OK, so we got on the topic of baseball.  While I shan't dwell too long, this is completely hysterical.  And not to kick the Cubs when they're down (10 games, 2.5 behind the Wild Card), while they're still mathematically a threat to the Redbirds, they're still fair game.

Note that I do not participate in the venerable Cardinal tradition of hating the Cubs -- when they made the NLCS last year, I was rooting for them along with everyone else who was hoping against hope for a Cubs - Red Sox Series.  And it took both the 2003 NLCS and ALCS to finally realize that, yes, of course, obviously, there really must be an immutable curse on both teams, delivered back near the turn of last century when goat farmers and poverty-stricken big-leaguers were competent in such black magic.  Ninety-six years without a World Series victory.  Man, that just can't be statistically possible, can it?  You really must have an honest-to-Whatever deity or some troll under a bridge who really really hates you.  Maybe that'll be Peter Jackson's next flick: an intrepid band of Cubs and Red Sox fans join forces to find and destroy the immortal wraith responsible for the curse, who skulks about the underworld with his scrying pool tuned to ESPN 24/7.

In other news, I saw Sophia Sunseri for the second time in Santa Monica last night -- absolutely fantastic.  Does the best "Summertime" since Ella & Louis.   And I got more hugs!  Musicians rock.

And much has been made about the Bush twins campaigning for their father in the upcoming elections.

And I am really, really worried about that.

 

I'm pretty sure that no one reading this cares one way or another, but the St. Louis Cardinals are the best team in baseball.  Better than the Yankees.  Straight up.  I give you the 2004 World Series Champions.
 
Oh yeah, and I'll be in Santa Monica tomorrow watching Sofia Sunseri at the Temple Bar yet again.  I cannot be bored in this town!

And I had an absolutely fantastic weekend in Santa Barbara this past weekend with my friend Tracey (proud Canadian I met in Taiwan, and adopted mother of Taiwanese shitzu dog Xiang Xiang -- that's what she calls him.  His real name is Xiang Rou, aka Dogmeat).

And I found out that Santa Barbara is a beautiful place.  And it definitely knows it.
 
Stay tuned for our regularly scheduled oddball crap.

Very long day in the field today, and I'm reminded of the Calvin and Hobbes strip where Calvin's scraping and brushing off things in the garden with his dad's shaving brush and concludes that archaeology must be the most mind-numbing job in the world. And he's only correct insofar that archaeology can be, at times the most mind-numbing job in the world, especially when you're not finding crap in a sea of dirt, mud, and sand. Like today.

So the mind wanders, finding ways of keeping itself tolerably amused. I'm digging around, jogging through the extensive jukebox in my head. I'm also reminded of the time I labored as a serf for Burger King during my undergrad years, when I'd get both insufferably bored and reeeeally punchy in the wee hours and start making up songs in my head about whatever I happened to be doing at the time. Washing off the burger pans? (sung to the tune of the Pixies' "Debaser") Carrying boxes! Whaa-ha-ha-ho! Thawin' out burgers! Whaa-ha-ha-ho! Feelin' so greasy! Wha-ha-ha-ho! Gotta go! Go and get! Get the degreaser! DE-GREASER! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!

And of course my work today was nowhere near so tedious, degrading, or downright scary, but I was getting a little distracted by the lack of productivity of the soil. So my mind is wandering, and I catch a glimpse of my red flagging tape, used for marking buckets of dirt or tying around poles to mark positions, etc. And my mind comes up with:

red flagging tape

+


Mediterranean-looking fiancee

=


Fun!

So it's these little moments of reverie that give rise to some really great ideas. Maybe. I might just be sleeping on the spare futon next time I'm home.

Thanks again for all the birthday wishes and kind words -- I'm very grateful for such friends. I might even have to meet some of you someday!

And lastly, I lob the hot Happy Birthday potato to Heather. I would wish her a happy day, but I spoke with her tonight on her cell phone, and she's waaaaay ahead of me.

Thanks for the birthday wishes (and Dan, 31 just feels like a reification of 30 -- kind of like the millenium really begins with 2001 blah blah blah. 2000 was the really big deal. Look how 2001 turned out)! My crew took me bowling. I suck. But I sucked for free tonight!

I know Martha (the Righteous) posted this indirectly via the Mosquito thing, but this had me rolling (via the politically-minded 15-year-old within).

And I'm 31 tomorrow! yay

Please welcome the hard-hitting blog stylings of former Tucsonan, current Seattlite, and archaeological apostate made good Heather Krause. Congrats on taking up the cyber-bullhorn -- always good to read about a friend's intellectual exploits.

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.

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?

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.

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?