why i love this place...
5:45AM - wake up
6:00AM - start work
4:00PM - finish work
4:30PM - climb in bouldering cave with Ben
6:45PM - attend yoga class
8:00PM - sit in on weekly science lecture (this week: Long Distance Balloon project)
9:00PM - rugby practice (I am learning a brand new sport at 26!)
10:15PM - shower
10:30PM - go to sleep (and repeat)
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Saturday, October 22, 2005
ayn rand
Jeff the Giant, a brilliant fellow who holds a Masters in Environmental Policy from a distinguished Ivy League school, spies me across the table during our morning break. He’s a DA (Dining Attendant) like me, and at 6’ 7” he towers over all of us.
Half laughing, mostly with his eyes, he says to me… “A friend of mine once told me that anyone who reads Ayn Rand automatically becomes an asshole for two-weeks afterward…”
I glance up and reply… “Huh? Make sure to slap me upside the head in a couple of weeks if that turns out to be the case.”
The Fountainhead has taken over every quiet moment I find. It’s fascinating and completely absorbing… Big Red (my parka) has a pocket permanently dedicated to the volume.
Half laughing, mostly with his eyes, he says to me… “A friend of mine once told me that anyone who reads Ayn Rand automatically becomes an asshole for two-weeks afterward…”
I glance up and reply… “Huh? Make sure to slap me upside the head in a couple of weeks if that turns out to be the case.”
The Fountainhead has taken over every quiet moment I find. It’s fascinating and completely absorbing… Big Red (my parka) has a pocket permanently dedicated to the volume.
Thursday, October 20, 2005
A quiet lesson in life
My eyes open slowly, effortlessly, as though the pressures holding them shut were gently lifted.
A rich darkness shrouds the room, save the headlamp that delicately lights her face above me. The only sound, that of quiet breathing from roommates sleeping in the darkness.
The lamp glows, and fringes of that light suggest the brilliance of her eyes. They are kind and focused, intent upon her hands which I cannot see, and can only feel. She shifts her gaze to mine and smiles gently – her eyes slowly closing and opening again, as though to say, “hi.”
I feel the pressure of her fingers on my aching forearm, the pain of a week’s unfamiliar labor being kneaded out of every tired muscle. Her hands work expertly, methodically attending to every tight fiber. My pain, the pain under her fingertips, is the sensation of being deconstructed. Deconstructed and reassembled in proper order.
I lie still, giving in completely to the expertise of her touch. The human form, my human form, holds no mystery. It’s not just that I am watching, experiencing, the work of competence, of purpose and pride. It’s the familiarity demonstrated in her touch. A conversation without words. Her hands speak, reducing my arms, the pain of the fibers within, to something tangible. I listen, and my physical surrender replies humbly, “yes, thank you.”
. . .
Physical contact, it’s a funny thing to consider a necessity. We need nutrition, oxygen, water to fuel our bodies. Do we need touch in much the same way? There is an intimacy in touch. It’s a trust. It’s a gift. Touch can be intimate without being sexual. It’s in awkward hugs between brothers. It’s in a comforting arm around mournful shoulders. It’s in healing hands on an aching body.
A rich darkness shrouds the room, save the headlamp that delicately lights her face above me. The only sound, that of quiet breathing from roommates sleeping in the darkness.
The lamp glows, and fringes of that light suggest the brilliance of her eyes. They are kind and focused, intent upon her hands which I cannot see, and can only feel. She shifts her gaze to mine and smiles gently – her eyes slowly closing and opening again, as though to say, “hi.”
I feel the pressure of her fingers on my aching forearm, the pain of a week’s unfamiliar labor being kneaded out of every tired muscle. Her hands work expertly, methodically attending to every tight fiber. My pain, the pain under her fingertips, is the sensation of being deconstructed. Deconstructed and reassembled in proper order.
I lie still, giving in completely to the expertise of her touch. The human form, my human form, holds no mystery. It’s not just that I am watching, experiencing, the work of competence, of purpose and pride. It’s the familiarity demonstrated in her touch. A conversation without words. Her hands speak, reducing my arms, the pain of the fibers within, to something tangible. I listen, and my physical surrender replies humbly, “yes, thank you.”
. . .
Physical contact, it’s a funny thing to consider a necessity. We need nutrition, oxygen, water to fuel our bodies. Do we need touch in much the same way? There is an intimacy in touch. It’s a trust. It’s a gift. Touch can be intimate without being sexual. It’s in awkward hugs between brothers. It’s in a comforting arm around mournful shoulders. It’s in healing hands on an aching body.
Wednesday, October 19, 2005
Getting me through my day
I foresee this to be the first of many posts about a gal named Shelton.
Shelton claims to be from Tennessee, and her accent is convincing, but really, I think she’s from another planet. She’s one of my favorite people on the ICE.
In the last three years she’s lived in five different states (Tennessee, Washington, New Mexico, Montana and Colorado), through-hiked the 2,160 mile Appalachian Trail, dropped out of college (multiple times), enrolled in culinary school, and accepted a cooking internship here in Antarctica.
Silly and goofy in the most endearing way possible, an ear-to-ear grin almost always decorates her face. She’s as skinny as a rail, with eyes that are wild and distant at the same time. Laughter seems to erupt from her entire body at the most unexpected times. You can’t help but smile and laugh along. One might look at her and say that she is pretty in the conventional sense, but it would more appropriate to say that she is beautiful in a most unconventional sense.
With her Southern drawl she’ll gives you the impression of being sweetly naive. Certainly she is sweet, but I also think she is more aware and perceptive then she lets on. What is probably most charming is that everything about her has a genuine fearless quality you’re only accustomed to seeing in children. Whatever the case, everyone around is happier for knowing Shelton.
For the first 2 weeks of her internship, Shelton is assigned to work as a DA. After that she will move to the kitchen and apprentice with production cooks and chefs. During one of our DA stretch-breaks, our entire crew is lying in the back dining room in peaceful silence. We are stretching our wrists, shoulders and backs to try and prevent the repetitive motion injuries that plague our crew. The light is dim, and with the breakfast rush over, all is quiet. Our peaceful stretching is unexpectedly disrupted with an outburst from Shelton…
“Last night at dinner, I saw the ma’anliest man I’ve ever seen.” The awkward pause that follows is long enough for the whole room to erupt in laughter… all of us looking at each other, thinking, “what?”
“ah-Ha’ ha-Ha',” she laughs along… mostly because the rest of us are cracking up, not really knowing what’s so funny.
“Seriously y’all. He’s really tall. He had a beard… didn’t any of y’all see him? He was really handsome… I talked to him.” She continues.
“I was real nervous. He was taking fried okra from the line, and I was like, ‘Wow! Do you like… okra?’ He told me he’s going to South Pole, and I was like, ‘Wow… cool… are you flyin’ there?’”
I look over at my friend Alison, another DA, and we’re laughing so hard that sound cannot escape our mouths. The only way to get to South Pole station is to fly there. Shelton shrugs, smiles innocently and laughs along with the rest of us.
Shelton claims to be from Tennessee, and her accent is convincing, but really, I think she’s from another planet. She’s one of my favorite people on the ICE.
In the last three years she’s lived in five different states (Tennessee, Washington, New Mexico, Montana and Colorado), through-hiked the 2,160 mile Appalachian Trail, dropped out of college (multiple times), enrolled in culinary school, and accepted a cooking internship here in Antarctica.
Silly and goofy in the most endearing way possible, an ear-to-ear grin almost always decorates her face. She’s as skinny as a rail, with eyes that are wild and distant at the same time. Laughter seems to erupt from her entire body at the most unexpected times. You can’t help but smile and laugh along. One might look at her and say that she is pretty in the conventional sense, but it would more appropriate to say that she is beautiful in a most unconventional sense.
With her Southern drawl she’ll gives you the impression of being sweetly naive. Certainly she is sweet, but I also think she is more aware and perceptive then she lets on. What is probably most charming is that everything about her has a genuine fearless quality you’re only accustomed to seeing in children. Whatever the case, everyone around is happier for knowing Shelton.
For the first 2 weeks of her internship, Shelton is assigned to work as a DA. After that she will move to the kitchen and apprentice with production cooks and chefs. During one of our DA stretch-breaks, our entire crew is lying in the back dining room in peaceful silence. We are stretching our wrists, shoulders and backs to try and prevent the repetitive motion injuries that plague our crew. The light is dim, and with the breakfast rush over, all is quiet. Our peaceful stretching is unexpectedly disrupted with an outburst from Shelton…
“Last night at dinner, I saw the ma’anliest man I’ve ever seen.” The awkward pause that follows is long enough for the whole room to erupt in laughter… all of us looking at each other, thinking, “what?”
“ah-Ha’ ha-Ha',” she laughs along… mostly because the rest of us are cracking up, not really knowing what’s so funny.
“Seriously y’all. He’s really tall. He had a beard… didn’t any of y’all see him? He was really handsome… I talked to him.” She continues.
“I was real nervous. He was taking fried okra from the line, and I was like, ‘Wow! Do you like… okra?’ He told me he’s going to South Pole, and I was like, ‘Wow… cool… are you flyin’ there?’”
I look over at my friend Alison, another DA, and we’re laughing so hard that sound cannot escape our mouths. The only way to get to South Pole station is to fly there. Shelton shrugs, smiles innocently and laughs along with the rest of us.
wildlife... Wildlife!
I got to see sea-ice. I walked on frozen ocean. Just under my soles lay shades of blue that I’ve never seen in nature. Pure, clear and vivid blues with an iridescence that defined the sensation of cold.
Today was my one day off during the work week. Right now it’s Wednesday, which is a bit of a downer because 90% of the folks at McMurdo have Sundays off, and I miss out on spending time with a lot of my friends. However, having a weekday off has definite perks.
I was invited to join some scientists and research techs on a field trip out to Cape Evans. I was to help them collect Antarctic fish from the traps that are set in the fish-huts some 15 miles from the research station, out on the sea-ice. The researchers are looking at the physical mechanisms that allow these fish to survive in the frigid waters (-28 deg-F) of Antarctica. The fish produce a protein that behaves as natural antifreeze; they also have a higher salt content that keeps them from freezing solid.
We bounced out to Cape Evans in a vehicle called a Piston Bully, which is a relatively small (by Antarctic standards) track-driven vehicle. Imagine a miniature unarmored tank.
Halfway out to Cape Evans we came across a group of seals that had surface through a crack in one of the pressure ridges. They were just kind of resting and lounging on the sea-ice surface, so we pulled the Piston Bully over and moseyed over to have a look. It was funny to realize that these four blubbery creatures were the first living creatures (other than human) that I’d seen since arriving on this continent. There are no bugs here… no migrant birds have arrived… and McMurdo has a no pet policy.
Today was my one day off during the work week. Right now it’s Wednesday, which is a bit of a downer because 90% of the folks at McMurdo have Sundays off, and I miss out on spending time with a lot of my friends. However, having a weekday off has definite perks.
I was invited to join some scientists and research techs on a field trip out to Cape Evans. I was to help them collect Antarctic fish from the traps that are set in the fish-huts some 15 miles from the research station, out on the sea-ice. The researchers are looking at the physical mechanisms that allow these fish to survive in the frigid waters (-28 deg-F) of Antarctica. The fish produce a protein that behaves as natural antifreeze; they also have a higher salt content that keeps them from freezing solid.
We bounced out to Cape Evans in a vehicle called a Piston Bully, which is a relatively small (by Antarctic standards) track-driven vehicle. Imagine a miniature unarmored tank.
Halfway out to Cape Evans we came across a group of seals that had surface through a crack in one of the pressure ridges. They were just kind of resting and lounging on the sea-ice surface, so we pulled the Piston Bully over and moseyed over to have a look. It was funny to realize that these four blubbery creatures were the first living creatures (other than human) that I’d seen since arriving on this continent. There are no bugs here… no migrant birds have arrived… and McMurdo has a no pet policy.
After snapping photos of the seals we bounced along in the Piston Bully for another half an hour to reach the small fish huts that cover the ice-fishing holes. I help the scientists haul up the fish traps, but otherwise I mostly sit around and take in the experience. When the windows are covered in the fish hut, the hole through 6ft of sea-ice glows as though it were a fluorescent portal to another world.
After finishing at the fish huts, we are permitted to hike around Cape Evans a bit. With the research station far out of sight, the remoteness of our environment really sets in, and it’s a wonderful feeling.
. . .
(Click on either picture to be linked to other images from the day trip... do it!)
Tuesday, October 18, 2005
Lime Bug-Juice
It’s our 10:30 lunch break. We DA’s eat our meals 30 minutes before the Galley is opened up to the general public, and I’m sitting at a circular table with a handful of the colorful characters I work with.
Vince Vaughn DA sits to my right… a tall, lanky fella who eats like a 15-year-old going through a growth spurt. He’s our class clown - a charmer who is unable to stop with the wisecracks and stories.
Across from me sits Eor-DA… so called for his lethargic pace, as well as his sparing, dry and often cheerless conversation. Eor-DA, however, is probably the funniest guy on our crew. When he does say something, it's often the driest, wittiest thing I hear all day. He was a librarian of all things back in Denver.
To my left sits Kastanza-DA, who, physically, has really no resemblance to my favorite Seinfeld character. Yes, he is small, but he’s a skinny 22-year-old… not quite the short, quirky, bald man. He’s also from Louisiana, so the nasally Kastanza voice is laced with a Southern accent. All that said, Kastanza-DA personifies Jerry’s angry friend George to a ‘T’. How someone can be so funny and amusing while at the same time so irritable, neurotic, and self-involved… I’ll never know.
These guys all got here in August for something called Winfly. During Winfly, a small crew from each department comes in and takes over for the group that wintered over. Today they are sharing stories about times during the Winfly months when they were written up for some sort of deviant behavior.
Kastanza-DA chimes in with his story…
“’ey, TIM…” He has a way of over emphasizing the person’s name who he is addressing. “…so I never got written up for this, but I thought I would be.” Eor-DA and Vince Vaughn-DA already start chuckling because they know which story is coming.
“…well, you know them bug-juices, right?” By bug-juice he is referring to Galley jargon for the various Kool-Aid type beverages we serve. We have fruit punch, orange, lemonade, cherry, and lime…
“Yup,” I reply.
“A’ight, well, I’m sittin’ there one day and I’m supposed to mix up all the bug juices, you know? I do it and all… it’s my favorite thing… don’t have to talk to anyone for two-hours… just stand in the back and mix my bug juice.” He’s slumped in his chair, looking at me through squinty eyes.
“So I come in the next mornin’ and the cooks and Mary (a supervisor) come grab me right away. They take me back to the bug-juice cooler and they ask me, ‘Did you mix the lime bug-juice yesterday?’ and I’m like ‘Yeah I did… what the hell?’ Well, maybe I didn’t say ‘hell,’ but…”
“So they’re like, ‘Can you show us how you made the lime bug juice?’ and I’m like, ‘Sure, whatever.’ So I grabs the packet of lime bug-juice powder off the shelf and I’m tell ‘em ‘I took two of these packets like I’m supposed to, then I added 5 gallons of water, and mixed.’”
“Mary’s like, ‘Is that the packet that you used yesterday?’ and I tell her, ‘Yeah it is.’ She’s like, ‘But that’s the wrong packet… it says Lime Gelatin.” I’m like, ‘Yeah, so?’ Mary’s like ‘You made 5-gallons of Lime Jello.’ And I just start laughing right there… they weren’t laughing though… they were looking at me all serious and I stood up straight tried to stop laughing.”
“Shit man, I didn’t know Gelatin meant Jello. How the hell am I supposed to know what Gelatin is… Why do they put the bug juice packets right next to the Jello packets anyway? What are you laughin’ at TIM. Did you know that gelatin meant Jello?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle, imagining someone going to fill up the juice dispenser with a 5-gallon stainless steel canister of Jello.
“So you think you’re all smart and stuff… well, to hell with you...”
Vince Vaughn DA sits to my right… a tall, lanky fella who eats like a 15-year-old going through a growth spurt. He’s our class clown - a charmer who is unable to stop with the wisecracks and stories.
Across from me sits Eor-DA… so called for his lethargic pace, as well as his sparing, dry and often cheerless conversation. Eor-DA, however, is probably the funniest guy on our crew. When he does say something, it's often the driest, wittiest thing I hear all day. He was a librarian of all things back in Denver.
To my left sits Kastanza-DA, who, physically, has really no resemblance to my favorite Seinfeld character. Yes, he is small, but he’s a skinny 22-year-old… not quite the short, quirky, bald man. He’s also from Louisiana, so the nasally Kastanza voice is laced with a Southern accent. All that said, Kastanza-DA personifies Jerry’s angry friend George to a ‘T’. How someone can be so funny and amusing while at the same time so irritable, neurotic, and self-involved… I’ll never know.
These guys all got here in August for something called Winfly. During Winfly, a small crew from each department comes in and takes over for the group that wintered over. Today they are sharing stories about times during the Winfly months when they were written up for some sort of deviant behavior.
Kastanza-DA chimes in with his story…
“’ey, TIM…” He has a way of over emphasizing the person’s name who he is addressing. “…so I never got written up for this, but I thought I would be.” Eor-DA and Vince Vaughn-DA already start chuckling because they know which story is coming.
“…well, you know them bug-juices, right?” By bug-juice he is referring to Galley jargon for the various Kool-Aid type beverages we serve. We have fruit punch, orange, lemonade, cherry, and lime…
“Yup,” I reply.
“A’ight, well, I’m sittin’ there one day and I’m supposed to mix up all the bug juices, you know? I do it and all… it’s my favorite thing… don’t have to talk to anyone for two-hours… just stand in the back and mix my bug juice.” He’s slumped in his chair, looking at me through squinty eyes.
“So I come in the next mornin’ and the cooks and Mary (a supervisor) come grab me right away. They take me back to the bug-juice cooler and they ask me, ‘Did you mix the lime bug-juice yesterday?’ and I’m like ‘Yeah I did… what the hell?’ Well, maybe I didn’t say ‘hell,’ but…”
“So they’re like, ‘Can you show us how you made the lime bug juice?’ and I’m like, ‘Sure, whatever.’ So I grabs the packet of lime bug-juice powder off the shelf and I’m tell ‘em ‘I took two of these packets like I’m supposed to, then I added 5 gallons of water, and mixed.’”
“Mary’s like, ‘Is that the packet that you used yesterday?’ and I tell her, ‘Yeah it is.’ She’s like, ‘But that’s the wrong packet… it says Lime Gelatin.” I’m like, ‘Yeah, so?’ Mary’s like ‘You made 5-gallons of Lime Jello.’ And I just start laughing right there… they weren’t laughing though… they were looking at me all serious and I stood up straight tried to stop laughing.”
“Shit man, I didn’t know Gelatin meant Jello. How the hell am I supposed to know what Gelatin is… Why do they put the bug juice packets right next to the Jello packets anyway? What are you laughin’ at TIM. Did you know that gelatin meant Jello?”
“Yeah,” I chuckle, imagining someone going to fill up the juice dispenser with a 5-gallon stainless steel canister of Jello.
“So you think you’re all smart and stuff… well, to hell with you...”
Sunday, October 16, 2005
Don't call me Big Ern'
A stinkin’ 98!
Even in the Southern Hemisphere, I find I have no bowling skills to speak of… yet again failing to break the century mark.
Last night the crew of the Galley reserved both lanes of the McMurdo bowling alley. It’s the oldest in the Southern Hemisphere – built in 1961. The lanes are rutty and the pins have to be reset manually by a couple of guys working behind the scenes.
My work friends tried to comfort me with words of “those lane suck… they’ll totally throw off your game.” I never confessed that I was actually thinking to myself that the lanes had helped my game.
Even in the Southern Hemisphere, I find I have no bowling skills to speak of… yet again failing to break the century mark.
Last night the crew of the Galley reserved both lanes of the McMurdo bowling alley. It’s the oldest in the Southern Hemisphere – built in 1961. The lanes are rutty and the pins have to be reset manually by a couple of guys working behind the scenes.
My work friends tried to comfort me with words of “those lane suck… they’ll totally throw off your game.” I never confessed that I was actually thinking to myself that the lanes had helped my game.
Wednesday, October 12, 2005
Eye-cicles
Definition: when the moisture in your breath instantly freezes to your eye-brows and eye-lashes, forming crystalline eye accessories.
The newest style for this winter, designers in Europe are frantically looking for a way to duplicate the look using synthetic polymers.
-10 degrees Fahrenheit this morning. I had the day off from work today and went for a hike down to Scott Base, the New Zealand Station, and up Observation Hill. Here’s a link to the pictures:
The newest style for this winter, designers in Europe are frantically looking for a way to duplicate the look using synthetic polymers.
-10 degrees Fahrenheit this morning. I had the day off from work today and went for a hike down to Scott Base, the New Zealand Station, and up Observation Hill. Here’s a link to the pictures:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/26649384@N00/sets/1127341/
coming full-circle...
When I was in 8th grade I got my first job. Employment opportunities tend to be limited for 14-year-olds, so my Dad landed me dishwashing gig at the Cougar Country Drive-In. For a year and a half, until I turned 16 and could legally handle food, I scrubbed dishes, pots, and every sort of vile nastiness that the kitchen threw my way. $4.25/hour seemed fair at the time. My friends stopped hanging out with me because I became the smelly-kid… the stench of bleach could never be washed off. (I made that last bit up… I wasn’t the smelly kid… just the kid wearing sweatpants, skin-tight polo’s and a fanny pack. My friends hung out with me anyway).
Where was I? Oh, the dish-washing bit…
Yeah, so this week I found out that I’ve still got it. In addition to sweet nunchuck, bow-hunting and computer-hacking skills, my repertoire includes superhuman dishwashing skills. Yeah, girls only want boyfriends with great skills.
So, as it turns out, my newest form of employment has more or less placed me in the “Galley” for an indefinite period of time. I am a DA… a Dining Attendant… a position that would that would be more aptly titled “Dish Washer, Who Sometimes Helps With Food-Prep and Dining Hall Duties, But Mostly Just Washes Heaps and Heaps of Dishes”. But you know… I think DWWSHWFPADHDBMJWHAHOD wasn’t a great acronym for the folks in payroll… they're always griping about something.
It’s a job, you know? And… I get to work with some of the best folks at the station. I heard a statistic the other day that said that the Galley employees more Masters and PhD holders than the Crary Laboratory. I’d believe it too – one of my supervisors is a Masters-level biologist.
The 10-hour days fly by, and we get to crank up whatever music we want to work to. Nothing’ like scrubbing pots and pans to The Decemberists.
One of my supervisors, Spit-fire-Kim, was sitting with me during our breakfast break. She’s explaining to me the importance of taking care to avoid repetitive-motion injuries…
“Really, Tim, you have to take care of your body as a DA. Did you know that more than half of our staff right now is injured in some fashion? Most are suffering from…” she glanced down at my plate of orange slices, and blurts out, “Hey, Freshies!”
She darted for the food line and never completed her thought. On my flight from New Zealand we brought in a pallet of fresh produce.
Where was I? Oh, the dish-washing bit…
Yeah, so this week I found out that I’ve still got it. In addition to sweet nunchuck, bow-hunting and computer-hacking skills, my repertoire includes superhuman dishwashing skills. Yeah, girls only want boyfriends with great skills.
So, as it turns out, my newest form of employment has more or less placed me in the “Galley” for an indefinite period of time. I am a DA… a Dining Attendant… a position that would that would be more aptly titled “Dish Washer, Who Sometimes Helps With Food-Prep and Dining Hall Duties, But Mostly Just Washes Heaps and Heaps of Dishes”. But you know… I think DWWSHWFPADHDBMJWHAHOD wasn’t a great acronym for the folks in payroll… they're always griping about something.
It’s a job, you know? And… I get to work with some of the best folks at the station. I heard a statistic the other day that said that the Galley employees more Masters and PhD holders than the Crary Laboratory. I’d believe it too – one of my supervisors is a Masters-level biologist.
The 10-hour days fly by, and we get to crank up whatever music we want to work to. Nothing’ like scrubbing pots and pans to The Decemberists.
One of my supervisors, Spit-fire-Kim, was sitting with me during our breakfast break. She’s explaining to me the importance of taking care to avoid repetitive-motion injuries…
“Really, Tim, you have to take care of your body as a DA. Did you know that more than half of our staff right now is injured in some fashion? Most are suffering from…” she glanced down at my plate of orange slices, and blurts out, “Hey, Freshies!”
She darted for the food line and never completed her thought. On my flight from New Zealand we brought in a pallet of fresh produce.
Happy Feet
Damn right I’m wearing clogs.
Yeah, yeah… they were a mandatory purchase for my job.
You can make fun and point, but know that these are the most comfortable shoes EVER made. Someone should receive a Nobel Prize for Ergonomics for designing these things.
If you have the means, I’d highly recommend you pick up a pair of Dansko clogs.
Yeah, yeah… they were a mandatory purchase for my job.
You can make fun and point, but know that these are the most comfortable shoes EVER made. Someone should receive a Nobel Prize for Ergonomics for designing these things.
If you have the means, I’d highly recommend you pick up a pair of Dansko clogs.
She's got blue-eyes and this man's heart...
There are certain persons in one’s life who simply inspire you to smile and enjoy your own life more. Old or young, man or woman, they inspire simply by their nature, the way they live their lives, and their successes in spite of whatever cards they're dealt.
Thanks for the wall decoration Hails… I love it.
p.s. Ms. Piiilot... will you get that girl some braces?
Thanks for the wall decoration Hails… I love it.
p.s. Ms. Piiilot... will you get that girl some braces?
Monday, October 10, 2005
Me? Oh, I'm Tim...
"No, no... not Jim... sorry, I mumble... it's Tim, with a T. I'm from Seattle..."
"Oh, well I think I'm working in the Galley. What? Oh, in the real world? I was an engineer for a medical device company. Yourself?"
. . .
As we file off the plane in Christchurch, we're greeted by a myriad of Polar Services representatives. We fill forms, receive handouts, and surprisingly... $450NZ! The money more than pays for our food, accommodation and transport, so the remainder is ours to spend as we please. Beer, please. We spend the afternoon at the Antarctic Center trying on our ECW (Extreme Cold Weather) gear and packing our flight bags. Giant red parka, moon boots, Gortex overalls, gloves and hats galore...
I find that pretty much any person I strike up a conversation with has an interesting story to tell. They're all such nice, open minded, adventurous folk...
Delaney - Born and raised in Nebraska. Did his first Ironman Triathlon last summer (which is insane!). He's got his bachelors in construction management and aspires to land a job in Europe.
Erica - Hails from Boulder, she left a massage therapy practice to hit the ICE. A couple of years back she spent 3 months touring New Zealand on her bicycle. In the spring she wants to explore Thailand, Cambodia, India and Nepal. She also has a laugh that's utterly infectious.
Charlie - Also of Nebraska. He's 18! 18-years-old!!! Just finished high school and wanted to come down and join his brother on the ICE. At 18 I was cowering in a dorm room with my nose buried in a Calculus book!
Keith - A former Army brat now calling Virginia home. He's been doing this since 1999, and built both the climbing wall and bouldering cave at McMurdo station. A drafter by trade, he's also one of the captains for the Rugby team at the station.
Ruth - Another Seattlite! A sweet little waif... she styles hair, teaches yoga, lived in a commune, and enjoys belly dancing. Yeah... we take all kinds on the ICE.
Andre - A fire fighter from Chicago. He's also writing 2 novels and does editing and graphics work for movies in his spare time.
Amanda - An environmental conservationist from Northern California who'll be driving shuttles in Antarctica. As free a spirit as I've met...
Sandwich - Hailing from God knows where. She's got streaks of green hair and tattoo's of dancing cartoon sandwiches around her calf. Sandwich has been down here for a few seasons, and in between she lives out of a backpack in the remote regions of this world.
. . .
I can't get over the group of people I'm surrounded by. Really... this is the most fascinating social environment I've ever experienced. I know that they didn't do personality screening or anything... it must be the nature of the experience that naturally selects this eclectic group of free spirits. I feel at home.
Oh... so at long last, here's a link to some Christchurch pics:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/26649384@N00/sets/1111783/
"Oh, well I think I'm working in the Galley. What? Oh, in the real world? I was an engineer for a medical device company. Yourself?"
. . .
As we file off the plane in Christchurch, we're greeted by a myriad of Polar Services representatives. We fill forms, receive handouts, and surprisingly... $450NZ! The money more than pays for our food, accommodation and transport, so the remainder is ours to spend as we please. Beer, please. We spend the afternoon at the Antarctic Center trying on our ECW (Extreme Cold Weather) gear and packing our flight bags. Giant red parka, moon boots, Gortex overalls, gloves and hats galore...
I find that pretty much any person I strike up a conversation with has an interesting story to tell. They're all such nice, open minded, adventurous folk...
Delaney - Born and raised in Nebraska. Did his first Ironman Triathlon last summer (which is insane!). He's got his bachelors in construction management and aspires to land a job in Europe.
Erica - Hails from Boulder, she left a massage therapy practice to hit the ICE. A couple of years back she spent 3 months touring New Zealand on her bicycle. In the spring she wants to explore Thailand, Cambodia, India and Nepal. She also has a laugh that's utterly infectious.
Charlie - Also of Nebraska. He's 18! 18-years-old!!! Just finished high school and wanted to come down and join his brother on the ICE. At 18 I was cowering in a dorm room with my nose buried in a Calculus book!
Keith - A former Army brat now calling Virginia home. He's been doing this since 1999, and built both the climbing wall and bouldering cave at McMurdo station. A drafter by trade, he's also one of the captains for the Rugby team at the station.
Ruth - Another Seattlite! A sweet little waif... she styles hair, teaches yoga, lived in a commune, and enjoys belly dancing. Yeah... we take all kinds on the ICE.
Andre - A fire fighter from Chicago. He's also writing 2 novels and does editing and graphics work for movies in his spare time.
Amanda - An environmental conservationist from Northern California who'll be driving shuttles in Antarctica. As free a spirit as I've met...
Sandwich - Hailing from God knows where. She's got streaks of green hair and tattoo's of dancing cartoon sandwiches around her calf. Sandwich has been down here for a few seasons, and in between she lives out of a backpack in the remote regions of this world.
. . .
I can't get over the group of people I'm surrounded by. Really... this is the most fascinating social environment I've ever experienced. I know that they didn't do personality screening or anything... it must be the nature of the experience that naturally selects this eclectic group of free spirits. I feel at home.
Oh... so at long last, here's a link to some Christchurch pics:
http://www.flickr.com/photos/26649384@N00/sets/1111783/
Saturday, October 08, 2005
FNG's (pronunciation: fin-gees)
Okay, so my blogging is long overdue. It's been all of 6 days since I left, and it honestly feels like I've been gone for 1, maybe 2 days, tops. Instead of throwing up one huge rambling post, I'll try and break up the stories a bit. You guys can catch up in snippets at your leisure.
Right... so I arrived in LAX with little fanfare or excitement. Filing through security to get into the international wing, I couldn't help but glance around at the faces of others headed for my gate. Who, I wondered, were my fellow Antarctic travelers. Tough to tell, really. With the exception of families with kids in tow, and elderly couples, just about any man or woman could be headed for the ICE. I guess I was expecting big grizzly men and tough-as-nails women, but then I caught my reflection in the dark window and realized that I look nothing like my preconceived notions.
I took my seat in the middle of the 747, one empty seat to my right and two to my left. As I'm thumbing through my book, I hear a cheerful voice say, "Hey buddy, guess we're sitting next to each other."
Delaney is looming in the aisle - a big corn-fed kid from Lincoln, Nebraska. He's all smiles and forearms, greeting me with a firm handshake. Delaney and I, as it was to turn out, would become good buds. The powers that be at Mother Raytheon (the big-bad defense company signing our checks) would throw Delaney and I in the same hotel suite in Christchurch, and more to our surprise, we would find ourselves as dorm roommates in Antarctica. Delaney's another first timer, headed down to the ICE to be a General Service Hand (shoveling snow, he thinks).
Eventually the seat to my left is occupied by Chipotle (as he calls himself), a computer tech guy from the Denver area. He's a tall wiry kid donning thick-rimmed glasses and a head of fuzzy hair. He talks fast and unknowingly sprinkles in tech-jargon that makes his conversation indecipherable half the time. He's a great kid though, and I think about this motley crew sitting in our aisle and realize I need to shelve all preconceived notions for the next 4 months.
Soft-spoken Dan fills out the last seat in our row, and he's the only one amongst the four of us whose been down to the ICE before. This is his third season, and he'll be one of the lab techs at the Crary Chem Lab.
After introductions, Dan strokes his wispy beard and says to us, "So, all three of you are FNG's, huh?"
In unison we query, "Fin-Gees?"
"Fuckin' New Guys (FNG)... you're first timers."
Right... so I arrived in LAX with little fanfare or excitement. Filing through security to get into the international wing, I couldn't help but glance around at the faces of others headed for my gate. Who, I wondered, were my fellow Antarctic travelers. Tough to tell, really. With the exception of families with kids in tow, and elderly couples, just about any man or woman could be headed for the ICE. I guess I was expecting big grizzly men and tough-as-nails women, but then I caught my reflection in the dark window and realized that I look nothing like my preconceived notions.
I took my seat in the middle of the 747, one empty seat to my right and two to my left. As I'm thumbing through my book, I hear a cheerful voice say, "Hey buddy, guess we're sitting next to each other."
Delaney is looming in the aisle - a big corn-fed kid from Lincoln, Nebraska. He's all smiles and forearms, greeting me with a firm handshake. Delaney and I, as it was to turn out, would become good buds. The powers that be at Mother Raytheon (the big-bad defense company signing our checks) would throw Delaney and I in the same hotel suite in Christchurch, and more to our surprise, we would find ourselves as dorm roommates in Antarctica. Delaney's another first timer, headed down to the ICE to be a General Service Hand (shoveling snow, he thinks).
Eventually the seat to my left is occupied by Chipotle (as he calls himself), a computer tech guy from the Denver area. He's a tall wiry kid donning thick-rimmed glasses and a head of fuzzy hair. He talks fast and unknowingly sprinkles in tech-jargon that makes his conversation indecipherable half the time. He's a great kid though, and I think about this motley crew sitting in our aisle and realize I need to shelve all preconceived notions for the next 4 months.
Soft-spoken Dan fills out the last seat in our row, and he's the only one amongst the four of us whose been down to the ICE before. This is his third season, and he'll be one of the lab techs at the Crary Chem Lab.
After introductions, Dan strokes his wispy beard and says to us, "So, all three of you are FNG's, huh?"
In unison we query, "Fin-Gees?"
"Fuckin' New Guys (FNG)... you're first timers."
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
New Toy!
Ah, yes... the Nikon D70s. I spoiled myself and just picked up this new toy. I'm taking off this afternoon for my grand adventure in the Antarctic and New Zealand. Take care all... I'll post again soon - with lots of pics!
Sunday, October 02, 2005
Trivial Pursuit
This post goes out to my great roommates, but in particular, to Preschool Teacher roommate. Thanks for the endless laughter and shenanigans...
It's the last night for the three of us to hang out together for 6 months. Tomorrow, Preschool Teacher Roommate flies down to the Bay Area to visit her family, and Tuesday I fly off for Antarctica.
To make an occasion of this evening Law Student roommate and Preschool Teacher roommate took me out for dinner and drinks. Later in the evening, we're lounging around our livingroom, playing a game of Trivial Pursuit as Preschool Teacher Roommate packs a bag.
It's her turn to read a question to Law Student roommate. Sitting there waiting for Law Student roommate's answer, she turns the card over to look at the correct answer. A moment later she's laughing to herself and shaking her head.
"What?" asks Law Student Roommate.
"Oh God... I'm just laughing at how stupid I feel," replies Preschool Teacher Roommate. "I was looking at the answer for a different question on this card, and the answer is Belgium."
"Huh?"
"The question is asking for the name of a country," she says.
"Huh?"
"Until now I always thought Belgium was a city in France," she mumbles.
"Seriously?"
"I know, I know... don't make fun. But really... it's not a city in France? Doesn't France have a city that sounds kind of like Belgium?"
"Ah... none that we know of."
We're all laughing and rolling, when Law Student Roommate says, "What are you talking about? You were dating me when I was traveling in Belgium!"
Arms raised, she exclaims, "But I thought you were in FRANCE!"
It's the last night for the three of us to hang out together for 6 months. Tomorrow, Preschool Teacher Roommate flies down to the Bay Area to visit her family, and Tuesday I fly off for Antarctica.
To make an occasion of this evening Law Student roommate and Preschool Teacher roommate took me out for dinner and drinks. Later in the evening, we're lounging around our livingroom, playing a game of Trivial Pursuit as Preschool Teacher Roommate packs a bag.
It's her turn to read a question to Law Student roommate. Sitting there waiting for Law Student roommate's answer, she turns the card over to look at the correct answer. A moment later she's laughing to herself and shaking her head.
"What?" asks Law Student Roommate.
"Oh God... I'm just laughing at how stupid I feel," replies Preschool Teacher Roommate. "I was looking at the answer for a different question on this card, and the answer is Belgium."
"Huh?"
"The question is asking for the name of a country," she says.
"Huh?"
"Until now I always thought Belgium was a city in France," she mumbles.
"Seriously?"
"I know, I know... don't make fun. But really... it's not a city in France? Doesn't France have a city that sounds kind of like Belgium?"
"Ah... none that we know of."
We're all laughing and rolling, when Law Student Roommate says, "What are you talking about? You were dating me when I was traveling in Belgium!"
Arms raised, she exclaims, "But I thought you were in FRANCE!"
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