Friday, January 20, 2006
The Grinzing Stagger Dance!
For the curious among you have been wondering exactly what Duck Fart is please take note. The Duck Fart has been called the “quintessential Alaska drink”and is to Alaska what the Margarita is to Mexico. Dave Schmidt and a crusty 70 something year-old female patron at a bar invented it way back in 1987 on the Peanut Farm, a well-known watering hole here in Alaska, when the two of them began experimenting. Then in a eureka moment was born the Duck Fart. One shot of it and you were trying desperately to hang on to you bar stool! You were vaguely aware that you had impaired judgement and should not drive home by yourself. Presumably it was named after the University of Oregon’s mascot, the duck—not the fart. Now whether you are aware of it or not birds can and do get a little tipsy. Once in Arkansas I witnessed 40 or 50 cedar waxwings in a feeding frenzy over the berries on my holly tree. In a few minutes the tree was stripped of its little red ornaments. Soon their little chirpy sreee became positively slurred and one by one the waxwings struggled to maintain their perch. Most of them eventually fell to the ground and only a few somehow managed to stagger back to their feet. It was a sight to behold. Punch drunk on holly berries! Some birds just don’t know when to say when.
A few years ago my wife and I found ourselves in an awkward situation of our own. We were in Nashville looking for something out of the ordinary to do. Somehow or another we found ourselves on a Pepto-Bismol-pink bus with two wacky self-proclaimed bimbos on the Nash Trash Tour and neither of us could remember anyone having slipped anything into our drinks. To make matters worse we found ourselves in the company of the Travel Channel folks and we had just signed away our dignity rights on one of those fancy waiver forms. Talk about impaired judgement! Fortunately when the Nashville segment was aired, they had, in a rather thoughtful manner, blocked out my face with one of those pixel block smears normally used to protect people in a witness protection program. Somewhere along the way Brenda Kay or Sheri Lynn told the story of George Jones being arrested on his riding lawnmower for a DWI because Tammy, his wife, thought he had had enough to drink and refused to give him his car keys. Desperate as he was, he hopped on the mower and headed for the nearest “filling station.” Now in his book George does admit to getting stopped by the police, but he is adamant that there was no DWI charge—apparently just a case of impaired judgement.
I can recall yet another vivid case of impaired judgement when I was a bright-eyed college student. I had a friend by the name of Roger (not his real name for reasons that will become obvious) who had the reputation of being unable to hold his booze. One drink of anything and he changed color and became a different persona—a loosey-goosely extravert extraordinare. I attended a party once and eight girls were trapped in the restroom because they didn’t want to dance with him anymore. A few years later we found ourselves together in Vienna, Austria, and we decided to go out to Grinzing, the old Austrian wine village. Roger had met a young American girl by the name of Mia and really wanted to impress her. So Roger, Mia, my spouse and I all caught a streetcar to Grinzing and had a wonderful time partying. It was obvious to the three of us if not to Roger himself that he had way too much Heurigen or new wine, sometimes only a few days or hours old. He was busy dancing around and singing in his own inimitable style when we saw our homeward bound streetcar parked 40 or 50 feet ahead of us. Roger gallantly decided to run ahead and tell the conductor to wait for us. Just as he boarded, the door closed and the streetcar lurched ahead. We later learned that Roger had let it be known that his friends and especially his girlfriend would not take kindly to his being kidnapped like this. The conductor explained in a matter-of-fact manner that regulations prohibited him from stopping between designated stopping places. Roger’s woeful cries finally found a soft spot in the conductor’s heart. He opened the door and told Roger to “Jump!” (Apparently there was nothing in the regulations that prevented him from doing this). And jump Roger did! About 8 or ten minutes after his premature departure he came huffing and puffing back up the hill and greeted us a bit chagrined. Roger admitted that maybe this time he had had at least one too many. Clearly a case of impaired judgement!
For the curious among you have been wondering exactly what Duck Fart is please take note. The Duck Fart has been called the “quintessential Alaska drink”and is to Alaska what the Margarita is to Mexico. Dave Schmidt and a crusty 70 something year-old female patron at a bar invented it way back in 1987 on the Peanut Farm, a well-known watering hole here in Alaska, when the two of them began experimenting. Then in a eureka moment was born the Duck Fart. One shot of it and you were trying desperately to hang on to you bar stool! You were vaguely aware that you had impaired judgement and should not drive home by yourself. Presumably it was named after the University of Oregon’s mascot, the duck—not the fart. Now whether you are aware of it or not birds can and do get a little tipsy. Once in Arkansas I witnessed 40 or 50 cedar waxwings in a feeding frenzy over the berries on my holly tree. In a few minutes the tree was stripped of its little red ornaments. Soon their little chirpy sreee became positively slurred and one by one the waxwings struggled to maintain their perch. Most of them eventually fell to the ground and only a few somehow managed to stagger back to their feet. It was a sight to behold. Punch drunk on holly berries! Some birds just don’t know when to say when.
A few years ago my wife and I found ourselves in an awkward situation of our own. We were in Nashville looking for something out of the ordinary to do. Somehow or another we found ourselves on a Pepto-Bismol-pink bus with two wacky self-proclaimed bimbos on the Nash Trash Tour and neither of us could remember anyone having slipped anything into our drinks. To make matters worse we found ourselves in the company of the Travel Channel folks and we had just signed away our dignity rights on one of those fancy waiver forms. Talk about impaired judgement! Fortunately when the Nashville segment was aired, they had, in a rather thoughtful manner, blocked out my face with one of those pixel block smears normally used to protect people in a witness protection program. Somewhere along the way Brenda Kay or Sheri Lynn told the story of George Jones being arrested on his riding lawnmower for a DWI because Tammy, his wife, thought he had had enough to drink and refused to give him his car keys. Desperate as he was, he hopped on the mower and headed for the nearest “filling station.” Now in his book George does admit to getting stopped by the police, but he is adamant that there was no DWI charge—apparently just a case of impaired judgement.
I can recall yet another vivid case of impaired judgement when I was a bright-eyed college student. I had a friend by the name of Roger (not his real name for reasons that will become obvious) who had the reputation of being unable to hold his booze. One drink of anything and he changed color and became a different persona—a loosey-goosely extravert extraordinare. I attended a party once and eight girls were trapped in the restroom because they didn’t want to dance with him anymore. A few years later we found ourselves together in Vienna, Austria, and we decided to go out to Grinzing, the old Austrian wine village. Roger had met a young American girl by the name of Mia and really wanted to impress her. So Roger, Mia, my spouse and I all caught a streetcar to Grinzing and had a wonderful time partying. It was obvious to the three of us if not to Roger himself that he had way too much Heurigen or new wine, sometimes only a few days or hours old. He was busy dancing around and singing in his own inimitable style when we saw our homeward bound streetcar parked 40 or 50 feet ahead of us. Roger gallantly decided to run ahead and tell the conductor to wait for us. Just as he boarded, the door closed and the streetcar lurched ahead. We later learned that Roger had let it be known that his friends and especially his girlfriend would not take kindly to his being kidnapped like this. The conductor explained in a matter-of-fact manner that regulations prohibited him from stopping between designated stopping places. Roger’s woeful cries finally found a soft spot in the conductor’s heart. He opened the door and told Roger to “Jump!” (Apparently there was nothing in the regulations that prevented him from doing this). And jump Roger did! About 8 or ten minutes after his premature departure he came huffing and puffing back up the hill and greeted us a bit chagrined. Roger admitted that maybe this time he had had at least one too many. Clearly a case of impaired judgement!
Wednesday, January 18, 2006
Time Moves So Slowly!
Time can really move slowly when you are waiting for Christmas to get here or you are stuck in a cabin on the back forty in the middle of nowhere with a chronic case of cabin fever. However, cabin fever can be treated effectively. For me the condition is reversible. I step outside in sub-freezing temperature and I suddenly have a flaming urge to get back inside the cabin. That’s just life in Alaska, I guess. But what to do if you have too much time on your hands and you are sick and tired of solitaire games and fantasy football just doesn’t cut it anymore? Here are a few suggestions from real life.
Wheresgeorge (George Washington) is a game played by writing wheresgeorge.com on US currency, then registering it on the official Wheresgeorge website and then waiting to see where it shows up by use of a tracking number. Some people seem to have a disproportionate amount of slow time on their hands than others do! To even make the leaderboard one must have over a 100,000 bills registered and that is a lot of moola no matter how you count it. One chap has registered 407,998 bills. Tenth place is currently held by Larry, Moe and Curly from Kent, Washington, and that should tell you a lost about who actually plays this game. Haines, Alaska, would be a great place to play. It is not that far from Whitehorse, Yukon, across the Canadian border and when the ferry and planes are not operating, you can hop up there and play Where’s Willy, the Canadian version of the game—named after Sir Wilfrid Laurier, their former prime minister.
Another great game is Rubic Cube Competition. There are scores of international RubicFests. One of the most famous is the Caltech Open. Be forewarned! Competition is stiff! Very stiff! Leyan Lo just set a world record in the tournament with an 11.13-second time. That time did not even earn him first place in the overall competition. There are also contests for blindfolded participants, individuals who are game enough to try it with their feet and of course the one handed version. There is as I write this no “one hand tied behind the back” contest. One strange rule is that all entrants must be fully dressed.
Pi calculation is another healthy pastime as long as we are not talking about scarfing down pies. Last week Chris Lyons of Melbourne, Australia, recited the first 4,400 digits of pi—a feat that only took him 2 ½ hours to complete but one full week of study time. In July 2005 a Japanese psychiatric counselor set an unofficial world record of reciting pi to 83,431 decimal places. And you just thought they were taking notes while you talked away on their sofas. Tech types have now calculated the forty trillionth bit and found it to be zero. This was done using idle computers, which obviously have too much slow time on their hands. Idle computers are also being used in the SETI projects searching for signs of extra-terrestrial life, and there is also a sign-up list for computers with time on their hands to sift through millions of photos searching for microscopic bits of cosmic dust.
If you have a religious bent like Ignatious Loyola and happen to be stuck in a castle with a broken leg, try reading and re-reading the Bible. There is actual a place you can go to and get a word for which to search in the Good Book and then mail back your word count. If you get bored quickly with that, then switch to a more modern translation. You also can watch a movie like Police Academy for a hundred times and then turn on the mute button and recite the dialogue from memory. For those who still don’t have a clue as to how to while away your time, try writing a blog.
Time can really move slowly when you are waiting for Christmas to get here or you are stuck in a cabin on the back forty in the middle of nowhere with a chronic case of cabin fever. However, cabin fever can be treated effectively. For me the condition is reversible. I step outside in sub-freezing temperature and I suddenly have a flaming urge to get back inside the cabin. That’s just life in Alaska, I guess. But what to do if you have too much time on your hands and you are sick and tired of solitaire games and fantasy football just doesn’t cut it anymore? Here are a few suggestions from real life.
Wheresgeorge (George Washington) is a game played by writing wheresgeorge.com on US currency, then registering it on the official Wheresgeorge website and then waiting to see where it shows up by use of a tracking number. Some people seem to have a disproportionate amount of slow time on their hands than others do! To even make the leaderboard one must have over a 100,000 bills registered and that is a lot of moola no matter how you count it. One chap has registered 407,998 bills. Tenth place is currently held by Larry, Moe and Curly from Kent, Washington, and that should tell you a lost about who actually plays this game. Haines, Alaska, would be a great place to play. It is not that far from Whitehorse, Yukon, across the Canadian border and when the ferry and planes are not operating, you can hop up there and play Where’s Willy, the Canadian version of the game—named after Sir Wilfrid Laurier, their former prime minister.
Another great game is Rubic Cube Competition. There are scores of international RubicFests. One of the most famous is the Caltech Open. Be forewarned! Competition is stiff! Very stiff! Leyan Lo just set a world record in the tournament with an 11.13-second time. That time did not even earn him first place in the overall competition. There are also contests for blindfolded participants, individuals who are game enough to try it with their feet and of course the one handed version. There is as I write this no “one hand tied behind the back” contest. One strange rule is that all entrants must be fully dressed.
Pi calculation is another healthy pastime as long as we are not talking about scarfing down pies. Last week Chris Lyons of Melbourne, Australia, recited the first 4,400 digits of pi—a feat that only took him 2 ½ hours to complete but one full week of study time. In July 2005 a Japanese psychiatric counselor set an unofficial world record of reciting pi to 83,431 decimal places. And you just thought they were taking notes while you talked away on their sofas. Tech types have now calculated the forty trillionth bit and found it to be zero. This was done using idle computers, which obviously have too much slow time on their hands. Idle computers are also being used in the SETI projects searching for signs of extra-terrestrial life, and there is also a sign-up list for computers with time on their hands to sift through millions of photos searching for microscopic bits of cosmic dust.
If you have a religious bent like Ignatious Loyola and happen to be stuck in a castle with a broken leg, try reading and re-reading the Bible. There is actual a place you can go to and get a word for which to search in the Good Book and then mail back your word count. If you get bored quickly with that, then switch to a more modern translation. You also can watch a movie like Police Academy for a hundred times and then turn on the mute button and recite the dialogue from memory. For those who still don’t have a clue as to how to while away your time, try writing a blog.
Monday, January 16, 2006
Pantyhose and Bra Shortage Looming!
As I am sure all of you know by now Augustine Volcano erupted Friday spewing out an ash cloud five miles high. It was the biggest eruption in these parts since Mount Spurr blew its top in 1992. Aviation officials acted immediately to protect their inventory. Alaska Airlines canceled 28 flights on Friday and the Alaska National Guard moved aircraft out of harm’s way. Emergency officials quickly placed Anchorage on Red Alert and issued emergency directives since an even bigger blast is expected in the next few days. Some of these safety precautions actually make sense: don’t go outside unless it is absolutely necessary and shut down your computer and keep the keyboard covered when not in use. Some were rather perplexing. Don’t go outside without long sleeves. Whew! I was getting a little alarmed until I saw that. Folks, as I write this it is 10 degrees outside. Other than Polar Bear Swim-Ins people don’t even venture outside in this kind of inclement weather without a heavy coat and gloves. One of the safety measures, however, has caused considerable anxiety here—if you do go outside breathe filtered air only! That could be next to impossible. Within seconds of the first burp from Augustine all the particle masks and pantyhose in the region had disappeared, a situation with eerie similarities to the great toilet paper scare some years ago. Under the circumstances what is a person supposed to do? For the women there is no problem—simply stay inside until the ash settles. For the men it is not quite that simple. Masculine pride demands that they venture out. After all what is life without a little danger here and there? But what to wear? I initially envisioned all the men parading around Anchorage with their faces covered by pantyhose. It is masculine to do this since thugs and muggers have already pioneered the way. However, I could see security guards arresting anyone so attired who even went near a bank. To my relief and all the bank tellers here as well, I learned that the pantyhose was for the air filter on your car. Silk handkerchiefs could be used but that would give everyone a Black Bart or Jessie James appearance and would no doubt fill up the slammer as quickly as the pantyhose masks. Another approach would be to take pantyhose, put the seat in back of the head, wrap the legs around the head, and then criss cross the legs in a cross-your-heart style and tie in back with no bow to create a Lawrence of Arabia look. That tip comes from a Martha Steward wannabe. Teenagers could make it manlier by wearing a baseball cap with the bill reversed, naturally. That approach, however, would raise the ire of Homeland Security. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Do what the Chinese did a couple of years ago during their SARS outbreak. Cover the nose and mouth with half a bra. The Asian formula was to cut the bra in half, remove the shoulder straps and sides, attach shoelaces or twine, cover the face and tie in back. But where would the men get the bras? I suppose a few men, perhaps tanked up on Duck Fart, would take their lives in their hands and try to pilfer one from their wife’s lingerie drawer. However, most members of the male species and who want to remain members of that species would surely realize that Hell has no fury like a woman scorned or a woman who can’t find her favorite bra. Then I envisioned a mob of men storming into Victoria’s Secret and asking for a white bra—for their wives of course. Sporting a red or black one could get you busted for lascivious behavior in public. Then it hit me like a second ton of bricks. Anchorage does not have a Victoria’s secret. But where there is a will there is a way—even if it does lead straight to Wal-Mart, Sears or Penny’s. So we will finally have the men marching off to work with their faces coiffured in a bra trying to avoid direct eye contact less they get arrested for ogling someone’s nose which would not be masculine. So you see that no matter how things finally turn out with Augustine, the hoosegow is going to be full and bras and pantyhose will be in short supply.
As I am sure all of you know by now Augustine Volcano erupted Friday spewing out an ash cloud five miles high. It was the biggest eruption in these parts since Mount Spurr blew its top in 1992. Aviation officials acted immediately to protect their inventory. Alaska Airlines canceled 28 flights on Friday and the Alaska National Guard moved aircraft out of harm’s way. Emergency officials quickly placed Anchorage on Red Alert and issued emergency directives since an even bigger blast is expected in the next few days. Some of these safety precautions actually make sense: don’t go outside unless it is absolutely necessary and shut down your computer and keep the keyboard covered when not in use. Some were rather perplexing. Don’t go outside without long sleeves. Whew! I was getting a little alarmed until I saw that. Folks, as I write this it is 10 degrees outside. Other than Polar Bear Swim-Ins people don’t even venture outside in this kind of inclement weather without a heavy coat and gloves. One of the safety measures, however, has caused considerable anxiety here—if you do go outside breathe filtered air only! That could be next to impossible. Within seconds of the first burp from Augustine all the particle masks and pantyhose in the region had disappeared, a situation with eerie similarities to the great toilet paper scare some years ago. Under the circumstances what is a person supposed to do? For the women there is no problem—simply stay inside until the ash settles. For the men it is not quite that simple. Masculine pride demands that they venture out. After all what is life without a little danger here and there? But what to wear? I initially envisioned all the men parading around Anchorage with their faces covered by pantyhose. It is masculine to do this since thugs and muggers have already pioneered the way. However, I could see security guards arresting anyone so attired who even went near a bank. To my relief and all the bank tellers here as well, I learned that the pantyhose was for the air filter on your car. Silk handkerchiefs could be used but that would give everyone a Black Bart or Jessie James appearance and would no doubt fill up the slammer as quickly as the pantyhose masks. Another approach would be to take pantyhose, put the seat in back of the head, wrap the legs around the head, and then criss cross the legs in a cross-your-heart style and tie in back with no bow to create a Lawrence of Arabia look. That tip comes from a Martha Steward wannabe. Teenagers could make it manlier by wearing a baseball cap with the bill reversed, naturally. That approach, however, would raise the ire of Homeland Security. Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Do what the Chinese did a couple of years ago during their SARS outbreak. Cover the nose and mouth with half a bra. The Asian formula was to cut the bra in half, remove the shoulder straps and sides, attach shoelaces or twine, cover the face and tie in back. But where would the men get the bras? I suppose a few men, perhaps tanked up on Duck Fart, would take their lives in their hands and try to pilfer one from their wife’s lingerie drawer. However, most members of the male species and who want to remain members of that species would surely realize that Hell has no fury like a woman scorned or a woman who can’t find her favorite bra. Then I envisioned a mob of men storming into Victoria’s Secret and asking for a white bra—for their wives of course. Sporting a red or black one could get you busted for lascivious behavior in public. Then it hit me like a second ton of bricks. Anchorage does not have a Victoria’s secret. But where there is a will there is a way—even if it does lead straight to Wal-Mart, Sears or Penny’s. So we will finally have the men marching off to work with their faces coiffured in a bra trying to avoid direct eye contact less they get arrested for ogling someone’s nose which would not be masculine. So you see that no matter how things finally turn out with Augustine, the hoosegow is going to be full and bras and pantyhose will be in short supply.
