What were you doing 15 years ago?

Originally posted on Myspace December 18, 2007:

WARNING: LOOOOONNNNNNGGGGGG

Yesterday evening-ish time I was processing a survey report, likes I always do, and noticed that the date of the report was the same as yesterday- December 18th- except it was 15 years prior. This got me to thinkin', so I sent off the following epistle to my fren' Peeps.

December 18, 1992. A small group of contract archaeologists were writing up their reports from the field season and decided against formally recording the 47 IFS ("Isolated" Finds) they ran across in one survey, in one relatively small area. Apparently they also decided against 2nd guessing their own crappy work and maybe taking a look at their own damn maps and thinking, "hmm, all these IFS occur in a relatively concentrated area….. maybe it's a site? Maybe we should go back and try to actually record it? Naaahhhh… Christmas is coming! I have shopping to do! Let the SHPO deal with it!"

December 18, 2007. Bitter desk archaeologist at the SHPO processes crap-tastic 15 year old report and attempts to formally record 47 IFS that are 400 miles away and buried under 2 feet of snow not to mention years of paperwork, and subsequent overlapping surveys.


I feel old.

________________________________________

Then I just couldn't stop thinking. Darn you, monkey – mind! Put down the pipe!

What else was going on though? In my personal life, I had just helped the train wreck posing as my parents move from the house I had grown up into temporary digs in a nearby town-home, that belonged to the people who had just bought their house (long story- too bad reality TV didn't exist back then- we could have done "House Swap!" Right before the Holidays! Watch the action! )what reeked of their chain-smoking and bad, greasy food. They were from Ohio. The woman's name was Arlene (not making that up), her common-law husband's name was John, and he had a 16 year-old's spiky new wave mullet haircut on top of his 35-year-old head. They had a one-year-old baby boy that they hadn't gotten around to naming yet, so they called him "Boy" jokingly. The other candidate for a name was "John, Junior." Very creative. The poor kid was strapped into some kind of baby-bouncer-chair every time I saw him, his eyes glazed over because of their constant chain - smoking, and he probably already had asthma. He was the latest in their collection of children from either of their previous relationships, ranging in age from 8 to 17. They were so excited about moving into our house because they would finally have enough room to house all of their children, who were scattered around various parts of the country (I'm assuming, in foster care). But they couldn't sell their town-home in time to move, so they needed to rent it out, and whaddya know, my parents needed a place for them and all their crap to stay for about 4 months until their brand-spanking-new mini-mansion was completed. So a deal was struck.

In the myopic, co-dependent misery that was my life prior to divorcing my parents (if someone knows of a better word for it, notify me) I remember thinking that they deserved the mini-mansion with all the trimmings, despite the fact that only days earlier, and with much fake hand-wringing and crocodile tears they had both told me that, much as they wanted to, there was no possible way they could help me with college, so I was on my own. I distinctly remember my mother shaking her head and scoffing at me after yet another fruitless phone call to the UNM financial aid office; "Well you'd better get a scholarship or something, otherwise you won't be able to go. Honestly S--- I don't think you plan for anything." At the same time, her pride and joy, the first-born, baby-boy and prince of the family, aka my brother, was petitioning to the get into Nebraska's School of Architecture because he didn't make the cut on the first or second rounds, his grades weren't good enough. So he had to present his projects and applications to a 7-person jury of Architecture professors and basically plead his case and beg them to take him, because despite failing Calculus twice and taking more than 6 years to complete a 2-year prerequisite program, he really did show promise, etc. etc. So he was on the phone to us every 10 minutes giving us/them updates on what the verdict would be. I also distinctly remember, during one such phone call, fraught with all the drama and tension of a spoiled little prince going up against the judges and jury of the Real World for the first time, my dad getting on the phone and declaring that if poor widdle Jeeemy DID manage to get into Architecture School, they would pay his rent for the rest of college so he could concentrate on his classes and finish. About 2 minutes later, they both turned to me and told me that'd I'd better get down to New Mexico early and get a couple jobs lined up before classes even started, because work-study and financial aid probably wouldn't cover my living expenses. But, clueless as I was 15 years ago, I took their peculiar brand of bullshit at face value.


On that bright note-- So there I was- about to head off for my 3rd try at a Bachelor's degree, starting Spring semester, January 1993 at UNM in Albuquerque. Bill Clinton had just been elected. I had voted for Ross Perot because he was a 3rd party candidate, but I wasn't bitter that he lost, I was happy that he got a third of the vote. Overall, we felt hopeful that the country, and the economy, was about to take a turn for the better. In spite of the blind-siding WHACK upside the head we (here in Colorado) also received on Election night- that a nascent hate group down in Colorado Springs (which would later become Focus On the Family) had stealthily managed to shove through legislation through subterfuge and flat-out lying, which specifically took away equal rights for gays. It was called Amendment 2, and it was struck down 2 weeks later as unconstitutional, but no matter, the damage was done.

For anyone reading this who is not from Colorado, but likes to judge us as a bunch of ignorant, gun-toting rednecks who hate them there gays, let me just tell you that the majority of us (who are nothing like the aforementioned stereotype) were totally like, DUDE, WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED??????

I mean, we were all well aware that Colorado Springs, and El Paso County in general, is so saturated with military installations and right-wing churches (they seem to go hand-in-hand) and rich retirees originally hailing from East Coast military installations, that essentially, the place has its head so far up its own ass it can't tell night from day. But still, DENYING BASIC HUMAN RIGHTS TO GAYS BASED ON SOME MISINTERPRETATION OF BIBLICAL RHETORIC AND YOUR OWN HOMOPHOBIC REPRESSED NEUROSES???? COME ON!!

They had gone too far. And while New York-based groups made a big deal over canceling their scheduled conventions at our brand-spanking-new Convention Center in Downtown Denver in protest, and we were scratching our heads trying to figure out how this all happened without our knowing it, a few of us secretly admitted to ourselves that this here cloud might have a silver lining. I mean, uh, not to sound just as hateful as the anti-gay freaks down south, but um, anything that keeps a bunch of nastyass, no-manners east coasters out of our fair state can't be all bad, right? Anyway, that's what we were secretly and not-so secretly thinking. It's funny because, in 1992 the "flood" of immigrants from the East Coast, West Coast, and everywhere in between was barely a trickle, but man, you wouldn't know it from all the bellyachin' we did about them taking our jobs, driving up housing prices, polluting our air and wasting our water.

Wooo! If we had only known then the true inundation that was to occur as the '90's roared into the 21st Century! Weee, doggies! as us rednecks like to holler. My attitude towards newcomers has tempered since then, but only slightly. (sorry, Peeps.) My friends in Montana have a similar philosophy. They were overjoyed when Ted Kaczynski (the Unabomber) and that crazy militia dude were arrested in Montana within weeks of each other. E.g. "Woohoo!! Now the whole country will think we're a bunch of psychotic, gun-toting red necks, and maybe they'll stop moving here!!" You get the picture.

Anyhoo, the other reason I've been thinking about this 15-year thing is that, you guessed it, we're gluttons for punishment, and we just moved into a new place…. Right before the holidays, with all the associated stressors, yada yada. Except that, it's my own little family what moved, whom I happen to love very much, and not my abusive moon-bat-crap crazy parental-unit birth family and their associated junk that they value more than personal relationships, so really, it wasn't that bad. I'm tired, but stressed? Nah, it's nothing like 15 years ago, thank God.

For those of you (probably girls, I'm guessing) waiting with baited breath to hear the outcome of my brother's fate, yes he DID make it into Architecture school, and today he is a successful architect along with his lovely wife, who is a partner in her own firm and makes way more money than him (see? Karma does exist), and they have two adorable children, and they both make about 14 times as much coin-ola as Bruce and I combined. And although he has pulled his head about halfway out of his arse regarding our parents, he still fails to see the connection between their favored treatment of him and his relative success. And he probably never will. :) But hey, he doesn't get the rare privilege of being an Archaeologist for the great State of Colorado and fixing crappy-ass 15 year old reports, now does he?

(* for those of you snickering at my musical choice, below, let me say I was specifically thinking of the Judy Collins' song, "Who knows where the time goes?"

Plus, she went to East High School, what I lived across from for almost 8 years, but, no more!

Currently listening :
The Very Best of Judy Collins
By Judy Collins
Release date: By 21 August, 2001

LANDLORDHOOD

It's official- for those who don't already know, today is the day we officially enter into landlord-hood, and that adjacent fantasy get-rich-quick (not) realm of "real estate investing." Or rather, we tried to sell our house for 3 years and for various reasons couldn't, and little girl isn't getting any smaller, so measures had to be taken.
We did most of the final clean-up this morning on my way to work, and tomorrow we'll do the walk-through and handing over of keys to our new, superstar tenants and kick off the new year in style.
I'm going to focus on what amazing luck we've had in finding these great tenants, at the price we wanted, rather than the glitches encountered along the way, like the fact the flooring guys were supposed to be completely done the Friday before Christmas but instead RIGHT NOW, AS I TYPE THIS are finally applying the last coat of varnish/sealer/ whatever the fuck it is I don't care if it's toxic waste, I don't live there anymore!!!
Also an amazing bit of luck that our tenants took their time getting out here and are now staying with friends in Boulder for the night, because their furniture won't get here til tomorrow anyway... which gives the varnish time to dry, and PHEWW we dodge the whole inevitable-neighbors-throwing-their-New-Year's-Rockin-Eve party-the-first-night-our-nice-tenants-get-into-town-perhaps-prompting-them-to-change-their minds - and-move-out-immediately-bullet.
Phew. That was close.
But anyway, before I get started on another rant, I wanted to post this link to a clip of Will Farrell's daughter as his landlord- she's about the same age as 'ella in this clip, and so , inspired by this , we're pretty sure we're going to leave any rent collection/ confrontative type issues up to her from now on. :)
http://www.funnyordie.com/videos/74