Uncategorized

The seat of state government. Or the Butt, as you please.

Inside the rotunda on the second floor we visited the chambers of the Senate and house of Representatives. Both were empty. Probably a good thing. Who famously said: government which governs the least governs the best? In any case, quite the fancy affair. The docent was very knowledgeable and apparently thoroughly enjoyed bending Happy Wife’s ear about the things to see and do about town. Hmm.

 She’s never been shy around guns this one. The bigger the better

Later, after considerable walking about we mounted our bikes and ventured out. After just a few miles of pedaling through an industrial area, a stop at an East side bike shop for air and CO2 cannisters we managed to find a really nice trail along a creek. All told we must’ve ridden 15-20 miles. Don’t know for certain, my cyclometer needs new batteries.

Back at hotel we cleaned up and were off again.

A stop here, a stop there, a martini and wine, and a thoroughly scrumptious beef taretare

We ended the night at Mike Tim Love’s restaurant where, if you ever come, DO NOT pass on the burnt carrots with honey and Meyer Lemon and goat cheese. Shessh those were good. Finally, we strolled back to the hotel where we both surrendered to sleep like two jet-lagged Alaskans. Have you guessed where we are?

Imagine packing a dozen eggs in a half dozen-sized carton

So far so good.

But will the hat fit?

Voila!

At check-in tomorrow we’ll be asked: “Bicycle?” Because I can’t tell a lie I’ll say yes. And yet, I know you must be wondering, isn’t it a sin of omission not to say Bicycles? Not at a $100 a piece (each way) it isn’t. Besides, it’s hardly bigger (and certainly no heavier) than a large piece of luggage. We’re flying first class so our bags fly free, but not this one, oh no. “You’re going on vacation to have fun and you want us to transport a bicycle? Oh baby, that’s gonna cost you extra, big time!” Pfft.

What I hate about airline policies like this is how arbitrarily they’re enforced. Find a woman in a fair mood and sometimes she’ll ignore the policy entirely – $0.00. Get some rule-bound old fart and he’ll insist you open it up to make sure you’re not trying to get something by him.

Either way, can’t wait to get there. We’ve heard the wildflowers are sensational this year.

Had a moment in the Men’s room the other morning where you think it’s just Number One, so you get going, then realize, no, Number Two wants out as well. (Must’ve been that banana). Anyway, without bothering to zip up I did a sort of modified Moonwalk to an open stall, hoping nobody would walk in just then. Sat down and while I got my business done I thought about just how absurd life can be sometimes.

Is it just me or does Trump not look like Jack Kemp back from the dead and too long in the Florida sun?

A close second was Happy Wife shortly after cleaning the downstairs toilet

Speaking of whom, poor girl, she fell on the ice and landed on the back of her head. Eight stitches later she was on the mend and a strict concussion protocol. She’s all better now, in fact the stitches came out this morning, a pro bono effort performed by her nursy friends at the kitchen table. It’s been a few weeks since the accident but I still test her cognition now and then, just to make sure: Tell me the one reason you married me? Any answer that doesn’t include rock-hard abs and chiseled features and I’ll know something’s wrong, she’s off to the Neurologist.

Given the paucity of posts here lately you might think it was me who fell on my head, causing sudden Agraphia. I have no real excuse, just a jumble of interruptive things to get done this past month, a few days under the weather and, honestly, just feeling a little enervated lately. That will have to change soon. We’re off for two weeks of vacation in the southwest the end of this month. We will be expected to exhibit vitality and good spirits. It all begins with me spoiling Happy Wife on her birthday with 3 nights in a 4-star hotel, dinner out wherever she pleases, an evening stroll along a bridge beneath which, we’ve been told, thousands of bats emerge each night to delight onlookers, and whatever else moves us. Following that, a 7 day bicycle tour.

Can’t wait.

Latest number one dislike: Web sites where videos begin automatically. There is no punishment too cruel for these site designers. If I want to know about the latest product to improve my colon health I’ll click the damn play button, okay? Mark my words, no self starting videos will ever – Ever! – appear here at Rod’s Alter Ego.

Hello! Welcome to the unfolding narrative of our daily lives. We have a house guest. Our friend, Mel, a traveling nurse of sorts, is here for several months to work at the radiation clinic where she used to work when she and her husband lived in Anchorage before moving to the southern most reach of New Mexico. A place we understand is so quiet at night you can hear a gecko yawn. Until Mel finds a place to rent she’s welcome to stay with us, being she’s quiet as a church mouse. You might be thinking, hey, lucky man, alone in the house with two nurses – RAWRrrrr. I assure you, those days are behind me. I mean the very idea I might one day come downstairs to find these two dressed in sheer white stockings, matching garters and sky-high white stiletto heels, playfully sparring like two kittens with their stethoscopes over who’ll be the first to listen to my heart, well…where was I, right, anyway, fuggedaboutit.

The earthquake a couple weeks ago turned the water at our Nest pooh brown. When the ground shakes that hard the rust on the well casing falls into the well. This is the second time this has happened since we bought the place over three years ago. It’s not a big deal, we open a faucet or two in the house and let it run, a couple hundred gallons or so and the problem resolves. Problem is, if you use the hot water before the water runs clear, as I mistakenly did, then certain filters and orifices in the on-demand water heater become clogged. Oh no, Maintenance. Wouldn’t you know it the heater was installed in a mechanical closet, the keyword being “closet,”  thus preventing ease of access by a six foot tall, one hundred ninety-five pound aging white male (did I mention I turned 56 a week ago today?). Imagine replacing the light bulb in your oven while jammed inside it. Worse, imagine you’re the Tin Man sans his oil can. Worse yet, the filter is at the back of the unit. Houdini couldn’t contort like I had to.

After maintenance was complete (sort of anyway – the hot water pressure is still not what it used to be meaning at least one more trip into the “closet” for me) Happy Wife, the dog and I walked to Tonsina Point. A glorious winter day, if you want to call this winter that is. Near forty degrees and still virtually snow free at sea level.

(One click remember makes most pics bigger).

After the river, we usually walk through a woods to access the beach proper. To stop and look up is to see the tops of hundred year old trees (Western Hemlock?) with their curious little moss-laden appendages sticking out

When we reach the beach all is peaceful. One earthquake in the right place though can turn this basin (Resurrection Bay) into a killer. The water drops off quickly to >160 fathoms (~1000′) in the center of the Bay. Get it shakin’ just right and it’s like a washing machine out there, sloshing against the mountains and drowning the lowlands (i.e. Seward)

We don’t dwell on that, but we’re aware of it. If we run for high ground the dog’s sure to follow us, so no worries there. And run we would, like a few weeks ago when we were down here and the 7.1 struck. At 1:30 am no less. It was dark then so it’s not like we could just step outside our bedroom door onto the porch to see if the water was retreating (the usual precursor of a tsunami). By which time it may have already been too late, again, depending on where and how big the quake was, as well as certain features of geology and geography. Happy Wife’s quick thinking is what would have saved us. She knew instinctively there was no time for analysis. Although in seconds I was on my phone surfing to the Alaska Earthquake Information Center, which posts information on quakes within like 30 seconds after they occur. By the time I discovered the quake occurred in Cook Inlet I was still in my clown pants wiping sleep dirt from my eyes while she was already dressed and frantic to leave, “We’re Going, NOW.” The city of Seward installed an early warning system for tsunamis a few years ago. But that night the sirens were silent. But what if the system failed for some reason? When your panicked all these things race through your mind.

Eventually we were grateful we were safe and went back to bed. The earthquake info site posted a 4.0 aftershock at ~ 4 am but we didn’t feel it. We drove back to Anchorage the following day and discovered all the drawers in our dressers and desks were wide open. A few things had fallen to the floor but nothing too serious. Remarkable, really, given how strongly the quake was felt in Anchorage according to friends and neighbors. Certain stores had shelves and/or cabinets collapse and fall, strewing merchandise all over the floor.

And so I survived to see another birthday. Happy Wife was in the mood to treat me to a night out, wherever I wanted to go. Sometimes she wonders if now that we’re in our fifties it’s still age-appropriate to put on the glam for a date night. “Dear,” I reassure her, “too soon the day will come when our hair has gone gray, our faces soft and fallen, our shoes have Velcro closures and all we have left is each other and the wisdom of elders.”

You’re right, she says, make me a drink while I go get ready

Be still my heart.

What’s ~4.6 billion years old, sometimes referred to as a “dwarf,” 93 million miles away, really hot yet still can’t melt a flake of snow in Alaska?

Hint (fill in the blank): Mama always told me not to look into the sights of the ___. Oh, but mama, that’s where the fun is!

It’s always uplifting this time of year. Right around my birthday ol’ Sol begins the Sisyphean climb back to its Zenith and our spirits are restored. Praises be. I’ve always said that it isn’t the winter cold that makes me moody so much as it is the short days. But not to worry, before long we’ll once again stow the bottle of Vitamin-D in the cabinet and look forward to months of midnight Sun.

Nothing lasts forever though

The Sun is roughly middle aged and has not changed dramatically for four billion^[b] years, and will remain fairly stable for another four billion years. However, after hydrogen fusion in its core has stopped, the Sun will undergo severe changes and become a red giant. It is calculated that the Sun will become sufficiently large to engulf the current orbits of Mercury, Venus, and possibly Earth.

Can you say Sunburn? When this day arrives it’s  gonna make present-day global warming seem like a mild hot flash.

We’re hosting a dinner party tonight. Roll-up lasagna, salad topped with oven-roasted sweet pecans, and who knows how many bottles of fine red wine. I retrieved a couple of beauties from our cellar I hope will show well. “Pinot Bill” will be here; he’s a good friend and former colleague now living in Texas who’s up here visiting for a couple weeks. Bill knows more about Pinot Noir than anyone else I know. Actually, he knows more about wine generally than anyone else I know.

One time he and I along with two other friends split a bottle of Domaine de la Romanée-Conti, one of the finest (French) burgundies in the world. We’re talking like a few thousand dollars a bottle, ordinarily, but somehow Bill manged to get a sommelier at a fancy restaurant here in Anchorage to sell us one for $575 (if memory serves me correctly; this was over ten years ago, when oil was >$100/bbl). It was an especially good vintage, too (1990?), making it all the more remarkable. One bottle is four healthy pours of wine, so ~$145/glass for each of us (less a small pour we shared with the sommelier; the proper thing to do). After the sommelier decanted the wine the four of us just sat there staring at that garnet beauty for what must’ve been ten minutes or more. The floral aroma rising out of our glasses was so striking even a passing waitress paused to wonder what kind of wine we were drinking. We were all super careful not to make any sudden moves or do anything that might spill a glass. We laughed about that. Eventually, one of us, I don’t recall who, carefully lifted his glass by the stem, did all the usual swishing and sniffing one does with a good wine to judge its legs and nose, and then gently tilted the glass back to take the first delicate sip. Given the transcendent aroma of this wine that enveloped our table it was unlikely it had been corked (spoiled), but aroma alone is not always diagnostic, so the rest of us were like breathless, transfixed on the expression of the first sipper, anxious to witness his first impressions of the wine. I could hardly wait, Please oh please, I thought, don’t let this bottle be corked. Well, once that first sip finally washed over his back palette his eyes rolled back and his mouth was agape like someone who’d just had an orgasm. Hooray, we’ve got a winner! Over the next two hours you’ve never seen four happy grown men savor a single glass of wine so slowly. I’m not exaggerating when I say that was the finest wine I have ever experienced.

By comparison the wines tonight will be more pedestrian, a twelve year Barolo and ten year old Caymus Special Select are my offerings. Who knows what other bottles our guests will bring. It’s always fun to decant the wines and have people taste them blind, and then try to guess the grape type, vintage, and region. As you might imagine, correct answers are inversely proportional to the number of glasses imbibed. Should be a fun soiree tonight. Looking forward to seeing everyone.

Can you tell from my mood the dwarf is back?

Just crawled out from beneath the rubble to let you know we’re still here. When the quake struck we were two or more hours into a delicious sleep at our Nest, which you’ll recall is virtually on the beach. It was 1:30 am.  Happy Wife leaped out of bed and announced, “We’re leaving NOW!” The entire house lurched and listed like a drunkard leaving the tavern. Must’ve lasted 40 seconds or more. That’s a frightfully long 40 seconds in case you’ve never experienced something like this. And I haven’t, not in the 25 years I’ve lived here. This one was very scary. At first I thought she feared the house might collapse if it kept shaking like it was, and it was bad enough I feared it might too, but as I started to come around I got her real concern — Beach. Ocean. Tsunami.

That never occurred, thankfully, given the quake was deep (~50 miles), so eventually we settled down and went back to bed. The Dog insisted on sleeping with us the rest of the night, sensing our fear I suppose. At some point his anal sacs went off. If you’ve never experienced this particular “fragrance”, well, lucky you.

Husbands, like myself, grow weary from time to time from the objectification we suffer at the hands of our own wives. Am I right, men? There are days when I just want to shout, “Look, I am more than just washboard abs, tight butt cheeks, well-muscled shoulders, and a chiseled jawline, okay? I’m more than merely arm candy, somebody for you to parade around at your office parties and at the clubs.” For one, I have feelings. And two, more often than not, I am happy just to cuddle on the couch with you. Does intimacy always have to be about S*x?!

And then you remember she is from Venus and you from Mars. Your motives may be unaligned, yes, but the physical attraction, the constant that explains both your orbits, these are identical.

Hello! I feel as though I owe all of you an apology for the utter dearth of new content here lately, for being a desert when you want an ocean, a vacuum when you desire a concert, folded arms when you need a hug. I’ve no excuses to offer other than by the time I get home from work, settle in with a martini, catch up on the news of the day, greet Happy Wife (HW) when she gets home, discuss our respective days, help prepare (sometimes) and enjoy dinner, linger on the couch and binge-watch Nurse Jackie (spoiler alert: She spins out of control in season 7), well, my creative juices have dried up. Plus it’s dark outside. The hypothalamus’ pull to sleep is too much to resist. There’s the weekend, but lately that’s given over to chores that pile up during the week because of…Work. You see the problem here.

My brother-in-law phoned to tell me he bought five Powerball tickets. He assured me that if he won we (HW & I) would never have to work another day in our lives. I was especially hopeful because he’d recently won a new 50″ LED flat screen TV in a local raffle in Fairbanks. Luck be a Lady Tonight! I thought. Alas, he didn’t win so both of us, HW & I, must continue to…Work. Thirty years ago I should’ve gone to work for the government. I’d be retired by now, with HW & I on full benefits and our toes in the sand. Don’t get me started.

David Bowie and then Alan Rickman, both dead at 69 from Cancer, in the same week, it was a little hard to take. I dwelt in the driveway last night with the car running listening to Rebel Rebel at a high volume that might have incensed my Mother when I was coming up (Hi Mom!). Possibly my favorite Bowie song ever,

HW likes Heroes the best, which is a good song, though far less edgy. The whole Ziggy Stardust venture was an acquired taste but pretty cool if you made the investment, especially at 21 in a haze of cannabis smoke.

HW’s coined a new species name for the Black Dog, Chester, who’s a cross between a Labrador and a Husky: Huskador. Similar sounding to the place where fine cigars are stored. The only thing stored in this dog is food, the kind that’s like $4/lb (!), and then only temporarily as he metabolizes it before eventually squeezing out very expensive poops. HW caught him “nibbling” on a colorful rug upstairs and “investigating” the wooden base of a banister support with his teeth. In other words, he ain’t perfect. Although based on past experiences with young dogs in the house this is nothing. Coming home to find the couch cushions eviscerated of stuffing, or finding evidence that the Dog thought two arms on the leather Barcalounger was really probably one too many, well, that’s severely imperfect. So, so far so good when it comes to the Huskador.

 To all of you (52+! this year) who received our annual newsletter (aka, The Niblet), you’re welcome. Extra credit for those of you who admit you enjoyed it! For those of you who have reached out to us to ask kindly that you be removed from the list — Fuggetaboutit!

Happy Wife rolled her ankle a week or so ago while walking the dog at the ungodly hour of 5:30 am. So for Christmas I bought her a festive red robe, drove her to the Nest and plopped her on the couch with her tablet, and generally tried to pamper her non-stop throughout the weekend. Which makes me sound unselfishly benevolent, until you realize she also made dinner those nights and walked the dog with me on the beach.

Bad ankle not shown

You see The Dog did what he could to provide succor.

I’m off all this week! It feels glorious. Being able to do what I want when I want, can’t beat it. It has not, however, exempt me from doing chores. For example, every day this week I am responsible for walking The Dog. This has to wait until the light comes up, about 10:00 am this time of year, and even then it’s a dim light at first, so I’ve been waiting until closer to 11:30 or so to venture out. No snow again this year, at least hardly any in Anchorage (but some in the mountains). Yesterday it was 45 degrees here and then the wind howled like a Spurned Lover all night long. This tends to make the trails icy, so “grippers” attached to the soles of shoes are recommended. After that the bathtub needs attention – it creaks and squeaks whenever somebody moves or steps in it while taking a shower. I think the source of the problem is just cheap material the tub is made from, meaning to fix this I should replace the tub altogether, but there’s a possibility I can get by on the cheap by greasing here or oiling there, being the tub is a Jacuzzi-style model mounted on a wood frame with an access port to get at the piping and motor. It’s weird, ’cause I think it only squeaks in winter and goes quiet again summer. The tub ‘n shower are on an outside wall which may have something to do with it. Ya think?!

Here I find myself in complete agreement with Mr. Lileks (~ 5:25). Especially regarding: Come they told me, a rum pa pum pum (~ 8:00).

Uh, no, Little Drummer Boy, no one asked you to come a pum pum. Seriously, what new Mother barely out of the stirrups, coming down off the epidural, asks to have a precocious little boy stop by to bang on his skins?

Joseph: “Kid, seriously? Take your drum and beat it, can’t you see we’ve just had a baby here!”

Of course the baby wasn’t Joseph’s. Meaning I doubt he was handing out cigars to his buddies afterwards. Nevertheless, he’d committed himself to the long haul, incredulous though he must have been —  C’mon Mary, this is me you’re talking to. You’re really sticking by this claim you’re a Virgin? Srsly?

These days there’s not a rational person alive who wouldn’t demand a paternity test. Back then, had genetic testing been possible, can you imagine the surprise on the analyst’s face — “Lady, I don’t know who you’ve been sleeping with, it certainly wasn’t this Joseph of Nazareth fellow that’s for sure, because we’ve never seen anything like this. Mam, may I ask that you please sit down. You see, what I’m trying to tell you is, these DNA sequences, they’re…well, they’re not human.”

Poor Mary. Isn’t just like a man not to believe the woman, to blame the victim. Although given her son’s eventual role in the creation of a new religion it’s hard to view Mom as the victim. It’d be like feeling sorry for Lebron James’ mom.

…

Solstice tomorrow! Like I said a few posts back, expect to see me on the back porch in my house slippers Tuesday afternoon at about 3:40 PM (AKST) raising a toast to the additional 10 seconds of daylight. Actually, come to think of it, I’ll likely be at work then. No worries; wherever I happen to be I will pause for celebration.

Still largely snow-less around here, in town at least, and no snow in sight, if the forecast is to be believed. We are headed down to our Nest for Christmas and the weekend that follows. Just the two of us and Chester (The Dog). To read books, watch movies, lounge in the hot tub, walk the beach, eat well, quaff often, and sleep soundly. To give thanks for what we have. And — despite the dubious feeling of honor many of you must have knowing you are a recipient on my mailing list — to get started on the 2015 Nibblet!

Until then, Here’s To Longer Days…(raises glass to toast you all).