Anybody got an extra $499? Also some AT&T coverage?
No?
Well, it doesn't hurt to ask.
Thursday, June 28, 2007
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, June 21, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, June 01, 2007
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, May 18, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, May 09, 2007
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?
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?
Thursday, May 03, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, April 20, 2007
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.
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.
Thursday, April 19, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Thursday, April 12, 2007
If you like _______, then you’ll love Dr. Mario
1. Ridding the world of sickness and disease2. Primary colors
3. Fuzzy graphics
4. Terrible, treble, repetitive music that is inexplicably alluring
5. Doctors
Tuesday, April 10, 2007
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.
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.
Saturday, April 07, 2007
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?
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.
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.
Wednesday, April 04, 2007
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.
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.
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