Residential Weekend

This past weekend I went with some of my fellow students to a retreat in the English countryside about an hour and a half (or two and a half hours, if you trust Bruce, the talking GPS) south of Bath.

It was sort of like my initiation week at my undergrad with fewer relays and more wine. Several of the tutors came and led workshops. We wrote haikus about our feelings. Two guest authors also came to give readings and pep talks. Mostly, though, it was just a get-to-know-you-and-eat sort of time.

In other words, my kind of weekend.

Anyway, here are some pictures.

The outside of one of the buildings. The main meeting/dining room was a converted barn.


These are the girls in my workshop - Hannah, Abby and Fran. We break each other's hearts every week with constructive criticism.


I went on a walk with some of the tutors. Here is Commander in Chief Richard Kerridge getting us unlost.


The Dorset cliffs.


Ollie (another student) and me and the Dorset cliffs.


Some cows. They're everywhere, and you know what that means. Tread carefully, my padawan.


I think this cow means to do Ollie a harm.

Farmers and friends, but not friends who are farmers...yet.

This Saturday I walked over to the weekend farmer's market. I was expecting it to be the size of the Saturday market at home, but you know what happens when we assume.

The market was small - maybe about twenty booths, but there was plenty to look at and too much to buy. I ended up with some milk, butter and bread this time and plan to make it a weekly stop.


Later that same day, I went to Bristol with some friends (friends! huzzah!). Bristol is much larger than Bath and is a quick 10 minute train ride. It was so refreshing to hang out with living breathing people.

This is Hannah (front) and Abby (back). They're both Americans and are in one of my classes at Bath Spa.

You'll meet them when you come visit me.

Happy Birthday Kevin!

I am so sad that I missed Way to Go Kevin!'s first birthday. That's right, folks, a year ago on October 7, I brought this tiny, mewling little blog into existence and look how far it's come! We've worked our way through burp cloths and rice cereal and I can now watch proudly as it balances on its pudgy little digital feet and totters around the living room of my heart.

Certainly there have been times when I was afraid that it wasn't developing properly. I'd see other women's blogs at the park and wonder if maybe I was doing something wrong or missing some key that would emotionally stunt my blog for life.

Why hasn't my blog had any embedded videos? I would wonder. And what's all this about changing the template?

But I realize now that everyone's blog develops at a different rate and no blog is better than another.

Anyway, Way to Go Kevin! for having a birthday.

The birthday of my blog has caused me to reflect on my own year and the many changes therein:

My backyard in October 2006:


My backyard in October 2007:


A nice view in October 2006:


A nice view in October 2007:


My neighborhood in October 2006 (although this picture was actually taken in December):


My neighborhood in October 2007:


On an unrelated note, I'm experimenting with removable wallpaper ideas. Just so you know, spray starch works pretty well on dry fabric and not so well on wet fabric.

Yeah, could I get a melee over here? Thanks.

Once upon a time I was pretty into Halo. I had my brother’s game system at my house and I would come home from work, take off my trouser socks and spend a little quality time with Oreos and X-box. I could get through several levels, willing myself to forget that I was on little kid super easy mode. I liked having the small pterodactyl aliens and the big blue Aquaman aliens explode with a single shot from my shotgun. I got pretty good at maneuvering in the various all-terrain vehicles. I finally figured out which button I needed to push to switch weapons. Things were going pretty well.

But as fun as it was to play Halo poorly by myself, it was doubly fun to play Halo poorly in front of other people. Occasionally my brothers or some friends from work would organize a game of Halo that involved days of preparation. We would have to lay in stores: seven layer dip, Coke, Oreos (for me), several televisions and something called a hub. The hub always gave us problems. Nobody really knew who had the hub or if we had a hub. Once it was finally located in the back of someone’s car, there were several cooks in the kitchen of the hub, trying to hook it up to all the different X-boxes, trying to make everything talk to everything.

I just tried to stay out of the way. I know that I was only invited as a circus side-show freak Halo playing girl and wasn’t expected to participate in the set-up.

Eventually, the world was as it should be and everyone was on the right map and the right team and the game commenced. I was always put on the better team as a sort of sexist handicap. My job usually involved running for the hills and trying to snipe people from a safe distance, or drawing enemy fire as I got stuck in a corner or lost my bearings in the middle of the map.

I never was any good at Halo. If I played too long my contacts would dry out and I'd get a headache. One time I made the people I was playing with turn their controllers upside down to play, and I still didn’t win (although that was a pretty fun game for me).

I’m not going to psychoanalyze why I liked playing it so much. I think it’s got to be the camaraderie. Or the addiction to entertainment. Or the latent aggression.

Take your pick.

Well Worth the Eight Bucks

Oh you tiny little pint of wonder!
Did you come across the sea from Vermont
to fill my freezer with home?
A bowl of cookie dough ice cream and a cup of rooibus.
I could be in Aro Circle.

Settling in.

Well, so here I am in England! I've been spending my days wandering around the city and my nights studying the various denominations of the British pound so that I don't have to stare blankly at the change in my hand as I try to buy a cup of coffee.

I can move into my apartment (flat) on Tuesday. It's teeny tiny - it could easily fit into my bedroom at home - but it has everything that I need and it's close to the bus stop and the city center (centre). I've found a little coffee shop with wi-fi nearby.

People I've met:
Geraldine, the matronly B&B manager
Rupert, the hot letting agent
Su Ann, the friendly missionary
Jama, the amorous drifter

It's been an interesting week! Yesterday I went to a Church of England. The service was very close to what I'm used to: hymns and choruses, a sermon on Genesis 2, innumerable announcements, tea and coffee and fellowship. The people were great and I was excited to meet Su Ann, the missionary with the Christian Union that I emailed a few weeks ago. She came and picked me up from the B&B and took me to a student lunch afterward. It was so refreshing to just be able the hang out with other believers. The body of Christ really is universal.

Tonight I head over to the University for registration, meet and greet, and (fingers crossed) some awkward icebreakers.

Sorry about the lack of pictures. I still need to download them from my camera to my computer. It'll happen, though!

Remember him? I know you do.

So today Jenni and I went to "the Broadway," as she calls it in her never ending love affair with the definite article. We actually got in this time because we paid The Man a lot of money. The Drowsy Chaperone is a new musical comedy. There's a tap dancing groom, pun weilding gansters, an over-the-top Latin lover, and a dance featuring blindfolds and rollerskates. It also stars Gilbert Blythe.

Imagine my shock.

Johnathon Crombie (Gil) plays the Man in the Chair - a neurotic, theatre-loving, cardigan-wearing, depressed New Yorker with a sing-songy voice and a swish in his walk. It actually took me quite awhile to recognize him as the hair-pulling heartthrob of my youth. But it was indeed he. (he? him? hmm.)

I'd like to say, "What a treat!" But I'm afraid that it will sound corny.

Jenni and I had trouble getting the sign in the picture:

Here it is:


We also went to "the MoMA":

Lottery Shmottery

So, we had hoped to replicate last year's success with the Broadway lottery.



C'est la vie.

It's all happening!

Well kids, here we go. After months of planning, weeks of leaving, and days of packing, I've completed the first leg of the BM.

I'm now in New York with my friend Jenni Kim for a whirlwind weekend of crizz-aziness before finally heading over to England for grad school.

I'm taking my dad with me - because I'm secure in my grown-upness. We're going to bash around England for a week (and hopefully procure some accomodations for Jessi) before he heads back to his real life. My brother once drove from Anchorage to LA with my father in what he dubbed "a ten day nugget of wisdom." I have high hopes. We've already covered Morality in America, Creativity and the Christian, the definition of "impossible," and John Piper. Well, I'm pretty sure that Piper has not yet been exhausted.

We flew from Anchorage to Newark together, but then parted ways at the airport. I went to Jenni's to spend the weekend eating and going to shows and shopping, and he's going on some man-vacation that will involve many many hours behind a car wheel, a fair amount of sunflower seeds, and more cans of A&W Diet Rootbeer then I care to dwell on. We will meet up on Sunday afternoon for our trip across the pond.

Before I left, I did this:



Also, with the help of many willing movers and shakers, we were able to turn this:

Into this:


More to come!

It's a veritable smorgasbord-orgasbord-orgasbord!

Oh my goodness, the Alaska State Fair, aka Mecca of Fried Food.

We poured honey on our fried bread - you know, to sweeten it up a little.


Appropriate order of operations: Ride then eat.

He started the fire.

Anchorage isn't really known as the comic venue of America. In fact, it is a notable event when big names wander into our neck of the woods. So when B.J. Novak (big name, small man) came up for the UAA kick-off, we rearranged our busy schedules to attend.



It was a lot of fun, and we were only three rows back. He sounded just like Ryan from the Office. It was eerie.

This is him reading his new children's story "Wikipedia Brown"


Sorry about the poor picture quality. I didn't want to use the flash at the risk of being singled out for public mockery.

Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

Here are some pictures from my cruise to Alaska. It was a great trip with Linda, Katy, Mom, Aunt Lucy, and Mrs. Harding.


Weather? Gorgeous.




Katy and I enjoyed this sign warning drivers in Petersburg of speed bumps. You can never be to careful, that's what I say.

Camping in Hope

With our eyes fixed on the future grace that has been promised, believers in Christ reside, or "camp" if you will, in hope throughout our born again lives.

Recently, I was able to not only camp in the state of hope, but also in the town.

Hope, Alaska.

Actually just outside of Hope, but I can't come up with any theological tie-ins with Coeur d'Alene Campground.

We car-camped in Coeur d'Alene on a beautifully overcast night.

And I mean "car-camped" very literally:

Jannell's set-up in the back of her wicked-awsome truck.


Stephen's set-up. I especially like the rifle.


My set-up. I think it was more comfortable than my bed at home.


The campin' crew.


I'm going to miss this place.

Slosh

When you have a burger and shake at Lucky Wishbone, it's called "slosh."

According to Callie Jane.

I love to have slosh, although I find that I can't do anything afterward other than sleep.

What Blog?

So here we are at the end of August, and I've found that this has not been the Summer of the Blog. In fact, I've had a harder time keeping this thing updated than I did during tax season. With longer days and shorter work hours, you would think that the summer would be a bloggers paradise.

But there is just too much going on.

Wrapping things up at work, preparations for the BM, and trying to enjoy the brief and glorious Alaska summer is a lot of balls to keep in the air.

Plus, did I tell you that I went on a cruise?

Well I did, courtesy of Aunt Lucy, I went on a cruise to...none other than...exotic, distant Alaska! We started in Vancouver, BC and cruised up the Inside Passage to end up in Whittier, which is about 60 miles from home.

Southeast AK is actually very different from where I live in Southcentral. The towns are all built on tiny scraps of land between the mountains and the ocean. Larger towns have exceeded their scraps and have built out into the water on wooden piers and wind up mountains so steep that the roof of one home is practically the floor of the next. I lived down there for four years when I was younger, and I think I would like to again someday.

The cruise company we used does small vessel cruising, which means that we were only 120 passengers strong. This was not the huge Princess or Holland America ships that I used to watch out my window in Ketchikan, flooding the streets and shops with jogging suits. We were small, and dwarfed even further when we were in port next to the huge hotel ships. I love the smaller ship. I like to feel the ocean and I like going out on Zodiacs (rubber raft with an outboard motor) to see glaciers and coastline up close. Every evening the guides and lecturers would have a presentation on some bit of Alaska history, wildlife, or culture.

It's a great way to see Southeast if you only have a short amount of time, you have the chunk of change that I'm sure it costs, and you like afternoon naps.

The cruise took about two weeks of my last month and a half home. Now I have to face the fact that I'm really leaving for the unknown. I'm trying to figure out what to take and how to afford everything and where to live and all the myriad details that accompany a BM. Big Move, that is.

I do have my ticket, now, and I'm going to be flying through New York City to visit Jenni Kim again. We shall feast on Korean BBQ, and Shanghai Joe's soup dumplings and go to a show and maybe the Brooklyn Tabernacle before I meet up with my dad and we fly over to the UK.

I'm going to attempt to be more faithful in my updates, as I have more time now. I'm also going to redouble my efforts at finding my camera cord so that I can include some pictures in these monstrosities of text.

Raise your hand if a disembodied head means nothing to you anymore.

Oh, I see that you've also watched 300.

Like Maximus and William Wallace before him, King Leonidas was killed by the unconquerable foe, but achieved victory nonetheless.

I watched it tonight in the comfort of my own home. What is it about these heroic epics that call us to our couches again and again? We stand in droves $210 million strong to watch the three hundred battle the hosts.

I liked it. It was beautiful, if a little formulaic.

There is quite a bit of blood. And some nakedness.

Buyer beware.

goodbye to a good firm

Well folks, after four years of plying my accounting trade, I am officially unemployed. I've signed the papers, turned in the keys, and packed my life into one small Xerox box.

Here it is:

Leaving a job is like graduation without the awards and cash gifts (although I wouldn't be opposed to either if one had a hankering to send a little something).

I guess I probably need to start writing creatively now.

NPR - it's not just for flaming liberals anymore...

...okay, maybe it still is.

Nevertheless, my appreciation of public radio has been growing over the past several years. It started in high school when Lorraine introduced me to Garrison Keillor during our frosty morning commute. We would navigate the dark streets in Lorraine’s red Subaru heading to school (for me) and work (for her), and listen to the reedy whisper-performance of GK as he told us about Lake Woebegone and the residents of that wintry Minnesotan town.

It wasn’t until years later that I learned that the Lake Woebegone stories were only a small part of Keillor’s weekly radio program, A Prairie Home Companion. The show is on every Saturday and features musical guests, sketches, stories, and even a sound-effect guy. It’s pretty great.

After becoming a PHC fan, I found my radio tuned to NPR throughout the week. There I was able to listen to programs like All Things Considered, Fresh Air, and Calling all Pets. I really like them all, although I have to say that my favorite is Marketplace.

I have a baby crush on Kai Ryssdal.

Anyway, to the point! This week I found a new program that is absolutely great. It’s called Radio Lab and it’s a science show meets This American Life meets CSI. It’s great. If you have an iPod, download a couple of podcasts. You'll see what I mean. The best ones that I’ve heard so far feature sleep and (my favorite topic) the placebo effect.

Music to my ears.

Unless my favorite song really was “Track 1” by the Unknown Artists, it would be difficult to assess my musical tastes by scrolling through my iPod.

Here are some truths about me and music:
1. I’m very loyal to the songs that I like and will go months – nay years – listening to the same cds over and over and over again.
2. My musical repertoire is scattered at best – there’s no primary genre or pattern that may be discerned from an inventory of my musical library.
3. If you had a gun to my head, I would have a hard time listing off my favorite bands and/or songs. Although, come to think of it, if you had a gun to my head it would be difficult to do a great many things – like have a conversation with my grandmother, or make my bed.
4. I don’t go looking for music. I let the music come to me.

I was over at JR and Rachel’s last night, hanging out with the wonderful visiting duo, Ken and Beth. As per usual, the evening had degenerated into a debacle of movie quotations, catchphrases involving “your mom,” and singing our favorite hits from the nineties and now – well, actually just the nineties.

Here’s what I like about music. The more you listen to it, the better it gets. Unlike a book or a conversation or an adventure into the bowels of the earth, my enjoyment of a song increases as I grow more familiar with it.

This is why I always get a cold feeling in my stomach at the words, “listen to this, this is my favorite.”

Ohh the pressure to appreciate the favorites of others. No thank you. I can’t do it. I don’t usually like songs the first time that I hear them because I’m too busy trying to understand the words or hear past the pulsing repetitive bass line. Plus I don’t want to disappoint the doe-eyed distributor of said “favorite song.” So I panic and overreact:

“This song is fantastic!” I yell over the guitar solo. “Oh, I really like that line. What a great harmony there.” I say, trying to avoid their eager eye contact.

Much better to just give me a mix tape*.

Mix tapes (although I believe kids nowadays are calling them “playlists”) are the ideal way to share your music with your friends and acquaintances. Mix tapes not only provide a window into the soul of the giver, but they grant the receiver the opportunity to enjoy, process, and opine on the music in the comfort of their own car or home.

True, mix tapes are not without their “stigma.” And also true, the first one I received was in the eighth grade from Adam Oches right before he asked me to go see The Fugitive with him. It featured “A Whole New World,” if I remember correctly.

Mix tapes are stereotypically man’s way of communicating to wo-man, “I dig thee.”

This can be very effective, as the wo-man is afforded a glimpse into the world of the man (or at least the world that he’s trying to convey). In addition, she receives a gift that is the true embodiment of the thought counting at very little expense to the dude.

But I think allowing mix tapes to be relegated to pre-date wooing is an underutilization of their true and lasting value.

Share your music!** Let people enjoy the songs that you enjoy! Spread the glories of a new-found band in a low-pressure way.

Send me a mix tape. I won’t read anything into it.
_____________________________________________________
* Mix tapes nowadays can be tapes (although only if you’re really broke), cds, or even electronic playlists.

**Legally, responsibly, and with a designated driver.

The title of my yet-to-be-developed diet supplement:

Weigh to Go Kevin!



why, Why, WHY am I such a nerd!?!

The title of my yet-to-be-developed non-dairy creamer:

Whey to Go Kevin!




See? There again.

Sweet Piper

So in my parent's quest to become ever more agrarian, they have made a major and much anticipated purchase.

A horse.

Yes, we're becoming those kind of people.

So now the Gates farm consists of the following:
Houses 3
Horse 1
Barn 0

Although the barn is still in the works, Bud the Builder (not to be confused with Bud the Sister) saw an advertisement for a small, 3 year-old quarter horse. Of course my mother and sister went to check her out, and of course they loved her. A horse is a horse, after all.

After the purchase, I drove out to Palmer to see her, and I gotta admit that I like her a lot, too. She's little, but that just makes it easier to shove her around as the Bud and I learn how to be horse people.

I've only got two months left in AK, so I'm trying to not get too attached.


Mom, Bud, Piper and me
Sorry about the zombie eye. I don't have photoshop on this computer.

Recommendations (for what they're worth):

So everyone should watch The Sting. Starring Paul Newman and Robert Redford, this movie is like Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid without the sweat. Also without the incongruent rendition of “Raindrops Keep Falling on my Head.”

What makes it great:
1. Believable and tricky plot
2. It’s about con artists (cross reference: Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, My Blue Heaven, Grifters)
3. Great soundtrack
4. Paul Newman


So everyone should watch The King of Comedy.
Recommended by greeneggsandsam, I thought a movie called The King of Comedy would be, you know, a comedy.
It is instead a sad story about a man who has wrapped his worth around achieving fame. His life is a fantasy of autograph books, name dropping, and imagined conversations. The movie follows Rupert Pupkin on his obsessive claw up the ladder of celebrity, dragging his nominal talent behind him. Imposition, deception, and finally all out felony are his tools as he seeks his worth in the applause of an unearned audience.

What makes it great:
1. A sympathetic and detestable protagonist
2. Jerry Lewis as a haggard, pursued celebrity
3. 1983 fashion – can you beat it?
4. Sandra Bernhard – just the right amount of crazy


So everyone should watch Braveheart.
I know you’ve seen it. It’s time to see it again.

Ah Wont That

Anybody got an extra $499? Also some AT&T coverage?

No?

Well, it doesn't hurt to ask.

We Blog on the Weblog

My little brother Tyler has started a blog.

Yes, he has a fancy new camera.

Yes, he's funny.

But just remember who was here first.

the post of a marathoner

...well, a half a marathoner.

Who walked.

mile one - wow, it's a nice morning. Look at all these people around me. It's nice to get out and stretch my legs this Saturday morning.

mile two - I think that maybe after this half marathon, we should go out to lunch, and then maybe get some people together to play Frisbee or something.

mile three - hmm, haven't seen a mile marker in awhile. I bet we're about half way - oops, nope, only at mile three. Hmm. There's kind of a lot of mosquitoes out here.

mile six - yesss! half way! The nice thing about walking like this is that my lungs don't get tired before my body does.

mile ten - please don't talk to me. My feet hurt. My calves hurt. My hips hurt.

mile eleven - my shoulders hurt - how does that even happen?

mile twelve - justfinishjustfinishjustfinishjustfinish

mile thirteen - wait, how far do we have to walk to the car? Where's my couch?

Last Saturday, my friends Natalie and Melody, and my sister-in-law Laura convinced me to walk a half marathon with them. How hard could thirteen miles in three or four hours be?

I was surprised at how tired and sore I was afterward. Laura said that it's cured her from ever wanting to run a marathon, and I have to agree with her. Plus, I've found out that I don't have to run a marathon to get the sweet t-shirt, the medal, and (most importantly) the space blanket.

Summer Solstice

I am so sad that my camera is on the fritz because it is beautiful in AK. I remember now why I live here. The trees have leafed out in all their birchy glory, the mountains look naked and new without their winter garments, and the hanging baskets have been hung from the downtown lampposts.

We all know what this means – the water lady is back.

During high school and college I worked in downtown Anchorage for the tourism industry. I sold glacier cruises and train rides and hotel rooms to blue-haired cruisers and over-tanned, over-muscled outdoorsy cyclists, and families with matching shirts that said “ALASKA – the Great Land” in green script across their chests. It was great. I really loved it.

And every morning I would see the water lady drive past our plate glass display windows. She scooted around in the water truck – a sort of modified electric golf cart with a huge tank of water and a shower head attached to a long arm on that could reach up to the tall planters. Her brown and white hair was set in curls that sprung above and below her pink neoprene visor. Every morning, she’d visit the petunias, the forget-me-nots, and the marigolds, leaving thankful, dripping baskets and the smell of wet nature in her wake.

But dude, do not stand in front of her cart.

“Get out of my way!” she’d snap in that loud, nasal, mean old lady voice.

This lady had a job to do, and by gum, no tourist or child or puppy was going to get in her way. She frowned at passers-by. She yammered traffic into submission. Even the homeless gave her a wide berth.

Look out for the water lady.

She's Bayak!

Wow. Where do I even begin? There is way too much information about my past two weeks to squeeze into a post. We're gonna have to resort to the list format:

1. Moved completely out of my house. My furniture is now crammed into my parent's garage and a spare bedroom.

2. Decided that I really and truly am going to England for the next year to pursue my MA in Creative Writing. Thus the need to move out of the house and find renters, ah, ASAP. More on the the BM (Big Move), in another post.

3. Flew to LA for a whirlwind visit of some of my dearest friends ever. I got to be present when Sam broke her back...again...and enjoyed a little D-land frivolity with Ken, Beth and Ng. I was able to see sikegami and Sarah Carmen and my roommate Joy. It was great. The only thing I didn't do was go to EggPlantation for Tina's Omellette. Boo.

4. Flew from LA to the sultry land of Tennessee for family reunion. Picture Norris Lake, two houseboats, and 40 of your closest relatives. I swam and mothered all my little cousins, soaked up the sun and tried to waterski. It was great. Except for the carbon monoxide. And the cotton mouth that nearly ruined the vacation for all of us - especially Nathan.

5. I started and finished the 3rd of the CS Lewis space trilogy - That Hideous Strength, and started The Chosen by Chaim Potok.

6. I said goodbye to Zach, who's headed to Guatemala for the summer and California in the fall.

Hmmm, anything else? Well, there's loads more detail, but I'll spare you for tonight. Also, I broke my camera so pictures will be sparse and not of my own taking.

The trip was wonderful, but I'm a little overwhelmed by the busy six weeks of work ahead of me, the class that I start to teach in two weeks, and the home that sits vacant and unoccupied.

Plus I don't really know where my clothes are. I think they're in a box somewhere.

California Dreamin'

Hi friends. Sorry about the dirth of postage, but I'm on vacation!

Guess where.