Only God Knows Why


If You Build It, They Will come
October 4, 2010, 12:16 am
Filed under: Uncategorized

I’ve always had a soft spot for people who go on believing things long after everybody else has started thinking they’re mad.    For those of you who have seen ‘Under the Tuscan Sun,’ you might remember them talking about the Semmering Pass, that was built before there were powerful enough steam trains to complete the journey, with the belief that one would obviously be built.  

My father also displays this belief in the text message conversations that we have.   

Me:  “Do you think it will be possible for me to go to uni in Bundoora from Sorrento?  How long would it take?”  

Dad: “That would depend on how you’re planning to do it.”  

Me: “Well, this is a plan for two years in the future.”  

Dad:  “Check the hovercraft timetable closer to the date.”  

  

I’m COMING bitches!!  You BETTER believe it, Papa Vicki.  

  

   

Whenever I’m unhappy, I read archaeology and international relations magazines.  And also The Australian Book Review.  

It’s just one of those things.   

Actually, people always ask me what made me want to be an archaeologist (which I am not yet, but I will be.  I AM going to study a Graduate Diploma in Archaeology upon my triumphant return from Japan.  This is the only thing of which I am certain.)  Most people I know who are interested in Ancient History tend to credit some amazingly cool adventurous story of either Indiana Jones or Cairo Jim.  I have basically tried to keep the beginnings of my obsession with Ancient Egypt under wraps as long as possible.  When I was a child I wanted to be a anthropologist because of the unbelievably knowledgable and cool Daniel Jackson from Stargate SG-1.   I try not to tell that story too much.  CRAP! Where is the delete key?!  

  

I’m sorry, did you call me?  I couldn’t hear you over all the loads of stuff that I know.  

 

Sometimes people ask me why I don’t have a boyfriend.  I can only suggest that it’s either because of this embarrassing truth, or that I squeeze from the top of the toothpaste tube.  Either/or.  

             

What the fuck?  How tight is your toothpaste budget?  

 

But, since I have made this embarrassing admission, before turning to the topic I attempted to start earlier, I would like to take a few moments to defend my choice of childhood love.  He wasn’t my first crush (most probably Hawkeye from M*A*S*H, what a dude) nor did he unconsciously guide my later dating choices (there was a while there that I was only romantically interested in people who bore a resemblance to Neil Finn.  EXCEPT for Neil Finn.)  

First of all, Daniel Jackson is a total dude.  Sure, he doesn’t have the sex appeal of Richard Dean Anderson, nor is he the token girl.  He didn’t have the effortless cool of Teal’c, which comes from being of an alien race.   

He just knows a whole lot of shit.  Like, a whole lot.  They’d find something and be all “WHAT DOES IT MEAN?!?”  and he’d tell them.  It’d be kind of like:  

Rest of SG1:  Please Daniel, we need some exposition in the plot and we’re not sure how else to explain the facts to viewers.  

Daniel Jackson (DJ): Don’t worry, I got this.  

And he was really quite diplomatic and peaceful.   Jack always just wanted to kill loads of people, but Daniel wasn’t cool with that.  No way!   

   

Did you say, “Kill loads of people?”  “No, no, I said, put twill on that Beagle.” “That’s okay then, I’ll put my serious face away for now.”  

And he knew so much stuff about the Goa’uld even though they were an alien race.  Incidentally, what a cool alien race they were.  They had genetic memory implanted in them for the entirety of what their species knew.  Kind of like:  

You: Hey Grandma, do you want me to show you how to operate your iPad?  

Glassy-eyed Grandma : No…I’m already genetically programmed to know how.  

   

  Now step into my sarcophagus, dear.  

 

 His only downside was that he wore a REALLY STUPID FUCKING HAT!!  Everyone else in the team wore those ordinary baseball caps, but no, Daniel Jackson had to wear a stupid legionnaires hat! ARGH, I HATE THAT DAMN HAT.  

     

Boy, do I feel silly.  And I don’t think you were telling the truth about that Beagle thing.  

   

   

And then there was this episode I LOVED with Hathor (the Egyptian fertility god, but in this case, a Goa’uld) and she had this purple breath that made all the men in the base fall in love with her.  She’s basically this amazing Sex Goddess, and who did she choose as the most genetically fit to carry on her Goa’uld children?  What sort of man would be fit for a sexy goddess who could have any man she wanted?  

Yeah, that’s right.  Fucking Daniel Jackson.  Boy, was I jealous.  

   

 

  

Don’t forget that time I ascended and became omniscient!  

 

Anyway, what the hell was I talking about?  Oh yeah – people who belief stuff against the odds.  

 In my most recent reading of the Australian magazine ‘Archaeological Diggings’  I came across one of these amazing belief stories that, according to the text, is ignored even by the museum that displays the findings.  A quick search of google found it was a difficult topic to research, but I have managed to glean what appears to be the correct story (however, I am open to corrections.)  

(Once upon a time) There was an Israeli archaeologist named Yigael Yadin who headed an excavation of the biblical city of Hazor, following his military career.  The story of Hazor is that it is one the Canaanite towns that Joshua (following the Exodus from Egypt) went to and demanded ownership of.  When they refused, he quite reasonably burnt the entire city to the ground.  (So the story goes.)  

So during this dig of Hazor led by Yadin, in the 1950s, a basalt lion was uncovered.  

   

   

  

 40 years of wandering in the desert, and nothin’ but stone cat.  

 

 

 

   

After discovering this stone cat, Yadin was convinced that it was part of a set of two.  He wrote this in his research reports on the area and continued to dig for another 4 expeditions searching for it.  He consistently claimed, throughout his career, that there was another stone lion identical to this one, buried nearby.

After 4 expeditions, nothing was found and the dig site was closed.  The idea that there was a second stone lion still waiting to be discovered was abandoned.   

Except by Yadin, who, based on his knowledge of the area and his examination of the one lion, maintained that there there was no other reasonable explanation except that there were two cats.

 

 

   

  

“You can haz second stone lion to save your reputation?”  “Shut up.”  

   

 

 

 

I can’t find much (any) information on how Yadin took this abandonment of his speculation.  I know how I would have taken it. 

Vicki-Yadin would have wasted away slowly, my face becoming similarly ashen and grey as my eyes sank into my hollow face.  I  would spew gravel from my own mouth.  I’d eat, sleep, live and love dead, cold basalt. I’d see that cat in my dreams, it’s little stone mouth turned up in a smirk, amused at it’s own unattainability.

“I know there’s another lion, I just know it!” I’d say, my eyes glassy and distant.  I’d verbally chase my tale, telling anyone who came near the reasons why it must be so.  I would drive myself crazy searching for another explanation,  dreaming of letting it go.   I’d send myself to financial ruin looking for this second fucking lion.   I would beg the people who knew me to make me let it go, tie me down and flush the stone from my veins.

When I died, they’d find my body replaced by a silent, smirking sphinx-like stone lion with a smiling tomb-like mouth, covered in my tattered clothes that had no answers to give.

It reminds me of a quote from a book named The Stone Carvers, from  Walter Allward, who found the stone for, and sculpted the Vimy Memorial to the lost Canadian soldiers in France: “I’ve been eating and sleeping stone for so long it’s become an obsession with me.  And, incidentally, a nightmare.”

Yadin went on to become a politician.  I don’t know how he did.  I don’t know how he managed to walk away from a hole in the ground.

But a dog that sits and waits for a master that never comes is not a story.  Wasted obsession is never where the best stories end.

In 1990, Yadin’s former student A Ben-Tor went back to the site to begin another dig.

   

Six years after Yadin’s death in 1984, a second basalt lion was pulled from the ground in Hazor.  

Yeah boi.  

   

 

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4 Comments so far
Leave a comment

hi!This was a really terrific theme!
I come from itlay, I was luck to come cross your blog in wordpress
Also I learn much in your Topics really thank your very much i will come later

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Comment by bet365 italia

I like that you have strong convictions Vicki. But poor Yadin hey, lol 😦

I squeeze the toothpaste from the bottom. My sister squeezes it from the top. It shits me to no end. lol.

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Comment by Kerry

I think I overdid it with the ‘lols’. I wasn’t really laughing out loud. I just type ‘lol’ by habit. It’s not a good habit at all.

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Comment by Kerry

I can’t stand the lies!

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Comment by Vix




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