This ain't your Atlantic City boardwalk!

I live on the tundra now. Tundra is essentially a giant sponge on top of permafrost, soil that never completely thaws out. As you can imagine, this makes it difficult for trees to grow (which is why there are, sadly, no hottie lumberjacks). Tundra is very mushy, and as a result it is difficult to build roads and houses and buildings. Even lightweight off-road vehicles get stuck in the mud all the time. When I was in Dillingham, I remember laughing at the fact that it is actually easier to get around in the winter when things are frozen. It's easier to hop on your snow machine and drive 50 miles than to get on a plane. The people in remote villages use wintertime to stock up for summer!

In Bethel, as in many of the remote villages around here, they have built boardwalks as lightweight alternatives to paved roads. The boardwalks have become one of my favorite things up here. They cut across the tundra, forming shortcuts and links all across town. From certain parts of the boardwalk, you can see way out across the tundra. It's beautiful. I'm a fan.

Building on the tundra is a bit challenging, to say the least. Remember the permafrost? Well, if you build a house right on top of permafrost, the heat from the house will melt some of that ground. However, it melts unevenly, so the house will become unstable and fall down pretty quickly. The ingenious solution? All the buildings here are on stilts. Raising the house up also raises the heat up, so the permafrost below will stay frozen and stable. (I suppose it's a little more complicated than that, but that's as much as my non-engineering brain can comprehend.) A fun side effect is that the houses sway in the wind...and we get a lot of wind off the tundra! Lying in bed at night, you can feel everything swaying. It took some getting used to, but I like it!

And now please enjoy some Hipstamatically-enhanced photos from the boardwalk. I had a little too much fun photographing my shadow as it waved back at me.

So I have to tell you something...

We're going to deviate, briefly, from specific men to a post that highlights my least favorite phrase in the English dating world.

So I have to tell you something.

I'm not sure that I can really explain exactly how nausea-inducing that phrase has become.  I've asked around to some of my female friends, and let me tell you, it is always followed by a doozy.  Let's discuss.

Scenario 1:
Him:  So I have to tell you something.

Me: o.O

Him (paraphrased): I've been skipping work for the last 6 months, and lying about what I've actually been doing with my time.

Me: O.o

Scenario 2: 
Him: So I have to tell you something.

Me: o.O

Him (paraphrased): My ex wife and child are living with me in a one-bedroom apartment.

Me: O.o

See what I mean?

Shall we explore some of the other excellent statements that come after "So I have to tell you something"?  Of course we should!

In no particular order.... (and not all of them are mine)

Him: I live with my Mom, brothers and 8 year old daughter.

Him: I may have been recently exposed to herpes.

Him: I haven't done this.  (Yes, that's in reference to what you think it's in reference to).

Him: I lied.  I don't really have a job.

Him: I want to have a relationship with you, but I want to see other people at the same time.

Him: I promise I own my own place, but I live with my Mom to help her out.  (Of course you do).

Him: I won't be able to see you for a while.  There's a bench warrant out for my arrest.

Him: I'm going to marry my other girlfriend.

Him: When I get too relaxed, I have a cardiac arrhythmia.

Him: I've joined the cheerleading squad.

All of this is classically met with:
Me: o.O

So, dear readers, what else do you have?  I need to commiserate some more with people who have experienced this too!  Comment with your best follow-ups to "So I have to tell you something"!

I'm not from around here.

Phone conversation between me and the woman at the electric company:

Me: Hello, I'm new to Bethel, and I'd like to set up an account at my new address.

(long pause)

Woman: Okay.

(long pause)

Me: so...ah...can I do that?

Woman: Yes.

(long pause)

Me: Okay. Um...how?

Woman: You have to come in.

Me: Okay. Well, I heard that I would have to put down a deposit. Can you tell me how much that will be?

Woman: Not without the address.

Me: Okay, I'll be living at 110 Owl Street.

(long pause)

(rummaging in the background)

(long pause)

Woman: 110 Ptarmigan, you say?

Me: No, Owl! Owl. 110 Owl.

Woman: No, Ptarmigan.

Me: Are you sure?

Woman: Yes.

Me: Okay, can you tell me how much the deposit will be?

(long pause)

(more rummaging in the background)

(long pause)

Woman: $748

Me: Whew! Okay, thanks. Where are you located?

Woman: We're in a small gray building.

(pause)

Me: Where? What is it near?

Woman: Near the police station.

Me: Is that near City Hall and the DMV?

Woman: No.


Me: Okay, what is it near?

Woman: It's on the highway.

(pause)

Me: Do you have an address?

(long pause)

(rummaging in the background)

(long pause)

Woman: 160 Eddie Hoffman.

Me: Great! Thanks so much!

<click>

Conceptual troubles

On my way here, I read a book called The Sex Lives of Cannibals by J Maarten Troost. It is the self-deprecating story of a man who moved to a remote atoll (a coral island) in the South Pacific for two years. As I read it, I marveled that our situations were somewhat parallel, if in reverse. (Inversely parallel?)

Over the past week, this passage has particularly resonated:

"We began packing...More difficult was my inability to imagine equatorial heat. 'I don't think you're going to need those,' Sylvia said, observing the wool sweaters I was packing.
"'I'm sure it will be a little cool in the evenings,' I replied. 'Particularly in the winter.'
"'I see. I think, perhaps, you might be having a little conceptual trouble with the idea of living on the equator.'"

Now, allow me to share with you the contents of my top dresser drawer at the moment:

Did you see them? Did you count them? No less than 12 tank tops and 9 T-shirts.

Now, please enjoy the only long-sleeved shirts and socks I brought with me for the month.

I haven't been warm since I landed here.

Additionally, this packing paradox has proved especially problematic the past week. You see, it has been snowing - on and off, just a dusting here and there - but enough that I've been REALLY wanting my full complement of warm clothes...and warm bedding...and warm hats and scarves and boots and gloves.

The colder it gets, the more uncertain the moving company becomes about (1) where all my stuff is, (2) when it will get here, and (3) why I am upset about this. The other new doc in town refers to our contact at the moving company as "the dingbat." She is disinclined to use the phone. She responds to about one in five e-mails. When she says "the 26th," turns out she actually means "the 2nd of the next month...maybe." She didn't think to tell Bethel Bob that I exist and that he'd be picking up and unpacking my shipment.

...which brings me to the sole silver lining of the day - Bethel Bob is awesome, as advertised. Stay tuned for tales of his epic awesomeness.