A very very very fine house.

I'm trying to rent out my house for this next stage of my life, and my feelings are mixed.

Things I don't get to do if I don't have this house:

Have these fantastic roommates

Host the second annual Ugly Christmas Sweater Party

Have the Guata team over for sappy slideshow extravaganza

Host the rock-awesome high school girls' Bible Study


Things I do get to do:

Not pay my natural gas bill.


Go to Great Britain


See what I mean? It's a toss-up.

Hello Nurse!

You know what I miss?

Animaniacs.

Those guys were crazy to the max.

B.O. - but not what you think

It's time.

I signed up today for Blockbuster Online, and I'm feeling super excited about the new world of cinema that has been opened to me. I've decided that I'm only going to order old/obscure/foreign/movies that I haven't seen before from the online store, because that wil be the best way to utilize this new resource. Apparently, when you're done watching a movie, you just zip it up in its little pouch and take it to your (my, in this case) local Blockbuster. There you can exchange it for an in-store rental while you await the next movie in your queue.

So we'll see how this works in reality.

Here are the movies in my queue:

Bit of Fry and Laurie – Hugh Laurie is one of my favorites. I have high, high, high expectations for this. I’d better laugh my face off.

Half Nelson – crack-head teacher movie that I’ve been wanting to see for some time.

King of Comedy – Recommended by Sam. It must, therefore, be funny.

Junebug – I’ve heard a lot about this one – still have no idea what it’s going to be like.

Bedazzled – I think this one might have some theological abnormalities.

Lollilove – an independent movie written and directed by Jenna Fischer and her husband.

Dick Cavett Show – talk show in the seventies who talked with the greats of the seventies.

Love and Death – supposed to be Woody Allen’s funniest.

Real Life – supposed to be Al Brooks funniest.

Barry Lyndon – a Stanley Kubrick movie based upon a William Thackeray novel (strange bedfellows).

Imposters – Oliver Platt and Stanley Tucci. That’s all I know.

Our Hospitality/Sherlock Jr. – Buster Keaton

Marathon Man – Nazis, dentists, and revenge.

Adaptation – crazy weird movie about writing a crazy weird movie.


So there you have it. I haven't seen any of these, so I can't speak to them as yet.

In addition to watching a lot of movies, I also hope to finish Atlas Shrugged - and soon.

That book is like the loaves and the fishes.

It's over!

Well ladies and gents, I have made it through tax season. Phew.

Jessi's Desk on April 3, 2007


Jessi's Desk on April 18, 2007

Okay, so it may not look better, but it feels better. I promise.

Hollywood

Hey, if you ever wanted to make it in Hollywood, be sure to read this.

I think that Jenna Fischer and I could be best friends.

If you like _______, then you’ll love Dr. Mario

1. Ridding the world of sickness and disease
2. Primary colors
3. Fuzzy graphics
4. Terrible, treble, repetitive music that is inexplicably alluring
5. Doctors

Little red-headed girl

Every day I pass a little girl on the street. I am driving to work and she is walking to school. And although I am always late to work, and she is always early to school, we pass at the same point of the same street almost every morning.

Red hair, dishevelled.

Backpack - huge.

Coat - half off.

She walks on the sidewalk with careful, measured steps. Her head's always bent over a hardback book - as though the story is so great, she has to read it every chance she gets.

She wasn't there this morning and I missed her. Hope she's not sick.

always His choice, a story

I never thought that I would love a man. I am amazed by them, of course. They are fascinating creatures with such powerful potential and deeply rooted flaws. I like to watch them puzzle through a problem. Innovate. Recreate. But never have I felt a connection any more binding than curiosity.

Occasionally I am permitted to interact with them. Sometimes I flash down in a lightening bolt and dazzle their fragile eyes with the brightness of my countenance. They squint into the rays and can discern me, and I can tell that I am the most amazing being they have ever met – taller, stronger, and more capable than all others. When I speak to them like this, my voice resonates in their chests and they nod at my words – wide eyed.

Other times I walk up to them, the men, from the street. I speak as a neighbor would, with familiarity. It isn’t until long after I have left that the hearer of my words realizes something is different. That something about me was different.

I like both ways. They are each interesting and fulfilling and get my point across.

Well, not my point, I suppose. I’m just the messenger.

They are interesting creatures, those men. And women. Those humans. So different from us. I never really understood their purpose. For a long time I was in the dark, waiting to have them explained to me. Why put everyone through such heartache? Such trial and error? Such danger and judgment? What was wrong with the way things were – before the earth, but after the Battle? When we knew where everyone stood.

But then there came these new beings. These image-holders. These play actors. Pretending to be wise when they cannot see the future or the past or even their own hearts. No. I did not love them.

And now the One that I do love, the One who is my purpose and my world and my joy, He is a man. The Original is an image-holder. A play actor who is no impostor. Why? If he was going to become something else, why did it have to be them? Why could he not have become one of us? Then we could have been brothers as he is now brothers with those men. Those broken twelve.

Such suffering He has chosen. Such betrayal. Even now I can see one of his brothers coming to the garden, lit by a torch.

I cannot bear it. Why does he not call for help? He knows that they are coming. He knows what they will do.

I am right here. I am next to you. Your tears and your human blood are staining my heart. Your brothers fall asleep but I am here. Let me help you. Let me save you.

The torch has reached you now. It has cast its light on your rock altar. One man comes close and kisses your blood-streaked cheek.

Still you do not look at me, although you know I stand at the ready. My sword is drawn and my life is yours. Your friends have awoken and are now rushing to your side. All of us will stand together. The victory will be ours!

No, you say, do nothing. You extend your hands to be bound. I think you are scared. I take a step toward the group. I know they cannot see me.

No, you say again, and you turn your back on me.

You never called for me, but I was here. I could have spared you. If you didn’t want me to help you, why did you make me so strong?

What are friends for...

...if not to come over to your house and clean out your fridge?

My dear friends Laurilee and Andrew came over the other night and ended up meeting all sorts of interesting creatures that live in the frosty recesses of Jessi's refridgerator.

Andrew: How did I get roped into this?

Laurilee: This is so incredibly fabulous and fun! Look how happy I am!

The finished product.

Where was I this whole time?

Sitting on my butt at the counter. Offering advice.

Breaking up is hard to do

Growing up, the beautiful springtime season of soft April showers and flowers and twitterpation was a reality largely contained to the siver screen. I would sit in front of the family television and hug my knees and watch the glories of spring unfurl with the petals of flowers and sneaker commercials.

Then, when I received the inevitable instructions from my mother to stop watching the television and go play outside, I would leave the dream world of Hollywood and suit up for a little playtime in the Alaskan spring weather.

In southcentral AK, we don't actually have Spring. We have Breakup. I've never owned a pair of galoshes, but I have grown out of my fair share of breakup boots.

In order for the anticipated long, green and warm days of summer to come, Alaska has to shed her winter coat. Before the sun can warm the earth, it must first eat its way through six months of rotting snow and ice.

It's not a pretty sight.

Huge rivers and lakes appear on what were once roads and sidewalks. Children examine the soles of their shoes because the thawing dead plants smell like dog poop. The vehicles of Anchorage all look like they've been through an ash-eruption of a local volcano.

If you are ever planning to come to Alaska, please do NOT come during breakup. It's ugly, it's usually still pretty cold, there are no animals, and none of the cool tours are running yet. You cannot ride a bicycle, you can't really hike, and walking can also pose a hazard.

Now you may, given the above, be under the impression that I don't like breakup, but let me assure you that nothing could be further from the truth. In point of fact, I LOVE it. I love the lenghthening days. I love when warmth returns to the sun and the drifts of snow in my yard turn into bare patches of mud. I love driving through the puddles fast and letting the water jet up from either side of my car. I love it all - mostly for the assurance of what is ending and the promise of what is to come.

But breakup is a private time. We are not looking our best.

So please come. But come in June, when we have our makeup on.

Holiday Redux

The melting snow has been revealing a few treasures.

Remember my beautiful tree?



Kept meaning to take that puppy to recycling.

And the gourds that won me first prize in the Pumpkin Carving Contest?


I'm thinking of reentering them this year.