Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Busted Wires

I'm wired. Not from coffee, but there are wires everywhere in my life. Most everything I own requires a wire of some sort, and here I was, thinking I had simplified my life by going north. Not so much. My computer needs one, as does my camera's battery charger, and my external harddrives where I store my photographs. There are also wires running between all the aforementionned devices, and sometimes I think one goes into my head, just to mess things up. This makes things complicated when you don't have anywhere to plug said wires in, considering there's no electricity where we are. I used to think that was my biggest problem, concerning the wires. Until one day, xmas eve, the wire that decides what I look at on my computer screen decided to take a break and break. Now I have flimmering strings of LCD swimming across a screen that used to be my neatly organized desktop, and for the first time in a month I wish I was in proximity of an Apple Store with an overcrowded Genius Bar, and someone with an answer to my sick Mac.

Wilderness Reflections


Alaska offers a variety of wild animals, hence people call the bush they live in The Wilderness. I have been recently informed that I don't exactly live in the wilderness, since we have a kind of road that leads to our camp, but since it gets so cold the car won't start, the propane liquifies and the generator quits, I'd say it's still pretty wild. Sometimes when I visit our outhouse I feel as if something is watching me. Our outhouse is all of a shack with a hole in it, facing the woods, so the likelihood is there. Take into the fact that our friendly neighborhood trapper told us he saw wolf prints outside our gate (our driveway is a mile long, so it's still a bit down the road), it's enough to make your heart beat a little faster when the need to pee presents itself at five a.m. So there I was, at the outhouse, during the wee hours of the dark night, when my headlamp caught two eyes staring back at me somewhere beyond the spruce trees. Luckily for me I was already on the toilet, because you can imagine what I did next. Apparently wolves are more afraid of humans than we are them, but in my case I beg to differ. I was sure I was staring into the eyes of a serious throat-bite. But as it turns out, it was only Fred, the pet dog of our neighbor, taking his nightly stroll...

Minus Farenheit/Celcius, Whatever


What fun winter can be, huh? -40C/F. You know that's where they meet. Those two letters that essentially is trying to tell the same thing, but in impossibly different numbers, requiring a formula that no one in their right mind should have to remember. It's kind of like trying to remember all the numbers of Pi. In California I learned to tell the difference by that 100F was really hot, much more so than we'd ever get in Celsius Norway. In New York I learned that 90F plus 60% humidity was outright obnoxious, and those were the kind of days where you'd stay inside in front of your air conditioner. In Alaska the two have finally met. Celsius and Fahrenheit have become friends as far as I'm concerned, because here, the other day, the two joined forces on a big, red 40. It's the point where everything becomes very difficult; the propane liquifies, the generator quits, the car died about 20 degrees ago, and even the dogs take a day off. It was the kind of day when things get done, around the house, kennel and strangely enough it was a beautiful day to spend outside.

Saturday, December 15, 2007

Another Blog on Bush Girls

We made a blog for the blog on the blog of the blog that is the blog. Or something along those lines. Regardless, we decided out here, in the wilderness, that emails are quite hard to respond to, and so we have created this communal blog for the both of us where you can hopefully read and see what we do. But, be warned, it's in Norwegian. It's not meant to be rude, it just was simpler that way. And out here simple is key. So here it is, us, in the wilderness: Hen E Det Sjø!

Showernet


I met a guy at the washeteria in the village who designs websites for a living. He was sitting there, in the shower, designing a website for a local pet supply store. Michael, the web designer, has no electricity at his house, nor does he have internet. So, being that the washeteria is the only place in town with these accomodations, he makes his living from a shower in Manley, Alaska. Which is funny, because that is precisely the reason we go to the washeteria. For electricity. And the world wide web.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

Bush Knowledge


We need a radio. In fact, the whole title of this blog is about the radio which we don’t have. Apparently it costs a bunch, and you have to reinforce its antennas with foil, but on the next trip to town we will acquire a Bush Radio, if only to listen to other people’s chatter. I have been here five days now, and I can honestly say I’ve already learned a bunch. First of all, don’t stick your hand into a dog fight. No matter how many times you’ve done it before, just don’t. That one time you actually do happen to get bit, it kinda hurts, and you have to learn new, big words to describe what it is. Besides, it seriously inhibits your ability to carry buckets of water and other essentials. But if you do happen to get bit, you’ll want to look up Carol, the nurse, who does an amazing job with foolish hands going places they shouldn’t be. Secondly I’ve learned that running ten dogs on a four-wheeler is a lot harder than five on a sled. Especially when there’s snow involved, and the four-wheeler hardly has any breaks. It’s slippery. And fun.

In other news I made some awesome soup, which I am really proud of. It was made on a iron stove, powered by birch, and the meat got thawed next to some wet socks. Yum!

Saturday, December 8, 2007

Laceration and Abbration

I am writing this with one hand. Because today I've learned two new words. Laceration and abbration. I have also gotten aquainted with my fat cells, as they came into light on my right hand. Sometimes breaking up a dogfight will render you with a lacerated hole going into an abbrational bruise. Carol, the vilage physician was nice enough to clean, sterilize and tape me back together with various 3M products, which will hopefully stick better than their Post-Its, as the gaping hole heals. My first 24 hours in Alaska already will leave me with a three cm scar that I can tell exciting tales from for a time to come, and I have also decided that typing with my left hand is hard. Today has been an eventful day, a precursor for an exciting next few months. Stay tuned, a picture will follow.

And just for logistical purposes, this photograph is obviously not taken by me. Credit for this one goes to Sigrid Ekran who can operate a Leica. Good job.

Thursday, December 6, 2007

An empty room and no picture

There's an echo in my room, and the mice no longer have anywhere to hide. They dart, acting as if I don't notice, but I do. How could I not. People have called and asked if I'm standing in a cave. I'm not. There's just an echo. Because now it's empty, one stool remains to welcome whoever gets my oasis next. I am leaving in five minutes, and once I step out of this house I will per definition be a vagabond. I am keyless. I was going to write a list over what New York has taught me, which is a lot, and five minutes just won't do for that purpose. Instead you get this. A blurb about mice and empty rooms. And no picture. Stay tuned for Alaska! And maybe a list.

Monday, December 3, 2007

Snow

I really miss snow. Seriously, where is it? I met a man in Alaska who liked snow so much he’s getting his PhD in it. Just snow. I like snow, there are angles to be made, snowballs to be thrown, immaturity to embrace. Apparently it is a thing of the past, because today, outside my mother’s kitchen, there is a green lawn as the radio is playing Christmas songs. Let’s take a moment to miss the good old days, when Christmas was white. At the dawn of 30, I will start using the expression when I was young...

Brand New

The other day I sat on my camera. I’ve sat on many things in my life, once I sat on my napkin ring and flattened it completely. This would have been fine had it not been for it being a family heirloom and previous owners include something like my great-great-grand-goat or of the like. Which upset my folks. Regardless, I sat on my camera and broke the LCD screen, which makes the LCD screen look like it’s been on LSD, creating all kinds of swirly art where my exposures should be shown. It happened in an art gallery, just to make the picture perfect. Now it's practically useless, and this on the eve of one of my adventures, an inconvenience I could be without. However, as I ponder this predicament I’ve put myself in by sitting on my camera I’ve discovered that this camera, a little thing which nestles nicely in my pocket, has gotten a younger brother, which apparently don’t have all the flaws mine has. So, this is the question that only a poor person with no reasoning whatsoever will ask; did I sit on my camera so I could get the new, improved version? I think not, but yet I will.

Tuesday, November 20, 2007

Fog

And I mean fog.

More Wires

I spent a good part of yesterday trying to find wires for my hard drives. As I am presently moving my home base from American sockets to Norwegian, several complications arise. Like what are they called exactly, those long, black cables that go into the socket, which on the other end looks like a figure 8 and goes into whatever power box goes to whichever hard drive. Or charger. Or anything for that matter, no one understood what I was talking about even though it is the most common cable in the world. But who can blame them, my description probably needed a bit of editing. Regardless, I finally found them, and for the price of eight cups of coffee or a small Oslo meal, three cables are now mine, operating my hard drives. And they didn’t even explode.

In other news my first days in Oslo have been seriously foggy. Like you can't see your hand in front of you foggy. I like fog. The little light we get looks oh-so-pretty. Welcome home.

Finally New York

This is what it looks like. Millions of peeps stacked on top of each other, with holes of space and peace in the form of hotel lobbies 34 floors above scurry level. With Big Brother watching. Later, New York!

Thursday, November 15, 2007

Moving

I have no picture for moving. At least not at this very moment. This very moment is 6am and I'm sitting in the Apple Store on Fifth Avenue, it's shaped like a big, glass box, and is open 24/7. One of the things I'll miss about NYC. 24/7. You can do anything at any time, because there are 8 million people here ensuring your comfort in screwing up. Your mess is here at their convenience. Which is me. At this exact moment. Because my computer is acting up, which it has been for the past, well, while, and because things are as they are when you move, you figure it's the best time to make it better just when you have no time to do it. Again with the time, I know... So here I am, Apple Store, Fifth Avenue, 6 am, and feeling very nerdy. And pressured. I leave this town in 12 hours.

Tuesday, November 6, 2007

Where did the time go?

Last weekend I changed the time. All week I had appointments on time, the new time, before suddenly discovering that this weekend was the actual weekend to change the time. Which begs the question how all my appointments happened on time even if it was the wrong time. Apparently, Pres. Bush decided it was time for the U.S. to change the time at a different time than the rest of the world, but what do I know about time, other than that I'm always running out. Despite all the confusion Halloween happened on time, and sometimes even Death needs a hot dog.

Wednesday, October 31, 2007

Another Cable Cut

One of the trials of living in New York is that work never stops. Especially if work generally happens in a time zone six hours away. So when Verizon, our internet company, occasionally, which is actually often, shut off our i-net, it can get tricky to meet deadlines. Last night the rude man on the phone had no answers, so I set off on a search for a signal in the hood. This midnight stroll with apple under arm was conducted in a neighborhood that isn't the best around that time of night. Add to the fact that it's late october and zombies patrol the streets, I became a little concerned with my stoop surfing. Apparently everyone around here are Verizon users, so after an hour I found a signal a mile away. All because someone cut a wire while digging a hole around the corner. Thinking about how many wires are in the ground under my step, it made me grateful we don't have them above us like this township in Cape Town.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

Yawn


Insomnia. It's just one of those things that kicks in now and again. The work of a churning mind, sleep's true poison. As I battle this temporary disease, I look through pictures, trying to get organized, which is the whole reason my mind is spinning anyway. Vicious cycle. I found this one from last month, taken five feet from my front door. I saw it and remembered I liked the signs, which made me want to ramble about signs for a page, but then the lady made me yawn. Which is when I realized that would be a sign not to write about signs, and also when it came to me that yawning is contagious. My insomniac self went on a mission to find out why, and ten minutes plus many search engines later, I found out that nobody can really say. Basically they think we yawn because of self awareness. It's the compassionate thing to do. With that I send this yawn around the world. Did it work?

Tuesday, October 23, 2007

Blissful Crowd


The irony of city life is that sometimes, to get away from the hectic life of the city, the only thing to do is completely immerse oneself in it. Like taking a stroll in the middle of Chinatown, ignoring your usual need to keep an 18-inches-of-freedom bubble around, and just take in the fact that the city is what it will always be: hectic, impersonal and sometimes completely necessary.

Wednesday, October 17, 2007

Spam-a-lot


Among the many pleasures of living in a big city is the constant access to everything technological. You can keep up to date on everything you want instantly if you have one of those fancy gizmos which works as a phone, email and internet compacted to a thing the size of a credit card. It's amazing how well connected people get, and instant knowledge makes sure party conversations never dry up. RSS feeds and emails will plop into your gizmo making you a walking 24 hour news channel, all thanks to the inventions of busy America. In a sense these gizmos seem to be invented with such small gaps so as to keep people busy from getting bored. Perhaps needed in a place where people average a seven minute attention span. When I recently considered upgrading from Gizmo 1 to Gizmo 2, a huge pull was the fact that the busy people in the invention plant had made Gizmo 2 foolproof, which is what I needed seeing that I still don't fully understand Gizmo 1. But upon further contemplation, I realized that with this new technology also follows an older, more annoying technology; spam. Which begs the question, do I really need to read about how Barry got a huge cock, and Viagra will save your marriage 24 hours a day? I think not. Welcome back Gizmo 1.

Monday, October 15, 2007

No Standing

I'm feeling rebellious. Somewhere between the airport and the gutter it's time to take a stand.

Tuesday, October 9, 2007

Let's get out of town...

Imagine this scenario... You live in a place with 8 million people. You get claustrophobic. You need a break. Anywhere, anything, as long as it is away from the overcrowded humid streets. You find out one of your friends has an extra ticket to the best concert of the summer, probably the last one outside. The venue is in the city, but on an island, hence it’s like getting away. An escape. It involves travel time, first on a train, then a boat and a finally a walk on grass, before the stage will present itself, in front of about 10 000 bladders sharing green port-a-potties and seven dollar Heineken in plastic cups. The music starts, and you wonder how is it possible to feel so relaxed in a crowd this big, enforcing the love-hate relationship of a city overgrown. The band sings and you realize it is the right decision to break up. Because there's definite love there, just not the right kind. The band sings, and you agree:

New York, I Love You
But you're freaking me out

New York, I Love You
But you're bringing me down

And with that, I decide with a 100 percent certainty, it's time to leave.

Friday, October 5, 2007

October Wishlist and a Blue-eyed Bull

It’s October. Really. October. The month of changing leaves, rain, weather that goes sub zero overnight, sweaters, fresh air, Halloween and a bunch of nice things I’ve forgotten about. So where is it? Because October so far has been sticky, hot and humid. I want my sweaters, my shoes, I want to go outside and not feel as if I’m dressing myself in New York’s polluted air like an unwanted coat. Instead we’re still in short skirts, tank tops and flip flops. October. We’re having conversations about the beach, what beaches are open, the public pool, anything to make the coat go away, if only for a second.

I did, however, meet a blue-eyed-bull-dog, which was cool. October!

Tuesday, September 25, 2007

Freedom of Speech

A man came to visit the land of freedom this week. He was invited to speak at a university where young and able minds were to decipher his aging wisdom. Even as a foreign national this man has the freedom of speech, which he intended to use at this university. Only problem is that in the land of freedom and free speech this man is considered dangerous, hence many free people had a problem with his freedom to speak, so they set the wheels in motion to use their own freedom of speech to let this man know that his speaking and freedom to do so was not appreciated. Also, if he could please abstain from saying anything at all, that would be preferred. He came, he spoke, and he provoked, a stir heard around the world. Later, after his speech, this man also wanted to use his freedom to visit Ground Zero, a place many free people have determined he helped create, but despite diplomatic international law allowing him to travel in a 25 mile radius of Manhattan's navel, the police has decided not to give him the freedom of travel. At least not there.

Monday, September 24, 2007

Traffic NYC style

It's UN week in the city and all the important people of the world have come to play, like worms in an apple. There are 192 member states of the United Nations, and as far as I know Norway alone has about 100 people scurrying the hallways. So if all the 192 member states each have the same amount of people, that means we have an invasion of about 200 000 new people in UN attendees alone. And that’s not counting the people who work for the people who are attending, making sure their schedule is up to par, the Secret Service and the bodyguards traveling with the higher ups, and the media here for the event. To top it off, these people are all staying within a 20 block radius of the UN, which means pretty much all in the same spot as half the radius goes into the East River, and the higher ups all have to travel in motorcades due to the fact that, well, they need to enforce a certain amount of security to make sure these heads of state don’t get into trouble. So the whole mid-section of the city is jammed by motorcades long as a city block packed with guns and protective eyes, each with a police escort to make traffic shy away, although the only other vehicles on the road to cause traffic are other motorcades equally long, also with a police escort to keep traffic away. Due to these chains of cars all traveling within 20 blocks of each other, everyone in a hurry with important meetings to attend, you get something so rare as a motorcade traffic jam.

Thursday, September 20, 2007

Homeward Bound

A’ight. So it’s time to head back to city life. Actually, this is me talking from my kitchen table, in my smelly chinese neighborhood of New York City. Not exactly Alaska, but a wilderness in its own right. So, from now on, there will be some radio from the big Apple while the Last Frontier awaits in limbo.

Thursday, September 13, 2007

Rich to be poor, poor to be rich


I just bumped into a guy who works as a park ranger during the summer. His job consists of floating rivers in a small rubber raft to make sure tourists behave as they’re paddling downstream; not littering, not leaving a visible fire pit, not leaving any trace of human existence at all. If he sees such a trace, he’ll stop, clean it up, and hunt the perps down to slap them with a hefty fine. Apparently it's the park's biggest selling point, true wilderness, some of the last on earth, he says. Because of this everybody who goes up there are entitled to the true Louis and Clark experience, and the illusion of setting foot where no man has stepped before. He, in turn, acts as the park maid.

One of the biggest reasons the park needs maids like him is that people will spend thousands of dollars to be able to go wild and live free. Travel to Alaska, get all the necessities for weeks on a river, get to base camp, fly to be dropped off at the mouth of a river, overweight on equipment, and finally the trip home. Apparently most folks spend about $6000.00 for the experience of essentially living where money has no meaning. Bears will take anything but credit cards. They'll spend thousands and thousands of dollars to find out what it's like to live off the land and be poor. Luxurious living indeed.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Coffee?



A proud fact for many Alaskans is that they drink more coffee per capita than any other state in the union. Wired on caffeine they tramp paths in the bush, on the trail to visit each other for more coffee so they again can put on their boots and go to the next neighbor to repeat the ritual. When you see a house like this, you can’t help but wonder how many pairs of bush busting boots these pots have served.

Friday, September 7, 2007

Eureka!



Eureka. I have found it. Someone told me that’s what it means. Regardless, it’s where we are at the moment. It’s on the map, but doesn’t have a zip code, post office, gas station, general store, cell reception or other amenities. Hardly even neighbors does this place have. The nearest one is Ed-the-miner, he lives three miles as the raven flies, and eight by road. What Eureka does have is a creek which serves us with water, and an airport. An international airport, even, abroad being Canada. It’s not so much an airport as an airstrip, but it’s where planes land and take off from far away places with such luxuries as running water and electricity, so by Alaskan standards, it’s an airport. And it’s actually our closest neighbor. Even closer than Ed.

The nearest town to Eureka is Manley Hot Springs, a small hub of nice folks from I don’t know where. The population there is all of 72 people (2000 Census), and it comes well equipped with it’s very own Norwegian named Espen, a guy who we’ve yet to meet, although we've met his wife, grocer, bartender, neighbor, handyman and seen a drawing his son Kjetil made. Being that there are now a total of three Norwegians living in the vicinity, it's practically as if Norway has invaded the place.

So, as I have little time to be online and I'm being consumed by about 50 mosquitoes, it's all for now, but more to come! Stay tuned, for the bush radio is now really in the bush.

Thursday, August 30, 2007

The Mothership



I’m currently concocting a story about squatters in Fairbanks. People who live year round rent free on public land, much to government Bush’s dismay. But this is Alaska, and as I mentioned before, things take time here, so many of these cabins have seen three or more generations of people move through their doors before they actually get the boot. One such cabin is called the Mothership (they all have names passed down from squatter to squatter), and virtually everybody I've talked to has at one time mentioned this cabin. So I figured it was an important “historic” place to see and include in the story. A squatter I know took me into the wild, past the rail road tracks to visit the Mothership. She didn’t know who lived there, and she asked me not to make pictures right away, not until we'd talked to them. They could be jittery Alaskans with itchy trigger fingers, you never know. The trail was scattered with remnants of people, trash, bottles, the usual junk you find around cabins of nifty people who save scraps for future use. After a 10 minute hike we finally get to a clearing nestled between birch trees, the perfect spot for a cabin, only it wasn’t there. Only a gaping hole with charred wood remained. Unbeknownst to anyone, someone had burnt down the Mothership.

Friday, August 24, 2007

Permed White Hair




I check my email at the hotel right by our shack. It’s only a 15 min bike ride, so it’s the closest around, and I have to say I find great amusement watching all the tourists flowing through the lobby as I steal my way onto their wireless. There’s a comforting consistency in these people, mostly gray haired, with bellies overflowing their pants, held up by both belt and suspenders at the same time, wobbling around looking like acorns on stick legs. They also smell like the entire perfume section at Macy’s, and most of them talk about moose and northern lights with an overly excited enthusiasm so common in americans. I like to play the guessing game as to why they’re here, but judging by their age it seems most of them want to see the 49th state and all its vastness because they've already taken their mobile home everywhere else. Perhaps it is a last minute preparation for when they themselves have moved on to their own Last Frontier.

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Conversions

Jesse the Bushman and Othello

Othello refuses to leave the dogyard, he sees the strange man standing at the other end and knows something is up. It is the day he is to go from being a racing sled dog to becoming a bush dog, one that helps pull a freight sled, which is crucial in a state with no roads. Othello is allergic to something, noone can figrue out what, and that makes him unfit for racing.

The previous owner, Sigrid the Iditarod musher, stands next to the new owner, Jesse the Bushman, and carefully asks all the questions a good caretaker would ask; do you have enough money for food, will he have a house, will you mind his food allergy? Translation: will you love him as much as I do. Jesse the Bushman promises to take good care of this special dog, which means so much to Sigrid the Iditarod musher. It is the third dog she ever got, he came out of a kennel and from a musher she admires. He is a happy dog who doesn’t get into trouble, eats well and never complains. Othello is getting a Shakespeareian end to his racing career, sealed by a tearful farewell.

Fall time in Alaska is like dog musical chairs. They go from being racing dogs to bush dogs, from bush dogs to racing dogs, race dogs to pets and pets to race dogs. It’s a merry-go-swap with all the mushers minding the juggling act by bardering anything and everything, or sometimes just giving them away for free. It seems the trade winds have missed their latitude and hit the arctic.

Saturday, August 18, 2007

The First Aurora


She came to visit on August 15th, a rarity this early. Caused by the interaction of particles from the sun with the upper atmosphere near the North Pole, she dances across the sky and causes everyone to freeze and stare. Many traffic accidents can be attributed to the appearance of AB. On the South Pole she's called Aurora Australis, but that's far away and another blog altogether.

The Romans named their goddess of dawn Aurora, so that's how she got her name. Borealis has something to do with the north wind, slap them together and you have the official name for nothern lights. The eskimos believe that she is the result of torches held by spirits already in heaven guiding new spirits through the holes in the sky. Whatever the case, she's a definite sign that the sun is leaving, the winter is coming, and it's time to get out the wool clothes.

Thursday, August 16, 2007

Things You Hear In A Small Town



Did you hear that Billy’s cousin’s friend’s daughter’s boyfriend’s sister went behind her best friend’s sister’s back and dated her boyfriend on the side? And if that’s not enough she also stole her dog, and borrowed her truck one weekend she was away for work. Can you IMAGINE! The nerve of that girl. And we all thought she was a lesbian, what was she doing having an affair on the side while she so obviously was dating that girl that no one likes with all the tattoos on her arms? Better keep your boyfriend away from her, she’s obviously is a thief of men...oh, hold on here she comes...hiiiiiiiiiiiii, how aaare youuuuuu?

Friday, August 10, 2007

They cut the cable

Earlier today I went to the local university to do my weekly dilly-dallying on the internet, only to find that nothing was connected. No email, no nytimes.com, no norwegian newspapers, nothing. Strange, I thought, this is usually such a high speed connection, it has never let me down. I nervously wonder if they finally caught me surfing for free, I am after all visiting the network without an invitation. I try all the tricks I know, and make up some new ones, but finally bite the dust and go to the information counter. Why is it that the internet has seized to work, I ask, nonchalantly in case they are on to me hacking their system. Oh, they cut the cable in Anchorage, was the swift reply, as if this was a daily occurrence, one which doesn't affect anyone at all, when in fact all internet connections in the state seem to come via the two universities in Anchorage and Fairbanks. They cut the cable in Anchorage, a visual comes to mind of some drunk hobo deciding that he’d finally had it with the way of the world and elected himself leader of the coalition to end NASA’s great invention of the Web, starting in Alaska, subsequently digging up the cable that connects the whole state to the world and cutting it with one great snap. They cut the cable in Anchorage. Ohwell...

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

Visitors



We had the good fortune of four boys visiting from Norway. They’re on somewhat of an adventurous trip to the Brooks Range where they’ll be setting off down the Noatak River all the way to Kotzebue. This is a part of Alaskan recreation. People pay thousands of dollars to have a bush plane set them off in the middle of nowhere equipped with a canoe, guns, some food and a burning desire to join the wilderness for weeks on end, perhaps even becoming a part of it. Then, at the end of said trip, packing up the canoe, and returning to the obligations of civilization, nestled under florrescent lights and cozy computer screens, remembering that time and place when life was dependent on the ability to hunt their food, if only for a few weeks.

Tuesday, August 7, 2007

Falling Water and Another Moose


I never thought I’d admit to this, but my average shower these past three months have been something like twice a week. If that. There’s no running water here, people fetch water in huge water-tanks on the back of their disintegrating pickups, which leaves for a smelly town where stinky applies to all and no one cares. I have to say, not showering makes you appreciate the greeks for coming up with something so wonderful as an in-house waterfall. The lightness of your hair afterward, the smell of shampoo, soap and clean armpits, stains you hoped were bruises turning out to be just dirt, things I had no idea to put on my top-5 list is now my entire top-5. I salute you, shower, as my new salvation from being sullied.
Cleanliness is next to godliness. Or so I like to think.

In other news Bridget The Moose has sent reinforcements to the ongoing war, and now Ophelia has appeared with a calf in tow. I think we've collectively thrown our hands in the air and declared this to be a moose state.

Monday, July 30, 2007

Moose Misery


There is a moose outside my window at 5 am every morning. I named her Bridget. I know she’s there because the dogs start an off-key howling choir that can wake up any dormant bear in the vicinity. Bridget comes around and samples the brush, which apparently is more tasty than any other in the area because she stays, despite howling dogs and our feeble attempts to chase her away by throwing pebbles at her. Bridget stands firm. She weighs about a thousand pounds. Sometimes she’ll look at us and grunt loudly, sometimes she’ll charge towards her, but no times will she leave. We have good grass, what can I say. It’s a problem, though, as nice as you want to be to the locals, especially Bridget, she is, after all, a wild animal. Bridget is a mother, in theory, and with that comes the instinct to protect. In Bridget’s mind the dogs are actually wolves, and we are all there to kill her and her non-existent calf, therefore we deserve to be attacked with all the force her thousand pound body and flailing legs can muster. This makes her a dangerous animal when we run the dogs at 6 am. Which in turn makes her unwanted around our house, which is why we pebble her with gravel. But come September 1st we’ll bring out the big guns, and then Bridget will have to find other grazing grounds.

Wednesday, July 25, 2007

Title Track

To people in the world who care:

I completely forgot I was supposed to tell everyone where I am, and what I’m doing. It seems in my haste to be away I forgot that there are certain obligations to that effect. Apologies for my rudeness.

Here’s the deal. I’m in Alaska. Yes. AlasKa. It’s where they call the states the Lower 48, or just The States, as they themselves don’t really consider themselves a part of it. They’re a red state, not because they’re particularly conservative, but because they don’t want Alaska to change from being what it is to what the Lower 48 has become. It’s just in their best interest to keep liberal hands away, so they can continue with their refusal to join western society. Liberals want change, they see potential. Alaskans want to keep Alaska as close to the Gold Rush as possible, change is not on their agenda.

Alaska is where the Lower 48 go to get away from the Lower 48, where you successfully can hide away in the Bush from taxes, bills and lead a subsistence lifestyle equal to that of 100 years ago. Unless you're getting drunk on hairspray while watching soaps on TV. Phones aren’t used, if you want to see your neighbor for coffee you dial up the local radio station and tell them. They’ll send out the message. “Today’s forecast will be cold with some freezing temperatures down to 50 below, and if anyone’s seen Sidney in the last week, please tell him his presence is requested at Boothill Tom’s Thursday at 4 pm for coffee and caribou stew.” Bush radio.

It’s also where those who didn’t quite fit into the Lower 48 cities make their own here. Talkeetna is a city which is a village of hippies, who moan over the tourists that invade them during the summer, but live off the profits of the visit all winter, giving them ample time to spend hitting their drums and smoke their weed. It’s where people have come who’ve read books like Into the Wild, and any number of Jack London books, people who romanticize living off the land, killing squirrels and cutting trees, fishing and communicating with wolves and bears, all while suffering hypothermia and frostbite. It’s where people come to be different.

Alaska is the only state which has the same concept of time as a third world nation, things will happen sometime in the future, as long as the wood is cut and fish harvested before winter sets in. Things don’t carry much haste around here. In all their spare time they like to set records. For example, they have the most records per capita than any other state in the nation. They drink the most coffee, eat the most ice cream, have the most STDs, most space, worst teeth, most suicides, most plane crashes, most dogs, most mosquito bites, most fuel consumption, worst cars, the list is endless and all true.

So this is where I am, in case anyone was wondering why? I don’t know. But in the meantime I’ll continue to put some meat on this blog with all the wonders of Alaska I encounter while I ponder the reasons I’m here. Stay tuned for more bush radio.