Adventures

All that said about Alaska…

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…there are a few other key caveats to offer you here, dear readers who have come north with me, and whose readership and interest and wishes for our health warm the soul.

Alaskans joke (some are dead serious) that the great benefit of Anchorage is its proximity to Alaska.  In other words, compared to much of the state, this is coddled luxury.

These conditions are not particularly snowy or harsh for an Anchorage December.  As I type, it is 12 F (about -10 C) outside.  It can be better but it can be far worse.  No one here is walking around like a Michelin (wo)man.  No one is refraining from living life.

Winters in Glenallen are far harsher, as are those in Fairbanks–where they are also darker.  We have some five hours of dim daylight now.  Fairbanks has less.  Barrow has two months with no sunrise.

Eight days of this was a vacation.  Six months of it, as normal life, is no vacation.  They get real sick of it by February.  In short, we have had a great time, but all it proves about me is I’m okay with a week of sustained cold and snow.  Anyone who knows me already knew that.  I am not at all sure I could handle a full calendar year here.  It’s not easy in this Alaska–it’s tougher in the rest of it.

I didn’t bring a USB cable (stupidity), but when we get back, I’ll have some images for you.  While they’ll be on Faceplant at some point, I want to caption and share them with you all specifically.  I’m looking forward.

Adventures, Married life

“There are some popsicles out on the grill.”

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Yet another on the List Of Statements Made Mainly In Alaska.  I just made it, and I was not wisecracking.  I brought my wife home the fruit popsicles she enjoys, but there was no room in our hosts’ freezer, so I stuck both boxes in the snow piled atop the grill on the back porch.  They’re still out there.

In a normal place, the response might have been:  “Honey, have you been drinking?”

In Alaska:  “Great, dear, will you please bring me one?”

Adventures

That place used to be a strip joint

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That’s the most common comment from Deb as we drive through the snowy streets of Anchorage.  It makes me wonder if 1970s Anchorage had any establishments that were not strip joints.  Maybe some were just bars, which is why they’re out of business–they failed to offer the necessary entertainment.

To go out and about:  wade through the snow to your car, start it.  Don’t lock the keys in.  Go back inside.  Come back in fifteen minutes, and brush 6″ of snow (that’s about 10 cm for our metric friends) off your car.  Brush it all off, don’t just leave the roof covered in it.  Get the lights, breaking off the ice.  Lift up the wipers and smack them down hard enough to break the ice off.  Back out of your parking with a burst of speed, but do not do this when a road grader is plowing the street.  Get ready for streets narrowed by snow berms on each side.  The sidewalks are buried in the berms, so do not hit the young lady walking down the side of the road in her toque and bunny boots.

It is overcast, the daylight is dim to begin with, and powdery snow swirls through the wheel ruts on the main drag.  Visibility ranges from a couple of miles to a few hundred yards.  Most road activity happens with the slowed pace necessary when it’s possible to skid nearly anywhere.  Your wife (your chauffeuse) swears at anyone who blasts past her, appears about to pull out in front of her, straddles lanes, or commits some other breach of good driving etiquette in her estimation.  Corners involve a certain caution, plowing through churned snow.  Roundabouts, which I’m not sure really suit Alaskan conditions, need special care, especially those double lane roundabouts as macho road warriors skid around them and think it’s great fun.  In essence, there is a mudbogging feel about Anchorage winter driving from start to stop–just replace the mud with snow.

Deb felt strong enough today to get out and about, which was just as well because I broke Herb’s snow shovel early in the visit, and I was overdue to replace it despite his protestations that we didn’t need to.  That was a good excuse to go back to Title Wave Books, one of the great things about Anchorage.  Do you like travel books? Our Barnes & Noble in Kennewick has one section of ‘travel essays’.  Title Wave has six times that.  It has even more books about bears.  If there is anything about bears, from lies told to cheechakos (‘tenderfeet’…’Outsiders’…’people from the lower 48’) to authentic treatises on the habits of the grizzly, that Title Wave’s bear book section cannot answer, that’s because everyone who learned it got mauled to death before being able to put it into print.

I begin to think that Alaskan isn’t a state residency, but a citizenship.

Adventures

Hacking your way to the store

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Unfortunately, everyone but Herb came down sick last night.  Though, since Herb has battled two different kinds of cancer and is still trying to get off the feeding tube, I frankly would rather it were me than him that was sick any day.  I know it’s not dysentery, but the symptoms are about the same.  Last night was a bad night for Lynda, Deb and me.  I’m better today but still shaky, shivery and such; the women are both miserable and do not go too far from a bathroom.

It was necessary for us to run to the store to get them stuff like crackers and ginger ale, especially in Deb’s case as she must not let her sugar fall too low.  That meant we had to battle our way out into the night, neither of us at 100% but we’re what they’ve got.  Unfortunately the snow had narrowed the driveway, and Lynda’s car wouldn’t start.  We had to jump it with Herb’s truck, which due to the narrowed driveway couldn’t quite back out without scraping her car.  It took about an hour of hacking away at ice, jumpstarting, shoveling, and so on, but we did it.

(Ever wonder how someone could build anything out of snow blocks? When it accumulates, the stuff at the bottom is more like soft ice.  Just cut it up and start building.)

The point:  this is how they live up here.  This is normal life.  Cars don’t start, snow accumulates and narrows pathways, and people battle through.  This is Alaska.

And Fairbanks makes this look like cosseted, pampered living.

Adventures

Into the interior: where Bullwinkle watch is no joke

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Today we went to our friends’ daughter’s home in Wasilla.  (Yes, that Wasilla.  No, we did not see Levi, Bristol or Sarah.)  You know the DEER XING signs in many states, depicting a leaping stag on his way to a party? Alaska has the same thing, but silhouetting a creature six feet high at the withers with antlers the size of large dogs.  Once again, that was my job:  keep an eye out.

The interior of Alaska (this part, anyhow, and at this time) in winter looks forested, frosty, snowy, hazy and chilly.  You know how some places don’t look as cold as they really are? Alaska looks even colder than it is, which is fairly cold.  I think this is because so much of it is unoccupied that anyone could walk a mile off a main road, ill-prepared, and choose to freeze to death if one failed to take the climate seriously.  Chances anyone would blunder across you are low.  If no one knew where you had gone, it would not be needle and haystack but needle and hayfield.  Snow tracks would be a factor–unless it snowed again.  I alluded to Jack London in an earlier post.  Come here, and you can see just what he meant about the darkness of the wild.  In fact I’d recommend a winter pilgrimage for any truly serious London enthusiast.  (You can hire dogsled rides.  That’s one way mushers pay to keep up their dogs.)

The road wasn’t bad, but don’t tell that to Lynda, my hostess.  Riding with one of the most terminally reliable and responsible men I know, her husband Herb, of 35 years, she was as nervous as I am when riding with a tailgater.  I don’t know how she survives six months of this, much less how she has done so since the Carter administration.  A very nice time, though, afternoon with children and a puppy plowing over, around and through presents.  Can you picture me helping a little girl assemble her Barbie Veterinarian Set? Hey, I had a meaningful role.  That stuff takes muscle to fit together.  I had to horse on it.  Perhaps the only more comical picture than me helping put it together is me barely having the physical strength to do so.

A wonderful time, all told, delicious dinner by niece Lisa (by mutual adoption), no one hit a moose and only one person got their vehicle stuck in a snowbank.  By Wasilla December standards, that’s all kinds of win.

To the faithful readership of the ‘Lancer, good holidays to you all in whatever form you may celebrate or enjoy them, whether they are solemn times of faith or just reasons to overeat.  Thank you for every single time you checked in, and as the year winds down I look forward to keeping the blog up in the coming cycle.

Adventures

Howls in the forest

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When my wife thinks what I want to do is stupid, she has a pragmatic approach.  She tells me I’m an idiot, but does it with me anyway.  Thus our trip today to the Alaska Zoo.

Alaska’s zoo is like few others on earth.  Where else could you set up a great rehab center for cold-weather animals? It was 20 F with about 8″ of fresh snowfall, and the idea that the zoo should close for this would be considered comic in Anchorage.  It wasn’t very busy, though, with most locals having more important holiday business than observing a musk ox.  After some wrong turns and slick road adventures, we finally found the place.

Highlights that we did not see, because they were either hibernating or staying inside, included the bears and cats (snow leopards, Siberian tigers).  To our delight, the ravens in their enclosure were beaking their food out through the bars to other (free) ravens, who flew off to eat their freebie lunches with much happy rawking.  Bald eagles; great horned owls; a goshawk; a snowy owl.  You have to get fairly close to all these birds to grasp just how big they are.  In Alaska they tell stories about some lady who stopped to let her sweet little snookums Pierre, a miniature pinscher or some other equally irritating miniature canine, answer nature’s call–only to have a golden eagle strike, grab puppy and cart him away for a delicious dinner.  When you are ten feet from a golden eagle, you can see how one could fly off with Pierre, leash and all.

The elderly wolverine had passed away, more’s the pity, but there were the anticipated musk oxen, caribou, moose (hello, Bullwinkle), Bactrian camel, alpacas, yaks, and some sort of tiny hairy donkey.  I have no idea what it was called, but it looked like a Great Dane-sized rabbit.  On the way back, we passed by the wolves.

The alpha male was a big dark fellow, looking us over with that calm lupine scrutiny.  Deb gave forth the quiet beginnings of a howl, the same one she uses to get our Labrador all stirred up when she hears fire sirens.  The Alaska Zoo is essentially paths through a forest, so other than fences and restraints, it’s a walk through the woods with limited distance visibility.  And then the alpha took up her howl.

It was as if he summoned the rest to sing.  Before long we had six wolves serenading us with the spooky howls you last imagined when you read Call of the Wild.  They put on a wolf concert for us lasting at least five minutes with no further urging, their manner friendly if not cuddly (wolves don’t do cuddly), with the scene all to ourselves.  If you’ve never heard such a thing, once in your life it is well worth finding a way to hear.  It is more interesting when some of the wolves are gazing directly at you. I was well reminded of my abridgment/editing work on White Fang some years back, one of my very first paid writing assignments.

Neither of us was going anywhere for so long as the wolves sang.  When they subsided, I inscribed a rune into the fresh snow before them, my own signature.  Other than that, I couldn’t add to what Deb said:  “That made this whole trip worth it.  That’s special.”

The cream cheese brownie at the snack bar had been heavenly.  I wouldn’t trade those five minutes for a year’s supply of zero-calorie equivalents.

Alaska.

Adventures

Bullwinkle watch

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Alaska is like the West, only more so.

In Anchorage it’s about 23 F and snowing.  No one in Alaska stops doing anything due to the weather, and neither will we.  Since I don’t know the town, I’m useless in my usual role as navigator.  Deb: “Here’s something you can do:  watch for moose.”

She wasn’t joking.  Moose wander into Anchorage (pop. 500,000 give or take) in winter.  They are just looking for food, but they can be extremely dangerous and unpredictable.  99% of the locals have the sense to give them a wide berth and refrain from feeding them; the number used to be higher until the Darwin effect winnowed them out.  No one from Fish & Wildlife shows up to dart and remove the moose unless they pose threats; if someone is idiot enough to trouble them, and gets trampled, that improves the local gene pool.

Of course, you don’t want to hit a moose on the road, especially at 45 mph, nor do you want to have to slam on your brakes (on an icy road) to avoid one.  Thus I was on Bullwinkle watch, and will be as long as we are here.  It is my duty to assure that we don’t hit a moose.

One of the best things about Anchorage is Title Wave Books, about the coolest used bookstore you could imagine.  It’s a used bookstore about the size of Barnes & Noble, but comparing Title Wave to B&N is like comparing Camembert to Kraft polymer cheese.  The selection is amazing from a browsing standpoint.  I could spend $2000 in there and equip myself with enough reading for at least two years–and not exhaust the interest level of browsing there.  I felt more intelligent just walking the aisles. For an editor, all of whom are necessarily voracious readers, it’s heaven.

Privacy

Ways to mess with Facebook ‘Timeline’

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Word is out that Faceplant will soon say to us: “If you thought this new life dossier was going to remain optional, think again.”

Okay.  I can’t prevent it.  I could deactivate my Faceplant account, I suppose, but I would rather keep hosing them.  I never see their ads, so I cost them money, and I get use and enjoyment out of it.  I am freeloading, and delighted to do so.  (If you see their ads, know that it’s by choice.  Want to stop? If using Firefox, go Googling ‘block Facebook ads’ and you’ll find many ways.)

So how can we screw up Facebook Timeline?

My theory is that every time we give them context, it helps them create a timeline.  For example, Faceplant recently nagged me about my Ireland photo album:  “Were these pictures taken in Ireland?” Why answer? I just ignored the question.  Thus, refusing to tag locations is one way.  Refusing to post that you are at a given location is another.  (Why do you need to advise the world that you are with Joe at Yo-Yo’s Fro-Yo Palace anyway? Who cares? Who has time to care?)  We are also told that we will have some sort of ‘cover photo’, probably a total temple to our egos.  My thinking is to use a blank white space.  Why do I need a big bright splash screen of some sort? The way you mess with data collation and analysis is to provide false data, or otherwise do what they don’t expect.  So, I’m probably going to start adding false dates and locations to photos.

Lying doesn’t come naturally to most of us.  We are taught from earliest youth not to do it, though most of us eventually learn that there are times and places to lie.  However, if you want to damage data, you don’t delete it–it may be recoverable.  If you want to damage data, lie.  Lie without conscience.  It is powerfully difficult to design a reliable system that can detect lying.

So, I’m going to take a long look at what Faceplant imposes upon me.  And then I’m going to start concocting some whoppers.  I’m not going to tell it my job history.  If I ever go out to apply for work, I’ll deactivate my Faceplant account for a while.

First whopper:  I just searched for the word ‘blossom’ and came up with an eternal list of blossom-related items to ‘like’.  I ‘liked’ most of them.  How’s that for trashing the data?

Why don’t I just migrate to G+? Oh, that’s an easy one.  I’m not swapping one info-hydra for another.  Any time a company says it’s motto is “Don’t be evil,” be ready for a steady flow of evil.  At this point, Microsoft is actually about fourth on my Evil list, Information Tech subcategory.

Don’t I feel some guilt for freeloading on the USS Zuckerborg, then doing my all to cause headaches even while benefiting from it? Zero, nada, none.  Said vessel is using me more than I use it, which is why its founder is rich.  I don’t see an application of the laws and principles of hospitality here.  I see a company that has established a situation where it is moral and ethical to use them as I please provided I harm no other users.  That includes depriving it of profit, advocating non-cooperation, mocking, providing fictitious data, and otherwise creating headaches.  Petty? Sure.  So is voting, though, by that logic.

Here is an okay article that briefs you on the new feature.  If you come up with any other good ways to thwart the goal of a full life dossier, please share!

Edit, 9/1/12: if you use Firefox, and you just want to not see Timeline–yours or anyone’s–I suggest the add-in SocialReviver. Of course, you should still screw with Timeline any way you can manage. It’s still there, even if this spares you having to see it.

Social comment

How to do a labor protest wrong

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Today I’m driving through one of our town’s major intersections, and out in front of Gold’s Gym I see three people holding up a large banner about a labor dispute with Gold’s.  Hmmm.  Okay, well, in general I tend to be friendly to labor in labor disputes, so I loop around and park nearby.  I wander over to find out what it’s about, radiating a friendly aspect.

The picket captain in her orange vest comes over, and it goes something like this:

“Hi, what’s the dispute about?”

“Well, we’re protesting blah blah blah which I can’t talk about for obvious legal reasons, blah blah, but here is a sheet about what the protest is about and it’ll tell you all right there.”  She clearly wanted me gone, mystifying to me, as it doesn’t take three people to hold up that sign.

“You can’t tell me about the dispute?”

“No.  Are in a union, or close to someone who is?”

A little smile.  “You might say that.”  And I’m thinking, Lady, I’m married to one of the most dynamic labor leaders in the whole state of Washington.  If you refuse to even have a conversation with me, your cause is doomed because you are too dumb.  You didn’t even probe that statement.  You should have.  My wife would have been interested.

“Well, everything is in the flyer, so hope you enjoy reading it, and have a nice day.”  She walks off on me.  I’ve barely said a word.  No discussion occurred, no accepting the opportunity to enlist support, not even from someone who walked up and showed interest.  There I am, standing on the grass alone, holding a piece of green paper.  Dismissed.

Bewildered, I walk away reading the flyer with the headline:  SHAME ON GOLD’S GYM For Desecration of the American Way of Life.  Underneath it, it has a rat eating the US flag.  Well, that’s about my personal opinion of both our major parties and their governing abilities, so if they are trying to shock me, that’s not very effective.  I get to reading it, and essentially Gold’s hired a contractor who hired a subcontractor that doesn’t pay the carpenters standard union wages and benefits.  How this is an issue she cannot discuss for ‘obvious legal reasons’ is beyond me.  Why she brushes off a gold-plated chance to make her union’s case to me is even farther beyond me.  It’s an area with very little foot traffic.

For the record, the flyer is authored by the Pacific Northwest Regional Council of Carpenters.  It urges me to call some guy and urge him to change the situation.  Yeah, I’m really sure he’s still taking calls today.

On second thought, at the rate these people are going, maybe he doesn’t even realize there’s a picket.

When I get home, I decide to call the information number to let them know what kind of shape their picket is in.  A recording: please leave your name and number and we’ll have someone call you.

You know what? Nah, I think not. Figure it out yourself.  No wonder organized labor can’t counter the negative propaganda about itself–when given the opportunity and a receptive audience, it won’t talk to it.  It hands it a piece of paper and walks off.

PS:  A friend of mine from Sweden, Mattias, has suggested that they may actually have been rental protesters.  I guess there are companies out there who can be hired to protest, and their own contracts forbid them to talk about the actual issues for legal reasons.  That would fill in a gap of understanding, although she was still an idiot, as the “obvious legal reasons” were hardly obvious to me.  Next time I’ll have a bolt in the quiver:

“So, are you rented protesters or are you actually union members and sympathizers?”

“We can’t talk about that for legal reasons.”

“Heh, thanks.  I have my answer.”

Book reviews

Anyone else remember the Educator Classic Library?

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This series of books may well have been the most ridiculously great bargain my mother ever spent money on, when one measures the amount spent vs. the educational gain.  Anyone remember them? They came out in the late 1960s, large hardback adventure classics familiar to most people:  Treasure Island, The Merry Adventures of Robin Hood, Alice in Wonderland, 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, and more.  They looked like this:

What made these versions great, above and beyond the basic greatness of the literature:

  • Nearly all were unabridged–but no fear on frustrating references, as margin entries defined anachronistic or complex words for the young reader.
  • The cover and interior art was something to behold, painting just enough imagery to help the young mind do the rest.
  • The afterword was always interesting and revealing, both about the author and about the story’s times.
  • With relatively large print, children had an easy time with them.

One may imagine the pause it gave me, many years later, when my writing and editing work called for me to abridge some of these very classics for young readers.  Full circle indeed.  Take a literary scalpel to Robert Louis Stevenson? In the cause of enticing young people to the joy of reading, yes.

I read my Educator Classics so many times I had whole passages memorized before I went off to kindergarten.  This is more a tribute to the books’ greatness than to any youthful eideticism on my part.  Later in life, I realized our family never owned them all.  Of course, I still have all the originals we did own–those aren’t going anywhere until they scatter my ashes.  Now, thanks to the ease and versatility of modern used book hunting, I am seeking these out one by one so as to complete the collection.

If you are doing the same, a lady named Valerie has compiled a full list of the series, including some knowledgeable notes.  She’s right; they would be ideal homeschooling tools.  I think they’re one of the best possible ways to introduce kids to the adventure novel.

Blogging freelance editing, writing, and life in general. You can also Like my Facebook page for more frequent updates: J.K. Kelley, Editor.