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.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
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.
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, August 04, 2007
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.
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.
Friday, July 27, 2007
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.
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.
Wednesday, July 18, 2007
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.
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!?!
why, Why, WHY am I such a nerd!?!
Thursday, July 12, 2007
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.
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.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
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.
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.
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.
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