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: