Grassroots? More Like Astroturf.

Normally, in a more sophisticated part of the world, politicians attempting to pull a fast one would know better than to admit they were trying to use state money to do so.  But this being the state that once thought Sarah Palin was an improvement over Murkowski v.1, the fine folks in Juneau are not savvy enough to up and lie about what they are doing.  I suppose we have yet another thing to be thankful for heading into Christmas.

For about $1.5 million, the Alaska Legislature is looking for a good p.r. agency to gin up a 'grassroots movement' to oppose endangered species listings.  As reported over the AP wire, via the News-Minus this morn:

"'The (PR firm's) main role will be taking information from the conference and other information gathering efforts and trying to initiate a grass-roots movement, for lack of a better term, for going to Congress and asking for some reform changes,' said Eddie Grasser, a legislative employee who is organizing the PR effort."

How on earth is a government-funded public relations campaign even remotely grassroots? This is the sort of chicanery normally engaged in by megacorporations like the Artists Formerly Known as Monsanto or King Coal.  Grassroots does not, generally speaking, begin with a bunch of politicians appropriating state money for a p.r. firm to create a movement.   

In the Realm of the Unintentionally Humorous

Once again, work has consumed at least half my brain; the remainder being assaulted by the liberal application of beer (and hopefully some of Flic's eggnog in the coming days.)

But when I've had the wherewithal, I've been shopping for gifts which is something of a challenge here in Greater Redneckia.  The selection is spotty, particularly if you are looking for clothes other than outdoor gear or the offerings over at Little Wasilla.  We really don't have a downtown like a major city, and no, Virginia, even Anchorage really isn't a major city.   But I digress.

We do have a lot places to purchase guns.  Two of the grocery chains (WallyWorld and Fred Meyers) stock them along with plantains and womens' underthings.  (Safeway, however, does not.  Funny that.)  The outdoors gear shops stock them.  And then there are the local gunsmiths.  Face it, one area in which a consumer has robust options in Squarebanks is in the selection and purchase of firearms.  

Which worked out great, because I'd settled on a .22 for the S.O. this year.  Unfortunately, the big chains use the model I chose as a loss leaders, so it is not stocked by the local businesses (gunsmiths) which frustrated my plan to shop local.  But Frontier Outfitters had a few in stock and that settled it. 

I was not prepared, however, for the humor that is the form one fills out to purchase a gun.  (I've been given guns, but never purchased one.) Is the form meant to prevent the sale of a gun to a criminal, or is it just to aid in tracking them down after they've done something wrong?  Questions I had to answer:

•  Are you a fugitive from justice? 
• Have you ever used or possessed illegal drugs such as marijuana, etc? 
• Are you an illegal alien?
• Have you ever renounced your U.S. citizenship?

High silliness.  

'Tis the Season

For decorating the tree. For me, Christmas starts just about a week before Thanksgiving. I don't subscribe to the Walmart way of looking at the world, which is to say that Christmas stuff should go on display after the goblins of Halloween have been put away. Well, I do confess to lighting my Xmas lights around my front door and along the driveway right about the end of October, but that is mostly due to practicality...a way to see the moose waiting in ambush when I schlep home in the dark at 4:00 PM.

But, even without the Big Box store way of things, I have always felt that living in Fairbanks is pretty much like being in Narnia under the White Witch- where it was always winter - except that we do have Christmas. And we have a lot of Christmas.

Although for quite a number of years I put up a classic Alaska tree (all the better to showcase one's ornaments) - of late I have been buying the excellent (and relatively cheap) trees at Alaska Feed. Except that this source of cheap trees is no longer known to just a few, and if one wants to get a half-way decent tree, one has to rush off and select it sometime in the first week of December. This year, I did wait til three days ago, but the trees were getting picked over.

So, perforce, my tree is up and in the process of being decorated. It's an exhausting task - necessitating many pauses and rests in the easy chair by the fire - with a cup of real* eggnog at my elbow and three snoring dogs at my feet.

Come to think of it, maybe its all the eggnog refreshment stops that are exhausting, not so much the stringing of the lights and the placement of the Christmas pickle (no explanation of this needed for readers of German heritage), the sparkly Christmas stars, the cat-in-the-jack box, or, my most treasured ornament: the squid ball (a clear glass ball filled with squid beaks sold in Point Aransas as a fund raiser for the local sea life lab).

Every year, I sort of drag my feet initially about getting a tree, but each time after I haul out the Christmas totes and unpack the many boxes of ornaments collected over the years (each with its own story) its worth it. And taking the time to load the tree so full of these memories that it practically tips over (it doesn't help that I never seem to be able to get the darn thing straight in the tree strand), is wholly enjoyable. It never fails but that I come across a little chotka that jiggles loose some long-forgotten episode of a Christmas past.

Some seasoned readers of this blog may remember the Tannenbomb of last year - where my tree croaked brown dead less than a week after purchase. Ah, this year I babied this conifer. Whisked it out of the store and into the pre-heated, toasty cab of my truck. Practically constructed a hermetically sealed corridor from truck to front door so there never was opportunity for freezing shock. Sawed off a hefty chunk of its stump, and plumped it into molasses-laden water. This time, I did it up right, and I am pleased to report the tree is drinking thirstily - having sucked up a gallon of water since last night.

Now, its back to work. Time to hang the stuffed cow-in-a-parka ornament....

*not the sugar-ladened stuff sold in the dairy section of Freddie's. Nope, this one is one dozen raw eggs, a pound of powdered sugar, two quarts of heavy cream and at least a fifth of whiskey or rum to "cook" those eggs, or more like, the imbiber.

Life's Little Mysteries: #1

Why do they do it?

Why????

What compels dogs to eat large quantities of grass - or as in the case to the right - straw - and then hork it up all over the house?

I knew something was afoot when the dog kept licking his chops in that frenzied way peculiar to dogs about to hurl. That he was going around and eating soil out of the house plants within reach also was a tip-off.

The technical term that vets use is "bolus". But they dont have any better explanation for this irritating and downright nauseating aspect of dog ownership than I do.

Since I was awake and active, I was able to drag the bolus-afflicted mutt off the rugs and onto the lino.

But this is highly unusual. Much more typical is the nocturnal bolus-ejection event, which I am convinced is canine contrived to maximize the gross-out factor. First off, most bolus production seems to coincide with the periods of the deepest human REM sleep - how else can one explain the fact that most dog owners manage to sleep through the ungodly amount of noise a hurling dog makes??? Secondly, it cant be coincidence that, at least in my house, deposition occurs precisely along the flight line between my bed and the coffee maker.

Thereby guaranteeing a morning barefoot encounter with a slimy, congealed, cold mess of yak.

I am not one of those dog owners who view their dogs as little furry humans, but....

...in this case, I am not a little suspicious of some kind of canine conspiracy, which I would be only too happy to further expound on, EXCEPT, I gotta run ----

The dog is about to hurl again.

Seasonality

Forswearing originality and a bit belatedly, here is the list of things that I am thankful for:

That...

...this Thanksgiving, I have a friend who is going to professional cooking school, and wanted, nay, begged, to do all the cooking for our communal dinner (dessert pictured at right).

...I didn't lose my dog on Thanksgiving Day. Oh, he went missing for a couple of hours - spooked by a dog team on the Goldstream trails - but he found his way home.

... of the 22 dogs I have had over the last 22 years, I have lost none of them, thus being spared the horror of repeatedly calling the pound, putting up signs, combing the trails, roads and woods, and facing many months of wondering what really happened to my dog.

... despite all my crazy athletic antics over the past 20 years, my knees, hips and ankles are still intact and functioning, and I can ski jor with my dogs.

...I have yet to burn down my house, despite a few close calls with creosote and,

....I have a huge stack of dry spruce to keep the chill at bay.

...they invented LED Christmas lights.

...I live in the Goldstream Valley and can ski whenever I want among trees covered in snow or hoar frost, on afternoons that are every shade of the palest yellow, orange and rose.

...I have not-so-new extended family that has not only taken me in, but has given me incentive to learn their language. Ma'shii cho, shalak naii.

...Apple makes a "shuffle".

...I have the opportunity to experience aspects of Interior Alaska that many often do not, even if at times it has been chaotic, unsettling and, a few times, downright scary.

...'Dweller passed on the wireless headphones - those might just have saved a budding relationship.

...I have a job, home and lifestyle that has turned out to be exactly what fits me.

...I live in Fairbanks, because even though it gets a lot of shit for being the stripmall arm pit of Alaska, it has everything I need, and it is only one small airplane hop or trail ride away from hundreds of miles of remote country.

...I have a core of solid friends who are particularly adept (especially Dweller) at pulling my fat out of the fire. Thereby enabling me to do some crazy-ass things.

....twenty years ago, I accepted an old Singer sewing machine from a very elderly lady; this sewing machine is still working for me, so that I can quilt, sew beaver hats, and otherwise keep myself occupied through long, dark winters, and finally,

that health insurance pays for happy lights, thereby enabling me to really enjoy this time of year without fatal leg chewing.