Monday, April 30, 2012

Was it something we said?

It is time once again, friends, for those in charge of redistricting to attempt to excise my neck of woods from the greater Squarebanks area. 

For those of you from Outside, (and thanks Immmoral Minority for the traffic!), we here in the locale of the Goldstream Valley trend a bit more left than a lot of Greater Redneckia. 

You wouldn't know to look at us, with our typical Alaskana:  beards, pickups, carharrts, bunny boots, guns, sled dog yards, etc.  But they are matched, in a weird oddball blend, with Subarus and hybrids, tattoos, dreadlocks, nice older folks who lived out here when you could still hunt here a few decades ago, libertarians, grad students, Teamsters, hippies, bluegrass musicians, the new Goths, and a few Ural-driving peeps. Chicken were "in" here long before it became all the rage in Brooklyn.
It's the real Alaska you don't see on the teevee, usually, where the fundamental rule is "live and let live."  You can be a raging fundamentalist religious-type out here, again, it's do what you do but don't bother/harm anybody else... unless of course you buy the one local little store out here and then break state labor law and all common sense.

See, it's basically liberals with guns.  Ester is not much different, though, perhaps weirder, with a better bar.  The two CDPs (census designated places) tend to vote Democrat, though I'd hazard a guess that we are mostly all undeclared voters.  (Like most of Alaska. Look it up!)  Now that it is time for the redistricting board to redraw the lines, every plan proffered by the Redistricting Board has removed Goldstream and Ester and put us with the gigantic boundary of House District 38.

Nothing wrong with HD 38.  It encompasses an awful lot of my favorite part of Alaska.  But we don't belong in it.  The problem is, how to get each House District to something near (there is a certain amount of deviation allowed) to 17,755 inhabitants as urban areas (the roadbelt in particular) continues to grow. 

I can see their point (if by "their", we pay particular note to Jim Holm)... this is an excellent opportunity to rid themselves of some pesky non-Republicans. And gerrymandering has been abused by both politicians since the 1800s.

(to be continued, as I have a day job)  But next time:

The Kawasaki finger & Back in the Day

Tuesday, April 17, 2012

First There was the Fist Bump... there is the crotch bump, brought to us courtesy of TSA.


The crotch bump.

If you haven’t experienced one yet, it’s a sweeping upward motion during the pat down that lands squarely up against one’s genitals. I am thinking the fact that it’s done with the back of the hand isn’t doing much for me.

In fact the whole front/back of hand thing is puzzling. I don’t quite get how the back of a hand is less invasive than the front of the hand. Touch is touch. Someone sweeping the backs of their hands across my boobs is the same to me as someone sweeping the back of their hands. I get that this is a sop to keep the offended amongst us from reaching a fever pitch of protest that they might have to respond to– but still.

A grope is a grope is a grope.

My very first crotch bump occurred here at the ‘Banks – right after they installed Captain Marvel’s magic ray machine (aka the full-body scanner). I figured it was an accident – the result of an over-zealous, slightly clumsy TSA’er unaccustomed to doing full-body pat downs.

But now, having endured crotch bumps at various airports across the US of A, I conclude that, like zip lock baggies and 3-ounce gels, it is here to stay. Yet another development in this whole crazed process that does nothing to enhance our safety, but does everything to keep us in our places.

As a related aside, I routinely opt out of stepping into Captain Marvel’s magic ray machine. I do this because, yes I travel a lot and no, I don’t believe that just because the government gives it its safety imprimatur, it truly is. But mostly I do it because it is the last crumbling vestige of choice or individuality I can exert going through the cattle chute that American air transportation has become.

Not dead yet

Ahhhh, spring.  The gradual reappearance of the dog poops you missed during the deep dark, the combination of mud, dust and ice, the slow awakening of yours truly after months of dark beer and bacon-induced stupor.

As it is, I am missing the lovely 60 degrees in the Squarebanks due to work related-travel to chillier climes out on the coast. But the daylight, even without warmth, is hitting me.  This will be the year for chicken raising! I will weed the garden!  I will again rant and rave for the sake of lefty puppies, kittens, and rainbows... Or something like that.

So, yes, we're not dead yet over here at FBH.  Just finally recovered from the whole Palin thing -- Flic and I are back.

Note:  Of course, having not even read a blog in months, (months!), I pilfered a title from the Ester Republic without even knowing it.  Apologies Deirdre... glad to know you are Not Dead Yet, either.

Note 2:  Expect weird formatting to show up as we attempt to update the design of the blog.