Seasonal Awesome Disorder

You can't do it all.  At least I went in the ob tube, if only for a few minutes.  That porthole to another world was stuck in the ice for weeks, but I only happened to luck into going down when some other people already had the key.  It was pretty neat to see divers in the water, though, fins undulating in the dim, silent world of jellyfish and ice crystals.



(Hi mom and dad -- here's my face, I'm still alive and well.)

Our access to the ice shelf also wrapped up a couple weeks ago -- significant melt pools are visible near the coastline, and the ice is slushy, weak, just plain unsafe.  The cross-country skis in my corner by the closet stare reproachfully every time I enter my room.  I know it's been awhile, gals, but there's just so much fun music.  Oh, and Christmas.

All I can say about Christmas is this town likes to party.  Varying combinations of booze-music-food-presents carried us from Friday afternoon straight through Sunday evening.  There was Uno and shots; there was Pink Floyd and lobster tail; there was a scarf and chocolate.  It snowed late Friday night, which was our Christmas Eve, and I knew I better go walk in it even though it was 1am.  When I woke up the next morning, it was all gone.

P.S. - We are starting to fill shipping containers with cargo in anticipation of the yearly supply ship arriving in a couple weeks.  What does this exciting new development hold for me?  Aaaaaaand it's...more data entry.

Down To Fun

What's that, the cover of a new Christian rock album?  No, just pregaming enjoying nature before band practice, out at Hut Point.  Julien makes a mean mojito, especially when you consider that the mint is a few weeks old and the lime is powdered.  Also, there is a guy here who's actual first name is Steel.  He's sitting on the right.

For a few days there I had a lot of spare time on my hands with only one band going...but thankfully, they're both fully operational again.  Our bass player suffered an unfortunate accident and flew home, but I scooped up a replacement so we can still play IceStock.  And another side project is brewing: I met a guy who was a professional jazz drummer for like thirty years, and who made and brought down -- to Antarctica -- his own set of vibes (as in vibraphone, not psychological energy).

Christmas week is upon us and the debauchery started right with the firefighters' dinner/party.  My friend and drummer cooked a feast: meatballs, pasta, latkes, crepes, asparagus, and more.  They're about as rowdy as you'd expect any such group to be, and it pleased me that the chief ended an otherwise congratulatory and sincere speech with a quote from the sage of our times, Jerry Springer.

Tonight beckons like a giant chocolate cake: planning our short film, followed by band practice, followed by maybe my favorite event of the year -- SOLSTICE SILENT DANCE PARTY.  We will enter into the transcendent quiet beauty of this landscape, moving to our own tunes on headphones, the sun as high as it ever is all the way to midnight in a strange southern land.

What time is it? Show time.

My gosh, I haven't talked about the first gig...ok: Down To Freeze was well received at the Crary Lab science social, achieving that perfect ambiance-music volume without turning into a spectacle.  Because, really, we were background music for what I assume were varied and erudite doctoral-type conversation.  I borrowed a little black dress from one friend and savagely high heels from another, and we swung through the jazz tunes and pounded the rockers without me toppling over.  It was a great night, though tinged blue as our guitarist departed a few days after.  The plan is to integrate a new guitarist, but most of the jazz is going away.

After many -- and I don't use this word frequently or lightly -- epic rehearsals, last night Midnight Rhythm graced the stage of Gallagher's bar.  Things really got amazing about two weeks ago when we tapped an as-yet-undiscovered drummer, Dave, the egg line cook.  That kid can hit some shit.  Most of our tempos increased, transforming what had been a remorseful post-break-up original into a fist-raiser of an I-will-remember-you, and our three 12-bar blueses(eses) into groovin' dance tunes.  For a second time, I abused my aging knees keeping time in four-inch sparkly purple velvet heels.  I think the bubbles in our champagne (one bottle each, frequent toasting) encouraged an effervescent mood.

And as if all this music weren't enough thrill, we got our first delivery of ice cores from the South Pole.  This is the for-reelz science down here, the most prized of the field samples, and there is a strict protocol we follow to ensure their integrity.  Usually they are flown in at the coldest time of day, about 2am, but we had had several days' weather delay, and eventually it was decided they would come during normal work hours.  So thankfully I didn't have to do this the first time confused and bleary-eyed.  My main job is to put bar code stickers on boxes and record temperature data logger numbers.  I also have to talk on the radio, which is scary and awkward, as I've never been a big rig driver or bus dispatcher, and fail to conjure the proper jargon.  My coworkers are the ones actually driving forklifts into shipping containers and carefully placing every pallet.