Vindolanda - Benches of Memorium

As you walk in the western gate of the Vindolanda site you go past several benches.  Nice shady spots for people to rest, especially on their way back from visiting the site.

But they are more than that.  This one has a bit of text across it that reads:  HE CAME. HE DUG. HE LOVED.  A PASSIONATE VOLUNTEER 2006-2018.  I like that.  There is also a little bronze plaque.

This got me thinking.  I'm sure there was an arrangement whereby the Trust that runs the site put this up after a donation by the Lutz family.  So.....what would I put on "my" bench?

How about this:

Perhaps I'd up the game a bit more.  Wooden benches are nice, but a few seasons back something was unearthed from the bath house site.  Behold, one support from a Stone Bench!

I'm still excavating with most of these folks.

Now I realize that the inscription will puzzle some people.  That's unavoidable.  Badger Trowelsworthy both is and is not me.  He's an alter ego, so if you want to be picky about it, I'm real and he isn't.  He of course insists that the exact opposite it true, and frankly there are times he almost has me convinced.  More on the old scoundrel HERE.  

Off the Map

 

Let the Digging Begin

It's been something like 15 years now.  Hmm, maybe 16.  When the snow finally melts here in Wisconsin I'm off for my annual archaeology trip overseas.  In 2020 nobody went anywhere.  In 2021 the Covid restrictions were almost, but not quite eased up enough to travel.  And one year I went on a dig in Belgium.

Otherwise its the usual gig, digging Roman sites along Hadrian's Wall.

Of course at first the big draw is the thrill of discovery.  Your first pottery shard (that usually happens on Day One of your rookie season!).  Your first coin.  The first time you get to dig down in the anaerobic layers where everything - wood, leather, horse manure, etc - is preserved as in an 18 century old time capsule.

But after a while your priorities change.  You just enjoy the sunshine.  And the chance to re-visit places you've been before and had great fun.  I have my once a year helping of Sticky Toffee Pudding.  

And I get to see my digging pals.  I've written about them in the past, often dubbing our little cohort "The Anaerobes" in the fashion of a sketchy garage band.  Here's some of them in their Natural Environments.  The first day of Vindolanda excavations is today.  I'll see you all in a few weeks.....

Greenland is not for Sale

It was a surprise to hear from him.  But it always is.  My mail, like everyone's these days, is mostly junk.  But there it was, an actual letter.  It was covered with odd stamps and had as the return address:  Badger Trowelsworthy, Arsuk Greenland.

The old scoundrel makes the occasional appearance here on Detritus of Empire.  A while back he may have even been incautious enough to have a photo taken...

I quote the peculiar missive with the usual caveats....Lord Trowelsworthy lives a life that sounds like poorly written fiction.  The things he clearly fibs about might actually be to make it sound more plausible.

As usual it was assembled from cut up books and magazines.  I've never actually seen a sample of his hand writing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Dear Tim

Hope you remain hearty and hale in that rustic backwater called Wisconsin.  I really should drop in some time, but there is the pesky matter of the Statue of Limitations.  Congrats on the addition of a third grand child.  I've no doubt this one will be as endearing and Promising as the first two.  You've rejected this offer many a time, but as always, if there is ever a need to do something on their behalf - a bribe here, the threat of a broken knee cap there - say the word and it's done.  

As you know, my current residence is in Greenland.  By Jupiter I've not seen the place get so much press in ages.  Hard to believe that Don really wants to buy it.  But fear not.  I've told him its not for sale.

I own it and I'm keeping it.

I suppose this will come as a surprise to you.  How after all does one buy a country?  I mean without (too much) assistance from various organizations known only by their LETTERS?

Greenland is a small place.  I've been coming here since the 1920's.  So the tally of my children, grand children and great grand children is a not inconsequential percentage of the electorate.  Oh, not enough to get a majority in the Inasitsart but still a powerful political force.  But perhaps you've heard of the Voldugur Graelingur Party? (TW note: I had to look it up, it translates to The Mighty Badgers).  They had great success introducing a bill entitled - in translation - "Sod off, Orange Boy" that established a sovereign wealth fund to buy, well, everything.  It's true that the stuff in the footnotes about the entire transaction being financed by a crypto currency called BadgerCoin has been controversial......  And that's part of why I'm writing.  You will almost certainly be getting visits from unhappy and unimaginative officials who wonder why your name is on a whole batch of contracts and legal briefs.  Sorry, I'll make it up to you.

Lets get together soon.  Ideally in some happy place without extradition treaties but in a pinch just drop by our humble abode in Arsuk.  My current wife - and by Hera, I don't believe you've met this one - cooks up a mean Seal Tartar.

Until then;

Deny All

Your friend, mentor and fan,

Trowelsworthy

-------------------------------------------------------------------

You can believe as much of that as you care to.  In the interests of full disclosure I must mention that the letter smelled vaguely of sun screen, and that when I pieced together the cut out magazine bits (because I have learned a few things over our long acquaintance) it seems as if some of them came from the menu of a beach front sea food shack in Barbados.

With a bit of searching I found this image of it in the background.

News from Arsuk

So I guess my 50th class reunion is happening tonight.  I'll be elsewhere doing family stuff.  I wonder if the organizers of the event bothered to read through the biography I sent them?  The one with a return address of Arsuk, Greenland.

It would be grand if they actually tried to contact me there.  I'm not sure how they'd do this....although I suppose there is some sort of minimal internet access when the Northern Lights don't screw up the satellites.  

On the off chance they do track me down by more conventional means - and I'd tip my cap - I have kept up on news from Arsuk.  There's more going on up there than you'd expect.

For instance, in 1965 several huts from a Soviet polar research station just floated into Arsuk on an ice floe.  While abandoned they were in good shape and have been incorporated into the town!

A few years back participants in something called the World Harmony Run visited Arsuk and jogged around the community.  That probably didn't take too long.  They were welcomed by the Mayor and all 170 residents, who then treated them to a feast.  I hope it went well.  The World Harmony organization was started by an Indian guru and spiritual teacher.  I'm not sure if such beliefs allow the consumption of seal and walrus.  Anyway, here's a participant posing with the Mayor.

Although Arsuk has an airport of sorts the best way to reach it would probably be by ferry.  When that is actually working....  News from 2008...

The Arctic Umiaq Line ferry Sarfaq Ittuk was beset by ice off the southwest coast of Greenland on 23rd March with 37 passengers and 22 crewmembers aboard. The 73m long ferry finally freed herself from an ice flow on 27th March and continued to Arsuk, arriving the next day. She then continued to Paamiut and Nuuk. Due to the location and the wind direction, it was not possible for other ships to sail to the Sarfaq Ittuk’s assistance. The risk of such an attempt would likely result in two ships stuck in the ice rather than just one. Although inconvenienced and without internet or phone service, passengers on board were never in any danger and seemed to take the weather delay in their stride. Throughout the ordeal, Arctic Umiaq Line kept in contact with the crew and communicated the status of the vessel directly with passenger’s families back home. The company also provided regular updates to Facebook, showing pictures of passengers and crew playing games, reading and watching movies. The 238 passenger/22 crew capacity and 2,118gt Sarfaq Ittuk was built in 1992 and underwent a renovation and extension in the winter of 1999-2000.

The occasional stranding by ice notwithstanding, the  ferry to Arsuk sounds like fun.  This account of a traveler had all sorts of interesting details.  Anybody getting into passport trouble in Greenland and considering buying illegal seal pelt garments sounds like a kindred spirit.

Well, as Garrison Keillor would put it "That's the news from Arsuk".  In my mostly true bio I failed to mention that I actually appeared on the Prairie Home Companion program once.....

The attentive may have noticed that my "50 year" biography has some overlap with the Life and Times of Badger Trowelsworthy.   If my classmates try to track me down in Arsuk under my real name they'll get polite, if slightly confused responses.  As I've mentioned before, should you go there and ask after Badger Trowelsworthy you will be curtly ordered to leave immediately and never come back.

Vindolanda 2022 Day Twelve - Also Ghosts

A mixed menu of tasks today.  As you often, but not always, work the two weeks in the same small group here's a picture of the four of us at start of day.

Bright sun, driving rain, winds strong enough to move you slightly (plus side, the site stays dry), the usual Northumbrian forecast.  We have by the way a retired meteorologist excavating this week.  When it rains he sits alone, friendless at lunch break.

We did some clearing of fill from a prior excavation season for most of the morning.  Then we got a new assignment.  Under some big paving slabs was an area of burning that might give clues to a demolition phase at the end of the Severan period.  First those slabs have to go.  Everyone seemed to enjoy taking the sledge out and bashing a few stones to moveable size.

Then it was finer work.  Isolating a promising area of charcoal and such for environmental sampling.  

We had a couple of small finds.  One might be a coin fashioned into a bit of jewelry.  So overall a fun day with no time actually lost to weather.

At the end of the day I took a sentimental journey.  I was getting a lift (in the UK don't say getting a ride, its a bit naughty) but had a wait.  So I trekked up the hill to our former diggers HQ at the Twice Brewed Inn.  Once a quirky, low tech, inexpensive hostel it has gone full posh.  There is an automatic plate detector in the parking lot so you have to pay.  I remember when hot water for the showers was beyond their capability.

I had well earned a pint for my day's exertions and my 2 mile hike at the end of same.  But there is a very odd sensation being in a place you know well, once loved , but have seen radically change.  You look around and at first get a pleasant sense of nostalgia.  Not everything has changed after all.  I remember leaning against that wall after my fourth pint.  The view out the window has not changed in a thousand years.  But when you stay a bit longer.....ghosts start to whisper.  Not angry or unfriendly ones, but memories of times gone by, of Absent Friends, of meals enjoyed in good company and served by people you know who are both friendly and sarcastic.

I found myself becoming a detached observer, a sort of archive of the memories.  It would be the sort of thing my alter ego Badger Trowelsworthy would do regularly.  I felt myself slipping into the Trowelsworthy persona.....

Ok, enough of that nonsense.  I took my last swig, assured the ridiculously young waitress that I needed nothing more and waited for my lift outside in the brilliant sunshine and brisk wind.  The ghosts retreated into the far corners of the Twicey where they belong.

Digging an Underground Speakeasy. Eccentrics with Power Tools.

My friend Gabe is at least 25% less conventional than I am, and if you know me beyond the casual internet level you know that's saying something.  Here is his latest update on building a subterranean speakeasy 100 feet inside a limestone cliff.  Because....well because he can.

Bonus feature, a brief but officially confirmed sighting of Badger Trowelsworthy!

Notes from the Shadowy Underworld

 Unconfirmed sighting of the notorious Badger Trowelsworthy.....

A Playground for the Ages

In a secluded valley that is none too easy to get to even if you have been entrusted with the location, something quite unusual is being built.  It's a playground for grownups.  Some of it is above ground but most of the decade long project has been dedicated to excavating the sandstone cliff face.  A three dimensional maze.  A small tavern.  And assorted work spaces and projects in progress that sometimes just lead you to whimsical niches and shrines.  Its creators say people will be able to come here and enjoy it for a thousand years.   

Welcome to Sandland.

The people behind this project are unapologetic eccentrics.  Many of them come from the world of "urban explorers".  These are adventurous souls who seek out the tunnels, caves, sewers and other hidden places that form an underground network below the feet of oblivious city dwellers.  As this activity is not - to put it mildly - approved of by The Authorities, these people have "explorer names".  At Sandland these are used interchangeably with their (presumed) real names.

Here at Detritus of Empire I occasionally speak of my "underworld contacts".  One of these fellows is involved with Sandland so when I reached out regards a visit I had someone to vouch for me.  It lead a fascinating afternoon.

Here you see upper and lower entrances.  There is a cable car system to bring out excavated sand and dump it in a huge pile.

Into the labyrinth!  My guide gave me no directions in this three dimensional puzzle.  He said that it's the decisions we make are really the important part.  As my sense of spatial geometry is rather good I found a quick way through.  My guide seemed vaguely disappointed.

The maze is a system of low passageways,  you wear knee pads as there will be places where crawling is necessary.  That gets you right up close to the geology.  This is Jordan Sandstone.  Easy to mine and quite solid once it has been exposed to air for a while.  It also has beautiful striations of iron oxide and I think a bit of copper.  I thought it resembled a rich dessert.

In the other working areas of Sandland the tunnels are tall enough to walk in and wide enough for sand carts.  Wiring conduit, air vents and minor jokes are distributed liberally.

Another major feature is the "donut room".  This ring structure has seven passages coming off of it.  Why seven?  Because it is a number that people are not expecting.  Here a convoy of sand carts await their turn to be dumped.

The side passages go to various places, or sometimes go nowhere.  You might find a little shrine with colorful mineral samples.  You might find a remarkably challenging geocache.  Or you might find a Gabe Bar.  By the way, when this phrase is spoken through a respirator mask it sounds like something else.  But no, it was just excavated by a guy named Gabe.  Here I am tending bar, respirator snugly on as sand cutting was going on around the corner.

There is a sort of underground tram way with winch for dragging out the sand.  Far in the distance is the Normal, Outside World.

Well, maybe the Normal World starts a bit farther off.  Above ground Sandland also has a rifle range, a trebuchet, an elaborate tree house and a decommissioned monorail train which contains a shrine to a retired Professional Wrestler.  Because, why not.

 

Will Sandland indeed be entertaining and puzzling people in a thousand years?  I don't see why not.  I've visited places underneath Rome, Orvieto and other towns that are in perfect shape after  longer spans of time.  The geology is stable, the engineering effort considerable, and this remote site seems quite unlikely to be developed any time soon.

A few parting notes.

Sandland is an undertaking that will not make sense to goal oriented people, which includes most of American culture.  They would ask "why?".  That of course is an irrelevant query.  Creative minds have already decided that it will be done.  All that is left to ask is when and how.

With my interest in such matters it has been proposed that batches of home brew beer be parked in Sandland to age.  This of course is an exact, if highly extravagant, analog of how it was done in the 19th century.  There are some logistical challenges but I've already decided that this will be done.  The rest is just figuring out the when and how.

I mentioned that Sandlanders tend to go by their "Underground names".  To get into the spirit of things I did say they could use my alter ego "Badger Trowelsworthy".  Now it is not easy to read expressions in dimly lit caverns where people have half their faces covered by respirators.  But I got the distinct impression that they'd heard that name before.  Curious and a bit disquieting.  If this turns out to be a genuine lead it would be the first hint of the old scoundrel since 2018. 

Perhaps we are not done with him yet. 

.

The Return of Badger Trowelsworthy

It was not a particular surprise to see him, even though he was dead.

Badger Trowelsworthy, you see, is a creature of habit.  In any drinking establishment - even this small cafe in rural Belgium - he will always take a seat at the optimal vantage point from which to have a good view of all exits and of the barmaid's decolletage.  After a while your eyes just locate that spot every time you enter a saloon.

I went to the bar to obtain a measure of Fortification and asked Emil about his guest.  He lowered his voice and whispered that Don Paleta had arrived from Paraguay just before dawn.  

I sat down without waiting for an invitation.

"Lord Trowelsworthy.  I am surprised to see you take less care with your aliases these days".

"Perhaps because the world takes less care in hunting for me.  My obituary after all was published one year ago today."

I raised my glass in salute and acknowledged that it was one of the better ones he had written.  Various small talk ensued.  Badger Trowelsworthy has always displayed great interest in my family, in particular my grandson who he refers to as "That Most Promising Scamp".  In exchange for a few amusing anecdotes of youthful doings I am granted the privilege of asking of him one or two questions of a personal nature.

"Yes, about that obituary.  It claims you were born in 1910, but that your birth certificate was an obvious forgery.  If I could see the real document what date would I find on it?"

"Oh, it would be somewhat earlier".

"A bold, if not bald faced claim.  Yet here you sit before me, visibly a vigorous fellow in his early sixties.  How do you reconcile that with being well over one hundred years old?"

For a brief moment, and only because I was looking for it, the usual Trowelsworthian expression of bemused vigilance was replaced by something.....indescribable.  He murmured something to the effect of: "The Gypsy Woman drove a hard bargain but a True One", and would say no more on the matter.

He made a subtle gesture and instantly Emil presented him with another drink.  This ability to telepathically communicate with barkeeps fascinates me and one day I must expend a precious Question or two to explore it....

"I must say your Lordship, rural Flanders seems a bit, well, rustic for your usual tastes."

He took a sip before answering.  "Yes, but it was not always thus. A century ago the attention of the entire world was on this spot.  The fate of Empires hung perfectly balanced as the outcome of the Great War was determined right here. Oh, it was a busy place.  The uniforms of many armies were to be seen in the predecessor of this establishment.  I know, I wore several different ones at various times."

"Oh, my.  A turncoat Trowelsworthy!.  That seems a bit outre' even for you!"

"Well, m' lad, bear in mind that all the Great Powers and most of the Second Stringers had declared me persona non grata by then.  It seemed mere poetic justice.  And besides, my intentions were Pure.  It would have been inappropriate for the personal treasury of King Albert to be spirited off to a foreign capital, be it Berlin or Paris.  No, far better that it remain here, buried in proper Belgian soil."

"Ah, I see.  So it would be our little excavation on the edge of the village that has brought you here.  I suppose you would like me to keep a close eye out for something interesting?"

"Would you be so kind?"

"I would not.  I have come to know you too well.  Your reason for coming here must be to divert attention from some other location you would like to visit with, shall we say, more discretion."

He smiled as he finished his drink in one great draught.  He tossed out on the table several garishly tinted banknotes of a currency I did not recognize as he bid me farewell.

"Tim, it is such a shame you likely have only a few more decades for further improvement, because you have in your own right the makings of a Most Promising Scamp."

A Provisional Obituary

It is with considerable Trepidation that the Editorial Staff of the Times finds itself obligated to publish an Obituary for the late Badger Trowelsworthy, Earl of Pint Bottom and holder of the unique title "Dude of the British Empire".

The Times rarely publishes a second such announcement and in our entire history this appears to be the lone instance in which we are publishing a third one.  To put it plainly Lord Trowelsworthy's two prior "deaths" having been subsequently proven to be successful efforts to swindle investors and insurance companies we have Grave Misgivings in this matter.

But the circumstances are as they are.

Lord Trowelsworthy was last seen in mid May trudging across a dry and desolate landscape with a mattock over his shoulder.  When his expected return was not forthcoming his loyal retainers instituted an immediate search of all drinking establishments in a twenty mile radius. 

By the time Civil Order was restored several days had passed, and Lord Trowelsworthy being constitutionally indisposed to Temperance the Coroner had no choice but to issue a verdict of "presumed deceased, cause: Thirst".

It is of course customary in articles of this nature to recount in detail the salient features of the Departed's Life.  In this effort The Times is in no small way hindered by the fact that essentially all documents relating to Badger Trowelsworthy have on careful study been proven to be fraudulent.  Oddly, many of the forged documents are not at all the clumsy efforts they look to be at first glance.  No, for reasons impossible to fathom they are actually finely crafted work done by forgers at the pinnacle of their devious profession, who have in fact been commissioned to produce superb fakes of crude documents!

Among the "facts" that can be dismissed out of hand are his purported birth date of 1910 and the names of his parents Vicount Busby Smyth-Smyth and Consuela the Bar Maid. There is on the other hand some evidence to support his recent residence in Arsuk, Greenland, if only the six cases of contraband whale meat found in his rooms in Northumberland.

Of his activities in recent years much could be said.  But The Times is not that sort of publication.  In proper circles there is still considerable rancor over the matter of Lord Trowelsworthy's "fixing" of the Alamagordo Cup, a scandal from which the once illustrious sport of Armadillo racing shows no prospect of recovery.

Lord Trowelsworthy is survived by his puzzled widow and by an indeterminate number of jubilant ex-wives.  None of them will be quoted on the record, either on the advice of counsel or by their flagrant violation of the rules by which decorum is maintained in these pages.

In a surprise move Timothy Wolter, a retired physician living in a rustic province of the United States, has been designated as Lord Trowelsworthy's literary executor and personal representative.  Although also loathe to speak on the record Doctor Wolter made no effort to deny reports now in circulation that the Trowelsworthy Will has been read, and that it consists of several hundred pages of esoteric puzzles that are designed to keep distant relatives Biff and Otteria Trowelsworthy vexed and impecunious for the foreseeable future.  His widow Babs on the other hand is said to be recieving regular remuneration from sources unknown, with the express requirement that she spend them conspicuously.

We conclude this Obituary with the same skepticism with which we began it, by expressing as we see them the appropriate sentiments for such an occasion.

Badger Trowelsworthy

1910 - 2017

R.I.P.

(Residing in Paraguay?)

The Trials of the Trowelsworthys

Just a few days until the annual Spring peregrinations begin.  The preparations don't actually take very long.  I would hardly be a suitable heir to the Trowelsworthy title if I didn't keep at ready a packed bag near the door at all times.  It contains inconspicuous garb for all weathers and an assortment of currency, much of it almost as good as officially printed notes. 

Something about traveling just naturally draws me into one of my several alternative identities, and when heading off the England it is always Badger Trowelsworthy who boards the trans Atlantic flight.  Yes, the passport says something else, but Lord Trowelsworthy is quite comfortable with traveling incognito.

It is entirely possible that some of my archeology pals who know me only as "Badger" don't actually know the moniker that the tedious and pesky real world insists on considering to be True.

But while it is a comfortable persona, it does come with a few wrinkles.  I for instance actually start to think like a slightly disreputable minor aristocrat.  I in fact, worry about Trowelsworthy Hall, the illusionary Manse that has been the traditional home of the Trowelsworthys for centuries.

There have been repeated attempts by junior members of a vagrant branch of the family to lay hands upon the property in my absence.  Oh, Otteria and Biff are cunning and persistent - admirable qualities to be sure - but I have stayed a step ahead of them so far.

For one thing the exact location of the Manor House remains ambiguous.  Many locations have been suggested.  A medieval rabbit hutch in Dorset.  A building supply store in Alberta.  A dentist's office made of shipping containers in Valdez Alaska.  One of these might be correct.  But I would not bet on it.

So the malicious cousins have turned to that most subtle of weapons, the courts.

It has been a close run thing, but recently my Solicitor has prevailed.  It took some doing but she was successful in persuading the Bench that a deed that at first glance appears to be made from letters cut out of modern publications is in fact the authentic document signed by Queen Elizabeth (The First) in her own hand.

It was a fine bit of legal effort, accompanied of course by the distribution of considerable largess in the proper places. But it is done, and I now am confident that this will deter The Young Graspers for long enough that I may enjoy my holiday abroad without undue concerns.

------------
Regards the Alberta Canada location for Trowelsworthy Hall, take note of THIS   Police say they are considering the fire "suspicious".  Gee....ya think?  Otteria and Biff's doing I don't doubt in the least.

Dispatches from Trowelsworthy Hall

For reasons that are frankly both arbitrary and silly I am known to my archeology pals, and to the Facebook world generally, as "Badger Trowelsworthy".  Yes, yes, technically this is not the name that I use in that pesky real world.  And, yes once again, it is a nominal violation of Facebook rules for which I shall doubtless one day be called to account.

But as I see it, we live in a world where people get to "self identify" as all sorts of implausible things and if you question it you are held to be the lowest form of "hater". So if I choose to view myself as a 106 year old,  moderately disreputable English Lord with a penchant for archeology and a loose connection with Wisconsin, well, who is harmed by the minor alteration of reality?

I enjoy dropping the occasional reference to the ancestral Manse, Trowelsworthy Hall, and to the devious machinations of the distant branches of the Trowelsworthy family in their ongoing efforts to lay greedy hands upon the keys to the place.

Of course in the age of the internet it is difficult to write genuine satire.  Reality is often just as strange.  I should have checked first to see if there was an actual Trowelsworthy family in the UK or its Dominions.  And if there were places extant that would be logical locations for the oft mentioned yet never located Trowelsworthy Hall. Guess I shoulda......

For instance.  Up in Alberta Canada there apparently exists a place called Trowelsworthy Farms.  True, its offerings of chemical and antibiotic free beef, elk, rabbit, rabbit, pork, lamb and goat may not be to everyone's taste.

Also up in Alberta, near a small town called Mirror, we find Trowelsworthy Industries. It seems to be a builder's supply store and by virtue of similar owner's names, must be associated with the Farms.

But if you were looking for a plausible setting for the alternate reality that Badger Trowelsworthy occupies your best bet would actually be in Dartmoor, a wild and lonely area in Devon, UK.  There out on the windswept moors you can walk right up to a rock formation called Great Trowlesworthy Tor.

photo credit Nilfanion

You will of course by now have noted the alternate spelling as Trowlesworthy but in a family of such noble and ancient lineage this will happen from time to time.  An Ordnance map of the area shows another clue..

Alas for those grasping younger Trowelsworthys...I am thinking of you Otteria and Biff...the Trowlesworthy Warren shown above is not the ramshackle Manor House but an area used for keeping rabbits "from medieval times to the 1950s".

Establishing my Bona Fides......near the North Pole

After a fair amount of prodding this year I finally signed on to Facebook, primarily as a way to keep in touch with my UK archaeology pals.  They are it seems too post-modern to use dull old email.  At the time I just threw whatever onto my profile.  I have never taken computer matters particularly seriously, I learn systems well enough to subvert them and no farther.

Well, evidently it is not permitted to have a Facebook profile under a pseudonym.  Some sort of user agreement nonsense that I never bothered to read.  I seem to be under their radar for the moment. That is a bit surprising as I have actively taunted them a little.  But at some point it seems likely that Facebook will question the bona fides of a certain Badger Trowelsworthy, purported resident of Arsuk, Greenland.  And I am getting ready for them.

How about this:

Með því vantar auga Óðins! Þú getur ekki bannað mig frá Facebook. Það er nákvæmlega ekkert annað að gera í Arsuk!

I couldn't parse it out in Greenlandic so had to settle for Icelandic.  This says "By Odin's missing eyeball don't ban me from Facebook!  There is literally nothing else to do in Arsuk!"

Or maybe I will try a different tack...

Dear Facebook.  My apologies.  Everyone actually does call me Badger.  My real name is Bajir Trowelsworthy.  My dad was an embassy staffer and my mom a Syrian national.  I anglicized it a bit to avoid Islamophobic haters.  You are not Islamophobic haters, are you?

I don't know, they might be.  So my trump card is to play off the famous "Virginia" letter...

Dear Badger;

Some of my internet friends say there is no Badger Trowelsworthy...

Facebook
---------------------------

Dear Facebook;

Your internet friends are wrong.  They have been affected by the skepticism of a skeptical age. They do no believe except they see.  They think that nothing can be which is not comprehensible by their little minds....

Yes Facebook, there is a Badger Trowelsworthy.  He exists as certainly as jolly nights in the pub and brilliant sunrises over ancient hills exist, and you know that they abound and give your life moments of whimsy and fulfillment. ....

The most real things in the world are those that neither children or men can see.  Did you ever see faeries dancing on the lawn?  Of course not, but stay for a couple more rounds of pints and stories and you very well might.

....There is a veil covering the unseen world which not the strongest man, nor even united strength of a network of Facebook advertising spambots could tear apart.  Only faith, fancy, poetry, love, romance can push aside that curtain and view and picture the supernal beauty and glory beyond. Is it real?  Ah, Facebook, in all cyberspace there is nothing else real and abiding.  

Oh, I admit the part about the reindeer is exaggerated some....

Hiding from Facebook

I resisted Facebook for a long time.  It seemed a superficial means of communication and besides, I hate trendy crap.  But eventually I gave in at least on a limited basis.  I have a minor presence there, one designed mostly to keep in touch with my far flung pals from the archaeology world.

But because I think it would be bad professionally to have patients in the ER waiting room look me up and see me, well, being me, I am using a pseudonym for Facebook.  I am for that purpose a certain Badger Trowelsworthy.

Facebook has sophisticated software that tries to figure you out.  Not that they really care about you they just want to fine tune ads to send your way. You can tell they are zeroing in on your position when they actually get a few things right.  When they for instance suggest sports teams I might want to follow they sometimes come close.

So I keep tweaking my profile to try and confuse them.  At this time Facebook suggests the following things that I might find of interest:

Sports Team:  Fennerbahce Spor Klubu.  This is a soccer (football) team from Istanbul.

Book:  Duck for President.  This is a children's book I had never heard of.  When looking at this I accidentally clicked on "I have read this".  I suppose political poultry content will come streaming towards me now.

Movie:  The Mortal Instruments.  Also never heard of it.  It is a 2013 "German-Canadian" film.

Music:  Shakira.  Well, I have at least heard of her.

I admit to messin' with Facebook a little.  I was not born on January 1st 1910, but if you want to send me birthday greetings it is "close enough" on the date.  I actually have worked as a Carney, and I think "Knight-Errant" is true on some level.  I have not - NSA are you paying attention here? - attended the Pyongyang University of Music and Dance, but given the choreography of North Korean military parades I am sure the curriculum would be impressive.  And no, I don't really live in Greenland.  But this does have the helpful effect of making a high percentage of the ads Facebook sends to me be in Danish.  This renders them all mildly charming but I am disappointed that the Facebots don't realize that the official language of Greenland has been "West Greenlandic" since 2009.

I am enjoying my anonymity.  In fact I am considering posting my own Wikipedia page to further it. Something along these lines:

Badger Trowelsworthy has variously been described as a fugitive financier or a delusional nutter. An emerging consensus suggests that he may be both.

Trowelsworthy was born on a whaling ship in the South Atlantic in 1910.  He attributes his youthful appearance and widely rumored physical prowess to a diet of Hostess Twinkies.  When pressed he will also admit that his birth certificate is an obvious forgery.

The traditional residence of his family, Trowelsworthy Hall, is of uncertain location.  What information there is on the structure comes from consistently negative comments in a variety of architectural journals.  Locations in Dorset, UK, or on a municipal landfill in British Columbia have been claimed, but these are both likely to be misinformation put out to prevent a rogue junior branch of the Trowelsworthy family from taking possession during one of Badger Trowelsworthy's extended holidays or occasional incarcerations.  A more recent report describes it as "a former dental office made of steel shipping containers".

Trowelsworthy Hall in 2012

Very little is known for certain about Mr. Trowelsworthy.  He is said to have  toured the American Midwest in a traveling carnival in the 1920s.  There he met and married his first wife, a hoochie-coochie dancer known only as "Babs". Trowelsworthy was sued in the Turkish equivalent of small claims court in 1957 on charges of offering insufficient bribes to public officials.  The nickname "Al-Baksheeshi" dates from this era.  

BAJIR AL-BAKSHEESHI Date of photo unknown

Although he is technically allowed to style himself "Lord Trowelsworthy" the circumstances under which the British monarchy were persuaded to grant him the unique title of DBE ("Dude of the British Empire") are the subject of much inconclusive speculation.  He uses his knighthood primarily as an excuse to refer to his current wife - a former Miss Iceland from the early 1980s - as Lady Trowelsworthy.

Badger Trowelsworthy currently resides in the tiny Greenlandic community of Arsuk.  Nobody there will admit to recognizing the name Trowelsworthy, but mail and email sent to his alter ego Dagmar Suarez is answered promptly.  If  you mention that name in Arsuk you will be politely but firmly asked to leave at once.

Arsuk is rather lovely at summer solstice