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.

BTW

Supercilious literally means "eyebrow" in Latin. Because when people (apparently even ancient Latin people) are haughty, they raise their eyebrows in disdain.

So great.

Language rocks.


Source
supercilious

1529, from L. superciliosus "haughty, arrogant," from supercilium "haughty demeanor, pride," lit. "eyebrow" (via notion of raising the eyebrow to express haughtiness), from super "above" (see super-) + cilium "eyelid," related to celare "to cover, hide," from PIE base *kel- "to conceal" (see cell).

Online Etymology Dictionary, © 2001 Douglas Harper

two things

I did two things on my way home from work yesterday.

First, you must understand that we have been suffering through a cold snap the past month - a below zero, skyrocketing heating bill, windchill sort of cold snap. I think that it's on its way to being the coldest March in Anchorage - ever. Anyway, this past week has been much much better - it's warmed up to above zero and yesterday I think it was even in the twenties.

So, of course, I jump the gun.

"How cold can it be?" I ask myself in my well-heated room after a long shower. "Surely not cold enough to wear my winter jacket!"

It was cold enough, and don't call me Shirley.

So the first thing I did on my way home from work is freeze. I was wearing my blue wool zip up hoodie (If you've seen me twice, you've probably seen me wear it), hunched like Quasimoto over my steering wheel, hating life.

The second thing I did on my way home is stop for dinner. Due to the crunch of the tax season (and my inability to get out of the house before eight a.m.) I've been working pretty late - seven or seven-thirty (eight, if I decide to blog). When I finally head home I am so starving that my dinner usually consists of a bag of Doritos and as many Oreos as my hand can span (a girl's got to have limits).

"Not tonight!" I thought last night, determined to break the forming habit of a snack-food meal, and I resolutely pulled into a restaurant parking lot.

A little place called McDonald's. Perhaps you've heard of it.

What has happened to our relationship, McDonald's? It used to be so carefree and happy. My eyes would light up with joy when they spotted the Golden Arches. I used to beg my mother, my father, anyone who would lend an ear - "Take me to Mickee Dee's!"

Chicken nuggets shaped like big feet and hot air ballons would float through my dreams.

I loved you, and I didn't care who knew it.

But we've grown apart, McDonald's. We never talk anymore. We never laugh. Somewhere between college and Supersize Me, I've grown embarrassed that I like you so much.

And now even when I do stop by it is with a guilty conscious and a supercilious air. "If sikegami were dead," I say to myself, "she would be rolling over in her grave!" I hide my trash.

But who am I kidding? I'm no gourmet. And I do love chicken mcnuggets.

I don't care who knows it.

Are they going to google me?

So I think that I'm going to be an adjunct professor. After toiling for years at the slavish whim of a 10-key calculator, I now have the opportunity to straighten my back and impart my wisdom into the brains of a whole new generation of accountants.

I am a leetle nervous that my students are going to google me and find this blog. Yikes. I'll lose all credibility.

Maybe I should teach under a psuedonym.

Jessica McJessi?
The Teaching Falcon?
Kevin?

Those would all be pretty believable.

The class doesn't start until late June, so I have plenty of time to procrastinate.

If you see me walking by...

...and the tears are in my eyes.

1. Look away, baby, look away.
2. Offer me a tissue.

Sorry. Only time for a short list tonight.

I just spent and hour and a half playing Dr. Mario. By myself.

Why did I ever let that game back into my home?

Nobody does it like her.

I was standing in my kitchen this evening, enjoying a slice of Sara Lee's Whipped Cheesecake (with strawberry topping and graham cracker crust) when my eyes happened to fall on the familiar slogan emblazoned across the empty box.

Wait a second, I thought. What does that say?

No, really, what does that say?

The famous, well-known slogan is "Nobody does it like Sara Lee!" Right?

Wrong.

Apparently the phrase is (and has always been) "Nobody doesn't like Sara Lee."

How could I have lived my whole life without knowing this?

What's next?

Nike - Just Duet?

What if movies were marketed on their character actors?

The underworld is no place for a lady, but for one woman, it’s the only place that feels like home.

In a world where no one can be trusted and the line between good and evil is negotiable, she must fight to maintain her dignity, her poise, and her position as the head of the British Secret Intelligence Service.

Don’t miss Dame Judi Dench as M in Casino Royale


In a land where a prince’s word can shatter all security, one man struggles to survive. Cursed by his very skin, he lives a life of suppliant slavery in the bowels of a torture chamber, his spirit torn between cheer and hopelessness.

He has resigned himself to spending the rest of his days feeding and cleaning the broken, until one day he meets a stranger who has something that not even the prince can break. And he knows that life in the kingdom will never be the same.

Don’t miss the Albino in The Princess Bride


George Pappas had it all. A date every Friday night, a rent-controlled apartment, and a fulfilling job at a local New York City bookstore. But when his employer decided to take on corporate America, George found himself embroiled in a battle he did not choose to wage.

Now he must decide whether he will fight for what he loves, or go to the Nut Shop, where it’s fun.

Steve Zahn as George Pappas in You’ve Got Mail

The Last Great Race.

The Iditarod is a 1,100 mile dogsled race. The race takes days or weeks depending on how fast you are. There are mandatory rest stops and volunteer vets. There are famous mushers, who have won or placed repeatedly - Jeff King, Martin Buser, Doug Swingley, DeeDee Jonrowe. There are rookies who are just out to finish with all their dogs.

I'm keeping my eye on this race. I was cheering for DeeDee - who has placed repeatedly but never won - but she was injured at Rainy Pass and had to scratch. Boo. Now I'm cheering for Lance Mackey. He's never won either, but I think his time may have come.

82 teams. 1,312 sled dogs. 1,100 miles. Crazy.

Does this bother anyone else?

Please direct your attention to the Blogs of Yesteryear.

I actually double checked my calendar to make sure that we were in 2007.

I'm not proud of this.

Calendar Girls

There are a lot of reasons why I like the movie. It's English. It's smart. And it's just edgy enough to satisfy the rebellious nature of this Christian conservative. Julie Walters and Helen Mirren are both brilliant.

That's why I like the movie. But the reason that I love the movie has nothing to do with nakedness or the actual plot at all.

Do you remember that one scene when Jay Leno flies the Calendar Girls to L.A.? It's obvious that international first class is not exactly standard fare for these women, as they squeal and gawk at the posh in-flight accommodations. They throw decorum to the wind as they play with their seats and order wine. They use every item in their goodie bags - including the eye masks and the little sock booties. Most of all they enjoy it because they are together - a crazy experience shared with dear friends. It's a very short scene, but with me it resonated.

When I was a junior in college, my Aunt Lucy took me on an amazing trip - a safari to Tanzania. And she didn't take just me, she took all my Mothers.

That's right, Jessi and her five Mothers traveled across the African bush taking only pictures and leaving only LandRover tracks.

My five Mothers consist of my mother (she gets in by default), my Aunt Lucy, Mrs. Harding, Linda, and Lorraine. These women have been part of my life forever. When my mom threw her back out, Mrs. Harding flew in to take care of us. When we moved to Anchorage we lived in Lorraine's two bedroom house for four months - and the Gates family is small neither in number nor proportion. Linda used to come up every year from her home in Boston to watch the Iditarod, laden with live lobsters and Red Sox paraphernalia. Finally she gave up and just moved up here. Aunt Lucy sends me and my mother books by the boxful - just the good ones. And then there's Mom, who is smart and hilarious and becoming more like me every day.

So picture Jessi and her five Mothers traveling to Tanzania - International First Class.

Actually, you don't have to picture it. I think they caught it on film for this movie called Calendar Girls.

Mom and I first watched this movie in the summer of 2004, just about a week after Lorraine passed away very suddenly. We were still shocky and griefy and a mess and the airplane scene struck us both the same way. True and funny and sad. We looked at each other and smiled upsidedown smiles.

I want to write more about Lorraine - how she would steal me away before I was old enough to go to school and take me to high tea. How she dyed her hair "bodacious burgundy." How she made the best mint brownies, popcorn and hot chocolate. Ever.

But this post is getting long. And rambling.

My point is that International First Class is best when taken with a healthy dose of menopause.