The Here and Now

We are sitting in the high ceiling-ed, velvet lined, marble edged, lobby of our hotel.
The cozy high back chairs around us hold the stuffier of the “stiff-upper-lipper’s”

We stand out like sore thumbs.
Our ratty blue jeans, bright or black tanks, and the fact that we are half the mean age or the rest of the room makes us something of an eye sore.

My sister is less than quiet.
She raises her glass:
“You guys remember when we left the theatre, right after mom bought the CD, when we were pushing through the crowd?”

Allow me to digress,
As we left the theatre, right after mom bought the CD, when we were pushing through the crowd, we smelled a smell.
A stink that permeated the air.
That caused contorted faces in the elbow-room-only mass of people.
We all held our breath, cursed the dealer of the dealt, and scampered quickly through.

We spent the next few minuets guessing which of our fellow theatre-goers left a little piece of themselves behind.

Back to the lobby.
Kim with her glass in the air.
“You guys remember when we left the theatre, right after mom bought the CD, when we were pushing through the crowd?
It took me till now to figure out that that was me.”


She begged me not to reveal what I have just written.
She pleaded with me repeatedly, fearing the ridicule, scared that her co-workers and friends might know something about her bodily functions.

I thought for a moment. I considered my options.
Fingers hovering above the delete key.
Then I remember the number of times I spilled stories of my fateful flatulence for the entertainment and enjoyment of my little sibling.
This time it’s her turn.

Today we acted the part of a tourist.

-Touched the Statue of Liberty
-Looked down from the Empire State Building
-Ate in China Town
-Looked for mobsters in Little Italy
-Hailed a Taxi cab
-Avoided the bums on the Subway
-Ate a “hotdog” from a street vendor

Pictures are cool.

Parking Garage


















My Mother




















Veiw from Above


















New York's Boldest?


















Looking up from inside the Apple Store

I have just landed in the Big Apple.
The polar opposite of where I have hung my hat for the past year.

In Kasigluk people most people had a “land line” telephone and used a hand held radio for most of there “mobile” communication needs. Most times when you were away from the house you were totally out of contact. Unless you wanted to bring smoke signals back into fashion.
In New York I have seen 32 blue tooth cell phone head-sets thus far. People are not more than a phone call away from anything. (This is a quality I can respect, but even I, the self-proclaimed cell phone queen, have a difficulty understanding this fashion statement.)

I will be here in NYC for the next few days. Not sure what all is in store, though it seems we have tickets to Wicked.
My sister has friends in high places.
Siblings are so useful sometimes.

Anyway,
Today we walked.
We walked down most every street that makes up the greater Times Square area.
Sometimes we walked them more than once.
We walked past the theatres, with brightly colors signs of neon and shine
Radio City, covered in posters of stars gone by
David Letterman,
Saint Patrick’s Cathedral, where my sister said some blasphemous things.
Three homeless guys wishing they had teeth.

We walked until or feet were sore.
Until our asses felt the burn.

We walked to the Apple store and back again.
I refrained from buying a new computer… though, I was faced with a tough few moments of indecision. The new Macbooks are so shiny.

Tomorrow I think we will be heading toward Chinatown, the Financial District, and maybe the Statue of Liberty.

If you have any thoughts or ideas for we traveling fools, we would love to hear them.

Well, it’s official. I am a quarter of a century. My recent 25th birthday made me reconsider what it is to be an adult.
When I was a kid, and the big 2-5 loomed a lifetime away I firmly believed that people THAT old would have things.
An adult-like job
a car
a place to live
a puppy
a picket fence.
I figured that old people would have completed something, would have a path, would have a series of goals that makes some kind of sense.

Now, on the other side of the quarter mark, I realize that no one has all that shit.
Not one of us has a bloody clue what is going on from one minute to the next.
None of us are really “adults”.
What does that word mean anyway?

I have an adult-like job. I teach. There is nothing cooler than a job that comes with a two-month summer vacation.
I have no car of my own, but then, in a village with no roads, who needs one.
I have no set place to live, but wherever there’s a couch, I’ll be there.

When it comes to paths and goals and completing those greatly undefined things.
I am living a life that I alone created. Sure there is no real destination. But isn’t the journey more important anyway.

I think about where I want to be in a few years. I think about what I want to have.
And all I know is that it is out of my hands.
My path is created day by day.
I just hope I am blazing the right trail.

I hate bloody birds.
They are evil and crazy and have it in for me.

I am currently at a friend’s house, curled up on a giant bean bag wanna-be, (a stylish new Love Sac) spending too much time on various web pages, and munching on a healthy snack of chips and salsa.

The chips and salsa become an integral part of this story.
So does the Love Sac.

This house is not what you would call a normal home. It is the home to one of my best friends, her husband (who is now in Iraq), a boa constrictor named Lucifer, a second snake slightly smaller whose name I have no clue of, a wiggly puppy going by the name Timmy, and a damn cockatiel, Stoner.

Now, all day, several hours at least, I have been doing my thing. Watching Numb3rs, surfing, nodding off, and contemplating the meaning of the word “martini”.
Lucifer has been doing his thing. Lying silently and motionless in his well-lit box.
John Doe snake has been doing his thing. Slithering around and being creepy.
Timmy has been doing his thing. Wiggling on the couch, wiggling on the floor, chewing my toes, and licking his nether regions.
And Stoner has been doing his thing. Being a damn bird, potentially carrying the Avian Flu, and sharpening his beak for his planned assault on my right eyeball. (I have seen him giving me evil glares, menacingly stalking my right ocular cavity.)

Everything was calm in the Sorell Zoo until I made the mistake of opening that fateful bag of chips.
At first chomp all hell broke loose.

The snakes are not included in the hell. They, lacking ears and a taste for spice and salt, did not care about my evening snack.

Timmy, however, was magically at my side, staring at me with those dewy eyes and a tail wagging past the speed of sound.
That was cute and easy to ignore.

Stoner, however, went into a tizzy. Flying around my head, landing on the table, glaring from the top of the snakes box, balancing on my coke bottle, and perching on my shoulders.
The fluttering of angry wings beat around me.

At first I stared, started, hid my right eye from imminent attack.
Then I decided that the best coarse of action was to completely ignore the flying minion of Satan.
But what actually happened was far worse than a gaping hole in the head.

The bird landed on the top of the slick and shiny Love Sac where I was so happily reclining. It was then that I sat up to dip a chip.

My movement disrupted Stoner’s precarious perch. He began to slide.

Here would be a good moment to mention that my pants are a bit loose. When I move or wiggle, or lay perfectly still, they have a habit of moving like slip and slide, making me resemble a plumber.
The act of constant reaching and dipping had made my pants the lowest of low riders. And since I was stuffing my face I was much too lazy and preoccupied to pull up my drawers.

So, the bird began to slide.

He slipped and skwaked, heading strait toward the indention made by my nearly naked arse.

I bet you can guess where this he heading.

Before I could react, the tiny demon beak hit me directly in the crack.

I flew from the bag.
So did the bird.

He head strait for his cage where he sat dazed, confused, stunned, and a little distressed.

I put the chips away. There is something about a beak in the ass that makes you re-think your diet.

There is no better time of year to a teacher than the wonders of summer vacation.
I still have the joy of a steady paycheck without the pain and suffering of actually working.
There is nothing better than a work-free payday.

Instead of doing the 9 to 5 like all my friends out there I have been traveling around and attempting to relax.

Here is a run down of what the summer has brought me thus far:

- I spent a week lounging in the sand and poolside at a friend’s beach house in Florida.

- I got an attractively bright and bumpy case of sun poisoning across my neck, chest, and arms.

- I went to the auto mechanics to get a new tire and a little oil change and left with a new set of 300 dollar brakes.

- I visited a friend’s family in North Carolina where I taught a 9 year old to skateboard and spent more than a few hours in a dive bar being chatted up by every guy there over the age of 45.

- As I performed my typical role as DD from the aforementioned bar, my friend’s brother (also known as “mailbox” due to his profession as a post man) rambled on from the backseat. After a 20 twenty minuets of incessant chatter he paused and said, “This is Mailbox, signing off.” Within a matter of moments (approximately 7 seconds) the sounds of snoring emanated from behind me.

- I drove for so many hours my ass actually took on the same shape and creases as the driver’s seat of my car. I have leather lines on my derrière.

- I then visited Illinois, where I dropped off my driving buddy and, for the first time in my life, was high-fived for resisting peer-pressure. (by the same person who had poured it on thick for a number of hours.)

- Now I sit in Indiana. Relaxing in a good friend’s house, being attacked by a pysco bird and jittery puppy while watching 7th Heaven. Honestly, it’s the best day yet!

I love summer vacation!

With just less than two months of work-free bliss before me, I can’t help but wonder what will happen next. The only thing I know about so far is a mid-month trip to New York City, followed almost immediately by a road trip to Cleveland.

I am now a certified math teacher!
I passed the Praxis.

I am not a complete dunce!

Who would have thought that I would ever be an official math teacher.
That I would have a piece of paper that states that I know my shit.

And my score wasn’t half bad either. I passed the Alaskan qualifications by 20 points.
You might say, "Well, Alaska might just have low standards."
And, you wouldn't be wronge.

But I passed in every other state too!

I rock!