QuaxiDanto: January 2008

QuaxiDanto

QuaxiDanto: If you speak K'ekchi, you know what it means, but don’t understand. K'ekchi is a Mayan dialect spoken in, among other places, Belize. I made several extended trips into the high bush in southern Belize at the end of the last century with a bunch of K'ekchis who gave me the nickname Danto, which means Tapir. That name had been taken so I added the modifier Quaxi, which means crazy. What does CrazyTapir mean as far as the title of my blog? Whatever!

About Me

Name: TOC

Location: Cleveland, Ohio, United States

I am an enigmatic anachronism, facing the world jaded and uncomfortably impressed. My chosen profession is archaeology, which turns out to be way more tedious than cool. I race yachts, hang with the bohemian artist crowd, and vacation at ancient Maya cities. Its no wonder I usually feel out of place, and am oh-so-pleased to be different (even if it is not in a good way). Why TOC?: I was participating through emails in a call-in radio show that didn’t accept phone calls (it’s college radio, which covers a multitude of sins). The host had a friend named Chuck who also wrote into the show so they started referring to me as “the other Chuck.” I started signing my emails TOC (The Other Chuck). A little later I started posting to a blog that was running live during the next program in the lineup and then a couple of other places and have just kind of stuck with it as a screen name. Again, whatever dude.

Thursday, January 10, 2008

Now go to bed you blithering idiot!

Once upon a time there was a great hairy lummox who lived an idyllic pastoral life in the foothills of a huge mountain of smelly old gym socks. He whiled away much of his days happily milking his yak, who produced especially pungent lactic emissions due to the local environs; terroir extraordinaire with the tiniest hints of ammonia and lavender foot powder. Once a sufficient quantity had been collected to fill a large vat, he would set to making it into cheese. He toiled gleefully, cutting the curds with lavish swooshings, making a sort of dance of it, and put his hulking immensity to good use pressing out the whey in large splerts. Once separated, he spirited away the young cheese to special caves in the gym sock mountain to produce the stankiest, stinkty cheese ever to numb a tongue. In time, after the cheese had ripened to a truly disgusting semi-gelatinous ooze, it would be sold on the internet for obscene amounts of money. Profiting handsomely from this, the yak, the lummox, and the fromage lived happily ever after.