Oh, hi.

Hi friends.  It's been a busy few weeks and I mailed my laptop home, so writing time has severely diminished.  When I have found time at an open computer, I've been spiffing up my resume, applying for jobs for the summer in Alaska and back down here next fall.  My days off have have included "volunteering" (working for a day) with other departments to try them out and get to know the people who work there.  This has been super interesting, but leaves one quite tired.  I'll spare you much talk of heavy eyelids and sore limbs, and get straight to the loader driving.

While there are still lots of rules and safety measures and responsibilities here, one awesome aspect is people are thrilled to put heavy machinery in the hands of complete novices.  With about two minutes of instruction, I was trundling along in a medium-sized forklift loader, "Pily," and starting to finesse the levers.  A spotter kept an eye on my target and communicated with hand signals whether to raise, lower, or tilt my forks.  I transported an actual shipping pallet with stuff on it!  And a few days later, I did it all again in a giant loader ("Frosty Boy"), then a tiny loader, known as a pickle.  The pickle was my favorite -- the most automobile like and responsive.  The larger ones had a pivot point in the middle which was like driving with a trailer, and their gearing system felt like it was in overdrive no matter how I shifted or how much gas I used.  And lastly, I drove a delta, a giant sort of moon-rover-bus with tires as tall as me.

There are all kinds of jobs here that most people get with no relevant experience.  Constructing boxes, arranging cargo on pallets, packing ice core samples, cleaning out drains...  What counts for a lot is if you've already been here and are a reasonably good worker.  If the bosses know you 1) won't flake out on the way to New Zealand, 2) won't freak out when you arrive in Antarctica, and 3) can work a 60-hour week on little sleep and while hungover, you have a shot at most openings.

In recreational news, I saw a very tired penguin, lounged in the sun on the "beach" (exposed rocky shoreline), and rode a snowmobile through a few feet of powder up the hillside for an evening of fresh air and snow angels.

Here's me at the beach in nice heavy snow:

In food news, I opened innumerable bags of frozen and thawed meat.  I also opened bags of frozen vegetables.  Sometimes I put things in pans and move those pans from the table to the oven to the hot box to the chill box to the walk-in cooler.  Thrillingly, today the yearly supply boat started offloading, and we received fresh fruits and vegetables.  The shock has not yet sunk in fully.  When my camera behaves, I'll add some fun photos.  More soon...

And here's a picture of us galivanting on snow machines:

Ch-Ch-Ch-Ch-Changes

It is the goofily-futuristic-sounding year Twenty-Sixteen.  I haven’t fact-checked this, but someone confidently asserted that we here are in the “first” time zone, with the honor of arbitrarily marking the earth’s rotating.  Thus, I personally feel a weighty responsibility to bring in the New Year right.  Now, at some point some scientists decided it would be cool to make use of leftovers from old ice core samples.  Not many perks come with working in the kitchen, but here in our corner of Antarctica, pizza is an official currency.  Suffice to say, some lonely folks at a field camp got some pizza, and we got some 20,000 year-old ice.  Since it’s been continuously crushed for all that time, the ice is extra dense: it crackles and pops as it melts in your drink.  It’s a cheery sound, like Rice Krispys but way classier when scotch is involved.

In addition to celebratory drinking, a brave few of us hiked halfway up the nearest hill for a silent dance party (BYO iPod).  It was super windy and rather bleak, but we pressed on—even the mohawked guy in a kilt—and grooved until at least 12:20.

During these first days of January, I’ve…panicked seems slightly too strong a word…been concerned about applying for my next job.  Lots of folks here head to Alaska because the season dovetails rather well, leaving time to travel before and after each contract.  I’ve peppered people with questions about luxury lodges, tiny truck stops, and the merits of mandatory overtime pay starting each day after eight hours.  I’ve got a few lines out; we’ll see who bites.

Check out this picture of gloomy sky and seal:

And now I thought it would be fun to mention some things that might change a bit, but you can count on to always be there:

- This year and last year’s nasty freezer jackets

Last year, the “hobo” jacket was a tattered, army-green wool number, left behind by someone who didn’t even work in the galley; this year, a two-tones-of-gray, light down hooded jacket that belongs to the kid from seventh grade that smoked is our communal option when heading into the 0°F maze of boxes to retrieve some jalapeno poppers

- Roll of pie crust

Did you ever think, gosh, it would be convenient to have a 1’ X 20’ rectangle of premade pie crust dough rolled up around a cardboard tube?  Lard optional?

- Universal enthusiasm for quesadillas

Sure, yesterday was Taco Tuesday.  Sure, there’s salsa at breakfast every morning.  And yeah, burrito bar is twice weekly at dinner.  BUT LOOK—THERE’S QUESADILLAS FOR LUNCH!  Doesn’t matter if they’re a conveyance for leftovers; doesn’t matter if they were made four days ago and kind of dried out; people fucking love quesadillas and can never get enough.

- Bacon “Redibits”

a.k.a. Bacon-Scented Cartilage Chunks.  Coming to an omelet near you.

And here is an amazing Victorian-art-diorama thing one friend made for another, depicting town: