The Turkey's Revenge

Hello all! It's been way too long...and I've decided I need to keep up with this blog.

So to start things off (after a couple years of neglect), here is a fun, slightly crazy, holiday story I wrote awhile back.

* * *

            I walked up and down the aisles of Walgreens, passing shelves full of office supplies, over-the-counter drugs, and candy bars. Nope, nope and no. The turkey baster had to be here somewhere.

            I backtracked to the center aisle, hoping to stumble upon the holiday section from there. The obnoxious toddler was still opening singing Birthday cards in the Hallmark aisle, and an older man in sweatpants surreptitiously stuffed a diet coke into his pocket. Finally, I spotted the brown and red tuft of a toy turkey poking out from behind the cheap T-shirt stand.

            I turned the corner and stopped short. The lone turkey that I thought led to my Thanksgiving utensil, was surrounded by a red, green, and white explosion of tinsel and plush. Smiling Santas jeered at me from all angles. Fake snow fell down from the ceiling. Candy canes lined the shelves like Nazi prison guards.

            And my toy turkey that had filled me with hope only moments before? It was just that…a turkey. Stuffed into the corner. Overtaken by Christmas cheer. Forgotten before I even had a chance to celebrate its designated holiday.

            A Walgreen’s employee walked by me, outfitted in the navy blue vest with a “Hello my name is…” sticker above the front pocket.

            “Um, excuse me. Hello?” I said, waving my hands in front of him. He looked surprised to find another person in this god-forsaken aisle.

            “Can I help you find anything?" he asked. "Maybe show you to the stocking stuffers? We are having a sale on mini-hand sanitizers. They’re ginger-bread scented.”

            I shuddered at the thought of hands that smelled like cookies. Gross. “Well, no, not exactly. I’m actually looking for a turkey baster.”

            “Turkey baster? But that’s Thanksgiving merchandize.”

            “Well, yeah. Considering tomorrow is Thanksgiving, I assumed you would carry it.”

            A short laugh escaped his lips, like he thought I was joking. When I didn’t follow up with the punch line, he grew serious. “We got rid of those weeks ago. Around Halloween.”

            “Halloween? But then what did you do with the Halloween candy, if you were selling turkey basters?”

            “Halloween candy was sold out back in September.” He had crossed his arms in front of his chest, obviously growing impatient.

            “But…but…turkey basters? In Halloween?”

            “Look, if you don’t need anything, I’ll just be go—”

            “Need anything? I need my turkey baster!”

            “Sorry miss.” He brushed past me, probably going to rearrange some jingling ornaments on a fake tree.

            I stood in the middle of the aisle, unsure of what to do. Obviously it was some kind of conspiracy. They probably had Easter egg sales for New Year’s. My God.

            I turned back to look at the discarded toy turkey. The left wing had been torn off, and one of its eyes was holding on by a string. Poor thing. Underappreciated and overlooked.

            The soundtrack of “White Christmas” emanating from a singing snowman brought me back to my senses. It was maddening.

            And I wasn’t going to stand for it.

            After quickly checking over my shoulder for on-lookers, I crept over to the snow globes. Happy prancing reindeer were frolicking under the sparkling snow. I picked up one, held it for a second, and let it drop. The glass shattered against the tiled floor, snow globe juice oozing out. It felt good.

            I swiped the counter clean of the snow globes, relishing in the deafening crack as each one hit the floor. And I didn’t stop there. I ripped the tinsel out of their packages, ripped the heads off stuffed Santas, shot candy canes like darts at the far wall.

The Walgreen’s employee, who was so helpful before, came running up the aisle. “Are you crazy?!” he shouted.

            I let out a crazed laugh, chocolate snowflake in one hand and the singing snowman in the other.

            The employee had spotted the snowman. It still spit out Christmas carols in a preppy voice.

            “What...what are you going to do?” the employee asked, hands stretched toward me.

            “His white Christmas is about to be brown.” I unwrapped the snowflake. The chocolate was slightly melted from sitting under florescent lights all day.

            “No! Wait!”

            It was too late. I smashed the chocolate into the snowman’s face, rubbing it in to its plush features. I held it high up over my head, for the whole store to see.

            “Revenge!” I scream. “Turkey revenge!”

* * *

Happy Thanksgiving everyone! (And to all a good night!)

SUP

Row, row, row your boat,

Gently down the stream.

Merily, merily, merily, merily

Life is but a dream.

Correction. Apparently it’s now row your skateboard, gently down the sidewalk. And judging from the amount of effort this guy put into hauling his skating-boarding self up a hill, life is most certainly not a dream.

It was high noon in the middle of the summer in my little college town, the time where most sane people are hiding inside under the ceiling fan. I was making my way back home from work, tunes blasting from the car speakers and all four front seat vents blowing cold air at me (and I truly am sorry for all of those people out there with broken and/or non-existent A/C systems in your vehicles…I don’t know if I could survive without one).

Anyway, I’m stopped at one of the numerous intersections on the main road, when I noticed movement off to the side of the road. At first glance it looked like it was just a guy skate-boarding around town, but on second glance (yes, I actually did a legitimate double-take here) I saw that he wasn’t using his legs to propel himself forward, but his arms! He was pushing himself down the street, using a giant black metal pole like a boat oar (except we were nowhere near a body of water).

It kind of reminded me of those guys you see in Hawaii who appear to be floating on top of the water (I swear they just glide across the surface like Jesus!), but are really paddling while standing on a surfboard. What is that sport even called? Hang on…Google search! (Whatever did we do to look up information before the Internet?)

...

Ha! And apparently it’s actually called “Stand Up Paddle Surfing”. SUP, for short. Or if you want to be really hip and use the Hawaiian language it’s “Hoe He’e Nalu” (I wish I knew how to pronounce that correctly!). Pretty awesome, if you ask me.

Hmmm and it looks like this sport can get really crazy, really fast! Check out this guy!

Cowabunga! (Yes, I know, I'm a dork.)

Now I wonder if this skate-boarding-paddler I saw was simply practicing for SUP...sharpening his skills for when he's suddenly faced with a wave like the one in the picture. He can’t really participate in the actual SUP sport unless he wants to drive about an hour and a half west. But skateboard-paddling has got all the same techniques, and it can be done in the comfort of one's hometown…only instead of falling into water if you mess up, you’ll land on concrete. Eh…minor details!

And think of all that muscle-toning action going on! Just one push probably takes an incredible amount of upper arm strength (and balance to stay upright on the skate-board). This is starting to sound like a great work-out option.

So take home lesson for the day? Next time you find yourself needing to make a trip to the gym to lift weights, run in circles, etc. Simply grab a skateboard and a long metal pole, and you’ll be golden!

A Fond Farewell

We are here today to celebrate the life of Borders Booksellers. In only a few short weeks, Borders will be closing its doors forever. I can’t say the death of Borders came as a surprise. Individual stores have been shutting down one by one for weeks. I had held onto the small hope that somehow, someway, Borders could pull its way out of the economic slump it fell into. But alas! The pressure of Kindles and eBooks everywhere grew to be too much for a simple paperback bookseller to handle.

Borders was a dear friend of mine. I will sincerely miss those rainy afternoons when the warmth of a Borders mocha latte and the sweet smell of brand new books offered me comfort. Within the walls of a Borders store, thousands of exotic worlds and whirlwind adventures awaited me with open pages. In times of need, a trip to the nearest Borders would brighten up my day.

Being in the center of a small college town, Borders understood the life of the struggling student. Every day I could rely on Borders to deliver a discount coupon, straight to my inbox. No questions asked. I recall the day I was able to buy a $20 hardback for only $0.62. Friendship like that cannot be replaced.

So it is with great sadness that I say farewell to my favorite bookseller. Farewell to lazy afternoons spent wandering the bookshelves. Farewell to great deals on books I couldn’t find anywhere else.

Do not forget Borders Booksellers, for it shall live on in my bookworm heart and nerdy soul forever.

To Hell and Back Again

Literally. I was there. Just two days ago. Right smack in the middle of Hell.

No joke.

I even have proof:

You believe me now, yes? I thought you might.

Hell. On Grand Cayman Island of the British West Indies. And for all you non-believers out there who need even more proof, I have a map!

It’s right across from Rum Point, of all places! I admit, I didn’t believe it myself at first, but it’s hard to deny the cold hard evidence of official signs and purple maps.

Let me paint you a picture of Hell. It’s definitely hot. Got up to 40⁰C the other day. If you noticed the absence of a “degrees Fahrenheit”, then you’re already one step ahead of their trickeries...you might survive. You see, in Hell they use alternate measuring units to confuse you. Throw you off your game. Celsius instead of Fahrenheit. Kilometers instead of miles. And they don’t stop there! Cars are driving on the other side of the road. School buses are white instead of yellow. Teenagers are ordering drinks from the bar. Legally!

It’s mind-boggling.

As you enter Hell, you come across Hell Road, on which you will find a Church of Hell, Hell’s gas station and the post office of Hell…You can’t make this stuff up!

And where would we be without the Devil’s Hangout? The official gift shop of Hell? Obviously Hell has to get its funding from somewhere. Tourism is the answer, folks! They’ve got T-shirts and key chains and rum cake galore! No snow globes. I checked.

Yes, Hell is quite the happening place. Who would’ve thought you’d find it right in the middle of paradise?

Sweet & Sour

You’re halfway through the longest car ride of your life. The music play list started to repeat songs an hour ago. Your chauffeur—I mean, driver—I mean, gracious friend who offered to haul your ass all the way across the state, is way too focused on swerving in and out of rush hour traffic to entertain you. The other people in the car are ignoring you (or maybe they really are fast asleep in the back). And you’ve run out of interesting car games to play. There’s nothing for you to do but stare blankly out the window, and even that loses its appeal after hours of trying to distinguish one painted white road line from the next.

So you take to people watching. A mini-van drives by with one of those built-in DVD players that you’re parents always said they would install, but never did. You can almost make out what movie is playing before the van falls back into the swarm of on-coming cars. One passenger in a nearby car has her feet dangling out the window, and you spend a few glorious minutes working out how she could possibly be comfortable. You watch two kids fighting in the back of a Volvo, until their mom turns around to break them up. A golden retriever lazily sticks it head out of the window, ears flopping in the breeze. A school bus pulls up alongside your car, complete with sing-a-long-tunes and a bored bus driver.

The bus has just about passed you, when you notice someone starting back. He’s an average boy. Probably in high school. But he sees you. And you see him. Instead of quickly turning away as most people tend to do, he smiles and flashes you a hang-loose sign out the window. With nothing else to do you return the gesture, just as the bus pulls out of your line of sight.

And now your back to counting mile markers: Mile 65. Mile 66. Mile 67. You wonder what you’re 67 miles from. Mile 68. Mile 69.

The same bus is back. The same boy stares at you from the window. But he’s not alone. Now there are three others looking back. The boy points to you, and yet again holds up a hang-loose sign. You retaliate with a rock-on/peace-out combination. The boys cheer, fists pumping in the air.

And you’ve passed the bus. But now you keep an eye out for it. From the side mirror you can just see it starting to speed up again. It disappears from view, and you twist around in your seat in anticipation. However, the bus is changing lanes away from you, heading toward Exit 7C.

Just as the bus hits the off-ramp, and you’ve all but given up hope for a new form of entertainment, you catch a glimpse of the boy, still staring out the window. You wave a small good-bye, that he returns, as you speed off down the highway.

* * *

“Did this actually happen?” you may ask. Yes and no. The little twit never actually waved back at me. And I was having so much fun too! So what did we learn from this little adventure?

Life Lesson #45: Always wave back.

It tends to make the world a better place.

Accentos

What is it about a different dialect that is so appealing to our American ears? If a guy even has a hint of a sexy British accent, the girls start swooning. Is it the language itself that is so exotic? Or is it the fact that these people with accents are usually foreign and therefore more interesting?

Either way, when I sit down in my Stats lecture that is taught by a British professor, I am way more likely to pay attention than in my boring Physics class where the professor is about American as you can get. The fact is, my British professor makes Stats sound way more fancy. For example, we don’t have data that is crap. No way. We have “rubbish”. And we’re not doing a really great job on the practice problems. We have “good form”. If only I could pull that off! But any American who says “Cheerio mates!” always gets weird looks from the people nearby.

So my friend and I got to talking…what if we did have accents? And none of this “American accent” crap (that’s just a ruse to make us think we’re as cool as people with real accents…don’t want to feel left out now, do we?). No, I’m talking about the sultry sounds from across the Atlantic: Irish, French, Italian…the possibilities are endless!

Personally, I’d go with the Australian accent. Not only do they pronounce our English words with a fluid tone that seems to make everyone around them happier, but they make up their own words as well. “Barbies” for barbeques. “Grog” for beer. “Lollies” for candy. “Arvo” for afternoon. “Sunnies” for sunglasses. And my personal favorite: the “didgeridoo”. Just rolls off the tongue, doesn’t it? Did-ger-i-doo. I could keep repeating that all day, and never get tired of it! Not to mention it’s a pretty epic instrument:

So while I try to hitchhike my way over to Australia to practice my accent, I encourage the rest of you to find a favorite accent of your own. Mostly because it’s fun and partly because I don’t want to be the only one making a fool out of myself. And if anyone knows where I can get my hands on one of those snazzy instruments, let me know.

G’day mates!

Micro Madness

Another quarter has come and gone, and while in some cases I thank the Lord that my classes are over (hint hint: Archaeology), there are some classes that I wish I could continue with. One in particular that comes to mind is MIC 101: Introduction to Microbiology. (And here’s where my inner bio nerd emerges).

Not only is the subject fascinating (at least to me…there are probably many people who would like to kill it with fire), but the Professor was fantastic! Ever have that one teacher who is really interested in his field of study, and actually likes to teach others? This would be my Professor, except he is ten times more easy-going and entertaining. And this guy has done everything from being a flight attendant to working the Olympic games as a “bouncer” (and eventually he became a Microbiologist…obviously).

Anyway, what I love about him is his ability to bring humor into his lectures, labs and even his tests. And I think it is safe to say that people remember jokes much better than straight facts.

So as a tribute to the awesome-ness that was my MIC 101 class/Professor, I’ve stockpiled a few of his famous quotes from the class Lab Manual and Midterm questions. My Professor writes everything himself (which is why every other word in the quotes will be capitalized…don’t ask me why he does it, he just does) and you don’t have to know something about Microbiology to laugh out loud.

Without further ado, I present to you my list of “Micro Madness” (and believe me, there are many more quotes that I have not listed here…these are just the best). And hey, maybe you’ll learn something along the way…

Lab Manual Guidelines

“We know you’re from The Bay Area, that you Father owns The Bahamas, and that you grew-up with Live-In Maid Service. But this is MIC 101 and we’re not paid to clean-up after you.”

“Individual Petri Plates do not need to be taped shut. Gravity has proven to be quite reliable in all of our Incubators.”

“Prometheus stole Fire from Zeus for you, so put it to good Use.”

“If your Microscope is not being kept Clean and you’re doing your part, call you TA over prior to storing you Microscope. Your TA can then vouch for your Clean-Up and can initiate a Search for the Guilty Party – and then we’ll take them down the Hall and throw them against that big Window a few Times until they realize the Error of their Ways.”

“Wind the cord neatly between the Binocular Eyepieces…Whoopie-Ti-Yi-Yo Lariat Style. What! You’ve never ridden a Horse? Then, Dude, wind it like you’d wind your Vacuum Cleaner Cord.”

“That’s how we did it BC (before Calculators).”

“It’s kind of like how after being molested by an Apple Tree, kidnapped by Flying Monkeys, and traumatized by The Wicked Witch of the West, Dorothy learns from The Witch of the North that she really didn’t have to experience any of these stressful Events. ‘You always had the Ruby Slippers.’ If you were Dorothy wouldn’t you want to haul-off and punch Glinda’s Lights out? But I digress.”

“A Colony of Bacteria is like an American City. In the Outer Suburbs at the Edges of the Colony, the bacteria have Access to lots of Nutrients so they’re adding a Redwood Deck in their Back Yards, taking their Kids to Soccer Practice in the Lexus RX 400h, and enjoying Sunday Afternoon Rides along the Hike-n-Bike Nature Trails. These are Happy bacteria…But in the Inner City at the Center of the Colony, the bacteria have depleted just about all the Nutrients. Life is Rough. There are Half-Empty Steel Reserve 211 Malt Liquor 40s in the Streets. They’ve got Serious Problems with Drugs, Drive-By Shootings and Teen Pregnancy. These are not Happy Bacteria.”

“If you do not pass this Oral Quiz the First Time we’ll give you another Chance. If you don’t pass the Oral Quiz the Second Time, we’ll call your Mother and tell her you’re just too Dumb to get a [college] degree. This will undoubtedly break her Heart but that’s not our Problem.”

“STOP! You have landed on a ‘Take an Oral Quiz’ Square. Answer me these Questions Three, ere The Ground Beast Sample you’ll see.”

“Please return this Ruler before you leave the Lab. Otherwise sometime very, very early Tomorrow Morning your Bedroom Lights are going to snap ‘On’ and Angela is going to be standing at the Foot of your Bed asking, ‘OK, Buster. Where is it?’”

“If you ask for the Wrong Biochemical Test Media we’ll announce this over a Portable Megaphone to the entire Lab. Everyone will point at you and laugh. You will be immensely Traumatized; so much so that you’ll give up on ever getting a [college] Degree and end-up working as a Night Shift Cashier at the Flying J Truck Plaza in Winnemucca, Nevada. You don’t want this to happen. It’s just too Awful for Words.”

“The Biochemical Tests are kind of like asking your Lab Partner if they have a Pet with Fur or a Pet with Feathers; then asking if their Pet is a Herbivore or a Carnivore. Just those two Questions could distinguish four very different Pets: a Dwarf Rabbit, a Siamese Cat, a Canary and an Owl.

Does it have Fur or does it have Feathers? (It has Feathers)

Is it an Herbivore or is it a Carnivore? (it’s a Carnivore)

Sometimes we’ll ask an additional Question to really nail-down an ID:

Does it reliably deliver Mail to Hogwarts? (Sometimes)

OK, it must be Errol.”

Test Questions

(and these are all from actual questions on his midterms)

#17) The staccato Tap, Tap Tapping of Jimmy Choos precedes the Appearance of Our Evil Scientist in her Lab Assistant Carl’s Office Door. Carl – a former East German Olympic Gold Medal Swimmer – was making Reservations for a Weekend Getaway at Point Reyes. His Thumbs pause in Mid-Air over his beloved iPhone with its Pikachu Skin.

“I certainly hope I’m not interrupting any Weekend Plans,” Our Evil Scientist hisses, “But I’d really like you to bring me the Overheads to use in my Monday Presentation on Gram Negative Bacterial Cell Wall Structure. And I’d really like you to do it no. And I do mean right now.” Grabbing Carl’s iPhone from his Hands she intones, “Bring the Overheads to my Office when you want it back, Speedo.”

And with that, the staccato Tap, Tap, Tapping of Jimmy Choos – along with Carl’s beloved iPhone – recedes down the Hallway. Carl sighs. But then he high-ho’s himself off to work.

**Please check your Scantron for Idiotic Mistakes**

You have just answered Question 17.

#23) Our Evil Scientist asks Carl to make Batches of two different Media. Carl is busy sorting the Overheads she requested earlier and mouths her Words while making a mocking Face. He belatedly realizes the Our Evil Scientist can see this Pantomime reflected in the Lab Cabinet Window. Oops.

They lock Eyes, Reflection to Reflection, as she speaks very slowly and very distinctly and very menacingly: “Do – it – now – Speedo…Or – I – will – wax – your – Legs.”

Carl does a Wilhelm. He does not ever want to experience that again and he immediately decides that sorting the Overheads can wait.

**Please check your Scantron for Point Mutations or Frameshifts**

You have just answered Question 23.

#25) Our Evil Scientist asks her Lab Assistant Carl to make two different Batches of Media and to use these Media to simultaneously isolate both Aerobic and Microaerophilic Bacteria.

“The last Lab Assistant who tried to simultaneously isolate Aerobic and Microaerophilic Bacteria for me did not succeed. So I keyed his brand new shiny Dyno Blue Pearl Honda Civic Si Coupe. Iʼve noticed your brand new shiny Black Sapphire Metallic BMW 335i Coupe in the Parking Lot. You wouldn’t want anything to happen to it, would you?”

No, Carl does not want anything to happen to his brand new shiny Black Sapphire Metallic BMW 335i Coupe. Definitely not. He does not enjoy hearing any of Our Evil Scientist’s horrific and all too plausible Scenarios.

“Then let’s hop to it, Speedo!”

Quick like a Bunny Carl goes to the Lab Computer to look-up the Recipes for Our Evil Scientist’s Media

**Please check your Scantron for Boneheaded Mistakes**

You have just answered Question 25.

#26) “Why would a Demonstrator in Tahrir Square be wearing Jimmy Choos?”

The Screen on Carl’s MacBook Air slaps shut and the all-too Live Image of Our Evil Scientist replaces the Live Internet Feed from Al Jazeera that Carl had been watching. They lock Eyes for a few tense Seconds. Then Out Evil Scientist speaks.

“I’ve been going over the Lab Grants and there just might not be enough Money for two Business Class Seats – 6A and 6B – for the 15 Hour and 45 Minute SFO-DXB Flight for our Conference in Dubai. So I might have to put one of us in Coach. Seat 50F – a Non-Reclining Bulkhead Seat in the Middle of the last Row of the Emirates 777-300ER – is still available. But don’t worry, the Return DXB-SFO Flight is only 15 Hours and 30 Minutes.”

Our Evil Scientist smiles with an Expression indicating that she isn’t overwhelmed with Sympathy and Compassion for Carl’s Plight.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Can you remember if all Yersinia Strains are Virulent? In you can, maybe I could come up with Funds to keep you in Seat 6B.”

Sixteen Hours in a Middle Seat in Coach that doesn’t recline?!? Yes, you bet Carl can remember!

* * *

Thanks for all the laughs, Professor! You made the many hours spent studying worthwhile.

Helter-Skelter Turkeys

Monday. 5 PM. Prime traffic time. And the fact that I live in a small town has no effect what-so-ever on the amount of people out on the roads at 5 PM. Rush hour is still rush hour.

I had just spent the last ten minutes behind a slow-moving Prius that decided to stop every time a bus pulled off the road and wait for it to pull back out (Seriously people? The bus pulls off the road for a reason! So that you can go around it!).

Anyway...

The Prius turns off the main road, and I’m finally free. So, naturally, I start speeding up and shifting gears like I’m in a Formula One racecar. I’m enjoying the open road in front of me, when a movement on the side of the road catches my eye. A rafter (yes, I looked that word up!) of turkeys was hanging out on the side of the road. Wild turkeys!

And before I knew what was happening, one of those turkeys decided it wanted to be on the other side of the road, and promptly walked right in front of my car. I slammed on the brakes to avoid squashing to poor, oblivious turkey, and watched as more of his little buddies decided to take a stroll into oncoming traffic as well. I almost laughed out loud! Every time I tried to drive past, another turkey stepped out in front of me.

Now some people were not so excited about the turkeys. A big, giant pick-up truck started blasting his horn and tried to go around me (a little rude if I do say so. Impatient much?). So Angry Pick-Up Driver was pretty confused when he found his path blocked by a turkey. Haha!

So before you embark on your next driving excursion, be sure to check the road for turkeys. They seem to be out on some sort of suicide mission…and “squashed by tires” is not a good way to go.

Guitar-Playing Guru

It was yet another lovely day during my college career, and I was walking from my apartment to the bus stop. Trying not to dwell on where my bus was taking me (DIE Intro to Archaeology!) I instead focused on what a Bee-U-tiful day it was outside (and after having spent the last few weeks in never-ending fog, the sun was quite a sight!).

Anywho, as I got closer to the bus stop, I heard the strumming of guitar chords amongst the various car horns and screeching tires. And lo and behold! A guy was leaning back against the bus stop, guitar in hand.

I noticed his very spiffy combination of purple Vans and a blue plaid hat as I walked past him to sit on the bench. And as I waited for my bus to arrive, I listened to the Guitar-Playing Guru just strumming along. It was like my own mini-concert! Even better, a free mini-concert. And this guy was good. Not off tune. Not trying to be Carlos Santana and then promptly messing up all the fancy guitar riffs. Just a simple melody. It was nice.

A while later, a car pulled up to the light by the bus stop. As is typical in a college town, the driver was blasting their music out of the speakers, windows down, for the entire world to hear. And what does the Guitar-Playing Guru do? He started strumming along with the radio station! Just like that! Now I’ve taken a few guitar lessons, and it’s hard enough to learn the songs they assign you with the sheet music in front of you and a few hours of practice. This guy heard a random song on the radio, and started playing along with it like he’d known it by heart for years! A-Mazing.

Another few minutes went by and the bus had yet to appear (no surprise there). But soon the strumming slow downed and the Guitar-Playing Guru packed up his guitar (sad, right?). Assuming my free-concert was over, I reached for my iPod to have something to do. Right before I put in my earphones, I heard something else: a slow sort of whistling, with a few tinkling notes in-between. When I glance over at the Guitar-Playing Guru, he has pulled out another instrument from his backpack full of wonders.

The only way I can describe this instrument is as the “piano-flute”. Type that into Google and something actually comes up! And I included a picture of this mysterical instrument for your viewing pleasure…just ignore the bug-eyed glasses, and focus on what the woman is playing.

This is what the Guitar-Playing Guru pulled out...except his was green (much more trendy). Pretty cool, huh? If anyone out there actually knows what this instrument is, let me know.

Eventually my bus did come, and I had to leave the Guitar-Playing Guru behind. But my day had become considerably brighter. That spontaneous guitar playing made me happy! I could walk into archaeology with a smile…quite a concept! And his easy-going tune still sang through my thoughts hours after.

Rocks and Dirt

I’m sitting in what is fast becoming my least favorite class of the quarter, Introduction to Archaeology, when my Professor decides he isn’t going to show up that day. So what do the dutiful TA’s do? They put in an educational movie. What else?

My friend diligently starts typing notes on the off chance that my professor puts a random movie factoid on the midterm (which he does eventually), and I open my computer and start Internet surfing!

However, after about five minutes of seeing “Inbox: 0”, “Messages: 0”, “Notifications: -1”, I give up and reluctantly start taking notes.

And this is what I ended up with (no joke…I copied/pasted this directly from my notes):

Movie Day: Plunder

• Guys in some southern country are grave diggers

Just throwing rocks every which way

Smuggle stuff to someplace (very risky)

BUT (could it be?) most of museum artifacts might be smuggled in from their country of origin

• Have auctions for fancy/old art

Origins of such pieces are very suspicious

Higher prices encourage more plundering (b/c there’s lots of profit to be made)

“Field” Archaeologists: a euphemism for THEIF!?!!??! …who knows

• Villagers in Peru started looking through dirt to find stuff left over from ancestors

Some villagers had ulterior motives, and sold artifacts on black market

Authorities shooed them away with guns

• Guy with beard: worked with Sweatnam guys smuggling goods

Guy with beard turns on them! And records their telephone calls

FBI busted into Sweatnam house

Sweatnam said, “We were only harmless art traders. This felt like a drug deal”

• Still not so good relations between Peru and US (no…really?!?!?!)

BTW- it’s a crime to smuggle artifacts

Sweatnam guys get the stuff back (???)

And local Peruvian police still can’t do much to stop plundering

You can tell I was really paying attention that day.

Except it wasn’t just that day. I haven’t bothered to tune into that class since Day 1 when all my Professor had to talk about was the class syllabus. And who could blame me? I’ve spent every lecture going over the techniques of “flint-napping” (aka: rock chipping), the importance of clay vs. ceramics (because, apparently, there’s a difference), and perfecting the art of digging. In the end, you have an old guy with a beard and a toothbrush on his hands and knees in the dirt. And what are we learning from all of this backbreaking work in the field? A few theories? Maybe a hypothesis here or there about how life might have been? It’s all speculation! You find a couple of acorns that look like they’ve been gnawed on and it’s automatically assumed that early humans’ primary diet was a few nuts.

And no offense to all of those Archaeology majors out there (who, by now, are shaking their heads at my ignorance of the trade), but I just don’t see the point. Don’t get me wrong…I understand why we should remember our past. And I see how it could be interesting to study human evolution. But is it really necessary to force students to memorize the differences between the Cultural Historic Period and the Explanatory Period of Archaeological thought? Um, no. Not really.

So for all you die-hard Indian Jones fans who just had their happiness crushed by an Introductory Archaeology class, I suggest finding a new elective for the rest of the quarter. That, or BS you’re way through the assignments and watch “Raiders of the Lost Ark” all night long!