My beef.

I'm sick and tired of hearing conservationists claim that drilling for oil in ANWR (Arctic National Wildlife Refuge) will destroy the tundra and kill off the animals. First off, people who camplaign (campaign+complain) so heavily to protect this environment need to educate themselves on exactly what it is they're so vehemently trying to save. We're not dealing with some lush Alaskan wilderness from a National Geographic magazine. No, my friends, we're dealing with an Arctic desert which is frozen solid for about 9 months of the year. I don't mean to downplay the importance of this place, nor do I condone it's destruction. Which brings me to my second point.
As much as uninformed individuals claim drilling operations destroy the environments in which they take place, this simply is not the case. I've seen first-hand the extent to which companies go to in order to ensure the well-being of the environment. It is vital to the life cycle of tundra that the permafrost below it remain frozen year-round. As a result, all facilities (which produce a tremendous amount of heat during their operations) are on raised gravel pads, raising them 4-6 feet off the tundra. In addition, the facility buildings themselves are on stilts to minimize the heat transferred to the tundra. In addition to shielding the tundra from heat, the pads also function to provide a catch-all for spills and driving surfaces for vehicles. No vehicle, under any circumstances, is allowed to drive on the tundra. The pipelines criss-crossing across the land are also a significant source of heat, so to protect the fragile plant-life all support beams are heavily insulated.
Case number two against drilling operations: it kills off wildlife. Untrue. The Prudhoe Bay drilling sites are directly in the path of caribou migrations, but instead of impeding their progress, the drill sites draw the caribou in droves. The pads and roads give the creatures sanctuary from the clouds of mosquitoes, and the shade provided under the facilities provides a reprieve from the sweltering 70-degree days (note: temperatures that high cause facilities to shut down; they function better during sub-zero winter days). All employees, save for the few trained bear-hazers, are prohibited from approaching or harassing wildlife. Because of this rule, I found myself stuck in a drill site Control Room for nearly an hour when the pad was invaded by a herd. As for bears, they're doing just fine in the presence of slopers. There are more bears killed by humans, and vice versa, every year in Anchorage than there are in Prudhoe. Humans and bears are in more danger from each other in my parents' neighborhood than they would be in ANWR.
As for litter, they're pretty good about that up there, too. I guarantee that if one was to walk down a street in the Student Ghetto of Lawrence, they would come across more trash than they would if they were to walk the same distance along a road in Prudhoe. BP annually hires college students to pick up trash along the side of the roads, around pads, and around the Cold Storage Pad and dump from June through August. During these months, the only ones where The Slope is snow free, there are Summer Hires picking up trash every day it's safe. The only days they aren't set out are the ones when it's too foggy for them to see bears coming from a distance or be seen from the road.
All this is by no means an attempt to convince anyone that tapping into the reserves in ANWR is the right thing to do. But before you run your mouth about why it's evil to drill for oil there, have an informed opinion. Know what you're talking about, and formulate an argument based on fact, not just emotional appeals. If you think the only reason it's wrong is because of what drilling does to the Arctic, take a minute to reevaluate your stance on the issue. If you think it's wrong because we should be exploring alternate energy options, then come up with an argument based on that. Don't use an imaginary destruction of the Arctic environment to convince gullible and uninformed people of your opinion.

Rant number 2:
Hey, Vic Vickers!
Thank God there are so many non-Alaskans willing to work to save us. I mean, really, thank you Vic Vickers for campaigning to replace Ted Stevens as Senator. No matter that you moved from Florida and switched political parties to do so. If that doesn't make you qualified to represent us, I just don't know what does. It really is a travesty that less than 5% of voting Alaskans found you worthy of replacing Mr. Stevens. The man has only been involved in Alaskan politics since before the state actually entered the Union. Your motto of "Take back Alaska" was supremely appropriate considering both your past and that of the man you thought you stood a chance against. Damn naive Alaskans, failing to elect you.
So much for objectivity.

Couch Pains

There are two directions this entry took while being formed in my head. One was me bitching about my chronically strained and spasming back, and the other was going to turn into me driveling on about independence. I don't really like the sound of either of those, so I'm going to stop typing now and come back when I have something a little less worthless to contribute. (I guess that means this may be goodbye for a while)

Prudhoe Crazy

"Do you want a peanut?"
"No."
"Do you want ALL the peanuts?"

"If it's foggy in the morning, you're the first to die."

"I got you a present! It's Tetanus!"

"Hey Katelin! Katelin it's your lucky day! I found the rope you can hang yourself with!"

"Jessalin has been threatening to murder me all day. Reprimand her."

"I win. Go lick the truck. Truck licker."

"Double jinx. You owe me your soul."

"Shit. I need a pastry."

"I promise not to pee your truck."

"It wasn't as long as I thought it'd be - that's what she said!"

"How many times have we said 'fuck' in this conversation? That's a second-week word!"

"I just had a revelation. I'm going to break up with my girlfriend tonight!"

As concocted by two drunk Trekkies:

Blue Planet Drinking Game

1 Drink for all
drinking does not occur during credits
montage rule: instances en masse are counted as 5 drinks total (i.e. dolphins eating a school of fish/feeding frenzies = 5 drinks)

-English pronunciations/British versions of words (“nutriment”)
-superlatives
-when CGI is suspected (motion must be seconded)
-death (must be onscreen, though implied deaths are debatable. i.e., carcasses are not drunk to, though animals whose perils are observed may be)
-”SAT” words are used (words whose definitions are determined by context)
-inappropriate/common/off-color words/references are used (“weird,” etc.)
-factuality is called into question (with believable backing-up)*
-computer-created sound effects (introduction only, subsequent instances of the same sound effect are not drunk to)
-crisis music/animals going into crisis mode (music must represent plight of prey)
-people on screen
-the importance of the sun is mentioned
-”holy shit moments”/players are rendered speechless
-emotional appeals (i.e. misrepresentation of evolution, ”killers”/”murderous” to describe predation, narrator is overly vague/speculative)*
-animal cuteness is disputed
-filming of series results in scientific firsts
-bastard takings-advantage-of (i.e. eating/killing of babies and/or eggs, unfair advantages)
-symbiosis is mentioned/shown
-uncountable breedings occur on screen
-initiations on tangential hilarity

*all subjective occurrences must have at least one concurrence

Bitches.

So tomorrow I'm off again. Another 2-week adventure in paint fumes and tundra funk. I hope to God that this isn't the hitch they send us all to the dump to bag up trash for burying. Plodding my way through the tundra for 12 hours broke me enough, I can't imagine what the same amount of time in a dump would do to my spirit.
On another note, a teenage girl was mauled by a Grizzly about a half mile from my parents house a few days ago and I came home to a black bear in the driveway today. As much as I hate to be going back to work, I can't help but think that this a good time to be getting out of the area.
All is not lost in the world of me, however. I got paid on Friday!

Here's to Rambling

On a recent trip to Homer, AK, my brother and I were sitting beside our raging inferno of a campfire when we got into a discussion regarding what, exactly, flame is. I asked my chemistry teacher just that my Sophomore year of high school, but he just scoffed at me and said that it was a chemical reaction, in that "why would you ask such a moronic question" way he had about him. Much to my dismay, it was his intelligence, and not mine that was called into question during the exchange. I've considered the question virtually every time I've stoked a fire since, but it wasn't until a few days ago that I discussed it again. This is what my genius brother pulled out of his ass, with a little help from me on the details: When gases are energized to a certain point, they begin to emit photons, or pockets of light. Burning debris give off a multitude of super-heated gases during the ignition process, and these gases are in turn emitting photons. This would explain why flames flicker in the wind (the air moves the gases and in some cases cools them, thus minimizing the flame), why the flames only reach a certain distance from their original source (the gases eventually cool enough that they no longer have the energy to emit photons), and why different substances have differently colored flames (different ignition sources = different gases, different gases = different photons). It makes perfect sense to even my simple mind.
My mother and brother are flying up to Prudhoe Bay tomorrow for a "family tour." Ironically, they're going to be up there while neither my father nor I will be (note: I'm working three two-week shifts in Prudhoe Bay this summer, totaling 84 hours of work each week. I don't remember how many total hours that works out to be, all I care about is that I'm making a shit ton of money for 6 week's work. I'm sure there will be a bitchfest blog soon enough). It's interesting to watch half of my family ask the same questions and stress over the same issues as I did not a month ago. I answered their questions like a (pretending) seasoned pro. "No, Mom, don't wear Danskos and khaki. They'll get ruined." "Of course they're going to feed you, I don't know of a place up there to buy food other than the Commissary, and I doubt they're going to have you living off $7 bags of M&Ms." The most disgusting thing about the whole ordeal is that they're going to fly up, tour, and come back in less time than it takes me to complete one day of work.
My dad went to the doctor yesterday and came home almost entirely sedated. He's not yet back to full working order, so tomorrow while my brother and mother are traipsing around the arctic wasteland that I call home for half the summer, I get to be on Daddy Duty. My job is to make sure he doesn't fall down the stairs or otherwise harm himself enough to warrant a trip to the ER. This is how I love to spend my weekends: writing pointless shit by night, taking care of drugged up parents by day. This is what I was made for.
One of my best friends from high school got married today, and I wasn't there. I've got to be one of the worst friends on record. Not because I wasn't there, hell, if I'd have spent the $800 on a plane ticket to fly to Kansas for his wedding then I'd be a contender for Grand Viceroy of Friendship. No, the real issue is that I've met his now-wife a total of one time. For about 7 minutes. I've known this guy for going on 7 years. He's the one who during high school I could call crying at 3 in the morning, and who would listen to be blubber until I sobbed myself into a coma. And now I don't even know his wife. I was the first one he told when he started dating her, and then when he bought the ring, but she remains an enigma.
So Critter, my cat, is going on 19 years old. In the past 6 months she's gone from Fatcat to barely there. I honestly don't know what I'm going to do when she finally dies. She's been the one constant in my life, family notwithstanding, for as long as I can remember. When we got back from Homer I was genuinely surprised to find her alive after being alone for just 4 days. Why do we have pets? Missing them is terrible.
Goddamn am I depressing. "Perk up, twatwaffle!" -that's what my brother would tell me.
On a happier (and literally lighter) note, it's well after midnight and the sky is a color of blue that reminds me of Downy. Downy-doused cotton balls. That's what I love about this place; during the summer months the nights are never darker than dusk (not to mention the fact that all the things up here that can kill you are big enough to see coming, and shoot if one is properly armed). Makes staying up 'til ungodly hours entirely too easy. It's my kind of place!

Nonsense.

I have the knees of an old woman.
Sometimes it's best to give up a fight against a lawn mower.
I try to keep my expectations low, but even so I sometimes betray myself and believe that "this time will be different."
When I grow up I'm going to have a menagerie.
I have an unhealthy obsession trench coats... and jackets in general, really.
I love Calvin and Hobbes, but if I ever have a child like Calvin I'm giving him away.
When I was little I used to wish that I had an imaginary friend.
I'd rather have dirt under my fingernails than a manicure.
I like scars that have good stories behind them.
I want to write a book, but I have neither the talent nor the intrinsic drive.
LEGOS make me feel like a little kid in the best way.
I love making books.
I plan on being the crazy cat lady when I get old and senile.
Cats that act like dogs are the coolest domestic animals EVER.
The parts of my personality that I'd most like to change are the ones that I'll never be able to.
The poetry I wrote in 4th grade was more honest and poignant than anything I could write now. I miss being that free.
I've given my brother a complex about his "Maalox toes."
I fall in love with places and situations. Not people.
Before opening up to people I have to know I can trust them, but in order to know if I can trust them I have to open up to them. Hence the extremity of how socially awkward I am.
I cover up my fear of honest conversation by being a smartass.
I won the Pine Wood Derby when I was 4, but because I'm a girl they wouldn't give me a trophy.