Mary Bellamy

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:

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.

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.

Yeah, I put some Neil Diamond in my post title. What are you going to do about it?

I promised last week that I would post again to explain my little-sleep weekend. Sadly, it's taken me a full week to do it. It all began back in February when I was hired by Cooperative Extension Service. One of my many duties was to help plan and coordinate a conference for foresters, which finally came to pass two weeks ago. While I tried to plan ahead and get all the details lined up so that the actual week of the conference would go smoothly, things rarely seem to work out as planned. The end result was Mary storming around campus for a few days, cell phone ringing, barking orders like: "Those sandwiches need to be ready for the break, which starts at noon!!" or "You'll just need to JV the funds from our account. I e-mailed you the numbers last week and we faxed over the signed contract yesterday." I mean, I don't even know what JV stands for, but there I was talking into my cell phone like a yuppie day trader, throwing around the acronyms.

By the time the 2-day conference was over, I was tired from putting in 10+ hour days. I thought that joining the foresters on the 3-day field trip to Toolik Lake Research Station would be a relaxing time, and moreover I would be on the clock. To top it off, I got to use a bullhorn. How could that go wrong?

DAY 1 dawned bright and early as I finished packing and headed to the hotel to meet our charter bus at 7:30 a.m. The bus didn't show until 8, but that's OK because I had my friend, Motorola Razr, to keep me company. I got to say bon mots such as: "No, I ordered five 6-foot sandwiches, and they need to be ready by 8. I need 30 feet of sandwich on this bus before we leave." Lunch dilemmas aside, the bus set off on a rainy day and headed for Coldfoot Camp. Coldfoot was fun, mostly because they don't seem to get many single women under the age of 60 there. I amused myself by sitting in the bar alone, drinking beer and reading a book while men circled me like sharks. When the foresters returned from their presentation, there may have been a dramatic reading of a Robert Service poem, but I'll never admit to it.

DAY 2 arrived and was decidedly sunnier.
I bundled the foresters out of the romantic ATCO units that had served as our quarters for the night, and we hit the road. We stopped in Wiseman for an hour to wander through the town and interact with the locals. We asked one gentleman if the trading company could be opened, but he said (and I quote) "Well, 8-Ball isn't here today, and he's the one with the keys." A man named 8-Ball. How charming! Either he's good at pool or has a serious cocaine addiction. The locals also had made some unique choices in yard decorations. And they never let pass a chance to truly shine. Back on the road again, we continued north on the Dalton Highway. Have I mentioned the Dalton? No? Well, imagine a dirt road. Yeah, that's about it. It's probably one of the few highways in this country where you can stop a tour bus, let foresters wander about in the road, and then gather them together for a picture - in the middle of the road, mind you - without ever seeing another vehicle on your 30-minute break. As we continued up the Dalton, I kept trying to steal a little sleep. The foresters kept trying to spot wildlife, and would awaken me with cries of "Moose!" "Wolf!" "Sheep!" The 'sheep' usually turned out to be snow on the side of a mountain, but they did get to see some moose and wolves. After we climbed Atigun Pass and were officially on the North Slope, the weather turned against us, and we proceeded to Toolik under the cover of clouds. What can a girl say about Toolik? Well, it has a sort of Mad Max, post-apocalyptic feel to it. A motley collection of wall tents, trailers and heavy machinery, perched on the edge of a lake above the Arctic Circle. As I stood on the boardwalk by the lake, chatting with some foresters, I half expected the bad guys, who would of course be wearing dusty leather with odd metal embellishments and sport some scruffy facial hair, to appear over the edge of the hill, racing toward us on ATVs. We would scramble for the safety of the camp, possibly losing one member of our party off the boardwalks as we ran for safety so we could protect our precious oil. Other people just saw it as an opportunity to fish. and of course we can't forget the opportunity to use those Arctic outhouses. The university plans to operate Toolik through the winter this year. And if they're serious, they'd better invest in some blue foam. Because plastic toilet seats weren't cutting it in August.

DAY 3 was still cloudy and a little rainy. The bus, not to mention the foresters, had taken quite a beating on the trip.

Some helpful souls decided to clean the windows. This effort lasted about 17 seconds once we were back on the dirt highway, but it was a glorious 17 seconds. The trip was cloudy and gloomy until we got to Atigun Pass, where we left the cloud cover behind as we climbed. The mountains had gotten more snow overnight, signaling the end of summer, but the sunny weather held for a good portion of our trip home. We lounged around Grayling Lake, enjoying our lunch in the sunshine. We continued on with the long trip back to Fairbanks, but we were making good time. As the made the transition from the Dalton to the Elliott (which means the transition from dirt road to paved), the skies darkened and the bad weather returned, but still we pressed on. We kept going all the way to a hill at about 30 Mile of the Elliott. And that's where the bus stopped. Stopped dead in the middle of the road. 45 miles from town. On a hill. On a blind curve. On a road that sees frequent truck traffic. Dead. Our driver used Bob's satellite phone to call for a replacement bus. That proceeded to look for us at 30 Mile. Of the Steese. Which is not the Elliott. Several of the foresters got out with walkie-talkies to try to signal vehicles on the highway and prevent our imminent death from the collision of two tractor-trailers trying to pass us. The replacement bus finally arrived, which is when the luggage chain formed as we tried to transition from one bus to the other as quickly as possible. At this point, I was a little tired of the foresters. Nice people, but I'd just had a little too much of them, you know? As we pulled into an area with cell phone reception, I scrolled through my phone book, searching for a friend - any friend - who drinks. I made a call, ran from the bus once it stopped, hit the store for liquor and personal supplies (because nature has a funny way of reminding you that you're female when you're stuck on a broken bus full of foresters) and high-tailed it to Dara's house, where I relaxed, resplendent in my Alaska-woman glory of cargo pants, Xtra Tuffs and a bullhorn, and guzzled red wine.

Much to say, but little sleep keeps me from being too eloquent. A picture is worth a thousand words, so let's just say that the trip to Toolik Lake went from this:


To this:


All will be explained later.....

Every time I think about getting another pet, I manage to talk myself out of it. And then I see something like this:

Why would you name a female dog Alfonso? And why do I keep thinking about getting a dog when I'm also trying to plan a trip that will take me out of the country for more than a month?