This post comes to you in Handy, Dandy Bullet Points! Bullet Points: for when you haven't updated in forever, and you don't know where to begin!


* I want to host some serious hanging out in my apartment. Like, knitting, tea and movies/tv shows sort of things. Anyone interested? 3 blocks from a M/V stop, convenient bus-age for them un-subwayable! Let's talk!

* Talking about knitting, the urge has finally struck me down--I JUST FINISHED PURCHASING the yarn needed to knit...


I can't even say I find it a particularly ATTRACTIVE scarf, but I've been wanting to knit an obscenely long scarf for a while now, and it is THE Obscenely Long Scarf To End All Long Scarves.

Send help, please.

* Talking about sending help, my consciousness has been COMPLETELY TAKING HOSTAGE BY TOM HARDY. I mean, just just LOOK at this magnificent bastard.

Not fair, sir. Not. Fair.

* Talking about FAIRES, went to the NY Ren Faire. May have to go again closing weekend. I mean, there were attractive ladies swinging swords and preforming abridged Shakespeare. And Nuns. Funny ones. AND I also purchased a new outfit.

My credit card currently HATES. ME.

* Talking about hate, my workplace has been an unhappy place lately. Due to some really, really poor moves on Madame President's part (mainly, not giving credit where it was due, and being obsessed with 1) cutting the budget foolishly and 2) bringing in new part time hires who DON'T know the space like our people do to DO the jobs that OUR people are there to do) people have been quitting. A. Lot. First it was Token!Brit (who left to do producing work on a little Broadway Musical about a man who could be called spiderlike [if you know what I mean], so BULLY HIM!) and then it was one lady in Membership...and today it was ANOTHER lady, who quit EFFECTIVE. IMMEDIATELY.


Pretty much, my work place-what-looks-like-a-castle is declining a'la Camelot--the golden age was wondrous, but people are leaving because the higher up management is getting worse, and I feel an epic battle and fall is coming.

All I know is that Lady!Boss has been looking for a new position else where...and THAT terrifies me. I feel like I shall be the last knight standing, or Geneveire banished to her nunnery, the last tragic survivor of a glorious era...

Ah well. It still pays me at least.

* In happier news, my BROTHER STARTED CULINARY SCHOOL!!!!....Dear God, may he not drop out. Or get kicked out. *frets*. However, is DOES mean I am obligated to visit him in Providence now. Mwhaha. Mwhahahaha. MWHAHAHHAHAHHA!

* I'm going to go make myself a cup of tea. Tea will make me feel better. Yes. Glorious Tea.

She Lives!

Aug. 2nd, 2010 03:19 pm
Once again, long time no post gentle F-list. I finally do have internet again (a thousand huzzahs!) and even better—or worse, depending on your feelings—I have…


It is equally parts wonderful ('Golden Girls'!) and horrifying ('I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant'.). I don't know how I feel about it yet.

In other news, the paint is FINALLY going up on the walls of my apartment, but the flooring and furniture still haven't been put down. Annoying, but I can't help but be cheerful because it IS all finally coming together, and I'm finally learned patience in the matter of Setting into my New Place.

In OTHER other news, I may go to the Speakeasy at the City of New York Museum this Wednesday. Anyone want to come with? Just, it's 15 bucks to get in, but that includes a drink ticket and admission to Prohibition themed exhibits. AND this week there'll be an orchestra performing! It'll be great! Let's go! XD

Aaaaaaaand....that's about it. Now, back to work!
But this has got to be the silliest shit I've heard in a LONG time. And I've heard some pretty silly shit, son.

Sam Adams founder and brewer Jim Koch: "I'd make a blend of ingredients from all over the world. Which is certainly what's represented there with the three participants," he said. "I would blend those ingredients together artfully and harmoniously, because that's really what we all hope for."


IRL, I've been struck with the sudden and inexplicable desire to not only dye my hair a tawny blonde (...the HELL?), but to try bangs again, like, bangs I can brush to the side.



Goddamnit, I wish I had a fabulous hair-dresser type friend who could tell me what to do with my hair. I need someone to make these decision for me, damnit! I'm just so TIRED OF MY HAIR.
When I was in catholic school (kindergarten to 8th grade) I was One of a Triumvirate (myself, Greg and Stephen) that the teachers and priests SWORE would join the catholic holy orders one day.


Today I attended the ordination of Greg—the eldest of that triumvirate of YOU-WILL-TAKE-THE CATHOLIC-VOW-OF-HOLY ORDERS!

Greg is as of today, A CATHOLIC PRIEST.

Stephen is already a Brother, and is teaching at Chaminade High School, an all boy's catholic school in Mineola.

And myself?

…Two out of three ain't bad for the Catholic church?

Seriously, tonight I drank mightily and would have dropped my panties for my beer pong partner who NOT ONLY knew details of French-written Arthurian legend, but who knew Norse history (aka, what an "ting" was) and could quote shit from Hemingway AND who could discuss AT LENGTH King Alfred and who was joyously intrigued by my quotating and explicating of G.K Chesterton's "The Ballad of the White Horse") and who ALSO WAS ABLE TO QUOTE WODEHOUSE AND HAD GREAT AFFECTION FOR HUGH LAURIE AND STEPHEN FRY AS SKETCH COMEDIANS AND KNEW THEY WERE PART OF THE CAMBRIDGE FOOTLIGHTS!


Oh, and strangest part of all?



Once I read a book that SWORE that a person, if they followed the medieval model of looking for their perfect mate in a 30 mile radius (aka, walking distance) of where they were born, that they would find it.

Ummmmmmmmmmmmm…hello? I would like to subscribe to that newsletter?




MORNING AFTER EDIT:...I am impressed by how coherently I can still write while three sheets to the wind. I mean, it's still EMBARRASSING the shit I'll post while drunk, but at least it's legible?

Also--ouch, uncontrollable drunken caps-locking much?


Woman in alpine hat to another: I was not about to drag your half-conscious ass around a concentration camp!

--Zum Schneider German Restaurant/Bar

Overheard by: Nella

I'd totally forgotten all about having posted this too--which really speaks to how long ago I posted, because I had to post this using someone's I-phone while I was 3-LITRES OF GOOD GERMAN BEER IN.

Because sometimes, regardless of how much German beer you've consumed, you HAVE to go the extra mile. Needs of the many and all that jazz.
I've made it to Friday.

This is my reward

England, I love you. You know this. I love you like the older, quirky half brother I might actually have (ah, the joys of being adopted). Your history, culture, patterns of speech, comedic turns, good times and bad amuse me greatly. You know that, push come to shove, I'd help John Adams drop kick Thomas Jefferson in the face if I could for saying France was better than you. And I know you're a nanny state, and your royal family is silly, and you're neck in neck with America for the title of "White Trashiest Country in the World", but your flaws...well, they've always been part of your charms.

But Good God, England, this is going too far.

England, you need another Chesterton and a good smack upside the head. Now, I know I could never hope to fill the intellectual shoes of that man, but don't make me come over there with a couple of friends and A Flying Inn.

I mean, my brother and I had HIGH HOPES--mainly involving you, us, a whirlwind run around Cornwall and a pub crawl throughout your land. My brother and I HAD A TOUCHING, BROTHER/SISTER BONDING MOMENT over this. DON'T DO THIS TO ME, ENGLAND.

Wife Carrying Competition? Winner gets his wife's weight in beer???? anyone reading of the female persuasion....I know I disparage of the institute of marriage a lot, and have firmly declared myself one of nature's bachelors, but--

And the Light Bulb Debacle continues! Chesterton once said a man could write extensively about the objects he found within his pockets, but that alas, the age of great epics was passed. But I think I could get a good ballad out of this light bulb nonsense though; for instance today produced this verse!:

And in that gloom of deep despair
Those 60 watts were far too bright.
40 watt bulbs could not be found;
She cursed for want of little light.

Luckily, we may be able to swing it after all with the 60W over the 40W bulbs; luckily, these reproduction bulbs are low in lumens regardless so it might be that the Powers-That-Be won’t notice…but it couldn’t be EASY, could it?

Seriously, guys. I never want to have to purchase reproduction period pieces EVER. AGAIN.

IN OTHER NEWS: I nearly ENTIRELY forgot about a play reading I got a free ticket to go see (THANK YOU WORKPLACE WHAT BE ASSOCIATED WITH NYC ARTS!! *GLOMPS!*). It’s a series of scenes from Sochocles’ Ajax and Philoctetes And before you shudder for me!: let it be known that David Strathairn of Good Night and Good Luck fame is one of the actors in the reading. Yea. It may still be all Greek to me, but I HAD TO GO.

AND…because sometimes the heavens open up and smile upon me, a poor, sinful, shameful hedonist that loves her food and beer—the theater is right around the corner from Lederhosen, a German restaurant I quite enjoy. Even though I won’t have time to go back to Brooklyn before the show, I’ve two Pratchett novels in my bag as well as my writing notebook—add Beer, sausage, and David Strathairn to the evening?

There IS a God. And even though he likes having a good laugh at my expense (Often) I think he might actually be rather fond of me after all.

EDIT: Oh, and please to be someone telling me WHY I've been having so many dreams about children...AGAIN? Seriously, since Friday days it's been the same and/or very similar dream of me running an orphanage for abandoned/abused kids, and in another one I was an aunt raising someone's baby on my own (also, in the dream I knew something god awful was going to happen to the kid as she/he grew up, but that I'd be damned if I'd let it happen without a fight). I find it disconcerting that dreams about marriage make me wake up in a cold sweat, but dreams about child-rearing don't--until I wake up and actually contemplate the implications. What does it MEAN?? That I'm afraid of commitment (...which, ok fine, I cop to that) but I don't fear responsibility?

Not even lunch time and I’m already contemplating my 3rd cup of coffee. And the knots in my left shoulder are so tight today, I can swear my body is trying to construct organic body armor. OW.

How is it that coffee tastes a THOUSAND times better when you put the milk and sugar in the mug BEFORE you pour the coffee? Does the pouring coffee fluff up the milk, making it yummier? But it also makes the sugar somehow sweeter. This requires more testing. TO THE BREAKROOM!
We’ve been trying to purchase a slew of reproduction antique style light bulbs for one of the rooms downstairs. And because anything that would make my bosses’ lives easier (and by extension mine) is considered VERBOTEN here, my department wasn’t informed that these light bulbs were needed THIS week until THIS Tuesday.

Can I has a panic, plz? YEAZ I’S CAN HAS A PANIC!!

I’ve been juggling between two vendors, and have been dancing the same old dance; this vendor has this and this but not THIS, and this vendor as all three but are out-of-stock on one style, and this one is more expensive but they would get it to us in time, and and and and!—

I just compiled all the information I’ve been able to gleam, and emailed it to MY boss so she could take it to the President so SOMEONE can give us the ok to just PICK ONE ALREADY!—

And this was how I began it.

“ Gather around all ye who hear
the tale I come to tell,
of the great light bulb debacle;
take heed and hear me well.”

Because there comes a point where the only thing that’ll make something less painful is a ballad. Or, at least, the beginning of one.

In other news, this weekend may have well been on of the greatest of my LIFE. It was so epic I’m having trouble remembering all of it. Bits and pieces keep coming back to me, each more awesome than the next. Oh, if only it had been more than a mere weekend! 

In OTHER other news…the sudden cough and fever that laid me low Sunday and Monday and got much better Tuesday…seems to be making a comeback. It does not seem to want to go quietly into that good night, but it HAS TOO BECAUSE DAMMIT I HAVE PLANS!!

That is all. Nella Out.
I am very, very amused by what my beer-addled mind deems URGENT and IMPORTANT enough to scribble on my hand while on the subway. I woke up to find

"WRITE THIS [illegible] I S* Compared to Green Knight [illegible] others before"

scrawled all over the back of my hand.

Some people dance on table tops when drunk. Some people hook up with strangers and have bad (or good!) sex. Some people have even been know to put lampshades on their heads.

I compose psuedo-scholarly literary essays.

Wish I remembered what the "others before" referred to, but think that the illegible word between "knight" and "others" may have been the cipher, now lost forever. Ah well. I'm just going to pretend like it was brilliant.

First-thing-in-the-morning post is first thing in the morning.

*refers to Innocent Smith from Chesterton's "Man Alive"
A mojito is the most perfect after work pick-me-up. EVER. HANDS DOWN.

In other news, I seriously need to rehaul my tagging system. It's not NEARLY witty/clever enough, and there are too many lazy repeats.
1) In the 7 Circles of Archaeological Hell, the seventh circle consists of having to lay line of shovel tests through Staten Island catbriar four feet taller than you. Imagine thorns so sharp and long they scratch you through your jeans and long johns, AND at one point go through your BOOT. Allow me to repeat: A THORN WENT THROUGH MY BOOT.

You have NO idea what my legs look like right now. It's pretty horrific, and they sting like a mo'fo' when I take a shower.

Though, it is a relief to no longer be digging along the Belt Parkway. I like the silence of working in the woods under the Outerbridge Crossing. If it just wasn't for those DAMNABLE CATBRIARS!!!!

Because I need my dose of blasphemy this evening, holy Christ, my everlasting sympathies.

Real Life-related:
1) I'm going to be Oscar Wilde for Halloween!...well, I will, once I modify a coat of mine, and make myself a fabulously foppish purple vest and green cravat. And then on November 1st at a little shindig [ profile] muneybags6 is hosting (themed "Saints and Demons: come as your best or worst!") I plan on going as Saint Lucy, with my eyes on a platter. I want to practice staring ahead with dark glasses on while I move my "eyes" to look at the people I'm talking too. I think it would be awesomely creepifying if I did it right.

2) I'm sitting on my grad school application for the March 31 deadline. Just didn't want to go to grad school this spring (assuming I would have gotten in in the first place).

3) My brother and I saw "Fuerza Bruta" on Saturday and it was AMAZING. It was like being in someone else's waking dream; one part nightmare, one part rave, one part "WTF that was AWESOME!". If you want to feel what's it's like to step into Wonderland, GO SEE THIS SHOW. You walk out of it and the rest of the humdrum world feels so much more magical. Just don't expect it to make any sense--just take it in and go for the ride. I mean, women swim in a clear pool as it's lowered within arm's reach of you. It's insane, but a good sort.

1) Everyone. Go to Watch the videos of my friend [ profile] theborderpatrol a.k.a. the Nostalgia Chick. Proceed to laugh yourself silly. The Anastasia review is a particular favorite of mine (though I LOVE the one for Pocahontas. Oh...Pocahontas)

2)I...have so many things for the internet to finish writing/to think about writing. The deadline for [ profile] thingsunwritten is nigh, and I need to finish my story about two gladiators. I have a slew of tables and prompts to start, much less finish ([ profile] thousandtables and [ profile] ink_twist being the big two)--

And NaNoWriMo Cometh.

I've an idea, but I've never down well with NaNo on even numbered years. I think I have a good idea for it this year, but...*sigh*

Other than that, my life is unexciting.
When my grandparents and parents immigrated from Sicily to this fine country in the 1960's, most of them had to find work in the garment business, as there weren't many jobs for high school educated Sicilians elsewhere (most were skilled in trades, just lacking in the book learning). They worked in the sweatshops in Brooklyn for years, even my mom did for a few summers when she was in high school.

HOWEVER, my dad's dad was a little higher up on the garment making food chain because in Sicily he had been a tailor like his father before him and his father before him. And when he went to get a job (so I'm told) he was hired as a pattern maker. Designers would draw up their designs, and since they were generally ignorant in how to translate those drawings into clothes that were cheap and easy to produce, the drawings would be send to my grandda and he'd figure out the actual pattern for it.

I mention this long winded background of personal family history because right now, I think I'm making the poor man turn in his grave. Without any experience in these matters except for nearly breaking my mom's sewing machine several times and teaching myself how to work around a needle and thread for emergencies, I'm making a Wizard of Oz Dorothy costume for the camp Wizard of Oz skit on Friday. I dragged my grandfather's clothing manikin from the guest room, and right now I have…

This! )

I need to shorten the torso, but right now it's just all pinned there, waiting for me to take it downstairs and nearly break mom's sewing machine again sewing it together.

All this I'm doing, as if I didn't have ENOUGH on my plate to get done for camp tomorrow.

May God Have Mercy On My Soul.

EDIT: Finished in two and a half hours?


Finished dress!! )
Well, this is a post a long time in coming! I've been meaning to post for the last few weeks about how I had lost my cell phone on the Long Island Railroad...and now I'm posting to tell you the prodigal phone has returned to me!!

The entire tale of its' journey is a long one indeed, epic in many ways, but suffice to say I have a habit of falling into a comatose state while on my 1 hour 45 minute train ride home, and when I awoke to find the train doors were opening at MY stop, I ran off the train, still fuzzy in the brain and sans cell phone (which had fallen out of my pocket) and green scarf (which I had taken off). I only realized this when I got home and some chap called my brother's cell with my phone. This fellow (of whom odes and ballads should be composed and sung but alas, his identity is unknown to me!) wanted to know who to send the phone and scarf too, so I gave him the address for my dad's office and hoped for the best.

Time dragged on, and I feared the worst, that I indeed would never see my cell phone (with all my numbers!) and my green scarf (my very favorite scarf!) ever again. I wondered if the man never sent [ profile] singealiene and I mused, perhaps he was a diabolically figure that had no intention of mailing my things, maybe he only wished to raise my hopes so that they might be dashed upon the rocks while he casually tossed my phone about in the comfort of his home and laughed evilly. Or, perhaps my things were lost forever in the Limbo of the US Postal System known as the Dead Letter Room...maybe my things were in Atlanta, Georgia, locked away like the Ark of the Covenant and would be sold off at their yearly auction...

But No. Well, I mean, based on the date of the postage my things DID have quite a journey through the US Postal System, but they have finally arrived, safe and sound after about 3 weeks of phonelessness.


Nella's Back!!

In other news, I've finally read Chesterton's Father Brown series...and I've finally realized who I was drawing when I drew him recently. It's pretty much a less chubby Father John, the priest who was our NYU chaplain when I was a wee little college freshman and the Newman Club (a.k.a. the Catholic Club) was the most glorious time of my college existence.
Well, the Bronx has been abandoned for the moment, as my fact finding for the Ebling brewery was rather successful, and we have more pressing projects to worry about. Just before Christmas, I started researching in the Richmond County clerk's office, just a quick (and free!) ferry ride from the southern tip of Manhattan to the St. George station in Staten Island. You see, there is a mall going up right under the Outerbridge Crossing, and before it can go up, the site's history must be accounted for!

So, first on the to-do list is looking up land deeds.

Of course, it's taking FOREVER, because why would anything be easy in this line of work, really?! The reasons? One, because I have to look up more than one block. Two, because after about the 1920's, there AREN'T any block listings in Staten Island, what with it all having been farmland (at least, in the area I'm searching). And Three, because after about the 1900's, pretty much the same 5 or 6 families are buying up/own ALL OF THE FRICKEN ISLAND. So, in a single ledger, Abraham Cole, for instance, may have bought 50-odd lots of land from all sorts of different people…and without any way of pinpointing those pieces of land, because they aren't assigned block numbers, just their coordinates and what other farms or roads they might adjoin. So, what's a girl archaeologist to do, except find some land coordinates, an old map or two, and read through all the deeds that MAY match up, to see if you're even in the right ballpark land-wise.

…There are a LOT of deeds that MAY match up.

Luckily, my boss dug up a colonial land grant map, so after I traced the deeds back to the 1900's and hit a wall known as the 19th century, I began to trace FORWARDS from the colonial land grants (circa 1685ish). I hope beyond hope that when all is said and done, the two sets of information I have will meet up in the middle.

The major problem I find beginning around the 1850's, however, is the matter of BOUNDARIES. Or more importantly, how they are described in the deeds.

Cut for musings on large apple trees. You should read it, I manage to mention Peter Stuyvesant! Everyone loves Peter Stuyvesant!…and by love, I mean hate. But cut him some slack, the man had a peg leg for Pete's sake! )
And so, that is how my days lately have been spent. Reporting to the office at 8 am, catching the Staten Island Ferry at 8:30, researching deeds from 9-3, and back to Manhattan, to Penn Station, to catch the 4:19 train.

But before I leave you all, an open letter:

A love letter, in fact. )
And I've been looking high and low for a German brewery.

This week I started working in the office again; the digging season is officially over, and I'm done with the nomadic lifestyle until the spring, thank GOD. I was sent on a quest to the Bronx Historical Society, round about where Fordham University lies. Paula send me forth with the instructions to comb the archives for any and all information about Ebling's Brewery, a brewery that was located between St. Ann's Ave and Eagle Ave. in the Bronx, which was established in 1868 by the Ebling brothers, and was closed in 1951. Now it's just an empty block, and we've been hired to poke around the property to see how historically significant/sensetive the site is.

Over all, a good day today! I got to sleep in, because my appointment to fondle their research library wasn't until 1:30. Considering that my mornings begin at 5 am, which--TRUST ME ON THIS--is well before the ass crack of Dawn shows up, it was a WELCOME change of pace.

HOWEVER--twenty minutes before I reached the Historical Society, my phone rings. It's their librarian, calling to tell me that, oh so sorry, but the microfilm machine is broken.

Businesses are a trick and a half to research, because businesses have the nasty habit of throwing ALL their paperwork away. This place was one of the biggest, wealthiest breweries in the New York boroughs, even got majorly busted in 1922 for hiding beer in the caves under Eagle Ave (OMG CAVES OH PLEASE LET ME GO SPELUNKING PRETTY PRETTY PLEASE) and smuggling the goods out to Long Island (oh, and the keyword was "Brooklyn")--

And YET, no one knows ANYTHING about it, aside from the oral histories that have been collected from people who worked there before it closed in 1951. The only leads I've got is to comb through the microfilms of the Bronx Daily News and the Bronx City directories...which I couldn't. On account of broken microfilm machines and all.

True, I did find some good photos of the building, as well as a few articles about events that happened there, so my day wasn't a total waste...but it looks like I'll be heading to the New York Public Library this week to get my hands on their microfilm collection. To browse through the Bronx Daily News. From 1915 to 1951. *HEAD DESK*

*growls in frustration* I want to know more about this place, damnit!! I WILL uncover the truth! *heroic pose!!*

...Oh, and the official historian of the Bronx has given me an open invitation to call him whenever I have questions/I find something new and exciting. He sounded so excited when I told him about what we were researching, it was adorable. ^_^

Wait, does this mean I have a job?

Well, first things first, I can honestly throw down the gauntlet and claim with big brass balls that Prince Phillip from Disney's Sleepy Beauty ain't got SHIT on me. He may be one of Disney's most awesome princes, but he had the help of three fairy godmothers, a nifty sword and shield, and a horse that knew what was what. All I had was a pair of leather gloves, clippers, a machete, and a grizzly and pissy archaeologist in his 60s yelling at me from the safety of his surveying equipment.

…Ok, so HE had to face the Mistress of All Evil afterward while all I had to do was backfill units, but STILL.

Short of the long, we had to survey through a gorram briar patch nearly 8 feet high on Tuesday, which had large pointed thorns which dug into my flesh and didn't want to let go. Throw on top of that that this thorn jungle was growing over and concealing large mountains of concrete that had been dumped back when the Hess station on the corner was built (thanks guys for covering our archaeological site with your concrete!…wasn't even your fucking property, asshats), and you have yourself a veritable death trap. Seriously, one wrong step and you'd find yourself falling face first into a valley that just happens to be filled with all sorts of bloodthirsty thorns.

Oh, and while within this jungle I also slid five feet into a junk dump that was filled with old fences and really rusted and pointy metal things.

Oh, and on top of that, the dig was shut down just long enough for me to spend the night in the motel, drive home the next morning, and find 3 voice mails on my phone that evening saying the dig was back on. OMG I really hate NY state and lawyers right now. REALLY.

I'm going back up to Fishkill Monday evening, and am going to try to work at the site until Friday. However, some good may come of this…I MAY have an office job with this company once the dig is done. Paula, the woman from the office, asked Bill, the field director, if I might be interested in working in the office full time. He gave me a call to see if I'd want to, and HELL'S YES. So, I've finally given Target my two weeks notice.

…Oh PLEASE I want that office job. 40 hours per week, and 13 an hour, and at a place that the fact I have a major in anthropology actually matters? Damn it, I'll use that long commute for sleeping or come November for Nanowrimo writing!
So, motel TOTALLY doesn't have wireless. Or let me correct that. MY room has no wireless. The other building does, but it's touch and go at best. So, here I sit in a Panera of all places, where the wireless is free and the bread is DELICIOUS.

The dig goes well, or as well as a dig can go that was planned by people who wouldn't know the digged end of a trowel if you HANDED it to them. The field directors are improvising to the best of their ability, but yes, I am convinced the people that run this show back in the office A) don't understand what a dig entails and B) have no conception of how to properly budget a dig.

For example, there are only four people total digging. This week we have to excavate 6 1 meter x 1 meter units. No biggie, we finished three today, started the fourth. Next week however, comes the back hoe for the trenching. The Powers That Be decided that the back how would excavation nearly 1500 feet of trenches, and that we, we four, we hapless band of archaeologists we, would shift 100% of the dirt dug out.

ALL THAT DIRT. IN A WEEK. I don't even know how to put this in perspective without taking a picture of the aftermath, because SHIT SON, that's a LOT OF DIRT. MAYBE if you had 6 weeks and a crew of 14 (bemoaned the two old school field directors) it would be feasible. BUT A WEEK?!?!

So, the proposal has been tweaked to shifting only 20%...which means NOTHING really, so we're just going to shift every 5th bucket.

In other news, the site is pleasant, and is in the woods. Excavation is a bitch cause there are cobbles EVERYWHERE and every time the trowel/shovel/fucking pickaxe hits one the vibration goes right up my arm and rests in my wrists. My hands are still shaking a little bit. The motel is creepy and totally shady. Damned good thing there wasn't an old Victorian House on the hill and the owners are Indian, cause otherwise I might not dare a shower. If all goes well tomorrow I MAY be in New Paltz for the weekend. It's either New Paltz or go back home. I donno yet. But there's no way in hell I'm spending the weekend in that motel alone. Seriously.

Well, later! The battery's running low and I've got things to read before the night is out.

December 2010

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