A moment of clarity?

This from a teen I know, if I recall, as an explanation for some truly irritating behavior:

"I can't change the fact that I have my head up my ass most of the time."

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Past blast

I just went to a hockey game in an arena I haven't been in since high school. Talk about flashback. I remember countless Friday and Saturday nights spent meandering aimlessly around in circles with my friends. I don't recall much about the hockey games. It was much more an exercise in flirting with the herds of guys and finding out where the good parties were that night. Life was simpler then. I just didn't know it at the time.

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We're not gonna

I can't believe it. Stevens is leading. I don't know what to say. Does anyone else know whether another state has elected a recently convicted felon?

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Stevens convicted

Just moved across the Anchorage Daily News alerts:
Jury finds Stevens guilty of lying about gifts

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A few trust issues?

"If I'm drowning in two feet of water, I don't know whether the rope that's thrown at me will be one that pulls me out or pulls me under."

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Back in track

Hallelujah! Two snows and several inches means they were able to roll the trails. It was ski swap at 10 a.m., errands all day and then five miles on my favorite loop. I can feel my stress levels diminishing already. No track yet, but it still felt great to be back in my ski boots, listening to the sound of my poles squeak in the snow. I even saw a fox on the back side of the hill. It peeked over its shoulder at me before bounding off into the bushes. A few strands of bushes and grass still poked through the snow, but it wasn't enough to cause any real problems. I don't seem to have lost any time over the summer. Mind you, I am slow as all get out anyway, but even without track, I was able to complete the loop in an hour. With track, I suspect it'll come down to 45-50 minutes.

Task one: Teach my walking buddy to ski. She has one rather bad experience with skiing. Still, she bought a passable set of skis at ski swap and is ready to give it a shot.

Task two: Teach the man to ski. He's much more fond of downhill, so this will be tame to him. There's also a distinct possibility that he already knows how to cross-country ski and is just screwing with me because apparently it is hilarious when I explain things to other people. Strike teaching. Maybe I'll steal his poles and shove him in a snowbank.

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Throwing the life ring

What do you do when someone you love is drowning in the life they have created for themselves? What do you do when you watch them, day in and day out, struggle and gasp, barely staying above the waterline and growing weaker by the second?

People make bad choices, I understand that. Many times, when we find ourselves drowning, it is because of those bad choices. I also understand the value of learning from those choices, of finding a way to solve your own problems. Still, it's hard to be the one on the shore, watching, when the solutions are so obvious, it's akin to wanting to shout, "Stand up, dammit! The water's only four feet deep."

At what point do you finally accept that the one you love simply will not put their feet down and wade out and haul them out of the water, despite the fact that they are so panicked that they might just try to drown you in the process? Walking away simply isn't an option, is it, if you truly love someone?

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Me-0, hose clamp-1

I think a little piece of me now lives in the basement next to the water pump. I mean that quite literally. I suspect a piece of what's left of my knuckle is now spending quality time with the hose clamp on the well hose. The damn water filter housing was being a bit more stubborn than usual, and I reefed on it a little harder than usual. 'Twas the perfect storm of force, resulting in me saying "fuck" a lot when I looked down and glimpsed the white of my knuckle bone. Enter teenage son, who helps me put the filter back together so that I can turn the water back on and stand sobbing hysterically over the bathroom sink, fighting nausea as I unsuccessfully try to sluice god-knows-what out of the ragged wound, all the while thinking, "This is utter bullshit. Why the hell wasn't Prince Charming down in the basement fixing the water? And where the hell is that guy anyway?"

Screw fairy tales. Screw hose clamps. Stupid stainless steel bastards. Long live narcotic painkillers.

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Matrimonial moments

Overheard: "F--K! I have a month until I get married. Do I have everything?"

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Oh, to be weak

I was in the midst of yet another home improvement crisis that I did not know how to handle and was declaring that I felt incredibly weak. And he said to me, "It's OK to feel weak, you're a girl." Now before you go bashing him as a thoroughly unenlightened clod, I assure you, he is not.

All that said, however, the truth is that when you are single, a mother and a homeowner, it really isn't OK to be weak. It's not a luxury afforded those of us who waded into the shallow end of the gene pool. There is no moral support. There is no shoulder to lean on. There is no financial support. There is no room for weakness. You are the mother and the father and the cook and the electrician and the laundress and the plumber and the mechanic and the nurse. You are the nurturer and the disciplinarian. You must keep a job and keep the house. When all goes to hell in a handbasket, guess who has to deal with it? Bingo! You. Don't waste your time looking for someone else to step up and do it for you, 'cause honey, there ain't nobody there.

It's the thing they don't tell you about single parenthood. It sucks, and it sucks at least half of the time. It's lucky that most have so little time, they don't notice how much it sucks. But make no mistake, weakness is not an option available to us. You stumble, and the fall can be catastrophic and impossible to recover from.

It is no mystery to me why so many single parents seek to get remarried as soon as they can, even if the relationship is less than perfect or the odds say it won't succeed. I can almost taste the sweetness of those six words, "Honey, you take care of that."

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Meh

Not sure what the heck is up. Maybe it's the change in seasons. Maybe it's the mountains of things I never did or got to do this summer. Maybe I'm just tired. Whatever it is, I have been struck with a terrible case of indifference as of late. I'm a country song. My give a damn's busted.

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Sometimes it actually works

Apparently, an Internet slide show, a screwdriver and a cheapo socket set really are enough to qualify me as an appliance repairwoman. Go figure.

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Praying to the porcelain

In this case, it was porcelain on steel, in the form of my immobile washing machine tub. You see, normally, they fill with warm water and do useful things like agitate, spin and drain. Mine? Not so much. I was clued into the problem when I tried to push down the lid switch and parts of it started falling off. This is bad because without the lid switch, there will be no agitating of the clothes, no spinning of the clothes and no draining of the water. None. Nada. So, I was left crying and swearing last night at the foot of my full-of-clothes-and-water washing machine--now reduced to little more than a bloated paperweight with the potential for serious swamp syndrome--wondering why the hell things have to be so bloody difficult 99 percent of the time.

Tonight I'll use my considerable appliance repair expertise, gleaned from a slideshow on some fix-it site online, to tear apart the damn thing and put a new switch in. Oh yeah, this ought to be interesting. I wonder how hard you have to pitch a screwdriver to get it to stick like a dart in a sheetrock wall?

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Put a rock on my ...

I came home from work today and was greeted by a lovely sight. That's right: a whole dump truck load of D-1 nicely spread the length of my driveway. If I ever doubted his devotion, those doubts are long gone. Keep the chocolates, honey. You wanna show me you love me? Bring me a nice blend of rock and fines, you know, the good stuff that packs down really hard.

Now that's true love, baby.

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Got wood?

Oh stop. Not that kind. My friend and I spent the day loading up two pickups with firewood for the winter. I suspect we will both pay dearly in the morning, but we were quite proud of ourselves for our efforts. We did really well at pretending that we knew what we were doing. Alas, we were so hard at work that we did not take the time to document our in-the-field efforts, but is suffices to say that we discovered that cutting notches in trees actually works, as does gravity, and that when you push really hard on a tree, it seems to fall away from you, which is a good thing, because there were a lot of rose bushes and roots on our "oh-carp-the-tree-is-falling-toward-us" escape path. Oh yeah, and I didn't cut anything but wood with the chainsaw, which is always the marker of a successful adventure with power tools. Yep. We are certified. Rugged Alaska divas. Training complete. No boys allowed (though the diva in both of us probably wouldn't argue too terribly hard if said boys were to say, "Honey, it's OK, you go shopping, we'll cut the wood.") But we'd probably go to Home Depot.



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Flabbergasted

Nearly 60,000 people in my state primary elections yesterday voted for a longtime senator who happens to be under federal indictment. His trial will take place during the general election campaign. I really have to wonder: Why is that OK with people?

This guy has been caught up in the same net that has sent several state legislators packing on a rail, the public howling in indignation, even before they were convicted of anything.

Is it fear? Yes, the guy brings a lot of cash to the state, but really, who's to say our next senator won't be just as effective, or even more so. And rest assured, frightened sheeple, there will be a "next senator." Nobody lives forever. Like all of us, our senior senator will eventually succumb to time and then someone new will take his place.

Is the electorate taking the "innocent unless proven guilty" high road? I doubt it, as masses of human beings rarely seem to take the high road on anything. That said, certainly that facet of our justice system is an admirable one. Here's the thing, though: Being innocent and entitled to your liberty, prior to conviction, is one thing. Nobody is entitled to be an elected official. That happens with the consent of the people. That is a privilege. And I fail to see the wisdom in choosing to be represented by someone who, at the very least, has lost a great deal of credibility.

Best case scenario: He's acquitted and serves the remainder of his term with a cloud of doubt over his head.

Worst: He's elected. He's convicted. And the people gave away their right to choose someone to replace him. (Yes, there will always be the next election, but the power of incumbency, even after an appointment, is not to be dismissed.)

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Whatever shall we do?

Overheard:

Woman 1: "If Parnell wins, who's going to be our light gov?"

Woman 2: "Maybe they can have Don Young."

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O Canada!

So, how many of you out there will be moving to Canada if our wise electorate decides to send our esteemed--and under federal indictment--senior senator back to Washington. C'mon, don't be shy.

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Old habits

I can't help myself. It's 7:55 p.m. The polls close in five. And I've already got the Division of Elections results page up in the other tab.

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Noooooooo

I couldn't believe my ears this morning, at least until I looked out my office window and saw the perfect vee of geese flying overhead. I guess that shiver as I stepped outside today wasn't my imagination.

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Need some assistance with that?

This from the Fail Blog:



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I'm in a committed ...

“Sometimes you meet somebody and you have what is known as a ‘relationship,’ and things can go great and if it goes great then you have a great ‘relationship.' Sometimes it doesn’t go so great and I call that a ‘relationshit.’”
--Dane Cook

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Doh! Doh! Doh!

Somebody call the design police. I had someone tell me that they decided they liked the trapped white space in a particular page design. *banging head against wall* My designer soul is shriveling, dying and suffering as it expires.

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Big bang

Ever feel like you want to toss a grenade into life and just cross your fingers that the shrapnel will fall where it should? As of late, things have felt a bit ... directionless.

Work seems pretty meaningless, full of endless meetings and discussions and lists and plans about, well, nothing, really.

I am not exactly fighting with my significant other, but things are certainly strained, but really for no reason other than the world is a pain in the ass, circumstances are a bitch and we are taking it out on each other. We like each other, the world just doesn't seem to like us much lately. So again, misery over ... nothing.

The list of things I really ought to get completely is so large and undoable that I am unable to tackle even the smallest thing, hence NOTHING happens.

Hell, time to blow it all up. It can't get any worse than nothing.

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Flipped out

It only takes four hours, once a year, along with dozens of pretzels with cheese, cases of soda, hundreds of meat patties and hordes of hot dogs to remind me why I got a college degree. That's right folks, it's alumni burger booth time. Now don't get me wrong, it's a blast, but by the end, my brain is mush and so are my feet. I can't fathom doing it 40 hours a week for $8 an hour.

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Solitary hand-wringing meeting

It's midnight.
He's where the flooding is.
I am at home.
I am awake.
I hope he is sleeping and not on his 16th hour of running gravel to repair the flood damage.
I suspect the latter is true.
I hope he is being careful.

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Awash

The world around me is a perfect metaphor for life this week. You see, the sky really has been falling here in my neck of the woods, so much so that the rivers are over their banks in many places and lapping dangerously close in others. My basement is flooding right now. Thanks to a little pump, it's not doing any damage. The tiny motor and several yards of black hose seems to bail fast enough to keep the waters at bay. I am one of the lucky ones. I have a friend whose vehicle is nearly submerged. The floodwaters are inches from the deck of her house on stilts.

A friend and I took off in my truck the other day to take a peek at the area rivers. We settled on a dike that pokes out into one of largest area rivers. And we watched the muddy water swirl angrily past, churning up the trees and sticks and other pieces of the world it had devoured on its breakneck journey downstream. This wasn't a clear, rushing rapid. It was ugly and savage, beautiful and frightening. It made my heart quicken as I watched.

There are times, when life makes one feel like a tree on one of those eroding riverbanks, struggling to hang on and avoid being swept away in the savage waters. There are times when all of those normal demands and disappointments that come in life somehow swell. Alone, they are just runoff rushing down the mountains. Get them together and they become a beast that rips you from what roots you, beats you silly and deposits you, bewildered and bruised, on some sandbar 500 miles away. And even once the flood subsides, it can sometimes be nigh impossible to feel rooted again.

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Indictment

Never thought I'd see the day, but Reuters just moved an alert "Senator Ted Stevens of Alaska Reportedly Indicted."

Wow.

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Nobody loves me like me

Conversation at the bar:

Man: It's getting late, I think I'll head home and not get laid.
Man's friend: I wish you luck with that.
Man: I think I can pull it off.
Man's friend: Don't pull it off!

Just to ease your mind, I have been assured that it is still, indeed, attached.

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What IS that?

OK, I'll offer my eternal gratitude to the person who can tell me what the hell that little doohickey is on the upper right hand section of Ted Stevens' campaign logo. Is it a flag? Is it a bird? Is it a globe? Maybe it's just a bastardization of the Banner Health logo.

I don't know what the heck it is, but should go on some wall of shame somewhere for failed graphic design. Unless, perhaps, they were going for the "WTF?" effect: "WTF is that? They must be so brilliant that my simple mind cannot wrap itself around the glory that is Ted. Maybe I should vote for him. Oh yes, I should."

Errr... Yeah, that must be it.

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A religious experience in the cheese aisle

A friend of mine, who really needs to blog, had a rather profound epiphany in the cheese aisle of the local grocery store the other day.

Now, apparently, she was innocently doing her shopping and passed safely by this guy, who was wearing a helmet and passing out bible fliers in a rather vigorous way. She watched this guy stop someone else and hand them one of those great leaflets, you know, the kind with dancing devils or some equally devilish sort rubbing his hands in glee as he leads someone down the path to eternal damnation. The man asked passers-by, in a very loud voice, whether they had accepted Je-sus as their personal savior.

My friend was about to roll her eyes, when that little voice inside her, you know the one we all have that often sounds like our mothers, said, "Come on, give the man a break. He probably truly believes he is ministering to the masses, doing the right thing, walking in the path of Jesus."

Then, like a beam of light from heaven, it struck her. That annoying guy probably was following in the path of Jesus. And if that is true, then ... Oh my God, Jesus was annoying. Jesus was one of those guys handing out Bible tracts in front of the grocery store. He was the guy who gives trick-or-treaters little pamphlets about the evils of Halloween, along with their candy. People probably rolled their eyes at him all the time. They probably pretended they weren't home when he knocked on their doors and went out of their way to avoid him in the open-air market. And you know, that's actually a pretty heartening thought, whether you believe the whole son-of-god thing or not. If I were to going to believe in a deity, I'd certainly like him or her to be just like the rest of us, which includes being annoying as hell sometimes.

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How to get sent to a class

Acronyms have gotten out of control. I offer this from a professional development flier about how to cultivate good listening skills:

"CARESS to Listen Effectively"

In this case, "CARESS" stands for concentrate, acknowledge, research, exercise emotional control, sense the nonverbal message and structure.

But really, if you start caressing your officemates and telling them that you are just trying to listen to them more effectively, you are more likely to get sent to those classes where they try to make it very clear that you are NOT supposed to caress, grope, grab, stroke or otherwise invade the intimate space of your colleagues. I wonder how the HR folks would take it if you tried the "but this pamphlet TOLD me to caress people" tactic.

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Directionless signage

It's really important, when you are having events, to make sure that you have signs telling people where to go. Doing so helps eliminate confusion and makes the event a more enjoyable and meaningful experience for all involved.

But ...

It's waaay more fun to put up signs that cause those puzzled expressions while people ponder that universal question: Where am I? A sure way to ensure your event has lots of this merriment is to post conflicting signs on every building. In doing so, you are guaranteed hours and hours of by-yourself enjoyment as you stand in a corner and observe the bafflement.

Ah, good times.




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First random caps, now this

I'm pretty sure the apocalypse is upon us, folks. Apparently a mutation among those in the population who favor the serial comma has caused a rapidly spreading epidemic of comma usage. These are dark days, indeed.

Commas, Turning Up, Everywhere
From The Onion

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Makin' whoopie

I like to bake, but sometimes even I get carried away. My friend and the basketball team he coaches were heading down the highway this weekend for the state Special Olympics summer games and I decided that a road trip isn't complete without provisions. In this case, "provisions" meant whoopie pies, a heavenly concoction of cakey, frosted goodness. So, 24 cups of flour, several pounds of butter and two nights of baking until midnight later, we had the following:



That's right, friends, two full fridge shelves of whoopie heaven. Alas, I was only able to stuff about two or three dozen, give or take a few, into the cooler I sent on the bus (whoopie pies like to be cold) so I was left to distribute the rest to the office and the neighborhood kids. Meanwhile, the local basketball team must've had a seriously nauseated coach, as apparently he took it upon himself to consume six of the things in a single day. The man deserves a medal for that, alone.

For those of you who want to try making these, here are the links for them:

Chocolate whoopie pies

Lemon whoopie pies

Pumpkin whoopie pies

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Sauce ain’t all that

A while back, I was visiting my niece and nephew and they had a bit of an argument that is a perfect analogy to so many things in life. They were making lunch for themselves, leftover spaghetti. My sister and I were sitting outside and my nephew came out crying, “Sister took all the noodles and is only giving me sauce.”

Of course, my sister called her daughter outside to see what was going on. My niece, a very expressive and intelligent child, crossed her arms, sighed and rolled her eyes and said, “I am really hungry. I want all the noodles. I don’t see what he is complaining about. I gave him sauce. Why can’t he just be happy that he gets something?”

In children, such behavior is age-appropriate. Problem is, a lot of adults seem to be that way too.

I am blessed or cursed with the tendency to speak my mind. When something sucks, I’m usually pretty vocal about pointing it out, a la “umm, there are no noodles in this spaghetti.” This tendency seems to earn me, in certain circumstances, the label of negativity. I find this irritating, given I am often pointing out something as obvious as “gravity exists on Earth.” Folks, eating sauce alone won’t kill you. But that doesn’t make it wonderful. It doesn’t make it satisfying. It just sucks.

And in case you were wondering, my nephew got some noodles, in the end.

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You could call it a holiday

Apparently, my employer's timesheet code for a personal holiday is "420." Could this possibly be a coincidence?

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Economic angst

"If the Fed cuts the interest rate again, I'll be glad I have that 21 pounds of hamburger."

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Who needs spam when you have medical pamphlets?

What can I say? We have T&A and a title that sounds like amateur porn. We have a vaguely blow-up-doll-esque mouth opening wide for the "rocket." I don't even have to try here. The only thing missing is a scantily clad pilot with a spandex uniform that's cut just a little too low to be practical.

Folks, this is the reason why you want your copy editors to have their minds in the gutter. People like me walk into places and see pamphlets like this and are forced to take pictures of them and post them on blogs.

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Collective IQ of 80

Hmmm. Let me see. This was in my inbox at work. Do you think I should click on the attachment? Hmmm. I just don't know what to do.

"Dear user,

We have received reports that your email account has been used to send a huge amount of spam messages during this week.
Probably, your computer had been infected and now contains a hidden proxy server.

We recommend you to follow our instruction in order to keep your computer safe.

Sincerely yours,
The egroups.com team.

document.scr"

Who writes these things? And who is dense enough to actually open something written this poorly?

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Post-travel woes

Overheard:
"I've got to go to the grocery store. I'm out of Alaska Airlines pretzels."

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Facebook wisdom

Borrowing from a friend here, because I have to acknowledge a kindred spirit who comes up with an explanation that pegs me so succinctly.

"(Your name here) will overthink things, ruin them and overthink that too."

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Spam o'the day

Because I care, I offer an assortment of the best spam subject lines of the day:

Change from dagger to BROADSWORD!
Capitalizing things make them seem more manly.


Why do you fall so weak and slow?
Because falling strong and fast hurts too much?

Yank off her skirt!
Get a high heel in your nether regions! This is why you should never take advice from your spam box.

15 Ways to act Longer in bed!
10 ways to act in bed longer
Note that they only promise you will act longer. Or that you will act in bed. Buyer beware. What if you're a bad actor? Perhaps they are offering acting lessons?

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How to get ahead

I've decided I need to work on being more clueless and ignorant so someone will let me be in charge of something.

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We'd better come up with some edgy punctuation

Me: Why would they hyphenate "spice up?"
Friend: Because they wanted to put quotes around it but it didn't feel right.

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Monday morning mantra

rocking back and forth
"Homocide's against the law. Homocide's against the law."

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Hirsute creature spotted in bulkhead row

This image was captured by a passenger on an American Airlines flight flying from the East Coast. Scientists are unable to identify the creature, but eyewitnesses describe it as unusually pale in complexion with what appears to be makeup applied with a trowel. Its hair was estimated at roughly four times the width of its head, and extended in equal directions up and back from the cranium. Eyewitnesses guess that perhaps the creature hailed somewhere from the West Coast, perhaps the Los Angeles area. One passenger claimed to have seen three small children emerge from its hair and proceed to the rear of the airplane. The same passenger also surmised that the creature likely had an assortment of luncheon items hidden in the coiffure. Neither claim can be evaluated for veracity.

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Somebody find me a Payless

So, I'm in an unnamed East Coast city, staying in a part of the city that one brochure referred to as "The Rodeo Drive of the East." Needless to say, it's a bit hard for this chainsaw-hefting, pickup-driving Alaska diva to blend in. And I have to say, the whole shopping this is more than a little disturbing.

Pretentious doesn't even begin to touch the two nearby malls. Most of the stores are what I would call understocked. That means they are very brightly lit, staffed by snooty-looking women and adorned with wall-sized images of emaciated women sucking in their cheeks so they look even more skeletal than they are. And that's about it. If you look really, really close, you'll spot the merchandise hidden among the mirrored shelves and techno mannequins. By merchandise, I mean 12 purses, four pairs of shoes and 10 shirts. Oh, and did I mention that the price tag on those four pairs of shoes would feed a family in Guatemala for three years, at least?

I want to shop. I am a diva, after all. But, damn, this place is like some sort of museum of modern pretention. I need to get on a subway, stat.

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He was a little too ostentatious to be a spy

This just in from one of my workshops today:

The Central Intelligence Agency, fondly known as the CIA, apparently has a person who serves a very vital role to the safety and security of our American way of life. Folks, I feel so much better knowing that the CIA's entertainment liaison is on the job.

Yep. You read that correctly. The spooks are advising the kooks. Woo Hoo!

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Ummm, is this wise?

I'm sitting in the Seattle airport putting the finishing touches on my homework and getting ready to send it to my professor. The thing is, half the assignment involves an article on suicide bombers. And it does give me a bit of pause that I am Googling "suicide bombers" in an airport. Wonder if the TSA is going to come get me. Hope not.

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Waiting for the other shoe...

In both my personal and professional life, as of late, I have come across situations where I begin to glimpse at least a temporary light at the end of the tunnel. When I first realize it is there, I am, of course, happy and excited at the prospect of something positive in the near future. Shortly thereafter, the nerves set in, and I find myself more-than-slightly stressed at yet another prospect: that somehow, something will come along and muck up the entire thing, that all of the sudden, that light will disappear.

I have heard others voice similar concerns. But some folks just seem to be able to look optimistically into the future and not become distracted by the "what-ifs." And at times, I really wish I were more like them. Instead, I am afflicted with a terrible case of cynicism and an outlook that is akin to "I'll believe it when I see it."

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I'm a schoolgirl again

Braid my hair and find me some knee socks and a plaid skirt, 'cause I'm officially a student. I have a textbook. I have a notebook. I have homework. I proclaimed all of these things to my kids when I got home yesterday, and they just rolled their eyes. Killjoys!

I'll have to be careful that I don't get carried away with this whole thing, though. I'm learning how to properly do social science research. Aside from the frameworks of the thing, scientific method and such, it appears the basic premise involves spending a great deal of time peering at people and things. And that, folks, is always big fun, especially for a people-watcher like me. As a journalist, I got paid to be nosy and then write about it. Near as I can tell, this whole research gig is about the same thing:

Man on bus: Lady, why the heck are you staring at me and scribbling in that notebook?
Me: (all official sounding) Do not worry, sir. It's for science.

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Germophobe's nightmare

So, if bacteria, by their nature, multiply very quickly, and antibacterial cleaners kill 99.99 percent of bacteria, I have to wonder: What's the point? That .01 percent of bacteria will just multiply again and we'll all be back to our creepy-crawly baseline in no time. C'mon folks, find me a disinfectant, aside from napalm and a match, that'll kill 100 percent and then maybe I'll be impressed. Touting 99.99 percent is just pointless.

I'm just sayin'.

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WOW! THIS IS EXCITING!

I know the message in my e-mail inbox is exciting because the person tells me, in the very first sentence that it is exciting. I also know it is exciting because the entire rest of the message is in
LARGE, BOLD, ALL CAPS.
That or this person is really, really irritated with me. Hmm ...

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Close eyes, plug nose, jump

I am either highly motivated or completely out of my mind. Seems I have talked myself into signing up for the first class in a master's program. Let's see:

High-stress job that pays the bills and little else?
Check

Three kids at home?
Check

Deadbeat ex who hasn't worked in years and who thinks child support is something you do to keep them from falling over?
Check

Voluteer board work that can sometimes be a giant sucking sound?
Check

Neglected friendships?
Check

Well, hell, I suppose I ought to add a little coursework to the mix.

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New heights of high maintenance

Man: I'm heading home from work now after a long, long day.
Woman: I didn't feel like driving today. Come pick me up and run me on my errands.
Man: Yes, dear.

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If you've gotta end it ...

I have two very dear friends who have been in a serious relationship for several years now. They recently decided, mutually, to end the romantic side of their relationship. Apparently, they are both fine with it, which is really my chief concern. However, I have to say that their manner of calling it ranks up there in the top 10 best of all time and proves, once and for all, that they are two of the most awesome people on Earth.

Some people break up over the phone.
Some people break up in a fancy restaurant.
And some, well, they go to New Zealand and break up in the shadow of Mount Doom. "...only there can it be unmade."

Perhaps I should have said that they are the most awesome people in Middle Earth.

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Rugged Alaska woman-in-training

After inches and inches of snow last week, my skiing partner and I had only one thought on our minds: Time for the first crack at the longer trails. 'Course, things are a bit different this year, namely that said partner now has a tiny baby. The solution? Strap her in the backpack, clip the boots in the bindings and shove off. Nearly four miles and only a single butt plant later, the little one had survived some cold toes and was well entrenched in learning what it takes to be a true Alaska girl. And Mom? She officially earned the right to call herself "The Machine."

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Darwinian destiny

The story: A woman looks outside the house on a snowy morning as she prepares to step into her SUV and go to work. It snowed six inches the night before. What does she do? Does she put it in four-wheel-drive and punch it? Does she grab a snow shovel? Does she call a plow company? Nope. She cries. And cries and cries and calls her spouse in the middle of his work day, sobbing, to come save her.

Astute observation: In nature, there is something called survival of the fittest. It's a good thing some of us are human beings and not gazelles.

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Preschool politico

A friend's 3-year-old son was listening to candidate Clinton speak on the radio after losing in Iowa. At the moment she started to sniffle, he burst into song:

"I want you to want me.
I need you to need me.
I'd love you to love me.
I beg you to beg me.
Didn't I, didn't I, didn't I ... see you cryin'?"

Kid has a future in campaign management. I think that's much more apropos than any other campaign theme song I have ever heard.

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My confession

Yes, folks, it's true. Up until just about a week ago, I was still *sob* on dial-up. I am working through the steps to reform and concentrating on those green, blinking lights on my new cable modem.

What? You were looking for something more sordid?

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Thanksgiving weekend

A weekend out of town does wonders for mental health.

Food helps. I take full credit for the mound of mashed potatoes in the middle of the table. Must have been something akin to driving fatigue, except with potatoes. I just kept peeling and peeling and before I knew it the entire stock pot was full. Oops.


The next day, all the girls ventured forth on four-wheelers.



We ended our journey at the Nenana River, where we stopped for a snack and a feeble attempt at fishing. We held onto said snacks for dear life, as the wind tends to blow a bit in our corner of the globe. By "a bit," I mean "screaming down the valley so fast that we were in danger of becoming human tumbleweeds."


Fun anyway though, red noses and all.




















Stay tuned. A fascinating discussion on the merits of face-first arctic fish calling is soon to come.

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Could it be ... Satan?

Bumper sticker:
"If money is the root of all evil, why do churches beg for it?"

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Fairly sparkly

Halloween for me this year was a veritable orgy of organza and sparkles.












Did I mention the sparkles? Did I mention that, for the first time since I was five, it was OK to color all over my arms, chest and face with a crayon.


My partner in crime went more for the riding crop look.

















The result: sort of a good fairy/bad fairy effect. We terrorized the town for several hours before retiring our wings for another year.



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Saucy science

A note to any of you who may be contemplating adding a bit of fish to your homemade alfredo sauce (because we all contemplate such things periodically, no?): Proceed with caution. Repeat after me: Add cheese first, then add the fish.

Apparently, parmesan cheese has a stronger chemical or physical attraction to salmon than it does to noodles. I put the fish in with the milk and butter and then added the noodles. The result: glob-o-cheesy-salmon and watery, milk-flavored "sauce" that necessitated a bit of corn starch to make it palatable. A smooth, creamy alfredo sauce was noticeably absent.

My culinary heartbreak aside, I do wonder: Is it physics or chemistry that makes the cheese cling to the salmon like a groupie to a glam rocker? And more importantly, do you think I could find some way to turn that into a master's thesis?

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Insta-suck

Overheard:
"When are they going to get instant lipo? I'm uncomfortable."

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Of purple spruce trees

I had the strangest experience today at a meeting. Several people were telling me something that simply isn't and then looking at me like I was highly offensive and slightly crazy for pointing that out. And then they asked me to justify what I would do to make the thing that isn't right with the world. It was like some alternate universe or something:

Setting - In the woods, next to a towering spruce tree
Cast - Me, Person 1, Person 2

Me: Wow. That's an amazing tree.
Person 1: Yes, that purple spruce tree is just gorgeous.
Person 2: (with emphasis) I am just blown away by the beautiful purple color of that spruce tree.
Me: (laughing at their joke) Yeah! That spruce tree's just the perfect grape color. (winks and elbows Person 2.)
Person 2: (glaring) What's so funny? I really do think it's a pretty purple spruce tree.
Person 1: Yeah, why are you laughing? It really is a lovely shade of purple.
Me: (brows furrowed in a puzzled way) Umm. Yeah, but the tree is green. It's a spruce tree. They are green.
Person 1: No, it is NOT green. It's purple.
Me: But ... But ... (points to tree) It's green. Can't you see it? It's a perfectly lovely, perfectly green, spruce tree.
Person 2: (shakes head) Why do you have to be so negative?
Person 1: (shakes head and walks away with Person 2) Yeah. You just don't know anything about spruce trees. Why do you always have to argue about these things. We know that spruce trees are purple.
Me: (softly and looking at the tree with a baffled expression) I don't understand. The tree is green.

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What is this stuff you speak of?

Overheard: "I love my husband, but he can't be in charge of ... like ... stuff."

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Overheard

Woman 1: So it's just after the orgasm that everything goes to shit?
Woman 2: That pretty much sums up my first marriage.

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Is that a carrot in your pocket?

There really isn't much I can add to this one:



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That’s a helluva spider

I’m really starting to wonder if somebody upstairs is messing with my head, if perhaps he or she who rules the universe is perhaps engaging in one of those games where you try to connect a bunch of dots by only passing over each dot once. The result is a web where every dot is connected, but yet not.

Bear with me for a moment.

Now I live in a small town in a small state, so feeling like I know everyone and everyone knows me is a common thing. But lately, the connections have been sprouting up at an almost alarming rate and in the strangest of circumstances. If people are the dots on the page, it’s almost like each time I touch one of the dots, four or five new lines sprout out and connect to other dots.

At any rate, if I have any more strange coincidences, conversations with friends and acquaintances that begin, “Oh, I know so-and-so, we used to work together” or “Oh yeah, she’s the sister of my best friend’s mother” I think I may just come unhinged. This has happened, in one way or the other, on multiple occasions just in the last week. And each time it seems to be in a very odd context. It hasn’t been a pleasant, “Oh yay, another friend sort of thing” but rather an uncomfortable sort of context, a context that makes me uneasy and worry that the next connection could be one that makes my life very difficult.

Damn tangled web. Somebody needs to step on this spider

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Why do volcanos erupt?

The Spoof, an online news satire site, has the following story that offers the real reason for Alaska's geologic unrest:

Volcano's pavlovian reaction to Corrupt Bastards Club furor
Anchorage, Alaska - (Armageddon Press): One of Alaska's most active volcanos appears to be having what scientists have described as an 'anthropomorphic pavlovian reaction' to the furor surrounding the Corrupt Bastards Club and is begining to blow its lid this weekend. Read the rest of the "story" here.

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No explanation required

Another police report item. Adding comment to this would just be like saying "there is air," but it reflects something pretty ugly.

Fairbanks police were called to the Rabinowitz Courthouse on Thursday on a report of a Middle Eastern looking man taking pictures of the building. The person was contacted by an officer and produced a Bulgarian passport. The man works at a local hotel and is in Fairbanks on a working vacation, he told the officer.

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You put your weed in there

Here's a below-the-belt twist on the classic SNL skit with Rob Schneider, courtesy of our local police report:

A woman was arrested on suspicion of second-degree robbery early Saturday after she beat another woman at a party and stole her bottle of Vicodin. The 38-year-old suspect hid the pill bottle in an intimate place and jail guards had to retrieve it via a strip search.

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I crack me up

I tend to mix metaphors. I'll start talking about the sands of time blowing over
stormy seas and all we'll have is mud.

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Too careful?

In my years as a journalist and an avid watcher of current events, I have witnesses the beauty of the human spirit. I have also seen us at our worst. I have spoken to killers and have listened to child molesters. I have seen people lie and cheat and exploit their friends and family members in order to get what they want. I have watched families go through unbearable pain and heard many of them utter the words, “if only.” If only we would have been more careful. If only we would have checked things out more completely. To say that journalism can leave one skeptical would be an understatement.

However, someone held a mirror to me this afternoon and it made me a little sad because that skepticism is also part of my personal life now. I never want to be that person saying, “if only,” and I do what I can to avoid that scenario. I check out new people that come into my life, especially if I know they will have contact with my children or if they will be someone I may spend a great deal of time with. It’s nothing intrusive, just a quick courthouse records check and a run through a couple of search engines and databases. Still, I suspect that most of the world doesn’t do it. Despite the fact that our sense of privacy is a bit of a fallacy, in my opinion, people don’t like the idea of big brother or their friends checking up on them. It comes across as a little creepy.

Today, I told someone I checked them out, and it bothered this person, hurt them a little, I suspect. And this is someone who I absolutely do not want to hurt. This person wondered why I would trust so little, why I would be unable to take what they say at face value and evaluate their character on my own, without the aid of my search engines. And I didn’t have a good answer for that, other than I have seen the worst and want to be careful. It sounds pragmatic on paper, and it is. But interpersonal relationships are often not built on the practical. They are not business deals. And when you’re speaking to someone, and they say, with a tinge of anger or sadness in their voice, “Have I not been honest with you? Why don’t you trust what I tell you?” it’s difficult to say anything but, “I apologize.”

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Moral relativism

I'm feeling a little overcome with said relativism these days for a couple of reasons, but one in particular, and it scares me a little. I won't go into details, but it suffices to say that the situation is causing me some degree of pause. Throughout my life, I've always been sure of what is right and what is wrong. And my insticts always matched that morality, for the most part. Furthermore, I can recall moments in my life where I ignored those insticts and listened more to my brain and my logic, and that got me into trouble. My marriage was a prime example of that. From the very beginning, my instincts, in concert with my moral compass, were screaming, "Leave that one alone. Do not commit yourself to that." However, my brain and my logic, together with some external pressures, told me that it was what I was supposed to do, what I was expected to do. So I ignored the gut and went with logic. It cost me nine years of my life and did a great deal of damage to my psyche and those of my children.

Now I find myself in an incredibly odd situation. My instincts are telling me to do one thing, screaming at me that I need to go down this particular path. My brain and logic are saying "Bad idea." Seems an easy choice, yes? Go with your instincts, they are there for a reason. Except in this case, my instincts do not match at all with what I would consider the morally correct thing to do. This is perhaps the first time in my life that this has happened. So, what is the correct path? Does one ignore instincts at their own peril to follow the course that morality says is the correct one? Or does one follow those instincts at the risk of somehow compromising those morals?

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Beware Flipper

This beyond-awesome headline from the Richmond Times-Dispatch:

Cute-looking dolphins can be pretty mean
Read the full story here. Quote in the third graf is pretty awesome too,

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Duck the sentimental landslide

Make a note of this, folks: Two weddings in as many weeks can cause unexplainable bouts of sighing to the accompaniment of country music, as well as periodic daydreams of cowboys/knights or other strong male figures on white horses galloping across windy prairies.

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HR by me

Most employers offer sick leave. What about "sick of it" leave? I think we need special leave for those days when life, either work or personal, is too utterly irritating or miserable to allow any productivity.

If we were being honest, we'd say, "You know, I could sit here and do my best to get something done, but the reality is that my mind is really stewing about that stupid thing my husband did and the enormous altercation that will ensue at the first moment I see him, so any work I do will be, at best, substandard."

I can just see it in every employee handbook:

Sick-of-it leave: Every employee receives three sick-of-it leave days each year, to be used when an employee's mind cannot be focused on work due to the irritating actions of a family member, friend or significant other; a home improvement project that is impossibly out-of-control; or any other life event that is utterly FUBAR.

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Who’s oppressing who

In the midst of a discussion about politics a few weeks ago, one of the participants, who is a self-proclaimed conservative, says something to the effect of, “ The Democratic ideologies are the reason that lower-income people continue to remain under the thumb of the aristocracy.”

This person was referring, of course, to the effect that social welfare programs, such as food stamps or housing assistance, has on the masses. I won’t argue that giving people everything they need to survive, and asking for no work in return, is a good thing. I agree that such things can tend to breed lack of motivation. Why work when you can do nothing and still survive? I would also point out that the causes of poverty in the United States are rooted in many things, some historical, some personal, some political. The cycle is far too complicated to explain or solve with a simple, “If we made them work, they would be more prosperous.”

It’s difficult to ignore the fact that the rich are getting richer and the poor are getting poorer. Most of us who live in the middle are not getting any closer to that dream of prosperity. Do a Google search to find out how the growth of CEO’s salaries compares to the growth of the average workers’. In some ways, I would say that the “American dream” of gaining riches through hard work is at best the exception rather than the rule. Lots of people work hard throughout their entire lives. They aren’t getting rich doing it.

The reason low-income people, at least those who work, remain poor, is because they are not paid a living wage by the leaders of these large companies, leaders who make more in a single year than 97 percent of us will make in a lifetime. Now they will say that the reason they must pay people so poorly is that consumers, including middle-class consumers, demand low prices for their goods. Fair enough. Except, I wonder, if theses CEOs and boards of directors allowed even half of their top salaries to trickle down to the middle-income-earning employees, would those employees still demand such low prices?

Capitalism and the free market are wonderful things. At the most basic level, they have the ability to let one person, one business owner, create prosperity for multiple others. This is why things like microloans make such a big difference in developing countries. That one startup business provides jobs, which provide money to spend at other businesses, which in turn can hire more employees. It’s an amazing and powerful thing.

However, like anything, it can be taken to extremes. I think perhaps that is what has happened in the United States. In many cases, the leaders of today’s largest employers are so far removed from the business, and its employees, that the wages they are paying people are little more than a ledger note. In a relatively small business, the owner can see, first hand, the effects of his or her decisions. Not giving people raises this year? You’ll hear in the hallways how employees won’t be able to buy as many school clothes or Christmas presents. It makes it hard to take a $2 million bonus at the end of the year, as payment for upping the profit margin, when you have to look in the eyes of those who gave up braces for their kids to get you there.

Why are lower-income people stuck where they are? Many reasons. But we cannot depend on the consciences of CEOs and boards of directors to somehow see the light and start paying people a living wage. It’s not that any of them are bad or uncaring people. It’s just that they are so far removed from those who are affected by their decisions. The eyes they look into every day are those of their most influential shareholders, not those of the night stocker making $8 an hour. They cannot be wholly blamed for ignoring something they cannot see. However, in such cases, it becomes the responsibility of a government of the people to take steps to show them what they cannot see. A living minimum wage is a good first step. A limit on compensation for the CEOs of publicly traded companies might be another. The wealth is not trickling down. Our market needs some assistance in order to work as it was intended.

I would contend that eliminating all social programs will not eliminate poverty. We have a better chance of doing so if we find a way to make a day’s work worth something more than simply being able to barely make it from paycheck to paycheck. If we want people to work hard for prosperity, we have to make that American dream something more than a symbol of some bygone reality. It has to be more than two words that our mouths say with idealistic fervor while our minds struggle to apply it to the world at hand.

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Yeah! Um ... yeah.

Overheard:
"If you can't talk smack in checkers, what can you do?"

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Rugged Alaska woman in training

Me: Dang it, my front signal light housing on the truck is broken. I'll have to order a new part,
My 7-year-old daughter (with authority): No Mom! Duct tape!

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A wonderful word

cockalorum n. - 1 a little man with an exaggerated idea of his own importance 2 boastful talk; crowing

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All wholesome & stuff

I'm in an unnamed midwest city, a very large one, as evidenced in the very thick yellow pages. But here's the thing: I don't think this town has a single alternative business of any type. I looked. My fingers walked all over those robust yellow pages. I looked under "adult." Nothing. I looked under "pornography." Nothing. I looked under "bookstores, adult" and not only did I find nothing, the ratio of Christian bookstores to regular bookstores was, frankly, a little scary. Strip clubs. Nothing under than entry. Also nothing under "marital aids" or "gay"--or any iteration of the word. I know there must be places where people buy their porn and things that go buzz in the night. And c'mon, everybody likes a good drag show now and again. But I'll be damned if I know what the code words are to find these places in the yellow pages.

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Goodbye cape

From a bumper sticker:
"I used to have superhuman powers, but my therapist took them away."

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Exposed nerves

At times, the words and actions of those in the world around me resemble a sandblaster, capable of stripping even the thickest of skins.

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Finger pointing in stereo

From a bumper sticker:

"Errors have been made. Others will be blamed."

This is beautiful both for its literal meaning, chiefly that the buzzing bureaucrats of the world love nothing more than to parcel out blame to someone else, and for its use of passive voice, a favorite tool of those who wish to never take responsibility for any action, ever. Think "a decision was made ..." Who made that decision?

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Everyone needs a little Spanking!

This on the tag of a black neoprene zippered case from Japan, one about the size of a makeup bag:

"Spanking!
Size-Case
Nomadic Inc.
You can find "it" up
completely at any time,
at any purpose
in your lifestyle.
That's something like."

Something. Yes. It is something.

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A religious experience

Um. Yeah. Maybe not.

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Sob

It's a tragic day in the land of Onion, folks. A living legend of "representin' at the company picnic" fame, Herbert Kornfeld, has passed, a victim of senseless copier-related violence. Who will keep those beeyatchs in accounts payable at bay now? Who, I ask you?

Find the police report here.

In honor of his bad-ass self, I offer one of his signature works, the ever-inspiring piece "I Gots To Represent At Tha Muthafuckin' Company Picnic"

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A touch of diva

Perhaps it's the sunshine outside and the budding leaves, but I've been stricken with the desire to be a girl as of late. I usually fall more along the lines of yard work, fishing and Home Depot in my leisure time. Except, in the last 72 hours, this rugged Alaska woman has painted her fingernails and toenails, bought some fabulous, strappy, high-heeled sandals and a spring dress, worn pantyhose, drank purple pomegranate martinis at an afternoon ladies' party, attended a women's fundraiser, purchased and wore two gold toe rings, given three "housewife's tarot" readings, crossed my arms in a petulant fashion, and loudly vocalized my displeasure when I felt a man wasn't properly indulging my wants and whims.

Perhaps rugged Alaska diva is more accurate.

'Course it could be that I am just drowning my angst in sparkly things and flowing fabrics.

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A question of etiquette

Is there a polite way to tell another adult, someone who is ostensibly a professional person, that they should stop capitalizing every word in a sentence? I mean, is it just me, or does the following sound snarky?

"Dear colleague,
I was reading through your item and noted a couple of typos. Just a reminder that we only capitalize the first word of every sentence.
Sincerely,
Your co-worker"

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Look in the mirror

My oldest friend asked me to take an online quiz yesterday. It involved word association and a rather complicated exercise in hand-eye coordination. The result, in my case, was that I apparently slightly prefer European Americans to African Americans. Though I have some doubt as to the validity of the methodology, I suppose it makes some sense, given that I am white. My friend, who is African American, also took it and said the results showed a slight preference for African Americans.

My 13-year-old son offered a simple explanation: He said that it is natural for human beings to have an affinity for other humans that look similar to themselves. And his point is well taken, I suppose. A while ago, I read about a study that showed that men and women, when asked to pick the most attractive person of the opposite gender from a collection of photos, overwhelmingly chose a photo of themselves, morphed to be the opposite gender.

Yet, there must be more. My two oldest children, ages 13 and 10, also took the same quiz. They both showed no preference toward either race. My children are white. Using the aforementioned logic, they should have both scored as I did. But they didn’t.

That fact both gives me some hope and some pause about my own prejudices, even if they are not part of my conscious thought. My upbringing was not one surrounded by diversity. Until I was a sophomore in high school and moved to a larger community, I could count my African American classmates on one finger. And even in this larger community, the racial lines were bright. It wasn’t that relations felt acrimonious, at least they didn’t feel that way from my perspective; it was just that the white people didn’t mix with the black people. It was self-segregated or, perhaps more accurately, socially segregated. And I remember acutely the degree of whispering that accompanied anyone who stepped over the bright line: the girl who dated a black boy and vice-versa, the white kid who liked to hang out in that section of the hallway.

I told this story to my son, and he just shook his head. “That’s just messed up, Mom,” he said. Yet despite this and despite that I know he has friends of all ethnic and racial backgrounds, I also have heard him talk of what sounds to me like racial tension in his school. He isn’t sure what to make of it. I think it puzzles him greatly. I can’t help but worry that his neutral stance now, and that of his sister, is more a factor of the blank slate of childhood. Will the world ruin them?

I suppose that the best place to start is to recognize our own biases and to acknowledge that most of us have them, even if they are unconscious. It’s not a comfortable place to be, I suspect because, at some level, we all must know how factually absurd racial bias really is. War, injustice, oppression: all over something that boils down to pigment.

No saving the world tonight. Just the vague sense of unease brought on by the harsh light of a mirror to the subconscious.

It’s worth your time to give it a try. The link is here.

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Stressed?

Some people are strung tighter than a piano wire.

I am more inclined to remove the piano wire and use it for various nefarious deeds.

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How many people does it take?

An employee of a government entity discovers that the print shop has discontinued the paper that is used for the single-sheet, photocopied employee newsletter. Now this newsletter comes out with relative frequency, so the time to choose a new color is at hand. So, what is the logical next step? Why, of course it’s to send a memo around to nine different colleagues, with three paper samples neatly attached, so people in two departments can weigh in on this very important issue of the newsletter color. This is especially important because, after all, this newsletter is a source of information for all of the employees in the organization. We wouldn’t want it to be a color that people find overly garish or offensive.

It is, for this reason, that having the thoughtful comment from nine people is vital. Their wise counsel will ensure that the paper choice adequately meets the communication needs of the organization. It is important to choose the correct one.

Oh wait. Did I forget to mention the choices?

Ivory, tan or buff.

And they wonder why bureaucracies are so slow.

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Surviving adolescence

I must confess that I’m starting to wonder whether my 13-year-old son will be allowed to survive to see his 14th birthday, let alone make it to adulthood.

In all seriousness, it’s interesting to watch this adolescent-awakenings phase from the adult perspective. The thing I remember most about my middle school years is that everything, and I do mean everything, seemed incredibly intense and larger-than-life. Every crush, every argument with a friend or my parents, every decision, seemed to be the end-all of everything.

Now, as I watch my son, I see that same intensity manifest itself in some of the most annoying behavior I have ever witnessed. It seems like he’s never middle-of-the-road. When he’s happy, he’s happy to the nth degree, making this “YEEAING!” noise and throwing his body around like a two-year-old who drank the sugar bowl. When he’s mad, he’s prone to tossing things around in his room with angry abandon. And don’t even get me started on the degree to which he tries to push every boundary I can think of, and many that I haven’t.

All I can say is, “It’s a wonder my parents didn’t off me as soon as I hit 13.”

I suppose the only thing that saves him is that, at times, I can see a glimpse of the man who lives beneath this big, strange, swirling mass of hormones. And that man is kind and compassionate, intelligent and responsible.

Perhaps I’ll let him live, after all.

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Block ‘o chop

Note to self: Putting a three-pound block of pork chops into the oven at 7 p.m. is likely not the most effective way to create an evening meal and may result in scrounging around the fridge for leftovers at 9 p.m. because, after all, the kids have to eat.

I’m just sayin’.

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No weed required

Time: 11:30 p.m.
Scene: Two women up talking all night.
Woman 1 to Woman 2: "I want to put some of that government cheese on these chips."

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Truth at 8:30 a.m.

Overheard from a male colleague:

"If I don't care so much, it doesn't hurt so bad."

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