Instead of attending to our usual restful/adventurous Sunday activities, we submitted to the slave driver of the brick-making machine. This weekend was the only chance we had to work with Antonio, the brick master, so we forfeited our Sunday retirement for some insanely repetitive and strenuous lifting. Each of us personally handled at least 72 tons of bricks today. Believe me, it gets pretty boring standing in the assembly line, lifting the same thing for hours on end. All of us used our creative powers to enliven the job, creating dances, making jokes, writing messages on the bricks as they were passed down the rollers, and doing a number of other things to while away the tedious time. Some of us questioned whether or not we should be in studio right now cranking out some stressful, mentally taxing project that's due tomorrow. Bricks, studio, bricks, studio . . . it's a tough decision.

Hank handled the dinner for tonight. We trekked out to Mexican Hat and dined at the San Juan Inn and Trading Post. We were pretty much the only folks at the little cafe there. We ate some good, hearty food and made it back in time to watch the Oscars at Hank's house! Good times!

Ryan took the contractor's place and vented his anger on Lindsay. He raised his voice and dropped some obscene words that can't be repeated and pointed his fingers a lot about maybe the stem wall form work or the concrete mixture or something like that, but no one really knows. I won't tell you how this little meeting ended, but take a good look at Lindsay's tightly clenched fist.

Human conveyor belt. The group in its most bored state.