Trailer Wife

I love love love awards shows. Back in the glory days, I would have fabulous Oscar parties where no one would dress up, but we'd all eat only yellow/golden/orange food. I get very excited about monochromatic edibles. We'd all sit around sipping champagne, eating twinkies, Mac n' Cheese, kettle korn and petite quiche. With a completed ballot at hand, of course.

So here are my Oscar predictions - based NOT on who I think will win, but who I think DESERVES to win. Always a sure loser. (I left out a few that I don't care about)

Leading Actor - Jeff Bridges, "Crazy Heart"
Supporting Actor - Christopher Waltz, "Inglorious Bastards"
Leading Actress - Carey Mulligan, "An Education"
Supporting Actress - Mo'Nique, "Precious"
Animated Feature - "Up"
Art Direction - "Avatar"
Cinematography - "Inglorious Bastards"
Costume Design - "Coco before Chanel"
Directing - "Inglorious Bastards"
Film Editing - "District 9"
Original Score - "Fantastic Mr. Fox"
Original Song - "The Weary Kind," from "Crazy Heart"
Visual Effects - "Avatar" (grudgingly)
Adapted Screenplay - "District 9"
Original Screenplay - "Inglorious Bastards"
Best Picture - a tie between "Inglorious Bastards" and "District 9" (Blind Side? Are you F-ing kidding me?? If Bullock wins you'll hear me screaming from the arctic)

Need your own ballot? Go here

Flannery O'Connor once said, "Everywhere I go, I'm asked if I think the universities stifle writers. My opinion is that they don't stifle enough of them. There's many a best seller that could have been prevented by a good teacher. "

But, against every practical notion and a bucketful of glaring cliches.... I'll be joining the ranks of the University of Alaska Fairbanks MFA program this fall. It has been in the works for a long time, but I just got the official word that I was accepted this week. Three years with a teaching fellowship (huge sigh of relief).

**Cartoon discovered and originally posted by the fantabulous Taylor Boulware.

Oh man.

When my UK BFF gave me this book for my birthday last year, I was intrigued. She explained that she hadn't read the book herself, but had heard a lot about it, and knew I would be interested. She said this in the sort of shame-faced, halting, more than a little embarrassed way that one might use to notice you are a fan of strip clubs, or conservative talk radio. Because having to admit that you know what this book is about, not to mention the fact that you've actually spent the time to read it, is (it seems to me) risky business.

I was so intrigued by Amanda's description and the snippets I read on the internet, that I didn't read it. I do this sometimes with books. I save them. I don't want the delicious anticipation of what I hope will be a good book to end. I wait until the perfect moment, when I can fully appreciate the experience - - or conversely, when it can serve as a much-needed pick-me-up. Using this logic, I picked it up one day during this wretched winter sickness of mine.

Narrated by 18 year old Helen, Wetlands is a incredibly graphic novel focusing on the double bind the author finds modern women in: constantly confronted with the pervasive nature of female sexuality, while at the same time bidden to neutralize their bodies. Helen, suffering from a brutal case of hemorrhoids, is landed in the hospital, where she spends her time flirting with nurses and entertaining herself with reminiscence of her sexual exploits.

First of all, I don't recommend that anyone over the age of 45 read this book (an exception: Robert Nye - Bob I hope you read this and tell me what you think!). In fact, I'm going to extend that to anyone who has not earned a liberal arts degree in the last ten years. Because without a bit of literary perspective, this book is a bit of a horror show. Reviewers have described it as taboo-busting, disgusting, and deeply-perturbing; some have dismissed is as pornography, some credit it with the boundary-breaking chutzpah of Catcher in the Rye or The Female Eunuch.

The author, a German television personality named Charlotte Roche, explains to interviewers that she sought to "write about the ugly parts of the human body. The smelly bits. The juices of the female body. . . . I created a heroine that has a totally creative attitude towards her body — someone who has never even heard that women are supposedly smelly between their legs. A real free spirit."

With my background in the history of sexuality (my undergrad thesis was on the great first literary lecher - the Marquis de Sade) I had pretty high expectations as I began to read. And let me tell you - Wetlands is definitely a page turner. (My sweet friend Amy - of 2009 Outlander Driving Tour fame - read it in one sitting when she visited us in Scotland last year). But with each chapter, I felt the build up to some kind of meaningful conclusion slip further and further away. Yes, Roche's Helen proudly touts her sexual entrepreneurship, and I kept marveling at how different the tone would be had this main character been male. And yet, I failed to find anything to connect with in the novel. Helen seems almost like an automaton as she moved through the story, leaving me with nothing to latch on to.

To sum up - I'm really glad I read it. But I will NEVER read it again. Sallie Tisdale of the NYT has written an excellent review of the book and I agree with every word. Though I wouldn't check it out unless you don't plan to read the book.

Grade: C-

Seriously. For most of 2010 I have been in constant warfare with my sinuses. Yeah, gross, I know. But now the snarging nasal drainage horror show has run its course, leaving me with constant pressure, zero sense of smell and DEAF in my right ear. This is in spite of the handfuls of antibiotics, decongestants and expectorants I'm taking every four hours. My tolerance for pain and discomfort is pretty high, but clogged ears are crazy-makers for me. It's like a bad international connection, when you keep hearing yourself on the line and can't focus on anything the other person says. The pounding of the shower on my head; the constant, high frequency squeal of my tortured ear canals; the utter tastelessness of everything I consume. UNCLE.

Anyways - I'm miserable, Alaska sucks, blah blah blah. I'll get back to posting when I locate the will to live.

PS - I have NEVER in my life had any sinus issues before moving to The Land that Water Forgot. To all of you who didn't receive massive sympathy from me when suffering from past sinus infections (which I've always sort of thought are imaginary), my deepest apologies.

Oh, man. In times of true physical misery, I suppose one clings to the tried and true. For me, this has historically added up to pots of chicken flavored ramen, marathon screenings of Battlestar Galactica and hours spent in lolling vegetation on the couch. Even when I felt really terrible, I would get a little thrill at the prospect of the whole weekday stretched out in front of me; mindless TV-watching without guilt, comfort food, sleep in the afternoon.

Turns out, parents don't get sick days. And to say that I have been "sick," seems to besmirch the common cold's good name. According to the doc, I have one of the worst sinus infections she's ever seen, tonsillitis, a double ear infection and a membrane virus in my right eye. FML.

Of course, this affliction landed the night Sam got home from a week-long business trip, which meant he had a thousand fires to put out on campus and couldn't really stay home nursing me (not to mention the fact that he is THE WORST NURSEMAID on the planet and I wouldn't allow him near me lest I be reminded that self-pity is a choice). So I've been waking up, stumbling through Gusser's morning toilette, driving him to daycare (half-blind!) and then collapsing on the couch for four hours until I have to pick him up in the early afternoon. The only thing keeping me alive: popsicles.

Banana-flavored Twin Pops, to be exact. I have probably eaten three whole boxes this week (that's an average of 12 per day). Even when Gus is throwing handfuls of chewed-toast into my closet or gnawing on my knee caps, these sunny little flavor-bombs give me just enough will-to-live to redirect the kid's missiles and down my antibiotic horse pills.

Banana Twin Pops remind me of home-made slip'n'slides, the smell of baking concrete peppered with dog poop, the feeling of dandilions twirled under my chin, and deep, unkempt grass. They remind me of my sister's messy braids and indian burns. Of sitting on porches and smoking cigarettes. Sigh.

So, thank you, popsicles. In my snuffling, weepy, swollen state, what little affection I can spare for this miserable world is aimed directly at you.

PS - my, (ahem), short-story-themed February posts? You get the picture.

Some of you know that I have a daily Fred Meyer habit. (Target, if you're listening, please come to Fairbanks. PLEASE.) I've heard a rumor that all of the lighting in the Fairbanks Fred Meyer is full-spectrum, which keeps shoppers in a good mood, thus increasing their sales. I don't doubt this, because swear to God, I go in for a gallon of milk and come out $50 poorer. And I find myself making up excuses to stop by Fred Meyer almost every freaking day. It's like small town retail crack.

In hopes that my bulging cupboards and empty wallet will translate into something useful, I've put together a list below of must-have, can't-live-without, Kroger-approved items. Enjoy.






Kiss My Face, Moisturizing Shave Cream, ~$6.00
Seriously, this is THE BEST shave cream I have ever come across, and I lived in Europe for two years. My favorite scent is cool mint - it leaves your legs silky and tingly without the customary burn of menthol. And, hand to God, I don't have to shave nearly as often.










Meyer's Clean Day, Basil Surface Cleaner, ~$6.00
My Kitchen has never been so clean, mostly due to the amazing scent of this admittedly high-priced cleaning solvent. But it is AMAZING smelling - not to0 bright, not too flowery. Just the perfect, fresh, subtle tang of basil. SO good.







Boogie Wipes, ~$3.50
These little suckers kept me sane through the-worst-cold-ever a couple of weeks ago. They handily dissolved Gusser's Garbage-Pail-Kid schnoz slime, and had a nice (Sam claims overpowering) clean scent.





Emerald Valley Organic Hummus - Smoked Jalapeno and Garlic ~$3.50
I am serious about hummus. The grocery stores in Scotland were SO superior to US supermarkets in that they prohibit all preservatives. So hummus was fabulous, but had a very short fridge life. This product is the best of both worlds: fresh, low preservatives, but still lasts a good week or two. Goes well with pita chips.






Neutrogena Eye Makeup Remover Pads, ~$6.00
I keep these babies by my bed, and when I'm too tired from a night spent watching reality TV whilst facebooking (try not to be jealous), I don't have to endure the trauma of waking up to racoon eyes in the bathroom mirror.









Avalon Organics Lavendar Shampoo, ~$5.00
This stuff is great (you can also get it at Costco) - smells clean and leaves hair squeaky and shiny. Added bonus: it doesn't have sodium laureth sulfate, the lathering ingredient that causes a lot of people skin irritation (Hi Sam). So now we don't have to buy seven different shampoos to clutter up the shower.

This Saturday marked the start of the Yukon Quest, a 1000 mile sled dog race between Fairbanks and White Horse. On odd number years, they start in White Horse and finish in Fairbanks, but this year the dogs set off from the frozen banks of the Chena river, in downtown Fairbanks. I was SO excited to go.

For one thing, how cool is it to gallivant around on a frozen river? I don't know why this appealed to me so much, but I couldn't stop thinking about the possibility that the ice would crack and we'd all be plunged into the freezing depths. It was very exciting.

For another, people talk about this race and sled dog racing in general so much, it's hard not to get swept away in the whole Jack London adventuresome spirit of it all. And I knew it would be terrific people watching.

The start line.

The frozen Chena River and the race chute

Here I am explaining to Gus how THE PUPPIES are coming

The first team! (Check out the little doggie slippers)

Sweet outfit.

I'm pretty sure a few people showed up just for the free bagels.

He's putting on a tough face here, but he was not cool with the 8 degree weather (which everyone was exclaiming was SOOOO warm).

Santa?

I have been negligent in posting more about our progeny. For some, this is probably a good thing. There are SO many mommy blogs out there blethering about every moment of their darlings' lives. And while those moments are very important, obviously, I'd rather document them in my own way (read: thousands of digital images I will probably never organize or bring into 3D reality).

That being said, I figured it was probably time to jot down some of Gusser's particular triumphs.

• He has transitioned from ape-like shuffling to full on arm-swinging ambulation. He gets quicker and more sure-footed every day, and very recently learned how to open doors. With a very determined set to his squinty eyes, he climbs, paces, and circles with purpose.
• He is seemingly desperate to communicate. With every item he finds the approximate size of a chalkboard eraser, he holds said item up to his ear, and utters a very interrogatory, "Aye?"
  
• He loves Daddy. LOVES. Mommy is lukewarm dishwater to the brilliant, permissive, shoulder-riding, wrestle-initiating goodness that is Daddy.
  
• He is a music lover. At daycare, he heads straight for the music box and serenades the little girls for hours. You should see what this kid can do with a harmonica.
  
• He is no lover of the outdoors. Sure, he'll eat a few handfuls of snow when we plop him in the front yard, but just try to take Mr. Prim sledding or strolling along a frozen river, and he will wildly object. (Yes, the sub-zero temps might have something to do with that).
  
• He is an epic sleeper. I hesitate to even put this in writing, sure that it will mean Gus wakes up seven times tonight and will not sleep past six... but for the past few months, he is a 7:00 PM - 8:30 AM sleeper. Not to brag or anything (I would hate me too).
• His current nicknames: Gump, BeBop, Sucker, Gusto, and Sherpa.
  

January ended so suddenly, it has taken a few days for the fact of our survival to really sink in. EVERYONE says that January is the worst in Fairbanks. Post-Christmas funk + 20 hours of darkness + lingering layers of ice fog = three weeks in Maui (for many Fairbanksans). But survive it we did. That is not to say that it wasn't one of the darkest months of my entire life (both literally and figuratively), but that's a story for another day. And maybe we got off easy - turns out that it's been unseasonably warm this winter (hovering around zero today), and the snowfall is way down at only 20 inches. In fact, it's the least snowy winter since they started keeping records in 1904!

With the shortest of months comes a wee breath of hope: temperatures are rising, we are gaining more and more daylight every day... conversations hearts alone have gone a long way to improve my outlook. And it might also be the Vitamin D - we finally got on the bandwagon and started taking a daily supplement. Almost immediately we felt more cheerful. In our heads? Maybe. But I'll take it any which way. I have been very bad about taking photos - the lighting is awful at the moment and I am lazy. But I will do better to get some shots this week - especially of mutant ice sculptures that have popped up around ventilation ducts and heated windows.

So... for the month of February I am going to be reading one short story EVERY DAY. I love short stories and feel bad that they get such a bad rap (I'm looking at you, Sam). I am almost always a little stunned and intimidated by how much mind-bending complexity and laconic grace is packed into a really good short story. When I read them, I imagine the author just sitting down beneath a window somewhere, writing out each sentence as it comes to them, fully formed and polished, and it makes me want to give up the ghost and become a truck driver. And even though I know that's not how it works, that they slave and suffer and struggle through each word, the finished product is so blindingly flawless (when it's good) that I can hardly breathe. I guess that's what I'm shooting for - literary asphyxiation.


February 1st: "Nothing Right," from Nothing Right, collection by Antonya Nelson, 2009.

February 2nd: "OBO," from Nothing Right, collection by Antonya Nelson, 2009.

February 3rd: "Kansas," from Nothing Right, collection by Antonya Nelson, 2009.

I picked up Antonya Nelson's newest collection from the Library's new arrivals section on a lark last week, and I'm so glad I did. I have been a fan of hers since she came to Oregon State when I was there a few years ago, as a participant in the visiting writer's series. She is so precise and energetic, so sure and quick-witted, that I found myself squirming with the rightness of her character's strange insights and blunders alike. She has a voyeuristic intensity that I really love. I had read "Kansas" in the New Yorker a few months ago and loved it. I loved it even more this time around. Here is my favorite passage from the story:

"Emily sat across from Henry at the table, staring into her coffee, trying to reconstruct the evening, completely prepared to take responsibility. But for what, exactly? For being drunk enough not to remember, she supposed. She could still recall Ian making them all laugh. The cop pulling over the drunks on the yellow brick road: lion, scarecrow, tin man, even that wacky dwarf, representative of the Lollipop Guild--reciting the backward alphabet, swinging their fingers to their noses, walking with arms outstretched as if on a balance beam. Round-heeled, blasted Judy Garland, in her earnest full-throated way trying to seduce the officer, inviting him for a romp in the poppy field. It had seemed like a good evening, Kay-Kay joining them for dinner, sticking around as the hour grew late, rocking Cherry Sue on her hip, helping Anna fix snacks, changing CDs on teh player when Ian complained about Henry's music... Emily had the impression that they had been trying to please the teenager, all four of the adults staging an impromptu production of Life is Worth Living, right here at this very table."

Not to be a big fat complainer, but Good Gods, these last two weeks have taxed every fiber in my being. First of all, it's January. In Fairbanks. Which means that the average temperature hovers somewhere around -20F and we have barely 4 hours of daylight. Turns out that the ONLY thing that will keep your synapses firing under these circumstances is high fructose corn syrup and reality television. So I'm feeling GREAT. And then, Gus gets the worst virus of his short life. Just when I thought diaper duty was the bottom line in infant disgustitude, here comes crustified, glue-like, Garbage-Pail-Kid-worthy emissions from the kid's nose. Not to mention a grumpy streak that lasted ten days and got me around 2 hours of sleep a night. THEN, said virus slithers from said emissions and infects the rest of the family. Perfect.

Seriously, Internet. This was the mother of all flu/cold bugs. Alaska germs DO NOT screw around. I honestly felt at times that I was being violently accosted by angry, territorial bacteria. After a solid week of it, I have only today felt even vaguely human. And still, I think my sinuses have sustained irreparable damage.

And of course, it's perfect timing because I have my MFA app due on Feb 1st, and the GREs to take on the 2nd. And then US-FRAKING-Bank raised our credit card interest rate for no reason, AGAIN! And then I lost one of my 1/2 karat diamond studs, the only remaining evidence that I didn't waste 6 years of my life in the soul-sucking cancer pit that was EBS. And then Howard Zinn died.

And now J.D.??? Jerome David himself??

I can't take anymore. So I'm going to bed until the snow melts. Goodbye.

PS - I'll be back February 1st with a whole month of featured short stories. First on the docket - Antonya Nelson.

I know that slingbacks and open-toed stilettos are beginning to take over every shoe counter in the lower 48, ready for spring pedicures and beach romps... but it is still decidedly winter in Fairbanks. Even thinking about flips flops makes my feet hurt. What I really long for right now is BOOTS. Because in a place like Alaska, a good pair of boots is as necessary as engine warmers and fur-lined head wear. Granted, the selection of boots I've seen around these parts isn't exactly what you'd call fashion-forward (see here, here and here), but the fact stands.

So here is a boot round up of all the Alaskan-approved-practical-but-saucy styles I am dying to own, and in no way can afford. Instead, I am saving up, and as soon as I hit my New Years Resolution weight loss goal (probably by my birthday, if I'm lucky) I'm going to pull the trigger.

Donald Pliner Amy 6363 $171.98

La Canadienne Ramona - $324.95

There's nothing like a new job, a saintly daycare provider, a few added minutes of sunlight every day and a talented drive-thru barista to improve your worldview. For a girl who craves order in all things, my new strict schedule is pushing all the right mood buttons. And not a minute too soon.

It's no coincidence, I think, that we are approaching the 6 month mark in Fairbanks. From everyone I've talked to, and from my own personal experience, I've decided that the first 6 months of any major transition suck, full stop. There's almost nothing you can do about it. The compulsion to compare everything in the new place to the old place is positively soul devouring. Add a new climate, a dearth of friendly faces, and some serious cultural contrast and you have a recipe for clinical depression.

I've been thinking a lot this week about Aberdeen, which is making news this month with record cold weather and a foot of stubborn snow on the ground (ironic much?). Scotland now occupies a very special place in my heart, which is made all the more meaningful when I think about how unhappy we sometimes were in Aberdeen. And that makes me think about how often it is the case that you can't really love a place until you've worked through everything you hate about it. Just like all real friendships are cemented after that first big fight.

So I've stopped feeling guilty about hating Fairbanks. I have hope that someday soon the ice fog, insane produce prices and the absence of good Indian food will fade in my mind a bit, and I'll be able to appreciate the supernova sunsets, the hilarious winter headwear, and quilts.

More photos soon. I'm terrified of freezing the camera lenses... it was -40 yesterday, my new personal cold record!

Tonight Sam and I watched Away We Go. Holy Hell, folks. This was a great movie. Probably the best I've seen in the last year. Directed by Sam Mendes (Little Children, American Beauty) and co-written by Dave Eggers (writing rock star, brains behind McSweeny's, adapted Where The Wild Things Are) and starring my new boyfriend, John Krasinski, this movie bowled me over. It was so smart and funny and real. And as a person who has recently procreated, incredibly relevant. Please find a way to watch it. If for no other reason than Allison Janney's brilliant performance and for the painfully accurate portrayal of new age academics.

I haven't felt this good about a movie since I saw Once, In America, or Junebug.

Oh, Internet. There are many, many excuses for my negligent posting, but I won't bore you with them. Let's just say that holiday fun + life with a toddler + Oregon rain falling on fireplace-warmed windows + a few night flights + newly acquired ring tone making skills = one lazy, procrastinating broad. At least I made it almost to Christmas, right? Right.

So, we are back in Fairbanks. It is cold and dark and sherbet colored. But life here is a bit more exciting. I started a part time job on campus today, and Gusser had his inaugural daycare session (he did great, aside from a little hair pulling and a minor sleep strike). It is amazing how much this four hour block of structure completely transforms the day.

And with a new year and a new routine comes... yes, new resolutions. Here's mine.

In 2010 I will:
1. Learn to ride a horse.
2. Read Moby Dick.
3. Capture the eerie twilight glow with the watercolors my father-in-law gave me for Christmas.
4. Write one short story for every month.
5. Take the frakking GREs.
6. Smile at strangers and give change to everyone who asks.
7. Complete at least one phase of P90X.
8. Make a quilt.
9. Try every kind of Alaskan game.
10. Be a better phone friend.

DAY TWENTY-ONE: Christmas Lights Around the World

Sydney, Australia

DAY TWENTY: Nativity Scenes

Given my complicated religious opinions, I should probably be against nativity scenes at Christmas just on principle. But setting the stable stage and its biblical players was always a special treat as a kid. I took particular joy in placing the wee Christ child in his manger only after all of the other figurines were in place - in the same spirit that dictates the star may only be placed on the tree after every ornament has been hung.

I'm likely not going to want a nativity scene anytime soon... but if I did, I think I would buy one of these:

The Sock Creature Christmas Pageant (Etsy)
Nested Nativity (Etsy)
Modern Nativity (Oliver Fabel)

DAY NINETEEN: Cinnamon Bear

Heidi and I were avid radio listeners as children. Our favorite holiday program was... The Cinnamon Bear. First broadcast in the thirties, it was designed to run for six days a week between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Here is the original newspaper ad for the program that ran in the Portland Oregon Journal on November 25, 1937:




Introducing Paddy O'Cinnamon, Santa Claus' right-hand man! Meet him with Santa in Toyland at Lipman's... and don't miss his exciting adventures with Judy and Jimmy (two of the nicest playmates you could want!) over the air every night but Saturday! Early-to-bedders can listen at 6 and stay-up-laters at 7... and some nights you'll be so anxious to hear how they got the Silver Star back from the wicked Crazyquilt Dragon that you'll listen twice! And here's a secret... the Cinnamon Bear is just as excited about meeting you as he can be.




**Co-writing credit to Heidi