The two step epic: Step 1- Family Friendly Fun

Today is a two-post day.  I will first (well actually second so it will show up first) post a clean story about running 10K for charity then I will write the dirty follow up to that story.

Here is the family-friendly part of the story. I recently ran 10K for a charity, which I will not name. While I love charity work this event was rather poorly organized. I am not always the best-organized person, relatively, this event made me look like I had a beneficial form of OCD (obsessive compulsive disorder). While some mention of the event’s time and place were on the form, this form clearly was to be submitted. On this form you had to write your address so they could mail you additional info, figuring they would give me additional information about the place and time I submitted this form without writing down the details. Sadly, neither the place nor the time was included with the additional information.

As the date approached, I realized I had to rediscover where this event was going to happen. The Internet is a big problem-solving tool for me and my eager fingers found Google. Sadly, Google did not find any website dedicated to this event or any other site which even mentioned this event. Some friends who were also going to participate in this event, and they also did not write down the details, remembered the name of the athletics complex which it was to be held at. Again a swing and a miss for Google (not it’s fault though), the most useful result was a street map of the surrounding area in Glasgow that did not have a symbol indicating where the place located on the large map.

Fast forward to the day of the event. The morning is dark and punctuated by bursts of pedestrian-flattening wind and blinding rain. I walk with some friends with only an idea of the area we need to get to and in the end it took us about 40 minutes to walk there. When we finally arrived it race started before I could put my bag down. The course itself started on the road but soon dedicated itself to mucking along soccer pitches. Some information about the track conditions would have been nice. Did I mention that I decided to us my white ‘indoor running shoes’ for this event? In some downhill areas the grass slipped out from under people’s feet and they splashed down into the muck. Next year we will be hosting a wheelchair race with the proceeds going to those who hurt themselves in this years run.

I am now wet and my shoes look like I decided to jog through ‘no mans land’ circa 1918. Soon I discover that the course’s route is not entirely clear. Not five minutes into the race we as a group were told we were going to wrong way. Note this group is the first 50 participants. This confusion continued throughout even though there were sign and volunteers posted through out the course. I believe this is partially due to the course looping back on it self in numerous locations. Later, a group of us approached the starting point of the race. There was a spray-painted line that was marked ‘start/finish’ as we crossed this line the runners turned to each other and asked ‘is that it?’ As I did not have a watch on and I did not feel tired, I simply assumed that two loops would make up the 5K I had signed up for (also note there is a price difference between the 5K and 10K runs). Not the case, upon completing another confusing lap I crossed the line to see my friend laughing at me.

I was now dirty, tired, sweaty and in pain. The pain I felt was not from pushing myself too hard. No this pain was from me not tightening my backpack enough so there was a raging fire at the corner of armpit avenue and shoulder street. As I consumed my free water and candy bar, the ‘runners high’ hit me. Suddenly I felt as smug as a million dollars that somehow knew it was going to charity. Soon however a completely different sensation hit me. So ends the clean portion of this story.

The two step epic: Step 2- The race is on!

This is Part 2 of the story, Part 1 was posted  afterwards (so it will appear first) for the benefit of those who have continued to read my blog. Skip ahead and read backwards if you want the full story.

**Warning this post is going to dabble in the dirty, if you are easily offended by toilet humor then you should read no further**
Normally I would never post something like this but given that I have nearly made some of my friends pee their pants with laughter, I thought I had to share this.

After the race was finished the light rain has stopped, endorphins has just painted my brain a certain shade of happy and the adrenaline levels in my bloodstream began to fall. Life seemed great until the adrenaline levels hit a certain low. This chemical low now meant that my bodies warning signs were no longer ignorable. Suddenly my body remembered just how poorly I have been treating it; drinking lots of beer the night before (birthday ‘casual drinks’ had turned rampant), fighting a sickness that has struck down many of my friends and less than four hours of sleep had caught up with me.

Suddenly I realized that what I thought was the ‘beer farts’ was in fact not the loving scolding of my body but the distant warning of an eruption. Known that my friends and I were 20 minutes away from the athletic complex, from which we had just left, and at least another 20 minutes away from my friend’s apartment my body began to panic.
This crap was days in the making and would not be denied.

The standard defensive mechanisms were not working (such as shortening the stride so more energy can be focused on the tightening the butt). Mild discomfort arising from the bodies fight to keep the turd inside, often expressed ‘prairie doggin’ ‘gophering’ or ‘turtle heading’, gave way to the feeling that I had to go to the bathroom now or I would in fact crap my pants in front of my friends.

My one friend had previously told us that they knew this area well as they often jogged along this route. Through gritted teeth, I asked if there was a washroom around. I was told that there were public toilets in the nearby public gardens. I told my friends I had to go and off I shot like a man with his ass on fire. The tree-lined path we were following gave way to an opening with a center building and two possible pathways to take. I circled the building like a shark only to find its purpose was not to give me relief but to inform me about how old a nearby bridge was. As optimism turned to anger I envisioned myself crapping on the bridge but I remembered it was daylight, it was a public area and there would be nothing to wipe with on a wooden bridge. The building did not even tell me which path would take me to the public toilets.

As I cursed the bridge and it’s associated building I was given an ultimatum by my ass-sphincter: find a place now or forever be ashamed. My eyes darted, searching out a private area that would also yield foliage for wiping. I found an appropriate location and scurried over. Dropping my sweat pants, I leaned ass-first against a tree and did my business. As I violated that tree two thoughts came to mind. The first was a realization that I was now looking up onto a public street with offered me to the view of houses, cars and pedestrians. In an attempt to escape the view from park visitors, I had jumped out of the pan and into the fire. I sheepishly pulled my sweatshirt hood over my head still unable to make my escape.

The second thought was concerning my aim; I was so disgusted with myself that I had not bothered to look down. Slowly my hands crept south and began to feel my pants. Panic filled me as I felt a bulge. My legs were positioned so my lowered sweat pants formed a perfect cup and I just might have filled it to the brim. My eyes darted down only to see that my warm and sweaty basketball shorts had bunched, nothing more. At that moment, I wanted to scream “YES! I did not crap myself!” Then I thought to my present situation. I was a foreigner that had their pants down and had just finished crapping in a public park while within sight of a public street. Quickly my hands grabbed some of the rare patches of foliage I saw and began the clean up process.

Thank god for this bush I thought to myself. In between wipes, I thought of how little I knew of plants in Scotland.
* Wipe * I sure hope this isn’t the Scottish version of poison ivy.
* Wipe * Man these leaves are small; maybe I should use a bunch to speed things up.

It was seconds after that thought had been put into action and I reached for another bunch of leaves only to find that my fingers had grabbed a thorn. Then it hit me. The only plant that had fresh foliage at this time of year was a prickly bush and the only dumb-ass animal in the entire kingdom to wipe their ass with it was me.

I finished up and began my sheepish walk to where my friend would soon be. It was at that point the second adrenaline low would hit me (apparently taking a dump in public causes a spike in the stuff). This time the absence of that chemical would emerge as a painful burning sensation as the extent of the thorn/ass intermingling came to a realization.

That night, before my muscles thought to complain, the most painful part of me was my ass. I would sit down and upon rising; I would fix my boxers only to find that several small scabs had formed fusing my boxers to my ass. I would only find that this was no ordinary ‘wedgie’ after I attempt to readjust thereby opening the thorn wounds. On and on this vicious cycle went.

In hindsight, one of the funniest realizations about this whole story is that I did something, publicly, that I am very proud of followed almost instantaneously by something, privately, that causes tremendous shame. I knew I used a pen

I came, I ska, I conquered

This past Saturday I went to a ska concert. What is ska you ask? Wikipedia, or as I call it ‘old reliable’ (yes this is sarcasm), defines ska as music “characterized by a walking bass line, accented guitar or piano rhythms on the offbeat, and in some cases, jazz-like horn riffs”. I personally consider ska ‘preppy punk’ (those in the band often wear collared shirts, vests, and ties) but you get a great mix of people at these concerts. I did find out something from my visit to wiki-land. Apparently, the form of ska that I know it as, with bands such as ‘Mighty Mighty Bosstones’ ‘Sublime’ ‘No Doubt’ ‘Reel Big Fish’ and ‘Streetlight Manifesto’, is a bastardized version of Caribbean music. White culture taking, and commercially profiting, from black culture, I am so stunned that I am speechless.
This concert was not my first ska experience. Given that I now attended ska concerts on two continents, I feel comfortable enough to explain the experience. Note: the following description applies only to those who are crazy enough to try to get up close thereby entering the easily indefinable, and therefore avoidable, ‘pit’.
Imagine yourself being on an airplane with no seats and set up loud speakers everywhere. Add a metal fence around the only exit and pack this airplane with hundreds of people, successfully turning this plane into what a person suffering from claustrophobia would call hell. Hire a drunken, novice pilot and have them fly through bowel-shaking turbulence. Everyone is standing, near deaf, tightly packed, hot, sweaty and clawing for position to get out (well actually they just want to get a better view/bragging rights).
Turbulence hits and the pilot over-corrects which gives you the feeling you are caught in a human wave which tears you in one direction, then the opposite. Within a few minutes in you position yourself in the airline safety ‘crash position’, arms out and bracing for certain death, however you are standing and your head is locked upright as if you have an inhuman desire to see the ending of the in-flight movie.
At the back of the plane, someone gets the brilliant idea to utilize this dense crowd to carry them across the fence. Surf’s up dude, here comes the crowd surfers. They ride the mass and approach the gate, it seems their brilliant plan is working and freedom is in sight. That is when the bouncers strike.
These creatures, known as bouncers or concert security, have the determination of obsessive-compulsive voluntary border guards with many of the characteristics of ground hogs. You barely notice them until they poke their heads above the crowd. They take a quick scan with their wee looking-balls and then they either return to the underground or grab a crowd surfer to whisk them off to oblivion. No one likes the security people, if fact I’m sure they hate themselves, but they do serve a purpose. That purpose is to act like weather vein/barometer for trouble. If you see one of them going into ‘pointer’ mode, like the hunting dog, directly in front of you then you know there is trouble. Generally, this only means that a crowd surfer is coming your way and you should brace yourself accordingly. No matter what the security points out to you, it is an invaluable service, remember punks often wear studs, spikes, heavy boots or all of the above.
Now while I may place the emphasis on seemingly negative characteristics I must state that had a blast. I also noticed that if someone where to fall down those around the injured would form a human barrier thereby effectively curbing further pain to the wounded. Great camaraderie and an overwhelming sense that ‘this is nuts but we love it’ abounds at this event. After a quick taxi ride home it hits me, to me ska is a hell of a good night. This night will leave its mark in my mind and temporarily leave its mark on my body in the form of random bruises.

To live and bike in Glasgow

To be cyclist in Glasgow you have to be partially insane. That being said, I’m certifiably nuts because I love biking in Scotland. I have always loved biking and I always will. Yet to own and continually use a bike in Scotland makes you a rare breed indeed. Last week hosted an incredible stretch of great weather. I mean like ‘Am I still in Glasgow?’ great. During this week, it seems that bikes had multiplied like rabbits and we regular users were forced to lock our bikes up in very un-regular places. Pushed away from bike racks and bike sheds, our metal steeds were hitched to trees, fences and even benches. Yet environmental selection would rear its ugly head and today, in the pissing rain, there were approximately 4 bikes at my regular spot and if my bike could talk I’m sure it would know them all by name.

Now to bike in Scotland I suggest the following things.
1.    A helmet-this device turns someone opening a car door in your path into a joke about winning the ‘door prize’, and hey you may meet your soul mate while they are picking glass out of your face.
2.    Lights-atleast two one if the front and
3.    Two jackets-one should be light and water resistant (I roll with gortex) and one should be waterproof. Yes there is a BIG difference.
4.    A balaclava or ski mask-buy one from an outdoors store, they keep the wind and rain out of your face. It also keeps you cycling in the winter. Be sure to take this off when going into a bank though, you don’t want to be known as the first eco-friendly bank robber.
5.    Gloves-a set of biking gloves, that cover all of your hand. are worth their weight in gold when you hands are freezing cold and you have to stop quickly, say, to avoid someone opening their car door in your face. Many also have padding and added grip, which really help when it is raining, which is almost always around here.
6.    Water proof trousers (pants = underwear, lead to some funny misunderstandings)- saved me from getting hypothermia numerous times. I suggest light trousers, a Velcro strap around the bottom allows you to tighten them so your gears don’t eat them which is likely to cause accidents.
7.    Mudguards- you NEED these to reduce your jacket-washing from daily to monthly. Also if you don’t get the front mudguard you learn how to identify city streets by taste.

There are many additional items which are nice to have but not necessary for your biking experience. A set of clear sports goggles keeps the wind out of your eyes, which allows you to stop squinting (likely my next purchase). A backpack with the water-bladder feature keeps you hydrated and feeling like you should be in an advert.

So, what makes us cyclist crazy apart from weathering the weather? How about continually using nutty road system (ops, I’m now flying down a one way street, which may or may not lead to the afterlife). Maybe it is continually being sandwiched between pedestrians (who love to hand talk and cut out in front of you like a mentally handicapped deer) and drivers who consider you an annoyance and no more than a speed bump.
God I can’t wait to go out for a bike tomorrow!

How did they manage an empire?

Through out my blog I have been generally very happy about my travels in the UK. I must note that through out my adventures there have been moments, which I hold my head in my hands and wonder, “how on earth did the Brits gain and then successfully control an empire?” (yes, I am lumping the Scots with the Brits in for simplicity’s sake). Here are a few examples.

While watching the Junior Hockey championship go into overtime at a university run pub the channel was changed. This is fine considering most Brits don’t know hockey and the probably assumed the game was over. However once we convinced the bartender the game was going to continue he decided to help us change the channel back…by picking up the phone. This is no lie, in order to change the channel back the bartender had to call downstairs to the other bartender who had control over the remote control. To complicate matters it seemed the bartender downstairs was dyslexic so by the time the right channel was rediscovered the game had ended and we were informed through a telephone call from Canada that team Canada had in fact won.

Heres a couple more examples. Imagine arriving at a bus station with a reservation slip in your hands and then finding out that piece of paper does not actually mean anything accept that you pissed away some money and have to find another way home. Imagine taking mandatory courses that claim to promote ‘fundamental academic skills’ which are only offered in the second term. Imagine trying to recycle (HA!) and finding out that in order to recycle glass you have to walk another block and put it into a separate bin. Another bin is however positioned right beside you , its called the rubbish bin (garbage dumpster).

Imagine receiving numerous threatening letters, straight out of ‘1984’, from the TV licensing bureau, which swears up and down that you have a TV and that they are going to get you. Now imagine calling the telephone number they provided which states ‘report that there has been a mistake (and you have no TV)’ only to find that there is no option in their elaborate phone system to actually allow you to report that you don’t have a TV. I am still under investigation apparently, and don’t have a damn TV.

Now I have no answer as to how they achieved so much with such a frustrating system and judging by the abundance of frustration humour in Monty Python I assume it is not simply because I am an outsider. I did have one hint, unexpected and random violence which occurs under the guise of a seemingly reserved civilization. This occurred on Friday when I was walking with a friend of mine from a place of business which serves alcohol quite late. We were walking towards home when, ahead of us, we heard a loud mob of drunken males from the street we had to turn down. We waited until we thought they had passed only to turn down the street to find another mob of drunken -and seemingly angry- Scots. We were now  out numbered, surrounded, and my friend was on crutches. They sneered at us and asked ‘wh-air yah fromeh?’ ‘Canada’ we sheepishly replied, this changed the facial expressions of many in the mob from ‘I want to see you bleed’ to ‘Oh! I got a cousin who lives there’. “Whatc’ah doin-out hure?” another asked. My friend piped up “Where’s the nearest chippy (chip shop)? Milliseconds later a cheerful chorus of directions and pointing gave us a socially acceptable escape. With a block between the mob and us, my friend stated, “dude, we almost died”. “Yah, thank god for Canada and Chippies,” I stated. No sooner had the words escaped my mouth but a traffic pylon nosily landed 25 meters away from us, the mob had struck again. Please note that this is not exclusive to Glasgow or Scotland, hell its probably not exclusive to the UK but I’ve heard more tales out of the UK that involves people getting beat up for no reason than anywhere else in the world. I hear the fear of violence is also an effective method of controlling the masses. I’m just saying…there was likely a historic link there somewhere.

On an up note, I went to Edinburgh last weekend. It had beautiful sites, awesome people and parties and more importantly it had a violence free setting! I’ll talk about that tomorrow though.

Edinburgh ahoy!

Tomorrow I am heading to Edinburgh with four friends. We are ‘crashing’ at the flat of a friend of a friend’s. This will be my first time in the capital, which is funny as it is only a 40-minute bus ride away.

February is shaping up to be a crazy month. I am trying to score myself a reservation to go to Belgium (I will likely have to pay my own way though) to get a tour of the Western front. The ‘battlefielders’ (battlefield archaeologists) will also be working with a Canadian TV production company and possibly doing some fieldwork. I mentioned I was the only Canadian and that might have single handedly swayed our professor. It pays to be the only Canadian archaeologist around sometimes.

I will also be going to a conference in York on “The computer applications and quantitative methods in archaeology”. (http://www.york.ac.uk/conferences/caauk2008/index.html)
As it turns out the friend I spent Christmas with has a friend at York who will be giving one of the lectures at the conference. It is indeed a small world and the sphere of Archaeology seems even smaller.

Well I have to send off a letter and a cheque to those organizing the conference (clearly the only requirement for attending this conference is money), and then get some schoolwork done.

I have seen the future (but it was limited to archaeology)

Warning this post is archaeology heavy!
A few classes ago, we had a very interesting discussion about site recording. As we moved from the theoretical to the professional practices used today we discussed electronic site recording. The system that was mentioned by name was Penmap (http://www.penmap.com/content.asp/cat/2/id/3/archaeology.html). This system integrates directly with total stations and GPS units, acts as an on-site CAD and GIS facility and it displays data as it is collected (so mistakes can be corrected on site, not months later when the report is being written). In other words, it does everything except for threaten those people who keep looting your sites (well it might, but binary death threats just don’t have the same impact).
We were provided with two case studies by Ziebert, Holder, and Dare (2002). The first site they worked on was the Royal Docks in London and it took two weeks with everything being recorded electronically using penmap or an equivalent (3000 finds, 30X45m site). After all was said and done they saved 36-37 person days and 6000 pounds sterling (which in perspective was 50% of the total cost of excavation). The second site was Bishopsgate and 45 person days and 7000 pounds sterling were saved. From these sites, they also calculated that the optimum ratio of surveyors to archaeologists is 1:6-10. However no other extensive cost benefit analysis have been undertaken (but think positively in two sites if you could save 81-2 person days and 13 thousands dollars).
So that’s one interesting technology, well here is one interesting man, Mike Rains. Professor Rains (no he is not MY professor nor is he at Glasgow, although my proff is awesome too) seems to be a pioneer for electronic archaeology as he is working on/created “Integrated Archaeology Database Systems” (IADB), and Virtual Research Environment for Archaeology (VERA- http://vera.rdg.ac.uk/), and no, I did not misspell those acronyms.
Now many professional “arch. vets” may read my post bubbling with optimism and envision me as a wet-nosed pup oblivious to the corporate boot sure to crush my dreams. While I am indeed wet-nosed, as I currently have a cold, I know that technology is not perfect and moving to near-paper free recording has many risks and often scares the “bejesus” out of those who are not “computer-savvy”. I also know that it takes time and money to train people but lets keep this post up beat and look at computers “the wave of the future”. If systems such as Penmap can incorporate wireless technology to back up information, using a program similar to the off site ‘iDisk’ feature on .Mac  (DotMac- http://www.apple.com/dotmac/) on a fixed schedule, say every half an hour, then the risk is greatly reduced.
As I mentioned in class, as flash technology (transmitting information via light, used in such common devices as thumb drives or USB data sticks) continues to improve flash hard drives will soon be cheap and mass produced. What is so important about that you may say, well imagine a computer with no moving parts and think of the additional abuse that it can take.
Well now, you have some of my knowledge, and you did not even need to copy my class notes.
Here is another useful nugget I found in my Internet travels. A big list of useful archaeology programs, many are free ware or Scottish, a.k.a. cheap (lame joke I know but when in Rome…make fun of the Romans).
http://www.gla.ac.uk/archaeology/resources/computing/compsw.html

Bicycle! Bicycle!

I bought a bike. I actually bought it a while ago I simply forgot to mention it earlier. I bought it off gumtree.com, it has full suspension and while that usually indicates that the bike was expensive, however, it should be noted that I bought it for 30 quid. I have never heard of the bike company name ‘Saxon’ but honestly if its named after an invasion its got to be good! Right?  I have already spent more money on accessories than I should have. I bought a mudguard, as I was tired of having a muddy ‘rooster tail’ up my jacket and shirts, lights, a helmet and gloves. Recently I traveled around Glasgow looking for the family homes of a friend of mine. It was raining hard and I found that my breaks were slipping, I chalked it up to the rain, however, yesterday I attempted to ride my bike to the gym only to find that I had no breaks at all. Luckily, I discovered this early, sadly it may have at the expense of my tailbone (aka the coccix). 20 quid later I have a bike that is not as dangerous as the Saxon invasion. A friend of mine also bought a bike and he is also having similar problems so its not just my bike. Bike chains rusty quickly here (we joke that they are allergic to the smell of cooking haggis and deep fried mars bars) and lots of rain combined with road dirt devours break pads. As I said to my friend “My bike is a black hole, not even your lighter-colored money can escape it”.

Tripping around the Misty Island and the Highlands

This weekend I traveled to the Ile of Skye and up into the Scottish Highlands. I went with Glasgow’s international society, who booked through Haggis tours, however I could not cash in my winning ticket as the travel company said it was not transferable (even though it was the same value and same trip apart from the departure city).
Apart from some awful weather the trip was a blast. I deeply in love with the Highlands, especially Glencoe, plans are already being made to go back and hike Glencoe when it is a little warmer. We went to Eilean Donan Castle (the most photographed castle in Scotland), Kilt Rock, An Calic (which was an ruined area which used to produce dynamite, yes industrial archaeology is in fact a blast) and the largest settlements of Portree, and Fort William. We also hit up numerous photo spots including two waterfalls, one on the coast and one inland, a geological bench which was a great look out spot if you didn’t mind being blown about by the wind. All the major points had historical and local stories told by our male tour guide whose smooth Scottish accent had a few hearts fluttering.
I feel guilty, as I clearly did not get much work done this weekend however, it was my first trip this year so I have to cut myself some slack. I also might have caught a bug in my travels, perhaps that is punishment enough.
I have also decided to stay in Europe for my Christmas break. I will be spending Christmas itself in London with a friend of mine and I will be spending New Year’s in Paris with a few friends. Heck, saying I am going to London and Paris just sounds so much cooler than saying I am going home, however I will miss my family and my friends but really this is a once in a lifetime chance and I am sure they will all understand.

Busy busy!

The past few days have been a Mcflurry of activity!
Yesterday I caught the 3rd part of Ian Hodder’s lecture series. This lecture explained how the ‘thing theory’ related to Catalhoyuk. Hodder stated that there were ‘history houses’ in which way more people were buried in the floors (common practice) than could have directly lived there. He also mentioned, amongst other things, that houses were clustered around these types of house as if they sacred. I asked him a question, I wondered if he thought these houses would be the historic epicenter for ‘leading families’ and he said that it is one explanation and there is evidence to support my hypothesis. Now that received an ego stroke I feel ballsy enough to comment on his theory. I personally feel that his theory underplays the role of society, but apart from that detail, I agree with him and support his cause that aims to create a more integrated archaeological perspective.

I just returned for a field trip to from the Roman ‘milefort’ of Bar Hill/Iron age fort of Castle Hill and the 14th century Mugdock castle. As previously mentioned I have to create a research design for one of these two sites and I have to pick which one over the weekend. If nothing else arose from this trip I have officially touched the Antonine wall, hell I nearly tripped over it. Currently I am leaning towards Mugdock castle as I want to expand my horizons and tackle some standing building archaeology that rarely occurs in North America.

Tomorrow I am also going to hand it my class choices for the second semester. I have to take three and the first choices are Archaeological Project Management, GIS (Geographic Information System – a type of electronic mapping program) for Archaeological Project and Interpretation and Application of Geophysics Survey. The only course that may not be offered is GIS so my backup is CAD (Computer Aided Design- another type of electronic mapping program) for Archaeological Projects. I have also talked with Dr Tony Pollard and he has given me permission to sit in on the course ‘early modern battlefields’ however I will not receive academic credit for my attendance. Now thanks to the good Dr. Pollard I can make money with my computer skills AND follow my personal interests which may lead to a Ph D if I like it enough.

And now for a refreshing pint of beer!