Sweater Song

Shuttle Jake unconsciously posing at emergency apple #1.

You can't actually see the amazing ice fog glitter,

but this picture ended up looking neat.

old film canisters from the NZ Hillary Hut

No, not the Weezer one -- my new favorite thing to sing is a playful and exquisitely longing song that employs a sweater as an improbably sexy metaphor ("I Wish I Was," by the Avett Brothers).  This year I finally brought an aux cable, so I can listen to my own music while I drive.  If there's no one to shuttle, I can repeat a song over and over and over, and in such fashion learn it, all during work hours (shhhh, don't tell).

Every year I give myself a talking-to about how I should really learn guitar so I can accompany myself, and skip over the ingratiating and bowing and scraping that I perform in order to wheedle people into playing music with me.  Luckily my Fuelie friend is obliging me for the time being, but really, I swear, I'll learn to strum and pick...this summer...or next season...sometime.

Unseasonably warm and sunny weather has followed me from Alaska to Antarctica.  Everything's melting, I hiked in a sweater, and sunblock is my constant companion.  The sea ice is quite thin this year, only having formed in late July.  Already large cracks extend from the rocky point just beyond town, and our days of exploring pressure ridges and skiing around the cape are numbered.  The seals seem to be thriving, though, and a slew of doe-eyed pups are adorably writhing around.  

Speaking of writhing on the ice shelf, I started doing push-ups and sit-ups on every drive to the airfield.  No, that's not me suffering a stroke behind my van; I'm just trying to be inconspicuous, in a bright red jacket, with a neon safety belt, in a broad, open, white plain bustling with heavy equipment and airplane mechanics.  I eeked out 20 push-ups in a row once, but the following set, two hours later, I could barely finish my usual 10.  I'll get there soon, though, and my sweater will be waiting when it get's too cold.