Fetch

When Greg and I moved up here I was torn between wanting cats or a dog. I have always been a cat person and while I like dogs alright, I have a hard time getting past the stink and having to wash my hands every time I touch one with a finger. My tune changed slightly when I awoke last spring to a stranger sleeping on my couch. All of a sudden I wanted an animal that will tell me when someone breaks in, especially because Greg is often gone at night. I also foresaw my loneliness here and wanted an animal that would greet me at the door and give me lots of love. For a variety of reasons that I will not bore you with, we decided to get our kittens instead of a dog and I am wildly happy that we did.

The surprising thing is that my kitties are more like dogs than I ever imagined they would be. For example, every time I come in the door they are waiting for me. They hear the key in the door and come running - sometimes still yawning from their nap. I've heard of cats thinking they are dogs, but my little ones see and conduct themselves as cats - they don't have an identity crisis. The best dog-like feature is that Limbe plays fetch. She uses earplugs that wrapped in a plastic bag that Greg brings home from work in his pocket. They are perfect for her because they make noise and there is something gooey in the middle to gnaw on (sometimes we'll play catch with her mitten, but she really doesn't like me touching it). Generally we play in the morning when I am waking up. She hears my alarm, comes charging up the bed, and drops the earplugs in my hand or next to my nose. I pick it up and throw it across the room. Like a gazelle she leaps off the bed, grabs the earplugs, and brings them back to me by dropping them into my hand. We'll play for half an hour if I'll allow it.

Of course, because she is a cat I cannot instigate our games. She tells me when we play.

Update

Remember the downstairs neighbor I really want to be friends with? Well, she returned my brownie plate with a thank you note and a reference to us getting to know each other better. She also offered me tickets to her show (she's a performer in town) and I went to the show tonight. I left a message asking her to come over for a glass of wine tonight if she was up to it, or perhaps meet for lunch later in the week. I await semi-patiently.

Is it just me or does it seem like we are courting each other?

Static

I forgot about the static in Alaska. When I was in college I used to have to rub dryer sheets on my clothes in order to kill some of the static that would cause everything to cling while hopefully stopping me from getting shocked anytime I touch anything. It was terrible. And it hurt. These shocks were not the gentle shocks that I would get visiting my dad's office when I was a kid. They're the kind that made my finger hurt for several minutes afterward. I could actually feel the electricity race up my arm. I figured that my issues with static stemmed from living in an arctic dessert with less than a dozen inches of precipitation a year - including snow. But the static is alive and well in Anchorage. I find myself touching everything with tentative jabs; I never grab a doorknob anymore.

It is worst with the cats. Every time I touch them we both get shocked. Last week I was up in the middle of the night with all of the lights off and picked up Kribi. He loves to be held like a baby and have his chest and stomach rubbed while he looks into my eyes. We were in the midst sharing a moment (or I assume we were - I couldn't really see in the dark) and I was taken aback by the fireworks exploding on his stomach. Blue and white sparks everywhere. I could only imagine what it must feel like for him "ooh. ow! yes, please. no! right there. shit!" Poor thing. It's a wonder they even want to be petted anymore. I am certainly more tentative because of all the pain it causes me.

I need to go get a humidifier, but those puppies are expensive and I keep on thinking if I just hold out...I don't know. I'll toughen up?

News

What a day for news, huh?

• Alaska elected its first female governor, Sarah Palin, who the Anchorage Daily News reported is as conservative as you can get.
  
• The United States has the first female speaker of the house, Nancy Pelosi, whose politics are almost exactly opposite of Sarah Palin's.
• Diane Benson received 40% of the vote for Alaska's sole seat in the US Congress, which is the closest anyone has come to Don Young in decades.
• I kept my record as having no one I vote for win the election (it's pretty amazing, really. It's almost as if I am a curse).

AND

• Britney Spears filed for divorce from Kevin Federline. Both are seeking custody of the kids and Federline is asking spousal support.
  

Tomorrow cannot possibly beat today. I mean, I barely made it out of my house today for fear I'd miss something on tv (like who won the Virginia senate race).

Knitting Group

I went to my local yarn shop yesterday because I needed a refresher on casting off and what to do with those pesky strings. I sat down with a very nice woman and after a few hours of knitting together, she invited me to her Tuesday morning knitting group.

I nervously showed up fashionably late and the group of six women made room for me at the table as I sat down with my straight-knitting (no purl stitches) scarf. They were all working on sweaters and I was the youngest one at the table by 30 years. In spite of both of these differences I felt very welcome and was even inspired to try some new stitches on my next scarf. It was the first time that I had sat down with more than one person in a social setting since I moved here and, I have to say, it felt nice.

They talked about so-and-so getting engaged to the hip (and other parts of the anatomy) replacement parts salesman, how handy it is to know him, and about one of the lady's experience with using name brand versus generic parts in a hip replacement surgery. One of the local high school's (where several of them went and all of their children - who are my age - attended) art collection was another topic. My favorite part, though, was when one of the women, we'll call her Barbara partly to respect her privacy and partly because I have forgotten her name, reported about Sally's voting decision this morning (Sally is a regular in the knitting group, but missed today). Apparently it was the first time Sally had ever not voted the same as her husband. She voted for Tony Knowles, the democratic former two-term governor, rather than Sarah Palin, the republican former mayor of Wasilla. She had a litany of reasons that she laid out for Barbara as a way to convince herself that she made the best decision. One of the reasons she gave for voting for Tony was experience. Sally cited Palin's promise to trust the legislature and surround herself with people who know what they're doing as not a good plan. Sally's reasoning was that if she hires someone to clean her house, she has to know how to do it herself in order to determine whether the housecleaner is doing a good job. Once Barbara completed her story, she made a statement about how much she loved a housewife's way of relating her life to her civic duty.

The bottom line is that I had a lovely time and they invited me to come back next week. The woman who invited me even suggested that we work on making a tea cozy for our next project so we'd be able to help each other out and talk through the pattern. You know where I'll be next Tuesday at 10.

On Another Mission

Recently, the brilliant Megan tagged me to respond to some questions about books. I have been putting it off becuase I feel pressure to say really insightful things (Megan did, after all. Not that I am surprised) but am not sure I can live up to my own expectations. But, it is Sunday night, I have my blues mix on, and I'm cuddled in a blanket, so I thought I would give it a try.

Here we go.

1) One book that changed your life:

Ok, this is a hard question for a variety of reasons. I mean, there are books that changed the way I see the world, books that challenged me to see other parts of the world, and books that didn't cause any tangible or identifiable change but nonetheless made tremendous impacts. I'll just start naming some, but I cannot guarantee that I wouldn't make a different list tomorrow.
Pride and Prejudice - I read it for the first time in 8th grade and this book has sparked my imagination so many ways. I wanted to be Elizabeth Bennett. I wanted to be a proper lady and inhabit that world. I wanted to marry Mr. Darcy. Oh, Mr. Darcy. I am still terribly in love with him; always will be, I think. What a character to carry me through my pre-teen and teenage years - even my early 20's.
The Uncle's Story by Witi Ihimaera - It isn't necissarily a tremendous piece of work. The story takes the easy way out a few times and the ending is a little preachy, but I tore through it and it was while reading this book that I began falling in love with contemporary world literatuare. I made it one of my areas for my master's degree and plowed through any title my professor gave me. The thing that I love so much about it was that it showed me what it meant to be a Maori warrior and how culture, war, and the individual come together. And that we are all one world in that what my culture is dealing with is something similar to what another culture may be dealing with.
The Importance of Being Earnest by Oscar Wilde - Fights with Ms. Austen as my favorite author. He is charming and witty and I tend to fall into a state of bliss everytime I step into his world. And Earnest is the best of work (I should know, I've read all but a few of his essays).
Elizabeth Costello by JM Coetzee - I've read this several times and each time I get something new. It's format (a series of lectures) causes me to suspend all of my expectations and delve into the novel and appreciate the work and the author for the multitude of worlds it opened me up to. Just thinking about it challenges me.
The BFG by Roald Daul - My glory years of reading were mid-elementary school. I devoured books with a feverish pace. I couldn't get enough of book like Caddie Woodlawn, The True Confessions of Charlotte Doyle, The Babysitters Club, all the books by Beverly Cleary and Roald Daul (of which The BFG was my favorite). This time period set the foundation for my reading and makes me happy to think about. A million ideas were opening themselves up to me and when I think back on these years, the books stand out more than anything else (except those horrid German knickers my mom made me wear that the kids made fun of - but that is beside the point, really).


2) One book that you’d read more than once:

Well, it's clear that I've read Elizabeth Costello multiple times, and I read Pride and Prejudice about once a year. I've also read In a Sunburned Country by Bill Bryson several times. Once before I left for my three month trip through Australia with Greg, again while we were there (usually reading the section we were passing through aloud to Greg while he drove), and later when we got back. Bill has a way of making the country come alive and through him I can go back anytime.

3) One book you’d want on a deserted island:
Pride and Prejudice

4) One book that made you laugh:
Straight Man by Richard Russo. It kills me. He gets into the mindset of academics in a way that I completely identify with. It is perhaps the funniest book I've ever read from start to end. In fact, I should read it again for a chuggle. I love it, love it, love it.
The last time I laughed out loud, glad-I-wasn't-in-a-coffee-shop was reading the interview with Colin Firth (who played Mr. Darcy in the BBC rendition of P&P) in Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason. I've read just that section numerous times, including several attempts of reading it out loud to Greg and having to stop for laughing too hard. And only partly because I have a sneaking suspicion that I would act in a very similar way if I were ever to interview Mr. Darcy - I mean, Mr. Firth. (By the way, the second book is FAR better than the first, and this is the best section).
The outback section of In a Sunburned Country is another one that it took me several attempts to be able to read aloud.

5) One book that made you cry:

A lot do; I am a crier. There was a time when I was in junior high that I tormented myself by reading a series of books that centered around high schoolers who wer terminally ill and their intense teenage love affairs. I would cry for an entire evening about the wasted young love and then start another one the next morning.
Recently, though, two scenes in different books about Vietnam did it for me. The buffalo scene in The Things They Carried and the one with the old couple in The Uncle's Story both got me where I lived. I also cried in The Cure for Death by Lightening and The Kite Runner.

6) One book you wish you’d written:
Any, really. I don't have high aspirations. I'd be happy for anything that I am proud of. A psychic told me that I would publish several books later in life, so that is something to look forward to. Check back with me when I'm in my 60's.

7) One book you wish had never been written:
If I'm not interested, I won't read it. Whatever.

8) One book you’re currently reading:
The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemmingway. Oh, and I'm working my way through The Best American Short Stories - 2003.

9) One book you’ve been meaning to read:
I always have a list becuase I have a rule that I have to read a book a week. I don't, however, plan more than three in advance becuase it starts to feel unattainable.
The Stranger by Camus - I have recently decided that I was in the midst of an existential crisis. That makes my inner turmoil and anguish seem cool and aloof. My friend Lisa promised me if I read this book I would be certifiably pretentious, an expert on existentialism, and able to (I'm quoting her e-mail) "start wearing black berets and smoking cloves and go 'what does eet all mean? mon dieu!'"
After that, I'll read:
How to be Good by Nick Hornby
Last Exit to Brooklyn - Hubert Shelby, Jr.

10) Tag five people:
I'm only tagging one: Ebeth, have it.

Don't Worry About Me

Last night I was at the gym (I request that you focus on the immense willpower and self-confidence it took to drag myself to the gym at 8pm on a Saturday night rather than the more obvious fact that I was at the gym alone on a Saturday night. Thank you (see ? I'm implementing my last posing into my daily life and blogging practices).). Like a lot of gyms, all of the machines are set-up in a "cardio theatre," meaning that there are 10 televisions on the wall facing the multitude of cardio machines. I hopped on and had my ipod tuned to work-out music in one ear to keep my pace up and the earpiece connecting to the tvs on the other ear. There's not much of interest on tv on a Saturday night, so I turned to the end of I am Sam, that movie starring Sean Penn and an adorable Dakota Fanning. Next thing you know I am fighting back tears and it hits me: I am sweating away on an elliptical machine and crying over the end of the movie in a gym on a Saturday night. And when I get done with this I am going home to my kittens and knitting.

Greg, meanwhile, was having a whale of a time in Fairbanks hanging out with all of our (my) friends from college who were in town for the UAF basketball alumni game. They shut down the bars.

Also, I would really like to be friends with my downstairs neighbor and I botched my first genuine opportunity because I was distracted and speaking like a ditz when she knocked on my door. I made brownies and, upon realizing that I should not have a whole batch of brownies in the house for fear of my eating them all, I left some outside of her door (she, of course, was out). Trying to make new friends really feels like a dating. In fact, I am way more anxious about it than I ever was with boys. I almost feel like there is more at stake.

Thank You For Saying Thank You

My college roommate flew into Anchorage this morning for jury duty, so Greg and I were at the airport at 7am. Because it is Halloween and because it is Heather, we dressed up in our Cameroonian outfits. We have the same fabric from head to toe. It is a lot to take in and we look somewhat ridiculous. In fact, when we wore them in Cameroon people made fun of us because of our pale skin and overwhelming fabric. Heather loved it, though.

I wore the skirt to class the other day. The outfits aren't too much in moderation. In fact, when separated, they're fantastic. One of my students came up to me and said that he liked my skirt and that it made him think of home. I could tell by his accent that he was from Western Africa, but I couldn't decipher the country. I told him that I was given the outfit while visiting Cameroon last winter and found out he was from Nigeria. And then he said, "thank you for wearing that and reminding me of home. It made me feel good."

I was relating this Greg this on the way to the airport and mentioned that I was glad he said something to me because it made me feel connected to Africa again, but that I was surprised that he officially thanked me. Greg looked at me for a second and said "why does that surprise you? That is the culture. When you unknowingly made someone happy, they tell you. You may not know you deserve the thanks, but they acknowledge each way you touch their lives. The culture is freer with Thank Yous and I think that is tied up in the idea that everyone is family and interrelated."

Isn't that great?

S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y Night!

Greg just got word that he has to go to Fairbanks. Tomorrow. I am left here. Alone. You think I am a crazy cat lady now, you just wait until I go a day or so without having anyone to talk to. Condolences and words of encouragement are welcome.

We were in Fred Meyer this evening buying a new DVD player because we have been using Greg's playstation and he is taking it with him. I was lobbying hard for one that could record tv shows, my reasoning being that the new Take 5 season is on Saturday nights. Greg looked at me and said, "do you have somewhere to go on a Saturday night? Won't you be sitting at home anyway?" A low blow, don't you think? But I couldn't argue with the logic. So, we got the one he wanted.

ET Can't Phone Home

My cell phone has been broken for over two weeks and I cannot get anyone to take responsibility and help me. I've been to the local place twice, gotten a new battery, called the company that made the phone, waited half an hour on hold only to leave a message that has never been returned. Called again and they were closed.
So, if anyone has called me recently, I haven't got your messages. Try calling my home phone.
I have only one thing to say: aarrgghh!

'Homer Sweet Homer' or 'Kenai Come?' or ''Get Some Studs, Stud' or 'Off The Road Again' or 'Soldotna Smoldotna' or 'Seward Ho!'

I couldn't decide on a title, so I chose several.

We have so much to talk about. I haven't sat down in a while to give a good, long monologue relating the inner workings of my head. I've provided a few tidbits here and there, but nothing of real substance (although one could make a strong argument as to whether anything I have posted thus far has substance, but that is a conversation no one (including (especially not) me) wants to have). But the timing seems right now to give you some undivided time. All of my grading is caught up (except for the stuff I got last night and this morning, but I have a whole week to do that), I know what I am doing in class tomorrow (because I've already done it twice), and I am sitting in my faux office waiting for students to come in for help. We all know the likelihood of that happening, so I am getting paid (meagerly) to write to you.

Greg and I went on a whirlwind tour of the Kenai Peninsula on Monday and Tuesday. It was our third anniversary and he was actually granted time off of work, so we high-tailed it out of town.


It was a beautiful day and both of us were in a jovial mood, even though Greg had only gotten a minimal four hours of sleep. We danced, we sang, we stopped on the side of the road for bad pictures, and had the only dipped cones available in the state of Alaska. As I was in a romantic mood, I wore the good love karma sweater - I was wearing it when Greg proposed to me and my sister-in-law wore it on her first date with my brother. It is enormous and warm, both literally and figuratively.

I realized once we got passed Girdwood that it is not Alaska that I dislike so much, rather Anchorage. I think Alaska as a state is beautiful and has a lot to offer visitors and residents alike, myself included. Anchorage is what upsets me. There is something about the city (well, it is more a combination of things that fit together perfectly to upset me on several levels, but that is irrelevant to the point I am trying to make) that makes me feel bad. I felt physically better leaving the Anchorage area and found myself calmer and happier.

Greg hadn't been to the Kenai Peninsula (aside from Seward) since high school so we spent a good portion of the drive reliving the Glory Days of high school athletics, which included not only run-downs of all the games played, but each fast food restaurant eaten at. Apparently Taco Bell is a huge deal if you grow up on Kodiak Island. As a result I spent a good portion of the time rolling my eyes at him while at the same time exaggerating a mock-interest. It was fun.

I had great expectations for Homer because all I have ever heard about it was how wonderful it is. It is supposedly a hippie-haven in the lots-of-local-galleries-high-quality-of-life kinda way. I read somewhere that Homer is the place that all Alaskans secretly wish they lived. Our arrival did not disappoint. I had never seen Alaska more beautiful than as we neared the end of the road and the Peninsula became my new favorite part of Alaska. It incorporated the rugged Alaskan survivalist nature in the forests of stunted black and white spruce trees that dominate the interior's landscape, while in the same breathe providing wondrous views of the Alaska Range and various dynamic bodies of water.

We arrived in Homer about 5 o'clock and checked into our little suite. I had done some research and fell in love with this family run Inn and Spa that had fantastic winter rates and incredible service. The room was lovely, but check out the view:

The next morning, however, was a different scene entirely. I took this photo from bed when I woke up the next morning:

Blech. The weather had done a complete 180, and what was high-tide and sun-shiny was now low-tide and very rainy. We weren't deterred and I proved my ruggedness by dressing Alaskan style: a warm, fuzzy sweater, jeans, the HUGE (and ugly) jacket I had as an undergrad in Fairbanks, and big 'ol fatty hiking boots. I did, however, put on really cute earrings and the sweater did fit well. Our morning walk on the beach was nonetheless canceled, so we headed downtown for breakfast.

Herein lies my first disappointment. I had expected a quaint town-center a la Kodiak and Seward, but instead found the business district to be a road shaped as an arc. It was not conducive to walking about, and instead was based on driving convenience. The shops themselves were nice, and I am sure it would be a lovely place to live, but it didn't really feel like the sweet small town I was expecting. We had breakfast and planned on stopping for a cup of tea, and maybe lunch, in Kenai.

A few hours of sometimes snowy driving later we took the turn-off for Kenai from Soldotna, two sister cities that are often spoken of in the same breath. On the way to Homer we had driven through Soldotna and faced the barrage of strip malls and fast food, but I was under the impression that Kenai was the original town and that Soldotna had grown around it, thus, according to my calculations, Kenai would be the charming small town. I mean, everyone loves Kenai, it didn't really occur to me that I wouldn't. I was psyched to find MY place in Alaska - and I was sure it would be just that. While Greg had been to both towns several times, he had only been to the gyms and Taco Bells. We drove around Kenai for 45 minutes and found the central area, only it was a series of box stores and strip malls. We sat in the car for a while in defeat and discussed how Kenai/Soldotna feels like a mini-Anchorage. After some silence, some talking, and some more silence we decided to drive out of our way to Seward for dinner and arrive home late at night.

This was a great decision. We arrived in Seward and stopped at my favorite Alaskan coffee shop and had some nice tea and a few games of cards. We then walked (yea!) through the little bit of snow to Greg's favorite place in Seward: Yoly's Bistro. Greg spends a fair amount of time in Seward for work and is familiar with the best places in town. Yoly's recently opened and the co-owner, Yoly, is a boisterous Greek man who always recognizes Greg and sits and chats with him. Unfortunately, Yoly wasn't there, but we managed to have a great time anyway. It was our actual anniversary, so this was our big shot at dinner,. We got ordered an app (apps! we got apps!), entrees, and dessert. We also got a bottle of wine, and because Greg was driving the responsibility fell on me to drink all but one glass. Combine that with the fact I hadn't eaten since breakfast and the pictures in flickr will make some sense.

We had a wonderful dinner and heading out of town. The snow began to get thicker and at one point Greg actually turned the car around to get a hotel in Seward. He then turned back toward home after I told him I didn't mind if it took us longer than normal to there. I must admit, though, that I was minding my own business and not really paying much attention to the fact the roads were quite snowy and slippery. We were both singing Andy, You're a Star by The Killers when the right wheels went over the bumps that warn you when you cross the white line. Then the left wheels cross it. Up until right then I assumed Greg was in total control, but I quickly realized that Greg was, in fact, trying to make the curve, but the car was not responding. In a moments of peace I thought, "huh. This should be interesting." Neither one of us said a thing as we skidded into a patch of alders. Greg told me later that he didn't feel panic either, but was unusually calm.

We got out and surveyed the situation. Winter has come late to Alaska and we procrastinated and had not yet prepared the car for it. The flashlight batteries were dead, we didn't have a shovel, etc. Greg found a frisbee golf disk and started digging the snow away from the wheels while I stood in front of the headlight so to reflect some of the light back on him. Two good Samaritans showed up and let us borrow a flashlight and shovel. I was monumentally thankful for my HUGE (and ugly) jacket and big 'ol fatty hiking boots as I was crushing bushes and moving tress with lots of snow falling all over me while digging out the other tire.

Finally Greg had the chains on the tires and we were ready to try to drive out of the ditch. I got into the car and started driving it up the hill. I got about halfway up and was directed to stop so Greg could adjust the chains and those pushing could get better traction. While I was pulling forward a cop showed up and, while Greg, was messing with the chains, walked up to me.

Me: Hi. How are you?
PO: somewhat sternly Fine. How are you?
Me: Oh, you know, I've been better. I must have sounded too chipper.
PO: very sternly Gimme your ID.

He turned around and walked away. I wanted to yell after him, "but I wasn't driving. I swear!" I think I held my composure, though. I would like to point out that this is the second time in about a month that I have had to sit in my car while a police officer walks away with my ID. I would also like to point out that up until last month I had never done that before. Ever.

The chains were fixed so I pulled the rest of the way on the road, got my ID back, and with Greg again at the wheel headed back toward Anchorage. At the first gas station we got out and checked the car for damages and there was one small scratch. We ran off the road and slid into a bunch of alder trees and barely scratched the car. That, my friend, is good luck.

(The next day we switched our tires to studs, the day after that, it snowed and there were over 50 accidents in Anchorage. We were not one of them.)

It Snowed

We woke up to a light dusting of snow in the Anchorage bowl. Everything is much prettier with snow.

Ten Things

Per thelizabeff's request.

ten things i really liked when i was a teenager that i don't much care for now:
1. competitive sports
2. competition in general (although I still have a tendency to be competitive...)
3. big cars
4. going to full priced movies
5. Britney Spears
6. Southern California
7. watching boys, thinking about boys, searching for boys, anything to do with boys.
8. pink cookies from 7-11
9. driving whenever possible
10. staying up all night and sleeping 'till noon

ten things i didn't much care for when i was a teenager that i really like now:

1. knee-high socks
2. yoga
3. feminine attire: make-up, high heels, skirts, etc.
4. arty/indie movies
5. spinach
6. going to classes
7. NPR
8. tea (!)
9. PSU
10. diet soda

ten things i've never much cared for and very likely never will:
1. cleaning - especially deep cleaning
2. grapefruit
3. suburbs
4. running
5. math
6. brussel sprouts
7. comic books
8. errands
9. feet
10. cleaning the kitty litter

ten things i've always really liked and very likely always will:
1. adventures
2. Portland
3. romantic comedies
4. New York City
5. Pride and Prejudice (both the novel and the BBC mini-series)
6. musicals
7. hanging out with my girlfriends
8. reading the paper
9. John Cusak
10. Christmas carols

By the way, this was really hard.

Tea With Mary

My strikingly beautiful friend Katie has always been one of those people that can take something plain and make it into something spectacular. She is crafty in the very best sense of the word and I have always admired her for it.

Well, she lives in Truckee, California (and, like me, is struggling with leaving the city she loves for the man she loves - in her case, the city was Denver and the man is Hayes) and during the day works at a non-profit that helps find affordable housing for families who have a hard time affording to live in a resort community. She also has a hand-made card business and sells her cards in several stores in Denver and Truckee. I recently received a packet of the above card in the mail with a lovely letter telling me that this is her latest creation - inspired by me! It's called "Tea With Mary" and is supposedly selling very well.

If you are interested in purchasing the above cards or getting more information about her cards, send her an e-mail at kwpgraham@hotmail.com.

My advertisement is officially over.

Hurray for Taya and Scott

I got a phone call the other day that my friends Taya and Scott are getting married and I was so happy that when I hung up the phone I had tears in my eyes. I am all for the living-in-sin option and was even surprisingly happy when I recently learned that non-traditional households (non-married couples) now constitute more than 50% of American homes. But I still love the romance and bravery of two people deciding to get married. Especially when it is two people I adore and believe are good to and for each other.

To celebrate Taya and Scott's engagement, Greg and I skipped out on the gym (yea!) and shared a bottle of wine at a bar instead. While there we came up with lists as to why we love them so much.

Reasons We Love Scott

• From Lewiston, Idaho (compare with Taya)
• Smokes like a European
• Drinks straight whiskey (not wussy drinks like us)
• His laugh - deep and reserved
• Made Taya a kid-friendly White Stripes cd to play at her preschool
• Worked at Goodwill for the books
• Gets up at 6am to write before going to work
• Asked Greg to be his friend at Taya's birthday party
• Said that he wants to have the kind of friends that feel more like family

Reasons We Love Taya

• Grew up a belly-dancing commune in Coos Bay
• Gives GREAT hugs
• Drinks straight whiskey (not wussy drinks like us)
• Her laugh - audible inhale that makes one wonder if she's about to fall over
• Let me copy her tattoo spot (let's call her my muse, shall we?)
• Immensely wise and dispenses great advice
• Her writing is inspiring
  
• She keeps trying to organize her friends for a Family Fun Night with boardgames
• Asked if our kids (when we have them) can call each other cousins

Join me in congratulating these two great people.

Pictures in Today's Paper

These photos are copyrighted, so go to the website to check them out. They really are too much for me to handle. The bear one was front page, top story.

Walking Down 4th Avenue

How Many Bears Are There?

Let the record show I am very impressed about the woman's escape and in no way judge anything except her decor.

What You Think of Us

Alaska's governors office just released the results to a new poll about how the rest of the the US sees Alaska. Here are some of the highlights - if you're lucky I might add some commentary.

• Sixty percent of all Americans believe that most of Alaska is frozen year-round

Before I moved up here I thought of Alaska as purple because on my grade school map Alaska was a light purple neighboring a mint green Canada. To defend the over fifty percent of Americans, sometimes it can feel like Alaska is frozen year-round.

• Five percent think Alaska is still a territory.
  
• Four percent say that Alaska is a separate country
• Two percent think it is a commonwealth

So, people aren't smart enough to know Alaska is a state, but smart enough to know what the commonwealth is?

Um, This Isn't New York

I was talking with a local today and mentioned that I just moved up here from Portland. He said he'd been to Portland before and didn't like it very much, especially the mall downtown. Apparently people were snobby and he was snubbed several times. He looked at me and said "I mean they're in Portland. OREGON. I was being treated like I was in New York."

My response was to think to myself (and really want to say out loud): "Um, you live in Anchorage. ALASKA. If someone from, say, New York wants to talk about Portland as too big for its britches, that's fine. I understand that standpoint. But for someone from here saying that? No way. You think that this is a great city, which proves my point that you don't know what you're talking about."

Perhaps I am too sensitive. Perhaps he did have a bad experience. But this is the problem that I keep encountering here. Folks really do think this is a thriving metropolis and who am I to disagree? Except that I cannot find what everyone loves so much no matter how hard I look.

I'll try to persevere. Sorry if this posting is too negative - its just that I am frustrated.

Trees

I was watching The Travel Channel the other day, which for me provides both tremendous excitement and despair. Excitement that there is so much this world has to offer, to experience - and so many things that can alter and enrich me in simple and complicated ways, perhaps even at the same time. The despair seeps in because I cannot help but want to be doing and experiencing these wondrous places, and instead I am unable to see or touch them because I am firmly stuck here.

I am reminded me of a political science class I took in college in which the teacher had representatives from each of the geographical regions of the country draw a tree on the board. Being the Pacific Northwest spokesperson I drew a doug fir - a Christmas tree. We had all drawn different trees and illustrated her point about different perceptions and understandings of things often seen as the same or universal. A tree is a tree. Except it's not the same if you're from the South or New England.

Whenever I am in a foreign country I always notice the trees and they seem to be a marker that tells me that I have arrived and the way I think and understand things will be altered as a result of what I will experience. The first time I remember thinking this was in a cab driving from the airport into Melbourne, Australia. I saw an Australian tree. A real eucalyptus tree. The same thing happened in Cameroon with the mythical African trees. When this happens my chest seems to swell and I am aware of my breathing. The best part, though, is that I notice that I am deeply happy.

Anniversary

Next week is Greg and my third anniversary, so I have spent a good portion of the day looking into places within driving distance that we can escape to. The whole thing has me thinking about weddings and anniversaries and love and other stuff like that.

When I was done pondering such deep thoughts, I sat down for my daily dose of blogs. One entry from Citizen of the Month really touched me, and I don't think it is just because I was in the mood for anniveraries. Take a look.

Top Five

Top Five Coffee Shops

1. La Crema
SE Ankeny, Portland, Oregon

2. K&F Coffee
SE Clinton, Portland, Oregon

3. Haven
SE Division , Portland, Oregon

4. Random Order
NE Alberta, Portland Oregon

5. Ressurection Bay Coffeehouse
Seward, Alaska

It's Like Looking in the Mirror

I have a friend named Steve and he is a writer/writing teacher/private investigator, a combo which I think is fantastic. He sent me an e-mail the other day, a snippet of which follows:

Maybe you should concentrate on becoming an overnight literary sensation, the voice of cosmopolitan young women who are forced by their husbands to live in backwoods hovels and do menial labor. You could write a memoir and turn it into a movie and become filthy rich and then move back to Portland where your husband could cook and clean while you hold court at some fancy Pearl District bar.

I figure the very best way to concentrate on being an overnight literary sensation is to figure out who would play me in the movie. The only actress I've ever been compared to is Claire Danes, but I think we've lost our similarities, so I'm stumped. Can you help me out? Who do you think would play me in a movie? (And while you're at it, who would play you?)

Coats

I have been resisting the urge to get out my big coats. As a result, I have been freezing my ass off everyday in a variety of different sweater ensembles. Yesterday I decided that I was acting crazy and that I should just put on a stupid coat.

But I can't find them. I have three coats (my pea coat, my Paris coat, and my snowboarding jacket). They are not where Greg and I thought they were, they're not in any random closet, they're not tucked into any luggage, and they're not in our storage unit with the bikes.

Now I'm not wearing a coat because I can't find one not because of some silly principle about denying the fact that I live in a very cold place. This reasoning makes me feel not only very cold, but very silly as well (I have a sneaking suspicion that this is actually a better excuse for not wearing a coat, but not in my pretty little head).

My whole point here is: where the hell are my coats?!?

Ingredients for a Good Evening With a Sick Husband

As stated by sick husband.

1 Sandy Bullock romantic comedy (The Lake House)
1 cup of tea
2 doses of kittens
12 votive candles
1 wife on same couch

Punishment

I wasn't going to blog this, but I cannot seem to get it out of my head. Perhaps if I share the information it will stop haunting me (like the only way not to get killed in The Ring was to show the tape to someone else - same basic idea).

We were watching The Daily Show the other day and David Rakoff was on promoting his new book. He began talking about an interview he had with Robert Knight, who is the founder of The Culture and Family Institute, and they were talking about the homosexual "agenda," which consists of 1. recruiting children, 2. having sex with children, and 3. spreading AIDS. When Mr. Rankoff reminded Mr. Knight that "HIV is transmissible by good 'ol fashioned, red-blooded, normative, heterosexual sex," Mr. Knight replied, "yeah, but not as much, I mean, the vagina can take a lot of punishment."

You know what? Just watch the clip here.

*I don't like to blog political issues, but I think of this less as a political issue than one example of a complete ignoramous who spreads lies and hatred under the guise of morality. It makes me want to vomit. He's not just insulting the homosexual community, but women as well. How do people take him seriously?

Reading List

Books I've read lately:

1. Cry, The Beloved Country by Alan Paton
2. Disgrace by J.M. Coetzee
3. Things I Like About America by Poe Ballantine
4. Bridget Jones's Diary by Helen Fielding
5. Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason by Helen Fielding
6. The Things They Carried by Tim O'Brien

Working on: Wuthering Heights by Emily Bronte

Holding Hands

I was browsing the New York Times again today and came across an article on holding hands. It got me thinking about the simple act of holding hands and who I have held hands with. There is, of course, my parents and other important adults when I was a child. My friend Soli and I used to hold hands all the time in high school without a second thought. I've held hands with teammates and previous boyfriends. Nowadays I hold hands with my husband and my niece and nephew.

In the article a sociology professor from NYU says that hand holding is "less about sex than about a public demonstration about coupledom.” Until I read this article I hadn't noticed that I always attributed hand holding to romantic couples, but the quote spurred me to make the above list and I realize that, for me, holding hands really isn't about sex, or even coupledom, as much as making a connection. Soli and I were certainly not making a statement about a sexual relationship - there wasn't one to make a statement about. But we were great friends and it felt right that we would hold hands. I never really thought about why, but Tiffany Field from the University of Miami says that “based on what we’ve seen, when we get more physical intimacy we get better relationships," so maybe our hand-holding has something to do with why Soli and I are still friends.

In Cameroon it is customary for a men to walk down the street holding hands and everytime I saw it I couldn't help but smile. They were happy men who were sharing a connection and a friendship. Anytime someone was showing you the way somewhere, they would lead you by the hand. As a result, Greg spent quite a bit of time walking around holding other men's hands. We were at a fair and a woman came up and started talking to me and immediately grabbed my hand. She took me around to the booths and I loved it because I felt welcome, accepted, and safe. It was one of the many cultural aspects that I wish I could incorporate into my life at home (I came home with about a million).

This summer I was sitting at the Cup and Saucer restaurant on Hawthorne in Portland with Megan and I saw two women walking down the street holding hands. As we are in America where holding hands does equate coupledom and we were near the epicenter of Portland's lesbian community, I felt a sense of pride that these women felt safe enough in the environment to make a public connection with thier partner. Perhaps they were just friends and not a couple - I don't know. Either way, it made me happy.

The article points out that "to hold someone’s hand is to offer them affection, protection or comfort. It is a way to communicate that you are off the market. Practically speaking, it is an efficient way to squeeze through a crowd without losing your partner. People do it during vigils, marches, weddings and funerals." I would add that it is a way to tell your partner that your attention is on them and you're not afraid to let others know about this connection. Like when Jordan Catallano grabbed Angela's hand in the hallway after months of making out in the boiler room (My So-Called Life, people).

New research has "'found that holding the hand of really anyone, [makes] your brain work a little less hard in coping,” Dr. Coan said, adding that any sort of hand-holding relaxes the body." Furthermore, “if you’re in a really strong relationship, you may be protected against pain and stress hormones that may have a damaging effect on your immune system.”

So what is the moral of this little posting? Go out and hold someone's hand. Grab your partner's hand, your kid's, a friend's, or perhaps a stranger's that is in need of some support (but make sure they won't bop you on the head for it).

WTF?!?

I don't know what is happening with Dancing With The Stars this season. Last week Harry Hamlin got voted off (I was shocked) and now, Vivica A. Fox is gone (I am appalled). What is going on? How are Jerry Springer and Sarah Evans still on the show? Vivica was delightful and brought so much to the dance floor and the show - I actually teared up.

Shit. I don't know if I can handle it if something like this happens again next week.

Spinning

I went to a spinning class at my new athletic club and I love it.

I was a little nervous when I first arrived at the class because the only thing I knew about spinning was that it was terribly hard (and I knew this because I had seen it on several tv shows and movies with actresses with incredible bodies who are going on and on about how hard it is). I went to the class anyway and was peddling to warm up when the instructor started talking to the very nice man next to me. I am not sure how this came up but the man told the instructor that he may just fall off the bike, to which she replied it wouldn't be the first time. Apparently a man had a full-on heart attack in the middle of class and fell off his bike. It took a year, but the man's name is Ed and he was warming up on a bike across the room.

The class was really, really hard. When it got over I noticed that I was drenched in sweat in a very refreshing sort of way. Plus, I had that high that people supposedly get when they work out, but I never seem to experience. I was chipper, folks.

So I talked Greg into going with me tonight. We had a great time and about halfway through an intense interval section the instructor told us we had one more set and Greg actually moaned "nooooo." The guy on his right turned to look at him and I noticed that he was quite red in the face. About 15 minutes later, he turned to me during a recovery section and said, "I think I am going to throw up." Because I am a nice person, I made my hand into a cup and offered it to him. He gave me the look of death.

On our way home he asked me if I remembered the spinning class in the movie Fever Pitch. When I said I didn't he recounted that Drew Barrymore and three other actresses were in a spin class chatting and the instructor started barking orders about stepping it up and going hard. One of the girls then said something to the effect of hoping the instructor dies and burns in hell. Greg looked at me dead in the eye and said, "I know how she feels and I now understand where she is coming from."

This may be my new thing. We'll see (it is pretty hard).

Who Gave My Kitties Speed?

Historically, I have had a hard time sleeping. In the last few weeks, though, I have been falling asleep easily, sleeping through the night, and waking up refreshed. Greg has been working 11pm-7am. As he gets ready for work, I get ready for bed, read for half an hour or so and then gently fall asleep. Did you catch that? I said gently. Yes, I have been gently falling asleep.

Things were going as planned and I slipped into a gentle slumber, only to be awaken after 15 minutes by a huge crashing noise. I bolted upright in bed and looked around, then turned on the light so I could actually see something. Kribi was literally jumping up and down and up and down and up and down. He was trying to get the hinge of the door. I yelled and laid back down. Then he started jumping all over the bedside table, knocking Greg's alarm clock on the floor, which started blaring music. I turned it off and scolded Kribi who looked at me as if I were telling him that he was a good little boy. I laid back down and a short time later a plastic grocery bag was being played with and the crinkling noise was stopping any chance I had to find rest. I drug the bag, with two kittens attached to the living room and told them to stay, then closed the door behind me.

They found a way back in about half an hour later. I know this because Greg's alarm went off again. I tried to stay calm. I attempted deep breathing and holding the thumb of my left hand with my right one as it is supposed to help you relax. Then a large ruckus came from under the bed. I got down to grab them and put them outside again and found that Limbe was inside the box spring and they were playing with each other through the felt. I began whining and slightly weeping. They both came over to investigate and I grabbed them, put them on the couch in the living room, and closed my bedroom door completely.

I was so aggravated and wound-up I didn't go to sleep until 2:30am.

Greg got home at 7:30am and let the cats in. The immediately sat on my chest touching my nose with their noses asking me to get up. I said no, which is an answer they would not accept.

Men In Trees

There is a new show on ABC about a NYC relationship expert who ends up in a small town in Alaska with a broken heart and confusion as to what to do with her life. I thought this would be a good show to watch, I mean if a New York girl can love it, then certainly a girl from a small city like Portland can find something. So I watched half the show last week and all of the show this week. My plan was to write this long, deep, and insightful posting about how the show intersects with my life and how I can learn from the Merrin character. Then all of my problems would be solved.

This is not happening because a) it is not a very good show, b) the "lesson" of the show didn't match up with the "lesson" I feel I need to be learning, and c) I can't figure out how to weave my page of notes into a narrative. As a result, I am going to write a non-verbatim quote and my random thoughts on it and be on my merry little way.

Merrin: "When is the Post Office going to re-open? I would like my winter clothes that were sent to me from New York."
Post Master: "What is wrong with the clothes we have here? Fancy pants.
Merrin: "Nothing if you like hip-waders. I will just sit here and wait for the Post Office to reopen so I can get my actual fancy pants."

I have two things to say that are only tangentially related to this quote:
1) she was wearing tan fish-nets, just like my EZBeth does, and I am thinking this is something I should jump on. I used to think I couldn't pull them off, but I have recently changed my mind.
2) I was up here last October visiting Greg and had an adorable little outfit on that included: sweater, short green skirt, tights, knee high socks, cute wrestling-type sneakers. As I was standing in line at the coffee shop a woman behind me actually said, "What are you wearing?" Come to think of it, she may have been wearing hip-waders.

I aplogize for the lame-o posting. It seemed like a better idea in my head.

The Best of Alaska

Greg and I were watching television tonight when a commercial for a large of gathering of Alaskan crafts (I think it's something like gigantic bazaar, but I am not completely sure) that promised to be "the best of Alaska." When I told him that I was thinking about going so that I could find out what the best of Alaska is, he looked at me with eyes of desperation and said "No. Nothing good can happen there for you. That's some cheap ass shit. Please. Don't go."

Autumnal Resolutions

Does the title make sense? I'm not sure, but I'm a risk taker so I'll leave it up.

I was sitting at home with my cats the other night and I decided two things:
1. I am going to start working out again
2. I need to start drinking more

I'll deal with them one at a time. Everyone that knows me is aware of the fact that I HATE working out. I blame it on keeping playing basketball after I was emotionally done with it. Whatever the reason, it is a constant struggle for me to work out and I hate being indoors when I do it. Two years ago I took up running and forced myself to do it because I stopped being able to fit into my pants. I have done a pretty good job keeping it up, but I have completely dropped the bag since I got back from Portland last month. I have a million (semi-) legitimate excuses that I will not bore you with, but I have made the decision to get back on the horse, so to speak, and start working out. Greg's job reimburses the gym fee after an ungodly amount of paperwork, so we decided to bite the bullet and join. Besides, it is getting too cold to run outside and they have (mediocre) yoga classes there.
Greg and I went to a yoga class yesterday and did some machines and weights today. I really don't like the machines, mostly because it is too easy to do the minimum. I kept on pushing up the resistance today on the elliptical, but I kept on noticing that it never really pushed me. I must be doing it wrong, but I have always had this problem on the machines. Any suggestions?

On to my other, more entertaining, resolution. Greg and I don't go out much because there is a lack of places we want to go out to, we don't have friends to meet us so we might as well stay home, and we are on a budget. This doesn't make for a rip-roaring good time. I was at home at 9pm two nights ago and was waiting for Greg to come home from work at 11. I flipped on the tv and found Bridget Jones's Diary on, so I watched the tail end of it. She was working on drinking less (which is far more normal than my wanting to drink more) but it got me thinking about my current state of affairs and I decided that, by golly, Greg and I are going out tonight when he gets off work whether he wants to or not. I poured myself a glass of wine and then watched Sex and the City, which followed BJD. I planned in my head an evening of dancing - not clubbin', but dancing with a twirling skirt. My big plans were curtailed when I got a stomach ache after eating yogurt. By the time Greg got home I was laying on the floor in the living room ready for bed.
The next day, though, I was not deterred. After yoga we went to the store and stocked up on alcohol. I came home and used to excuse that Greg and I have officially been together six years to make myself some vanilla stoli and squirt (!!!!). Then I had another. Then I started skipping around the condo and was all chipper and fun. I have to admit, it is pretty fun to be just a hair tipsy at 2:00 on a Tuesday afternoon. Greg had to drop something off at work, so he couldn't join me. But he sure laughed at me a lot - and I didn't even mind.
We think it'll shake up our evenings at home. Plus, I heard on NPR that there was a new study released saying that social drinkers make more money than people who don't drink at all. In light of this information my new motto is: I take my career seriously. I'm having another drink.

The Clouds in the Sky

I remember walking down the small hill from Lathrop Hall to the Patty Center and looking to my left, just above the top of the stunted black spruce and thinking that I loved Alaska. I was 19 and a freshman in college. The skies were vast with splashes of pink among the stretched out white clouds and it almost looked like I was walking on the top of the world and could see the earth’s curve. It was spring and there was a freshness in the air that signaled the awakening of the world to new possibilities.

I have been noticing the clouds since I got back up here. The sky really does open up and when I sit and look at it I feel like I am a part of the universe and I feel my place and insignificance. I never feel this is in the city. In the city I catch myself looking up and feeling like I am part of the world community – a member of the human race. But it is different here. Everything has a different slant and perception. Nothing is the same.

I wonder whether I was in love with Alaska as much as I loved the feeling of starting a life for myself and finding the path I wanted to take. I don’t know. I think I loved Alaska at the time. What I do know is the wide, bright, and unending sky signaled to me the opening possibilities of what I can do and who I can become. The big sky today, while still beautiful, reminds me of my inability to escape. It is so large, so beyond my understanding of spatial depth, that it acts as a metaphor for what I can’t reach while I am here. The things I cannot see because I am standing on the top of the world under the baffling heavens.

Singing

I have always wanted to be a singer. I used to have these dreams that I was fantastic and would stand on stage and amaze everyone in the crowd. I am not a good singer and there is no threat of me ever standing on a stage where people would listen to me sing. If this did somehow happen, they certainly wouldn't enjoy it. But I got to thinking about singing the other day and I came up with a question: If I were a singer, what kind of music would I want to sing? A pop princess on MTV? An opera singer like I wanted to be when I was 5? Singing musicals on Broadway? Bluegrass so that I can go on A Praire Home Companion?

I decided on a kind of bluesy/jazzy vibe. I would get inspired by the greats and hang out listening to their records and then go to dimly lit jazz bars. My life would turn into soulful renditions that communicate as much through the music and tradition as the words.

So, my dear readers, what kind of singer would you be?

(Greg would infuse blues and hip hop like G Love)

Things I Love

1. getting lost in a book and trying to figure out when I can possibly sneak in another minute of reading.
2. students who are engaged, smart, and doing their very best.
3. students who stay after class to talk about how they have always hated English classes and been disappointed in English teachers, but somehow this class may be different.
4. long e-mails from my friends that light my heart and mind.
5. sleeping all the way through the night.

Of Cops and Kittens

My kittens had to get fixed yesterday. I took them to the vet at 8am, held them down while a rectal thermometer was used, then kissed them goodbye. I had a bad taste in my mouth all day and felt terrible about knowing that right-this-second-my-baby-is-hurting. Kribi's heart murmur has subsided to a grade 1 or 2, which means it is okay to go under anesthesia, but I was still very concerned we may lose him in surgery.

I left a little bit early to go pick them up from the vet's office so I could go to the post office and mail my mom's birthday present. To get to the post office I take a left from Karluk Street onto 15th Ave and have a block to change lanes and take a right on Ingra. I did this while listening to a little White Stripes.

Background Story: About two weeks ago Greg was talking about the first time he got pulled over by a police officer. He looked at me for the token My First Time story. I told one of my friend's stories about the first time she got pulled over and thus deflecting the emphasis off of me. Then, I told him the truth. I had never been pulled over by a police officer and NEVER admit it out loud because that means it would happen. But he's my husband and so I told him - you're not supposed to have secrets from your spouse, right?

Back to the Real Story (although I am sure you see where I am going with this): About a block down Ingra I hear a little "woop-woop!" I look and see a police officer behind me and pull into the right lane. He follows. I wonder why he didn't speed by me and then it dawns on me that he wants to pull me over, so I turn right on the next street and stop. I cannot figure out what he could possibly want with me and I am wracking my brain to figure out what I did. I grab my purse from the front seat next to me and start getting out my wallet and then remember that I heard somewhere you're not supposed to do that because the police officer may think you're going after a gun. I am in Alaska, after all, where you don't need a concealed weapons permit to carry a gun. I immediately grab the arm rest in the middle of the seats and my door and sit up straight as an arrow.

PO: Hi.
Me: (horrified look on my face) Hi.
PO: license, registration, and proof of insurance please
Me: (realizing it is now okay to move, I provide it for him)
PO: What lane do you make a right hand turn from? One, Two, Three, or Four?
Me: (confused and scared look )Um, the right lane?
PO: So lane one?
Me: Yeah. I wasn't sure which lane the counting started.
PO: What do you do when you turn?
Me: Put on a turn signal?
PO: Yes.
Me: Did I not do that?
PO: No. You also cut me off.
Me: (huge, plate sized eyes) I did?!?
PO: Yes. You didn't see me though because I turned my lights on right away.
Me: (furrowed brow) I've never been pulled over before!
My Internal Voice: Shut-up! Don't say another word! Quiet!
PO: You did get in the right lane once you noticed me, which was good.
Me: Thank God I did something right.
PO: I'll be right back.
Walks back to his car then returns
PO: Where are the license plates that match the registration?
Me: (guiltily pull Alaska plates from the holder on the door) Right here.
PO: (looking surprised then slowly makes his way to the front of the car while I am talking.)
Me: My husband hasn't put them on yet (my head is now outside the window in order to talk to him at the front of the car) which I know is no excuse. I should get the screwdriver and do it myself, but I didn't. (sat defeated in the car.)
PO: That's a $150 ticket
Me: (sank lower in seat)
PO: What did we learn today?
Me: Where do I even begin? Put my license plate on myself. Use a turn signal.
PO: Don't cut off a cop car?
Me: (nodding) That's probably the most important.
PO: (trying really hard not to smile) Probably. Have a nice day.
Me: (head out the window again) Really? Thank you!!!

Police officer pulls away I burst into tears. I call Greg, who is on his way home, and we decide to pick up the kittens together. He drives. Greg doesn't take my panic seriously and consistently gives me the same trying-not-to-smile look the police officer gave me.

I am in a little bit of a state when arrive at the vet. I run in and don't wait for Greg. While dealing with the nurse she tells me "Kribi had a bit of a problem." The floodgates release but the tears have not exploded from my eyes - yet. "Yes," replied to vet tech, "he won't leave his testicles alone." This doesn't compute. "What?!?" I say. Apparently this is quite a priceless look because the ladies keep referring the how they wish they could see it again. It seems as though Kribi wouldn't stop licking his wounds and so they had to give him an e-collar, like the one the black dog wears in Endless Summer. But littler. Kitten size. I laugh at the absurdity of trying to imagine Kribi in one, but the initial scare brought the cop tears back to the surface and I am concentrating very hard to keep them in control. Greg pats my shoulder less to comfort me but to say "pull it together, crazy."

The vet walk out with the kittens and I melt. Their eyes are so scared and blank. Their fur is a little mangled. "Hi Kids" in a little girl's voice slips out, at which the ladies all talk about as so cute, and then my reaction face is brought back up. The tears are there and I can't do a thing about it. One of the ladies hands me a tissue. The vet gives me the same trying-not-to-laugh-and-instead-take-you-serious that the Cop and Greg gave me. (Three times in one 15 minutes stretch. That has to be a record.) The vet tells me post-op directions, none of which I hear. I think Greg may be embarrassed of me, but I'm not sure. I stop crying by the time I get home.

Here is the photo of Kribi in his collar. It's not very good because he wouldn't sit still in it. We took it off because we couldn't handle the torture, and instead yell at him to stop licking his ball every half hour or so.

I hope you find me endearing and not crazy as a result of this story. I am sane. At least I think I am.

Does This Undermine My Authority?

The stapler in my classroom is like none I have ever seen. It looks fairly normal, but it is lightweight and when only slight pressure it shoots the staple through the paper with great force, much like an electric stapler. I like it because I feel strong and powerful when using it and my students have great reactions to the weight and force.

About thirty seconds before class started this morning, as my students were turning in their homework, one girl told me the stapler was out of staples. As I am in a computer lab, I started snooping around the drawers and found some extra staples. I opened up the stapler so it was positioned to staple something to the wall, but couldn't quite figure out how to get the top open to refill it. Then, out of nowhere, a staple comes tearing out of the stapler and connects with my forehead.

I was stunned. Two things happened to contribute to this event: 1) there were staples in the stapler after all, and 2) I must have put a hair too much pressure on the handle. Quite frankly, I am assuming these things happened because it all happened so fast. All I knew at the time was that my head really hurt, my students were staring at me (some had gaping mouths), and I was confused and blinking very fast.

I tried to recover gracefully, but as we can all assume, that failed miserably. They were disappointed that it didn't hit my eye so class would be cancelled. I was still standing there wondering what the hell just happened and why it had to happen in front of 20 other people. My head really did hurt and it hasn't really subsided. Occationally throughout class I would have my hand on my forehead and say, "wow. My head really huuurts."

This is the sort of thing that only happens in movies, or to me. It reminds me of when I was about 8 I was running from our house to the shed and I stepped on a metal rake and it came up and hit me in the head. Then, just like today, I was stunned. How do you follow up something like that? I laughed both times, but it was more out of confusion. I am a bad joke in a physical comedy.

Who besides me does things like get hit in the head with a rake and a flying staple? My mom would point out that I am an Aries and these things happen to my head for that reason, but that doesn't explain the goofiness and embarrassment factor. Any suggestions?

And You Just Thought I Was a Snob

I was perusing the New York Times's website today and I found an article entitled Tea's Got a Brand New Bag. It's all about how Americans are drinking more and more tea and in the course of doing so creating a demand for better tea. The manufacturers are listening and new things are in the works for the tea bag. Here are some highlights from the article:

• Tea sales in the United States have increased by four times in the last decade.
• Lipton's research showed that “every consumer is becoming a gourmand."
• “Consumers have reacted positively to the flavorings,” said John Cheetham, Lipton’s Royal Estates tea master, who selects and blends teas. “And we have Black Pearl to appeal to the purist.” [That's me: The purest. Only interested in black teas.]
• Mr. Cheetham acknowledged that Lipton’s flavored varieties were “entry level” teas. And they are a far cry from Harney & Sons’s or Mighty Leaf. [I love Mighty Leaf]
• Brewing tea from fine tea leaves takes longer, as much as five minutes, for the infusion to develop.
• Like coffee lovers who moved up from making instant coffee to grinding their own estate-grown beans fresh for each cup, many American tea drinkers have graduated to whole leaf teas. [ You see? I am only a snob if people that drink fresh ground coffee are snobs, too]

364 Days of the Year

Have you seen the movie Beautiful Girls? It's one of my favs and you should run and see it if you haven't already. The whole movie revolves around this group of friends' high school reunion. The night of the reunion Tommy 'the Birdman' informes his nincompoop friend, Pauly, that he is not going to the reunion because the entire series of Rich Man, Poor Man is on tv back-to-back-to-back. Pauly responds, "364 days I year I do dick. The one night I decide to go out." A fantastic dialogue ensues, but in the end Pauly goes and the Birdman stays.

I feel like Pauly. I have been waiting for almost a year for the new season of Dancing With The Stars to start its third season. It is the ONE tv show that I HAVE to watch. It is the only reality show I've been interested in. I get all involved, which includes cheering and jumping up and down, and last season both Martha and Kate came over to watch it with me because I refused to leave the house if it was on. Greg and I never do anything nowadays, except last night when we butchered a moose (see next entry). And I missed my show. I am horrified and have been trying to find it on the internet. YouTube and iTunes do not have it and I am at a loss. I mean, Joey "whooaa" Lawrence? Emmitt Smith? Jerry Springer? How did this happen!!

Get Ready For Some Convoluted Chit-Chat

I have several strains of thought to fly with here, none of which I think will be terribly interesting. Good luck wading through. I did provide little titles to each one for your viewing convenience.

Trying On Our Hunting Pants
Greg and I went out to his uncle's house in Wasilla for pizza, beer, and moose butchering. Ya heard me right. Moose butchering. My father-in-law is in town and they had to cut up the last moose they got before they head out for another. Greg, being the good person that he is, helped, although, poor thing, he is not a natural and was in charge of barking (cutting all the air exposed meat off the surface) and then downgraded to wrapping up the meat in the white butcher paper. I was completely turned off by the ball that is part of the hip joint and immediately started working on an imovie. When I finished that, I moved onto knitting (more on this later). It was stinky, bloody, and altogether gross, but I had a good time, mostly because I like my father-in-law and his brother - especially when they're together.

The Kitten Mitten
When Greg and I unpacked our bags when we got back from Portland, we found that one of my 4 year-old-niece's little purple mitten somehow got in our bag. It is soft and fuzzy and Limbe attacked it immediately and it is now her favorite item in the whole world. She sleeps with it, nuzzles it, carries it in her mouth, attacks it, rolls around with it, runs from Kribi with it...you get the picture. She also growls. If she is having an especially nice time with the mitten and Greg, Kribi, or I walk anywhere near her, she'll growl. Greg hates it because he thinks of her as this little baby kitten that likes to sleep on his neck; not a wild animal who will threaten attack if we get too close to her mitten. When she is not using it, Limbe keeps it in her food bowl so that the things she loves most in the world are in the same place.
I had cold pizza for breakfast this morning (left over from the moose extravaganza last night) and have the empty plate sitting on the floor next to me. The kitties came over to investigate and got all excited about the remnants of pizza smell. After sniffing around for a little while, Limbe tore into the kitchen, grabbed her mitten, and dropped it on the plate. I guess the smell of pizza overtook her love of Iams dry kitten food.

Knitting, Crochet, and Cross-stitch
I have been looking for things to do. Projects to have. I liked to cross-stitch when I was a kid - it's super easy and fun, but I hate the way it looks. So I found subversive cross-stitch patterns on line and started one. But even when they say something sassy, I still don't really like them.
A few years ago my mom taught me how to knit and I liked it quite a bit, but I started a hat and it never came in at the top, but instead looked like a top-hat. I was so frustrated I quit. I've wanted to start again, but I didn't know how to cast-on (getting the original line of yarn on the needle), so nothing ever came of it.
I've talked to Greg about wanting to take it back up, but he wants me to crochet because it is all the rage to have a crocheted hat over one's snowboarding helmet. He finally figured out that I was serious about not wanting to crochet, so he said he would learn.
The point: Greg and I went to a beginning knitting/crocheting class yesterday. I really love my husband. Isn't he the coolest?

iLife
Greg and I have been making movies. We run all over town, dance, jump up and down, and make fools of ourselves and then put it to music. It's totally fun. But here is the funny thing: when put to music, my life looks way more interesting than it really is. Everyday life = boring. Dancing with a stuffed bear to the Franz Ferdinand in downtown Anchorage = very exciting. If I keep making movies and then watch them every morning I just might be able to convince myself that life up here is pretty sweet...

Comments
You guys have been awesome about commenting and I love it! I started a blog so that I could stay in touch with my friends and build a little community and when y'all comment, I feel the love. So Thank You!

One Last Thing
Yesterday I grabbed my bag and walked out the door, but forgot something so I came back inside. As I leaned over I felt something inside my bag move and heard a high pitched and confused meow. I opened my bag and there was Kribi! He fell asleep in the bag and almost went with me to work at a coffee shop. He and I cuddled and laughed for a bit before I left again.

What Do I Have To Contribute?

I wasn't going to post anything today. Anything I have to say would be trite in the shadow of The Anniversary. And I, who was far from NYC/DC/Pennsylvania, lost no one on September 11. What do I have to contribute aside from my own silent reflections? It seemed to me this morning as I listened to NPR, not much.

Then I was standing in line to get my tea. The older woman in front of me with a raspy smoker's voice said to the patient barista "I am sick of all this talk of September 11. Who cares! Get over it! Next they're going to make this a stupid holiday and we'll have to suffer through this every year."

My heart sank. Suffer through remembering? Suffer through honoring those who died and those who tried to save them? We are suffering? And who cares? I do. I should. We all should. I am overwhelmed with an immense sadness for the crass and uncaring response to such an event, even if it has been five years. Especially if it has been five years.

I still don't feel like I have something worthwhile to contribute, but I feel like I must. I have to balance that comment somehow. It reminds me of sitting in the commons while I was in college and a guy was making some racially charged comments about Natives, "but it was okay because he grew up in the bush and really knew them." When I objected, he told me "Christ, Mary, you don't have to be a fucking bleeding heart all the time." I was shocked. It was the first time I had ever been called a bleeding heart and the way he said it hurt my feelings. But I was indignant and told him that he didn't have to be a "racist fuckface all the time either." He rolled his eyes and continued his story. You see, I do have to be a "bleeding heart" if it means that I can sleep at night and that I stand up for what I believe in - and more importantly, who I believe in. I wasn't taking a noble stand in the commons and I am not taking one here. I am simply trying to even out the meanness and project a little compassion into my world.

The cliches run rampant on a day like today, and I have no wisdom to add. I am not eloquent or wise. But I can't sit still and let that woman's comments be the only ones I hear all day. I must put my heart, my words, and my compassion on display so that people know I care. Because I do. A lot.

I'll Miss You, Mitch.

I just completed the first disk of season five of Dawson's Creek (I really need to start blogging about some books or something and stop all this jabber about movies and tv). The gang graduated from high school last season and I was intrigued about how they would keep the series running for two more seasons with all the main characters in different colleges across the country. The first few episodes were kinda disappointing and it's a good thing I had my cross stitch to keep me occupied. But then, at the end of the third episode Dawson's dad up and gets killed in a car crash.

I wasn't prepared for this, boys and girls. I spent the next 45 minutes bawling watching the funeral episode. It wasn't pretty. Limbe crawled on my lap for a quality cuddle, just like she does every time I cry. His poor wife and brand new baby. And Dawson, while he's never been my favorite character (a title reserved in all eternity for Pacey), I felt for him. And so, I'd like to offer up a minute of silence for Mitch Leary.

(Not that anyone will do it because no one actually reads this site. Have you seen the lack of comments lately? It's enough to make this blogger feel a little lonelier...)

Internet Quizzes

I know. I know. This is silly, right? You don't care. At all. But I am having a good time with this and I want to share this ridiculousness with my favorite people. Besides, you can learn a few extra things about me.

Your Linguistic Profile:

60% General American English

15% Upper Midwestern

10% Dixie

10% Yankee

0% Midwestern

What Kind of American English Do You Speak?

Where did this upper midwestern come from?

And tell me what the relevance of this is:

Your 1920's Name is:

Ione Jannie

What's Your 1920's Name?

The only Ione I ever heard of was Ione Skye, ex-wife of a Beastie Boy and star of one of the best movies of all time: Say Anything.

You Should Get a PhD in Liberal Arts (like political science, literature, or philosophy)

You're a great thinker and a true philosopher. You'd make a talented professor or writer.

What Advanced Degree Should You Get?

Thank goodness I am on the right track. I didn't really want to start all over.

You Are a Rainbow

Breathtaking and rare You are totally enchanting and intriguing But you usually don't stick around long! You are best known for: your beauty Your dominant state: seducing

What Type of Weather Are You?

Well this is nice, huh? I didn't say anything about being pretty or seductive, either. I think this is my favorite.

Your Inner European is Dutch!

Open minded and tolerant. You're up for just about anything.

Who's Your Inner European?

Yea Me!

I think this is enough, yes? I'm sorry to put you through this. I really am. I just got carried away.
Come back? Please?

Bad Hair Days

I came up with a theory a little while back asserting that whether or not I am having a good hair day is an indicator of whether I am having a good day in general. It’s not that I am (that) tied to how my hair looks, but that somehow my hair predetermines or predicts my day and mood. This may not be an altogether original thought, or even a good one. But it was a working theory.

It is blown out of the water today, let me tell you. My hair is horrific and atrocious. Limp and bland and ugly. It won’t do anything I want (in fact I think all my efforts make it worse). I am about to go stand in front of a classroom of people in a terribly cute outfit with hair that looks like it should be burned off the top of my head. I mean it’s baaaaaad. If I had my camera with me I’d take a self-portrait and post it for you.

So I would assume that I am having a bad day. But I’m having an okay day. Nothing great or grand, but just fine. I tutored for four hours, but no one showed up so I worked a little bit on class preparations, perused the internet, read some backlog of Crazy Aunt Purl's Blog, read a bit of my book, wrote in my journal, etc. I am a little bit cold, but this office is always cold and that's not a legitimate complaint given my location.

The reason I share this with you is that it makes me nervous. Does this mean that I will fall all over myself in class? Will they ask me a question I don't know the answer to and then laugh me out of the room? Will I say something mortifying? I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop and I wish it had before now. I can't have hair this bad and expect life to go on as if nothing was wrong.

Leaves

Yesterday the leaves on the tree outside our house and my office were green. Today they are peppered with yellow. Just an update.

The Corrupt Bastards Club

The night before my written exams to get my master's degree I wasn't sure I'd make it. I had been studying my ass off for months and I was petrified in the what-the-hell-was-I-thinking-I-don't-know-anything-about-literature kinda way. My stomach hurt and I was concerned about whether or not I could sleep. To keep my mind off of my impending failure (or so it worked out in my head), Greg and I decided to go to a movie. It was a tricky decision becuase it had to be funny - I couldn't waste any of my critical thinking brain cells on an emotional dramatic movie - but it couldn't be a slapstick comedy becuase I needed something to think about when I was falling asleep. Otherwise I'd try to remember all of my main points and that would that would inevitably keep me up all night. If/when I finally fell asleep I would try to writes my exams in my sleep. This happened everytime I had a big paper looming. In my dreams, though, I never could seem to write a clear and intellegent sentence. So I'd slave away all night without ever being able get any real rest. It makes for a terrible nights sleep and, because I am really cranky when I am tired, my day, along with everyone else's day, would suck as a result.

We decided to go see Thank You For Smoking at the fancy-pants full-priced Fox Tower in downtown Portland. One of the funny things about the movie was that there the firearms, smoking, and alcohol lobbyists called themselves the MOD squad (Merchants of Death) (bookmark this in your pretty little head*). It was perfect. I laughed, I was engaged, and later that night I was able to think about how that guy spun his words to make smoking sound like such a good idea instead of worrying about the next morning's looming catastrophe.

I was reading the Fairbanks Daily News-Miner's website the other day (which is the one thing I miss about Fairbanks. It has the best letters to the editor of any paper in the whole wide world - I'd betcha $100). The headline read:FBI looks for ‘Corrupt Bastards Club’ hats in probe. It was a story questioning the financial relationship between VECO, a giant oil field sevices company and a heavy hitter in Alaska politics, and several members of the Alaska State Legistlature. After an initial story questioning the relationship hit the news, the legistlatures formed The Corrupt Bastards Club and made commemorative hats (or so it seems). At any rate, the FBI later raided several legislator's offices looking for the "seizure of documents 'concerning, reflecting or relating to any payment' to lawmakers by VECO executives... [and] documents about contracts, agreements or employment of legislators provided by VECO." Also authorized by the warrant were "any physical garments (including hats) bearing any of the following logos or phrases: ‘CBC,’ ‘Corrupt Bastards Club,’ ‘Corrupt Bastards Caucus,’ ‘VECO.’”

I can't decided what I love more: the fact that these guys made hats saying The Corrupt Bastards Club or that the Fairbanks paper put the words "Corrupt Bastards" on the front page in big, bold lettering. I do love me some Alaskan politics, but who knew I didn't have to watch Thank You For Smoking. All I had to do was wait a few months and read the News-Miner.


*I stole this tactic from Megan's blog.

Art Films

Let me start by saying one of my favorite places in town is Bear's Tooth Theatre and Pub. They have second-run $3 movies, great locally-brewed beer, and some mighty fine pizza. Greg and I go there a lot and have seen some great movies there (including an awesome Auzzie flick called Look Both Ways). Bear's Tooth hosts Art House Monday every (duh) Monday that Greg and I probably hit about one a month (but always plan on more).

Also, I think that Office Space is one of the funniest movies I have ever seen. How many times have I said
"You've been missing a lot of work"
"I wouldn't say I've been missing it, Bob."
"That guy is management material."
in the middle of a conversation? Too many to count, I'd say. My roommate in college and I kept a copy in our dorm room and would watch it when we needed a pick me up.

Office Space is playing on Art House Monday this week. I appreciate it's cult classic-ness and am excited to see it in the theatre (because I only saw in on DVD and I am sure anyone else sitting in the theatre love it as much or more than I do) but an art film? Really?

This reminds me of last summer when I went to the independent film section of Anchorage's Blockbuster and saw that it was one rack and filled with movies like Carmen Electra's Stripper Workout - there were several different versions available. Have I mentioned we subscribe to Netflix?

I'm going to see Office Space tomorrow night at The Bear's Tooth, if anyone wants to join me.

Breath

I forgot to tell you that I saw my breath when I was leaving work the other day. It was 7pm and it didn't look that cold before I walked outside. It is the beginning of the end, my friend.

I have to admit that I am a little scared about the winter. I know it won't be as bad as Fairbanks, so I'll survive, but I don't really like being cold because I swear I stub my toes more when it is cold outside and we all know it hurts more when you're cold. The thing I am most worried about, though, is the darkness. When I was an undergrad, the darkness didn't really bother me, but I am pretty sure that's because I was sleeping in until about 10 or so and therefore got to see the sunrise every morning. But I've been trying to be an adult lately, and being an adult means getting up at a reasonable hour.

Let Me Tell You Something

I like teaching.

It's fun and the students in my classes are fascinating and wonderful and charming. I am smitten with them all. I have been wrapped up in trying so hard to get a job and then putting up with the bureaucratic mess that is being an adjunct that I forgot everything I was going through was because I really like teaching college kids. They have spunk, maturity (most of the time), and are branching out and trying new things which makes them open, interesting, and interested. I like learning about these great people and seeing what they have to offer me, the class, and the world. It's fun to share what I know and assist them in finding out how to go from where they are to where they want to be.

Last night, for the first time since I moved here, I felt giddy. As my students filed out of the room I felt like hugging each one of them for giving me the opportunity to be happy and have a little fun. Plus, it is a required course so I have tons of students clamoring to get it, which I know is nothing personal, but dammit, they all wanted to hang out with me three hours a week!

So Rah Rah Me! Rah Rah the U for giving me a job! [very fancy cartwheel inserted here] And Rah Rah you for sharing this moment! [high kick]

*if any of my previous students were to read this blog entry they'd never believe it was me because I tell them that using an exclamation point is like jumping up and down with spirit fingers (which I always demonstrate). But in this case, I am jumping up and down with spirit fingers!