And if this wasn't enough, I get to see Springsteen this week

Closing week on Taos Mountain has surprisingly good weather for this time of year - cold with lots of snow. I have never skied powder before so it was thrilling and challeng

ing. But the skiing is only a fraction of why this past week was so amazing: there was hardly anyone on the mountain, lots of single people at the hotel (I'm usually tacked onto meals with families), and the friends I made this week I will never forget. I was just at the ABQ airport feeling that pulsing, incredibly centered feeling one gets after a powerful life-enhancing event, and wondering why this ski week was as mind blowing as the painting workshop that I also go to in Taos - and it must be because of the incredible positive energy and genuine happiness radiating from the people I am around. My whole being felt like a crotchety old caterpillar bursting from it's cocoon with high tech quick dry fabric wings, black & glossy like my budget ski costume. Almost floating (instead of tumbling) down the steep terrain without effort as the week went on. (I actually saw a video of me skiing this week and I looked more like an armadillo than a butterfly on my turns). And this transformation is mirrored in the bonding aspect of the intense social connections as well. The hugs goodbye are filled with moist eyes as we've gotten so close having had every meal together, running into each other on the mountain, and sharing about our jobs (?), romance status, travel goals, with a bit of gossip thrown in as in this small a community their tends to be a lot of drama going on. But my non skiing transformation during this week was in my perception of myself of a slacker, addled type person, to someone who people find interesting & worth talking to, worth inviting to their homes in countries that I love (an am about to visit). I tend to think people are going to find me obnoxious & self-absorbed, but this week I felt true respect radiating from my new bffs...skiing seems to elicit an Antarctic-like camaraderie, and as if God himself was hitting me over the head with the physical manifestation of my deservedness, a beautiful pair of skis was given to me by an incredibly lovely family from Chicago, a gift so generous I was speechless. They had bought a new pair in Taos & didn't want to hassle with taking the old ones back & selling them, and they knew I didn't have any and so now they are mine. I felt so ridiculously unworthy of such a gift, yet I said thank you and stored them at the St. Bernard for next season. It feels like a sign. Like I should move there for the next season & embark on yet a new career: ski-bumette...and there was one special young man: English, just graduated from Oxford, there with his whole family: mom, dad, two younger siblings...he was going to extend his trip & travel to the Grand Canyon, Vegas, LA and San Francisco. He told me of his plans & I encouraged him to alter some of the logitics (absolutley NO hitchhiking!) and gave him my BART card with about $10 left on it. To be able to advise someone just starting out in life, and seeing that open-eyed, youthful eagerness to explore foreign places is just so much fun. My French Canadian gal pal Val, Toni - the amazing fashion goddess, Rex from Amarillo, Tex from Japan, Mike from San Diego...we were the bawdy dinner crew. I didn't think any week could get more amazing than my first one. The second one was. I didn't think there was ANY WAY my 3rd week could get more amazing than my second - it was WAY more intense. I keep waiting for the goodies to stop flooding it but they won't stop. 

And I get to see Springsteen this week.

I talked to Will on the phone today & was breathlessly reporting my exciting time skiing. He is settling into what I hope will be a very rich experience for him at Palmer Station. I said "I may not go back to the Ice but may go work in the ski village instead!" And later I thought, oh he might be disappointed if I did that, but then I realized if I hadn't met him, I would've never learned to ski at all...ah the ironies of life.

13th Day on Skis

I had so much anticipatory dread about coming skiing this year...the trip is arduous with the severe altitude change, and I had a hard time justifying the expense as I haven't worked much in the past year, but after this morning's glorious run I have no doubt it was the most intelligent thing I could have done. I am not a natural on skis. My first week was very difficult: my fear & resistance level so high I knew something was going to have to break by day 4 or I was never gonna leave the bunny hill. Today was the first time I saw people that were more beginner-y than I am. It was thrilling. I've progressed. I was really scared at first as I'd assumed I'd have to start over but it came back very quickly, and my adored teacher of the past two years, Smitty, met me at the ski off & after watching me do one run down the bunny hill he said c'mon we're going to the top of the mountain. Areas that scared me last year seemed easy this time. I was grinning almost the whole time. I wasn't just sweating it out & hoping it'd be over soon, I was truly enjoying finally having the control and confidence to do full runs without falling & scaring myself so much that I'd fall. And I must have picked up speed as we covered so much more ground than the last run last year. And I didn't fall down once - this is truly significant. And I'm skiing on nice fairly new snowfall for the first time. And this is closing week & there is hardly anyone here - it's awesome! And then there is the 2 hour dinner with all my new friends I just met, where the conversation went from the technicalities of skiing to holistic medicine with lots of laughter and incredible French cuisine. I feel lucky to have found this particular ski lodge with it's funky European-ness, and the dedicated skiiers who have been coming here faithfully for years. Jean Mayer, the ski master, chef, and owner of the hotel, is in his 70's, and has an infectious joie de vivre that is inspiring. The people that ski here are serious skiiers - there are no nightclubs or distractions or shopping, just the mountain. I felt like such an outsider when I first saw this world - I didn't think I could ever be a part of it, and 4 years ago I had no desire to be a part of it - but it is a world of people who have a shared passion for a sport that is endlessly interesting and where you never stop learning. By my third hour I had progressed farther than I can remember at any point in my babyhood of skiing. I could feel it, and asked Smitty for confirmation. He said there were people who had been skiing many years who were still in a "death grip wedge" (or snow plow as some people call it), and I saw a lady like that today: she had been skiing 30 years, had to be helped out of the chair lift by her instructor so she wouldn't fall, and has never left the bunny slope. I hope she is having a good time, and I am so glad that I crossed that line of fear & went for it because that could be me. I remember when I had made the decision to not leave the bunny slope & my instructor tricked me into going up to the top of the mountain. That was day 4. I had to change my decision to progress, because getting all the way down the mountain with my resistance would have been torture, so I did the thing I did not think I could possibly do: let go of control & dive forward straight down the run. That was the moment that I lived the bible quote about (paraphrasing) "when I was a child I thought like I child but when I became a man I put away childish things..." When I decided to go for it, I began my journey as a skiier. I was told I would be doing blacks on day 15. Something I could not have imagined on day 4, 8, or even yesterday. If it was up to me, I'd still be on the bunny hill. The most amazing thing I have learned by skiing all of my mornings with an intructor is the incredible value of being pushed - and pushed hard. Doing something one is not naturally good at has it's own humbling value, but being pushed by an expert who believes in you when you don't believe in yourself is amazing. I know so many people who say they ski & have never taken lessons - I don't know if I would have stayed past the first day if that were the case with me. Comfort zones are not good for me. I need to spend quite a bit of time in the world of unknowing & awkwardness & discomfort - that world that pushes you to keep moving forward and discovering what comes next in your personal evolution. I know people who live by the opposite philosophy: never move any faster than the slowest part of you wants to go. I found this very interesting as I tend to take not well thought out action when I'm in a panic, but I tried NOT doing anything and I saw the beauty of that line of thinking, and its probable value in certain areas of life (ie: personal relationships), but what I get out of being pushed past what I think are my limited abilities is an enormous amount of confidence. I can't get confidence just sitting around hoping for it, I have to earn it. I earned some today. Yea!

Luxury Problems

The past couple of weeks have been filled with ennui, excitement, the surreal experience of SXSW, saying goodbye to Will again for an Antarctic winter season, and the acceptance than I will have to wait until October to go back down to the Ice. But the wheels are already in motion for to be rehired again, so now it's just a matter of filling the time until I go back. I feel like I should be working, but this time I really cannot find a job - even my usual temporary gig at the University is not available as they are having a hiring freeze. Fortunately, I have a cushion, three trips already planned, and a beautiful swanky garage apt. to live in for the few days in April I'll be here in Austin.

I bought a sxsw film festival pass and I have seen four documentaries that have been astounding. I don't know if these films will be available for the masses but they were each so good that I have been floored after each screening. The first one I saw was "Sons of A Gun" about three mentally ill men living with their alcoholic caretaker. They had lived with each other so long they were a family, with all the affection and bickering that goes on in normal families. But when things went awry in the "family" there were catastrophic consequences, and near the end of the film, you find out who the sickest member of the family is...it is heartbreaking and heartwarming to live so intimately with these men on screen. Most folks see around 3-6 films a day during the film fest but I've only done one each day - what I've been seeing is so good I want to go home and process the feelings around it & not just go get back in line for another movie. The second film I saw was "Rene," a Czech film that followed a boy for 20 years as he was in & out of prison. He didn't appear to have anything mentally wrong with him & was highly intelligent & handsome, but was a career petty thief who seemed to be socially broken from a young age. He wrote books in prison that were published, got "f&ck of people" tattooed in giant letters on his neck, and would get out of prison only to be thrown back in a few months later. Very depressing, yet again, you felt like you lived with this man on his sad journey, and you wanted so bad for him to embrace one positive thing about life to make him go straight, but he seemed utterly incapable of it. The third film I saw was called "Motherhood" about 6 women who'd lost a child each, and were taken to a poor town near Cape Town, South Africa, to volunteer in orphanages of kids who'd lost their parents to AIDS. The most striking thing about this film was something I've heard & seen over & over again: the people who have the most materially are the unhappiest, and the poorest folks know how to band together in their grief & support each other. It seems so logical to go be with all these parentless children when you've lost a child, but it was very tough for the women, but they were all enriched & transformed by the experience. The last & most affecting doco I saw was "Over the Hills & Far Away," about a Texas family who go to Mongolia to see a shaman to treat their son's autism. Mongolia is on top of my destination list so I was interested in this film, and what happens is absolutely amazing, and I am not going to tell it here as anyone interested in docos, or who is a parent, should see it. I only saw 5 films with my pass, but without it, I don't know if I would have seen any of them...so it was truly a treat to get to see these films.

I have quite an adventure planned for the summer: I had booked a container cruise that sailed from London to Buenos Aires, but cancelled it for a variety of reasons and have instead used the same tour company & booked a trip that begins in Helsinki & ends in Berlin two weeks later. It goes to 6 countries I've never been to so I'm pretty excited about that. It is strange doing adventure travel like this without Will, but going with a group will be fun & organized and I'll do much more than I would do by myself. After seeing the Mongolia film, I may tack on a two week Mongolia trip (with a tour operator also). After the Eastern European trip Will & I did two years ago, I saw that travel is easy. You just book a train or plane a few days ahead at the internet cafe & find a hotel on hostelworld & off you go. I plan to go to the UK a couple of weeks ahead of the Helsinki tour & stay with my old friend Julie in her country estate, pop over to Ireland & try to hit a few Islands in Scotland before flying to Finland.

With all this, I can still find a reason to feel off kilter and forlorn in the middle of the day. I miss working. There is a hiring freeze at my usual gig. And mostly, I know Will and the Palmerites are on the LM Gould on the beginning of an incredible journey (and getting paid for it) and I didn't make the cut. I am so happy for him but am sad I am not there to experience it. Even with all this exciting travel planned, the thing I am most looking forward to is getting back to the Ice.

Collapsible German Building

I am currently house sitting for a friend who is gone for a month. I am in South Austin, near everything hip & groovy, in a 60 year old house in what has become a very expensive neighborhood. I haven't lived by myself in 4 years, and before that I lived by myself for the majority of my adult life. I was afraid I might be lonely but that is not the case.

I am in heaven. I had been living with a friend this past year in an 800 sq. ft. house, and before that lived with my boyfriend or a roommate in a tiny dorm room at McMurdo. Now I love these people I lived with dearly, but the bliss of living alone I had forgotten. I have to force myself to leave this cozy quiet nest. I never turn on the a/c whereas my previous roommate ran it if it were over 60F outside. I  never hear TV or radio or play music. I have just been hypnotized into peace with the gentle sounds of cars driving by, the ceiling fan humming overhead, and the train that rumbles by at midnight. I hear the tinkling of windchimes somewhere and my little dog is nestled next to me on the bed. I feel myself wanting to fiercely hold onto this privacy and control over my environment. I have yearnings sometimes to buy a house (because it is a good time right now) to use as investment & for rental income, but after living alone for 5 days (with the added bonus of wifi in my bedroom again!) I wonder if I just want to buy a house to live in again. After 4 years of the seasonal, nomadic lifestyle and feeling like I'm really getting the hang of it (ie: travel more, stay in Austin less, roll with houselessness); at the same time, the more nomadic I get, the more delicious this ephemeral "rootedness" experience I'm having now is (and had for many years and completely took for granted). When I first got a job in Antarctica the thing I was most afraid of was having a roommate. I don't have good experiences with roommates in general, and I have to assume that I am the difficult one to live with. I am usually too scared to communicate with them, and often feel like I am in a prisoner/jailer type situation. I am highly particular about the temperature of the house being what I want it to be when I'm just sitting around (which is mainly what I'm doing in a house). I don't ever want to hear television when I am not watching it. If it is my house I own I expect the person to stay in their room & be quiet, which is how I am when I live in someone else's house. But last summer I shared an enormous old house with a man who was so quiet that I often did not know whether he was there or not. He didn't have a car so I truly didn't know without knocking  on his door, and later found out he was hardly ever there, but when he was was as sylphlike as a cat, silently padding along the acres of hardwoods, like watching a character in a movie with the sound turned off. The perfect roommate. Some people are loud & come from noisy families. I grew up in  a house where you could hear a pin drop 24/7 and I think that early programming has stayed with me. The one time that I felt I was truly going insane was when I was living in a condo where I could hear noise above me & on one side. For me it was a nightmare - and this condo complex was right on a major highway, which was why most people moved out eventually. Ironically, I find highway, train, traffic noises very comforting.

This is a boring post. Now no one will ever want to be my roommate - haha! Oh, and the past few weeks has shown me that my reverse "SAD" is getting worse. It was in the 90's last week. It is in the high 80's this week & I can hear the annoying condensers & lawn equipment already. The relentless, stabby feeling sun is always out, and this year, once again, I tried to "toughen" myself up & have been going on two hour walks every day around the lake. There is dappled shade but a good 1/2 hour stretch of sun beating on my head. That is what kills me: the exposure. I have to come lay in bed for several hours with a "sun headache" until I can get up again. This hot and sunny weather compromises my life to the point where I don't really have a life in this climate. I am just waiting for cold or clouds, or travelling to find it & it's rarely there. We had a glorious winter month where it was very dark & cloudy and not above freezing for a long time. I was so happy. I loved that movie "Frozen River" because of the snow and ice everywhere. I changed my mind about doing the trans-siberian this summer because I decided I want to do it in the winter, when there are no tourists and plenty of beautiful snow. I chose the container ship because it leaves from London (where I've heard it is cloudy, but not on the four occasions I've been there) and arrives in Buenos Aires in the Dead Of Winter. I was never into Goth or vampire stuff, but I must have vampire or mole blood. 

Film Review: "Two Lovers" has been touted as "art," with stellar performances by Joaquin Phoenix and others. It was pure shite! Here's this super loser guy whose around 30, lives with his parents, tried to kill himself by jumping into like 5 feet of water in the first scene, and has not one, but two gorgeous women wanting to sleep with/marry him. And I mean really beautiful! One of them is Gwyneth Paltrow, who is a goddess in my book, and I don't even like blondes. And usually I find Joaquin very sexy, but in this film he was so pathetic & had such low personality marks that I could just never buy why he was able to get both of these gorgeous babes to sleep with him. His room looked like 12 year old boy squalor central, and he was a delivery boy for his dad's dry cleaning business. He had been institutionalized, and from this film you'd think he was the only available bachelor in the greater NYC area. I mean, I lived there too, and dating was rough, but there were plenty of guys to choose from. The odds were good but the goods were odd. Now these women were co-dependent messes, but usually if you are model gorgeous, that is not a factor. The funnest part of viewing this film was taking the piss out of it with my friend Jaime, who made me laugh so hard near the end that I never regained composure. I guess the thing that was most surprising is that I never cared about any of these people. The director didn't make any of them lovable - only the sweet blue-eyed father of Phoenix's character conjured empathy from me, but not a whole lot because there was no tough love, no consequences for his son's reckless, narcissistic behavior. It was actually refreshing to see the rich lawyer sugar daddy, because, even though I think the filmmakers wanted us to see him as a sleazebag, he was such a strong, self assured character that he was actually the most likeable; not all wishy-washy, self-absorbed and goal-less like the love triumvirate. Don't waste your money seeing this one, unless you have some irreverent friend to go with you and laugh at how pathetic everyone is!

The Pearl at Any Price

It's interesting if you are someone like me who has had very strong dreams and desires all of their life, who at times thought they were "pipe" dreams or the "six impossible things before breakfast" style of thinking which happens to me upon awakening. Before I get out of bed I'm planning the painting supplies I'm going to buy that day, the scuba class I'm going to sign up for, the travel plans I have to make. I've always known I wanted to travel, but in actuality, I haven't done a great deal of it (not as much as I see some Antarctic workers doing). I don't go off for months at a time. I do have an old doggie that I love dearly and spend time with, so I do a lot of short trips, but I want to do an epic trip. So I've taken a step in that direction and booked a cabin on a container ship that sails from London to Buenos Aires in 32 days, stopping many places in Europe, Western Africa, and South America.

There was a time in my life when I couldn't imagine that I'd have the freedom and money to do this sort of thing. But I wanted it so badly that that must be the reason it has come true. I kept myself  "free" for this. I never had children as they were not a part of the grand design for my life. I sold my house and found seasonal work in a place that has transformed the word "work" for me because it is so fricking fun. And then there's the extras: getting to meet Werner Herzog IN Antarctica, and having him do a bit part in our film (wow!). Having had a bunch of art shows with no art training - just the vision in my mind of having it. Discovering the nervous tweaky excitement of being on a stage & winging it in improv classes. Being almost fifty years old and feeling an excitement and possibility about the future that I had when I was 18.

This is how life is interesting: when the Universe is holding your dreams right in front of you and saying "Take This!" if you are like me you go through a whole doubting process about what you really wanted in the first place because you are scared to take it. There were years when I could not see what was being offered & downright refused it. I had a recurring dream of some beautiful lady trying to hand my gorgeous gems & I refused them. I am hardwired to not think there's a lot of good coming my way so I've had to really say "yes" to all the opportunities that I can afford that come my way and sound like they fit my soul's yearning. When I was about to call to put my deposit on this container ship adventure I started thinking "that is not what I really want to do, I really want to do the Trans-Siberian rail journey," so I started looking into that & started thinking of how it could be uncomfortable, then thought that the cruise could be "boring" and as would be my old behavior, was going to blow the whole thing off & suck it up for another horrific Austin summer so I could "save money."

Thank God I'm older, know life is short, and hate summer badly enough that I'll do anything to get out of here! The interesting thing about having your dreams come true is that there is a moment where you don't believe it, don't trust that this is really it, or are just too scared to say yes; I think that is part of our human condition: when the thing we want most is put in front of us, it is hard to recognize. I have some strange wiring that says I don't deserve this stuff (who does?) and that life is supposed to be a drudging slog to the grave. For me to treat myself to all these goodies I can do brings up a lot of ugly mind chatter, but I know from experience to say yes. There's even a part of me that thinks I'll be "punished" for doing these things for myself...it's old programming - and I can ignore it, but at least I don't let it run my life anymore - I did for a long time. And this isn't just about me having a life of leisure & fun, it is more about oiling a machine in my brain that is actualizing me as a person, and being open to the fact that the pearl changes so I have to remain open minded and flexible (I could decide I want a home and white picket fence next week, and have to go through the hard work of making that happen).

The "pearl at any price" (OMG I just googled that phrase and a recent posting of mine came up - wow, I just keep rehashing the same stuff I guess!) is such a strong strong parable for me. I don't know the bible well but I know this phrase is about (secular version) giving up everything for that thing that gives you life. When you start to live it, you see you are not giving up anything. You are just stopping saying "no" to it & surrendering to the "yes." My favorite moment from the Academy Awards this year was when Philp Petit, the subject of "Man On Wire" ran up on stage when that documentary one best in the category. When it was his turn at the mike he said only "yes!" and then did some goofy magic tricks. If you haven't seen this film, it is in every way an example of someone who said yes at the first offering and kept saying it until his life was so damned interesting they had to make a documentary about him. He is like a giddy child that found his pearl early and chased it with reckless, artful abandon. I found my pearl long ago too, and everytime I pay the price of saying no to the negativity in my mind around it, it feeds me in bigger, shinier and in more unexpected ways.

I've Been Cheating on My Blog

I feel like I've been "cheating" on my blog with facebook. I've been blogging for several years and facetubing for only a few months - & whereas I have some responsibility to my readers & myself to at least attempt to make an interesting blog posting, there is only the quick "status update" on friendbook, and that addictive, stressful time waster of looking at everyone else's status, which eventually leads to me comparing my life to theirs. Is someone doing something really cool & I'm not! (probably). Am I doing something really cool and want everyone to know! (most definitely). I've seen some of my more embarrassing character traits in the months I've been doing facebook - comparing, one-upping, bragging. On the positive note I have had some rich reconnections with people from 30 years ago, but other than that it seems to be a stressful and competitive dance (I'm sure there are lots of healthy people using it with much more benevolent feelings.) Like a committed relationship, writing requires work - and though it is probably obvious that a lot of work does not go into my postings, the writing is in itself rewarding. Since I am someone who has been writing all of their life (and has to really work to make stuff not too long), fb requires nothing but a clever quip. The status updates I enjoy are the ones where someone is "drinking coffee" or "about to go to work." I probably have too much pride to write about stuff like that, so I wait until I'm going on a trip to update my status, because, of course, I have to appear interesting at all times. So I use the word "cheating" because fb does not require me to have to labor through writing. And whereas I used to sit in coffee shops & blog fairly regularly, I now find myself facebooking, and it feels really important & interesting while I'm doing it ( just like drugs!), but ultimately it's a letdown. It's not the real thing. I know fb is not a substitute for a blog, but I have many blogger friends who are now on facebook who are doing the same thing I am: updating their fb status while neglecting their blogs, yearning for the vein of gold that is tapped into when one keeps writing. I know lots of people who say they "can't" or "hate" to write. And these are very intelligent & articulate people. I don't believe them. I think they are just not in the habit. I have been doing this for so long (not "blogging" per se, as that was only invented a few years ago). What I loved about creating this blog was that I got to have the satisfying writing experience that I'd had in college all over again - just being able to go on about something that really interested me, but at the same time having to work to make it make sense. No one is grading this though - and it's probably about a "D."

I was in Denver last week at the headquarters of my Antarctic employer. It was a heady experience seeing the familiar faces & feeling as if I were rejoining my "tribe" again - though I was not there for deployment purposes. The office is in a generic suburban office park, barren and sterile, the people your average slump-shouldered office workers, but this building & these people represent my Great Love. I can honestly say I would work there for no pay - that's how much I love it. I used to use up so much energy explaining to folks who thought I was crazy to want to work there how awesome & life changing it was - but I don't waste my time doing that anymore. I think the non-Ice life is crazy: traffic, house tending, gardening, having to feed myself - it's all so weird to me now. I was always so uncomfortable with my life when I worked 8-5 in an office & went to my home every day. I always knew it wasn't me - and when I found the Ice I found what was me - at least what was important to me. Life is pared down  to so little down there that my soul has time to flourish! The energy usually spent driving around, grocery shopping (which I never did anyway), messing with a domicile (was never interested in it) is completely freed up to find new heights of creativity and solitude in the mind. I took a season off. I miss it like I'd miss my arm if it were missing. I've learned my lesson: no more "taking a season off." It has f&*d me up!

Not to say there isn't something to learn from doing things which go against oneself. It is fascinating to get off track, to get lost, to feel like the bottom has dropped out, even to fall apart. It is ok to do something different to see what happens. It is interesting and probably necessary to "fail" now & then. In improv class when we make a mistake, we bow and proudly say "I failed!" and everyone claps. It is the only time we reward or applaud in class. Failure meant you took a risk. So, really, you didn't fail. I used to be terrified of being thought of as a failure because that is what I thought I was deep down. Now I feel more like I just try different stuff & some of it works out & some of it doesn't, and in the grand scheme of things it's all really okay. I mean, I'm just a speck in the Universe. Who the heck is going to care about my paltry little life 5000 years from now. What a relief, no?

Plan B

Lately I keep hearing myself say I've gotten "off track" by not going down to the Ice this past austral summer. When I first went down in  '04 I knew I didn't ever want to do anything else. This was "it" for the rest of my life, as long as they'd let me go down. After four seasons and for several different reasons I decided to take a season off, and I've felt off kilter and funky about it all season. I've wailed to whomever would listen that I'd turned my back on my "dream," that I was sabotaging myself as I sometimes do, and basically just conjured a bunch of sturm und drang that clued me in to the fact that I was once again not living in the present, not appreciating all the really groovy stuff I got to do by not going to the Ice, and most insightful for me: seeing how I believe there can be a "wrong" decision and that I don't act in my best interests. I had a contract doing something really cool & badass at South Pole & turned it down, and would not have done that without a good reason. I had several good reasons, but the point of this particular ramble is that I don't trust the flow of my universe sometimes, and like to kick myself mercilessly about about a decision, instead of just saying 'what's next!' It's part of my grass is greener problem, which I am not having now as I am in one of my blissful states: a painting workshop in San Francisco, a city I love, with an amazing teacher and some beautiful yummy girlfriends.

I debated on whether to post this photo as it has a creepy cheap porno vibe that I assume is a result of my computer camera and hotel lighting combined with the awkwardness of trying to photograph myself with a laptop. That, the headlessness, and my stance as I try to get the shirt in right for the three second countdown give it a tawdryness that looks like I'm trying to post a saucy photo (lol!) of myself, but is betrayed by the hilarity that those who know me see I found a Hello Kitty shirt where she's sporting my glasses (and their "flocked!"). I would be in trouble if I lived here buying uber cute shirts (this one was a whopping forty dollars! And probably not available at my local Sanrio shop - and an aside: I get in touch with the creepy consumerist in me: after an intense and humbling walk through the Tenderloin, checking out Glide Memorial and all the cool cheap restaraunts, I was suddenly in the sparkly White world of a shiny mall, transfixed by Japanese tsotchke, and treating my credit card like monopoly money as I do on trips. $92 and 3 Hello Kitty clothing items later, I am weaving my way back to my hotel near the 'Loin dodging people shouting at me, conscious of my bright pink Sanrio sack being toted through acres of grey homelessness.) and ultra nerdy glasses frames. Going into Sanrio (or the Haight) here is dangerous for me, as I call myself a non-shopper, and in the past I had a 1000 item HK collection that I eventually dismantled and sold, but was a joy to collect in an odd period of my life in my early 30's. I have this gorgeous photo of the Golden Gate bridge in blinding sunlight, but I posted a GG photo when I was here in June, when it was nice and COLD, but now it's warm and sunny. Oh well, my frenemy the Sun, loves to follow me wherever I go...but I digress...

I have been waiting to hear about a winter job on Ice that would start in March or April, and now I won't deploy unless someone drops out. I will go to Denver in a couple of weeks to do the pq process & enjoy some snow sports, but I have already decided that I will wait until the final boat has sailed, and then I will deploy Plan B, which is ramping up my solo travel activities to include a big trip to someplace I've never been, possibly a long freighter cruise, or a summer working in Alaska. My Plan B sounds like so much fun that if Plan A falls through I won't have too long to shed tears. I'll just have to kiss my honey goodbye again, and carefully monitor funds so I can make it til next summer deployment...where I'm sure it will feel, once I'm down on Ice again, that I never left, and that I am back home.

oh yeah, I forgot: it didn't fit in the photo, but the bottom of the shirt says "Talk Nerdy to Me"

Improvise or Die

As my loyal readers (which appears to have dropped down to about two, maybe) may remember, I am a big fan of improvisational acting and comedy. I have been taking improv classes in Austin for 3 years, but because of my seasonal work on the Ice, I have never taken it to the "next level" of risktaking, which would be performing with a troupe - but one of the reasons I don't do that is because I have learned about myself, ironically, in improv, that the things that I am most afraid of are what I need to move to the next level: trust and commitment. Yesterday we had an exercise where we had to walk around with our eyes closed and let our classmates "take care of us," which is a  very difficult concept for me to embrace, and which goes hand in hand with trust. I broke out in a sweat, was afraid I was going to crash into people so didn't take the risk of trusting them. Improv can slam you with your fears like no other sort of therapy or self investigation because it continually forces you to act on your first impulse, and if you can't do that, you whole life flashes before you of how you've deferred to convention rather than to your true self. You immediately see it as  a big shiny mirror for your whole life: you find out how good you listen, how easily you give and take, how controlling you are, and if you have any buried shame, it will surface, interestingly enough perhaps while you are playing a scene speaking only in gibberish acting as a human with monkey-like mannerisms. Aside from these grim sounding therapeutic aspects (and that awful monkey tainted improv scenario!), improv is so much giddy fun that you get in touch with that little kid who just knew how to play (yesterday we did a sports commentator scene with an ultra slow-motion race where the contestants were miming deodorant application while I was turbo-commentating on their "race." It was hilarious!), which brings up another topic I've been discussing with my middle aged friends: how we played as kids versus how I see kids playing today. (And before I go off on that topic I want to linchpin this sprawling and nonsensical posting with it's dramatic title: I don't mean to "die" in the conventional sense of the "meat body" decaying, but more in the sense of never having lived. Improv can get you so in touch with life, and all it's beautiful & horrific edges, that to never know that level of life, for me at least, is to be dead. Dead like that beautiful Joyce story. Dead as in numb). Anyway, I work on a campus no one over 30 is walking around with an i-pod in their ears, but everyone under 30 is. I never see students walking around talking to each other but they are almost all talking on a cell phone (the ones without earbuds in). I am sitting in a coffee shop right now where everyone is on a laptop with earbuds in (I am wearing earPLUGS as I can't write with music playing, as it is here), which I like because I came here to write, but if I wanted to talk shit with my buds, I'd go outside or to a noisy coffee house. But anyway, when we were kids in the 60's, we had an old barbie, a stick, two crayons, our imaginations, and no one hovering over us EVER. We made up elaborate stories & plays & dramatic scenarios inspired by popular TV shows of the day. We drew &  painted & wrote & ran outside in the evenings until dark and had to completely entertain ourselves. We had no special classes or sports events we needed to be shuttled to, and no one pressuring us to do anything except be quiet inside the house. Because I never had many toys I don't need hardly any now. I've been writing almost daily since before I even spoke, so that has always been a fulfilling pastime, even if it nets me nothing except the simple pleasure and occasional joy of doing it. I sometimes wonder how these kids will turn out who have all these expensive entertainment devices handed to them on a frequent basis. I have my own absurdly shocking intimacy issues, and it's taken me about 16 years to figure out a non self-destructive way of coping with them, and I  am curious how the children of today (who care to) will start their practice of undoing their high tech addictions - or if they'll even need/care to. I just started facebooking & have a love/hate relationship with it because it is a truly  great and horrible thing at the same time. I have used it to pursue a chicy job I am waiting to hear about, but I also call it the "satanic time waster" as I can log onto it for "just a minute" and find myself sucked in an hour later looking at what everyone else is doing, comfortable at my safe distance, indulging one of my favorite guilty pleasures: spying. But I'm always relieved when I finally log off & go on a long walk or pet my dog or do something not on my computer. Which reminds me, I'm tired of this already, it is a beautiful day, and I'm going to go walk my dog! So pedestrian...yet almost radical in it's shunning of technology.

Intimacy of the Mundane

The top photo was taken in a small town in the Netherlands last year. The second in the elaborately art deco train station in Sofia, Bulgaria, the third in Yellowstone National Park. Because I have been having to blog at times lately without having had an "adventure" to blog about, I've been having to write about the mundane, which then feels like an adventure. I was listening to NPR the other day and a scientist was being interviewed who asked the question "would you rather go rock climbing or stay at home?" I turned up the volume as I was super curious about the kind of person who would want to "stay at home," since to me there is only one answer to that question. The scientist went on to talk about brain chemistry and how people who crave adventure derive a sense of satisfaction and accomplishment from these experiences whereas the stay-at-homers brain functions differently. He said these were hardwired personality traits, and they must be as I've craved adventure/travel/intense experience as my first conscious memory. I've always also thought the homebodies were lazy, scared, or "squashed creatives," which may be the case with some people, but for many is just a personal preference. I always liked a place to come to to take a breather between adventures, but the discomfort level I feel about being "at home" more than several weeks always pushes me out the door. But as I've had the ability to do whatever I want for the past several years, I can now see the value in what I took for granted for so long when I was a homeowner & had a structured life. I can see the value but am not ready for it yet. I sort of want both lives but feel I have to commit to one more than the other. Adventure always wins. And it wins because it connects me with an intimacy that I don't feel when I stay home. Lately though, and upsetting to my m.o. I have been having these incredibly rich and connecting experiences in my daily, non-adventurous life. A lot of it is because I have gone deeper in my yoga practice, and that in itself is a joy beyond description, but more of it is just being awake to what is around me in the present moment. The "adventure" of being not in Antarctica for the holidays: the surreal X-mas frenzy, the beauty of early sunset and black skies after 4 seasons of 24 hour daylight. I suppose it's what one would call an inner adventure.  Being on stage in an improv class is not at exciting as waking up in Istanbul, but it is incredibly satisfying nonetheless. I get so hooked on thrills and the "new" that sometimes I rigidly refuse to accept something familiar and mundane as satisfying, but wall has been torn down, and I now see that it's all good, it's all interesting and fun and exciting...just in different ways.

Ten Degrees in Texas

That's right. Today, with wind chill, it's 10F degrees in Austin. It might actually be colder here than at McMurdo, which is one of the reasons I don't really miss being there anymore. Because my mood is so affected by climate, I have been borderline ecstatic in this cold & cloudy season. Finally out of the heat & sun, my soul smiles and my energy level escalates dramatically. I'll be finding out about a job (hopefully soon) that would take me out of the country again in March, but if I don't do that, I plan to immerse myself into the creative community here in Austin again. We have an amazing local theatre, endless art classes, and daily film listings that would make any film geek cry. I find myself so many times not doing anything because there are too many choices, but really missing the culture when I'm somewhere that doesn't have any. This photo was taken at my favorite dive restaurant, The Omelettry, one of the Old Austin Institutions. I've been eating here for 30 years, and apparently so have many of people seated at the counter, as they seem to be superglued to their stools, grey beards skimming the tops of their heuvos rancheros. Nothing makes me happier than being in a place in Austin that is unchanged from when I arrived in '79 (though I was also born here), and except for the occasional Lexus (Lexii?) in the parking lot, the Omlettry is unchanged. Some of my more foodie friends berate me for eating at these places because the food is not "good." It's eggs & bacon for crying out loud - how good does it have to be? I'll take an atmosphere I like with marginal food over great food in a "hot" restaurant any day. I'm from the old "die yuppie scum" school (that sweet motto was spray painted on the sides of the punk clubs we patronized) & am aware that a part of that sensibility still lives in me, though it is a dated notion. I am too old for it & should probably eradicate it from my cadre of character defects, but I still get some pleasure from it, as Austin is full of yuppies now and it's getting harder & harder to dodge them. They keep finding our funky battered haunts, run off the punks & semi-hobos, and glitz up the place with neon & liquor infused coffee drinks. Effin gag me. I didn't know this posting was going to turn into a  yuppie rant so I'll have to eventually get back on track. Apologies to any yuppies reading this - though I already know none are, and before I go all Denis Leary on you, I have to get back to the photo. For some reason I had my camera in the restaurant the morning I took this. While I was proudly boasting like I always do to the 18 year old waitron that I've been coming here for 30 years (apparently, I'm going to be one of those obnoxious old people) I noticed a photo on the fridge (conveniently located in the dining area) that is a still from a documentary about the relationship between Werner Herzog & Klaus Kinski. I don't know if this particular still is from "My Best Fiend" or "Burden Of Dreams," but I had to snap the photo as I really admired the text someone had put with it - it says "I need more coffee!" while Kinski strangles Herzog. Oh so many connections! Long time readers will know I had the privilege of hanging out with Herzog in Antarctica 2 years ago. Long time friends know I went to film school  here & was wildly influenced by Herzog's work in the 1970s. Also, Tarantino's "Deathproof" had a really long scene in this restaurant, and obviously Q. knows of all these cool old "yuppie proof" haunts, as many of them feature in his films shot in Austin. I think the lowbrow exteriors keep them away. Or possibly the size of the parking spots.

Why am I writing about Austin in a blog which is supposed to be about Antarctica, world travel, and a big puffy cloud? Well, I'm not in Antarctica right now nor travelling, so I have to write about something. It has been very cold, and ominously overcast for many days (ie: feels sort of Antarctic, yet covered with clouds), so that is somewhat related. I have been seeing some incredibly awesome art and avant garde theatre lately, and just had a second interview for a job which may take me far far away for many months - and that always makes me sentimental for a place that I haven't even left yet. And this is the longest stint I've spent here in 4 years and just had to force myself to start liking it again. I have accepted that the yuppies won't go away, but there is always a place I can go where I'm guaranteed never to see any (and not just Terlingua and Moloka'i!) 

Why I Went to Hawaii

Honolulu, Waikiki

Oah'u was a nice change of pace from Moloka'i, but I believe that small raggedy Island will forever hold a special place in my heart - if you crave a funky  non-tourist experience, got to Moloka'i. So I think I was expecting, once again upon exiting the airport in Honolulu, some Disneylandesque type beach experience for adults, and once again, I was pleasantly surprised. Honolulu is unpretentious, has the grittiest Chinatown I've visited in the US, and has the busy seaport action that makes me want to drop off resumes. There were lot of homeless people on Waikiki, cohabiting seemingly well with the buff and bronzed jogging set. I feel a comfort level being somewhere where homeless people can sleep in parks & on the beach (they can't where I'm from) and where gay people can feel comfortable walking down the street showing affection  (which they CAN where I'm from-yea!), so each day in Hawaii provided more reasons to see it as a really great destination (and a lot shorter plane ride than to New Zealand!). The U.S.S. Arizona memorial at Pearl Harbor is powerful & touching, and hiking Diamond Head Crater at 6:00am was a great morning workout with stunning views. We stayed in an old hotel on the harbor which deserves it's own posting - I may have to start another blog called "Lodging David Lynch Would Love." Built in 1962, the Ilikai Hotel is the one that Jack London is on top of in the opening credit shots in Hawaii Five-O. The daily scene there could be the subject of a minor film-fest bound documentary, it was so full of resident characters and odd shops. But I know one thing for sure: if I ever buy a condo again (worst purchase of my life!), I'm buying one built in 1962. I never heard even a faint sound from the surrounding units (and after Moloka'i, I was a little shell shocked from shared-wall noise). So, Hawaii is just about perfect it seems. If it had a 60 degree season at all I would seriously consider moving there. We did take a day trip to Maui on Thanksgiving day, so we saw all five islands in 3 weeks. I love it when things I expect not to like, or feel ambivalent towards, end up being really awesome. Now I'm back in Texas, where the consolation is that is 50 degrees and rainy. Yee-ha!

Moloka'i

This small, rural island is visited by less than 1% of all tourists who come to Hawaii (and most of those come for one day, to do the mule ride to the leper colony), but the solitude and lack of tourist attractions make it feel as if you are someplace utterly wild and lawless. These photos are from the famous mule ride down a very steep cliffside, filled with switchbacks and slippery rocks, that could only compare in pucker-factor to forking a 4000 lb. load to the power plant in early Winfly. I didn't know that mules will walk on the EDGE of a sheer cliff face, scaring the bejesus out of you, while "faking" tripping over rocks. All us city folk were sweating from places we didn't know we had sweatglands, and probably would have been in tears if it weren't for the stunning thing that we were doing: going down the side of a cliff to visit the Kalaupapa Peninsula, which aside from being possibly one of the most beautiful spots on earth, is a still functioning colony for people with Hansen's Disease (formerly known as leprosy). There are 24 patients still living in the community, and we were allowed to spend a couple of hours there visiting various buildings and photographing the postcard-like scenery (the residents stay indoors while the tour is on), before getting back on our mules. The mules always walk in the same order, and they had me on the first one, "Kumu," which means "teacher" in Hawaiian. The guides must intuitively know who to put in front, as I am as wobbly on a mule as any flat-city bred girl could be, leaving me shrieking as I held on for dear life to my small saddle knob, while the local guide laughed & told me to kick Kumu to go faster. The mule truly seems like he is going to go straight instead of turning, but most of the fun of it was how freakin' scary it is. The history of the colony and of Father Damien (recently canonized), who gave his life in selfless service to the patients, is quite inspiring. It was an unusual tour as several emotional landscapes are traversed: the giddy mule ride, the heart wrenching facts that were presented to us about the suffering at the colony, the dread of getting back on the mules (it as a much shorter trip up). Moloka'i feels very different from the other islands. It really tests one's ability to be without "toys" (there was free wifi but I consider that essential, like coffee, and hey, don't even get me started on how great it is to be swilling coffee on the spot where it's grown!). Once again, I am suprised at how interesting a place Hawaii is.

Kaua'i, Hawaii

This is the island that South Pacific, Tropic Thunder, Jurassic Park (I), Blue Hawaii and all sorts of other movies were shot on. It is stunningly beautiful, very laid back, and full of roosters, hippies and yoga studios. The Waimea Canyon is filled with waterfalls and slippery difficult hikes and the Island is 85% undeveloped. I liked it much more than Big Island, as it was filled with many funky towns filled with artists shops. There appears to have been zero updating of any of the buildings since, oh, 1970 or so. Any development, or even a fresh coat of paint, is seen as threatening to the abiding feng shui of earthiness that permeates the place. I didn't have time to do the Movie Tour Bus as I would have liked, but the two days spent here were truly wonderful...oh, and it rained the whole time except for when I was on top of the canyon rim, taking these pictures...!

Big Island, Hawaii

I had negative preconceived notions about Hawaii, but they were all smashed as soon as I found that most of the it is wild and ruggedly beautiful. In the same day you can be boiling hot and freezing cold. I snorkled for the first time, which was incredibly fun.  We also went to a luau, and to the top of a volcano where it was 30F degrees and 14,500 ft above sea level. There were very few tourists and no kids anywhere! Driving around the Big Island is no fun, as the roads seem to be continually under construction, but the diversity of climates and interesting scenery was astounding. I was afraid it would be hot, but the clouds rolled in every afternoon to cool things off.

This Should Probably Just Be a Diary Entry....

but what the heck - the idea that someone may read it makes me leave out all the whininess that my paper diaries tend to reflect. Plus, I can't read my handwriting anymore, and I type faster than I can write, therefore almost getting through the "stack" that is forming this early morning during a time of change: moving out of where I was living in Austin, homelessness, going to Hawaii right when the weather here is getting delicious & dark & stormy, no plan after I get back - true an utter limbo (47 years old, occupying a twin bed at my parents house, my car filled with all my worldly possesions, yet feeling so undeservedly blessed as the richness of my life is overwhelming), but a good limbo: not flailing about in a panic, but luxuriously mulling over my options, while ramping myself up with assaultive action for whatever path I decide upon: I could ski this winter! I have a potential possibility of going to Palmer Station, I could even do Improv in Austin...it's all wide open at this point...

My last posting was so embarassingly bad that I thought I'd better wait til something happened before I blogged again, but "something" is always "happening" and James Michener wrote for 2 hours every morning no matter what, and I have found that doing that presents one with all sorts of surpises & opportunities. The words will start to find subject & meaning without too much help from me, and just banging away at it with no particular direction will eventually stir that inner pot of juiciness that keeps me alive & curious and questing for that pearl at any price that all creative endeavors provide one with. When I painted with oils, that connection was immediate, continual, and lasted  for the 20 years that I painted. Seeing a band I really connect with can do that too...I just saw TV on the Radio & they were incredible (though, the elements that made that show so incredible weren't just about seeing the band). And for the last 4 years, even though I haven't done it consistently, participating in the improv community in Austin has filled the creative need. I won't go into Antarctica & it's Impact on my life as I've written reams on that already. The fact that I did not go down this season has gotten my pot so stirred that I realize I am so completely free to choose what direction I want my life to go in, and I am really thinking about some very big and different things. I need to start making more money. I have only ever had really low paying jobs - I am practicing the mantra that it is possble for me to obtain a high paying job that does not require me to do some mind numbing desk work (criminies: most of my low paying jobs were about mind numbing desk work!). I am not sure I am ready for a non seasonal life, but I am thinking about it. The last 10 months I have lived in an 800 sq. ft house with an old friend and when I moved out 4 days ago the relief was overwhelming. Before the Ice, I had owned my own home for 15 years, not cohabited with anyone except for about 5 of those, and completely took it (the fact that I always has my own house) for granted until I started this seasonal life, sold my house, and started rooming with someone in the off season. A few months is ok, but 10 is too long unless I am in love with the person, and even that has a host of issues, but I digress...so having basically payed rent for 10 months & then actually gotten an 8-5 job back in this "real world" really showed me why I bolted to another lifestyle as soon as I found one - there is absolutely no reason for me to have a low paying dumbass job in a sucky climate like Texas when I have to pay rent, gas & everything else in a very expensive city. If I'd had my own place, I would just be covering my bills with my pay and have no extra $. On the Ice, I got used to my entire salary being "gravy" money - I would buy an occasional soda in the bar but that was only because I felt like spending a dollar so my wallet wouldn't freeze shut. What I learned from working stateside this time is that it's going to take a super fabulous job with a high income for me to stay here. There's just going to have to be something that is more shiny & thrilling to me than the Ice to make me not go back there. I never believed it was possible but I have decided to enlarge my thinking.  It's all about possibilites now, and I think that magical night November 4th has helped me see that.

Schadenfreude

Like a Sienfeld episode, I have nothing to blog about, so I am going to try and create something from nothing - my improv training should come in  handy here - and I've also decided to further challenge myself by entitling this posting first with a gorgeous word that was chosen simply because it looks and sounds magnificent, and not based at all on anything going on in my life that has its elements. But by the end of this tome-ette, hopefully I will have lynch pinned my thoughts somehow to justify the post title. Perhaps the musings will concatenate in a way to suggest the German "loanword" with the bittersweet definition.

This photo was taken with my laptop internal camera. I was eavesdropping on this incredibly surreal conversation going on behind me, and even though I've always wished I had those spy glasses where you can see stuff behind you that were always advertised in the back of Mad Magazine, I usually just turn around & check it out, not having any kind of pride about those sorts of things (and because of where I am, chances are I know these conversants). So I got the clever idea of launching the camera application & pointing it in their direction (my back still to them); but I soon lost interest in the conversation as the photo became more compelling to frame (ooh - industrial, B&W, and Eraserhead-ish!), made more interesting as I'm doing it backwards, while hovering the laptop in the air. I'm sure it was obvious to the other 40 people in here with the exact same laptop what I was doing. (This could have been "schadenfreude"-ish if I would have been delighting at some talk around someone's pain or misery, but a homeless guy was asking a gal for her knit cap (it is, after all, under 85 degress here now), and it was sweet because she gave it to him, and it was safety orange, and he didn't just want any hat, he had to have hers. He said he had been looking everywhere for one. I guess when you're homeless, "looking everywhere" doesn't mean the same thing to you or me - as you can't swing a dead cat around here without finding orange beanies for sale....)

ok, next:

In 4 days I will celebrate sixteen years of abstinence from alcoholic beverages, and two weeks after that I will turn 48 years old, an age that I never would have considered would rock this goodly - and aside from how old my neck looks, everything about late forties kicks butt. I am fit and healthy and it is Autumn: my season of uber happiness. The knowledge that my life is half over is making me dig deep into my psyche to discover those one or two dreams (knocking around in there with the 50 or so others) that I want to start working on before I relax into my extended dirt nap. I just saw the film "Outsourced," and once again India is on my radar as someplace I'd like to spend several months. I also want to live in the Gaeltacht in Ireland to learn Irish. There's also a rumbling (yet disturbing to me) desire to resurrect an anciently wanted "Cinderella Dream," though before those of you who know me start laughing I have spun it into a version I can handle: think the 60's movie version with Leslie Ann Warren, but with some "Sid & Nancy" touches, the costuming and the music, not the drugs. And a with a Gripfast 8 hole steel toe instead of a "slipper." Get the picture? Though, really, if I were deeply honest, I've already gotten to live that one out...(no schadenfreude here, unless the reader is laughing at my Cinderella Dream, which I've never confessed to having as it seems super uncool, in which case, I'm laughing with you, so I'm not miserable (unless I'm laughing just to keep from crying), so it doesn't count).

Still with me...?

At some point during this time of trying to come of with something worth blogging about I read a story about some American tourists who got on a bus in Africa, and at one the stops a man got on with a rooster, didn't have bus fare, & tried to pay his fare with the rooster. The Americans bought the rooster from the man so he could pay for his trip and when they all got off at the same stop the local man invited the tourists to his home for a meal. He was a widower who lived in a small hut with his two children, was very poor, but scratched together a meal for all of them. The Americans had a wonderful time, and when they left, gave the man back his rooster (I was wondering how the hell they were holding this thing the whole time! I wouldn't have any idea how to hold a rooster - I mean, was in a sack, or were they holding it upside down by it's (what I'm assuming are) scary feet?). I heard Johnny Lydon (one of my personal heroes) tell Conan O'Brien that the Garden of Eden wasn't in the bible or in the sky but in Africa instead. I have experienced first hand the incredible graciousness of people who have very little (usually in "emerging" countries)...I don't think they sit around and wonder what to do with their months of free time like I do. The reason I tell that story is because it struck me how I used to live my life thinking there was so little for me (which wasn't true) and I had to hold on tightly to whatever stuff, money, love (insert...anything) I thought I had - and this story shows a generosity without clinging - a way of living I aspire to, and have moved slightly closer to in my 16 years of not trying to change the way I feel with chemicals, which was based in a feeling of never having "enough" (which was false). But I don't have to travel around the world to see this sort of non-clinging to stuff - I just talked to the gal who gave her beanie to the homeless guy - she is homeless too. She is singing loudly while listening to music on her laptop. Homeless people with cell phones and laptops...what a crazy place.

I have run out of finger power & have not justified the title of the post so I'll just pull something from the random stack of topics in my brain, in a "use this word in a sentence" style: "the last time I experienced schadenfreude was was seeing the governor of Alaska being interviewed by Charles Gibson. I enjoyed her discomfort & awkwardness." I'm sure my karma is coming soon.

Limbo Beyond Limbo

A lot of people are surprised to find out I have a filmmaking degree. I think they thought I majored in Art or English or have some random Liberal Arts degree, but I was one of a handful of kids in the early 80's doing incredibly involved technical and creative 16mm film making at the University where I am currently a wage serf - which I now would not be able to get into as the requirements are so much stricter, and the film progam is recognized as top notch, as it was even then when there were just a handful of us doing it. The technical parts were incredibly arduous, but the chaos of shooting and editing and sound synching suited my nature. I partied so much in college that it is a miracle I got through, but we all seemed to be able to do that while we were making films, which I don't think is uncommon even today. I mention me having a film degree because about two months ago I was called for an extra role in the new HBO biopic about Temple Grandin, one of my personal heroes. I had stood in a cattle call line about two years ago for a big Hollywood pic being shot here, & the local film casting folks still had my picture. The reason they called me was because I was, at that time, 118 pounds, and they wanted skinny girls to fit into the 50's & 60's clothes for the period piece. I told them I weighed more than that now, sent them a pic of me in a bikini & never heard from them figuring that extra 5 pounds knocked me out of the running. Last night they finally called (around 8:30pm), and asked if I could show up the next day for a role that was bigger than an extra, so it would be a more intimate scene, where I would actually be seen in the movie for a few minutes. I thought this was cool & said I would do it, then told them I had a recent dye job-they didn't like this & told me I'd have to dye my hair before I came in, and have it set in "hot rollers," and bring pantyhose. I said I didn't have any hot rollers or pantyhose & thought it might be too late to go buy hair dye and they started asking me if I was really "stoked" or not for this role and that "they had held it special just for me" (???). I didn't ask why, then, they were calling me the night before for this special role just for me, because I would actually like to work on a film before I croak (actually, I am quite proud of the short film Will & I made in Antarctica for the film festival). The phone call became more bizarre as I talked to three different girls & they kept telling me their names and they were different than the first time they told me, and there was lots of noise in the background and that sounded like they were calling me from a crack house. I was still planning on going to the set when I reminded them that I had some small tattoos - and the girl on the phone asked where they were & I told her & she said "sorry we won't be able to use you..." & kept apologizing & acted liked I deceived them as she said she couldn't see them in my mostly naked picture. I said that's because they are not so obvious...anyway, I got off the phone relieved not to be dealing with these bozos..until I walked over to the shoot today (they happened to be shooting near campus and I know the secret signage that indicates where a big film is being shot) and saw all the teamsters & giant generators & millions of dollars of equipment & amount of bodies needed to pull of a production. I am a big fan of HBO made programming, so was curious about the incredible unprofessionalism of the talent people I'd dealt with on the phone. Anyway, it was a micro-drama that gave me something to write about. And because writing always opens the floodgates for stacking more topics...I was thinking about conversations I'd been having recently about the state of being in limbo versus being tethered and how that means different things to different people. I, right now, am in limbo beyond limbo. I am not on the Ice, have  a job I am quitting in two weeks, am moving out of my room in early November, going to Hawaii for 3 weeks, and after that have no idea what I'm going to do. I usually "tether" myself by some non-negotiable trips I have to do during the year: Taos in March & May, San Francisco in June...and usually the Ice for half the year - but the Ice, my singleminded focus of the last four year, is not happening this year. I am so free it's ridiculous. Getting this full time job has been great for my sanity & tethered me to life somewhat, but I am only enjoying it because I know it's going to end. There's always such a relief I feel when I know something is ending or changing. So starting in May I went from having a job at the South Pole for austral summer, to not having one, to working the ski season in Jackson Hole, to not doing that, and then asking for a job at South Pole for winter, and being immediately rejected (!). The problem I'm having now is not the fear of being in utter limbo, it's not knowing what I want to do. I worked so hard to get myself into this position of not being chained to a job, city or mortgage...so I should just enjoy the fact that I'm in this luxury position instead of worrying about it. Sometimes I wonder if I'm squandering my creative energies, but it takes so much energy to manage this lovingly chosen limbo, that maybe that is the creative act. And nothing makes me more certain than I am living the right life for me than working at UT again, where I'm surrounded by people who don't have the choice to quit & run off like I do. It is so easy for me to see tethers as chains...

the next day...

In the airconditioned comfort of my favorite new coffee hangout in Austin, Epoch. What makes a local coffee shop great? Old blown out comfy couches, super groovy new down-tempo music played at a volume where you can still type & read, and a band of locals you eventually form a "tribe" with. This one also has excellent pizza. It's mid October & still in the 90'sF here in Central Texas, but I have made peace with my heat hating side as the mornings & evening are blissfully nice. I got an e-mail from a friend at McMurdo this morning....I worked with her in the Heavy Shop three seasons ago and though I have accepted I gave up my job on Ice this season, I was not prepared to be stricken like I was when I saw the photos of her in one of the big red South Pole Traverse tractors. My heart seized up, as if something very very important to me was no longer mine - tears streamed from my eyes as I scrolled down to the pics of the pristine mountains across from the butt-ugly but lovable station. For a variety of reasons I decided to not go back to the Ice this season, and despite my grieving not being there, I have found reasons to appreciate being stateside. But I was not prepared for how deeply the Ice is woven into my blood, body & cells: any opportunity to talk about it sparkles me. No matter how much I stand by my decision that is ok for me to take a season off, there is a hole in my soul in the shape of my friends & the lifestyle of Mactown. 

But while I sit here torturing myself, the world is unfolding around me in subtle & interesting ways...I get to be here for this incredibly bizarre & epic presidential election. I get to experience a temperature that is somewhere comfortably between 100F & not -40F (the extremes I've been in the last 4 years). I get to have deep & intimate conversations with wonderful people. I get to see tableaux like the one pictured, that someone lovingly created on the bar at Epoch, and reminds me that I could never live anywhere that did not have these sorts of fringe places peopled by fringe characters. I am so comfortable with them.