Eventiversary: Ren Faire

So as you may have read recently, me and my person had a rocky start, but eventually got together at our local Ren Faire. This last weekend was our 6th attendance together...it was rather glorious. Since I'm rubbish at times and dates, we don't really do anniversaries so much as enjoy recreating the early events of our relationship as and when they come up around this time of year. It's a lot of fun, and there seems to be a lot less I-dunno-where-do-you-want-to-eat than usual scheduled anniversary dates. I highly recommend it! It's led me to find great emotional meaning for Cake concerts, storage facility rooftops, and the parking lot of the local Ren Faire.

It's like "our parking lot," or something

 We weren't alone, though; our whole tribe of roommates turned out to see our friend Miss Pants in her first year as an official Pirate Tavern Wench at the Faire! Take a look at these crazy characters.

We make a lot of great first impressions

 So, no real post today; more of a follow-up to the get-together story. But we had a blast, and Alaska's summer is so short, you just haveta carpe that diem when you can! I don't even feel guilty. I'll have something less scrapbooky by next week, I'm sure!

Lively lads

Fireweed: Alaska's Summer Countdown



Halfway there: wretched jaunty little thing

As the car hood starts to sport delicate frost patterns in the morning and the sun starts getting up later than we do, Alaskans are forced to admit that the default state of our State is nigh; as certain throne-straddling individuals are wont to mention, Winter Is Coming. It shouldn't come as a surprise, though; even before the termination dust starts to whiten the very tops of the mountain ranges, Alaska gives us an easy visual reminder by which to more accurately dread the end of Summer. This is called fireweed. While not the actual State flower, it is still a big part of the eco-tourist's picture of Alaska, in much the same way that palm trees are not Hawaii's state plant but are still inextricably linked with one's mental picture of the place.  

 

 

But this bright pink blossom is no docile tropical perennial, that will reliably stay the same shape and size while your back is turned; these sneaky devils are countdown timers to their own ultimate demise.

  



Nothing if not literal, they spring back from their dormant state in mid-Spring, but aren't up to blossoming until genuine Summer has arrived in June. Then begins the merciless pink indicator, creeping up the stalk like a dynamite fuse until late August, when it starts to get chilly at night.

Termination dust: You can actually see

Winter storming the barricades

Now, as it's September and time to get out the coats and scarves, it's too late -- Fall arrived with force on the 5th, with a wind storm so ferocious I experienced my first-ever paid emergency State closure. I got to stay home, one of the few homes with power and internet service, snuggling with my Bun, marathoning White Collar and generally living the dream while the cats tore wildly around the house. My smugness could not outweigh the inescapable promise of the fireweed, though; hearing birdsong, feeling sunlight, wearing anything revealing, or going outside out of anything but necessity is all over for another nine months. While the earth carries this next summer to term, I will just have to sit in my sweaters, saving up enough spite and bile to resent the fireweed again next time. 



Alaskan Summer: The OTHER White Fluff

Ahhh, Alaska -- home of the 8-month Winter. Where weather becomes, if not a matter of life and death, at the very least a factor in how you're going to be leading your life. Like, whether or not you're going to get to see your friends, or go outside today. Or if your power will be staying on.

As a Hawaii-girl by birth, I'm not accustomed to such a proactive meteorological scheme. I do admit to a flash-flood or two, but that's in a 20+ years time-frame. Every semester at UAA there was at least one emergency shut-down of campus, where students were encouraged to remain safely at home and indoors. And funnily enough, it wasn't because of snow; believe me, Alaskans know how to deal with snow. It was the wind; not a frequent phenomenon, but instantly noticeable when it appears...something about how it tries to eat your skin off through all 4 layers of clothing, including that expensive heavy winter coat.



The void of space; almost as cold as our car in the morning





No, snow is largely the icing (ha!) on an already icy cake. It comes down in flurries of tiny snowflakes, little points of white that stream past the car windshield like stars past the bridge of the U.S.S. Enterprise.

Thank goodness for Summer-- the Alaskan skies switch their game up with sunshine, rain, and these beautiful white flurries that stream past the windshield like -- hold on, wait a minute! What the fluff?

Just lather, rinse, repeat...every year.

No, you didn't reread -- and I didn't mistype. Here, in the depths of August, white specks float silently in the air, and collect in drifts along the ground. But it isn't snow; thank the gods for that. It's dandelion fluff.

Disregard that my work building is in the background; I do.

Yes, dandelions are one of the many types of wildflower Alaskan hills sport in nigh-on every available color, and it is certainly the most proactive in getting its action in before the Summer fades. Ever accidentally biked through a cloud of gnats? Try having that experience every yard of the way. It is a unique sensation, to say the least, and inspires post-cycling dental hygiene like you wouldn't believe. But it is a sign of Summer, and I'm willing to take that as glass-half-full. Unlike every other white person I seem to meet, I'm not allergic to dander or pollen, and am familiar -- nay, even comfortable -- with the reality of insects. I guess I have my tropical upbringing to thank there. However, in semi-urban Anchorage, the outside world is treated with a strange, hesitant sort of hopeful suspicion. They're used to it trying to kill them, and at least Winter is a familiar concept to them. Summer is full of bugs and burrs, and Kana prances quite alone, barefoot in the backyard.

That speck? Way in the distance? That's her.

I tempted Miss Pants to a dandelion-festooned impromptu picnic last year, however, to great success; exactly why she had picnic supplies and an old shower curtain to spread out in her car at that particular time is just one of the wonderful mysteries that surround her.

And while the brilliant sunshine phase of the brief Alaskan Summer has largely passed us by since last I wrote, this newest of sky-occupants waiting for me to bike through it is none other than glorious, miraculous rain. With my (relatively) new flora-inspired bumbershoot, I look for excuses to go out in the wet. It didn't work so well against the dandelion fluff, so while it means our Summer is fading, I bid a blithe farewell to Alaska's Other Fluff, in favor of a sub-season I can really accessorize with.

You may tease shallowness in the "Comments" section below. :)

You Might Have Noticed The Picnic Layout

Or even have had an epileptic fit after being confronted by the sheer colorful busyness of it all. You might go so far as to question why I chose to populate my busy background with an assortment of birds, bugs, food and flowers.

And my response is: Can if I want to.

--Love, Kana

Lips In Alaska: A Surprisingly Serious Business

By all that is bright and beautiful, it is finally Spring. The snow is on the run, I OPENED A WINDOW yesterday while sewing, I bought cheap yellow slippers. AND WORE THEM OUTSIDE WITHOUT BEING COLD. (If you call them flip flops I will find you and hit you with them. It probably won't hurt, but you'll be creeped out that I found where you live so easily. So DON'T.)

It's a balmy 45 degrees out -- almost a "real" temperature, I assure my Alaskan friends -- and stays light out until 8-something in the evening. I don't know when it's starting to get light out in the morning because to me, even 7 a.m. is still "night-time" and I don't ever wanna see it again. But anywho.

IMMINENT SUMMER!

Dramatic "Avengers" silhouette shot

It is now the time to wash all the winter coats, while you still have some independence from them; because if it gets cold enough, you'll come crawling back to the laundry bin even though you know the coat needs washing. You'll slither back into the stink and shame, just to make it through these frigid wastes. It's a helluva place, the ol' AK.

So Kana was going through her coat pockets before putting them in the wash -- you only have to accidentally leave a Chapstick in the laundry once to NEVER, EVER do it again -- when she realized there was a recurring theme happening.

At least one pocket in every coat has a lip balm. Most of the jeans, too. And in the car. And in the Kangaroo insert that is my every bag. And on all the tables and counters. In fact, there's lip balm everywhere. They're given away free at the UAA Student Health Center. They're at every checkout line at Freddie's -- even the self-checkout. Apparently, the whole state is battling the cold dry subarctic climate in the pursuit of moisturized, silky-soft lips.

I guess I was ready for my close-up

I hadn't realized I was on the front lines of this war until I started going around the house, collecting all my lip balms, and put them all in one place; but I am obviously heavily invested in this war...at approximately $2.49 a pop. (Be Advised: These photos represent only every type of lip balm I own. Multiples not shown.) Here they are, prioritized by awesomeness, with the suckiest closest to the camera for maximum shame: Blistex smells like eucalyptus and sunscreen (bleah and also wtf?) and kind of stings when you put it on -- not what I'm looking for in a battle for comfort, bub! An honorable mention goes to Carmex, which is not in the line-up, as it will not enter my home if I have anything to say about it; a lip balm so shitty it actually makes your lips more damaged if you use it regularly over time. Because why not.

"One (Singular Sensation)" shot

My candidate for most awesome is Nivea's Touch of Milk and Honey, which while totally presumptuous-sounding does taste great and do its job, if not actually fooling me into thinking my lips have found Paradise. Oh, sorry, a "Touch" of it. Not all of the land flowing with Milk and Honey...just a Touch of it. Because, don't be greedy.

Maybe like a traffic island's worth of the Elysian Fields, I imagine. It may not be what we got into this war for, but by gods let's take the victory, (wo)men! Because War is Hell.

Weighing The Issues: Issues With Weight

 

I don't know about you guys, but this whole helpless cycle of eat-coz-it's-yummy-feel-sad-you're-fat-cheer-up-by-eating-coz-it's-yummy-etc is getting a little tired to my mind. 

I squared to the fact that I'm shaped like a square and bid a pathetically tearful fond farewell to cheese, chocolate, bread and milk for a time, to descend a scale of my own making -- from my highest adult weight to my lowest adult weight. I  wanna rappel slowly but surely down this chart like a rock climber made of WIN. 

I made some really great progress by becoming grievously ill and also by eating smaller amounts, mostly of lean meat or veggies, but it's become tougher lately. At about the halfway mark I've smacked into a wall, with only oscillating progress wavering me back and forth between 158 and 162. I've become demotivated and have started backsliding with PBJs and big glasses of 2%. Hopefully being held accountable to the great anonymous macro-scrutiny of the Internets will help me past this hurdle. At least that's the plan...

 

 

(Note: This weight scale is not a general judgment. It is medically applicable to my proportions, age, and genetic background. Happy thoughts!)

Still stuck between Total Cow and Kind Of A Pig, wishing for Total Fox

I have a goal. It's not a very number-specific goal, although I wouldn't say no to anything in the lower 140s. No, it's not really a number at all, whether pounds, pants size, or whatever. It's a feeling. It's that feeling where you're at the beach, or lakeside, or whatever you've got. It's the height of summer, and everyone's suited up. You're walking along the water and you see some young ladies. They're indeterminately young, happy to be together under the summer sun at this beach/lake/whatever, and their cuteness and happiness make you smile. It doesn't matter what your sexual preference or gender. Beauty and happiness when you see it before you WILL make you smile, and THAT is what I want. To be one of those girls that make people smile when they see me. Also I don't want my thighs to rub together anymore.

Look At My Purse, Godsdammit ::AND:: Endless Summer Pining (A Double Feature)

 Look @ My Purse, Dammit

I bought a Kangaroo pouch last Christmas, and if this tale wasn't already gripping enough, let me hasten to inform you that it comes with BOTH a big and little version in the box, and that I gave the big one as a gift that holiday, in which to keep the small one for myself. The plan was simple, yet ingenious; I could switch bags easily, it would always be in the same place in the bag, and if it was done with NASCAR-speed, Bunny would not have the opportunity to tell me what I was doing was stupid. I'd like to avoid criticism without having to change anyway.

A gripping read so far, I know. BUT WAIT. THERE'S MORE.

Organizational!

Here's the hook: Although the Kangaroo pouch would do all I had hoped, I didn't OWN any small, empty-center bags. I specialize in  messenger bags with ten thousand pockets to fit my big awful Mac laptop. So. I'm designing and making some. 

This is my simplest design, so I started off with him...he* only took two evenings, it was great, but when I proudly strutted into work the next day, nothing. I carefully positioned it in a prominent place with a solid backdrop, in full view of the mouth of my cubicle. And my job is a tiny, tiny world of bored people, mostly over forty. EVERYONE SEES EVERYTHING. And then TALKS ABOUT IT FOREVARS. Not kidding -- I once switched from my black messenger bag to my brown one, and couldn't move for "Oh, new bag?" inanities from both men and women for days. So what the hell, people? Brand new bag, matching entire outfit -- let's hear some feedback!

Prominently and attractively (?)
displayed - and yet not a nibble

No bite.

Eventually I announced to CubeTown at large that if someone didn't say something about my new bag RIGHT NOW I would explode. I'm still getting shit about it. Be careful what you querulously demand...

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*There is no reason for the gendered usage except that there would have been an "it" on either side of the ellipses if I'd gone gender-neutral. And that sounds like the sound effect of a pensive squirrel: Squik it it it...it squik kuchoo...

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 Endless Summer Pining: Pt. 2 Of Crafty Double-Post

Some places can have these year-round. Oh Gawds.

I need sun. I need cold chicken and fruit from a little Igloo cooler half-full of melting ice keeping the sodas cold. I need sand, and sunburn, and green grass. And flowers. Goodlorda'mighty, flowers. In all the vivid garish colors that waver in the heat ripples.

I demand GRASS! GIMME!!

I might be ready for Summer. Just a little. Some hints:

I wear tropical colors and pretend my building
is a cruise ship, but its just not the same.

The outfits -- brightly-colored tanktop and dress shirt combos at work; at home flowered prints, shorts, skirts, and above all COLOR.

To clash/match any color scheme

I made flower barrettes -- no namby-pamby pastels!  I require the bright wildflower colors that make you feel that Summer sun on your skin. And in your SOUL. Or something.

 

 

The playlists -- I made two playlists for summer, one long and one short(er), and another for a tropical feel.  I play them all day at work, over and over. The short one is specifically for songs with 'summer' or 'sun' in the title/refrain, with a few exception like Heat Wave and What A Day For A Daydream, which are just necessary.

 

The "short" playlist...

...is only comparatively so

It's Called "Transfering" Not "Touring" For A Reason

As my Auntie N has been so good as to remind me, I've spent four winters up here so far, and still haven't seen the Northern Lights.

Well, technically I have seen our student newspaper by the same name, but it's not what I moved here for, no offense guys.

Also no polar bears, beluga whales, or the Hawaii humpbacks that come up here for summer feeding. I suck at travel, I guess. Instead I've squandered my time with things like new social circles, jobs, and getting another degree. What's up with that?

Big Beach, from the Medium Cliff that

divides Big Beach from Little Beach.

At home I've seen almost every sightseeing destination at least once, and regularly visit many of them. I know all about my island's highlights, and know the place exactly as well as the back of my hand -- mostly familiar, but occasionally forced to reexamine to ascertain freckle-vs-dirt status -- so I guess all I need to do is stay here another 16 years to really get a feel for the place.

*Pffft* SNORT Wahahahahahahahahaaaaaaaaaaa. Ahhh, good one. Seriously, I can't wait to move. I've done Eternal Summer, and I've done the Ice Queen's Winter Wonderland...I'm ready for some additional seasons.