Too quiet. At times like these I imagine the fraud police pounding on the door and advising me of my right to disavow any pretention of archaeological expertise. You know the feeling. Not enough preparation. Oblivious. Wrong-headed. Out of my depth. Ignorant. At best misguided. And it’s times like these that I resort to soul food. I’m talkin’ ’bout ethanol. Hooch. Booze. Grog. Tonight, it’s the cheapest bang for my buck I could find in the local suds shop. If you can believe it, 1.75 L of 80% proof Vodka for US $9.99. Ain’t no cheaper this side of the Elysian Fields. I’m still tryin’ ta find something better than a Bloody Mary to mask the distinct vodka volatiles. I’ve tried Pepsi. Coke. Coke from Mexico made with real cane sugar [that’s way better, all by itself!], orange juice [or, if you prefer, a Golden Screwdriver–the only thing screwed after a few too many is you, and the only gold is the pee], grapefruit juice [? You must be joking]. I’ve even tried those cats-and-dogs sleeping together, wrath o’ god type fusion drinks, like lemon-honey cucumber and pear-avocado raspberry. Putrid.
Tonight I’m almost euphoric [even before the ethanol!] because I have a total of 4.5 days of gainful employment before I’m even more gainfully quasi-retired! But there’s not even 4 days of work left. Monday’ll be a write-off because it’s the annual holiday celebration of the University of California Observatories and Lick Observatory. I’ll be bizzy all day wandering around making sure everybody’s doing what they’re supposed to be doing and generally making a pest of myself. That leaves 3.5 days. The last half day will prolly be taken up saying good-bye to all and sundry. That leaves 3 days. I’ll prolly be numb Tuesday morning ’cause of the party at the Parish Publick House in my honour after Monday’s DRY holiday celebration [that’s officially an oxymoron. No?]. That leaves 2.5 days. My co-workers will be standing in line waiting for me to whisper the magic incantations that they’ll need after I’m gone, just to begin to try to do what I’ve been doing for them for 8+ years. I’ll need all my patience those days.
And then? Then it’s Christmas. Prolly by myself ’cause my family was going to go to Costa Rica but that fell through. Then Abby asked her mum if they couldn’t do something else. So. Alone I’ll be. That’s not a badness. Many of you know that I actually prefer alone-ness to together-ness when that means being around a bunch of people whose mere presence makes me fearful of making an ass of myself and have them let me know. Alone can be good. Besides, I’m never alone with my maintenance dose of ethanol!
There’ll prolly be little to complain about of an archaeological nature for the next few weeks. So I’ll take this opportunity to wish you all a joyous holiday season and a better new year than the best one you can remember. That, for me, would probably be my first year [if it were possible to remember it!]. Nothin’ to do but eat and poop. The only possibility of a better year would be one in which all you had to do was eat, poop, and screw. It’s a little creepy to leave you with that thought. But, if you can come up with a better way of life, let me know. You’ll get a Golden Marshalltown for your troubles.
Whatever your faith, your philosophical persuasion, have a happy holiday time.
I’ll be back soon.
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