Sunday, 7 April 2013

Hebdomas horribilis: My Week In A Nutshell. Literally.

This one comes with a censor's warning.
Possibly offensive language: a naughty word is used in the interest of verisimilitude. Those older than 70 are advised to avert their eyes [or go shopping at one of the Subversive Archaeologist's online boutiques].
[I know that this warning appears a bit odd. But, after all, this isn't a real-time conversation entailing the use of hearing---it requires reading---so it would've made no sense at all if I'd said "Plug your ears!"]
Like Donkey in Shrek I need a hug. This past week has been something of a hebdomas horribilis* for me.

First I was accused of teased about having a man crush on Tom Higham, and displaying my ignorance at the intellectual ancestry of the ultrafiltration technique, increasingly used for ultra-precise radiocarbon age estimates. Mihi ignoscas.**

Then I was [gently, but authoritatively] told what I didn't know about discriminant function analysis. Ego stultus sum.***

Next, after having prepared, spent treasure, and launched the "A drink is like a hug" line of fine gifts---my "damn-the-torpedos, full-speed ahead" grab at the entrepreneurial brass ring---I came to the disappointing conclusion that my roll of the dice was, in fact a total embarrassment to me.

I'd likely be in this pose
 permanently if it weren't
for the fact that I need
two hands to type. Credit
Not only am I embarrassed [yet, rather painfully bound to carry it through considering the time and treasure I've put into it], my "A drink is like a hug" enterprise has all of two likes on facebook, and hasn't make a single red cent, and will never go 'viral'! [Nor is likely to, I'll wager. Wait! Belay that! I don't need to lose any more of my self-respect or pension money by betting against a sure thing!]****

Finally, and worst of all [by any measure you'd care to use], in a belated comment addressed to me for something I said ages ago about Paul Pettitt's fanciful book on the evolution of burial, I was confronted with this unforgettable bit of mobile-phone shorthand:
ur 1 cheky cnut m8 i swr il mes u up
[Translation: You're one cheeky cunt, mate. I swear I'll mess you up!]
Who could've predicted that I'd be the victim of hate mail, much less barely disguised and therefore ambiguous threats to my person? Not me, evidently. [BTdub, the use of "mate" in this context is almost the perfect example of the use of dramatic irony.]

I've decided to leave the dastardly comment where it was left, for all to see. I realize that it might seem a bit odd to do so. But there's madness behind my method. I could have a mysterious accident, or vanish without a trace. In that case I would hope that one of you will be asked to depose your knowledge of this threat in an Interpol interview, following which they'll track down the perp, and bring him/her/it to justice! In theory, at least.

All in all, I dunno whether to laugh, cry, shoot myself or call the police. Wait a minit! I refuse to do the dirty work for my newest fan. So I won't shoot myself. Couldn't anyway---I must be the only gunless human being in the United States. Notwithstanding, I still might try the other three, to see where it gets me.

Funny ol' world. Isn't it? Laugh a minit!


* Latin for "shitty week"
** Latin for "gimme a break"
*** Latin for "I'm a fool"
**** English for "the online store thing is, on the evidence, another non-starter among many in my ongoing effort to avoid ever again having to work for someone else"

SA announces new posts on the Subversive Archaeologist's facebook page (mirrored on Rob Gargett's news feed), on Robert H. Gargett's page, Rob Gargett's twitter account, and his Google+ page. A few of you have already signed up to receive email when I post. Others have subscribed to the blog's RSS feeds. You can also become a 'member' of the blog through Google Friend Connect. Thank you for your continued patronage. You're the reason I do this.

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