Why is it that I only hear Katrina and the Waves doing "Walking on Sunshine" when I am in SLC, and I do hear it within an hour of arrival every single damned time? Is it some sort of cosmic retribution for my departure? Is it a running citywide joke? Urrgh, travel.

So finally on my way to NZ, via a bit of a roundabout route. Nome to Anchorage, where Richard and I stashed the last of our apparently immensely valuable swag in a rundown storage shed for which we will pay nearly 2 grand a year. Weird, the contents probably wouldn't fetch the 6 grand we will pay in storage if I auctioned them off. Yet we pay to ship them, spend time and money to box them, and engage in lots of otherwise unreasonable behaviors. Lots of good research on this topic recently, the human tendency to see what we already own as more valuable than a similar item we don't own. Worth checking out. Nice to spend the day with Rich, regardless. He has a hell of a mind, and is well grounded. Glad our relationship is strong.

But first, the Nome sendoff. I have raved about the people before and they did me right in the farewell. 30 people crammed into a small house (which Karen and I owned a few years back), 14 of them with instruments. New Couchsurfing friends to introduce and good wine to consume. More fun than I can describe. There is nothing like a house full of music and pleasure on a arctic winter night. If you don't have enough of such things in your life up north you end up like Russian literature. Introspection has its place, but is pathological in excess, or in winter. Best done while fishing on a warm day. Thanks to Kristine and Ian for the use of their place and to everyone for showing up to see me off. Love you all.

Then the family goodbyes. This hurt. Karen is incredibly understanding, but we both know this will be hard. She isn't ready to leave Nome and I have to...despite the great people I seem to be unable to sit still for more than a few years. So while I am confident that it will work out, it will be a long stretch until we see each other again. Webcams or no. But while I am sad leaving Karen I am guilty as well leaving Kenai. He has been at my side for 15 years, but he simply would not survive the trip over and the quarantine. When making plans a year ago I assumed he would be gone and I'd be taking Cassidy. Surprise, surprise. Glad he is still with us, and I know Karen and Pat will take good care of him, but still. Hope he hangs on until I get home in June for a bit.

So a night in a tourist box in Anchorage. Saw Coraline, which was incredibly psychedelic in parts, and hung with Rich. Then off to SLC for goodbyes with the other family and a reunion with Miles and James. Been 15 years since we were in the same room. Should be interesting. But now it is time for bed. Tired boy.

Last night was the Nome Food Bank benefit at Airport Pizza, with entertainment provided by the local music scene. These folks, the local musicians, their families, the KNOM crew, the circle of friends around them; they make a fundamentally hostile life more than survivable. Nome should not exist, it has no harbor for shipping, it has no rich agriculture to support a sedentary population, it has no great cultural significance. Even the salmon runs are minimal due to all the waterways having been dredged. All it has is gold, and this was enough to build a town on large enough to become somewhat self-supporting, at least as far as purpose went. But unlike other human habitation which tend to be built around something we enjoy, Nome was built on an abstract desire for wealth. Makes for a damn hard winter.

But the people, oh the people. A writer I respect greatly was here visiting and stated that he could pen a novel based on every person he saw in town. I wouldn't quibble. Though demonstrating the classic northern reticence, this place lives and breathes its stories. It has little else. So the stories are told and retold, embellished and doubted, savoured in extremis. Great stories are a social currency to a degree that most Americans haven't experienced since the rise of the cathode ray tube. A joke has run regarding California being like granola, if you eliminate all the nuts and fruits all you have left are the flakes. Nome is a Long Island Iced Tea. The separate ingredients tend to be cheap and caustic, but combined in a tall cold glass you find something tasty, attractive, and incredibly intoxicating. It will also lead you to Karaoke, social diseases, and horrific hangovers if you are not cautious.




So how do you keep yourself off the floor? You dance, baby. Dance, sing, play, DJ, whatever piques your fancy. Since Sarah Hanson came to town and opened her guitar studio a nebulous musical scene has come together into a damn fine way to spend a winter. Theme nights, open mikes, and constant weekend jamming wherever an excuse arises; at -30F you don't need a good reason to gather. With the constant infusion of fresh young blood from the KNOM barracks and new students from Sarah's studio keeping the ferment bubbling, the town rocks. Plus 11 bars for 3300 people makes for a well-lubricated crowd.



Grats to everybody that was there, we raised over $1000 for the food bank out of just a few dozen spectators. Props to Airport Pizza. I might disagree with Matt's politics but nobody can doubt his generosity. Special mention to Lance Johnson for arranging the whole thing and acting as emcee for as garrulous a bunch of reprobates you are likely to find this side of Fresno. Tres fun. The sexy '80's dance party afterward at KNOM was pretty bloody great as well. Never thought I would actually enjoy hearing Dead Or Alive.

You spin me right round baby right round....