Good morning, my Alaskan friends and those of you unfortunate enough to live elsewhere. I'm calling the poll over, with "Fanchorage" winning soundly in the "Name the Godawful Ugly and Depressing Box Store Complex" contest.
I admit to some sadness, as I didn't come up with that one, but it is a good term nonetheless.
But before I sign off to go scoop dog poop before it gets buried, hit the exercise equipment, split some firewood and start all the other weekend chores, I must share a true story.
So, recently, a certain burly, bearded friend of mine - you know, fixes anything mechanical, works as an operator, drives a Harley, genuine Alaskan dude - spent a weekend in Ranchorage. (That would be Real Anchorage, as opposed to the faux one we have here.) While drinking a few gin and tonics and people-watching through the hotel window, he noticed, and I quote more or less accurately here, "a lot of hot women walking into this bar."
Not to let such an opportunity be lost, he headed down to the bar where he immediately realized that he was in the wrong bar. I speak, of course, of Mad Myrna's, where all the hot chicks were only interested in the other hot chicks.
"I knew it was too good to be true," he admitted. But he stuck around for a few rounds of pool anyway.
Above right: Chore of the day, getting water from the Water Wagon. If you are new to the Squarebanks area and ever wonder why there are so many people driving around with those blue 5-gallon jugs, wonder no more. We're taking the blue jugs to a water source, either in town or out at Fox Creek.