -- if someone disagreed with him on even trivial things, they'd be labeled an idiot. He'd fill up the screen with obscenities. He'd be contentious and rude about pretty much everything. The guy gave the proceedings the air of a 13-year-old middle school bully in a sports bar. So I made the casual remark that it's a shame that you can't slap the shit out of someone over cyberspace. Apparently, that flipped a switch. The guy IMs me and does the internet equivalent of giving me that oh-too-familiar first shove. Over the internet.

"How bout I give you my phone number and we'll go from there, asshole!"
I wasn't really sure what to make of this. I'd never really been in a fight before, but from what I remember from middle school, the guy trying to indimidate you was usually supposed to be in the same room, or somehow able to physically affect you in some way.

Andy: What the hell is wrong with you?
Nutjob: You yanked my chain one too many times! Maybe I should kick your ass for you.
Andy: I'm in Arizona!
Nutjob: That's too far.
Andy: Yup. Too far.
Nutjob: Maybe you'll just make me change my vacation plans.

But that assumes that I would have actually given him my address, description, maybe scheduled a time (coordinated with his incomong flight plans) to meet out on a playground out back of a school or something and shove each other around some. Maybe he could pull my shirt up over my head and tackle me and we could wrestle around a little like they did back in the day. I've heard of people traveling cross-country to finally meet up and capitalize on an internet love affair, but I have yet to learn of a formalized conference by which satisfaction for a chatroom insult was had.

Strangely, it did feel a little bit good, though. I haven't had any interaction with bullies since middle school, and yet here was the genuine article going through the same routine, except disembodied and ridiculously impotent. I wound up laughing at him (again, ALL CAPS), and he signed off in a huff. Almost like he was signing me up in a program for systematic desensitization for bully-phobia -- next, I have to stand and look at one from afar before coming closer.

And at the very end of the program, you go to the nearest middle school and beat up the largest 13-year-old you can find.

I'm thinking I may have to think up a new title for my blog. I was dining with Janine not long ago at a local Mimi's Cafe -- I'm not sure how much of a chain restaurant it is, but there are at least two in town. The food's pretty decent faux-Cajun, but the decor is a visually cloying stab at the boisterous Mardi Gras palette. Anyway, I was glancing around and caught what's apparently Mimi's slogan: Fillet of Soul, next to an awful painting of a shambling saxophonist. I do like Mimi's, but I really don't want someone stumbling upon this thing and muttering to themselves, "Hey, I didn't know Mimi's Cafe had a blog... Who's the fruitcake with the teacup?"

Meanwhile, I gotta congratulate my friends Jana & Justin, who were wed over the weekend here in town. I'm pretty sure they don't read this, so I'll add that our wedding was better.

And take a jab at the globe and sign my new guestmap!

Not much going on in the last couple of weeks -- I've been in the field, mostly, and learning oodles. Janine's been batting around the idea of going into the tea shop business with her mother sometime in the next couple of years, possibly after she acquires an MBA to guide her along. Which is perfectly fine by me; I do so like tea.

I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and
irritating, and it gets everywhere. Not like here. Here
everything's soft... and smooth...

- Anakin Skywalker, speaking about Andy's new job and finally being home with Janine

Things are pretty groovy here, although my job, although very interesting, is getting to be more like a very educational dare. My newest assignment is quite cool, digging ca. 12th century Hohokam pit houses in Marana, just north of town. We're excavating four days a week, ten hours a day in 100+ degree heat, with a fine, tan dust swirling around the nostrils when the breeze kicks up, sticking to the thick foundation of sunblock I apply every morning, resolving itself after many hours into a brown paste. The scenery can't be beat, though -- the sky today was a Smithsonian diorama blue with cirrus clouds lifted straight out of a child's bedroom wallpaper. Beat that, office dwellers!



Now if I don't come down with brown lung, this stint will have been an amazing success. As for everyone else, read this article that Kelli clued me onto, and then send me tribute.

I also came across the weblog of a local historical archaeologist, one with whom I've enjoyed working quite a bit, and one whose job I really wouldn't mind replicating somewhere back east. Now I guess he just needs a boyfriend. Anybody know any history-obsessed candidates?

Interesting also in that Janine is in some sort of bizarre transition from being a Davis to becoming a Bockhorst. She has Social Security cards to get and other applications and God knows how many bank accounts and subscriptions and phone bills and other crap to get changed over into her new name. And I'm not really sure why she's doing it -- up until now, we've had contrasting problems: she almost always has to spell out her first name to keep her interviewers from writing "Jeanine" or "Jeanninne" or one of the surprisingly infinite varieties of her name; I always always have to spell out my last name, to keep my interviewers from making jokes about sausage. Now she's completely screwed.

And do keep that concentrated laser beam of good wishes focused on Dan and his family this weekend. Hope it goes well, my friend.

More wedding photos!

Life, cont.

We're back in the Old Pueblo after a six-day road trip, and everything's strangely like it was before I took off to live intermittantly in Los Angeles, which, considering I get to live with Janine again on a not-just-weekends-only basis, is a definite upgrade. Or retrofit? Any mechanic readers who care to help me with my analogies?

Anyway, the wedding was wonderful -- not just the wedding, but the entire week, all the way through, was absolutely beautiful. On Thursday, a good chunk of my relatives and Janine's were already at my uncle Fred's (the wedding site), gourmet Fred probably effortlessly whipped up a large salmon feast and most got plowed on my brother Pete's fine wines, and you could have cut the love with a knife and spread it on the rolls. Friday was the rehearsal dinner, which was a repeat of the night before, but with more people and different food at a different place. Just as cool. Janine threw a tea party at a tea bar (or whatever they call those places) for the women from both (well, all) sides of the family -- they had a blast, but are mysteriously tight-lipped about the affair.

And we got married on Saturday. The photos do it a lot better justice than I can. It started late at 5:30 and ended sometime before midnight. We get the negatives this week -- the photographer said there were some "nice shots," and we're counting on his having a fine command of understatement.

Alright, so we're married and stuff, but on the way back through Tennessee... GRACELAND, BABY! Yes, we saw the jaw-droppingly garish and gorgeous/awful abode of the King, even the exact piano in the foyer of his personal raquetball court where he sat his impacted colon for the final time and serenaded his waning heart into that good night. Unfortunately, visitors aren't allowed upstairs where he later retreated to his bathroom and everything resolved itself so improperly. I like to think Sir Noel Coward expired in the early seventies because his fashion sense smothered him in his sleep out of ultimate kindness, but I haven't gotten that far in the book yet. Let's say the Fashion Fairy wasn't as kind to Elvis.

We also took in the Oklahoma City National Memorial late this past Friday, and it's hard to convey the chillingness. The monolithic gates at either end of the disaster area marked with the time immediately before (9:01) and after (9:03) the attack, and the hundreds of empty chairs were devastating, but I think the part that affected me most was the realization that the immense plaza that once led up to the Murrah building (steps, landscaping, ramps, tile, gates to the underground parking where McVeigh left the van) are kept entirely intact, and now overlook the Memorial grounds. The whole city block gives a intensely eerie air of frozen time, punctuated by the ongoing tributes populating a chain-link fence along the western sidewalk that are regularly updated nine years later.

So we're back in the Tucson, and I'm starting a new job digging a site in Marana (just north of town). Janine and I will be arriving home about the same time every night. How effin' cool is that? My only regret is that I'll miss the Cardinals when they play San Diego and LA this month in California. Life is... bittersweet.

Wedding photos!

Getting... chokey...



I know Janine (the bride) looks a little nonplussed -- we were actually a little inbetween official shots here. This was the only one we have at the moment with all the Bridal Party Members (I forgot the insigneated armbands), but trust me, we all smiled quite a bit.

Janine and I stopped at my brother's place in Tennessee on the way back (where I'm writing from), and we have to hit the road presently. Details (and many more photos) to come...