Thursday optimism

No hate today. I am spreading the word and keeping up with the fight for your right.

Please urge your congressman today to support the Active Community Transportation Act!

All 50 states can realize the benefits of this bill. Below is a letter - in addition to the one I sent by clicking the link above - I wrote to Senator Mark Begich of my home state, Alaska:

Dear Senator Begich,

I was born and raised in Anchorage and as a Democrat, I followed your election in 2008 with great interest. I was very pleased when you took office, but recently dismayed to hear of your lack of support for this bill.

I understand Alaskans require rugged transportation options, but within the state's urban environments, the benefits of this bill can still be fully realized.

Anchorage, especially, stands on the precipice of being a very cycling-friendly city, with its network of world-class trails reaching nearly every part of town. Just this Christmas, while skiing to the inlet, to Russian Jack, and even the Bartlett trails from our Midtown home, I saw nearly more bicycles than skiers, in the dead of winter. With big knobby tires and appropriate clothing, these commuters epitomized taking innovative action to make their own community a more healthy and vital place to live.

It can be done and should be done.

If fully realized, the Active Community Transportation Act reduces our dependence on fossil fuels and foreign oil, saves lives both behind the wheel and not, and more pedestrians and cyclists will greatly reduce maintenance costs for our new and existing infrastructure. And not least, it will reconnect us to our communities and to a much healthier and active lifestyle, producing less stress and a more preventative approach to heath care, which is where the reform should've started in the first place.

Dateline: Anchorage

Saturday we had a reunion of sorts, in downtown Anchorage at a bar, the F Street Station.

Craig Hasund, who played saxophone and oboe with me in high school band and the Anchorage Youth Symphony (1987-91) and his wife, Rena:



...and Mark Edwards, the big surprise of the night (he sat behind me in chemistry, 1989-90):



My brother with Sam Gray, also a saxophonist in the East High band:



And Jimmy Egan doesn't look a day older:



Later on that night one of my best friends, Erik Wegscheider - clarinet: AYS, All-state, All-Northwest band, showed a bit later. He actually called me from his truck as he drove past to tell me he wasn't coming in and I didn't blame. It was asses to elbows in there, some sort fire code was surely being broken, so we stopped in at Anchor Bar, attempted to find an open bar at the Captain Cook Hotel (Anchorage's answer to Chicago's Penninsula), and then to the old standard, Humpy's, for the final round of the evening...

The next day my brother took us to the firing range in Birchwood to pop a few rounds on his AK-47 and Glock .40 S&W:

Anchored down in Anchorage

I arrived in Anchorage late on Christmas Eve night. In fact, with the three hour gain, my body time was Christmas. It had been almost four years since last coming home, but walking into the house I'd first moved into before the 6th grade felt almost routine.

Christmas day was one of the best ever. Very few presents - I bought the wine for dinner, we all got socks, but Mom bought a Wii for the house, and I found out my brother had quit smoking! An old family friend came over to eat with us, and we had lots of good wine over prime rib and uproarious conversation, before heading downstairs to play a few hours of Wii tennis and bowling.

The backyard:



Today Mom and I went skiing on the truly world-class network of urban trails that Anchorage residents enjoy. My stepdad's wooden skis, handmade in Norway, are probably older than me but with the appropriate wax applied, they glide along just as well as the high-end composite models.

Madison Way at high noon in December - that's looking straight north (the sun never really gets above the southern horizon this time of year):



Just a right and a left turn and three-quarters of mile from the house is the access point to Chester Creek Trail:



One of the many underpasses on the ski trails in Anchorage:



We stopped at West Chester Lagoon, near the head of the Coastal Trail, and watched the ice skaters:



Long story short? Keep your distance:



A view of Cook Inlet and Mt. Susitna (Sleeping Lady) from the Anchorage Coastal Trail:



Informational sign at Earthquake Park, where the entire neighborhood of Turnagain Heights slid into Cook Inlet during the March 27, 1964 Earthquake. At 9.2 on the Richter Scale, it was the largest seismic event ever recorded in North America:



At Earthquake Park:



Downtown Anchorage from the Coastal Trail:



Needs no further explanation:



Three hours and 11.5 miles, it was a great workout. We are about to enjoy some leftovers from last night - I am starving - and then my brother and I are headed downtown to meet up with some high school friends we've not seeing in quite a long time over some beers.

Until tomorrow...

Thanks, Alaska

It may not surprise you, if you already don't realize, that the bone-numbing, teeth-shattering cold you probably at this moment are steeling yourself to venture out into, came down to us from Alaska - the weather system responsible for those poor souls' previous 2 weeks of misery. It didn't get above -20 degrees in my normally temperate hometown of Anchorage. Fairbanks was lucky to see -40 below.

As extreme as this may seem however, it's fairly normal. At least once a year, a low-pressure zone plops itself down over the state and sits for a least a week. Freezing pipes, taking fingers, toes, noses, earlobes, forcing people to leave their cars running while they run into the grocery store. The city doesn't stop, though. The power plant and gas company needs to keep working so people can stay warm, restaurants continue to serve food so people can eat, and schools stay open so kids can learn.

I remember at least once a year we'd get a week where we would be forced to walk or wait for the bus to school in -25 degree temps. Every square inch of skin covered, our faces hidden beneath our fur-lined hoods. No conversation at all. Just icy breathing.

In fact, school was canceled exactly twice (three if you count the eruption of Mt. St. Augustine in 1986, due to ash)in the 12 years I went to public school up there. The first cancellation was called because the outside temperature was no more than -50. Later, in Jr. High, we received over three feet of snow overnight in March, on the heels of a mild winter. Almost all of the previous snowfall had melted and we felt we were well on our way to an early spring. That morning, a bus flipped over, classes were canceled, and we spent the day digging out cars on our street for $10 a pop.

So, in the end, it ain't all that bad for us here...but 15 below is still 15 below.

And Alaska can keep it.

Uncle Ted Goes Down the Tubes

If you’re a regular follower of this space, you might have gathered that I am, or was, an Alaska resident. I was born and raised there from 1972 to 1991.

Those years spanned the transformation of the State from a rustic, removed, almost colony-like existence to that of a modern and bustling community on the leading edge of many of the country's standards, including education, energy exploration, and quality of life.

It speaks volumes that Alaska residents can come home from enjoying a first-run movie at a state-of-the-art multiplex to find a grizzly bear ransacking their kitchen - when just 30 years ago they would’ve come home from watching a two-week tape-delay broadcast of the Rose Bowl at their nearest neighbor 2 miles away to find a grizzly bear ransacking their kitchen.

The residents of Alaska’s cities enjoy a standard of living second to none in this country, yet, 15 minutes by float plane in any direction is complete and utter wilderness.

If you’re a regular follower of this space, you might have also noticed I’m no fan of politicians, especially hypocritical and hubristic ones, and if they’re right-wing on top of that…you’ll find me damn near apoplectic.

So it may surprise you that I find this whole story regarding Ted Stevens kind of sad.

Ted Stevens is pretty much single-handedly responsible for all that I described above. Of course, I’m exaggerating. Alaska’s environment certainly brings out the best (and worst) in everyone, and I’ve never been surprised at the lengths people go to make themselves comfortable. But, Ted Stevens is still alive and well, is a sitting senator, and has a fucking airport named after him for God’s sake.

They don’t call him “Uncle Ted” for nothing. He is the longest-serving seated Republican senator in history – 6 terms – and he’s consistently brought home so much pork that Alaska is firmly atop several lists compiled by government-spending watchdog groups. It’s a wonder Alaskans bother to make their own sausage at all.

Alaska pretty much owes its existence to him. He was instrumental in the move for statehood. He guided the energy exploration and expansion in the late 60’s and 70’s that made Anchorage the fast growing city in the world until 1986. That oil revenue has translated into city services and a public education system the envy of the entire nation.

And now he’s taken all that success and goodwill and shit on it. He’s taken all that influence and power and flown so high above us and the laws that govern everyone else that his wings have finally melted off. His house was practically built by Alaska’s biggest oil-services contractor and he’s introduced legislation that turns out to have directly benefitted family members. What’s new about that, you ask?

Nothing.

But instead of reporting it, as the law states, he’s gotten caught covering it all up. This guy, who was one of the loudest of the ringleaders in Congress’ move to impeach Bill Clinton for lying under oath.

And so, as much as Republicans and all the right-wing media outlets LOVE to bust Dems and liberals on ethics, it’s kind of hard, even still, to have a laugh as this giant fucking hypocrite goes down in a ball of flame.

We’ll be singing for you, Uncle Ted.

Nineteen Years Later

Nineteen Years

Nineteen years ago, your thick, oozing mess,
As black as the ink that told me it was
Spewed like vomit
From a drunk freshman’s mouth
Onto a Persian rug in some parent’s mansion

Nineteen years later still denying it was you
While we keep being reminded
By the moist, rotten, squishy stain left
Spilled in selfish greed and haste
As you ransacked a home that wasn’t yours

Nineteen years ago I stood there, naked
Embarrassed by the sudden light
And all their sympathy,
While you tried to make flaccid amends
And leave the room at the same time

Nineteen years later I still smell the air
Sweet, perfumed, like a cup of mint tea
I feel the rocks and the grit under my boots
And hear the birds and the waves
And know that I’m still at the edge of the world

Yet then I look down and see cancerous foam
Jiggling with a blind alien intent
And realize that you’re still here
Whispering in the corner, it’s not you
Nineteen years later.