Mary Bellamy

I don't know what was going through my head when I got to the gym Monday morning. To be precise, "Maybe I ought to run a few miles today" was going through my head, but I don't know why. I haven't run since my chiropractor told me it was bad for my knees. I love Dr. Linda Schertz. She gives me excuses not to run and prescribes me medically necessary (and thus covered by insurance) massages. So, having not run for about 18 months, I decided to hop right into it and ran about 1.5 miles. Tuesday morning my legs rebelled and informed me that we would not be going to the gym. As my main means of locomotion, they have the final say-so in such matters. We reached a truce and went to the gym today, but it's an uneasy truce. They still hurt.

Last night's attempt at mini cheesecakes was less than successful. I ended up with a bit too much filling in each well, causing it to spill over a bit as it baked. Not necessarily a disaster, but it made it impossible to run anything around the edge of the well, thus making it nearly impossible to push the cheesecakes out. I've selected the two best candidates to bring to Robin's house tonight. I plan to investigate this more thoroughly. If I can't master mini cheesecakes, I'll never get to move on to tartlettes. And lord knows I want a bunch of tartlette pans.

I'm getting stymied by Fireworks. Why should I use a different program to do essentially the same things that Photoshop does? I'm going to have to look into this program a little more.

Heard at a friend's house:

I know it strikes most people as strange, but this breakup with Tom has been the best breakup of my life. For those of you who haven't bothered to read my entire blog for the backstory, here's the Cliff Notes: Girl meets boy. Girl falls in love with boy. Girl and boy date for five years, live together, get recognized as non-gay gay partners by girl's workplace. Girl and boy travel to New Zealand. Girl breaks up with boy in shadow of Mount Doom. Girl and boy continue to live together (separate bedrooms, people!) until their lease is up.

I know, I know. As my friend Anne put it, "You people are off the charts weird." But it works! Tom and I are still best friends. And as his mom put it, "You two sure got over each other quickly." And it's true: We are both new in relationships now. And, um, still sharing a house. Which is pretty awkward. However, Tom has found a place and is getting ready to sign the lease, so he'll be gone by next weekend. Until then, though, we continue to spend our sunny Saturdays running errands and eating corndogs and discussing the pros and cons of our new relationships. Plus, he got me a mini cheesecake pan on Thursday. That man understands my need to bake. And he wants mini cheesecakes.

I don't know how to explain it really, but breaking up brought us closer together. How did I manage to pull off ending the relationship but keeping him in my life? I don't know, but I'm so happy with the way everything worked out.

As for my new boyfriend, I told him this morning that I'm only dating him for his dog. Which is partially true. Zoe is absolutely adorable. I'm working on creating the Fairbanks Small Dog Playgroup. OK, not officially, but I do have two Italian greyhounds, one chihuahua and a hardened NYC pug lined up. We need to find a time to get to the dog park and strut our stuff.

I have survived the following (in chronological order):

• a massively unhealthy dinner from Carl’s Jr. on Wednesday night (made even more unhealthy by my decision to swap out the drink for a Cap’n Crunch milkshake)
• beer. Quite a bit of it.
• moving furniture while drunk. When I was growing up, I used to rearrange my bedroom every few months. It was a small room with lots of furniture, but I found at least four arrangements that would work. Living in our cabin at the commune, I couldn’t rearrange because some of the furniture was built in. I’ve been in this house for 11 months and have rearranged the living room twice and my bedroom once. I am scared of being in a rut, even furniture-wise. Commitment issues??
  
• watching crappy TV with Jennie
• starting Thursday with a bottle of champagne. At 8:15 a.m. Don’t worry – I took the day off from work.
• finishing said bottle by 10:30 and realizing I hadn’t eaten food yet.
• an epic-length dinner at a local restaurant. We had no less than three people helping us, resulting in a lot of miscommunication, and it took us more than 90 minutes to get our food. The end result? 25% off our bill and profuse apologies from a young man who was wearing makeup.
• Bollywood choreography after a day of little work but much drinking
• a frank sex talk with my ex-boyfriend
• Thursday. In general.

But you know what can cheer me up even when I’m down? My grandmother sent me a dirty card. And tonight I’ll meet up with a friend who is in town from NYC for the summer. Dinner, hopefully no more drinks and a movie with a group of friends. I’ve nixed my plans to flee town for the weekend. Instead I’ll let James cook me dinner on Sunday. And I think I’ve found two grad students to move into my house. Life may not have been good yesterday, but it’s getting better.

Memorial Day weekend. Time to do nothing. A whole lot of nothing. Last night Marmian and I kicked off the festivities by going to see Matt Vrba playing at the Loon. Today is the Clucking Blossom post-mortem barbecue. Tomorrow is the Bob-Eley-cue. And Monday the university is closed. Coincidentally, this is also my boyfriend's day off from work, so I predict a lazy day of laying around and doing absolutely nothing for hours.

Later this week, as per usual, I will take to my bed for a day of dramatic self-absorption.

After that, the hunt for new roommates will continue. I've been talking with a few people, but have made no decisions yet.

Tuesday night brought the Meeting Of The Dogs. After dinner, henna, a movie and drinks, Victoria and I brought her Italian Greyhound, Itchy, over to Robin's house to meet his Italian Greyhound, Zoe. I guess IGs do have something of a territorial nature, because Itchy has assumed that I am her property, and thus she staked out a spot on my lap. As previously discussed, Zoe adores me, and thus she also staked out a spot on my lap. It's a big lap, and they are small dogs, but no human being can stand such a high level of cute for very long. Fortunately, it quickly degenerated into a lot of humping. Not on my lap. No pictures, but we'll have another doggie playdate soon.

Now to a more serious subject. Robin's best friend is coming to visit. Actually, the visit has morphed into coming up here for the rest of the summer. Now, this wouldn't be a problem, except his best friend happens to be female. And historically, I don't do well with female best friends. Of course, the inverse is also true: I often don't like the women my friends date. But back to the issue at hand: She is coming up. For the entire summer. And I'm pretty sure she's going to hate me.

Longtime readers of my blog who don't know me may be scratching their heads and saying, "But why would she hate you, Mary?" Longtime readers of my blog who do know me are cackling, because, well, they know me.

Let's look at the facts:

• I am dating her best friend
• He (and his little dog, too) adores me
• I have a somewhat caustic sense of humor

OK, maybe the list doesn't truly represent my fears, but trust me. She is going to hate me. We will circle each other like wary dogs for months. (Much like Dara and I did when she started dating James. We're great friends now, but this undermines my argument.) This should be an interesting summer.

OMG this hurts my brain. And I promised myself I wouldn’t make this blog political.



OK, here’s the deal:

I will give baked goods to the first person who can:

a) name two of the dance scenes featured in this clip. Just the movie titles will do, though you get bonus points for knowing the names of the songs.
b) explain why this technically could never be considered a Bollywood clip

I like it when people make me think. Driving home last night, Robin and I started musing over the difference between “oblige” and “obligate.” How can you not love a man who will discuss etymology with you? *swoon*

The dictionary, though usually my friend (OK, usually read by me and my friends at parties. Seriously.), was not help with this one. The definitions (of the transitive verbs only):

Oblige: {OFr obligier, obligare to bind, oblige < ob + ligare, to bind} vt 1) to compel by moral, legal or physical force; constrain; 2) to make indebted for a favor or kindness done; do a favor for;

Obligate: {L obligatus, pp of obligare} vt to bind by a contract, promise, sense of duty, etc.; put under obligation

Not so different, eh? Both words essentially mean to make someone feel like they have to do something. In common usage, though, I tend to think that “oblige” implies more of a voluntary act. Is this simply because we most commonly hear the intransitive form of the verb? “Much obliged” is a stand-in for “thank you” in some parts of the country, seeming to give the feeling that to “oblige” someone is to be accommodating to them, not to force them to your will. Conversely, “obligate” implies a forced or compelled act.

However, further investigation has shown that perhaps this understanding of the difference between the two words comes down to my nationality. We do not speak the Queen’s English in America. Rather, we have an English all our own. Don’t believe me? Try reading The Economist’s Style Guide section on Americanisms.

While The Economist simply states that it is oblige, not obligate, I found further explanation from an Aussie. As it turns out, “obligate” as a verb is an American construct not necessarily found in other forms of English. For example, Australians would say “Though the watch was meant as a birthday gift, he felt obliged to get her something expensive in return.” Americans would use “obligate” in that instance.

The moral of the story? Well, you can use “oblige” and “obligate” somewhat interchangeably, but it will mark you as an American. And if someone does you a favor, I would not recommend saying you are “much obligated.” And, more importantly, when you start talking words with me, I like you more.

Ladies and gentlemen, we have an RSS feed. I finally got off my ass today and subscribed to a whole bunch of blog feeds.

My Toolbar Bookmarks were becoming increasingly complicated. There were the design blogs that updated a lot and I visited daily. Some had sporadic updates, so I visited them weekly. But sometimes the sporadic sites would have a good run of posting and I'd be stuck wading through stuff for an hour.

Now all of those blogs (well, at least the ones that have feeds) go right to my Google Reader. What did I do before Google? It's my default e-mail client. I G-chat with my boyfriend almost nightly. I sort, store and share documents and calendars. Ah, Google, how I love thee!

I was late to work this morning because I had to swing by the church and pay my respects to spring. It is officially dead.

I woke up to pouring snow. I didn't know snow could pour, but that's really the only way to describe it. And yeah, I'm happy that my new boots are suddenly practical. And awesome. A full 360 degrees of awesomeness, to be exact. But I'm still getting sick of winter. Bring on spring!

And on a side note: This photo is taken from the lovely deck of my lovely house. It shows my lovely boardwalk leading out to my lovely sauna. I've decided that I am not going to move out of the house when the lease is up. Instead, I am going to find two new people to share the house with, and will keep on rocking the 70s house and sauna.

I'm a little red-faced, but I'm not afraid to admit when I've done something dumb.
I was posting a survey on one of those dastardly social networking sites, and one of the questions was "When do you shower?" and I said I shower at the gym. Today I realized that the person who wrote it probably wasn't from Alaska, and probably meant "time of day" not "day of the week." For the record, I shower in the morning, but only gym mornings.

The following is an excerpt from the July 1943 issue of Transportation Magazine. This was written for male supervisors of women in the work force during World War II.

Eleven Tips on Getting More Efficiency Out of Women Employees: There’s no longer any question of whether transit companies should hire women for jobs formerly held by men. The draft and manpower shortage has settled that point. The important things now are to select the most efficient women available and how to use them to the best advantage.

Here are eleven helpful tips on the subject from Western Properties:

1. Pick young married women. They usually have more of a sense of responsibility than their unmarried sisters, they’re less likely to be flirtatious, they need the work or they wouldn’t be doing it, they still have the pep and interest to work hard and to deal with the public efficiently.
2. When you have to use older women, try to get ones who have worked outside the home at some time in their lives. Older women who have never contacted the public have a hard time adapting themselves and are inclined to be cantankerous and fussy. It’s always well to impress upon older women the importance of friendliness and courtesy.
3. General experience indicates that “husky” girls – those who are just a little on the heavy side – are more even tempered and efficient than their underweight sisters.
4. Retain a physician to give each woman you hire a special physical examination – one covering female conditions. This step not only protects the property against the possibilities of lawsuit, but reveals whether the employee-to-be has any female weaknesses which would make her mentally or physically unfit for the job.
5. Stress at the outset the importance of time the fact that a minute or two lost here and there makes serious inroads on schedules. Until this point is gotten across, service is likely to be slowed up.
6. Give the female employee a definite day-long schedule of duties so that they’ll keep busy without bothering the management for instructions every few minutes. Numerous properties say that women make excellent workers when they have their jobs cut out for them, but that they lack initiative in finding work themselves.
7. Whenever possible, let the inside employee change from one job to another at some time during the day. Women are inclined to be less nervous and happier with change.
8. Give every girl an adequate number of rest periods during the day. You have to make some allowances for feminine psychology. A girl has more confidence and is more efficient if she can keep her hair tidied, apply fresh lipstick and wash her hands several times a day.
9. Be tactful when issuing instructions or in making criticisms. Women are often sensitive; they can’t shrug off harsh words the way men do. Never ridicule a woman – it breaks her spirit and cuts off her efficiency.
10. Be reasonably considerate about using strong language around women. Even though a girl’s husband or father may swear vociferously, she’ll grow to dislike a place of business where she hears too much of this.
11. Get enough size variety in operator’s uniforms so that each girl can have a proper fit. This point can’t be stressed too much in keeping women happy.

Our beloved student employee Stefani will be leaving ARSC today. Something about graduating and wanting a real job. I don't know. I wasn't paying much attention, since she wasn't talking about me. Eh, I'll still see her at The Pub tonight. Fairbanks is too small for us not to run into each other, hopefully a lot!

I think all my hippie, if-it's-yellow-let-it-mellow tendencies get ruined by the fact that the automatic toilets at work flush at least twice every time I enter the stall.

Which is to say that I'm back at work after the previous post.
IUD lessons learned:

1. I need a special card to fill prescriptions, which I did not have when I went to Fred Meyer.
2. Vicodin did not touch the pain. Hence the day off from work yesterday.
3. Vicodin makes me ill. Only a tub of Alka Seltzer and my iron will kept me from getting sick last night.
   

For your own health, do not read this blog entry.
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Seriously, we are entering into the TMI zone.
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No, for real. I'm going to talk about things like cervixes.
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Well to hell with you, then. You were warned.

Of all the things I'll miss about my ex-boyfriend, I think I'll miss the vasectomy the most. No, it's not a dignified way to start this post. Please reference the above warnings. Anyway, neither of us had any desire for children. Zero. Zip. Zilch. And other words meaning "none" that begin with a Z. In the end, though, he made the decision and I just reaped the benefits.

Back on the single scene, I find myself jumping through hoops. The first hoop is the whole do-you-ever-want-children issue. Because I'm not looking for a relationship, but it makes no sense for me to get involved with anyone with long-term potential if we disagree on this one very big issue. I am 30 years old. I do not want children. People tell me that I am too young to make such a decision, and that I will change my mind. I say: Bullshit. I'm pretty sure that when a 21-year-old breeder announces that she loves kids and wants to have, like, four, no one tells her that she is too young and will change her mind. In our society, it is acceptable to want kids, but unacceptable to not want them. Why?

I believe the prevailing idea is that it's selfish of me not to want kids. Somehow my greatest gift to give this world comes from my uterus, not my brain. I'm told that children are my legacy, that they will take care of me when I'm old, that I will never know greater love than the love of a parent for a child. I happen to think that my talents are greater than the ability to conceive, and that I might leave this world with some other legacy. Perhaps I'll design a kick-ass font. All I know is that I don't think I need to contribute to the genetic pool in order be remembered after I am gone. And I can't hold out hope for children taking care of me in my old age. This is America. This is why we have nursing homes and the state of Florida. How often do you really hear about elderly folks moving in with their children? By the time I'd need them, my kids would be busy raising families of their own to take advantage of the obvious opportunity to get revenge for their upbringing. And as for love? Well, I have been well and truly loved in my life. My parents put up with more shit from me than they should have, but they loved, love and will continue to love me. I have a sister who has been there for me for 30 years even when we hated each other, and a brother-in-law who makes me happy because he makes her happy. I've had boyfriends who loved me and friends who loved me and a cat who is kind of whorish and will love anyone, but I secretly believe that she loves me above all others. And in return, I have loved back. If you've ever been the object of my love (or even my affection), you know that there is nothing I won't do for people I care about. I will drop everything (including a cooking project) and go pick up a friend who had her heart broken, then force her to crash a party at the Curling Club because it will cheer her up. I will defend my friends' rights to speak their minds and maintain their opinions, even when they completely conflict with my own. I will be the one who comes to visit you when you cannot leave the house. In short, once you are inside the inner circle, you can count on me when you need me.

So if it's not love and not a legacy and not security, then what is it that drives people to reproduce? I think that it's often selfishness, or an attempt to correct another area in their life where they are unhappy. I don't expect this opinion will be popular. Many of my opinions are not. But I've always thought that people need to be truly happy as a single person before they get into a relationship. It therefore follows that people should be truly happy in a relationship before they add another person to that relationship. But this is often not the case. Babies don't keep couples together - they drive couples apart. I know of friends who seemed to have the ideal relationship until they had kids, and now they bicker. A child is a physical, mental and financial strain, and if you're not strong enough to deal with it, the strain will break you.

As far as my reasons for not wanting kids, they're pretty simple. 1) I don't like kids. 2) Kids would negatively impact my chosen lifestyle.

I really don't like kids. They cry and poop and puke, often all at the same time. When a baby cries, my womb does not twinge. I do not think that someone needs to find out what's wrong and comfort the baby. I do think that someone needs to stop the crying. Several of my friends have kids, and I imagine that as I age more of them will join in. My friends' kids are OK. I can handle them in small doses. When they cry, I can hand them back or I can leave. They're also made up of approximately 50% genetic material that I have already approved of. And I think my sister will pop a few kids out sometime soon. In fact, I hope she does. I will give those kids Pixie sticks taller than they are, and noisemaking toys, and make them run in lots of circles, and then give them back. No, seriously, let me babysit them! To recap: Kids of friends and family = OK. Kids of people I don't know = likely to work my nerves.

And I know that "my chosen lifestyle" sounds all gay. But the fact is that if I had children, I'd have to constantly put their needs and desires before my own. I'd have to buy a house in a good school district and save my money for orthodontic work. I wouldn't be able to run away to foreign countries for weeks at a time. I'd have to utter phrases like "Make your poopies in the potty." I'd have to make my life revolve completely around theirs. And I just can't do that. Not now. Not ever. I am a person who craves alone time. Who enjoyed having the house all to myself for the weekend because it allowed me to get some thinking done. Who needs privacy and quiet.

So those are my arguments against kids, and the reasons why I look for men who do not want kids. But finding a man who doesn't want kids is only part of the problem. There's also the second hoop. Remember the whole vasectomy issue? Well, without such drastic measures, sex is fraught with land mines. Condoms are the sanest choice, since they also provide protection against diseases. But condoms can break. Or in the heat of the moment, you can forget. I know, I know, I can hear your lectures from here. Let's not pretend this is an ideal world, OK? This is the real world, and shit happens. And when it does, it leaves me in a bad spot. I can't do hormonal birth control. I'm crazy enough as is. But the fear of pregnancy is always, always on my mind. And having had to take Plan B recently has made me realize that I need a long-term solution. Ironically, despite all my arguments against having children, I'd have to persuade doctors to have a tubal ligation. People still think I might change my mind. So yesterday I met my new best friend, Mirena, aka the Baby Blocker 2.5.

And now we truly get into the TMI. Because, yes, I got an IUD. I got one because, no, I do not want children. And I'm at home today because, dear God, it hurts. I knew going in that the insertion would be painful. I didn't know that it would cause me to nearly pass out, or to lose all feeling in my face, or would make my ears vibrate, or make me shake uncontrollably on the table for a few minutes. I unfortunately didn't know I'd need more than just my health insurance card to get my Vicodin prescription filled. I didn't know that the pain would continue the next day. And despite all that, I'm still glad I did it. Thanks to a state-sponsored program, I only paid $150, which works out to less than $3 a month for the next five years, which is how long it will last.

So now that birth control is off my mind (and forever lodged in yours if you ventured this far into the post), I can stop worrying about babies and start worrying about other things. Like the fact that the guy I started dating a month ago has become my boyfriend. And that scares me, but not as much as the fact that he's not planning on staying in the state. Knowingly getting involved in a relationship with an expiration date is not a good idea. I am aware of the fact. But I can't ignore the way he makes me feel when I am around him. There was an instant sense of ease around him. Things are effortless, even though, on paper, there's a lot of effort involved right now. I imagine there will be more posts and more angst over this man in the future.

Time for a little spring cleaning, of the blog variety. I tided up my links and finally updated my library. I should probably put the same effort into my house, but I'm sick.

Actually, I'm feeling heaps better today. I woke up this morning without the sensation of my throat swelling shut. I think lots of rest and an early evening nap yesterday did me good. Those of you who know me well may wonder just how damn sick I am to be taking a nap. I am not a napper. Naps leave me feeling groggy and disoriented, often unaware of either the time of day or my location. I can wake up at 6 a.m. and feel annoying chipper, but if I wake up at 6 p.m. I am a crankypants. However, I've located a master napper, a sleep sensei, if you will, who has been patiently guiding me through the process of napping. The road is not easy, but it is rewarding.

Who is Patient Zero? Who got me sick?

I started coughing a few days ago, and have now devolved into a general lethargy and the feeling that my throat is swelling shut. I came home from work early yesterday and opted to stay home today. I'm not quite at the point of crawling into my ancient Grateful Dead shirt and moaning that I'm dying, but it's close.

Of course, the truly sad part to all of this is that I seem to have passed the germs on to the new man, thus eliminating the chance of pressing him into servitude for the duration of my illness. I think that the first sickness is a good test. Does he offer to get you mugs of tea? Gently kiss your feverish brow? Smile bemusedly as you predict your imminent demise? However, when you have passed the germs on, the best you can hope for is no accusatory glares while he coughs up a lung.

The much-neglected cat is enjoying some quality time with me while I am home sick. She alternates between crawling under the blankets and trying to lay on the laptop. I anticipate she will try to lay on my head when I watch a movie. If she's lucky, it will be a Bollywood and she can lay on my head for three hours.

I love conferences. Especially the kind that have leftover food all day long.

The new guy I’m dating? Yeah, his dog totally likes me more than him. Example: We went back to his place last night, and when we walked in the door, she jumped around in circles for a bit, as IGs are wont to do, but then came and begged me to pick her up.
The downside to all this is that she finally managed to lick my face when I was distracted. I do not like animals licking my face, mostly because they have the flexibility to lick almost their entire bodies. I know where that tongue has been!
For now, though, I am gloating and enjoying the canine lovefest.

I take great pleasure in the following video.

Heard in the office:

I was told that today would be 50 degrees F and rainy. I was lied to. I woke up once again to falling snow. I know that I live in Alaska, but I’m getting tired of the snow. I’ve been following Jennie’s theory of buying lots of cute shoes, thereby forcing the weather to change so that I can actually wear them. So far some of the shoes have not seen the light of day. What gives, Fairbanks?

The troupe performed at yet another gaming convention over the weekend. The crowd was small, but the performance was well received. I think they didn’t know what to do at the end of the grand finale, which was a Battlestar Galactica dance. The night was not without mishaps, like when I tried to quickly put on a head veil for the Bhangra Throwdown. Epic fail. I somehow grabbed it upside down, such that the combs were curving away from my head. Needless to say, it came off during the dance.

After the show, we tried to go to The Pub for a Clucking Blossom fundraiser, but the place was at capacity. We consoled ourselves that at least we could go bowling instead. Not so much, as they had just closed down the games (though they tantalizingly left the blacklights on in the bowling alley). And thus did we end up at Denny’s at 11 p.m. on a Saturday night in full costume.

She's been talking me off the ledge for the past few days, so I figured I owed her a little something.



Thanks, sweetie! Nothing says "I love you" like velvet snakeskin Melos!

I haven't had the chance to do anything bizarre to my hair color yet, but I did get the matching nose ring on Friday. The glasses, however, are still the old Ethels.

We miss our Jellybean. Come back from Florida soon!!

Above, Liz models the new Indian panel skirts, shows off our lovely deck and expresses her love for Victoria.

There have been many interesting developments of late. I'll keep some of them to myself for now, but throw you a few bones. I got my nose pierced last night. Yes, it was already pierced, but now there are two rings and it's very matchy-matchy. ArctiCon is coming up and the first Battlestar Galactica dance is looking good. Plans are afoot for some new dances as well. We're mulling having extra rehearsals, because it seems like we keep coming up with more stuff to do.

I'm signing off so I can have breakfast (finally), go to the library (maybe), take a nap (probably) and go to the Cover Up (definitely).

I’m not responsible for the accuracy of the data. I can only speak for the quality of the visualization.

Had fun playing in the Discovery Lab today. OK, it’s not playing, it’s working. Official business and all that. But, damn, those programs are fun. I was especially intrigued with a new interface Dave had come up with for DAVE. As you may recall, my troupe danced with this computer program for a First Friday in November. The new interface is basically the same (as far as I can tell), but looks a lot cooler, as it projects an image of the body onto the background screen. Although I was there to photograph the Virtual Mars program, I grew obsessed with capturing a ghostly image of Dave the person playing with DAVE the program. I couldn’t use the flash, as it affected the camera for the program.


In more mundane news, I dreamed I cut bangs, but that they actually looked good. Clearly a dream. I also dreamed that I was on the phone with my sister when I realized that a catastrophic event had shifted global warming into high gear, and that the waters were rising and I had to get out of the house. I told her I had to get off the phone, but didn’t mention the fact that there was rampant flooding and I probably wouldn’t see her alive again. Does that make me a bad sister?

I think that dating has officially made me 14 years old again. There’s this whole sort of merry-go-round of “I like him. Does he like me? How can I find out if he likes me?” For the most part, I’ve been ignoring it and just asking the guys out, which is very feminist and progressive of me, but I find that I’m scared to ask out the guys I really like. Which is neither feminist nor progressive. In fact, it’s the act of a 14 year old.

Interesting article in The New York Times. Apparently "farmer" is the new black.

I like how they mention that the Carhartts used to be ironic. Here in Alaska they're just practical.


And in non-stolen-from-the-Interwebs news, finishing the play means that I’ve got time to socialize again. and this weekend “socializing” meant a bar and a date. Not on the same night. On Friday night I met my dance troupe for wine and food at Lavelle’s Bistro, then I headed to The Marlin to see The Good Daze. They were the band for the play, and they produced some music that still rings in my head. We’ve talked loosely about the possibility of collaborating, so I wanted to hear more of their music. It’s a definite possibility! While at The Marlin, I also met someone quite intriguing whom I sort of know from afar. Fairbanks is a small town, and it’s inevitable that we’ll know people in common, so I was pleasantly surprised to see him talking to a friend of mine. Especially because it gave me the chance to talk to him, though not for long enough. I did get the chance to catch up with many old friends as well.

The date was with someone I was introduced to recently. And when I say “introduced,” I mean “he came to see the play and now probably suffers from the delusion that I regularly stumble around in a skimpy outfit snorting powdered sugar from a little bag.” Despite the less-than-illustrious meeting, we had a good time. We caught a movie at The Blue Loon (Sweeney Todd, which made me realize that I much prefer the Bollywood version of musicals. Please don’t try to move the plot along or deliver lines of dialogue while singing. Just do your acting stuff and then occasionally break into song and dance) and had dinner (where I ran into friends who gave me the eye for being out with a man who was clearly in the not-Tom category).

Sunday turned into a bagel marathon at Lulu’s with a friend. I think we were literally there for 3 hours. Because I’m irresistible, she also came over for dinner last night and helped me devour the metric ton of chocolate my mother sent me for Easter. (Thanks, Mom!) In return, I helped drain her pocketbook by introducing her to endless.com. That’s what friends are for.

Two different friends, two different takes on Peeps....

Image courtesy of Meg Breton, as designed and photographed by her husband David


Image courtesy of Miss Victoria Regina's friend Chuck

Things on the web that make me happy and sad....

Song charts on Flickr


I [heart] Papyrus
When did the short bus kids learn about fonts?

I know I've threatened it before, but this time I really did go get a funky, Flock-of-Seagulls haircut. Don't worry - I can always grow it out again.

No pictures until I figure out a fun way to dye it....

The woodstove is not hot enough, making me cold. But the oven is too hot, burning my brownies.

Can't I just bake the brownies in the woodstove?

Camino Real is over. Finished. No more hanging out on stage, pretending to use drugs, trying to sell myself to the audience. It was a great show, but I look forward to getting my life back. I haven't been to the gym in almost a month, I've cooked about 3 meals in that time, and my sleeping schedule in just plain screwy.

On the bright side, I managed to not get any of the various forms of cold, flu or bubonic plague that were sweeping through the cast.

See, if Tom and I had not broken up, you could read all sorts of stuff into that headline...

But, alas, we did split up, and two days later we hit Taupo to go bungy jumping. Tom went first, and he assured me that it wasn't scary. Watch for yourself and see. You'll want to make sure you've got the volume up on your computer.




See, posting a video of a man screaming as he jumps is just not the sort of thing a girlfriend would do. An ex-girlfriend, however, knows no such limits. Out of pure spite, I present my video as well.




My silence is pure spite. I was fucking terrified, but refused to make a sound. Except for some gurgling as I got unexpectedly dunked to the waist.

So, now that we're back and my play is almost done, I should have some free time again. Which means it's time to take control of my blog back from Tom Moran. Don't get me wrong - it was a great breakup, and we're still friends and all that, but it seems odd having him posting on my blog. But, frankly, it was just easier to have him put up all the pictures from our trip while I was busy, and I appreciate his work to get the images of our trip up here for all to see. (Sorry about the funky formatting. I told him not to do that.)

Note: Apologies for the sideways videos. I've rotated them and saved them in Quicktime, but the are not showing up rotated. It's my first time putting video straight into Blogger. I'll try to fix the problem.

Huzzah! It is fixed!

Camino Real. Seriously, you have to see it. Not just because this is my first time speaking on stage in the past 15 years. (OK, I spoke during the burlesque show this summer, but I don't think anyone noticed I was speaking) No, you must come to see the play for my inspired performance as a drug-addicted street prostitute.

And on a side note, I ran into a theater friend last night at The Marlin (what can I say? I'm single again, I go to bars again). Rumor has it that the late night show at The Palace will be returning this summer, and there's a very, very good chance I'll be in it. Even though I can't, you know, sing. Apparently my part in the show last summer was, well, memorable.

Though I've already greatly abbreviated the details of our trip, it does seem like it's about time to wrap up the New Zealand postings - though Mary and I might throw some more choice pictures up sometime if the mood strikes. Also look for her to post the video footage of me bunjy jumping, mostly because you can hear my blood-curdling cry of sheer terror.

We spent a few days in Rotorua, which has been a tourism hotspot for about 100 years. Thanks to the earth's core, it's been a literal hotspot for a few million years more. Rotorua is a pleasant, restrained, touristy town that a.) usually smells like sulfur and b.) has roped-off areas in downtown parks where there is hot steam coming out of the ground. The whole area is awash in thermal activity: grotesquely bubbling mud pools, steaming-hot rivers, and lakes tinted every color of the rainbow by dissolved minerals. We spent half a day walking through one such thermal area, the centerpiece of which is the novel coloration of the steaming-hot Champagne Pool, at left. Rotorua really did have some awesome stuff to see, and its a shame it all smelled so awful.







Rotorua is also the best place in NZ to take part in a Maori Hanji, or big ol' meat dinner. The only way to enjoy one of these is a package tour, so we hopped on a bus and headed to a Maori property on the edge of town, where there was much glad-handling of the gaggle of tourists from every corner of the globe. Then we went outside and watched the Maori glide past in a war canoe...several times, in fact, because they couldn't really turn around in this little canal. The meal was good and the spectacle impressive, if a bit contrived. It was like the Riverboat Discovery of war canoes.


Yes, that's Mary inside a giant inflated rubber ball, fresh off rolling down a hill. This is the only in NZ (well, now Mississippi, apparently) pastime of Zorbing. It's a hell of a lot of fun and, unlike the bunjy, not even a little terrifying. We each went three times: Once together floating around the bottom of a Zorb filled partly with water, once each alone in a Zorb filled partly with water (as in the photo), and once "dry zorbing," where they actually strap you in and you go head over heels. The latter was the most jarring, especially since I ran straight into a fence at the bottom and they closed it right after wards due to high winds. Yikes!


Food shopping was fun, to say the least. Those Kiwis got some kind of problem with Krispies!? We discovered many delish Kiwi treats we're already Jonesing for, chief among them being hokey pokey, the Kiwi name for the sugary honeycomb that appears inside Crunchie and Violet Crumble bars in Canada and the UK. They had it everywhere, and we each ate, oh, about half a ton. They also put it in "Hokey Pokey Squiggles," which Mary and I both agree are the best damn cookies on earth.

We spent the final two days of the trip in Auckland, which was 1 1/2 days too many. Auckland is just big and bland - probably the only genuinely unpleasant place I went in the whole country. It didn't help that I was kinda sick and it was about 90 out and muggy the whole time. The only thing we did of note the whole time there was half a day on Rangitoto Island, a volcanic cone in the middle of the harbor which made for a nice day hike. On the ferry ride back, we stopped off at a leafy suburb called Devonport, where we did the only thing to do that humid afternoon - find some shade and fall asleep.


And that was the trip. Obviously, Mary and I ran into some personal problems along the way, but I in no way attribute those to any characteristics of New Zealand itself. It is an absolutely awesome place, one I would heartily recommend to anyone. Despite everything, I know my memories of the place will be good ones.

The only one of New Zealand's famous "great walks" we undertook on the trip was the Tongariro Northern Circuit, a 4-day trek through barren high desert surrounding a couple of enormous volcanoes, one of which was Mt. Doom in the Lord of the Rings films. The entire area doubled for Mordor, which was understandable: much of it was a strikingly barren wastescape of scattered rubble and surreal, ominous lava formations. I've never been anywhere like it.
























Unfortunately for me, I left my spork in the car, so I pulled out my trusty leatherman on the trail and carved up some camping chopsticks and a couple of forks. The fork in my left hand in the above photo would only really have functioned had we been eating cocktail shrimp,so I ended up carving a larger one. It worked quite well, except that if I wasn't careful it kind of felt like biting into a popsicle stick.



















Mary outside our first hut. Directly behind her is Mt. Ngurahoe, aka Mount Doom.
























This wonderfully refreshing waterfall ran through bleak desert scrub a little ways from the second night's hut. Mary and I both enjoyed a much-needed soak here but, more importantly, this romantic little spot is where Mary and I, um, broke up. This has given us bragging rights among the many nerds we know, as we can proudly proclaim we broke up in the shadow of Mt. Doom. As Mary likes to note, "Only there could it be unmade." Dork.



















The Emerald Lakes, three lakes turned iridescent green thanks to dissolved minerals. New Zealand is rife with these sorts of geological oddities, lying as it does in an active volcanic area. You can't tell from the photo, but these lakes are on the Tongariro Crossing, which makes up a portion of the Northern Circuit and is the most popular day hike in New Zealand. So for half a day we joined a crowd of literally thousands of people - many of them astonishingly ill-prepared for the fairly rigorous hike - while the other three and a half days we had the trail mostly to ourselves.
























One more "Mt. Doom" shot: this is the summit. It was actually steaming. The rocks were too hot to touch or even approach. Somewhat disconcerting and very, very cool.

On New Year's Eve (also my 32nd birthday) we hiked out a few miles along the Hollyford Track, a flat and pleasant trail off of the Milford Road. We spent the night in a backcountry cabin on the track, and it was the first time in a good two decades that I fell asleep before midnight.
None of this, of course, is necessary to appreciate the above photo, which stands on its own merits.




















We left Fiordland after the kayak trip (Jan 2-3) and drove up the very empty west coast of the south island for a couple of days. Our most eventful stop en route was clearly Puzzling World, a rather silly theme park which featured a giant outdoor maze. We managed to find our way out in about 38 minutes, which I think is better than average, though Mary repeatedly chastised me for cheating. Hey, it's not my fault the partitions are only six feet tall and easily glanced over.




















Puzzling World was also memorable for its various optical illusion rooms. One of them had walls that were translucent, backlit inverted busts of folks like Nelson Mandela and Abe Lincoln, which had a supremely eerie effect of following you around the room. They had Nelson Mandela inverted heads for sale in the gift shop, which were too expensive to justify Mary buying one as a Jell-o mold.














We spent a couple of nights staying in the coolest hostel ever in Punakaiki, midway up the west coast: our room was a "stargazer," a small hut with a mattress in the middle and a transparent roof. It was awesome. We were in Punakaiki to hike the Inland Pack Track, a two-day journey that leads through a majestic landscape of high limestone cliffs. The only route between said cliffs, however, was a riverbed, which meant we forded the river, by my count, about 65 times. Good thing we brought sandals. Most were easy fords, and only twice did we have to hitch up our shorts and step gingerly to make it across.
















This is the Ballroom, a giant rock overhang under which we spent the night on the Inland Pack Track. For scale, note my tent on the left and me in the middle. It's absolutely huge. Fortunately, it's also waterproof, because as soon as we got under it it started raining. We spent the second day of the Inland Pack Track hiking through an unrelenting downpour the whole way - then had to stand on the road, sopping wet to hitch a ride back to our car 12 miles away. We stood for maybe 45 minutes before I talked the driver of a campervan parked in a rest stop into giving us a ride.

After Dunedin, we drove to the southern edge of the South Island, a remote and beautiful area called the Catlins. We spent two days there hiking the Catlins Top Track, a mixed bag of a hike that led through some wonderful beach and clifftop scenery, but also through some ugly logged areas and past three, count'em three, fetid sheep carcasses ditched in the middle of the trail. Clearly La Chupacabra at work.















The highlight of the track was our night's lodging, which was an old Dunedin trolley bus that had been lugged up to a wonderful hillside and converted into a camper, complete with beds, gas stove, shower(which didn't work), and "loo with a view" (an outhouse fashioned out of an old camper trailer. We inexplicably neglected to get any close-up shots of the bus, so this will do - the bus, is on the lower left. You can at least admire the view.















This is another photo that doesn't do the situation justice, but at one point the path crossed a cow pasture. This would have been no big deal, except the cows were all staring at us expectantly. When we walked toward them, they all - 100 head, maybe, gathered a short distance from us and stared, blocking our way to the stile that led out of the field. Now, I know this sounds like no big deal - I mean, they're cows - but any one of them could have stepped on us, and they were all quite deliberately standing in our way. We eventually sucked it up and walked into their midst, at which point they obligingly made room, and in fact stared after us expectantly as we walked away. Them cows is none too bright. Tasty, though.





















We spent a night in the nothing town of Riverton, mostly because it was between two places we wanted to go and it had a cheap hostel. We clearly lucked out, however, because they were holding a mammoth lumberjack festival, featuring lumbering (so to speak) fellows from throughout the land displaying their expertise at hacking stuff to bits really, really fast. Pretty awesome way to spend a morning, needless to say.





















This is a kea, the world's only alpine parrot. Flightless, they're the packrats of birds, and this was the first of several we saw along the heavily-tourist-travelled Milford Road, begging for scraps at rest stops.
















A view along the Milford Road. Milford Sound, on the west coast of the South Island, had some of the mind-blowingest (also totally a word) scenery in NZ. Milford Road is the only road that cuts through the heart of Fiordland National Park, which is essentially a nonstop series of fiords encompassing much of the southwest of the south island. I lack superlatives to describe the scenery, which chiefly consisted of mammoth snowcapped peaks the sides of which plummeted stright down thousands of feet into impossibly deep water. It may even have topped Alaska, which isn't easy to do.
















We drove the Milford Road to Milford Sound then took a boat trip, which is pretty much what every single person who visits NZ does. Then we splurged a bit and got off the beaten track by taking a two-day kayaking trip through Doubtful Sound. To get there, you have to drive to a ferry, which takes you across a lake to another road, where you hop in a van, drive over a 1,500 foot pass (which Mary and I are standing atop in the photo) and descend to the kayak launch area. We were ostensibly going to kayak out, spend a night at a campsite in the sound, and come back the next day, but due to inclement weather we turned that into a couple of day trip combined with a night in a hostel on the sound. Inclement to say the least: 5 inches of rain fell overnight!
We, fortunately, lucked out and missed the rain, kayaking on the sound for two days in scattered drizzles and blinding sunshine. Mary and I both got the hang of our double kayak pretty quickly and enjoyed the company of the other people in our group. And as I will affirm, there is no circumstance on earth where scenery does not look better, when nature does not look more beautiful and inviting, when the world does not seem brighter when you see it under your own power. Along with the also sublime Banks Peninsula track, Mary and I declare the kayak excursion the highlight of the whole New Zealand trip.

Since we've now been back for the better part of a month, I figured it's time to get off of my ass and publish some more New Zealand photos.
















After Christchurch and the Banks Peninsula, it was time for Mary and I to pick up our wheels. This is a Toyota Corsi (the "Cynthia" model, if a 1.3L engine isn't emasculating enough). I think it a late model directly from Japan, which was problematic because it meant the radio only worked on lwoer Japanese frequencies and couldn't pick up anything. This was even problematicer (that's totally a word) because Mary misplaced her iPod in Christchurch, leaving us music-less until we finally picked up some Willie Nelson and Cyndi Lauper tapes later in the trip. Radio notwithstanding, I liked the car, which had enough legroom for me - though getting in and out was a challenge - and got something like 40 mpg.

















Mary at the Moeraki boulders on the east coast of the South Island. Some sort of weird geological processes created a bunch of perfectly spherical boulders that now sit on and around a beach. The biggest ones, as you can see, are more than 5 feet around, while all of the smaller ones have been rolled off as souvenirs.





















This bird is called a shag. Mary and I were at a good penguin-watching spot on the east coast, near the boulders, when this guy calmly walked over to us. We watched in amazement (we kinda thought it was a penguin, which seemed odd, as they assiduously avoid humans) as it just kept coming and, when it reached us, promptly started trying to peck at my feet. This went on for several minutes, to Mary's great amusement.















Once we discovered (from an amused local) that I was not in fact being attacked by a rare yellow-eyed penguin, we went off in search of the birds again. As you can see, we found some. We had been looking for an hour and had all but given up when we spotted this one ducked behind a protective fence. The highlight was when he(?) walked forward a few purposeful steps, stuck out its butt, and let out a forceful poop, accompanied by a farting noise so ridiculously overblown that Mary and I could barely keep from cracking up. It was a Kodak moment.
















We spent Christmas at a rather amazing hostel outside of Dunedin, on the East Coast of the South Island. It's built on the grounds of an old insane asylum, and the current owner has filled up all the old asylum buildings with an assortment of junked cars (for no apparent reason.) A spectacularly relaxing place, where I spent Christmas morning surfing (trying to, anyway) and we spent Christmas night drinking German alcoholic punch and enjoying a barbecue on an old blacksmith's stove. Interesting group of guests: we were the only native English speakers there; everyone else was from Germany or Hong Kong. Mary and I are on the couch in the photo.

Now that Mary and I have been back for two weeks (and broken up for three, though if you're reading this you probably know that already), we figured it was about time to start posting some photos from our often wild, frequently wonderful, indisputably momentous (see note above!) trip to New Zealand. So here's the first of several parts.

Our first stop was Christchurch, a charming little city we explored for a few days. Laid out by homesick Britons, the place looks like a slice out of England, what with punters working the river Avon in the middle of town, right next to the expansive botanical gardens.




















Note the ginormous trees, including this eucalyptus.

Also note the ginormous throne room in the old government buildings. Mary made herself at h0me.

After Christchurch we headed to the nearby coastal town of Akaroa, a beautiful, verdant place that was the starting point for our first tramp, the Banks Peninsula Track. This two-day hike was our mutual favorite for the trip, passing through sheep paddies, spectacular coastal cliffs, and some remnants of native forest. It also featured some of the most incredible accommodation on the trip, including one night spent at a weird compound filled with random stuff like an adult-sized swing, an outdoor pool table and a shower with a tree growing right through the middle of it.




















Waterfalls galore. There was one that sprayed out far enough from the rocks that you could actually walk behind it, which was a marvelously surreal experience.















Mary on the trail to our second night's lodging.




















The way-cool pool table, which wasn't level and had a stick from a tree for a cue. But, I mean, it
was outside! Awesome.















One last shot from the Banks: Me hiking on the second day of the tramp.

It's time to wrap up this New Zealand thing. Today was our last day in Auckland, and tomorrow we'll get on the plane and begin the long journey back to Fairbanks. I hope it's warmed up. If not, I've got some new stripe-y Polypros....

if something gets in your way, turn.

$2 to whoever gets that first. Zorbing was awesome. I sustained my most major injury to date when I ripped a fingernail partly off while diving into the Zorb. It's hard to explain.

We're in Auckland now. Big cities are scary. We'll be home soon....

The new rental car only has a tape deck. We bought four used tapes. Neil Diamond and The Buggles were old and warped, but Cyndi Lauper and Willie Nelson played just fine!

We finished the Tongariro Northern Circuit and are in Rotorua now. We stopped in Taupo to go bungy jumping yesterday. Fucking terrifying. I mean it. Today we'll go Zorbing, which should be much, much less terrifying. We still haven't agreed on whether or not to go to the Agrodome.

Our first rental car had a funky radio that would only pick up the FM band from 76 to about 82, thus limiting our music options. With the iPod being long gone, we had no music, and Tom would occasionally lament that New Zealand lacked any good truck stops where one could get tapes including either a) Conway Twitty, b) "Convoy" or c) both.

Today at a cd store I found him the Truckin' Marvellous album. No Conway Twitty, but it does have "Convoy." We pick up the next rental car tomorrow. I can't wait.

We got back to Te Anau last night after an amazing 2-day kayaking trip on one of the fiord. I just like saying fiord. Try it - fiord, fiord, fiord!!! The weather was a bit rough, so we couldn't camp overnight beside the fiord, but we still got two days of paddling in. I'm sore, but it was worth it!

We're currently checking e-mail and updating the blog (well, Tom is checking sports scores on ESPN) before we head out again. We plan to cruise through Queenstown as quickly as possible and find ourselves a place to stay somewhere between here and Punakaiki. It should be two great days of driving, as we're heading up the West Coast most of the way. Mountains today, beaches tomorrow.