Aegri Somnia

Back on Earth
Holy crap! Now THAT took way too long!

Ladies and gentlemen, I'm officially back. Back in Phoenix, yes, but more importantly, back to my old self. And what a trip it has been.

Have you ever been constipated? Like really, really constipated? Now imagine that happening in your head for about two YEARS. That’s what I’ve been going through. For two years now, I’ve eaten, slept, breathed, and functioned as an academic. I’ve put hundreds of hours into my graduate work, reading over a thousand articles and books to make sure that I have every last single detail about my thesis correct. I’ve pored over that document time and again, making sure that everything was right, only to have it slaughtered by my committee. But now, I’m glad to say...I’m done.

I finished my thesis last week. The manuscript was signed off on, the copyright was submitted, and the document is in binding. For all intents and purposes, I’m done with grad school. My degree should be awarded soon, and I’ll officially be out of the university system, at least for the time being.

And this means I now have to find a job. I’m still doing some part-time work at the print shop, but I need to find gainful employment that pays more than peanuts. I’m casting my net pretty wide, but I’m also taking my time doing it. I think that, after the mental beating I’ve been taking for so long, I deserve a little bit of a break. As such, I’ve been spending a lot of time reading for recreation, watching movies by the boatload, and writing for fun. I forgot how enjoyable putting words down can be when you don’t have an academic gun pressed against your head.

I’ve managed to get quite a few journal entries written over the past few months, but I’ve never gotten around to posting them. I believe that I’ll start throwing them up shortly. They’ll be backdated, but at least they’ll be there!

-Z

Current Mood: excited
Current Music: Sixx AM, "Life is Beautiful"

Cyprus, Round Four: "I Picked a Bad Day to Stop Sniffing Glue..."
Or, in my case, to drink a bunch of stimulants in the morning. After being coffee and tea free for over a week, I had raised my sensitivity far more than expected. So when I was falling asleep this morning at work, I had three cups. Within about five minutes I was twittering.

I skipped lunch so I could work on those ever-present reports, which unfortunately placed me down at the shed while I was still jittery from my morning overdose. I was keeping my eyes peeled for Juno, who I haven't seen since the last incident. I had brought an entire liter of water down with me, and I wasn't about to let her get close before I doused her. I'll teach her to bite me twice.

It was a pretty calm day today, but a gentle breeze came up now and again to rustle the long grasses in front of my table. Normally this is a soothing event for me, but every time the foliage moved I half-dove for the bottle, thinking it was the cat. Eventually I stopped preempting the situation and just on with my work. I didn't even bother to tuck my legs underneath me while I toiled away.

I soon became aware that the grasses in front of me were moving when there was no wind. I looked very closely at them, but I couldn't see the cat anywhere. Something was moving right along the ground, and within a second or two I saw the head of a small lizard poke out of the brush and look around. I leaned back in my chair and chuckled as it eyed me glassily.

Suddenly it shot towards me like a rocket, making a beeline for the gap under my shoes. Before I even knew what was happening, the brush crashed apart and a yardlong milk snake went tearing after the lizard. I nearly had a heart attack as I leapt out of my chair and onto the table, losing both of my sandals and knocking my work all over the table in the process. Just before the lizard made it to the relative safety of my spot, the snake snatched it. The beast paused only momentarily to acknowledge me before slinking back into the grass with its still-struggling prey in its jaws.

It took me a minute to come down from the table. It took longer for me to make sure I hadn't urinated on myself during the experience.

I don't know why, but the shed has it out for me this year. Normally I do my work and all is well. This season I can't seem to catch a break.

-Z

Current Mood: scared
Current Music: Tool, "Sweat"

Cyprus, Round Four: That Darn Cat
I'm a bit sore this morning. We gathered the potatoes yesterday, and then we went to the farm to pick fruit for ourselves. I now have a plump bag of avocadoes, oranges, and apples for my consumption, but I also have a sore back from stooping for potatoes for several hours. I don't know how people do this day in and day out.

So, in other news...

Today I'm preparing a report at the shed, and Juno, the cat that bit me before, walks through the door. I've been rather fearful of her since I saw her last, so to have her appear while I'm there alone didn't put me in the best of moods. I shout at her to go away, and I pull my legs up onto my chair. Being a cat, she responds by laying down directly under my seat.

I do my best to ignore her, but she keeps making these half-meow sounds. I refuse to pet her, and I do all of my work without so much as acknowledging her further. After about thirty minutes I half-forget she's even there. I begin to pack up my stuff to go, and I slide my shoes on. She's immediately underfoot, rubbing against my leg and looking for attention. I get up from my chair, file my finds, and grab my notebook from the outdoor table without saying a word or putting a hand in her general direction.

I'm five seconds from leaving when she stops right in front of me and bites into the front of my shin.

Ow.

With the blood running down my leg, I do the most manly thing I can think of - I run screaming from the shed. As I yelp in pain and fear, I sprint away from the building, with the cat in hot pursuit. I intentionally go over the pottery pile in front, and because she can't get traction on the sherds she's left struggling through the pile as I speed towards the dig house.

I hate that cat. I've determined that the next time I go down there, I'm bringing a water bottle. If I see it again, I'm not even going to give it the opportunity to get close to me. I'm just going to hose it down at a distance while shouting obscenities about its mother.

With my luck, it will miscarry its litter, and I'll have something else on my conscience.

-Z

Current Mood: infuriated
Current Music: Banco De Gaia, "How Much Reality Can You Take?"

Cyprus, Round Four: Walls Crumble
Well, today has been a mess. On the plus side, I don't think that I have rabies or anything like that. The wound is healing nicely, and though it's tender to the touch it's not infected. This is very important, considering I scrabble around in the dirt all day.

On the minus side, I'm starting to think that the ancients were playing a cruel joke on the future when they played wtih the stratigraphy of my site. I have walls that don't line up, fallen rocks that look temptingly like walls but in fact are not, and mud bricks with nicely articulated faces but no apparent back sides. The whole thing doesn't make any sense, and the more I look at it the more cross-eyed I become.

I think we're doing potato farming tonight. When our foreman needs potatoes harvested, we usually pitch in. I did so a couple of years ago, and it was generally fun. The work is laborious, but the ability to get back to the earth and pretend to be an agriculturist for a day is a blast.

-Z

Current Mood: irritated
Current Music: Filter, "Jurassitol"

Cyprus, Round Four: The Waiting Game
I'm not a patient man. I have never enjoyed waiting for anything, especially if I deem it as being important. If someone tells me that they need to talk to me later, I invariably pressure them into doing it right then and there. If I'm hungry, it takes a stamina check to not eat right away, even if I know that I'll be sitting down for a meal within an hour. Lines are not my thing, and I'm a nightmare when I'm put on hold on the telephone.

This has led to some challenges when it comes to archaeology. When done properly, archaeology is an exercise in patience. Drawings need to be accurate, measurements need to be exact. It's a method and a process, and it takes an inordinate amount of time if it is to have viable results. This has led to several conscious behavior changes I would otherwise not do, the least of which is writing slower so my handwriting is legible. On most days of the year no one but me can read my chicken scratch. In my notebook, however, my writing is surprisingly clear. Thus must be the case when one has but a single notebook and a black felt-tip pen, and no pages can be torn out and started over.

So archaeology is teaching me patience. Sometimes it bleeds into other portions of my life; other times, like now, I realize that I have a long way to go before I reach that "virtuously patient" level.

My trench has been frustrating me. I can't figure out what is going on with the stratigraphy. This doesn't bother me too much, because no one else can seem to sort it out either. Even the lead archaeologist is (for the moment) stumped. But it does put me into a confounded mood, which in turn makes me liable to make mistakes.

I was carrying buckets of pottery back to the sorting area this afternoon when I happened upon one of the feral cats that live in the area. She was staring very intently at the wall in front of us, and it wasn't until I was almost on her when I realized that there was a six-foot black milk snake half-hidden in the grass immediately at her front feet. These snakes aren't particularly deadly, but they aren't fun if you get bitten by them either. The cat (which we have seen several times and have named "Juno" on account of her being a very pregnant almost-kitten) wasn't moving, and the snake wasn't backing down.

I put down my buckets and pulled out my tape measure. I figured that I could shoo the snake away with the measure, but right before I got to it the snake suddenly started to back down. It was pulling back , and I figured that danger was averted. I even had time to get out my camera and take a picture of it, if only to show everyone its size. Then the snake started to slither lazily back towards the wall. And the cat kept going for it.

Now I'm thinking to myself that a pregnant kitten isn't going to stand up well to a monster of a snake. We have snakes kill cats around here, although it's a rare occurrence. So rather than have the death of the semi-beloved stray and her unborn litter on my mind, I decide to intervene. I reach out and touch the cat, and the cat immediately stops in its tracks and starts purring. I scratch the cat's head as the snake disappears, and all's well that ends well.

Sorta.

It took about two seconds for the cat to stop purring and turn on me. It took a nice hunk out of my index finger on my right hand, drawing quite a bit of blood as it managed to get two teeth through the skin on the finger pad and tearing it away. I quickly pulled back, but not before the digit was turned into a minor pincushion in the cat's mouth. Cursing, I swung at the cat, although I was reluctant to hit it on account of its near-bursting pregnant state. I left it there at the shed, staring at me as I trotted back to the house to get some antiseptic and a bandage for my finger.

That was an hour ago. Post-cleaning, my finger looks generally alright. I have a half-inch gash through the pad, and at least one exit wound where a tooth went in sideways and popped out in a different location. I'm keeping an eye on it because, quite frankly, being gnawed on by a feral stray isn't my idea of hygeinic. I don't even know what sort of cat-to-human diseases are passed here in Cyprus, and hopefully I won't have to find out the hard way.

I hate waiting, especially when it comes to things like rabies.

-Z

Current Mood: irate
Current Music: Ladytron, "Evil"

Cyprus, Round Four: Murder in Polis
Today the unthinkable has happened - there was a murder. It's such a rare event around here, it has everyone in a bit of a state of shock. I don't know of the last homocide here. Heck, I don't know if they've even recorded a homicide in the area before.

Apparently two men got into a fight on the beach a little ways down from the campground. Both were middle-age Cypriots, and both from the area. One had his dog on the beach, which is prohibited, and the other confronted him about it. The confrontation turned into a fight, and the man without the dog was beaten up. So when the man with the dog began his walk back towards town, the other man got into his car and ran the first man over.

Yikes.

I was wondering why I saw the police go tearing out of the station when I was at the art cafe. I had never seen them go anywhere with the wagon's lights on before, let alone at a high rate of speed. They shot off into the night, and when they came back a crowd was already gathering to see what had happened. In a town where everyone knows everyone else, it was only a matter of time before the story got around.

I feel bad for both guys, but, strangely, especially for the guy behind the wheel. The other guy was dead, true, but the one who survived had just managed to screw up his life royally. He's in his 60s and in rather lousy health, with three successful kids. His youngest daughter just got engaged, and the party is this weekend. He was pretty much living the Cypriot dream, minus his physical constitution. And then he went and threw it all away.

I sometimes wonder about Cypriot society. It's so full of machismo, it's absurd. The men don't show pain when they're wounded or retreat from a confrontation. They would rather go down fighting than be proven wrong. And when incidents such as this occur, it makes me think that the ridiculousness is so high it's almost satyrical. Do Cypriot women really find these qualities attractive? I can't tell. Knowing how I am, though, I'm pretty sure that in some ways I'll never blend in here, no matter how tan I get.

-Z

Current Mood: pessimistic
Current Music: Helmet, "Milktoast"

Cyprus, Round Four: The Ring Part II
I really didn't want to go back to work today. Although I want to know what's waiting for me in the dirt in my trench, I had such a relaxing day yesterday that it was hard to get up this morning. On my day off I went to Paphos and bought Mable a little something nice, and I saw the excavations being conducted by the University of Sydney crew on the remains of a theater there. I also did a walk-through of the old stone quarries, although I came back to Polis early to work on my notebooks and personal writings. I've been making copious use of the art cafe lately; it's a welcome change from sitting at home.

Little has developed in the way of the trench. We're digging through several layers of debris in hopes of finding one or more walls that were sited during a previous excavation. Most of the material coming out has been unimpressive, although we did recover an earring that was of very nice quality. It's ancient, but as I'm not a jewelry expert, I can't say how old.

I don't know for how long we will be digging. When I mailed one of my friends from two years ago and told her I was excavating north of her trench, her response was to go to the bedrock. Funny girl. As much as I love doing deep passes and just slicing through features, I'm not dropping five meters here.

Or am I?

(scared)

-Z

Current Mood: worried
Current Music: Korn & the Dust Brothers, "Kick the P.A."

Captain's Log: Not Supplemental
I've been writing journal entries over the last few days, and I've been mulling that there has been such a gap in my logs. For a good half-year or more I didn't write anything of note. This is disturbing, considering I mark myself as a painter of words.

This entry is not definitive, but hopefully it, along with some back-entries that I have saved up somewhere, will help shed some light on what has happened in the last several months.

The main story is, of course, that I got married. At the end of November I wed my longtime girlfriend in a very private ceremony in La Giustiana, Italy. Our dozen-or-so guests included several exes as well as family, which makes for a good story but also reminds me that the reason we're good together is because we know what our options are. I see her ex-boyfriends not as competition, but as training wheels, so to speak. Granted, they make more each year than I do, but I'd venture to guess that they're not nearly as interesting, charasmatic, or humorous as I am. After all, why else would my now-blushing bride choose me over them?

The wedding itself went well, although there was a mess of paperwork in front of it. We went before embassy officials, consulates, legal advisors, wedding planners, and a litany of other people just to get the documentation for the event together, although I'm glad that we did. As opposed to many who just run off to Italy to get married, we did everything by the books, which is why we have an official government-issued certificate saying that we're legally wed in the country while others do not.

As for the ceremony, we were married in a chateau in the Italian countryside that was as scenic as it was old. By a fluke, our marriage took place in an antiquted chapel instead of the cloisters we were supposed to be married in, solely on account of an incoming rainstorm. I was initially hoping to be married in the chapel, but because of Mable's religion (technically Buddhist, like my technical Roman Catholicism) we were denied marriage in a church. The extraneous events turned the tide in our favor, though, because the chapel was the only indoor place that could accomodate us on such short notice. Somehow, I managed to have my cake and eat it too.

The same cannot be said for Mable, however. Not to my knowledge until much later, she was suffering from a massive stomach sickness on the day of the wedding. She gave this bug to me soon after, but she missed our wedding reception. She vanished so quickly after the wedding that she didn't even get to try a piece of her wedding cake. She made an appearance for the tea ceremony with her mom (at which point I was officially "accepted" into her side of the family), but otherwise I was left to eat on my own. I just felt bad for her - considering the cost of each plate, I wished she had the chance to at least try the food.

A few days later, however, both Mable and I were past our illnesses and honeymooning in Dublin. For those that have never gone, let me put it this way - I'm pretty well-traveled, and this is one of my top two choices for places that I want to live. Ireland, and Dublin in particular, is spectacular. The most immediately strking aspect of the city is the friendliness of the people. In Phoenix, you can get shot if you ask the wrong person for directions; in Dublin, people sense that you are lost and give them to you without even a petition. It's almost unnerving how nice residents there are.

After rounds of celebratory drinks throughout Temple Bar, in the Jameson Distillery, in the Guiness Brewery, and just about every place else you can imagine, we finished our week of post-wedded bliss and headed home. The whole experience took almost a month, including our pre-wedding residencies in Italy to make us legal to get married there. Most people can't get more than a week off for a wedding, so I consider us quite fortunate that we were able to escape for so long. Of course, I'm so spoiled when it comes to travel, I wouldn't have settled for less.

More to follow, when I have time and motivation.

-Z

Current Mood: happy
Current Music: Celine Dion, "A New Day has Come"

Cyprus, Round Four: The Ring
Yesterday I received my official marching orders for the week: under the supervision of one of the archaeologists, open Test Trench 32A. Trench size: 3 meters by 3 meters. Trench location: the northern bluff of site E.G0, on the old road to Nicosia. Estimated trench depth: 2.5 meters.

We're going down. Deep.

We laid out the trench, sketched it, and took benchmark readings yesterday, but we were unable to start digging because our dig crew was tied up. It wasn't until today that we put spade to soil for the first time, and we're already down 1/3 of a meter. Most of the material coming up is uninteresting - roof tiles, large stones, and hunks of slag. We have, however, found one thing that piqued me in a good way: a ring. It's about 2.5 cm in diameter and made out of metal, although we don't know of what kind. It was worn down at its the bottom, which made one of the archaeologists conjecture that it was part of an earring or a necklace. Personally, I think that it is a ring worn on a hand, and the wearp pattern is due to its surface continually rubbing against a finger. Only time will tell which of us is right, I guess.

I have a day off tomorrow. I think I'm going to use it to catch up on a bit of paperwork, although I may go to Paphos as well.

-Z

Current Mood: pensive
Current Music: VNV Nation, "Rubicon"

Cyprus, Round Four: Power Tools
I love backhoes. They make my job so much easier.

We knocked the bothros cleaning out today. With the machines and a small but dedicated crew, we emptied the cistern down to its green clay bottom in about three hours.

Normally I'm hesitant about using machines such as this one to bring up material in a site. There are legitimate uses to such devices, though, especially when one does not have to worry about issues such as site stratigrapy. Because we were only cleaning, there was little need to document minor changes in soil, and we were expecting few if any artifacts. I only had to keep a topical noteboook on the work that was undertaken, and all went according to plan, if not faster.

This has led to a new development, however: because of our alacrity in the process, the other project has been pushed into the limelight. Apparently the archaeologists want me to run a test trench to explore for a mudbrick wall in an area we last dug two years ago. This is a bit of an undertaking, and they want me in charge. This is much more responsibility than any excavation I've previously worked, so I hope I'm up for the challenge.

-Z

Current Mood: impressed
Current Music: Ladytron, "Destroy Everything You Touch"

Cyprus, Round Four: A New Experience
I've pretty much acclimated to being back in my old digs here in Cyprus. I'm in the same room I've been in for three of the past four years, and my mosquito netting is strung. I've contacted my friends here in town, and we're going to do lunch soon. I've even gotten my desk set up in the storehouse, and prepped my terminal for a short, intense season of researching.

But all is not as it seems. I've been informed today by the lead archaeologist that I'll be supervising two digging projects this year, because, according to him, he "needs someone who knows what their doing."

Um...so why is he asking me? I'm not the most experienced in the field, and there are others that know quite a bit more about those digging areas. The reason, from what I can construe: I'm the only one expendable enough to move between projects without resulting in them becoming paralyzed from my lack of involvement. Plus, I need the experience.

Fair enough.

Starting tomorrow, I'm set to oversee the cleaning of debris from the main Peristeres sanctuary bothros. This ritual burial put is where thousands of figurines were discovered two dozen years ago, and though it has already been excavated it has not been emptied since 1996. As it is a several meter wide hole, rain has washed material a significant amount of material into it over the years. Now we have to dig it all back out.

At least I have a backhoe. It always goes faster when heavy machinery is involved.

I've also been led to believe I'm going to be in charge of some wall project, but I don't know what this is. I'll find out more once the bothros is completed, something I'm hoping will be done shortly.

I guess this means that the computer is going to be shut down again, at least for another few days.

-Z

Current Mood: anxious
Current Music: Rage Against the Machine, "Wake Up"

Cyprus, Round Four: Stamina
It's quarter to eleven in the morning on Monday, and I'm sitting in a blue-stitch chair in Manchester International. I've been on the road for nearly 67 hours now, and I have 2 pounds 14 pence sterling in my pocket. I haven't removed my shoes in three days, and I've not been away from an airport since Friday.

This is exhausting.

My first flight was three hours late departing. This rather small irritation has since spiraled into the greatest trip delay I can imagine, for I've now been stranded overnight in both Philadelphia and Manchester. What was supposed to be an arduous but brief 25-hour transport has evolved into this monstrosity that will probably push close to 80 hours in total. And I'm still not at my final destination.

My only consolations during this mess are my traveling companions. I've been quite lucky to have four very pleasant compatriots on the team, although I've only really bonded with two of them. The three of us with extensive travel experience (one of which happens to be my thesis chair) have managed to stick it out at all of our destinations with the minimum of bitching; the two with less road hours (two students from ASU), though, broke ranks last night to go into the city for a hotel room. I can't particularly blame them, but considering they blew at least $150 for only 17 hours away from the airport, I can't say that I agree with their logic either. Amateurs. It's going to get a lot harder from here.

I've been sleeping surprisingly well, considering I've been doing so under a stolen airline blanket on an airport stool for the last two days. Our flight is supposed to get into Cyprus tonight at 10 PM, and then we need to drive to the other side of the island. We also need to get our luggage, which was accidentally sent ahead to a different city on the opposite coast. Once again, I'm very glad that I only travel with carry-on. Some members of our group have nothing right now, while if I wanted to change clothes I could do so several times over.

With any luck we'll be on the road again very soon. I'm looking forward to clearing out my favorite room in the dig house and securing my accomodation as soon as possible. It's first-come, first-serve, and I'm quite sure that my favorite room will be taken quickly if I'm not there to defend it.

-Z

Current Mood: tired
Current Music: Delerium, "After All"

Cyprus, Round Four: Introduction
I leave this morning to return to the fabled land of my ancestors. Wait, no, that's not right. I'm going back to Cyprus for more archaeological work. That's sounds more like it.

I'm set to be out for thirty days on this stint, which is a bit shorter than I would like. Worse, I'm going to be there at the beginning of the season and not at the end. All of the good discoveries and really fun moments come at the conclusion of the work, which means that this year I'm not only going to miss the cast-off parties but also the fun trips. It was mentioned that the group was headed to Jordan at the end. I want to go to Jordan, damn it!

Ah, sometimes we're not in control of our destinies. I have obligations to take care of at home, and I should be glad that I'm getting the time that I have. I am glad, actually - I have a good feeling about this season.

-Z

Current Mood: anxious

Goodbye, Traveler
As part of my catching-up online, I'm clearing some of my old E-mail addresses out of my address book. I'm only deleting a few, mostly people who I have mailed a few times over the past few months and never heard back from. Sometimes people just disappear, at least digitally. It happens.

I'm in the "W" category as I run across the name of my old friend Charlie White. I hesitate on his name before hitting the 'delete' key.

Charlie and I have been friends for about a decade now. He was older than I by about forty years, but our age difference never came into the picture when we sat down for lunch. He was the most jovial guy you could imagine, and a nice chap to boot. But the most memorable aspect of him was his love, lust even, of the road. He was the penultimate traveler, always jetting from one location to another. No matter where you were going, it always seemed like he was just there. Prague? He was there twice a year, minimum. Bangkok? He could recommend all of the good restaurants. Madison? He "dropped in" recently, just to see what it was like. His stories were phenomenal, and his adaptability and passion for travel served as models for me in more ways than I can count.

A few weeks ago I received a call from my father saying that Charlie was in the hospital. "He's pretty sick," my dad stated in a rather unworried voice. "He was just admitted today, but he's not doing so well."

Hm, I thought. Odd. Charlie just got back from somewhere in Asia, and he was getting ready to go to Spain in less than a month. I hope he recovers fast. Airfare is miserable these days, and rebooking international tickets is horrific.

Less than 24 hours later, I received a second call - Charlie was dead. He lasted less than three days in the hospital before he was gone. From what we gathered from his relatives, he apparently had some sort of blood cancer. He knew about it for a while, but it just now caught up to him. He never told anyone, but I'm not surprised - that was just not Charlie's way. He always lived life on his own terms, and travel was always his first priority.

The funeral was that weekend, and it was a surprisingly social event. There were not that many people there, but those that did come were able to give all sorts of stories of the places that they ran into Charlie, or where they traveled with him to, or the small gifts he brought back to them when he returned from some far-flung place. They even had a giant world map with pushpins stuck in wherever Charlie had been, and people updated it with more pins as they reconstructed his adventurous life.

I want a giant map when I die.

It was very odd seeing Charlie in the coffin. He looked much more pale than usual, and his makeup was a bit pasty. Frankly, he didn't quite look like the Charlie I remembered. Not bad, mind you, but just far too still. I half-expected him to start swearing and get out of the box, grabbing for his glasses as he headed out the door. When they shut the lid, it sounded so final.

I've seen friends and family members pass on, but I can't remember the last time I had such a strange feeling at a funeral. I lost a mentor, which is a markedly different experience than losing a loved one. It creates a different sort of hole inside of you, one that you can't really fill with grief.

Even now, as I prepare to delete his E-mail address, my finger struggles to press the button. I know that I’m not ready to say goodbye yet. He was the one who talked my parents into letting me remain in Europe after my first trip there went horribly awry. Were it not for his support, I would never have turned out to be the person I am today.

...

Godspeed, traveler, and safe journeys. No matter where you go now, part of you will always be here safe with us.

Charlie White
10 August 1940 - 26 February 2008

-Z

Current Mood: sad
Current Music: Tantric, "Mourning"

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned...
It has been many, many months since my last confession...

I have to admit, I've been far too lax about my journal entries. I've semi-written lately, but nothing of real substance. I have some back-dated pieces that I may or may not post, depending on how motivated I get. Considering I'm only logging in right now because I'm having a shockingly dystopic day, I won't make any promises.

I can rehash all that has happened in the past few months (year?), but I'll save that for another day. I have many stories running around in my bean, some of which are more memorable than others. I got married. That's a big one.

But I digress...

I knew that today was going to be different when stepped away from my computer for the first time in hours and realized that the sun was already shining. I had missed sleeping once again. My academic work consumes me so much at times that I forget all else. It's not healthy.

It had damn well better get published. That's all I have to say.

I found a half-penny in the street on my walk to the university. It had been run over by cars so many times that it was sliced in two. It was battered, but it still mostly kept its shape. I empathize.

I broke the typewriter at work the other day. I had dropped it off of the file cabinet when moving a table, and when it finally reached the ground after bouncing off of three separate desk and drawer planes its internals were crushed into a heap of keys and ribbon. I felt bad, so I bought a new one for the office. I made the mistake of telling someone here, and just a few minutes ago I was berated by the purchasing agent for making an unofficial "gift-in-kind" to the university. By doing the socially and morally responsible thing I have, in effect, gone against the bureaucracy.

Never go against the bureaucracy. I have been warned.

(sigh)

This year has, in many respects, been little more than an extension of the last. But the winds of change are upon us. All will change course in under two months. Mark my words.

More to follow.

-Z

Current Mood: blank
Current Music: Ill Nino, "How Can I l Live"

No, I'm not dead yet.

More to follow soon. You'll see why later.

-Z

Wreckage
Last night was my bachelor party. I'm still trying to piece together the bits of what I can remember, but from what I can recall I had a great time.

I know I was at Four Peaks Brewery to start, and I know I went to both Doc and Eddie's as well as an afterparty at a friend's place. I can come up with some of what I drank, and at least most of the people I saw during the evening. And I am pretty sure that I called it a night after I threw up for the third time. But outside of that, there are entire chunks of my night that are missing.

Thanks the heavens that I had a designated driver. There was no way I was going to get behind the wheel after the brewery, let alone after the final party.

So it's morning, I'm still pretty drunk, and I have a lottery ticket and five pesos in my pants pocket. I'm going to finish sobering up, and then maybe I'll be able to map out last night a bit better.

-Z

Current Mood: drunk
Current Music: Avenged Sevenfold, "Bat Country"

Hollow-weenie
Halloween hits this year on a Wednesday. Due to the fact that I never have time on Mondays, Wednesdays, or Fridays (equation for my life - if day = M, W, or F, then day = school + work and day = ruined), I went with my friends to a party on Saturday instead. Yes, it was time for the annual campaign of visiting as many Halloween bashes as possible, and, as always, none disappointed.

The evening got off to a smooth start, although I had a minor wardrobe malfunction at my workplace when one of the girls caught me in mid-costume change. Despite that hiccup (and her extensive giggling, damn it), I donned the guise of Bacchus, and, clad in my period-accurate toga, I headed out with my pirate-fiancee Mable to the faraway land of south Phoenix for our first stop, Dave's labratory of horrors.

Ever the showman, Dave had decorated his home with plenty of Halloween goodies. He had converted pretty much his entire place into a dark-lit, cobweb-draped, motion detector-activated funhouse, one that was stocked not only with prop eye candy but with tasty gustory treats as well. I sat on his couch and watched Romero's "Land of the Dead" and part of "Pulse" (the latter was better than the former) while overindulging on plenty of chocolate cups and queso dip. Oh, that dip. I don't know where Dave picked that stuff up, but man it was good. It was like the cheese sauce you get at a Circle K, the kind that is made of MSG and oil and nothing that is in any way healthy. It's no wonder that I was pretty much drinking it by the ladleful.

I would have stayed there the entire evening, but unfortunately I had made promises that we would appear at other places as well. Accordingly, after two false starts, Mable and I made our goodbyes to Dave, Stephanie, and that lovely dip, and piled into the car for the short trip up to Halloween Mike's.

Halloween Mike. I have no idea how long it takes for him to put together his once-yearly party, but it is always extremely rich and opulent in every way. When we walked in the door the smoke machine was rolling, the music was thumping, the alcohol was pouring, and the snack tables were overflowing with exotic imported foods from around the world. Where else could I eat chocolate-covered ginger and smoked salmon while looking at limited edition Giger art?

Unlike Dave's, there were quite a number of people at Halloween Mike's. There were both the familiar faces of people from our social network as well as a clustering of people that I have never met before. Ironically, at one point Mable and I found ourselves talking to another couple where the woman was dressed as Aphrodite and the man was a pirate. Apparently the ancient god(dess)/pirate pairing was popular this year, or at least not unique to us.

I don't know how late we stayed out, but we didn't make it to any of the other parties on our list. I knew of at least one other that I wanted to go to, but after the two decadent events that we hit I was one exhausted reveler. For the record, though, togas are not only exceedingly comfortable to wear, they're a cinch to take off at the end of the evening!

-Z

Current Mood: devious
Current Music: Alien Ant Farm, "Glow"

Stuffington's
Although I'm always very busy these days, I do my best to keep my relationship interesting. One of the lifebloods of a good relationship is novelty, and I'm always searching out new places to go and things to do, if only to keep the situation fresh and my better half entertained. Accordingly, last week I booked a tour of the Stuffington Bear Factory here in Phoenix, the oldest teddy bear factory in the United States. I had driven by it some time ago, and I noted that the sign in front of the building advertised that they gave free tours daily. On the little notepad ubiquitously kept in the central console of my car I jotted down its address, and a few days ago I finally had the free moment to give them a call.

The factory itself is a rather unassuming structure, a large warehouse on the north side of a major throughfare that is only identifiable by the sign in front and a giant, overstuffed teddy bear in a transparent window on its third floor. I had always wondered what went on inside, but I never let my curiousity get the better of me and explored it further. Most of the time it looked abandoned, as I never saw cars in the front lot and the building never seemed to have any lights on. But sure enough, it was both habitated and functioning, and after calling them I found out that they are one of only two teddy bear factories still running in the US. With this information in mind, I knew I had to learn more.

I surprised Mable by first telling her that we were going somewhere that day, and with her firmly in the passenger's seat I began my drive downtown. I let slip that I had a surprise planned, but she wasn't able to come up with our destination because she was expecting that I was taking her to a restaurant. As a matter of fact, she didn't have a clue as to where we were going until I parked beside the glass doors leading into the building.

The lobby of Stuffington's is half-retail shop and half-workshop, with a sales counter, a polyester blower, and dozens of large bins full of the skins of animals not yet stuffed. People can select the skins that they want and have them filled and sewn while they wait, rather like the popular Build-A-Bear stores that seem to be proliferating as of late. At my urging Mable chose a particularly cute panda skin, and we took its deflated body with us as we started the tour through the facility.

We were the only people who had signed up for the tour that day, but this turned out in our favor because we pretty much received special treatment as we went from station to station. At first I thought we were only going to be shown how the machines in the retail area worked, but we were soon taken through the double-doors into the factory itself, and we were able to watch how the pattern jigsaw cut the skins fifty sheets at a time, how a stitcher sewed the skins inside-out, and how a high-density stuffing machine blew giant gobs of fluffy guts into an assembled bearskin through a carefully-placed (ahem) orifice. The whole process was fascinating, although to be honest it was a little horrifying as well. As a kid, you have certain ideas about your stuffed animals, and something about seeing them there as floppy skins and unsewn buttons and eviscerated stuffing left me little unnerved. The methodical nature of construction was amazing, but something about it reminded me more than just a little of watching a reverse autopsy.

Mable now has a new panda named Lucky. He has a star for a heart and a special birth certificate showing that he was adopted by us. I believe that this brings the total stuffed panda collection in the apartment up to twenty or so.

Happy day.

-Z

Current Mood: touched
Current Music: Gwen Stefani ft. Akon, "The Sweet Escape"

Edifice
Hyman Rickover once said, “if you’re going to sin, sin against God, not the bureaucracy; God will forgive you but the bureaucracy won’t.”

I've been watching my family struggle for months against the bureaucracy. Some days I think that we're winning; on others, I think that we're being toyed with and it's only a matter of time before the whole thing falls apart. I try to always hold out hope, but despair is usually at the doorstep, trying to get in. Today is a case study of how close it is, as we had a major setback. I'm trying to tough it out and look on the bright side, but it's not easy - bright sides come rarely these days in the House of the Elder Z.

If you pray, say a prayer for my family. I'm doing fine, but the rest of them could really use some good thoughts

-Z

Current Mood: sad
Current Music: Ben Folds Five, "Brick"

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