headless horseman in the museum... creepy

Ironic. A headless horseman at the American Museum of Natural History (yes, an adult in full threads) creeped me and Anne out. Yes, the two of us who are so accustomed to knockin' them human bones around up in the collections of the museum. Ironic.


Halloween in New York City. If only I could enjoy this week with friends considering:
a) The spaniards invaded the museum, and among them is a dear colleague from Atapuerca and Pinilla, Bea.
b) Museum fun!
c) Children and adults masquerading and trick or treating ALL OVER THE MUSEUM
d) New York City's official debauchery launch of the holiday season (turkey day, chrismannukwanzakah, and New Year's are just a hop, skip and jump away).

But no. Instead I spent the whole day running around like a chicken with its head cut off. Drugging myself with burnt-tasting excellent espresso (I can't believe I already destroyed my 2-week old Moka espresso maker), dragging myself to the museum to have a really quick (and incredibly nerve-wracking) chat with Dr. Dan Lieberman (who nearly dashed my dreams of graduate school thanks to my lack of actual math and biology in college... FUCK ME for being such an overachiever in high school... thusly achieving far too much, and apparently NOT FUCKING ENOUGH in actual COLLEGE). At least he was nice enough to me about encouraging application, and really trying to sell the Harvard program.

So why do I seem unhappy?

Because I get star-struck, like the DORK that I am, with very talented and intellectual people. So like that time I nearly impaled myself with an office desk and knocked my teeth out with the door exiting Prof. DiFiore's office after chatting with him, I basically BOLTED out the room after having a very pleasant chat with Dr. Lieberman.

Dear lord, why am I such a DORK?!?!

At any rate, today was a photocopying-mad dash through libraries and collections day. I MUST finish these grants by this weekend. Therefore I am putting myself under HOUSE ARREST for the rest of this week (minus election day because seriously, I'll be too preoccupied to be typing off).


Anyone want to help me edit? I would love you forever... and bake you a cookie. Or two.






Happy halloween!











Upcoming events:
Nov. 1-6: House arrest. Full lockdown. No contact with outside world...except for finding new Moka espresso pot.
Nov. 8-12: San Francisco, CA!!! With Uncle Toni and Auntie Bombai... and NOHEMI!!! Yosemite National Park! YAAAAAY!!! TREEEES!!! :-)
Mid-November: Grad program visits, GREs, etc
Late-November: pre-thanksgiving gatherings!!!
December: Graduate program applications. Another round of LOCKING MYSELF UP FOR THE MONTH.

Then birthdays, Christmas, (maybe kwistah?), SASKIA!!!, CHRISTINA!!!, New Year's... and who knows!

another pancake day

Do you have the slightest idea (No, I don't)
Why the world is bright with you here? (Oh, is that so?)
Stay a while and wait and see (wait, and see)
If things go right we're meant to be...

on the playlist: Sondre Lerche - Modern Nature


I hate movies that make you cry. So why do I love to watch them with a box of Kleenex ready at hand? Here are some suggestions:

ATONEMENT: stay away from it!!! Unless you're prepared to sob and have a near heart attack because John MacAvoy should ALWAYS get his girl, and not letting him have a happy ending is just cruel and wrong. Or maybe read the book first so at least you're prepared to confront stunning imagery and cinematography of your heart being torn to shreds.

DAN IN REAL LIFE: you'd think, well here's another wonderful Steve Carell flick that's bound to get your cheeks and stomach hurting from laughter (cue Little Miss Sunshine). BUT NO. Much like Will Ferrell's Stranger than Fiction, it is masked in a lovely, warm and fuzzy family goodness... and then just tugs at your heart strings enough to make you well up in warm and fuzzy tears.


No, I don't know why I put these DVDs in my television in the first place. But I am now lacking a full box of comforting Vicks-infused Kleenex. One good thing did come out of this cathartic episode. Sondre Lerche and the soundtrack to Dan in Real Life. It's on the same note as the Juno soundtrack. Quirky, warm and fuzzy acoustics.


I need pancakes today. Fluffy light pancakes. Preferably swimming in syrup. Yep, warm and fuzzy pancakes.

my favorite kodak moments

Take a gander. My travelogue photo portfolio, courtesy of a website created by some friends. It's pretty brilliant. give it a look!

Since I royally suck at keeping up with blogs when I'm on the go, here's a quick catch up of what I did over the summer through some of my favorite photographs. Hope you guys relate as well.

http://shuttercal.com/calendar/kmarian/

Sleep no more! Macbeth does murder sleep.

on the playlist:
Chairlift - Bruises


Insomnia still sucks. I think I'm making myself ill. I've begun to detest all these consecutive October babies celebrating birthdays every weekend. Celebrating birthdays and going out on the weekends have become chores...

What is wrong with me? All work and no play... or maybe I just need to get laid? Hah!

Ambrose Bierce said that "dawn [is] when men of reason go to bed". Saskia's historical boyfriend Benjamin Franklin once said, "Sleep later. There will be enough sleep in the grave." Bon Jovi, The Cure... "I'll sleep when I'm dead".

It's three in the morning and Marisa Tomei and Robert Downy, Jr. are on the tellie making me absolutely nostalgic for Italy. (On a side note, Robert Downy has gotten better with age. Take note: Iron Man vs. Only You.) I have bags under my eyes the size of that welcome entrance to the Louis Vuitton shoppe on Champs Elysees (yeah, my under-eye baggage would make Lady Liberty proud), and yet I am still searching the depths of the world wide web for scientific articles on bones whilst wishing I was a speed-reading machine.

Why hasn't anyone created a topic-specific scholastic search engine? Oh, wait... Google Scholar, love of my life, just one-up your system and make it Anthro-specific, please?


Thank goodness for my late-night companions: espresso and the Turner Classic Movies channel.


Here's the poem they referenced in Only You (1994).

You who never arrived
in my arms, Beloved, who were lost
from the start,
I don't even know what songs
would please you. I have given up trying
to recognize you in the surging wave of the next
moment. All the immense
images in me-- the far-off, deeply-felt landscape,
cities, towers, and bridges, and unsuspected
turns in the path,
and those powerful lands that were once
pulsing with the life of the gods-
all rise within me to mean
you, who forever elude me.

You, Beloved, who are all
the gardens I have ever gazed at,
longing. An open window
in a country house--, and you almost
stepped out, pensive, to meet me.
Streets that I chanced upon,--
you had just walked down them and vanished.
And sometimes, in a shop, the mirrors
were still dizzy with your presence and, startled,
gave back my too-sudden image. Who knows?
perhaps the same bird echoed through both of us
yesterday, seperate, in the evening...

-Rainer Maria Rilke

pay attention to that man behind the curtain

on the playlist:
Coldplay - Viva La Vida
Snow Patrol - Take Back the City
The Ting Tings - Shut up and Let Me Go



Self-portraits have always intrigued me. You can tell a lot about how a person thinks or feels about his or herself by looking at a self-portrait. It is the unconscious aspect of relating ones' self image that intrigues the onlooker. The body language, composition, posture, negative and positive spaces, and even missing ears.

Take a self-portrait of yourself. Be it a drawing, painting, sculpture, doodle, photograph. What do you see? And what do other people see?




***
Not being able to sleep, I decided to clean my DVD collection a little bit. Upon opening an old tin can, I found a DVD of photographs I had made two years ago of my life in Italy. A little jog down memory lane reminded me of a plaque on the pier of Capri that caught my attention. I remember asking Nicola, my favorite italian professor, if he knew what poem it was. Rather than answering me, he sang a song:

Tu, luna luna tu, luna caprese,
ca faje sunná ll'ammore a 'e 'nnammurate...
adduorme a nénna mia ca sta scetata
e falla 'nnammurá cu na buscía.
Tu, luna luna tu, luna busciarda,
famme passá sti ppene 'e gelusia
e fa' ca nénna fosse tutt''a mia...
Tu, luna luna tu...Luna caprese!...

Luna Caprese - Cesareo, Ricciardi (1953)

Good times. My happy place.

the insomniac cookie is back

on the playlist:
Adele - Chasing Pavements


When I am under pressure and stressed (i.e. 2-3 weeks until deadline with a recently revived Dell laptop, having to rewrite an entire grant proposal), I get bouts of insomnia with mild where-is-my-life-going breakdowns.

Unlike normal people, I can't seem to think when I'm awake and sleep when I'm sleeping. Unfortunately for me, I end up lying awake with thoughts running a thousand miles a second and have to rush over and jot them down. I have so much going through my mind that not even my go-to sleeping drug works.

Saskia, I think I've given myself an immunity to Valerian tea :-(



And when I can't focus, I end up doing crazy things like remodeling my bedroom, going for a run at dawn, creating an acrylic copy of a favorite Boticelli, redrawing the Vetruvian Man (this I blame on Renaissance Apprenticeship), or in worst-case-scenarios, chopping up my own hair.

Case and point:

I was pretty happy with the outcome, though I did nearly cut off my own eyelashes and eyebrows in the process. I think my eyeballs only have 7 lives left.

At any rate, I think I come out looking a little older. Or even a bit more Asian? Who knows. I haven't had full blown bangs since I was... well...never. I will say that I think I look a bit like Xena: Warrior Princess now, minus the crazy Lucy Lawless persona.

Ah well, maybe instead of doing Tom Cruise in Risky Business this year, I might opt for a scantily-clad WB-mythological heroine.

Hmm, opinions? Run around during NYC Halloween in nothing (and I mean nothing) but an over-sized men's dress shirt and tube socks (with matching Ray-bans, of course)... OR leather corset goodness (chafing is a definite down-side)? Suggestions?




Though I will muster up enough courage to one day pull off the Princess Leia metal bikini slave costume!

why i SHOULD NEVER have Patrick Dempsey's babies

Thanks to my lovely friend, Anne Kwiatt, I have found that I cannot have children with Brad Pitt, Angelina Jolie (What? Like you didn't want to have her baby either?), OR Patrick Dempsey. Yes, major womp womp is needed at this point. I will most likely only procure genetically engineered babies because the following images should NEVER come out of anyone's vagina. EVER.



Why, you might ask. Because according to Makemebabies.com, I am an African American and all my babies, yes even with Angelina Jolie, look like black Chuckies (i.e. things that should NEVER come out of anyone's womb).

I did find that I can potentially have plenty of babies with Wentworth Miller and (thank God) Johnny Depp, except with W. Miller it will probably turn out to be a Dreadlock-wearing Rastafarian Albino baby. It is a little bit scary how it looks NOTHING like me, but it does look like somebody's gerber child.

And I get that Makemebabies-dot-com tries to get all accurate by including Ethnicity as a marker, but there are more to the human population than just Caucasian, African, and the vague category of "Mixed".


I need to end this procrastination and get back to work, but I just had to share my FEARS. And because I'm a little curious, and a glutton for punishment, I will include a "worst-case-scenario" baby...


Baby totally looks like the Reptilian Bride of Chuckie. Maybe that's why MJ covers his children's faces with loin cloths...






PS - I figured if I had a baby with Angelina Jolie, it should be named Gobi, like the desert. And it is curious how both babies with Brangelina come out looking like I adopted them from Namibia. Curious, but Makemebabies just might be more accurate than I thought.


PPS - My asian baby doesn't look asian! Yeah, I'm a little outraged but kind of glad that if I have a baby with Lucy Liu, it'll look good for Halloween, and not because it's Rosemary's Baby!





On the playlist: Les Chansons D'Amour Soundtrack

Il Postino, still tugging at the melancholy heart strings

While writing, I usually like to put on an old film and let it go through with the volume on low or on silent. And today I chose "Il Postino". I always forget how beautiful this film is, and how Pablo Neruda is amazing.

It's a lazy Monday. Today is Columbus Day in New York so all the Italian-Americans are out with their banners and pasta coasting down 5th Ave. Minor diversion. It's a holiday afterall.


"Si Tu Me Olvidas"
By Pablo Neruda

Quiero que sepas
una cosa.

Tú sabes cómo es esto:
si miro
la luna de cristal, la rama roja
del lento otoño en mi ventana,
si toco
junto al fuego
la impalpable ceniza
o el arrugado cuerpo de la leña,
todo me lleva a ti,
como si todo lo que existe:
aromas, luz, metales,
fueran pequeños barcos que navegan
hacia las islas tuyas que me aguardan.

Ahora bien,
si poco a poco dejas de quererme
dejaré de quererte poco a poco.

Si de pronto
me olvidas
no me busques,
que ya te habré olvidado.

Si consideras largo y loco
el viento de banderas
que pasa por mi vida
y te decides
a dejarme a la orilla
del corazón en que tengo raíces,
piensa
que en esa día,
a esa hora
levantaré los brazos
y saldrán mis raíces
a buscar otra tierra.

Pero
si cada día,
cada hora,
sientes que a mí estás destinada
con dulzura implacable,
si cada día sube
una flor a tus labios a buscarme,
ay amor mío, ay mía,
en mí todo ese fuego se repite,
en mí nada se apaga ni se olvida,
mi amor se nutre de tu amor, amada,
y mientras vivas estará en tus brazos
sin salir de los míos.

What's in a name? Paracetamol by any other name (like Tylenol) would taste just as sweet.

So catching up with folks has been a lot of fun. Cafe Soleil, Yakitori Taisho, the Dessert Truck, Lombardi's, overpriced Cafe Ferrara, and Opilac's birthday party has been a lot of fun. Recounting my adventures, on the other hand, has been a little tough. I think I've nearly forgotten bits and pieces since it feels like I'd been away for an entire year.

I will say that a funny incident on the way to looking for a Cafe in Little Italy has led me to think up a serious alias for my nights out on the town. It has also made me think of how I just can't seem to find any other name for me aside from Kyle. I am a Kyle. Albeit a female Kyle, but a Kyle nonetheless. I am not a Sapphire, for example, since I was not in this life ever a transgender stripper. I most definitely am not a Jen since everytime I pulled out that name, no one seems to believe me (including the Romanian waiter on the corner of Cafe Ferrara who was intent on making friends).

I am far too polite to not offer a name when asked, and this, friends, is a huge problem whenever I am outside my house. There have been a couple of times where random strangers on the train have come up to start a conversation (and my I'm-not-interested face doesn't seem to deter them). Once I had some weirdo pull out his blackberry and ask if he could take my picture to keep. The sentiment was, I guess, kind of sweet... but it was still really bizarre.

Being unreasonably impolite is just plain rude, but there are days when you just don't want to be bothered. In New York, you never know if the person bothering you is a genuinely nice person or a psychopath therefore courteousness is always the rule of thumb.

But back to the topic. Names. Why is it that some people just look like Bobs, Jakes, Alices, Daniels, and Marys, but I can't seem to fit the mold? Does your name eventually define you? I mean I do want to name one of my future children Aidan for the pure and simple fact that names like Aidan, Dylan, Blaire, Zoe, Quinn, and Penelope give a very promising future of hotness and intelligence. Yes, names like these destine one to greatness, or at least an adolescence free of being bullied... particularly Aidan. And names like Ernest, Burt, and Miss Piggy will probably destine one to a future of being a muppet.

But names. Nature or nurture? What Thursday-night-alias will fit me enough to have strange and creepy men believe it? I'll just have to keep a list of freaky and out-there names. Names like Persephone, Clitophon, or 2.0. Names that are too far-fetched to be made up that people would actually believe it. Like Guava. Guava Viterbo.






PS - Why do spaniards think that Paracetamol is the answer to everything?
Hangover? Paracetamol.
Fever? Paracetamol.
Bleeding? Paracetamol.
Dead baby? Paracetamol.

Coffee, books, and couches - Back to NY

And I'm back to New York, as if I hadn't left the city and the city hadn't left me.

In full busy-mode, I've spent the past week reading my eyes out, uploading pictures, deleting pictures, and keeping tabs on all the folks I've managed to brainwash into joining facebook. Still playing catch-up with my lovely friends (and there are still a bunch I've yet to see) and family has been a lot of fun, though it is quite curious how everyone (and I mean EVERYONE) has been greeting me with the following:
"Oh my god Kyle! You're back! When did you get back?"
And without missing a beat:
"So when are you leaving?"

People! Please allow me to breathe in a little bit of this New York City air before shoving me out the door again. I get that I always seem to be on the move and out of the zipcode, but for goodness' sakes, I just got here! Even my parents are asking me if I'm back for good, and all I could say was "eh?". I'm hatching a plan to live abroad (maybe in Spain) for a few months, but with the economy the way it is and the research I have to do at the museum, it seems just a little out of reach for now (even if I really want to be there now). I mean seriously, ICELAND IS BANKRUPT for goodness' sakes. It seems like a bad sign for the times to come. Damn globalization!!!


And to all the complaints about me not keeping everyone up to date as I'd promised with this blog (especially regarding the two pairs of Ex Officio underpants that swore for 17 Countries within 6 Weeks, One Pair of Underwear was all that I would need), I deeply apologize. Being in the middle of the field, waking up at 7am and working until 8pm...and all that fiesta in between left me little time for my minimally-scientific experiment. Sorry. But I do have every entry in draft version at the moment so it's here to be uploaded, I just need to find time to do it.

At the moment, I am busy trying to get my life and schedule back on track. Between the GREs, grant-writing, gradschool applications, trying to scheme my way into spending the Spring in another country, and catching up with my favorite people in New York, I have my plate pretty full. Fat-man-in-a-chinese-buffet full. The 3-month catch up will just have to be spent with me retelling my adventures over food, coffee, and an elaborate facebook-enabled powerpoint.

These first few weeks, at least until November has passed, I will most likely be found hiding in:

a) the pits of the bone collection at the American Museum of Natural History
b) the pits of NYU's Bobst Library (thanks to my mother working at nyu)
c) chugging good Caffeine (or finding a way to inject it directly into my veins) in one of my favorite coffee and tea shoppes in Astoria or Greenwich Village
-OR-
d) stuffing my face with the people I love in my favorite NYC haunts.



So this is my "I'm back in New York so call me and let's hang out" entry. If you're in the city, there is no excuse. And if you're away (i.e. Christina and Saskia), then keep me updated on when you'll be back here so I can make an appointment and we can make important face time together.



And now this procrastinating-diversion must end. Gotta get back to reading. Like I said... FACE TIME. You know where to find me: facebook, gchat, my cell phone. Book face time because I miss you. All of you. And I've got boat loads of stories to tell.

Spanish Slang 101

The things I learned living in Spain, and the things to remember to seem more like a REAL Spaniard:

ÓSTIA
i.e. ostía puta, malaostía, Soy la Óstia

JODER
VALE
¡Qué va!
La mala lecha
Dar la paliza
Echar una bronca

Me cago en la (pronounced: me ca-hwen)
ff. i.e.
-puta
-leche
-mar
-diez colorao
-todo (´to)

Acojonado/Acojonante: something scary
Acojonante/Cojonudo: something good

Con dos cojones y medio cerebro: to animate oneself

¡No me jodas!: Don´t joke with me (in the sense of shut up! you´re kidding!)

De puta madre: that something is amazingly fantastic

La/Tú puta madre: something really bad, actually cursing someone´s mother

¡No me digas!: shut up, don´t tell me!
¿Pero que dices?: but what are you saying??

Variations of Dude/Man:
Majo(a)
Tío(a)
Hombre
MUJER
Chavall/Chavalla

Me mola: I like it
Que mola: how cool
Comó me mola: i really like it

Pulling one´s leg
No me tocas los cojones
Tomando el pelo

In return to pulling your leg
Si que quieres Arroz Catalina

To signify a huge amount of something
Un montón
Un mogullon

Cagando leches: being rushed
Por si las moscas: in case...

Por si fueramos pocos, parió la abuela (la burra): when there´s damn too many people

¡Fatal!

Super+adj.: indicating something is TOTALLY something

...+ que te cagas: something is SUPER amazing





I should totally just be a cultural anthropologist... haha!

Atapuerca -primera quincena

A letter to the lovelies of Atapuerca's first half (please forgive all the grammatical typos...I'm working to remember my Spanish):

Hola majos!!! Qué tal vais? Como van los otros yacimientos, thesis,
vacaciones, estudias, curros, y no se qué?

Yo, por ahora, estoy en Santiago aprovechando un poquito de Galicia (y
las fiestas gallegas también). Estoy con Maria (portalóna) haciendo
un poquito de vacaciones antes de pinilla. Yo he acabado de visitar
(después de atapuerca) Zaragoza, Catalunya, y Alcala. Al final no he
ido a Sardinia porque un amigo me ha invitado a un pueblo cerca de
Lleida por fiestas, pero bueno...lo veréis en las fotos.

Quieria mandar este mensaje porque todavía alguna gente no tiene email
de todo el mundo (y me faltan algunas personas también).
Pues nada. Espero que estáis bien y se quiereis ver algunas fotos, las
miyas son aquí:
picasaweb.google.com/kmarian.viterbo
Y se tenéis facebook, busca me.

Besos a todos y nos veremos!!!
-kyle

ATP '08
Tania Condado yune_bio@hotmail.com
Rebe rebe_gargon@hotmail.com
Marian marianagape79@hotmail.com
Laura lrgagisto@hotmail.com
Marta martafn86@hotmail.com
Ana gitchi212@hotmail.com
Eva H. gladiador3@hotmail.com
Patri lbc_p@hotmail.com
Ciaran ciaranbrewster@me.com
Ana I anaiortegam@gmail.com
Ele cciconia1@hotmail.com
Carre (george clooney) jmcarre@ubu.com
Diego diegotgr@hotmail.com
Edu edutarres@hotmail.com
Ana Delia ana.churra@gmail.com
Asier asiergo@gmail.com
María Meri ayla296@hotmail.com
Evusky evusky5@hotmail.com
Cristina cristina.pombal@yahoo.com.br
Susanne edaly41@mercyhurst.edu

Río '08
Gloria cuencag@unizar.es
Mila malgaba@isciii.es
Claudia cloalpo@yahoo.es
Peru perukote@hotmail.com
Jorge jorgeruiz81@gmail.com
Freddy amoros@paleoymas.com
Juan jrofes@unizar.es
María Melero mmelerorubio@gmail.com
Noemi noemi_tolkien@hotmail.com
Hugo hablain@prehistoria.urv.cat
Raxa elraxa@hotmail.com
Raquel (con rastas) raquelrabal@hotmail.com

Trinchera '08
Carmen carmen_xvii@hotmail.com
Alfonso(geólogo) alfonso.benito@cenieh.es
Sandra sanbac82@hotmail.com
Keiko etceterra@gmail.com
Angela(heavy) angelavarelaneila6@hotmail.com

-xoxo-

Paris, yet again...

Paris, yet again...

The train from Brussels-Zuid to Paris Nord is about an hour and a
half, and riding it in first class is just fantastic. Food prepped and
extra elbow room. On board, wi-fi is available at a hefty €6,50 per
hour.

The trip to the hostel wasn't too bad though trash noticeably littered every corner. Paris has gotten subsequently dirtier over the years, though maybe I've only seen the deliberately cleaner tourist areas these past four years.

No. Paris--the true Paris--is uninviting and far too much of a sprawled city for me. Though it just may be the biased New Yorker talking, the bright lights in this big city gives it the smoked and mirrored allure romanticized by tourism, impressionist art, and Sabrina (the Audrey Hepburn-Humphrey Bogart version).

Should I ever live in France, I would most definitely avoid the larger cities. Francophone Belgium has given me the desire to properly learn French. Once I have internet again, I'll be sure to look for French language schools somewhere the likes of Montpellier or Lyon. Bah, who knows? I always concoct these grand schemes when I'm away but life always manages to steer me in another direction.

My stay in Paris, on this round anyway, was highlighted by the 2008 Eurocup finals match between Spain and Germany. The hostel had been split between those heading to Germany and those heading to Spain. The hostel itself, St. Christopher in Paris, is a shining monument to Ikea, with Japanese-style bunk beds (the type that makes you feel like you lived in a submarine or a coffin) complete with sockets and personal lamps. The hostel bar is frequented by locals most likely looking for an amorous romp with eager (horny) travelers (aka obscenely privileged American students) and eager travelers (insert horny-17-year-olds-looking-for-Dianne-Lane-Under-the-Tuscan-Sun-tryst).

Now not EVERYONE in the traveling world is a horny 17-year-old looking to find a summer fling to check off his/her to-do list. There are some pretty awesome folks out there trying to taste a little bit of the world, like the folks I met and shared the evening with cheering on the Spanish national team. However, you certainly (and unfortunately) do come across the former a lot. It can be interesting to watch, on a very anthropological/scientific manner, but damn it, when they get pissed drunk and start spilling out the sidewalk, it certainly makes one feel... old and irrelevant. Or maybe that's just me.

At any rate, Paris has yet to put its non-touristy charm on me. There have been exciting fun moments when I've traveled about with friends or new acquaintances, but it has yet to fully grow on me. Aside from last year's old-homeless-man-versus-Shakespeare&Co-grad-student-bookstore-guy incident, coupled with that ridiculously old man who tried to put his "I am a french man, I will make love to you under the Eiffel Tower" move on me, Paris is on my shortlist of cities-that-still-need-work-to-love.

Or maybe I just keep going back before I should...

Amsterdam and getting side-swiped by a space cake

Humans have been gifted with an unnaturally long life span but as Einstein believed, it is also incredibly relative. As an athlete (except for my intense love for food) I've always tried to maintain a sane mind and healthy body free of toxins (not including the occasional alcohol of course). I have never had any interest in taking any kind of drug (except for 'tussin and sugar).

But when in Amsterdam...

I've done research and had a plan; and thankfully, I met a very friendly Brasilian named Matteus to accompany me in my scientific experiment; because when it comes down to it, I am but a mere servant to my curiosity.

A note on Amsterdam, the city.

It is amazingly beautiful and I was in love with it after the first day. The dutch pancakes are insane... As in as big as my face (that is, if it were flattened to the size of a pizza). The people are beautiful and generally of a good jovial nature. If I lived in a city like that, I would be, too. However, without a job or a study abroad curriculum, I would probably run out of things to do after 3 days. I do wish I had more time to explore Holland. Ah well there's always a next time.

The space cake.

I had gone back to the hostel and met with a fellow traveler whose name escapes me. Funny Brazilian fella with a knack for bringing along unusual souvenirs from his travels (i.e. glow-in-the-dark heavy metal skeleton). We exchanged travel stories and decided that it would be a fantastic idea to go to a wi-fi enabled Coffee Shop to try some of the more college-reknowned Amsterdam delicacies, then head over to the Red Light District assessing the view. He had also mentioned that taking pictures when stoned lends to a very distinctive artistic eye, so we grabbed our favorite cameras and headed off into the center.

After literally scouting all of eastern Amsterdam for the perfect "Coffee" spot, we decided to park ourselves in a very rasta-flavored joint.

Immediately after opening the door, we were met with the thick unmistakable aroma of weed, hash and coffee with chill jamaican mixes playing in the background, and a gigantic Miami-style parrot stooped above the door... as if the hyper-jungle theme wasn't enough, there was a hammock to boot. Brazilian-buddy parked himself on a stool, laid out his laptop and ordered us a couple of cappucinos with a side of paper and hash for himself, and a giant slice of "space cake" for me.

As we sat comparing travelogue photographs swapping adventure stories, I began eating my unsuspectingly delicious space cake. With an eye on my watch, I expected to experience some sense of drugness to take effect half an hour to 45-minutes after ingesting this thing. I even left half of the cake in case they packed a lot of weedness into the butter (Brazil, for lack of a better name, had graciously explained the entire history behind weed and hash, and even offered me tips on the best space cake recipes--we had a 2-hour conversation on the varying types of weed in Amsterdam while at the hostel).

Half an hour goes by. Forty-five minutes. One whole hour. Nothing. Two whole hours and I decide that I am an impenetrable fortress of fantastic health and my liver had cleansed my body of any drug. Either that or I just had the most expensive, strange-tasting cake I've ever had in my life (at 4 euros for a pound-cake slice). Disappointed yet somewhat relieved, Brazil comforts me by dragging me along the Red Light District canal observing the thoroughfare that go through in the famous drag of the city.

Pretty hookers. Ugly hookers. Man-woman hookers. Unfortunately no scantily clad men on those neon-red windows, but between the Japanese tourists pointing and looking on with awe, the stupid young frat boys egging their buddies to go into transvestite windows, and local blue-collar men walking making their appointments, the Red Light District is an anthropologist's mecca of social interaction between social norms and taboos.

Three hours later and STILL no go.

After zigzagging in and out of the labyrinthine streets in this district, Brazil and I decide that the Red Light District is interesting, but not all that it's cracked up to be. So we decided to start heading south looking for more plazas and areas to take artistic pictures of.

Four hours later, having covered just about every plaza in the center of Amsterdam, we decide to head down towards the huge park near our hostel, behind the Rijks and Van Gogh museums. We stop briefly to freak out about the scarlet-red sky burning at sunset, grab a couple of beers at a night shop, and head on down through the park. We take awesome long-exposure shots of the amsterdam sign in front of the Rijks museum and I begin to notice that I desperately need water.

My mouth is incredibly dry. My tongue felt as if it had tripled in size. It kept sweeping over my teeth and I kept telling Brazil I needed water. Aside from this, things still felt normal, though I couldn't stop complaining how my space cake had yet to take its effect FOUR AND A HALF HOURS LATER.

We get to the hotel/hostel and the folks in the room had changed. It is now filled with four other American girls from the middle-of-no-where America (minus one Irish-American chick). They, at first, seemed incredibly nice and we begin swapping the day's stories and suggesting places for them to visit. Then the Irish chick (with a strong mid-west American accent) began talking. And all I could think of is, "why won't she stop talking? Jeez, she just never stops talking. She's never going to stop talking. Why is she still talking?"

And then I realized, the space cake has just TOTALLY side-swiped me! Lights begin to dance and everything is just far too slow for a New Yorker's mind to be processing. It felt like my 2008 G5 Mac was just replaced by a Windows '95 system and is dialing-up AOL to get online (wow, I am such a nerd sometimes...).

I freak. And decide that this feeling should never be repeated unless I am in nature and was about to paint something.

And because this Irish chick refused to stop YAMMERING about bullshit, I decide that it was time for me to hide under the covers and make myself sleep.

Five minutes of feeling high was enough for me, and I awoke the next day wondering why the hell it took nearly five hours for the cake to hit.

And that's the story of my only experience getting drugged (aside from alcohol).

***

Back to normalcy, the next day was spent writing postcards and visiting the Van Gogh museum. I really should have saved a bit of the space cake (I ate the rest while assessing the prostitutes along the Red Light District) to eat just before going to the Van Gogh museum. It was an interesting experience, and though Van Gogh never was a favorite painter of mine, I understood then why it was he painted the way he did.

As I continue on my journey to Bruges, the train speeds through the Dutch country side. All I see is Van Gogh everywhere animating the wind in the trees, caressing each dandelion, combing through the overgrown grass. Holland is beautiful and Van Gogh's works suddenly mean more
than bold brush strokes and solid unmixed palettes.

I will have to return here some day and visit the tulip fields outside Amsterdam. That will be saved for when I can enjoy it with Dutch friends over amazing (unlaced) dutch pancakes.

Copenhagen, Part 2

Copenhagen, Part 2

In the span of a full afternoon, I managed to cover the rest of
Copenhagen that I wanted to see. I started off the soggy morning
taking a fantastic (quick, easy, painless) canal boat tour of
Copenhagen. Accompanied by what appeared to be several generations of
an Italian family, I learned the full history and layout of Copenhagen
in Danish, English and Italian. It was a lot of fun getting a boatside
view of the city though I wished it lasted a bit longer.

Time was on my side as the Danish Royal Palace's changing of the guard
started fifteen minutes after I finished the boat tour. It was a very
confusing and extremely uninteresting scene since they play no music
when the queen is not home and spend the better time of the hour
standing at one end of the plaza staring at each other and not moving.

At least watching this has confirmed all my theories of being a royal
guard: a- wear large fuzzy hats, and b- must have just finished puberty.

A half hour later, I walked over to the large cathedral next to the
royal plaza and was lucky that one of the only 2 tours offered a day
was just beginning. For 25DKK, I was able to get a grand view of both
the city and the queen's backyard. Boasting a cupola that was farely
sizeable, though nothing to Florence's Duomo or that of St. Peter's
in the Vatican, it was still worth the $5 just to see the top of the
city. (Or maybe it's just my Napoleon complex...)

After that, I headed back for the hostel, grabbed a very quick and
early dinner and left on my 7pm 15-hour train ride to Amsterdam.

I hate only having seats on an overnight train... Uncomfortable and
barely any rest, the train itself arrived 4 hours late at its
destination cutting my Amsterdam day in half.

At the hostel/hotel, I decided to get some kind of rest and set my
alarm for a quick nap. Unfortunately, my 2pm nap turned into full on
sleeping, and I awoke the next day at 6am.

Ah, the adventures of misadventures.

Copenhagen, Part 1

Copenhagen, Denmark

June 20th, arrival in Copenhagen Airport. Took 13-min train to
Koebenhaven H (Copenhagen Central station).

Accomodation:
City Public Hostel
Absalonsgade 8
(10 min walk west of train station)

Weather: variable from warm under sun to freezing under cloud cover.
Susceptible to sudden rainpours.

As horrible and incompitent as I feel speaking english, everyone else
seems to as well. If only I at least knew how to say hello and thank
you...

Don't let the large denomination fool you. Though the exchange rate is
~4.78DKK to the dollar, one item on the cheapest food menus are around
40DKK. To put this in perspective, a shawarma I ate yesterday (a
staple to the NYU student diet) was 68 DKK. That would be somewhere
just under $15. Yeah. I try not to cry and console myself with the
fact I'm only here for 2 days.

I will say Copenhagen is definitely one amongst the most colorful
cities I've been to. This morning, in an attempt to curb my jetlag
immediately, I got up around 6:30am and was out the door to explore by
7am. It may have been a mistake on my part to walk out with an empty
stomach as nothing in this city opened before 9:30am. At any rate,
walking about so early definitely had the advantage of allowing me to
admire the entire center in quiet solitude. Bright, beautiful, and
freezing, I was able to tool around all important sites within 3
hours. It was bizarre to find myself in a large city absolutely empty
of any living thing. It almost felt eerie, yet not one second did I
feel unsafe. If you have a Holga, Copenhagen would be the perfect city
to use it.

Waking up so early and walking around for so long had a bit of a
negative effect on my poor sick self. On my return I decided to take a
quick nap. It had been about 10:30am and I figured napping before
lunch would revitalize me for an afternoon of exploring all of
Copenhagen's canals by boat. By the time I got up, 9 hours had already
passed, yet my body kept telling me to stay in bed and recuperate from
this horrible cold I managed to catch my last few days in New York.

At any rate, I immediately got up and refreshed myself, bid hello-
goodbye to the fella in front desk, and headed out the door for plan
B: exploring Vesterbro.

Vesterbro, located on the southwest corner of the city, is a
traditional working class neighborhood. Though walking through it
reminded me of walking through my neighborhood, there are small
pockets of surprises everywhere you turn. Hip designer shops, trendy
cocktail bars and clubbing venues can be found hidden within alcoves
of resident buildings off the main strips. This being the case,
Vesterbro is a lot more fun to explore since every residential street,
as quiet as it may seem, hides surprises that locals venture to. The
best part, it is very un-touristy!

If you should find yourself here; do yourself a favor and grab a cup
of tea at the quaint and cozy tea shoppe Tante The on the corner of
Vesterbrogade and Viktoriagade. It has a cozy mix of antique furniture
(couches, tea tables, and armchairs), is lit by warm candle light, has
small black & white family portraits on the wall next to portraits of
the royal family, and is set to the perfect mood by Ella Fitzgerald
and Louis Armstrong. Stop by, pull out your postcards and sip some
excellent tea. Don't worry. The locals are the only one filling this
tiny pot.

TONIGHT
Eurocup '08 match: Netherlands vs. Russia
Tivoli Gardens, one of the oldest amusement parks in the world.

Note: City Bikes are supposedly everywhere and are available for free
to tour the city at your leisure. I've yet to encounter one...

Pre-Field Season Prep. It's Cramming Time.

Time seems to fly so quickly these days. Preparations for my departure are well underway with less than a week to go. I've finished off the cafe job and am hoping that the savings I've managed to collect will be sufficient for the summer's surprises.

Considering how lodging and meals are completely provided for on our sites, I figure I'll be able to spend most of my money on tooling around the surrounding regions, and neighboring E.U. countries. I'm all well set with my 6-day, 5-country Eurail pass and am quite excited for Copenhagen... though I cannot but worry how I'll cross an entire continent to get to Burgos for the first day of excavation.

Who cares? C'e la vie. Like Paul Coelho would say, the universe only conspires in your favor, therefore let it be my wings and guide me through my adventures!

23, older and still trying to be better

on the playlist:
I'm Yours - Jason Mraz


You know, sometimes I worry that maybe there is something wrong with me for having been so single all this time and never having had a real long-lasting boyfriend... but at the same time I kind of always felt my instincts has always lead me in the right directions. And the times I didn't listen to them were always something to be learned from. Nothing I've ever really regretted.

And so as I turned 23 and longed to break from the dreariest birthday ever (thank you statement of purposes, applications, and GRE), I looked back on all the males that have ever graced my love-history as a means of procrastinating/taking a recess.

There haven't been so many, and I am the first to say I have never been an easy target for anyone's affections. As a Filipina raised in high moral standards of the culture, I often, albeit subconsciously, played the tag-you're-it game of love. In gradeschool (even in high school), I would begin to develop crushes all over the place (and my favorite people would be the first to attest to my crush-craziness/boy-craziness). However, as soon as the feelings would begin to be reciprocated, I would IMMEDIATELY lose interest and quite literally run away.

At one point, I even ran away from someone who gave me a very cheesy poem... (okay, but I don't like being caught off-guard... fight or flight, I chose FLIGHT). I think I have an aversion to horrible horrible cheesy poetry. Funny cheesy poetry is okay. But scary cheesy gross poetry give me the shivers. I don't quite remember if I returned the paper...but I sort of have a vague memory of throwing the paper at him. I am a horrible person sometimes, I know.

Later, as I grew into being a country-hopping adventurer, I began meeting people left and right. I developed a persona of adventuress extraordinaire and the apparent mystique I emitted made me sort of a target for the roguish fellas that were more Francis MacComber's safari guide.

Needless to say, on most accounts anyway, I stuck to the coy flirtations and refused any physical advances. However, I have fallen prey to a couple of a-holes like that, but mostly because my curiosity overpowered my good judgement.


At anyrate (that may have been TMI, even for myself), through Facebook, I have been able to gain wonderful hindsight that confirmed my good decisions. Where are these fellas now? Some have not changed. Some have done quite well for themselves. Some... are still creepy and sending random passive-aggressive messages asking me out and saying how I probably still wouldn't go out with them ever. One, in particular, is happily married with a beautiful little girl.

For the last one, I am so incredibly happy for him. But it did make me wonder if I could nearly have been the wife with child had I crumbled to his sweet advances. FREAKS ME OUT. But anyway, happy for him.




So...I'm giving this long-distance thing a shot. Who knows. I have a 2-week limit for crushes if I actually want to date them. For relationships, 1 month has been my maximum. Maybe this thing with the poet is working because he isn't around. But hey, puzzle pieces. I'm still trying to fit them.

At least I'm not throwing poetry back into guy's faces anymore... or running away immediately. Haha, yay for progress.

the road to my future is paved with applications and personal essays...

Thus begins the season for paperwork. Returning from an amazing summer with a 7a-8p schedule each week and having nothing more than excavations to worry about has spoiled me silly. I would say, was most definitely the most productive summer vacation I've ever been in.

But it's back to reality and again diving into the world of standardized exams, essay after essay about who I am, what I've done, and why exactly should I be accepted to programs and given financial aid. *sigh* So much to do, yet time flies so quickly.

If only there was an easier way to do this.

update from Pinilla, excavation #3

How is everyone? I have been MIA for a really long time, way out of reach of phone coverage and internet but things are going very well at the moment. I am still alive and I figure that´s pretty fantastic.

I am currently in my 3rd excavation. I know, I said I was heading for 2 but those wonderful people from my first excavation invited me to join the next one, and who was I to turn down a fantastic chance to hit up the Pyrenees??? (Speaking of, it is the beginning of AUGUST and I am freezing my ass off... I bet it's crazy hot in NY and Philippines or whereever it is you currently are. Heehee.)

Really quick update:

Week 1: Portugal. Seville.

Lisbon, AMAZING. People are great. Music is fantastically passionate and melancholy. Food, AMAZING. Hostel... the owner is all I could remember (Ah Leah, if only we were there at the same time...).

Lagos. UNBELIEVABLE. A true black hole. Did not want to leave, except for the fact that my FAVORITE camera in the world (my dual lens, you know the one) got washed over by salt water while I kayaked the coast. Had to buy a new one in Seville and send my old one home. Really great place. LEARNED HOW TO SURF. Met tons of Australians who partied like we pregame during Spring Break. I would have as well except for the fact that we have been partying non-stop before graduation and I was a bit burnt out.

Seville, Spain. Beautiful. Hot and dry as heck but the FLAMENGO (???) was to spectacular.

Weeks 2-5, Dig 1: La Cova Gran (Santa Linya, Les Avellanes, Catalunya Spain)

Found hoards of stuff. People were fantastic. Food was amazing. Stone tools... ridiculous amounts of BPs, BPFs, etc. etc. and realized how I must be living in the wrong city as everyone around me are ridiculously good looking. First 2 weeks were filled with Brits. 2nd 2 weeks were filled with me struggling to get back my spanish... and fumbling with spantalian. FYI... my spanish is better, but now I can't remember my Italian.

Lived right next to the river so we swam a lot and the ONE bar in the really small town became our second home... every night. CRAZY! Oh... and HEROES ended in week 3 here. Ah, seeing it a second time and in Catalan... that was an experience.

Weekend of the 15th, went to visit Rolf (a colleague from the American Museum of Natural History) at his site, Atapuerca... only probably the most important paleoanthropological site in all of Spain. LIKE A FACTORY, the place is huge and breathtaking. Got the insider's tour and met tons of great important people. Lots of fun! That was one helluva 10-hr one-way trip up to Burgos, but was soooo worth it considering how much fun it was.

Week 4: discovered a new archaeological site, filled with Horse remains, lithics, AND HUMAN BONES!!!

And because I got so excited about finding a HORSE TOOTH right away, they called me Caballo-Loco (crazy for horses)... and now we call the site CABALLO LOCO (crazy horse). Pretty fantastic. Age 21, discovered a Neanderthal occupation site in the middle of no where. INDIANA JONES CAN EAT MY DUST.

Weeks 6-7, Dig 2: Balma Guilanya (Solsona, Catalunya Spain. Right at the mouth of the Pyrenees)

IT HAILED. Freezing mornings and evenings. Great weather. Very much like the Poconos... really pretty. HIKED A LOT!!! 4-hr excursions in the mountains... I nearly died 7 times. I've only 2 lives left, it seems.

FOUND HUMAN BONES!!! Woo-hoo! Really exciting stuff! Slept on the floor of a small preschool for 2 weeks. Nothing but a highway nearby. It was fantastic! You could see the stars`perfectly. Only thing was that there was nothing to do, really. Not much anyhow. But hey, if there's one thing Spaniards can do right, that would be to party.

Both weekends, FIESTA MAYORES of the two small towns near the first excavation. Spaniards know how to party, all right. Bands and dancing all night long. AND CHURROS... granted they were burnt, but hey, if you're hella tired and just a little drunk, anything tastes good at 5 in the morning.

Great experience. Got to know tons of people and now I have friends to stay with in Barcelona, the Basque Country, Valencia and Madrid anytime I want. The archaeological experience I gained was pretty fantastic... I BECAME THE GO-TO PERSON WHENEVER THEY FOUND BONES!!!

There are pictures up online. I am pretty amazed at how far I've gone and the friends I've made, the experiences I've had. Good times. 7 weeks flew by so quickly and now I'm in another excavation experiencing new things... AND ONLY SPEAKING SPANISH. Ah, life is good.

Week 8, Dig 3: Pinilla del Valle (Rascafria7/Pinilla del Valle, Castilla y Leon Spain... 1.5 hrs north of Madrid)

Day 2. Arrived yesterday and today we began the excavation. Working in El Camino, a hyena den just FILLED with tons of faunal bones. It's great! Bones bones bones. All Spaniards mainly from Madrid and the only english I speak is with Rolf. Best part, I DIDN´T HAVE TO PAY FOR ANYTHING.

Bad part... the food is sooooooo good... I think I'm gaining back all the weight I lost the past 7 weeks, all in 2 days. The food is unbelievable. We're staying at a youth hostel in the middle of a natural park located in a valley of beautiful mountains. It is freezing in the morning and the evening and is absolutely beautiful. Not as Alpine/Pocono-ish as La Balma, but more like... south Jersey or Minnesota. Really great! Not so much in the middle of no where as the other 2 digs (internet and phone coverage!) but we are situated 15 mins out of the nearest town (Rascafria) but right across a 5-star Monestary-turned-hotel. It really is beautiful, and as soon as I get a new working camera, I will send pictures. (Camera #2 fell in the river, cheap camera # 3 does not work.)

Right, back to the bad part... the food... the hostel chef cooks up a CRAZY storm of 5-star quality food. 3 courses and ALL THE SANGRIA I WANT. Oh that stuff is lethal. Today we had caviar and bocadillos of smoked fish for appetizers, and perfect steak and frites for second dish, and PERFECTLY MADE FLAN for dessert. Lunch was also a 2-hour feast. Yesterday, was also ridiculously good. Rolf tells me it will be like this every day. This weekend, I plan to head down to Madrid, meet up with a couple of friends and borrow running shoes because there is no way I am going to lose any weight if this keeps up. IT'S ONLY DAY 2!!!

Right, so that's about the gist of me and where I am and where I've been the past few days.

PS- Mahou beer sponsors the Pinilla excavation. In our shed, there is a WALL OF BEER AND SHANDY. 8-feet high from edge to edge. LETHAL.

Right, well that''s about the gist of it. I sort of miss you guys, but not really. Haha, I kid. I do miss you all but I am having such an experience here in Spain that time flies by so quickly. I will be seeing you (hopefully) in a month, and for most of you, I would love to hear updates of what is going on. Seriously, I have nothing to do but walk around after dinner or sit in my 2-bed private room alone trying to get through Dan Brown´s Deception Point (the book is ABOMINABLE!). Please, do go on and fill me in with lovely updates of your lives and I hope to hear from you soon!

NOTE: the best way to reach me at the moment would be either a text message or an email here to my GMAIL account since Facebook/MySpace/Friendster etc are all banned on the computers here in our lab in Pinilla. So if you sent me a facebook message recently (considering I haven't checked in a while, I think there have been quite a few), I won't be able to check them until I (a) go to Madrid for a day trip, or (2) return to NY in one month.

A little bit more of an update... one week in the new excavation:

As with other sites, with money come lots of publicity. Bueno, yesterday on the site I work on now (Pinilla del Valle) was a huge day of publicity. Tons of folks visited with cameras, questions and all. Some made it on the television news (my sector, El Camino, received a lot of attention since it produced 2 neanderthal teeth that appears to be the oldest homonin remains in the state of Madrid). I, as usual, made it on the newspaper! Well, that is, my back did anyway. So here are some of the news clips that talk about my site. Some are decent, some are outright ridiculous, but hey, that's what you get with sites that are alloted a huge amount of money.

http://www.elpais.com/articulo/madrid/anos/misma/prehistoria/elpepuespmad/20070822elpmad_4/Tes

No pictures online but we had a double-page spread in print! Have a copy with me.

http://www.abc.es/20070822/cultura-arqueologia/primer-madrileno-devorado-hienas_200708220257.html

My back is actually in the picture!!!

http://www.madridiario.es/2007/Agosto/municipio/pinillavalle/33392/pinilla-valle-excavaciones-yacimientos-neandertales-arsuaga.html

El Sondeo sector of NavalMaillo with Marisol, Ignaci, y Carmen (who last year excavated in both Catalan digs I was in before Pinilla). Small frickin world.

NavalMaillo, larger view. Only one of the 3 caves with human occupation levels producing lithics and faunal remains.

Los jefes. Alfredo, the geologist...who loves 50s rock&roll, some famous delegate of Madrid, the lady who feeds us amazing lunch every day in her restaurant, some other well-off richie of Madrid, Juan Luis Arsuega- the jefe of jefes of Atapuerca and paleontologist of Pinilla, and Enrique Badequano- the archaeologist who is super awesome and dances to all types of music we put on in El Camino.

Arriba del la Cueva de Buena Pinta (translates to the Cave of Good Looks/Good Looking Cave) because it looks so good. Another carnivore den. It is pretty cool.

Cova de Buena Pinta with the total station. This is why it looks so good. It has a large hole in it! lol.

Sarah y yo excavating our little awkward corners in El Camino - a hyena den FILLED WITH FAUNAL BONES AND NO LITHICS!!!

ah... no lithics... que bueno!

Nohemi and Ana, the cool hot Biologas of El Camino. Super awesome people!

And so that´s it for now. Still alive and doing well. Be back in a month!