Holy Skeletons in the Closet Batman!

A few years ago I drove up from Florida for a visit to my parents on a school holiday. After I had packed my car and was on my way out the door I was saying “Bye” to my dad and in the process I casually asked whom the pictures on his desk were of. “Oh, my first wife”, he responded in an uninterested tone. “Ok, I’ll call you when I get back home. See ya.” “Later”, he called out. I actually made it all the way down to my car and was on my way out of the driveway before it fully hit me; “My first wife”!? I quickly ran back up the steps to see what the hell he was talking about. My dad then explained to me how he had been married before to another woman and then had a divorce a year later. Let me just say that he couldn’t understand why this had struck me so hard. When I asked him why he had never told me he merely replied, “It never came up.”

Today my parents and sister came to visit me in Nevada. While everyone was going through their morning routines my mother leans towards me in her chair and says, “I have to tell you something”. After a little back and forth she tells me that she had had a child before she met my dad and had to give it up for adoption. Also, that he had recently contacted her. I have to tell you here that I used up all my disbelief those years ago on my father’s whole first marriage bit so my reaction was a lot more subdued. Still, when I asked why she had never told me the answer was, again, “It never came up.”

It never freakin’ came up! In twenty-seven years of conversations with these people you’d think that at some point the discussion would have veered close enough to make the leap to this subject, let alone crashing directly into it. That aside, I have a biological half-brother out there. Exciting news really. I read a letter he had sent and saw a picture of him and got a bit of a biography too. Interestingly he had slipped his name into the letter through random capitalized letters. I just happened to be the first one to notice this and subsequently fueled a bit of a frenzy this morning that resulted in my mother writing an email to her first son.

You know as proud as I was to have studied and become an archaeologist it ain’t shit compared to this dude. As unrealistic as this may sound to those who know me and thereby feel that anyone hindered by my family’s genetics should achieve this; I swear it’s all true. He is a PhD in atomic physics and works at a particle accelerator lab. That is a lot to meet up to, but hey maybe this is how all younger siblings feel (I’m new to that feeling).

As curious and exciting as this news is I am rather taken aback. I mean is this it? Ok, my dad had a former wife, my mom had another kid. I am terrified to talk to my grandparents. I can just imagine sitting down in their family room chatting about whatever when my grandmother lets it slip that she worked as a spy during WWII and my grandfather wasn’t really in the armed forces, he was actually a globetrotting jewel thief…”d’you want more ice tea honey?”

Mediation = Awesomeness

So, I am one of those people who are unshakably sure of themselves most of the time. In fact, I am so sure of my correctitude that in a friendly discussion I will fling the rules of etiquette and good graces out the window faster than a pissed-off Russell Crowe in a hotel room and become quite belligerent toward my adversary. At this point I will usually call on my own personal mediator. That’s right, personal mediator.

While most people have personal financial advisors, physicians, lawyers, nutritionists, therapists and trainers; I feel it more advantageous to have a personal mediator. Someone with whom I can call upon to offer an unbiased appraisal of my current discussion. Someone to settle any conflict of trivial fact or opinion that might arise in any of my discussions. This personal mediator, in my opinion, is on call 24 hours a day and will always field my questions whether they are about movies, video games or deep societal issues. So, I guess this post is to say thanks bud for all the outrageous questions you have answered over the years.

Don’t think I don’t appreciate your willingness to wake up on a weeknight at 3:30 AM and entertain my drunken half-baked questions on whether the winged animal in Super Mario Bros. was a flying turtle or a duck. Or answering bizarre questions while at work or in the gym. Even taking impromptu polls, when asked, of your fellow compatriots or co-workers to solve a matter of popular opinion. It is this selfless attitude and willingness to entertain ridiculous questions posed at the most inopportune times that will assure your top five ranking on my cell phone’s speed-dial for years to come.

Kudos to you my personal mediator and kudos to all who toil fruitlessly for the benefit of us, the burdensome friends out there.

At this point I would like to cordially invite my mediator to become a full member of the Half-Assed Opinions Technical Staff. This will mean longer hours, a heavier workload, and an almost palpable sense of slackery that you must exude everywhere you go. Don’t think that this position doesn’t come with an awesome benefits package though. As all members of the H/A staff you will have a .002% financial right to any of the half invented products that will never be created, marketed or even discussed at future H/A meetings. Also, you might get a cool H/A T-shirt someday…if I remember to make one…ever.

This offer will self destruct all over your CPU in; 5…4…3…2…

Putting the ‘Dis’ in Dysfunctional

So, LJ has been riding my case about having kids for like the last three months or more. It has gotten serious enough that when she goes to Wal-Mart, Target or any other clothes retailer she might want to stop by the kid sections to look at baby clothes. Maybe she’ll just tell me about reading numerous articles or blogs about babies. Hell, today we had to go to Babies R’ Us just so that she could look at baby room furniture.

Its not that I don’t want to have kids, it isn’t that I don’t like kids. It’s just that I don’t know if I can handle kids in a daddly way yet. For example I just know that to me having a kid around would just be, in my mind, supplying me with a punching bag for practical jokes. Now, before any of you fly off the handle you have to realize that this is just about normal behavior in my family. For the first five years of my life my father, in a rather brilliant parenting ploy, had me convinced that he had killed and devoured my older brother because he had misbehaved so grievously one day. Honestly this may have kept me inline somewhat for a time. I’m only trying to illustrate that in my family it was okay to bend the truth with your children because, hey they were easy dupes and it was amusing for the adults.

I can just imagine myself doing all sorts of crazy-ass things to my kids simply for my own amusement. Just off the top of my head the other day I thought about how funny it would be to sneak into my kid’s room at night and pee in his or her sock drawer. Then the next morning when they come running downstairs to tell me that their sock drawer smells like pee, I can look up from my coffee, with a shocked and dismayed look on my face, and say “Oh…jeeze…Well, some kids have this problem…I guess. You know Billy most kids have trouble with wetting the bed but you must be extra messed up…you pee the sock drawer in your sleep. How embarrassing.” Or maybe while they are at school I could raise their bike seat a little bit every day for a week until they come and tell me that their feet don’t reach the peddles anymore. At this point I say something like “Well Susie most kids your age grow up, but I guess you’re shrinking. Not a lot of kids shrink you know. You should be happy though, it’s kinda like winning the genetic freak lottery. Still your Mom and I are pretty disappointed though…(sigh).”

God, that is some heartless shit. That is way worse than any of the pranks I pulled on Mike or Danny, Beth and Brad. I just feel like maybe I need time to mature a little more. I am more concerned with my toys than the possibility of buying some other kid toys. I want a motorcycle damn it! Still, the idea of having a little kid to mold into a pranking-video gaming-punk music listening-machine. That…could be kinda fun. LJ seems enamored with the idea. Sometimes it’s all she ever talks about. It just worries me because it is so much responsibility and we have so many other things going on right now. My mind is just filled with the neat things I would love to do with the kid, but then I think of all the things I have to do for the kid. I’m a little scared. You know my Dad always told me that he wanted a sports car but my Mom wanted children, and she got her way. I better get that motorcycle.

The ADHD Epidemic

*WARNING: This is going to be a long post so anyone who may not have the time or the attention span then bookmark it and come back later…it looks as though I have to climb atop the old soapbox again.

I was talking to my parents the other day and they told me that my cousin was going to be tested for ADHD (Attention Defecate Hyperactivity Disorder). I was a little shocked and asked why. I got the stock reply that I would say most parents give, “Grades, attention, attitude, etc.”. I must admit I am a bit emotionally invested here, not to mention that I am not licensed in any medical discipline (unless you count MD of Awesomeness, which most people don’t) so take everything from here on with a grain of salt.

You see years ago when I was a pre teen my parents decided that I had to go see a series of shrinks to see if I could be qualified as what was then called ADD for all the same reasons listed above. Though I was declared to have ADD and was put on Ritalin I have always felt that it was done in error. That’s right, I felt the psychologists had misdiagnosed me. Now, I don’t want to come off as a crazy-ass Scientologist here, but I do believe that the human condition is such that accurately diagnosing a person with any disorder could, and in most cases should, take a long time to do. People are just too fucking complex to qualify and quantify into such general behavioral groups like that. I just feel that to diagnose a kid so quickly like that, especially a child whose self-image will be greatly affected by what this professional may say about them not to mention that in this child’s mind their parents have decided there is something deficient enough about them to warrant taking them to this professional, you should get to know them for more than a couple of hour long sessions.

In my case I was humiliated and destroyed by the verdict. I felt that I was different from everyone else around me because of my medication and supposed problem. That I didn’t belong with the normal kids because I was lacking. My self-image was shattered and as a result I had to build a new one. I don’t begrudge my parents for this. I know they were doing it out of concern and love. I mean any parent who doesn’t want to make their child’s life better or even easier is just sadistic. They just wanted me to be successful and for school to be easier, I got that. Yet when I was talking to them the other day about this, though I have on numerous occasions tried to dispel their belief that I was ever truly any kind of candidate for ADD, they were relentless. They still believe that I have a learning disability and were trying to be supportive. I gotta tell ya its like having to prove you’re NOT a witch to a bunch of pissed-off torch bearing puritans. Once the dye is cast it never comes out baby, never.

So, let me explain to you what the symptoms of ADHD in fact are…

Children who have ADHD often:

• Are easily distracted by sights and sounds in their environment.
• Are unable to concentrate for long periods of time on low stimulation tasks (homework vs. video games).
• Are restless and impulsive.
• Have a tendency to daydream.
• Are slow to complete tasks.

Now it may just be me, but does that not sound like the typical child to anyone else? Is there any child who would rather be doing his or her math homework than out playing with the other kids down the street? Is there any kid with enough life experience or maturity to not seem impulsive? I mean seriously who’s kid is not ruled by their impulses? What I am trying to say here is that, to me and most of the other people I’ve talked to, ADHD is way too broadly defined to have any sort of real merit as a true psychiatric disorder. At least with most other disorders there are much narrower criteria that must be met. It seems that the term ADHD should be re-named “The normal kid complex”.

It is also striking how most of these symptoms are remarkably similar to the signs that anyone would display if they were bored. Now, I’m not saying that all the kids who are diagnosed with this are really a bunch of bright kids who just slipped through the cracks. Certainly there are children and adults who would benefit greatly from the medications provided. However, how many people are misdiagnosed a year?

When the illness was first discovered and the drug Ritalin was first marketed it seemed like most kids were either on Ritalin or had been on it for a while. Huge numbers of children in America were diagnosed as having ADD. Now, years later, there almost seems to be a bit of a backlash as those children have grown up. After doing a bit of research on the net I was surprised to see how many sites weren’t just about the symptoms of ADHD and the helpfulness of the current drugs but almost just as many articles or pages about why you shouldn’t be on these drugs or pages that seemed bent on the negative sides of the psychiatric community (as it pertained to the diagnoses of children with ADHD) as well as the drugs themselves. I felt that I had some vindication at this point. Apparently I wasn’t the only one.

In fact I stumbled across a lot of sites all about the problem of misdiagnosis of ADHD. Some even included a list of alternative reasons that a child might display the symptoms of ADHD. Believe me there were way too many to list here so you’ll have to check out the links at the bottom. Again I’m not saying that ADHD doesn’t exist; what I am saying is that it seems to be this “catch-all” diagnosis that some poorly qualified or inexperienced or even charlatans in the psychiatric community may use to prescribe a medication to children who may have some other condition or in fact nothing wrong with them at all.

Again, I am not saying that some people don't qualify or wouldn't benefit from medication for ADHD. However I am pleading with parents out there to not take this decision lightly. Think about what this could do to your child or even your relationship with your child. Also, think about what other causes this could be stemming from. It is way to easy to just say that this problem is genetic and therefore it couldn't be anything else; "Drug my child please." This should be a last resort and trust me it will have lasting consequences for both you and your child.

Check out these links for more info…

- ADHD Drug Side Effects
- Ritalin Side effects
- Misdiagnosis of ADHD
- The Overdiagnosis of ADHD (I highly recomend this one)

P.S. Yeah, yeah, sorry I haven't posted in a while but what can I say? I guess being a free-lance archaeologist for hire, not to mention a kick-ass husband keeps me pretty buisy. What's that? "But Mark, we need more opinions of a truely half-assed nature...whimper, whimper." Oh, ok. I'll whip up another batch of intelectual trav-sham-mockery as soon as I can. And maybe it won't take me a month like last time.

Eat Shit

So, I was out walking my dog the other day and per usual, Zeus, my eighty pound wonder-mutt, suddenly was dragging me over to something he had to check out. Before I could stop him he scarfed down a sizable chunk of dog poo. “Great” I think. I feel like the parent of the child who is constantly eating glue or some other rather nasty little habit. As I’m walking back to the apartment, Zeus happily bounding in front, satisfied no doubt in his found culinary treasure, I was thinking “Hmmm, why is there such a stigma attached to this?”

Yeah, yeah I know its poo. I know, I know. Gross as it is to us, maybe dogs just like the taste. I mean they aren’t pent up by social graces like we are and they aren’t people so why stress about it. Why not embrace it as their natural preference. Look at it this way you don’t get on your dog for liking the crotch notch and you don’t get onto them for sniffing other dog’s poop chutes, so why get on them about eating sod snickers? (Too much rhyming?) Anyway, so thinking about it I decided to give the idea to the old Half-Assed Innovations crew as I do any other half conceived notions. And here is what they gave me.

Here’s the thing: No overhead cost for product production or R&D. Simple box and wrapper design. All we need to do is alter people’s preconceived notions that dogs shouldn’t eat poo. Once that’s done its all profit baby.

Oh, yeah and while they were working on it the H/A staff also gave me this idea for future market development…”Scroungey’s Grab-Bag”, much the same as Pooties only for babies. We will just fill the boxes with anything a toddler might find and want to put in its mouth. With an adorable toddler aged mascot who looks like a sailor and is always searching for the next treat to taste. I had one word for my staff at that point…”brilliant”.

Conversations with LJ

Conversation 1

Mark: Wanna play Risk tonight?

LJ: No, I mean you’re always in the mood for world domination. Me, not so much.

Mark: So true.

Conversation 2

LJ: How was that movie about World War II?

Mark: Eh, it was ok. A little too dramatic, but ok. Well, it was about the last days in Hitler’s bunker, but still over dramatic.

Job Satisfaction

Hey everybody, sorry I haven’t blogged in a while but, I have had a hectic few weeks. Lets see, I sold my little Honda to an unsuspecting dupe. I have lost five pounds. I went to San Francisco with LJ (but I’ll let her tell that story). I ate the world’s hottest Thai food. I saw a robot pterodactyl fighting with a knight. I saw a homemade jet pack. I went to a haunted house. I discovered a whole new petroglyph (rock art) site that no one has seen since it was made. And finally I went to a small town called Ely (pronounced eelee) where a dog barked at me, then a girl barked at me…weird. Anyway I wanna tell you guys about my new job. (All true I swear to you)

So for years I have had to toil in retail jobs, and service jobs. Always working for minimal or close to minimal pay, and always doing something that I found to be beneath my abilities. I’m not trying to sound arrogant but c’mon, it’s true. Anyone who has a high school education shouldn’t have to work with ex-convicts. So lets see, why is my current job vastly better than any job I have ever had before?

I am appreciated from the get go. Everyone knows I have enough brains to be told something kinda complex once and then be able to do it again. Not to mention be able to expand on it with no explanations. I am responsible for at least $2,000 worth of equipment from the get go with no warnings or supervisors. My job takes me places that are way off the beaten path. I get to see environments that are so completely foreign to me that any little thing is a total thrill. Hmmm, I’ve seen wild horses, huge lizards, eagles, elk, antelope, deer, huge anthills, marmots, quail, rattlesnakes, and huge buzzards; all from a relative closeness that you couldn’t get from a zoo. Every day we are looking for something new so no repetitious work. One day I could be after an ancient Native American site or maybe old mining camps. I have personally found historic cans, mine shafts, prehistoric tools, rock shelters, and petroglyphs (ancient native rock art).

I guess what I’m trying to say is that for a “professional” type job this is more fun than I could have ever imagined. I get to hike around all day for four days then get three days off back to back, or work eight days straight in a paid for hotel in some remote part of Nevada, meals included, then come back to six days off. How could I have gotten so lucky?

Oh, maybe I haven’t mentioned the best part. When I go out and someone asks me what I do I get to say, “Oh me? I’m just an…ARCHAEOLOGIST.” Then sit back while they all go nuts. Its like telling someone you’re a secret agent then letting them buy you a martini while they hold your two way wrist communicator and call all their friends over to get a look. LJ and I went to a historic site recently and when we were finished with the tour I let it drop that I worked for an archaeological firm and from there I was In like Flint. The mood always seems to change, it’s great.

So anyway, there you have it. I am now Mark the successful, intelligent, handsome, and modest archaeologist instead of Mark the under-appreciated retail gimp. I am leaving for another eight day stint but unlike last time I have left two or three more blogs, pre-typed, and ready for LJ to post at given intervals. So you can all bask in my semi-humorous writings. ‘Till later my friends.

P.S. I have yet to punch my first Nazi but I have been assured it will happen. I just have to be patient.

Curing Myself

There are days when I don’t even think about it. There are more days that I think about it all the damn time. The worst of it came about a week after LJ and I got out here. We went to a casino to look around and decided to have a drink at a bar. So, we’re sitting there and I look around and at every table everyone is smoking. I quickly refocus my gaze down at the table to stem the rising urges and the ashtray seems to be so empty, too empty. Like some meaningless object that needed me to become what it was meant to be, it was calling to me. I started making deals with myself. “Ok”, I thought, “I’ll just smoke in casinos and that’s it. Hell, not even all the casinos just this one…and…and only in this bar. Yeah, in fact only at this table so if I come here and stroll past and see that this table is taken I can’t smoke that day.” But that wouldn’t have happened and I knew it.

I have to say that LJ wasn’t much help that night. She said that she didn’t think that she was going to quit smoking anyway. Easy for her to say, Mrs. smokes maybe one cigarette a week and never feels like having one. She went on to say that she was thinking of having a cigarillo right then and there. When I heard this I thought, “Damn, I can do it! Here is the chance I need. She said she wanted to smoke maybe I can get a pack of cigarettes. Yes!” I even asked the waitress if they had packs for sale. “No”, she said but then motioned to a glass door to the right of the bar where cigarettes were sold. All sorts! I spent most of that evening sitting there, thinking about that door and the colorful little boxes within. God, I wanted nothing more than to walk through that door and into that warm glow and smell the clean plastic coated boxes and the aroma of dried tobacco.

REWIND: About three years ago in Athens, Georgia I smoked a cigarette that started me on a habit that didn’t end until a little more than a month ago. Over the past few years I had smoked about one pack a week sometimes more, sometimes less, during this period. I never really loved the idea that I smoked it just got to be one of those things I did to relax. Marlboro (reds, 100’s, and 27’s), Benson & Hedges, Camels, really what ever would give me my nicotine fix.

I am now proud to say that I have gone a month and a half without one smoke (honestly more like two, but I broke down after the failed CLAST exam and had a pack). It wasn’t easy either, let me tell ya, and I’m still not all the way there. I feel that if I can make it a year without smoking then I will have successfully kicked the habit. Still, I am a little concerned because there is so much temptation out here. Smoking, in Reno, is allowed everywhere. There is smoking in restaurants, in public buildings, even in grocery stores. I can’t tell you how weird it is to walk into a grocery store and immediately smell that familiar stale odor wafting at you. For a recent ex-smoker it is like biscuits and gravy.

All of my co-workers smoke and every fucking day they ask me to come outside with them, that I can even bum a cigarette if I want. And you’re God damned right “I want”. However, every day I say “No”, that “I’m trying to quit” and that “I have come too far to give up now.” Still, every day they invite me. I don’t hate them for this; I just wish they’d stop inviting me. I wish that I didn’t see it everywhere.

They say a smoker’s always a smoker when the chips are down. Maybe, but for now I’m no smoker and I want desperately for it to stay that way. I think I can do it too. Every day gets just a little bit easier. Oh well, one month down ten and a half to go.

Mark vs. Snow

Venti Crapachino

Ok, so LJ and I left Pensacola and traveled more than 2,000 miles west. We have come to a strange and wonderful land. Yet this land is filled with danger. Danger that if not minded may destroy the very foundations of our sanity and leave us penniless with not but the vague recollections of speaking in a pseudo-sophisticate that we barely understood and our breath smelling of burnt coffee. I am, of course, alluding to the coffee house of the damned…STARBUCKS.

It seems that the city planners in Reno decided that no shopping mall would be complete or intersection would be left bereft of a Starbucks. The people out here seem to either bask in the lustrous figure of Starbucks’ succubus logo, called to her like doomed sailors to the song of Sirens, or they are seemingly oblivious to the edifices. They ignore it as the proverbial elephant in the corner.

I am a coffee lover. I have sampled most all varieties of coffee from most nationalities that choose to grow and ship it. In my house I keep the coffee that I purchase frozen until consumption. I grind whole beans before I start my machine and I can enjoy coffee black, creamed or sugared. Again, I love coffee. “Why”, might you ask, “do I hate these particular chain café’s so much?”

For a few simple reasons…Firstly, I despise the product. Though most wouldn’t believe it Starbucks coffee is over-roasted. This makes the beverage overly bitter. You may not know this though because most people order deluded variations of the standard Cup-of-Joe. If you don’t believe me go in and order a cup of coffee the next time. I swear that you will not want to drink it black. A truly good cup of coffee should be drinkable black or otherwise without overpowering all of your taste sensations and leaving your tongue ravaged and left for dead.

Second: The attitude projected by the overly smug staff and most patrons always pisses me off a bit. If I forgo the ridiculous language change and presume to order my drink in my native English I must endure the glares of ridicule and pity of those around me. To them I am the un-inducted the brigand who wandered into their private club and who is embarrassing himself and offending all. Sometimes, worse the condescending reprimand given me by the high school educated, metro-sexual behind the counter; “We serve Tall, Grande and Venti here…Sir.” “Whatever. I see that you have three sizes of cups and I will just assume that you have eaten elsewhere in your life and in doing so have ordered a small, medium or large drink. Now, if you were to apply that same formula to the empty cups in front of you which one do you think would be a small?” Why should ordering a cup of coffee be so difficult?

Lastly: I suppose the atmosphere is soothing to some but I am generally made uncomfortable by the time I sit down with my boiling cup of burnt coffee. I sit having to listen to some Italian version of Kenny G (but its foreign so its high class, right?) and marvel at the price tags on all the sundries that have less taste than anything one could purchase from a grocery store.

This may permanently brand me as an uncultured barbarian, however I must toss a life vest to those out there who may not know. Some of the best places to get a great cup of coffee that is reasonably priced are both Dunkin’ Doughnuts and Krispy Kreme. Yes, I know, horrible eateries of the proletariat though they may be, they still can make one hell of a damned fine coffee. Krispy Kreme in particular with their three varieties of richness is outstanding.

Was that over the top? Maybe I need to lay off the coffee.

Will Dig for Food

Ok so here’s the deal, I went for an interview today with a CRM firm (Cultural Research Management) and was offered a job. This job is basically part-time until they have more work that, from what I’m told, will be all spring summer and fall. So in the meantime I will still be working at The Shack but will be leaving increasingly for more and more archaeological work. The job is going to pay me quite a bit more than Radio Shack, and I have all sorts of room for advancement (with more pay of coarse). I am nothing if not ruthless in fighting for advancements at work.

This is really great especially considering what happened with the CLAST in Florida. This is also a huge ego boost. I mean, the job set up is perfect so that I can work and get the CLAST finished. Also, if I keep both jobs I can be making some real BUCK$!

The CRM guy tells me that I may be working what are called tens. These are ten days on the job in remote areas of Nevada, followed by four days off. He tells me that I will see parts of this country that are remote as hell and more beautiful than the places most people get to see. I can’t wait. I just hope this doesn’t put a strain on LJ and I, but she knew this was what had to happen with this career choice, and I know she’ll like the money. My new boss also seems to think that I’ll fit right in with the crew. “There are some tough hombres that work here”, he tells me “You should fit right in.”

While I was in Pensacola Mike, LJ, her parents and I went out to a restaurant. Once seated the waitress came over and to my amazement it was one of the girls I did my field school with. I am not trying to be demeaning here because God knows I am still not much better off. When I saw that it was her though, the class suck-up and all around know-it-all, I was heart sunk. I felt more than ever that I would never use my training as an archaeologist. I felt like I was doomed to work in low-level sales all my life. I mean if anyone was going to go places and make a name for themselves, hell even just get a job as an honest to God archaeologist, it was her. So, today was a huge day for me. Finally, I am taking the first steps in doing what I set out to do all those years ago. Who knows, maybe I’ll love it, and this will be my career. Not to mention, I will finally be able to wear my Indiana Jones hat with pride instead of longing.

Things that I expected:

The work is unsteady and the only full time jobs are for those who have been there for years

I will have to go out for long stints in the field

What you learn in school and the way it is in the real world are as different as night an day

All professional archaeologists wear earth tones

Things I didn’t expect:

There is no digging in the west when doing basic survey. Not even brushing

If something must be dug it is with a backhoe

My father sent me to college so that I wouldn’t become a ditch-digger…sorry dad.

Go West

Sorry I haven’t posted anything in like a week or two. We moved…westward. For those of you who don’t know, LJ got a job with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service. She is now a full-fledged bureaucrat with a cubical and everything. I, however, am still with the Shack unfortunately. Yet, I have had many leads into the CRM (archaeology for hire) field that may pan out. So we are both doing well and are very excited to be out here.

Let me just tell you all a little about our trip. When we were planning our move from Pensacola, Florida to Reno, Nevada (pronounced Nəv-a-də-a not Nəv-ä-də-ä, by the locals, though both are technically correct) I was basing most of my time frame estimates on a trip that I took with some friends out west right after high school. In this rational I thought that 3-4 days was a rather close approximation. Wrong! Here is a little math problem for you: You are leaving on a trip that is approximately 2,500 miles long, in a van that can’t reverse and only goes 65 miles per hour (at best) and that this van also needs to stop and be refueled every 180 to 200 miles. Now also take into consideration that flat tires, road debris, roadblocks, blizzards, and other miscellaneous obstacles will delay you. How log does it take to reach your destination? Answer: 5-6 days at best.

Let me also tell all of you who may be expecting phone calls that the reason we haven’t called is that LJ and I have a very low minute plan and we have already used up our minutes for this month. Our evening minutes start at 9pm and out here nine is actually midnight for those of you on the east coast. So we will have to try saving minutes next month or use the net to communicate more.

Our Place is great. We are situated on the south side of Reno, which is close to all sorts of new development and malls and such. Our apartment has just been remodeled and is awesome. Our digital camera is broken so I can’t show you any pictures yet unfortunately, but let me just say SNOW and MOUNTAINS! Yes the city seems to be surrounded by snow capped mountains that are visible from anywhere. Another mountain range of huge clouds are almost always visible behind them but seem to be held back almost like the rocks on the shore of an ocean holding back a giant crashing breakwater. You will still catch the occasional tumbleweed rolling past, but the city is pretty big and has all sorts of entertainment, food, and recreation to offer. The people have been really nice and though there are trucker types about I have yet to see my first redneck. I’ll try and update as soon as I can with anything. Until I see ya next east coast represent!

P.S. Mike I have your McGuire’s stein. Sorry it must have been packed in the move I will send it back when I can…or maybe hold it for when you come to visit.

Persistence

I failed today. Just another failure in a long string of failures, some small, some large. This just happens to be one that comes at the last hurtle of a long race for me. A stumble that sets the finishing line just a bit farther away, much to the disappointment of myself and loved ones. In my mind, now, I feel as though I am an abnormality. I feel deficient compared to some I know and many I see in day-to-day life. This particular race has taken me much longer than most and in that sense I feel like a charity case to be pitied. As I look back, there have been so many things that have gone wrong on the road to this goal. Apathy, depression, procrastination, disillusionment, frustration, distractions, wondering, the list could go on.

I’m not writing this, however, as a work of self-depravation; rather, as an article of hope. I have never been one to wallow in misery and I don’t want to come off that way now. This is merely an assertion, to my family, to my friends, and perhaps even to myself, that the struggle isn’t over yet for me. I am not one to give up.

If you were to ask a mountain climber, who had just come back from a failed attempt to summit Everest, would he try again? Despite the time and energy, cost and hardships, the work and suffering (not just for him but his loved ones as well) I would bet you that person would say “yes” every time. Why? Because, this person isn’t doing it for anything or anyone but themselves. They are doing it to complete a goal they had set for themselves. I am much like that person.

When I was eleven, still in Cub Scouts and unprepared for the hard trials a long hike could dish out, I went on a fifty mile backpacking trip with my father and a group of older boys. This was actually my first backpacking trip, a tall order for someone so young. I remember my father got me a kid sized external frame pack and I hiked the first two days in an old pair of sneakers.

On the morning of the third day my mother met us on a road that intersected the trail. She had come to pick up any boys that wanted to go home before the next three days of grueling trail. Some of the younger boys (thirteen to fifteen year olds) decided to leave. When my mother took me aside she asked me if I wanted to go too. She said that there was no shame in it because other boys were going to leave also. There was never a doubt in my mind. I told her I wanted to finish. She walked to the car and came back with a small brown box that contained my first set of hiking boots.

The next few days were hell for me. We encountered rain and cold followed by sleet on the fourth night. I cried one day, as I hiked, because my body was pained to move and I was frustrated with myself for being so weak. I remember being so exhausted that one night I couldn’t eat. I just lay in my tent feeling beaten and anguished.

On the fifth day, in the early afternoon, I walked down to the parking lot where a van was waiting to take us home. There was no celebration or awards only the personal knowledge that you had done it. I had help, of coarse, not just from my father but also from the other adults with me. I held up the rear of the group most days and slowed everything down. But I did it. I finished in spite of physical and mental stress. This has been a metaphor for most of my life.

I rely on those around me for help when I need it and the ones who really care have been there for me time and time again. I am embarrassed that this particular goal has taken me so long to complete especially compared to others, yet I will persist. Not for anything but the knowledge that I could. Maybe I was wrong to use the analogy of a race. To me this is more like a solo run. I don’t care what others think or say. I certainly don’t care how long it should take. For me this goal will be about how long it did take.

---Persistence---

Findor

The greatest of all Super Heroes

I have been of the impression, for a long while now, that most every super power out there actually sucks. Really, when you ask someone “Hey, if you could have any super power what would it be?” There will be the inevitable person who answers, “I would want to be able to fly” or “I want super strength” or “I want to be able to…” What most people don’t realize is that there are a shit-ton of draw backs to having any of these super powers.

First off, if you could fly you would still be susceptible to any number of problems. Atmospheric pressures, windburn, wind chill, hitting obstacles (what do you think would happen to you while flying 200mph + and you hit a bird), not to mention what would happen if people saw you flying around. You think people are just going to be happy for you? Second, super strength. If you were super strong you would barely be able to handle normal life. Everything you touched would be in danger of breaking. What happens when you have a nightmare and kick whomever you are sleep next to? You might wake up with a hole in the wall and the police at your door. All I’m saying is that to wish for these types of super powers is asinine.

I have long believed that the best super power to have would be the ability to find anything any where at any time. Think about it. How much time in your life would you save if suddenly you knew where your car keys were. Where you left your _____. Better yet, how valuable of a person would you be to any government if they knew you could find who ever or whatever facility or whatever spy? How awesome would it be to know where anything, and I mean ANYTHING was? Totally awesome that’s what. And for this reason if I had this power my super identity would be Findor. I even came up with some T-shirt logos…that’s right T-shirts because I don’t have the money for an incredible costume. So, I guess either one of these.

Upon further thought I decided that any super hero team would have to have this person around otherwise how would they find criminals? I could be all like,”Yeah, Lex Luthor. He’s in the Hall of Doom at the bottom of the Florida everglades. You need me to draw you a map…Superman?” Plus, if a villain ever screwed with me I could tell him “Yeah, I know where you live asshole.” And mean it. Fuck’n A

Half-Assed Innovations

Yesterday my wife and I were walking through the vacuum section of our local Target. While we were there she told me that Roseanne Barr made a great quote about vacuums.

"The day I worry about cleaning my house is the day
Harrods comes out with a ride-on vacuum cleaner."
-Roseanne Barr-

So that got me thinking. Why shouldn’t there be a ride on vacuum cleaner? I came home and put the entire Hall-Assed Opinions Research and Development Staff on that very problem. Again, we here at H/A are always looking for ways to better mankind, as long as it doesn’t take too much time or energy.

Of coarse when you read the above statement you would assume that the idea is impossible, neigh ridiculous. That, however, is because people would immediately assume that any “ride on” item would look like a Ride on lawn mower. We here at H/A are innovators though. Remember the Segway? That rather useless contraption that was supposed to revolutionize our lives and change the way cities were designed? Stands on two wheels…you’ll see ‘em in Theme Parks. We realized that this would solve our size issue. Then, by simply fastening a Dyson Vacuum to the front using bungee cords and mounting a car battery to power the vacuum we had done it!We had taken a fastenating, yet remarkably unprofitable, invention (the Segway) and a wonderful, yet not self-driven, vacuum and combined them to make the world’s first ride on vacuum.

I was quite proud of this new labor saving device and have dubbed it The Seg-uum [patent pending]. Now, anyone with a severe aversion to manual labor, a penchant for hastily contrived technology and who has loads of money to blow can get this amazing devise. Basic models start at a reasonable $20,000.

All sales final. No refunds or exchanges. C.O.D. only no checks or money orders. Half-Assed Opinions will not be held liable for any damage to personal property, pets or children.

Now read some testimonials from some of our satisfied customers, just follow the link below!

It Started So Innocently

Yesterday was my 27^th birthday and here’s how it all went down.

I went into work around 10:00am and got off at about 6:00pm at that time LJ picked me up and drove me to a go-kart track with some friends. We pull up around 6:15 and went in. There Mike, Beth and B-rad were waiting for us. The track sadly was closed, which is too bad because I can lay some mean rubber on the go-kart track. We said “whatever” and play some ski-ball before making different plans.

“Where is the nearest bar that you can smoke in?” I ask. “Babes!” (a local strip club) Mike answers with a little more enthusiasm than the situation warranted. Everyone is sort of unsure of what to do so I offer “How about the bowling alley on Ninth?”. This was met with general approval so we go.

At 6:50 we got a lane and our first pitcher of beer. Danny shows up shortly after and we all settle in. The next lane is filled with teenage rednecks and their knocked up girlfriends and I can remember thinking to myself “God, what a bunch of uncouth loudmouths.” Oh, how irony can make fools of us all. At 7:45 we finished our first game and head to the bar where everyone sits down to smoke and much more beer is consumed. Then back to the lanes for one more round.

This is the point in the evening when most of the beer was consumed the volume of our voices rose and high jinks ensued. Mike drank God knows how much but as far as I know I was keeping up with him. He got crazy. Not to say the rest of us were much better. After countless spilled beers, more than a few friendly punches and a couple of epic tumbles (one off of a table another three on the lane, courtesy of Mike). The manager was coming over and asking us to keep it down and to revoke Mike’s bowling license. I, being the responsible 27-year-old smoothed things over twice then at the end of the game helped to Shepard everyone out before the cops were called, after I paid the entire bowling tab I might add.

Once outside however things got rowdier. Long story short Mike slipped a Bar glass in Beth’s purse that shattered after Mike dropkicked it, purse and all. He had to leave his car there and one of the bowling alley employees was sent out to make sure that we left. I got Mike home and he stayed in the bathroom most of the night. Note exhibit 1-A: Pay close attention to the bottom left where you can clearly see the pool of vomit. Later vomit pool is indicated by the blue outline.

Saving the best for last…I got a GUITAR! Not that I know how to play it but I got a GUITAR! It’s awesome. So now I have to learn to play it. I have to admit I was not expecting it. To everyone involved kudos for keeping it so secret and thanks a million to all, even those who helped LJ through the process. This wasn’t easy for her. Mike got me a stand for it and a cool strap though I had to open his tonight because he was in no shape after I got him home…friggin’ lightweight. All in all it was the best birthday ever.

P.S. I will post a picture of my new baby and me after some minor alterations are made per LJ’s advice.

Don't Read This...

I was recently sent an email from a friend of mine. It was basically a story, fictional in my opinion, about a university professor who tried to disprove the idea of a God but was foiled by a young student who countered his argument with scientific fact then used the basis of those facts as a logical progression to assert his belief that God did indeed exist. This student was Albert Einstein, or so the story would have you believe (again I feel that is doubtful at best). I don’t feel this way because I know that Einstein wouldn’t have argued such or because I feel that such a renowned scientific mind wouldn’t argue for the existence of a deity. No, mine is more the opinion that this is more of a fable like that of George Washington chopping down a cherry tree or throwing the coin across the Delaware River.

This did, however, cause me to think about “The Argument” once more. The essential problem that I have with stories, or arguments for that matter, like these are that one can’t simply equate fact with belief. I am not saying that one’s resolve toward a particular belief can’t be strengthened by fact, certainly any Atheist is such a person, but what I am saying is that you can’t mingle science and religion based faith. It is nearly impossible.

For instance; when dealing with the physical world you could test, verify and recreate scenarios until at some point you can come to the reasonably sound conclusion that water will always flow downhill. On the other hand you could not test for something that has no apparent force, regularity, or physicality what so ever, in short God. This makes any argument for that which is immaterial a debate in beliefs or better yet philosophy.

Intangibles such as what is right or wrong, what is sane or insane or even whether there is or isn’t a God are all fundamentally debates in opinion. One could not, as far as I know, use scientific fact or theory to strengthen any of these arguments. You could express an average or polling data, which could lead you to believe that of all samples gathered most people think that murder is wrong, yet does that make it so? Again we are expressing an opinion, an intangible not a fact. While a vast majority would say yes to the previous question, and assuming that the democratic ideal of majority rule should not take precedent, would those who said no be wrong? I don’t believe so. It is merely the opinion of the majority that would lead you to that conclusion. In the animal kingdom there are multitudes of species that kill their own kind. So then the argument becomes are we better than other animals. And back to the main topic we come.

Faith is a tricky subject. I neither believe nor disbelieve in a deity. I do believe, however, in Ockham’s Razor. This, simply put, is the belief that all things being equal the simplest explanation is usually the correct one. In such case it is as likely that the world was created by an all-powerful deity as it was to have been created by cosmic forces. For that matter it is also as likely that the universe was created on accident or that the universe as we know it is nothing more than the fantasy of a small child. As repulsive as this idea may come to some of you (I am sure there are some snickering in their chairs) you must admit that when dealing with un-testable, un-provable, philosophy that these notions are no more absurd than any other, and I do mean any.

While I didn’t want this to be an epic post I feel I must bring up one more point. LJ and I talked about this and her view was that if this “student” were of a scientific nature of course he would use scientific reasoning as the basis for his beliefs. This was his way of coming to the conclusion that there was a God. In short, it shows his thought process. I can’t disagree with that. Hell, that would be true of most Georgia Tech graduates I know. Although, my fundamental opinion is that one can no more use science to disprove a higher power than a religion can use The Bible, Torah, or Bhagavad Gita to undeniably prove the existence of one.

Is it Cold Enough for Ya?

It is cold down here in Pensacola…balls cold. So I was thinking about it the other day when I came home from work, walked past my neighbor and into my house. Cold can be an interesting thing, for example:

• You can get hypothermia at only 95°

• The common fish can have a body temp. between 74° and 82°

• It is best to drink wine at 80°

• Yet, wine ferments between 69° and 65°

• Most refrigerators are set to 60°

• Illinois mean temperature is only 50°

• Average difference between indoor/outdoor temps. is 45°

• The water in beer will freeze at 32° but the alcohol will not

• Inversely, my redneck neighbor will sit outside in his folding chair, smoking a cigarette, without a shirt on, in his cutoff jean-shorts at any of these temperatures…though his beer may in fact be frozen.

Parenting is for Suckers

A frazzled mother came into my work a few days ago and was asking me about getting a new cell phone. While I was answering her questions I couldn’t help but notice the 2 year old in her arms struggling like a trout in the arms of a bear. The mother grabbed a box from a nearby shelf to try and appease the increasingly active child but nothing seemed to suffice. The kid wasn’t crying or anything, she was just antsy. So, finally the mother put the toddler down so she could concentrate on my brilliantly crafted sales pitch for the high-priced crap I was selling. The toddler in the meantime was ambling about my legs and trying to get my attention with the aforementioned box. Finally with nothing more than a quick glance and with no break in my sales spiel I took the box and tossed it a few feet away with the words “Go get it!” then seamlessly returned to the sale at hand.

The mother had a mildly shocked look on her face, but afraid to loose the sale I continued to pitch. When her daughter returned to my legs a second time after retrieving the box I repeated my first action with the words “Good girl” in front, then “Go get it” again. When I looked back at the mother this time she looked pissed. “Are you playing fetch with my daughter!?” she asked. Before I could reply with anything more than an “uhhhhh”, she had swooped up the kid, who was on her way back with the box I might add, and walked angrily out of the store.

The lesson here is two fold. One: Parents always think their kid is frick’n Einstein or Martin Luther King Jr. so it is undignified to play “Dog Games” with them. And Two: Kids love “Dog Games”.

I guess the reason I am even thinking of kids right now is because my Sister-in-law just had a baby girl named Olivia Jean ____. From what I hear she is cute as hell and probably as smart as frick’n Einstein or Martin Luther King Jr. Anyway, congrats to LJ and me (Her middle name was in honor of LJ).

Pranks, Mischief and Dirty Deeds

I love pranks. I love the planning, the excitement of the moment that you are putting it all together, and the humor that goes along with the whole thing. I was a prankster from a young age ‘till now. I can remember my first prank was when I was ten or so and discovered that salt was invisible in water. I salted the ice trays in our freezer so as to prank anyone who wanted a cold drink. Little did I know that the next day my mother was having a bunch of ladies over and they all had ice tea. My mother just couldn’t understand why no one drank any tea, until I came clean that is. I got a spanking for that but I knew it was worth it. Over the years I have amassed a rather decent collection of pranking props from fake poo to “fart detectors”.

Later in college I joined a fraternity comprised of guys with no imagination for pranks but who all wanted to pull some off. I organized many pranks with them. Yes, it was I who planned the hanging of rival frat letters from three of the tallest buildings on campus. I was the one who set up the sprinkler on top of the Anthropology building to ice the huge tree outside of it (both times). And I who organized the hanging toilets in the quad. Not to mention various pranks that I pulled on friends and relatives (you know who you are).

So this past Halloween LJ, Mike and I were sitting around the house discussing what we should do with our evening when I blurted out “Hey, why don’t we go do some Halloween pranks on someone.” We thought about it and decided to pull a classic on some friends. I gathered all the dog poo I could find and put it into a paper bag then we all drove over to a friend’s house. Yeah, we set it on fire then ran off. Old, I know, but just classic. Funny stuff. Hence they have stolen a statue of Buddha from our backyard and taken it around town taking pictures. Also, they put a dead lobster in Mike’s truck.

Pretty good, so now we find ourselves in the middle of what has been aptly dubbed a “Prank-War”.

I want you all to know that through the years I have followed my own simple guidelines as far as pranks were concerned.

1. Nothing destructive: So nothing like keying someone’s car or slashing tires
2. Nothing that will cost the prankee time or money: So nothing like taking wheels off their car so they can’t get to work on time.
3. Nothing publicly humiliating: So no posting nude pictures or telling dark secrets.
4. They all have to be good-natured: Use your best judgment here.

With these rules as boundaries I have been able to prank close friends and not come off as a total jerk. Anyway, the group that we are warring against was trying to come up with some guidelines and maybe this will help. I have known good pranksters who have gone a little too far and either lost friends or even ended up in jail. I hope to update you guys soon on what is going on. Maybe there will be some good stories to tell.