First Snow, now Milton's?

Following up on a tip from my wife who saw a film crew at nearby Milton's restaurant earlier this morning, I wrapped up in my winter coat and set out to see what was up. It was the cast and crew working on "First Snow."



From what I could gather from the limited amount of time I surveyed the scene, they were fixing to shoot a scene inside where it was warm. Obviously they weren't looking for any extra extras, so I soon turned back and headed back home to my painting project.

out of gas

Snapped these photos Saturday afternoon at Isotopes Park of Texas State Bobcats outfielder Elliot Babcock trying to stretch a two-run double into a triple against the UNM Lobos.

He was MEAT!

First Snow ... first day

I got a call late Saturday night from the casting director of “First Snow” asking me if I could work as an extra on Monday, the first day of filming. For one or more reasons, they had decided to either use me as a janitor cleaning the floors, or as a random shopper walking around inside Winrock Mall. Of course I was willing, otherwise I would never have gone to the audition. I also had no conflicts with my schedule. After all, where on earth could anyone possibly have to be at six in the morning?

So I arrived at the mall a little before six AM, and began the process of looking for someone who could either check me in, or direct me to the extras area. In this case, we were being held in an abandoned store inside the mall, just beyond Bed Bath & Beyond. For those of you not familiar with Albuquerque, Winrock Mall is one of several nails driven into the economic heart of the downtown when it was constructed conveniently close to I-40 back in the early 1960s. Forty some odd years later, the mall itself resembles some sort of futuristic ghost town more than anything else. I heard rumors that it is due to be renovated and possibly converted back into an outdoor mall. At any rate, a total of 10 people were brought in as extras. Half were ladies, the rest… dudes. Interestingly, 9 of the 10 people had been told during the extras audition that they would likely be used in the “pub scene.” Whatever.

Every group has one- the guy who will talk to anyone, and ends up talking to everyone if given the opportunity. No, I’m not that fella! In this case, ours was a Wal-mart employee who also claimed to have had a bit part in the HBO series “Band of Brothers.” I never saw an episode of that show, so I really have no idea if he was telling anything even close to the truth. However, I suppose anything is possible. The guy I’m talking about looked almost exactly like Greg Brady. I don’t mean the young Greg Brady from the Brady Bunch television series, but the middle-aged actor who played Greg Brady in the most recent Brady Bunch reunion show. I would say that the best thing about this type of person is standing back and watching the crowd part as he entered a room full of people.

As I typed previously, Monday was the first day of filming for the movie. If pressed for a description, I would have to call it as I saw it from my perspective, “organized chaos.” It seemed like most of the crew were frantic trying to learn how to communicate with each other, and as expected, there was a LOT of hurrying up and waiting to be done. The caterers were behind schedule. The lighting crew appeared frazzled. People with clipboards seemed both angry and tired.

The stand-in for Adam Scott (one of the principal actors) was late, so I was pulled out of the extras pool and asked to serve as stand-in for the stand-in. Basically, I spent the next 20 minutes shadowing Adam as he rehearsed a scene with Guy Pearce. In the scene, Guy and Adam were walking through the mall discussing personal current events. At one point, Guy squatted down and said something along the lines of “Looks like someone’s been pissing on your floors.” Adam responded by blaming it on the Garcia brothers. Pretty dramatic if you ask me!

I was impressed by the fact that Guy Pearce’s character was supposed to be carrying a drink in his hand while he walked, and even though he didn’t have the required prop, he held his right hand as if he was actually carrying a Styrofoam cup. Now, THAT’S acting my friends. Guy’s stand-in and I watched carefully, and took notes about body movements and hand gestures the actors made. Our job would be to recreate the scene as closely as possible for the lighting and camera crews while Guy and Adam were off to wardrobe and make-up. It was pretty entertaining. I think I would definitely enjoy serving as Paul Reuben’s stand-in for the next Pee Wee Herman movie, especially if Tim Burton were directing it.

Nevertheless, eventually the original stand-in arrived, and I was directed back to the extras holding pen. Frankly, I can’t imagine arriving late for the first day of work for even a crappy job. But as one of the first waves of Generation Xers, what do I know about today’s kids? This slacker didn’t appear to be hung over, so I suppose he thought it was more pressing to stop at Einstein’s and grab a triple lima bean sprout latte with chive than it would be to make a good impression by arriving on time. The project assistant who had selected me from the extras pool indicated that they might send him home if he ever arrived, but this kid really did resemble Adam Scott- not just in height, but also had a similar body type and hair style. I would assume that these were the qualities the camera crew really needed more than punctuality. Besides, there was no way I could have committed to giving them 12-hour days for the next six weeks as I have to many things to do to get ready for the baseball season, and with my other graphics work.

Once back in the extras tank, I did my best to answer everyone’s questions about where I had been and what I had seen. Soon after my popularity wore off, it was time to fill out paperwork to ensure that everyone (including Uncle Sam) would get paid. Then I was sent to wardrobe. It was determined that I was too tall and/or skinny for the janitorial costume, and would be used as a random mall shopper. It was strange how the two extras dressed to portray janitors looked more like “real” janitors than did the people actually janitoring at the mall. The clothing technicians present decided they couldn’t do anything to make me look more like a random shopper than what I was wearing (unbuttoned dark green flannel over a brown sweatshirt, Levi’s, brown belt, and my work boots), so they sent me on to make-up. The cosmetologists remarked that I looked perfect as is, which made me suspect that they were working for tips.

Thus, it was back to the extras holding area for me, where I spent the next 45 minutes watching an old man and his wife attempt to finish filling out his W-4 and W-9 forms. I would venture a guess that this man had every single legal document that had crossed his sixty-some odd year path stuffed into his wallet EXCEPT for his Social Security card. Eventually, the movie people decided that he wasn’t going to be able to take direction well enough to serve as an extra, and was sent packing- reducing the pool to only nine people.

By now it had to be around 8:27 am, and the time for prolonged waiting had arrived. There are many ways to pass the time in situations like this, so feel free to print out my list and stick it in your billfold in case you ever need suggestions.

1. read magazines or books (personally, I find the atmosphere too distracting for reading, but then again, I am easily entertained)
2. eat/drink/smoke (besides being served a large breakfast and lunch, the catering wagon is always open for snacks)
3. watch the crew scurry about
4. take notes for your blog
5. rank the other extras based on who you feel is the greater BS artist
6. sleep (good luck on this one!)
7. try to look important (this game gets exponentially more difficult as the day progresses)
8. even further embellish your resume
9. compile a list of players for your pending fantasy baseball team

I think it is worth mentioning that the mall walkers were quite agitated by the film crew having moved into their turf. Although the entire production resulted in a substantial shock to their normal routine, I noted that it wasn’t enough to make even a single blue hair stray from the path worn into the carpeting. Certainly the event would have provided much in the way of conversation later that afternoon as the seniors gathered for dinner at Village Inn.

A thought crossed my mind as I watch these old-timers doing their best to prolong the inevitable. Why hasn’t anyone opened an oxygen kiosk in this mall, or in malls all across America? I would think that in addition to selling oxygen, you could do a pretty decent business if you stocked designer tanks, heart monitors and other related accessories.

Eventually, the production assistant in charge of keeping tabs on all the extras broke the news that the director had decided against using any of the mall shoppers, and we were sent home around two in the afternoon. As I drove home, I thought it would be awesome if someone would roll into downtown Albuquerque and cast a bunch of the homeless people as extras in a movie. After all, the homeless are well-suited for hanging around all day, and could benefit from a few square meals and some cash in their pockets.

So, you might be wondering if I would agree to work as an extra again in the future, or if it seems like too much hassle without a guaranteed return. I would say without question that I would, even if the movie seems like it will be tragically awful. It isn’t so much that I fancy myself being discovered and getting a chance to “act” professionally, but more along the lines of I wonder how I would look on the silver screen. Besides, if I ever make it into the final cut of a movie, it will make Christmas shopping for friends and relatives a snap for a change.

every picture tells a story donut?

A day in the life on the west mesa.

casting call of the wild

I read online Friday morning about a casting call for extras taking place not far from home for a movie with the working title of “First Snow.” Although the name itself made me shiver and almost crawl back under the warm blankets, I decided that it might be interesting enough to warrant checking out.

Before hopping into the shower, I quickly printed off a self-portrait headshot and attached it to a current copy of my resume. I dressed for the type of role that I would have liked to been cast if chosen: a two-tone green thermal underwear shirt beneath a heavy pine green flannel, blue jeans, and my Redwing hiking boots.



The casting was being conducted by the Phoenix Agency in the Talent Street offices at 8809 Washington Street NE. Their studio is located in a decidedly industrial section near the northern edge of the city. There are no windows to speak of in the offices, but if the employees step out into the west parking lot they can enjoy a commanding view of the Albuquerque Balloon Fiesta Park and the Rio Grande River valley where Alameda is situated. Inactive volcanoes dot the west mesa and snow-capped Mount Taylor is clearly visible some 50 miles to the west.

I arrived at the studio right around 11:00 am, a good hour after they had opened for auditions. Overall, the process was relatively unorganized. They had plenty of waiting space available in the hallways outside the suite, but no one from the company present to direct new arrivals into the main office where you had to sign in and pick up a numbered blue card on which you record your vital information. I received card numbered 170. I would think that 170 people showing up in the first hour to apply to be an extra in a movie is a decent turn out.

Probably it goes without saying (but I will anyway) that people watching was second to none! I entertained myself by observing the reactions of people when they first arrived and attempted to make some sort of sense of the scene. I was greatly amused by the people who eventually offered instructions to the new folks on what they needed to do to begin the process. These folks are clearly nicer than me, and should receive some sort of civic award for their efforts.

By noon, the crowd of applicants had swelled to over 270 people. Old folks, middle-aged people and youngsters of all imaginable races, and a representative sampling of all three sexes were present. There seemed to be a comparatively large number of mothers with young children present- every one of which reminded me of that unfortunate Ramsey kid from Colorado. Possibly I would understand parents trying to get their kids a role in a movie along the lines of ‘Seabiscuit” or “The Goonies,” but “First Snow?” What on earth could be going through their minds? From the limited information I’ve found online, the plot for “First Snow” appears to be a man’s life going down the tubes after a psychic predicts that he is going to die. The role of the man is going to be performed by Guy Pearce. And that’s really all I know about the film.

Some people in the crowd passed the time by reading cheesy novels, while others took advantage of the down time to further embellish their resumes. The majority of the rest seemed quite content to spend the entire time stamping their feet and complaining about how long they were being made to suffer. I suppose the waiting process does seem overwhelming to lots of people, especially any first timers. However, having worked as a extra for Suspect Zero and 21 Grams, I realized that this exercise was nothing compared to the amount of standing I’d be doing if I got selected out of the herd.

Interestingly, a good number of people present appeared to be represented by agents. I’m not sure what all you get with an agent other than an overpriced headshot, but it was obvious that some people had connections and were able to leap to the top of the waiting list immediately upon arrival. Possibly they had done work for this Phoenix Agency in the past or something. Certainly I noticed some familiar faces from the previous casting calls I had attended.

Without a doubt, the most interesting person there was a grouchy old cowboy (applicant no. 194) wearing a gold belt buckle the size of Laguna. At one point he lit up a Winston in the hallway, and then deflected the numerous scowls fired in his direction by muttering, “I don’t see any no smoking signs.” After adjusting his brown sweat-stained cowboy hat, the man resumed his previous activity of staring at high school girls.

My name was called around 1:00 pm, at which point I was led to a hallway inside the main office and instructed to sit in the last of some eight or nine office chairs. Ahhh…. finally some structure and order amidst all the chaos! One by one people at the far end of the line were called into an office, while the rest of us played musical chairs to the sound of silence. Everyone’s spirits in this hallway were definitely elevated as it became obvious that the wait was nearing an end.

Eventually I met with the casting agent. She was a very nice woman who showed no sign of stress even though she still had to interview hundreds of more people before she could stick a fork in the day. She indicated that she "liked my look," and was going to recommend using me in “the pub scene” (scheduled to be filmed February 22nd) pending approval by the director.

Be sure to tune in next week for further adventures in the New Mexican film industry.

Garcia's Cafe

Garcia's Cafe- 1736 Central Ave SW, Albuquerque, New Mexico

Timmy doesn't live here anymore

I snapped this photo earlier today while on walkabout in the areas surrounding downtown Albuquerque and the historic Huning Highland district. There is little doubt in my mind that this tree once served as the majestic living foundation of one of the finest tree houses ever constructed in the Rio Grande Valley. Today, this ladder into the sky stands as a silent reminder of lost childhood dreams and adventures.

As I slip into my mental time machine, the sun dissects the sky from the western horizon to the east approximately 11,473 times- at least as quick, if not more so, than a Nolan Ryan fastball. The effect is quite blinding so I shut my eyes. When I open them again they are stinging slightly with sweat, and my mouth tastes of dirt- Midwestern dirt.

I’m standing knee deep in a large hole that my older brother Kevin and I are digging next to the old shed in the backyard of my youth. It is a Saturday. It is summer. The fact that we had made so much progress by mid-morning must indicate that we had already seen that week’s episode of Land of the Lost.

I don’t remember “why” we had decided to dig a hole that day, but only the sense of urgency in that we both knew it would have to be completed before nightfall. We dug like madmen to be sure, pausing only briefly to investigate rusty horseshoes and other interesting objects as they were unearthed.

The hole measured perhaps 4 to 5 feet square, and perhaps as much as 4 feet deep by the time our neighbors Ron and Jack were allowed out of their house and came over to see what we were doing. Their younger brother Joel wasn’t able to come outside that day as he had been grounded- having been caught, I believe, wearing his father’s underwear. As quickly as they saw our project, Ron and Jack dashed home and soon returned with shovels of their own.

For some odd reason, four people digging with shovels tend to move more than twice the amount of soil as only two people digging with shovels. This is true! In fact, it has been my observation that possibly the only way one could sabotage that equation is to hand one of the four people a PhD. Well, be that as it may, on that particular day we expanded the area of our excavation by double in a flash and were soon down to a depth where even the bravest of earthworms feared to tread. I was convinced that we must have been nearing the center of the earth when I caught what I thought then was a good whiff of brimstone. (Now however, based on my better understanding of the makeup of our planet, confined spaces and people in general, I believe that what I probably had experienced was one of Jack’s farts.)

We decided that there was really no need for our hole to extend any deeper since none of us spoke Chinese nor liked Chinese food. Lunch had really never entered into our minds. Instead, our tiny brains were preoccupied with designing a wooden bridge over our pit, and constructing walls on the western side of the hole to fend off possible attacks from teenage hooligans who would ride dangerously near while navigating our town’s alleys on their bicycles so they could smoke cigarettes without being noticed by adults.

I swear, I have no idea where all the lumber came from that we used that afternoon. Some came from under the shed, and quite possibly the rest was removed from the shed itself. Nevertheless, it was all put to good use.

It must have been around 5:00 that evening when our dad ventured onto the back porch of our house, and eventually made his way back to our happy little construction camp. I doubt that any of us could have been prouder as he stood silently and surveyed the scene we had created with our own hands, sweat, and blood- and a good deal of his lumber. Obviously, he could tell that our substantial fortress would serve us well in any future dirt clod war that we found ourselves engaged in. We had plans for making the thing completely enclosed before the end of autumn, as our fort would prove essential to our desire to dominate the neighborhood snowball fights that coming winter. It would also be used as a swell place where we could sleep outside, and as a base camp for a wide variety of top-secret nocturnal reconnaissance missions. Of course it would also be used as a clubhouse where Ron and I would trade baseball cards.

My dad said nothing as he studied the earthen embankments surrounding our unfilled moat. We simply hadn’t had time to run the garden hose over to fill the darned thing- having wasted too much time discussing where we would purchase an alligator, and trying to guess how much one might cost.

Surely he could tell how much effort we had invested in our labors simply by the amount of dirt that covered our faces, hands, and clothing. It seemed like an eternity before we got a reaction from him, but given that he is a math teacher, he probably had to first calculate how many buckets full of sediment we had removed to create the hole. Most likely, he was also marveling at the fine bridge we had built and was dreaming of the day when we would all become engineers.

Finally the silence was broken. He said, “Nice hole. Now fill it in.” With that, he returned to the house and the relative sanity of an Edgar Rice Burroughs novel. I remember exchanging looks of disbelief with my brother and our friends- as if we were ballplayers and the weatherman had just forecast freezing rain on opening day. It was awful!

Interestingly, and I wonder if anyone is still reading this, it didn’t take nearly as long to fill in the hole as it did to create it. My brother gets most of the credit for having figured out that we could fill it in very quickly by tossing in all the lumber and other stuff first.

From time to time, I wonder about the people who live in that old house now. Do they ever look out the window and wonder about the origin of the large depression next to the old shed? Probably, the old shed and depression no longer exist, but in their place stands a “modern,” yet aging two-car garage.

wanna bet?

I am very excited about a gift that arrived unexpectedly in the mail yesterday! You see, when the in-laws were out for a visit to help ring in the New Year, it was determined that all I was lacking to make me truly happy was a plastic playing card caddy. I had been looking for one in all the obvious places… Toys R Us, Target, local pawn shops, etc., but no one seemed to have any in stock. Imagine if you can, my surprise when I opened the cardboard Miles Kimball box that the mailperson delivered and pulled out my very own SEE THRU cardholder. As if clear isn’t kool enough, this model also has a sort of lazy Susan base that allows it to rotate a full 360 degrees. Although I haven’t tested this yet, I have a theory that if you spin the caddy fast enough, you can completely eliminate the need for a dealer.

Given that I have spent a good deal of time over the past six months writing product descriptions for a web-based, southwestern building supply company, I couldn’t help surfing over to the Miles Kimball website to see for myself what they had to say about this amazing product. My favorite portion of the description reads, “Clear plastic holder keeps the deck and discard piles neatly separate, prevents confusion.” Yeah right… “prevents confusion”- if anything, it will only delay confusion. Nevertheless, if you play card games and don’t own a card caddy, I recommend that you buy one today. If not today, then do your best to pick one up no later than the end of the month. Keep in mind that February is one of the shortest months this year.

Sure, you might feel the urge to argue that playing cards won’t get my blogging done, but if you do, please email that complaint to me directly instead of adding it as a comment to my blog.



The card game being played in the photo is Phase 10. For readers unfamiliar with the game, I would have to describe it as an addictive combination of Uno and Yahtzee- but without all the screaming. The game is actually pretty laid back, more like Canasta- except with more colorful cards. If you’ve never played Phase 10… DON’T! Instead, take up something less frustrating like juggling or jogging or both.

Thinking back to the abovementioned visit, I recalled an event that was so amazing my subconscious had pretty much blocked it out entirely. While we were enjoying dinner at the diner, Mark (my father-in-law) made liars out of Buddy Hackett, Tim Conway, and a host of other celebrity spokespeople by eating a single wavy Lay’s brand potato chip. That’s right… JUST one! It was one of those moments that define an entire meal. I have to admit that I was very impressed. I guess I bought into the whole marketing strategy of Lay's that eating a single chip was an unobtainable quest. After all, how can you argue with a slogan that has been around longer than yourself? I celebrated Mark’s magnificent achievement by adding a second handful of chips onto my plate.

Isaac the Butcher

Final resting place of Isaac the Butcher

BLOGery

Home of Glorieta Beer

blue over yellow

Plaza Escalante is located in downtown Albuquerque at 414.5 Central Avenue SE. These intriguing adobe shops were constructed in the early 1930s by W.E. Anderson. According to my sources, Anderson was a carpenter by trade and lived in the adjacent Neo-Classical Revival house at 412 Central Avenue SE that he built around 1907. You can buy cookies there today that are as pleasing to the tummy as they are to the eye.

Archaeology Recipes 101

Curiously, people expressing a newfound interest in the daily routine of archaeologists almost always get around to asking, “What do you eat?” I guess they think we all eat chilled monkey brains as depicted in Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. In reality, archaeologists tend to consume normal food just like regular people. Possibly, archaeologists do drink more beer.

I’ve heard that cooking blogs are all the rage these days, so I thought I’d pitch in and include a few recipes of my own in an attempt to kill a few mockingbirds with a single stone tool. Of course I don’t intend to post them all at once, as I wish to make interested readers feel like they have reasons to return and check out future installments.

First up is the Excavation PB&J Sandwich. Personally, I find the name somewhat misleading, as this classic sandwich makes for ideal eats on practically any archaeological project- be it an excavation, survey, research, or even while hidden away from the rest of the world in the belly of an archaeological laboratory. (Incidentally, people who work in archaeology laboratories oftentimes refer to themselves as “lab rats.”)

Preparation time averages about 3 minutes, assuming of course that you concentrate on the sandwich and don’t get distracted, or drawn into a lengthy argument with your co-workers about which came first- the pot or the shard. The key to making the perfect Excavation PB&J Sandwich is being prepared and having the essential ingredients on hand. Minimally, this includes bread, peanut butter, jelly, and raisins.



Bread: Use two slices of practically any type of bread, except garlic. If you’ve blown your per diem at one of the local bars and find yourself short of cash near the end of a 10-day field session, it is perfectly acceptable to gather uneaten slices of toast from the continental breakfast bar from your hotel in the morning. If you are too shy to do so while the rest of the crew is present, wait till everyone is in the vehicle and tell your crew chief that you forgot your compass and run back inside. An added benefit of that maneuver is that the vehicle will be well on the way to having been warmed to a comfortable temperature by the time you return.

Peanut Butter: Use Skippy! Skippy’s 16-ounce plastic jars fit easily into even the most moderate-sized dig kit without overcrowding. Forget those other name brands, and whatever you do, avoid anything that claims to be 100% natural. You’ll spend more time trying to stir the oil back into their butter to make it halfway spreadable, and regardless of what you may have been told by those lunatics on NPR… it won’t taste nearly as good.

Jelly: I won’t even begin to recommend a flavor since there are so many. Yet, grape, blackberry, and mixed fruit come to mind. Experienced archaeologists realize that traveling with glass jars of jelly or jam is as hazardous as it is impractical. Thus, it is recommended that you grab a handful of those little plastic jelly packets whenever you see them on your table at a restaurant. Free jelly is one of the earliest indications that a society is evolving into a socialistic mode. I bet you didn’t know that!

Raisins: You’ll want a handful of these little buggers for sure since constructing an Excavation PB&J Sandwich without raisins is paramount to making a pitcher of Kool-aid without water. Sure, you CAN do it, but why on earth would you want to? Both Sun-maid and Dole offer raisins in convenient travel-sized boxes, but those are usually cost prohibitive. Your hard earned per diem would be much better spent buying raisins in the rectangular 8-ounce boxes. Again, if you find yourself low on funds, odds are very good that you will be able to sweet talk one of the members of your crew out of a few raisins from their Trader Joe’s Trail Mix. Don’t worry if they have chili flavored trail mix. You can still salvage the raisins by soaking them in Coke. Use the peanut butter jar lid for this purpose, but be sure to rinse it off before screwing it back onto the jar. Otherwise, you’ll soon have a dig kit filled with ants. Be sure to begin the soaking process as soon as possible as the longer they are allowed to marinate in the Coke, the tastier your sandwich will be when you eat it.

You should take care to not offend anyone who offers you more trail mix than you actually want. If they should press you after you say “No thanks,” I find that it is generally easier to accept the offer with gratitude. Later you can always discard the unwanted materials in your back dirt pile when no one is looking.

Okay, with all the necessary ingredients gathered together, you are ready to construct a delicious Excavation PB&J Sandwich!

First, you’ll need to position your two slices of bread on a relatively clean surface. I normally employ my field notes for this purpose, but you may substitute any USGS 7.5 minute topographic map.



(I also use my handy weatherproof clipboard as shelter during light rain showers to prevent my bread from becoming soggy.) Anal-retentive people tend to make sure the slices of bread are laid out to mirror each other. Although this doesn’t really affect the overall taste, it could be important if you are concerned with presentation.

Next, trowel a glob of peanut butter across the exposed surface of the slice of bread that is either furthest north or west (obviously depending on how you are situated at the time). You should apply the peanut butter liberally to a depth of not less than 3 millimeters, making sure you end up with a level surface, but not necessarily “smooth.” A good rule of thumb is to add an additional millimeter of peanut butter for each increment of 10 degrees as temperatures plummet below 70 degrees (Fahrenheit).



Then, open three jelly packets and dump the contents onto the surface of the other slice of bread. You may substitute only two packets of jelly if you wish, but four packets is really too many. You will want to spread the jelly around on the bread using your trowel as before. There is no need to clean off any remaining peanut butter before this step, but I should mention that you WILL want to make sure you clean the majority of attached sediment from your trowel BEFORE you begin the peanut butter phase. Don’t sweat it if you didn’t since a little (hanta virus-free) dirt isn’t likely to cause long-term health problems. Besides, is it really a SANDwich if it is completely grit free?



With the slices of bread covered with appropriate lenses of peanut butter and jelly, it is time to add the raisins. If you’ve got them soaking in Coke, this would be the time to remove them from that container. Make sure that you always add the raisins to the jelly side of the sandwich. Sprinkle a handful across the jellied surface evenly, or if time permits, create an interesting design or likeness of a particular artifact you wish to find once you get back to digging. For instance, I’ve been known to add my raisins in the shape of a Clovis projectile point.



The final step involves lifting and flipping the slice of peanut buttered bread and placing it (peanut butter side down) on top of the jellied slice. Although you are likely starving at this point, it is very important that you take your time and complete this phase with a steady hand. One slip and the whole thing can land face down in the dirt, and will be reduced to food for ground monkeys. Also, don’t let anyone kid you into trying to flip the jellied side onto the peanut butter half. Previous studies have proven that this methodology is both flawed (Smuckers 1987) and “highly inefficient” (Goober and Peas 1992).





Now you are ready to kick back and enjoy one of the tastiest lunches known to mankind. Wonderful complements to this sandwich include Poore Brothers potato chips, Little Debbie brand snack cakes, and strawberry Twizlers.

A word on substitutions… I’d say that once you are comfortable with the process, go for it! As expressed previously, you really shouldn’t mess with the peanut butter. Bread is also an essential ingredient, but if you are REALLY in a fix, you may substitute plain strawberry Pop-tarts for the bread (and reduce the jelly to say a single packet). Also, you might enjoy substituting either candy corn or chocolate chips for the raisins, or honey for the jelly.



Dig in, and enjoy!

Is it April YET?

Hope you had a relaxing weekend

electronic bumper stickers

People are funny. Unfortunately, not in the Steve Martin style of funny, but more in an Andy Rooney sort of way. About as funny as driving down a road dotted with speed bumps after you’ve eaten too much spicy food at a Mexican restaurant.

What prompted this outburst is an email I recently received from some random person who had happened across Blog Kabin Fever. To make this entry longer than necessary, I’ll be referring to this mysterious person as “Mouth Breather.” I guess Mouth Breather assumed (incorrectly I should preface) that because I live in New Mexico and maintain my own blog, that not only would I agree with their political views and agendas, but that I would also be quite happy include a hyperlink in my cyberspace that would direct my own misguided readers to their blog where YOU would be completely assaulted with bizarre suburban myths and conspiracy theories so grand that nothing comparing to them has been heard (or in this case, read) since the latter days of the 2004 presidential race.

I think what bugs me most about this particular email, is wondering whether Mouth Breather even bothered to read my entries before cutting and pasting the insanity into an email and sending it my direction. I’m beginning to think that unwanted emails are the 21st century’s reincarnation of the phrase “AVON calling.”

Seriously… I can’t figure out this whole blogging trend. I do realize that I’m part of the problem rather than a solution. Friends and family are constantly sending me links to other blogs they find interesting. To be honest, I don’t read other blogs. Heck, I barely have time to write this one, let alone wade through the hundreds of thousands of other electronic journals floating around in the etherworld just waiting to suck.

Wasn’t it Benjamin Franklin who coined the phrase, “Read much, but not too many blogs?”

the boy who cried BLOG!

For those of you scoring at home or the office, I finally have some news regarding what some circles describe as my “abdominal concern.” Given that this topic has pretty much preoccupied my mind for a period not less than a number of weeks, I figure I should jump right into it and forget about trying to think of something interesting to write about.

The results of the previously discussed CT scan failed to indicate anything that could be causing pain or discomfort. With that in mind, my doctor referred me to a general surgeon to discuss options. I met with him this week, and after reading my chart and a general laying on of the hands, he announced that he didn’t detect anything in my gut that he could “fix” by cutting me open. Although I was in no position to argue with the man who said EXACTLY the words I wanted to hear, my brain couldn’t help comparing his examination with my newest trick of determining whether or not our mailbox contains mail simply by listening to the echo produced when I slide the key into the lock assembly.

We decided to just give it more time and see if the condition changes one way or the other. He did indicate that he could always stick a scope into my belly and see what he can see, but nobody really thinks that is warranted.

A couple of weird moments worth typing about played out in the office before I met with the surgeon. First, after the nurse weighed me in, she mentioned in passing that she probably should have asked me to remove my boots. I thought how strange that statement was to hear in this crazE, mixed up post-nine-one-one universe- as if I was thinking about using my boots to blow up their scale or something.

While taking my blood pressure, the same nurse asked, “So, have you ever had heart trouble?” Almost before I could begin thinking the worst, I replied “No.” Then she said that my pulse was barely 60, and suggested that that was outstanding for a person of my age. I laughed when she asked if I exercised often, as my normal daily routine is from bed to shower to truck, from truck to desk, back and forth between my desk and a Coke machine twice a day, then back to my truck, and finally… from my truck to the living room couch. What a workout! To think that it was nothing for me to survey at least 10 miles of highway a day for a decade and a fifth before becoming so sedentary.

Curious about the heart rate, I later looked online and learned that the average pulse for a relaxed adult is 72 beats per minute. So, unless my math is wrong, that means my heart has beat approximately 1,261,440,000 times in my lifetime- or 252,288,000 less than the average joker born under the same moon. Given that people always appear dumfounded when they discover how old I am, it makes me wonder if one of the tricks of looking younger than you are is related to having a slow heart rate and poor circulation. Undoubtedly, one of the best ways to look and feel older is to worry about things that you have absolutely no control over.

That said, you can stop wondering about my health, as I will have by the time I post this entry. Obviously with just over 79 days left until the beginning of baseball season, it is time to begin thinking about more pressing issues including whether or not the Albuquerque Isotopes will field a decent pitching staff.

My first archaeological dig

Okay, not really. These photos taken in Toulon, Illinois during my formative years (ca. 1967) actually depict me playing in (or near) the sandbox that I shared with my older brother and sister, stray cats, and numerous squirrels.

Early discoveries included mostly short-haired Barbie doll heads, fragments of Tonka trucks, acorns, and kitty scat. Although my documentation efforts were significantly hampered by my inability to read or write, it is obvious that even at a very young age, I had a great desire to dig.

Many years would pass before I would fill my first 5 gallon bucket with sediment to be screened for cultural artifacts.

blog and run

Okay, so I’m listening to Liz Phair as I compose this entry. Sue me if you don’t like it.

I fired up the new camera after work this evening and began the process of learning how everything works. Included in this entry are a couple of the first photos I took with my shiny new Nikon D70. I believe they mark the beginning of a very promising working relationship.



This first image is a shot of a reproduction of a Margaret Keane painting from 1961. My wife likes this style of art, whereas I tend to gravitate more towards the drawings of Gary Larson and Berkeley Breathed for inspiration. If asked to name my favorite living painter, I would respond by asking if you are familiar with the works of Bev Doolittle.

This other image is of a draft horse figurine that I recently obtained from my grandmother. My grandfather collected these things for many years before he passed away, and I always thought they were the koolest! I’m very pleased to have one of my own now.



I’m not a big horse person, so I may have a few holes in my history facts. I understand that draft horses peaked as the dominating source of industrial power across the United States around 1920. It makes sense then, that my grandfather would have fond memories of draft horses as he would have been familiar seeing them working on the farm and helping build roads and used in other construction projects when he was a kid. No doubt he would have noticed their rapid decline in popularity as they began being replaced by the automobile when he was about 8 years old.

I’m taking tomorrow off work so I can get a haircut and take care of any last minute Santa-related preparations that need tending to. The pending haircut reminds me of my favorite barber joke…

Q: “What’s the difference between a good haircut and a bad haircut?”

A: “About two or three days.”

Before you post a comment explaining how lame you think that joke is, please keep in mind that I never typed that it was funny. I tend to laugh at lots of things that aren’t that funny.

yule blog

I made a quick stop at the grocery store on my way home this evening after a LONG day at the office. I picked up a few essentials and made a beeline for the express lane. Although I was under the 15-item limit, my purchases were large and heavy enough to require me to utilize a shopping cart.

I pushed the buggy (I call shopping carts “buggies”) across the frozen parking lot and unloaded my items into my truck. I was going to abandon the cart where it was parked… not so much because I’m lazy, mind you, but because it was freezing outside. Besides, I already know what I’m getting for Krismas. I figure, how good do I have to be at this point?

At any rate, I quickly scanned the parking lot to see who (if anyone) was watching me. I’d hate to leave a cart in the middle of a parking lot, only to see myself on the evening news portrayed as “part of the problem.”

I noted that the Salvation Army bell ringer wasn’t concerned with my buggy etiquette, then observed a man sitting behind the steering wheel in an old white pickup truck. This dude looked exactly like the robot gunslinger from the movie Westworld, and he was looking right at me. His icy stare seemed to slice right through the winter wind, my coat and flannel shirt, and right through my Generation X veins. I decided I didn’t want to take any chances with this fellow, so I pushed the buggy an extra 35 feet over to the aluminum corral where I left it all by it’s lonesome.

While driving home, I wondered what I would do if I wake up tomorrow only to discover that I’m just a character in a new Michael Crichton novel. If that should be the case, I’m going to definitely quit my job and sleep in.

ticket to BLOG

I heard this week that Paul McCartney is scheduled to perform during this season’s Super Bowl halftime show. I guess if anything positive resulted from last year’s fiasco, it is that the people in charge were forced to bite the bullet and hire a professional entertainer. Still, it leaves me wondering… whatever happened to Wings?

I was thinking about John Lennon earlier this afternoon. I think it had something to do with having watched a special about the Madrid train bombings this past March on the tellE the previous evening. I wondered what message John (okay, and Yoko) might have had for the terrorists if he were still alive today. After considerable pondering, I decided that although I couldn’t predict with any degree of accuracy what he might have said (after all, I’m no John Lennon), I felt comfortable with my assessment that he would have delivered his message in a funny accent, and it would have almost certainly rhymed. Would his statements or reclusive love-ins serve to stop acts of terrorism? Highly unlikely, but his entertaining hijinx would have been a welcome distraction nonetheless.

In keeping with the Beatles “theme,” I should mention that I am excitedly anticipating the arrival of a DVD from Netflix in the mail entitled “Concert for George.” This movie is a live recording of a concert held at Royal Albert Hall in London in 2002- marking the one-year anniversary of the death of George Harrison. I’m led to believe that this film contains some outstanding performances by musicians including Eric Clapton, Tom Petty, Ravi Shankar, and Jeff Lynne (to name a few). Supposedly, they will be performing the songs of George Harrison- perhaps the most talented of the Fab Four. If you catch yourself smirking or scratching your head while reading that last statement, let me remind you that it was George who gave us Time Bandits.

And what blog entry discussing the Beatles would be complete without a statement about Ringo Starr?

This one!