Mary Bellamy

Tom and I decided to stick with our Valentine's Day tradition of sushi. Because nothing says love like seaweed. This year, like last year, we had the sushi at home, but this year there were a few key differences

• Tom learned to roll the sushi as well


• we did not eat a roll that contained the following ingredients: banana, peanut butter and bacon and was then cooked by the following method: deep-frying. Last year's Elvis roll will not be repeated.


After an hour or so of prep work, we had the rice cooked, dressed and cooled, and all the ingredients were grilled/blanched/chopped/mixed, etc.

Tom watched me with the first roll, a peanut-glazed spinach roll, and then felt confident to try it with the next roll. He and I made Manhattan rolls and Green Goddess rolls.

Then came the piece de resistance - the Cowboy roll. This one was our clear favorite. It had grilled steak, wasabi mayonnaise, minced red onion, spinach and blue cheese.

Of course, no meal is complete without dessert, so I whipped up a Twinkie roll. The closest substitute I could find for tobiko was strawberry Nerds, which gave the roll a delightful crunch. As Tom said, "It tastes better than it has any right to."

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Thanks to John Wilder, I've learned of the concept of the Bacardi post. And this is post #151 for me. Thanks for visiting, but I don't drink rum. Too much coconut involved in the mixed drinks. Instead, I raise my martini to you.

I don't normally buy into the materialism of Valentine's Day. Sure, we have a nice meal, but I don't expect a heart-shaped box of candy or jewelry. But when Don mentioned yesterday that he'd bought Jen roses, I started complaining about the fact that Tom never buys me flowers. To be fair, he's very financially practical, and what's more impractical than a cut-off plant that will soon die? But still, they're pretty. And it's not like he'd have to strain to figure out what I want. I've strived to make it easy for him to understand.

INT.TANANA VALLEY STATE FAIR AGRICULTURAL DISPLAY.DAY
MARY:Wow look at those lilies.
TOM:Yeah.
MARY:They're so colorful. And they smell wonderful too.
TOM:Yeah.
MARY:I don't know why everyone makes such a big deal out of roses. They're so run-of-the-mill. Lilies have such beautiful variety.
TOM:Uh-huh.
MARY:I mean, the calla lilies are gorgeous, but tiger lilies are vibrant. You know, lily of the valley is the flower for May.
TOM:Yeah.
MARY:And that's the month when I was born. That's probably why I like lilies so much. [smells flowers] Oh they smell so nice!
TOM:Hey, check out this tomato! It's, like, mutant or something.

So yeah, I bitched about his not buying me flowers. Then I got to the cabin and found Tom. With flowers. Lilies, to be exact. That he went to two stores to find. And brought home on his bike.

I do love that man.

I have two friends who are pregnant right now. That's two women who are both pregnant, as I don't buy into that couple-y "we're pregnant" crap. Only one of you gives birth, so only one of you is pregnant.

Back to my point. One of my friends just stopped by my office with her young son and told me that she's been scheduled to give birth in 5 weeks. She has gestational diabetes, and is looking forward to having sugar again in about 6 weeks.

The other friend is pregnant with twins. By the look of the sonogram, they are positioned head to foot or, as she put it, "kicking each other in the face." Tom and I have been hard at work coming up with names for her babies. However, "Pocky" and "Pretz" are reserved for our future dogs.

And so, on this, the holiest of Hallmark holidays, I look over the ritual of pregnancy, birth and parenting and wonder why. Don't misunderstand me - I'm very happy for both of my friends, and I know their children will bring them joy. But for me, the whole concept of subjugating your life to another person for 18 years is completely foreign. From buying a house in a good school district to taking "fun" family vacations to Disney World to uttering the phrase "Make your poopies in the potty," I just don't get it.

And so today I pledge my love to Tom. He understands me. He loves me. He puts up with me. And he never, ever wants me to have a child.

As part of my continuing efforts to get ready for the triathlon this year, I decided to throw on my Yak Trax on Sunday and go running with Tom on the ski trails and lakes behind our cabin.

Now, there was a period in high school when I went running fairly regularly, but that was a long time ago and often featured a break to go skinny-dipping in a local swimming hole. So I'm not exactly what they would call "in shape." And believe me, I'm feeling it today.

The trails are not ideal to run on, especially where William has not run his team. The snow is not packed down at all on Deuce Lake, and the trail turns very hilly and twisty on the other side. I switched from running to walking pretty frequently, and my hips are still killing me today. I think that's a pretty good sign that today should be a day of rest and yoga for me.

In related training news, I swam 2/3 mile in the UAF pool on Friday. My form is still horrible, probably because I am still unable to, say, put my face in the water. It's a testament to my tenacity, though, that I got in the pool, got crowded with two other swimmers joining me in the lane, but still kept going until I'd done 20 laps. I'm planning on signing up for some swimming lessons, and hopefully will be able to get past this mental block about water and my nasal passages.

The best part of getting health insurance, besides the dental work, was getting new glasses. For me, glasses are a fashion statement. As I browsed the selection at Fred Meyer, I came across a pair that had great potential.

Funky shape? Check.
Unusual color? Check.
But they were still missing that special something. That glitz, that glamour, that je ne sais quoi.... However, I'm a creative person, so a trip to Michael's was in order. After the shopping was done, I gathered my supplies and got ready to turn my ordinary frames into Ethels.

2 mm rhinestones, superglue and tweezers. I was good to go!
I tested out a pattern before committing myself.

I ran into one small problem - Superglue doesn't dry well. It creates a pretty quick bond between surfaces (thus leading me to my first hint: Don't get it on your lenses.) but doesn't dry quickly when exposed to air. The drops of glue were bigger than the rhinestones, so I had to wait for the residual glue to dry.

That leads me to my second hint: Don't touch the glue. If you do touch the glue, don't touch anything else. On the bright side, I did glue my finger to my thumb in a very pretty, mudra-esque manner. After separating my thumb and finger, I was able to work on the other side of the frames.

And voila! The frames I have christened Ethel. Gretta tells me she had the same frames 50 years ago. Either she was a pioneer, or I am spearheading a whole new segment of the retro craze.

I swear, I found this LoC entry by accident:

Cookery (Marijuana)

It is nice to know where to look for pot brownie recipes, though.

Two days after vowing publicly to run a triathlon, I got walloped with a cold. Needless to say, I haven't been back in the pool since Friday, so my training has been a bit derailed. After taking 6 hours of sick leave yesterday so I could stare blankly into space at home, I'm starting to feel better. Hopefully I can get to the pool tomorrow for a swim, because this is First Friday week. First Friday = Free Wine and Snacks Friday. I'm all about the free wine and snacks.

Of course, I was also derailed in December, though it was due to nepotism, not germs. And I thought all was better when I was offered an editing job at UAF this week. Permanent, no less, which would take me off this grant-funded roller coaster at the library. And an office with windows! When you work two stories underground, you start to crave windows. So what's the hitch? Well, it's a permanent part-time job. My current job is temporary full-time. And according to the powers that be at UAF, I cannot go to temporary part-time and also hold a permanent part-time job. Two temporary part-time jobs? Yes. Two permanent part-time jobs? Yes. A part-time job and an adjunct position? Yes. A temporary part-time and a permanent part-time job? No.

Since the library is kind of up a creek without me, the people here are trying to see if they can switch my designation to permanent part-time so that I can hold both jobs. The editing position may eventually become full-time, but in the meantime I could stay at the library.

Will the library be able to pull it off? Or will I go back to one part-time job and search for more work? Stay tuned....

Too cold to come up with a more clever post title. Too cold to stay at work very long. Perhaps even too cold to go to Free Beer Friday.

Don't blame me for not going to the gym when it's -45 degrees F. I just don't want to stop work, get all bundled up, walk over to the gym, thaw out, exercise, shower, rebundle, rewalk, rethaw and resume work. (You like that re-re-re-re alliteration? That's the sign of an editor, baby) So I'll do some free weights when I get home and maybe hit the free yoga at the commune tonight.

But the temperature hasn't stopped me from starting to fixate on a goal. Perhaps inspired by Jill, who is blogging her training for the Susitna 100, I've started to consider setting a goal to work towards. One that's a bit more tangible than, say, "lose 10 pounds."

To make it more real, I'll just say it here: I'm thinking of running a mini-triathlon this summer. Emphasis on the mini. Tom and I have been talking about taking a trip to Nome (City slogan: There's no place like Nome.) for a few years, and we both have the miles for free tickets. A friend who lives out there has offered to kick her dogs off the couch for us. It's all starting to look like a distinct possibility.

OK, all except for my level of physical fitness. While I dance a lot and hit the elliptical, I'm not exactly a triathlete. However, this is a mini-triathlon. A 1-mile swim (in an indoor pool, no less), 3.5-mile run and 7.5-mile bike ride. Plus, Nome is pretty flat, so I shouldn't have to worry about hills. I think that with a careful training plan (plus the help of TriathaNewbie) I could actually do this.

Oh hell. Let's just say it: I'm going to do it. I'm going to Nome in May to run the Stroke and Croak mini-triathlon. If only for the free T-shirt and the joy of dropping "Oh, yeah, well, I did run that triathlon in Nome once..." (yes, I will forget to add the "mini-"), I will do this. So in the spirit of Jill, I'm adding a donation button to my sidebar. Just in case you want to help me scrounge up the $5 entry fee. Any money left over from the entry fees will be used to stimulate the economy in Nome by means of purchasing copious amounts of beer after the race.

This distracted me from work quite a bit today.

As a bellydancer, I am not immune to the occasional self-doubt. Is my 3/4 shimmy smooth? Why can't I flutter? Should I wear the bedlah or the coins? But since I started studying Middle Eastern dance, I've been pretty content with it. Until I saw the Bellydance Superstars DVD.

At the start of my bellydancing experience, I knew of two types: Cabaret and American Tribal Style. And for me, it was Cabaret all the way. ATS was nice, sure, but tassel belts, turbans and black clothing can't really compare. With Cabaret you get glitz, glamour, sequins, beads, coins!

Look at the lovely Aziza, for example. Cabaret was what I always thought bellydancing should be.

But then I found Bollywood, which has its own style of dancing. Precise hand movements, sharp hips and back-up dancers.

I couldn't find anyone to teach me Bollywood, so I started to study some movies and pick up the moves. I put together a routine and performed it at a hafla. I grew more obsessed with Bollywood movies. The Hindi songs are often very catchy pop tunes, the costuming is incredible, and I could always end up playing Aishwarya to Shahrukh.

To me, there were strong similarities between Cabaret and Bollywood.

But then there were those pesky Bellydance Superstars. Specifically, one Ms. Rachel Brice.

At first glance, her style of dancing was ... wrong. It was slow. It was creepy. It was gothic. And yet her technique was flawless. She didn't smile, but I was captivated by her eyes. The more I watched, the more I wondered.

Rachel Brice's style is called Tribal Fusion. It has many of the standard bellydance moves, but they are slowed down. Arms are always up, hands constantly moving in slow, snaky ways. She throws in lots of fabulous backbends and Turkish drops. And the look? Well, it's starting to appeal to me.

Unlike ATS, Tribal Fusion dancers wear whatever they feel like.
Dreadlock falls? Check
Fishnet tops? Check
27 bracelets per arm? Check
Gartered pants? Check

But my troupe is Cabaret. Very Cabaret. When I mention Tribal Fusion, they say "Oh, we did tribal once." But their idea of tribal is a strict ATS style, and they don't seem to understand my explanation of Tribal Fusion.

I love Cabaret. I'll always love Cabaret. But I'm starting to think that I'm not cut out for Cabaret. To be blunt, Cabaret dancers seem to all try to fit a particular look, and it's one that doesn't suit me. I'm not a Barbie doll. I dye my hair pink. I cut it short. I have piercings and tattoos. Sometimes I don't want to be pretty, I want to be powerful.

I think Cabaret may have been what I needed to get into the world of bellydancing, but it's not what I need to stay here. I'm not a touchy-feely hippie dancer who sighs about how the dance is so empowering and really helps to ground me with the forces of nature. That's crap. But in Tribal Fusion, I find more of a sense of acceptance.

So what do I do? Well, for now I'll keep dancing with Tundra Caravan. But in my mind, a new troupe is forming. It's called Cold Fusion, both because it's in Alaska and because I'm a dork. Will I find other dancers? Will we get booked for performances? Will this even get off the ground? I don't know, but I think I'm going to try.

Another monkey pictures, because they keep doing cool things, like mixing and serving martinis.

Eight-year-old monkey Gun-Mo skates on the ice during a promotional event for the 2006 Animal Academy show, which runs until February 10 in Seoul , January 24, 2006. The monkey was drilled to skate for two weeks, the animal trainer said.

I work near someone who wears too much perfume. Working on a college campus, I'm quite used to the boys who douse themselves in cologne or the girls who use enough Victoria's Secret body sprays to smell like a nudie bar dressing room. This woman, however, is on a whole new level. She walked past my door about 10 minutes ago, and I can still smell her perfume in the air. Strongly.

If she wore a more pleasant scent, perhaps I wouldn't mind, but this is a noxious old European lady-type perfume. It digs its way into the nostrils and stays there until I get a headache. And the worst part is that I don't know of a tactful way to let her know how bad it is. Maybe I should just write a letter to Dear Abby and hope she recognizes herself.

UPDATE:
I should know better than to bitch about someone's perfume. In fact, I longed for the sweet, heady aroma of her heavy perfume when I hit the gym during my lunch break. I found myself trapped on a recumbent bike next to a man pedaling and sweating furiously in what smelled to me like some very dirty socks. Karma is a bitch.

Today I discovered that at some point while I had headphones on and was rocking out in my office to Generation 80s Retro, someone removed all the lockers by the elevators. Those must be some good headphones. I hope that was authorized.

I'd hoped that taking a vacation would allay the dreaded winter doldrums, but it doesn't seem to have done the trick. Maybe it's the -40 degrees F weather, maybe it's the long hours of darkness, maybe it's the hormones.... All that I know is that lately I'm tired and cranky a lot. And if a morning person like me can't wake up with a smile, there's something wrong with the world.

So what do I think will cheer me up? I'm glad you asked that. Arabian Spices, my friend. There's nothing that a little tribal fusion won't cure.

Rilo Kiley has been one of my favorite bands since I got their albums last year. Sure, it hasn't been long, but I can't seem to get their albums out of rotation. Their songs are light indie-pop with lyrics that are often subversive or wicked. Recently, I came across an early copy of lead singer Jenny Lewis' new album, Rabbit Fur Coat. And with one listen, I was hooked.

First of all, Jenny Lewis is pretty foxy. Let's just get that observation out of the way.

See? OK, moving on.... Jenny is joined here by the Watson Twins, who provide backup harmonies. The first thing I noticed was a strong Gospel influence. Of course, like a Rilo Kiley album, Lewis combines the Gospel flavor with an infectious indie-pop-alt-country flair.

After the sultry intro of Run Devil Run, Lewis gets your toes tapping with a strong beat in Big Guns, then slows down with the soulful Rise Up With Fists. The next track, Happy, is anything but happy. It slows down the tempo of the album and features soft guitar and Lewis' stunning voice. The rest of the album continues to take listeners on a fast-slow-fast roller coaster of sound.

Jenny Lewis has been on the music scene for years, and her songwriting has grown with time. Lyrics such as "When I'm with you, I'm looking for a ghost or invisible reasons to fall out of love and run screaming from our home" are hidden inside the upbeat tempo of You Are What You Love.

The album will be available at the end of the month, if you can wait that long.

But I'll give you a caption anyway.

Whiplash the Cowboy Monkey rides his border collie dog during a break in the Denver Nuggets Phoenix Suns game in Denver January 10, 2006. Whiplash was in town for the 100th National Western Stock Show going on across town.