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.

Congratulations, Zachy!

Well, my little brother Zach has graduated from highschool. It was a welcome day for him - never have I seen such an acute case of senioritis. He's headed down to Guatemala for the summer on June 1st and then he heads to The Master's College in the fall.



We just can't get away from that school.



If you're in California this fall, keep your eye out for Zach. He's the kid with the Gates brow and the soulful eyes.

Tent? Check. Fire? Check. Airplanes???

Last weekend I went camping with the college and career group from our church in Valdez (pronounced Val-Deez, I assume to disassociate the town with the failed search of Juan Valdez for the fabled fountain of youth). Valdez was having their annual bush-plane fly-in and since I happen to be friends with a bunch of planeless pilots, we thought it might be a neat thing to check out for our first camping trip o'the year. It is a little embarrassing in the Alaskan pilot subculture to drive to a fly-in, but we didn't let it dampen our spirits.

The fly-in consisted of a bunch of competitions for pilots and their planes. We watched the flour bombing, where you try to hit a little target with a bag of flour while flying past at one hundred feet. Some people were off by hundreds of feet, but one guy landed his six inches from the target.

Not bad.

They also had short landings and take-offs. The winner took off in 19 feet, which is shorter than the actual length of the plane!

We camped right on the runway, which wasn't exactly Nature's Bosom, but was authentic nonetheless. I wish I had taken more pictures. Here's a few that I managed to snap.

My roommate Melody and my friend Sarah enjoyed themselves despite the six-hour drive and the biting wind.


New friend Stephen making a funny face.


The drive to Valdez was six hours. Jannell and I paused for a picture.


The drive is also one of the prettiest in AK and less congested than heading south out of Anchorage.

Words I love and think are German

1. juggernaut
2. zeitgeist
3. bratwurst

P.S. If you have a juvenile sense of humor and know someone who speaks German, ask them to say "Have a nice trip." Try to ask them in a public setting like a noisy room or radio interview.

P.P.S. In my research for this post, I've realized that juggernaut is Hindi and not German at all. But doesn't it sound German?

Grouping and Regrouping

So in preparation for the Big Move (or, as I like to think of it, the impending BM), I’ve commenced a little sorting of my varied and sickeningly abundant possessions.

I started with vigor and a remarkable sense of purpose. I stripped my bed and stuffed my sheets into the washer with the half-baked notion that I'd be done with my room before you could say "air fluff." The vast expanse of the denuded queen-size bed sang a siren song of organization and hope for my hopelessly cluttered bedroom.

So, with my iPod playing through all those podcasts that I download but never play, I pulled armloads of stuff from the floor of my closet and heaved them onto the bed. Immediately, I was hit with the first sticky-sweet wave of nostalgia. Old letters, yearbooks, mix tapes. Forgotten pictures of forgotten people. Quilts and cellphone bills and gagets that my dad gave me for Christmas.

When I came to my senses, hours later, I was sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, the epicenter of a nostalgia earthquake. Letters and books and old t-shirts were scattered about me in a large circle of loose categories like "throw away," "return to friends," and "childhood."

It’s a little painful to say goodbye to that thought-I’d-be-able-to-fit-in-it-one-day shirt from Banana Republic and the I-know-the-elbows-are-worn-out-but-it’s-my-favorite sweater that saw my through my college years. But there is also something cathartic and satisfying about going through your things and coming out a little more focused. A little more organized. A little leaner.

Not that I've actually experienced the feeling, as yet. When I disembarked the nostalgia train it was well past my bedtime, and my sheets were still in the washer, fermenting.

So I raked all the stacks and piles and sundries off my bed and onto the floor and I pulled my comforter up over my shoulders.

I'll just have to get organized tomorrow.

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.