Transfer station, how I love thee! You take away my garbage and give me other people's garbage in return. Seriously, people, I have of late become a transfer station junkie. It just so happens that I go past not one but TWO transfer stations on my way home. There's the Farmer's Loop/Taku Lot transfer station, which is where all the hippies and college students go, and I also pass the Chena Pump Road transfer station, which is where all the rich people go. Needless to say, outfitting our new house has been a snap. What, you need photographic evidence?
Today's big find: An outdoor table for our massive, massive deck.
Also on our deck: Flowers. I paid for those, but all the planters were free!
Soon to be retired: A grocery basket found at the Farmers Loop/Steese Highway transfer station. I always stop in when I'm on that side of town. It served us well for bringing food up to the main cabin, but is kind of useless now that we don't live in the commune anymore.
Tom wanted a soap dish. Tom got a soap dish. Or rather, I got a soap dish for Tom.
I wish I'd found this chair before I bought a recliner at Salvation Army. Well, now we have two living room chairs.
And an ottoman, which technically is not a transfer station find. This one I found out with someone's garbage in the Aurora subdivision about 4 years ago.
Small nightstand for our office? Transfer station!
Filing cabinet? Again, not a transfer station find. A friend found it on her new property when the snow melted. It comes complete with a UAF sticker.
Three-foot tall wooden tiki fork? Transfer station!
Dresser? Transfer station!
Mirrored bathroom cabinet? Transfer station!
Computer desk? Say it with me now....transfer station!
You may be asking yourself why I am posting all these pictures of my dump finds. Well, my friend, it's because I can. I can sit in the comfort of my own home at my own computer and do this. You know why?
High speed Internet! (Not from the transfer station)
Anonymous, you were right. How can I expect hordes of screaming fans at the burlesque show if I don't give you a few, key details?
Drum roll, please....
Fleurs du Mal Burlesque is back! This outstanding, locally produced classic burlesque show will have an exclusive run at the Palace Theatre in Pioneer Park during the month of July. The ladies will take the stage at 10 p.m. on Friday and Saturday nights starting July 13. On Thursday, July 12, don't miss your chance for a special pay-what-you-can "Boston" show. It's your only chance to see the show without necessarily seeing it all (wink wink).
You know what? I'm pretty damn sure that I've used that as a post title before. But my point is that my blog may look a little odd for a few months. I'm taking a few classes over the summer, and one of them requires that I set up a blog at Blogger. Now, I'm not sure if you're aware of this, dear readers, but I happen to have a blog at Blogger - and you're reading it right now. Actually, I have four: this one, one for my restaurant reviews (woefully behind in updates), one for my recipes (no, NOT the brownies, Jill!) and one for Tom's bike trip (although he got back in September). And so, I've petitioned my instructor to let me use this blog. Don't be alarmed if I started talking about processors or whatnot.
On the bright side, maybe this means I'll get on top of updating my blog. I was reprimanded for being lazy at a swanky lil' soiree for Jill this weekend. Di anyone else know that Jill is a lean, mean, digits-getting machine? It's kind of fun to set challenges for her, because she always overcomes!
And since you're still reading, let me just remind you that the Fleurs du Mal burlesque show starts THIS WEEK. Free preview show Tuesday night and a Boston (i.e. "clean") show on Thursday, with the show officially starting on Friday. Friday and Saturday nights at 10 for the rest of the month. Be there or be a figure with four sides of equal length and four 90-degree angles.
UPDATE: I lied. Or rather, I changed my mind. Putting my assignment posts on this blog would quickly become quite messy, so I created a new blog. If you're really interested, you can check it out. And don't forget to come to the show this month!
Fairbanks may the be second-largest city in the largest state in the nation, but that doesn't stop everyone from knowing everyone else. Cases in point:
• I went to a Canada day/surprise birthday party for a friend. The host had once co-chaired a gubernatorial debate with my boyfriend. Though I didn't know most of the other guests, we were all somehow connected through either the Fairbanks journalism world or through the blogosphere,
• Because we are looking for furniture for the new house, a coworker put me in touch with her son, who is selling furniture for a move. We chatted over the phone about a bed he had for sale, and I went to his house yesterday to look at it. He looked somewhat familiar, but I knew we had some friends in common. When he showed me the bed, I realized that I recognized him because I had sold him the same bed four years ago.
I'd love to regale you with more stories or photos, but none of the other bloggers have put up photos for me to 'borrow,' and I've got to go to an interview.
If you haven't heard, we are moving! We found a great house about 8 miles from the university, situated on the oh-so-lovely Chena Ridge. For those of you who actually know us (as opposed to those of you who just cyberstalk us. You know who you are!), our phone number will remain the same. For those of you who send us bills, keep sending them to the old address. For those of you who send us gifts, we'll get you the new address.
We're not fully moved in, and we won't be having our housewarming for a while, so for now I leave you with some shaky video.
The cat has made the move and is suitably both freaked out by the new place and overcome by the desire to roll in all the spots that apparently still smell like dog.
Summer in Alaska produces a lot of pests. Everyone's heard about our mosquitoes. Last year we had a bad yellow jacket year. And I've currently got a couple of wasp nests around the property that I'm keeping an eye on. But my big annoyance this year is the ever-persistent spruce bud worm.
They don't sting. They don't bite. They just hang in midair from a bit of webbing like a perverted, squirming Christmas ornament. Walking through the trees to get to our cabin has become a delicate art of dodging and weaving through the dangling pests.
I was only mildly annoyed by them until I walked into one full on the other day people. I'm usually not a girl about crawly things on me, but this one made eyeball contact. Eyeball, people. The only thing going in my eye should be my contacts.
Do you hear that sound? No, it's not me screaming about turning the big 3-0. It's me shrieking with joy as I download the Adobe Creative Suite 3. Yes indeed, as I type this my computer is currently installing Photoshop CS3, InDesign CS3 and Illustrator CS3. Oh, and why not add Dreamweaver CS3 to the mix to boot?
I tell you, sometimes it's great being a UAF employee. And it's cool if you don't understand why I'm so amped about this. I'm totally understanding that not everyone cares about design programs and nifty new features and the like. Just like some people are happy with Times New Roman. Luddites.
Sorry it's been a long time since an actual post of substance. I'm afraid it will all be quotes and light-hearted blather for a bit longer. Summer is finally here and I'm busy with about a billion things.
saying "It's weird to try on dresses at
Value Village without my girlfriend there."
Or something like that. I was indeed drunk.
appreciate male bellydancers
I'm sorry, Tom. I wasn't trying to sneeze on you. But I was trying to not sneeze on the cat. In retrospect, I guess the two actions were related.
Have I mentioned that my boyfriend is a Smarty McSmartPants? And an über-goober, but that's a story best saved for another time. When the Jeopardy! bus rolled into town this week, Tom was there. After kicking ass at the preliminaries, he went on to kick ass and take names at the second round.
Out of 800 people who showed up to try their luck, only 10 were selected for the contestant pool. And as you can obviously tell, Tom was one of them. He's now in their pool and has a 40% chance of being called to the show. Should he be selected, I plan to accompany him. And hopefully convince him to go to the Price is Right as well. I've got a way with the Plinko™.
Tis true, tis true....one of our beloved Hillbillies is moving on. Well, not moving too much, but he has purchased a house down the road. Last night was the official "I own it" party. Beer, champagne and an indoor toilet. He is moving up!
Now we have to begin the long process of looking for a new resident for the commune. There are already three possibilities, but we'll have to figure out if any current residents want to move to the empty cabin, then invite potential residents over to see the place and have dinner, then discuss the potential Hillbillies, then take our recommendation to the board.
Have I scared anyone off yet?
Fucking squirrels ate my hammock chair last year. But then Jay and Nancy gave us a slingshot. Tom has collected a small tub of rocks, and my aim is improving. The new hammock chair is on its way, and I am ready to defend it!
I was poking around Esty today and found myself perusing the hand-printed cards. One artist, Heatherjeany, does some lovely custom work, and as I was clicking through the items for sale, I came across one listing which was a save-the-date card for someone in my high school class. It feels weird to know something so personal about Pilar Vahey, who I haven't seen in more than 12 years.
I don't know. Cartilage?
the "food" in question
This is the part where I should apologize for the pun. Please note the silence. And now for an explanation: After years of suffering the injustices of womanhood in silence, I have decided to rise up against the oppression and take matters into my own hand. Literally.
I am sick of Tom getting to use his favorite pee tree while I have to practically disrobe in our tiny outhouse in order to relieve myself. And so, after doing some research (thank you Internet, although you did steer me to some nasty stuff during my research), I have decided that I shouId order a female urination device. But I'm not quite sure which one is right for me, and so I turn to my gentle readers for votes.
Now, right off the bat I dismissed the Urinelle, LaFemme and P-Mate because they were all disposable. I don't want to add to the environmental stress on our planet simply to fulfill my desire to write my name in the snow. After further research, I narrowed the field to three contenders:
TravelMate
Pros: Narrow tip is ideal for perfecting my snow signature!
Cons: It's just so clinical looking.
PStyle
Pros: Please. Have you seen the color range?
Cons: Yeah, that's an open top, which just seems ripe for some accidents.
WhizPlus
Pros: Barbie-doll pink, with a fun name to boot! Flexible material.
Cons: More expensive, must order from Australia.
What? Don't most people blog about this stuff?
rumors of my assimilation have been greatly exaggerated
--jean luc picard
The weekend is over, and we survived. Cold Fusion has been working for months now on what just may be the penultimate level of geekdom. I speak, of course, of our now-infamous Borg bellydance. Yes, this was at the gaming convention. How did you know?
The Borg, for those of you who do not know (and you are officially no longer my friends), are a race of cyborgs known for assimilating other cultures and stealing their technology to further their borgifest destiny. In true geek style, we decided to perform a Star Trek bellydance in which I would get to don a bald cap and leather clothes and we could use a little stage combat. Unlike in Star Trek, this time the Borg won. Allow me a few observations:
- I am way, way hot in a bald cap. In a sexy kind of way.
- I am way, way hot in leather pants. In a temperature kind of way.
- It is not easy to quickly remove a bald cap for a costume change.
- If we wanted to, Cold Fusion could rule the dorks. Because, baby, they loved us! Who would have thought bellydancers would be so popular among the gaming crowd?
that little girl and done a shoulder shimmy.
Did an Amazon reviewer really just compare the nonstick coating on a Calphalon hard-anodized pan to the one ring? Yes, I think he did....
I was passing the time in the main cabin and chatting with Jennie when she noticed that I had received the alumni magazine from my high school. Yes, my high school. It's one of those fancy, full-color, glossy affairs that you'd expect from, say, a private and horrifically expensive college. Well, I went to a private and horrifically expensive high school (but I was a scholarship kid - ha!). When Jennie expressed her surprise, I began regaling her with tidbits from it.
- So-and-so is taking a year off from college and travelling the world. Here are pictures of him in the Galpagos Islands!
- Rich Kid X has started a business importing Ecuadorean woven rugs in Manhattan. Anyone in the area should drop by! It would be great to catch up with other alumnae!
- Spoiled Girl is proud to announce that she has given birth to yet another child with a yuppie name. She has left the law firm to stay at home with her children while her husband is continuing his career as a surgeon in Sweden.
- Pretty Boy was recently featured on ABC's The Bachelor, where the girls all obsessed over the fact that he's a prince. (Oh, wait, that one is actually true. Shoot me now.)
Do these people all lie? Or are they truly the glitterati? I should have totally married one of those rich bastards, but since I couldn't stand most of them, I'm left with only one recourse: Lies. In the past, I've sent the alumni magazine my version of the truth.
- Mary has left college to pursue a career in dance.
- Mary is finishing her degree and working at the Hartford Courant.
- Mary has moved to Alaska and lives in a dry cabin in a Quaker commune. She is happy to shit outdoors in the winter.
So, if anyone asks, I was recently outed as a spy while working undercover in the former Yugoslavia. Fortunately, the United States was able to trade one of their political prisoners to gain my sweet, sweet freedom. I'm recovering from the experience at my ranch in Montana while I ponder new career options. This just might be the time to finish that PhD thesis on Native American female landscape architects working Paris from 1954-62.
But if that seems too outlandish, Jennie has agreed to pose for "commitment ceremony" pictures that I can send in!
Things have been getting a little hectic with the dance scene lately, which is my roundabout way of saying I haven't posted in a while.
Cold Fusion is getting busy. We had a photo shoot, I designed promotional postcards, and they were just shipped to me today. Whee!!
We've got an hour-long time slot for the Ester Library Lallapalooza on Sunday. Hopefully we've got enough material to fill it. Next Saturday is a big one: The Arcticon show. Yes, we will be performing at a gaming convention. What? We're nerds. We even came up with a very special choreography. Here's a hint: You will be assimilated. I also get to be the special guest judge at the convention's masquerade ball costume contest. I'll have a week or two after that to work on our new Web site (which I won't even link because there's literally nothing there yet). At the end of April we head down to Anchorage, where Nomadia is hosting an urban tribal workshop with Heather Stants. We may also be performing at the Dance Together Alaska Festival while we're down there, but our time is starting to get very crunched.
And rumor has it that the Fleurs du Mal burlesque troupe is planning on making a comeback this summer in a big way. The possibility of a 12-show run is out there.....
The group that has been holding a conference in our building all day just finished up and kindly offered the rest of their food to us. Or rather, all we could eat until catering got there to clean it out (at which point it gets thrown away).
I now have all the crackers, a plate full of cheese and a grocery bag with the rest of the crudites on my desk. Did I mention that it's my night to serve dinner at the commune?
After much discussion, I went ahead and purchased tickets for Tom and I today. Sure, it's months in advance, but I doubt we'll find a better deal than this: $1,200 each for round-trip from Los Angeles to Auckland. New Zealand, here we come!
When I received an e-mail from an unknown name with the innocuous subject line "Regarding Work" in my Inbox at work, I shrugged and opened it. Hey, we've got (crappy) spam filters and for all I knew one of our freelance employees was trying to contact me. Instead, I got this:
Hi, I hate to be the one to mention this, but people continue to talk about your weight issue and it just disgusts me. Whether you know it by now, people are always chattering about each other at work but you come up more than enough. I wasn't the happiest or best-fit up until a year ago or so but that did change. Thanks to my dam brother-in-law(of all people). Anyhow, it was for the best.
What I am saying is that you need to do something different and maybe you can make the same difference I did. Try this stuff I used. I took it on the idea it's just more junk but it worked great. I see more positive reviews on it nowadays and makes me feel even better. So, I am encouraging a change, not only in the chatter around here but in you personally.
-Anonymous for now
Using an anonymous email website to send this btw;)
When it helps/works just send a memo out with the name "Angel" in it. Then you can take me out to lunch to thank you. Talk to you sooner than later I hope;)
http://huricaneroou.com
Well I never! Insulted by my very e-mail?!?! Now, I appreciate the misspelling of a curse word that might otherwise draw alarm bells (though you'd never know it by the number of times I've e-mailed the word porn to a colleague recently). Really, I do. And sure, I'm not quite a supermodel. I'm pretty sure it's the height thing, frankly. But my e-mail calling me fat? That's just a low blow.
Joanna has begun to doubt the very existence of my achingly good brownies. Not even a picture can reassure her (because I'm a whiz with the Photoshop, yo!).
It's a shame she lives 350 miles away, or perhaps she would be more intimately acquainted with their unique crumbly, fudgy texture, their ooey-gooey layer of liquid caramel and their crunchy bits of pecan.
Perhaps if I'm feeling really, really generous, I will bring a batch down when I crash at her place for the Heather Stants workshop.
ps that little wreath of decoration around the plate? Well, let's just say that no one will ever ask me to make heart-shaped decorations for Valentine's Day again. Bonus points for using blue paper to depict the pulmonary artery and the superior vena cava!!
I know that yogurt most certainly can be part of a healthy breakfast, but what if it's Boston Cream Pie yogurt?
Research links vasectomy with higher dementia risk
WASHINGTON (Reuters) - Men who have had a vasectomy may face an increased risk of developing a rare type of dementia marked by a steady loss of language skills, researchers said on Tuesday.
Researchers at Northwestern University in Illinois, writing in the journal Cognitive and Behavioral Neurology, linked this male sterilization surgery to a neurological condition called primary progressive aphasia, or PPA.
They surveyed 47 men with the condition being treated at Northwestern's Cognitive Neurology and Alzheimer's Disease Center, as well as 57 men who did not have PPA. Their ages ranged from 55 to 80.
Of those with primary progressive aphasia, 40 percent had undergone a vasectomy, compared to 16 percent of the others. Those with PPA also suffered the ailment an average of four years earlier than the others.
Preliminary data also linked vasectomies to another form of dementia involving behavioral changes. Among 30 men with frontotemporal dementia, more than a third had undergone a vasectomy, the researchers said.
Sandra Weintraub, who led the study, acknowledged that the research involved a small number of people and said she planned to conduct a larger national study to see if the findings hold up. In the mean time, she said her findings should not stop men from getting vasectomies.
"I was hoping not to, but unfortunately it's the kind of news that ends up scaring people even though they may not need to be scared," Weintraub said in an interview.
"This was just a clinical observation that started with one of my patients telling me that he first noticed the onset of his symptoms a couple of years after he had a vasectomy, and he wondered whether that might have something to do with it," Weintraub said. "In his mind, these things were connected."
Primary progressive aphasia, which affects people usually after age 50, can be mistaken for Alzheimer's disease since initial symptoms are similar. In this incurable disorder, nerve cells die in the brain region responsible for language skills.
It causes people's language capabilities to decline steadily, with symptoms such as faulty recollection of names of people and things, difficulties in speech, reading and writing, and poor comprehension.
A vasectomy is an operation in which the tubes through which sperm travels are cut, leaving sperm unable to reach the testes and making a man unable to impregnate a woman.
The study did not look at the mechanism behind any link between PPA and vasectomies, but Weintraub said it may be because the surgery allows sperm to leak into the blood. Antibodies produced by the immune system in response to the sperm might trigger damage that causes dementia, she said.
Just because one person pisses me off, it doesn't mean I should take it out on the next person who does so.* I've got to control my reactions to things, especially when living with so many people with so many personalities (though they usually just have one each).
*In other words: stop, breathe, and don't be a bitch next time
Sigh. Being sick is never fun, especially when you're traveling long distances for workshops that cost a lot of money. And yet on New Year's Day I faced the inevitable fact that I was getting sick. But Texas awaited me!
Before I could get to Texas, I had to spend a night enjoying all that Boise has to offer. Insert obligatory potato joke here. For some reason, I've always thought that Boise wouldn't be a bad place to live. Turns out I was quite right.
They get really excited about the library here. The public transportation system was pretty easy, AND it goes from the airport right past Motel 6. For a mere $2 I got a day pass which afforded me numerous trips around the city. I even managed to squeeze in a visit to the Idaho State Historical Museum.
I didn't necessarily have to paddle upstream to get there. And no, I'm not breaking the rules by climbing in the display.
Ouch!
Of course, the ultimate goal of my trip was Texas. For some reason, I've always thought that Texas would be a bad place to live. Turns out I was quite right. There were lots of pavement and Republicans.
There were lots of bellydancers, too. On the left is the one and only Sharon Kihara, my main reason for going to Texas. On the right is Zymirrah, one of the organizers of the event.
Hooray for Bollywood! And for Reetu, who taught a classical Indian dance class that quickly morphed into Bollywood and dandi raas.
In time, I learned to tamp down my giddy schoolgirl crush on Sharon and play it cool around her. This was not that time. You can almost see me thinking "OHMIGOD!!!!! Sharon totally has her arm around me!!!"
When the final workshops were over, we headed out to whoop it up in the Historic Ft. Worth Stockyards. The natives were not prepared.
From left Kyla of Phoenix, Mary of Alaska and Zuza of Minneapolis. We were strangers, until I put a posting on the Internet looking for people to share a hotel room. Now we're just strange.
After four days and 11 workshops, I was tired. I was, ironically, just starting to get healthier. Zuza and I stopped and got a classy alcoholic beverage to drink out of a paper bag at our motel room at DFW.
I arrived home to weather 100 degrees colder and a boyfriend who had kept himself busy cleaning, building stuff and playing with our Lite Brite coffee table.
When purchasing a new car, never pay it off quickly. Doing so will leave you somewhat financially strapped, and it's a well documented scientific fact that as soon as you actually own the car, something will break. Like my transmission.
File under: just my luck; cars suck; Mary had a bad day
breakfast habits
Hot buttered O's | |
| Serves 1 strange person | |
| Ingredients | |
| 1/2 | stick of butter, melted |
| 7 oz | Cheerios (or to taste) |
| dash | salt |
| Melt butter in skillet over medium heat. | |
| Add Cheerios and salt to taste. | |
| Enjoy in front of Saturday morning cartoons. | |
Hot bacon O's | |
| Serves 1 strange person | |
| Ingredients | |
| 1/2 | pound of bacon |
| 7 oz | Cheerios (or to taste) |
| dash | salt |
| Fry bacon to desired crispness in skillet over medium heat. Remove from heat. | |
| Without draining the skillet, cook Cheerios in leftover bacon grease. | |
| Crumble bacon over the top and feel your arteries cry out in pain! | |
I finally got around to getting a haircut today. I'm not one of those women who can schedule their next appointment when the leave the salon. Instead, I tend to ignore my hair for 2 or 3 months, realize suddenly that it badly needs to be cut and call the salon looking for their next available appointment. I don't want to ruin the surprise for Tom, but let's just say my new hairstyle can be summed up in three words, beginning with "Flock" and ending with "Seagulls."
Since I don't have any pictures handy to provide you with a visual reference, I will instead give you the wackiest thing I came across on the Internet today.
**UPDATE**
The little guy is actually a midget. And, he's kinda famous! Check it out! He's also on MySpace, where he cops a bit of an attitude.
"You Americans can be so unaccomodating what with never having learned the metric system and all. And bombing countries into oblivion. And starving millions of people around the world with your economic sanctions. And being so very arrogant and ignorant about other people's customs and traditions. And with your Britney Spears and Madonna's. And ice hockey! I don't understand you Americans some times."
Sorry for the great absence of posting. I assumed that the hotels in Texas would have business rooms, so I did not bring my laptop. Foolish me. I was without the Internet for about a week, which hurt me far more than it hurt you.
After waking up at 4 a.m. Texas time on Monday, I commenced travelling home. And by 2 a.m. Alaska time on Tuesday, I was home. It was 60 in Texas and -40 in Fairbanks, which is a full 100 degrees colder. Despite that, I was still glad to be out of Texas.
In due time I will post a little more about my trip. For now I am busy catching up on sleep and trying to locate all my warm clothes again. And up above? Well, that's me riding the mechanical cow in the Historic Stockyards at Fort Worth. Here's a helpful hint if you ever go there: When people ask you to take their pictures, don't agree to do so and then say "1-2-3-Democrat!!" They don't appreciate it.
Sigh. Is it time for another one of those "so sorry I haven't written in a while" posts? Once again I'm out of excuses. I was busy getting ready for the holidays, experiencing the holidays, experiencing the holidays all over again when my Christmas gifts arrived on Dec. 27, getting mentally ready for Texas, blah blah blah.
First: My parents rock for listening to my Christmas desires: No knick-knacks to clutter up my cabin, and an iPod, please. I finally joined the iPod generation (I've had mp3 players, but never an official iPod). I've spent the past few days browsing through my 2,000+ cd collection, trying to select music for it. At first I was being choosy, not wanting to take up precious space with songs I only sort of kind of liked. Now that I'm three days into the process and still have about half the storage left, I'm just throwing songs in willy-nilly. Plus, I got the Belkin car charger/FM transmitter, which leads to this:
heard in the car
Yeah, good stuff. It was Bollywood, by the way.
So now I'm getting ready for Texas. By my rough estimates, it will be 4 days, 11 workshops, 2 performances and 2 parties. Throw in an overnight visit to Boise (Town motto: Yeah, it's in Idaho. You got a problem with that?), a night spent in a Motel 6 near DFW to try to avoid a 4 am taxi ride to get to DFW and a 7-hour layover in Seattle, and you've got my trip in a nutshell. Fortunately, Heather is moving to Seattle on Jan. 1. I presume she won't have a job by Jan. 8, so she can meet me and we can roam the city together. I'm saving money by shacking up in Fort Worth with some strangers I met over the Internet. Sounds kind of sketchy, so investigate them if I die. Here's what I know: Kyla Khan of Phoenix, Zuza/Valerie of Minneapolis and Andrea of Dallas. I also found another stranger in Boise to meet up with. Ah, the powers of the bellydance network.
As I often do, planned my trip around food. To be specific, I found an Indian lunch buffet in Boise. I shall eat my fill, and then some. Remind me not to have breakfast before the flight.
Yesterday Dara and I met up to attempt to scale the mountain of cookies we had baked with Jennie on Wednesday night. Somehow simple math eluded us, and we decided (OK, I decided) to get together and bake our cookies. Three bakers, two types of cookies each, one oven.... It was a hellish evening of juggling cookie sheets. And we still had to frost the suckers. With much patience and wine, we finished them off.
Dara also informed me that a client of hers knows me, somehow. Apparently the topic of bellydancing came up, and when Dara said that her friend Mary dances, the woman exclaimed, "Mary Haley? She started the tribal fusion group in town. I love them. Their choreographies are great! I love their costumes!" *ahem* I'm famous!
Last night we had the odd experience of interviewing a potential satellite resident at Hidden Hill, only to decide that the fit and the timing wasn't quite right. It's strange, because it's not like we have an empty cabin that we need to fill. Being a satellite resident means joining the community for meals, socializing, helping with the weekly cleaning, using the shower and laundry facilities, etc. We don't need satellite members, but having them can enrich our community. After he left, we discussed it as a group, and many of us were unclear on why he wanted to join and how much he would be able to participate because of his erratic work schedule. It's worth noting that he moved to Alaska only knowing one person in the area, so one resident felt that we should reach out to him to give him a kind of home base. Personally, I moved here not knowing a single person in the state. It's a choice we make, and I don't know if we should feel obligated to help every new person who arrives in town. Another resident made the point that we have to balance out his needs versus our needs as a community, and that right now we're struggling a bit as a community. In the end, the group seemed to agree with her, and we decided that we may invite this person over to socialize a bit, but that we need to work on our community before we can start to help others. At least, that's my interpretation of it.
In other news, tonight is the annual Hidden Hill bonfire. A word of advice - stay away from the eggnog. Hopefully I'll be in better shape the next day than I was last year.
and their fancy video games
The IRS keeps trying to give me money, and quite frankly I don't trust them. A few days ago they sent me a check for around $400. This time I'm wising up. Instead of cashing it, I'm going to frame it and hang it on the wall. Why you ask? Because they'll be asking for it back soon enough.
It all started around this time last year. I got a letter from the IRS one day saying that I owed them for taxes. As it turns out, I did in fact owe them.* Thus began a series of letters, all informing me that I owed them around $200 and that they would send a bill. After a few months, they actually sent a bill and I paid it. A few months later, they sent me a check for around $400 for "overpayment." Ka-ching, right? Not so much. In August they sent me a letter saying that the check was a mistake and that I needed to repay them $600. For those of you doing the math, that means I essentially had to pay them another $200. I bitched, but I sent them a check. They turned around and sent me a check for $400.
Now if the check were actually mine to keep, I would be just about breaking even. Follow the math:
*Nah, I didn't deliberately cheat them. I did some work in Connecticut that ended in December 2002, but never got paid until well into 2003. They never sent a W-2, and when April 2004 rolled around, I filed for the work I did in 2003, forgetting that late payment.
after she compared the baby to a
villain from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles
Audio conference this morning. Yawn. Boring. Until one guy tickled my fancy by calling the planned reorganization fatuous*. Good word usage! Well played!
*1. foolish or inane, esp. in an unconscious, complacent manner; silly.
2. unreal; illusory.
Since I don't really feel like redoing my blog at the moment, here is a list of great ways to waste time on the Internet *
The 30-Second Bunnies Theatre: See your favorite movies re-enacted in 30 seconds. By bunnies.
List of Unusual Deaths: Famous people who died in odd ways.
The Brick Testament: An illustrated Bible. Done entirely in Legos. Rated for nudity, violence, sexual conduct and cursing.
* without resorting to porn
While Tom spent election night particiapting in a virtual Big I with Marmian and friends, I worked on decorations for our Christmas tree. Behold, the little blingy Army ornaments!
Our, um, angel? Why, Beach Fun Blaine, of course!
No, Mom, this does not mean you can buy me decorations. Don't even try it. I'm perfectly happy with decorations I make out of things from the $1.50 store.
Hey, at least our new governor is pretty. And as Tom said last night, "I don't think she knows anything, but I think she could learn."
So, good news for the rest of the country: The Dems take over! Some good news for Fairbanks: Kawasaki, Thomas, etc. But bad news for Alaska: Palin, Young.
But like I said, she's sort of pretty. Which almost makes up for her other shortcomings. Case in point: her appearance at a debate at West Valley in Anchorage.
Spam: Earlier this year we wrote to you about our Knowledge Based Degree Program (KBDP). We thought we would follow up and see if there is any reason why you have not called our registrars office.
Me: Well, I don't usually trust schools that can't figure out how to punctuate a possessive, but go on....
Spam: Most people don't realize that these degrees are completely valid, and only our staff and yourself know that they are based on knowledge of the subject.
Me: Really? So you're accredited, then? And FYI, it would be "only our staff and you." But maybe you're not trying to offer degrees based on your knowledge of English.
Spam: If you are still interested in obtaining a degree then please give our counselors a call at anytime during the week.
Me: See, there's a punctuation problem there, too. And I care about these things.
Spam: Counselor Office:
(773)-509-4920
Me: OK, you got me. I was expecting a number from the Virgin Islands.
Spam: Regards
Shirley Mitchell
Valentinus 0nline College
Me: Hold up, Shirley. First, use a capital "o," not the number "0." Second, you don't even have a Web site so I can mock you more in my blog. Won't you please put up a Web site extolling the virtues degrees based on the knowledge of a subject? Pretty please?
I would have blogged this week. I would have returned to my picture-filled posts of days past. I likely would have started off the week with a picture of the local gas station marquee urging drivers to "Try our pure Colombian." Alas, by the time I got back with a camera, it had been changed. I probably would've referenced Tom's jokes about marching powder when we saw the sign.
I would have told you all about my trip to the chiropractor last week. I would have likened cracking my back to driving a motorcycle over a mile of bubble wrap. Then I would have crowed about how my insurance is paying for massages. I would have assured you that they are desperately, medically needed.
I would have updated you on the happenings at Hidden Hill. That includes the dinner conversations about people who can't let different foods on their plates touch each other. I would have quoted Russ, who used to be like that but has since reformed. It would have looked like this:
his food segregation issues
I would have told you how I can't quite figure out how to best take advantage of the free tuition, but am leaning toward just amassing a wealth of additional bachelor's degrees. I probably also would have mentioned how my boyfriend rocks because even though he had a stomach virus, he installed my new battery and pad in my vehicle. In the dark. In the cold.
I would have done a lot of things, if only I'd had the time.
They're outhouses, Russ, not vomitoriums.
I'm not quite a man.
finishing his steak
Next year if you go binary, you'll be 10,000.
You can't stop me; I'm an eating juggernaut.
A picture is worth a thousand words. Plus, this picture has words on it! So, in short, I say:
Saturday night.
8 p.m.
Ken Kunkel Community Center.
It's in the Goldstream Valley.
Yeah, it's the one next to Ivory Jack's.
Experimental bellydance.
Be there.
That's the sort of post title that gets you banned in middle America. And yet, there is a grain of truth in that post title.
You see, once upon a time, there were two aging and cranky vegans (their words, not mine). These two aging and cranky vegans decided to move to Alaska for a year and impose their dietary restrictions upon a perfectly nice set of omnivores. And though the omnivores suffered greatly, they made the effort to feed the two aging and cranky vegans for a year. When the time came for the two aging and cranky vegans to leave Alaska, they left behind a gift and a request. The gift? A generous gift certificate to Big Daddy's Barbecue. The request? Full documentation of the carnivorous orgy.
We invited all and sundry to join us, but in the end it was just the five of us who suffered the most vegan food who showed up. Clockwise from left: Don, Jen, James, Mary and Tom. Not pictured: Salak, who remained under the table in her baby prison carrier.
First up, we had appetizers. That's a big old basket of meat, yes indeed. In the background, you can see the cleverly named "Moose Nuggets." This enraged James, who kept saying, "Hush puppies."
Tom and I raise a chunk of meat to our two favorite aging and cranky vegans.
Drop some sauce on your shirt? Not a problem if you're James. This may be why the two aging and cranky vegans often said he wasn't quite housebroken.
Tom's plate of brisket before.
Tom's plate of brisket approximately 7.8 seconds later. "You finished that thing?" James asked incredulously. He sure did. We spent the rest of the meal listening to Tom say, "Are you going to eat that?" and, "I'll take some of that."
Jen and Don opted to horrify the two aging and cranky vegans as much as possible, and ordered the aptly named Pig Out Platter.
Mmmmm.....pulled pork. I love pulled pork. Wait a minute, is that corn on the cob? That's vegan, right? Hell no! It's a cobbet, a piece of corn on the cob that has been flash-fried in garlic butter. Delicious, delicious garlic butter. Even the bread isn't vegan.
James figured since he wasn't paying, he might as well order the whole rack of ribs. We also attempted to pad the bill with vegan-approved beer, and lots of it.
Brownie sundae? Not vegan.
Flan? Not vegan.
Yellowy-white cake? (Yeah, that's what the waitress called it) Not vegan.
Baby Salak? Not vegan.
Cheesecake? So not vegan.
The residents of Hidden Hill express their thanks and best wishes to the two aging and cranky vegans. If we had known about the happy hour special, we could have spent the gift certificate on 40 appetizers. As it was, we returned to Hidden Hill with a balance left on the gift certificate. I predict pulled pork will be making an appearance at a dinner soon.
Everyone has something that they need when they're sick. A big glass of Alka-Seltzer? Massive doses of Vitamin C? Their mom? For me, however, it's a shirt. But not just any shirt. It's my 1985 Grateful Dead t-shirt, which has clearly seen better days. Like the days in 1985. In 2006, the shirt is definitely looking a little ragged.
It's the sort of vintage look you just can't buy in the stores. Sorry, hipster kids. I pull it out about once a year, which is about how often I get sick. The faded graphics, transparent yellowing fabric and numerous rips give me some sense of comfort. As soon as I'm feeling better, I'll pack it away again, and feel safe knowing it will be there for me the next time...
As promised, I have resurrected the camera. Behold, the power of digital technology!!!! (And behold my new vehicle, too!)
A lovely little Suzuki Vitara. 2000, 87K miles, 5 speed, 4WD, PW/PL and all the other acronyms you can throw in a classified ad. Though it's a small SUV, the interior is quite roomy.
For instance, Tom can sit inside (in the passenger seat only, of course!) and his head isn't even close to hitting the roof. The back seats fold down for extra cargo space, though I don't think I'll be able to move a refrigerator in this vehicle.
For scale, this is how tall the vehicle is:
Tom is 6'5". This is the sort of vehicle you step into, as opposed to sitting down. I am now level with drive through windows. I feel powerful and mighty as I cruise down the road towering over puny cars (well, as powerful and mighty as one can feel with a four-cylinder engine).
And on a side note: I'm getting sick. Coming down with something nasty. I can feel it. Not good. I'm a baby when I get sick. Pretty soon I'll be drifting about the cabin, hoarsely proclaiming, "I'm dying!" to anyone who will listen. It's probably better to avoid me entirely until I recover.
You'd think that since I got my digital camera back I'd be snapping and blogging much more frequently. Yeah, you'd think that....
The picture above was taken at the Morocco workshop, featuring once again the lovely Joanna. Her loving, trusting (and foolish) husband stayed in Anchorage while she came to Fairbanks for a few days of dancing. At the end of the workshop, I did, in fact, quit my dance troupe. Scary new territory - I'm trying to develop a troupe of my own. In the end, though, Rachel Brice was right: I need to be true to myself and let go of a situation that was no longer working. For now I've got four other dancers who are working with me to develop the troupe and see where tribal fusion fits in Fairbanks.
Despite all our big talk in the past, it has become clear that Tom and I are not destined to be a one-car family. I mean, he's unemployed a freelance journalist, and we still can't hack having just one car. I'll pick up the check from the bank today, and get my new car this weekend. Pictures to come. I promise.
Shed? Done.
Deck? Done.
New trail since the deck covers the old one? Done.
Having Tom home to do lots of work? Priceless.
Long time, no post. So here goes:
* I officially got a new job at UAF. My new title is Graphic artist. I quit the library, but will continue to work at Extension. I started the job yesterday, which consists of editing and making changes to math textbooks aimed at elementary school kids. The textbooks use Yup'ik legends and traditional knowledge to teach math. You know, counting berries and recognizing patterns is parkas, etc.
* I may have found a vehicle to purchase. In fact, I put a deposit on it. However, the owner needs to get me a copy of the registration in order for the bank to lend me the money, and he doesn't know where it is. That may be a possible snag.
* The non-cooker at the commune has signed up to cook twice in the 4 months since moving in. Both times I had other obligations and was marked for a saved plate. Both times there was no saved plate.
* Tom returns Friday night. If the cabin's a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'.
* The meth house on my road (OK, maybe not an actual meth house, but people sure seem to know which one I'm talking about when I say that) has a dog kennel in their driveway. The kennel contains not a dog but a full-grown pig. I sense a barbecue coming on.
* My cabin has a roof. It even has a shed (which hopefully will have a door knocked into one of its solid walls today). And work has started on a deck.
* I think I'm going to quit my dance troupe.
My car, it seems, has died. RIP, dear Toyota Corolla All-Trac Wagon. Well, it's not dead-dead, it's just in need of $900 or so to fix it, which seems a little silly to sink into a 91. I'm trying to find a mechanically inclined person to buy it from me so they can fix it. The car would be worth about $2,200 in the Fairbanks market, due to the All-Trac, and the parts are estimated at $400. I'll bet you could even find used parts for less. So come on, now, who wants it?
Once again I am car shopping. Sadly, every time I go into a dealership armed with breasts and a uterus, I get shoddy treatment. Such as "Well, we've got a nice car over there - oh, wait. It's a manual." Hi, jackass, I've driven stick for 15 years now. (Yes, the math doesn't add up. Blame my sister for breaking the law.) Or "How much can you afford per month? Because you may be able to get a car that's worth more than X amount." Yes, but then I'd be paying more than X amount, wouldn't I? And then there's my favorite "What would it take to get you in a car today?" You, two bottles of lube, a video camera, a small rhinoceros and a very open mind.
In my limited price range, there hasn't been a whole lot. There's a nifty '99 Subaru Legacy Outback that's rather cheap, but the '99s had that whole exploding-head-gasket issue. Much like my old '97, which I ended up putting a new engine into. I'm trying to stick with AWD, yet avoid the gas-guzzling small SUVs. Fortunately more manufacturers are moving into AWD territory these days. Unfortunately a car that has been made in the past year or two is still generally out of my price range.
Tom has finally gotten the attention he deserves.
From west to east with pedal power
There's nothing quite like a small-town newspaper write-up to really make your journey complete...
One resident refuses to cook, and everyone else responds by constantly asking him to join their meals? Four people sign up for dinner last night and not one of them shows up?
I'm over it. And by "it" I mean giving a damn. No more cooking for a while. No more asking people to do their dishes, or park properly or anything else. I'll take their rent checks to the bank. Other than that, I'm going to take a cue from others and mentally check out of the commune for a while.
