A love/hate relationship

Oh, Juneau. It was a good five-and-a-half year run. I didn't think we'd last in the beginning. My car catching on fire could have easily been construed as an omen. But we stuck it out and for the most part, you fit me like a glove. Will I ever take you back? I don't see you changing those negative characteristics you cling so strongly to, but stranger things have happened.

What worked:

1. I'll list my job first because I truly lucked out working in Research and Analysis. It's the perfect environment for a data junkie like me. The stories and experiences of my co-workers were priceless. Getting that job offer was what ultimately led me to settle down in Juneau. And I'll be eternally grateful for the ease with which I was able to return after a short stint elsewhere in state government. Is it time for 10:00 break yet?
2. Trails, trails, trails. I miss running Perseverance.
3. Like many aspects of the state, the issues and accompanying politics are unique in Alaska.
4. Knowing Alma would know my exact order at the Valley Restaurant every Saturday morning before I even had a chance to sit down. (Hamburger steak, hash browns, scrambled eggs, wheat toast, hot tea)
5. The Hangar, except when the grasshopper pie wasn't "in season." The mysterious "freezer issue" excuse got really old, really fast.
6. The ferries
7. With most of Alaska four hours behind the east coast, Saturday college football games started at 8:00 a.m.
8. My friends (and for those Juneau folks reading, take no offense that this one comes in at #8)
9. The PFD
10. Seward's Day and Alaska Day
11. Southeast Road Runners puts on an extensive schedule of races throughout the spring and summer. I miss the Mud Run and the East Glacier and Perseverance races the most.
12. Sitting in my usual spot against the wall at the Nickelodeon
13. Costco

And what didn't:

1. Winter sucks. Period. I don't mind the short days. I don't mind the endless, gray dreariness. But walking to and from work in the slushy slop got old quick. Hell, walking anywhere was a pain in the ass once the snow turned into a cold rain. The record snowfall of 2006-2007 forced me onto the treadmill at the JRC, which was as exciting as watching clothes tumble in the dryer. And I don't ski. Yeah, that about sums it up.
2. The downtown parking situation. Of course, I don't mind walking. So, if I ended up far from the Mendenhall (like over by the Governor's House), it wasn't a huge deal. But when it snowed, I'd have to worry about digging out my car and finding a new parking spot if I had to go out to the Valley.
3. Sarah Palin. This one is actually more of a post-Juneau thing. Living in Alaska during her vice presidential run was fascinating. However, I'm still getting the "What do you think of Sarah Palin?" question nine months after leaving Juneau. Enough! Go away!
4. The housing market is ridiculous. Rents are outrageous. Can you say, "$800 for a 300-square-foot apartment"? This isn't New York. And let's not talk about what it costs to buy a home.
5. The idea that some folks think their opinion is paramount in the community because they've lived in Juneau a long time. "Hi, I'm so-and-so. I've lived here 25 years and I'm better than you are." Wanna know what I think? If you were born in Juneau, that's not something you could have helped. If you moved there before graduating high school, that was your parents choice. And what if you moved there in early adulthood? Well, I moved there when I was 25 and, more than likely, you relocated when you were my age. Know what that means? You're bragging that you're older than I am. Okay, you win there! Go get your CBJ senior property tax exemption and leave me alone.
6. Getting caught in a sudden rain storm halfway through a run when I could have sworn I had an hour-long window of dry weather
7. Alaska Airlines' monopoly at the airport
8. JDHS sports events were always fun; however, being so far from professional and (especially) college sports events was hard.
9. The smoke from my across-the-hall neighbor seeping underneath the door to my apartment. I used an old shirt to plug the gap; but that only worked when I was home.
10. I'm ambivalent toward the cruise ship tourists. I mean, it's cool I was able to live someplace on many folks' vacation wish list. (When I tell people here I lived in Alaska, I'm either told how they have always wanted to visit or I hear all about their trip in the mid-80s.) But CBJ definitely caters more toward the cruise ship industry instead of focusing on the people who actually live there.

Wow, I'm all riled up now! I'm thinking it's because I truly do love the place. I did learn a lot about what will be important characteristics to consider when choosing a new home a few years down the road. After VISTA and grad school, all options are on the table. But after that, I'm done with moving. No really, I swear.

Halftime report

Nine months into and most likely the midpoint of my time here in Mission, I think it's a good point to ponder the pros and cons of life on the rez. I have a wonderful life here; so, I thought it'd be fun to list those characteristics I find most endearing. I'd be remiss, however, if I left out those items that drive me bat-shit crazy. No place is perfect.

What I love:

1. My job is at the top of the list, for sure. It has been frustrating at times, especially as of late. But I'm doing some good, meaningful work here. And seeing the housing situations in which our partner families currently reside is more than enough to keep me motivated.
2. I can throw out every statistic imaginable to describe the economic and social ills of the Rosebud Indian Reservation, yet still realize this is one special place.
3. The sunsets
4. There are four real seasons here - and fall is yet to come!
5. The drivers who wave while I'm out running; I now even have folks driving by in the same direction as I'm running waving as they pass
6. Tuesday night volleyball at Lakeview
7. I've been able to run year-round. Turning around at the top of the ridge along the Dump Road before dawn on a cold, winter morning is just awesome.
8. My farmer's tan
9. I'm not a proponent of a road out of Juneau; but regaining the spontaneity of hitting the road is refreshing.
10. Coaching track and cross country
11. City Council meetings
12. Watching storm clouds build in an otherwise cloudless sky
13. KINI

And the things that don't give me a warm, fuzzy feeling:

1. Civic apathy
2. I live outside Mission city limits.
3. Most of the rez dogs are harmless; but there's one in serious need of behavior modification.
4. Winner, South Dakota, must have the most hairdressers per capita in the United States. But do you think any of them would be open on Saturday?
5. The Black Hills are three hours away.
6. My bed
7. The mice who get into my food
8. There are few media outlets here. The state's major papers only report bad news from the Rosebud. Locally, news travels primarily by word of mouth, meaning it's not always accurate and often coated in bias. It's hard to keep abreast of what's happening. (Maybe that's the cause of the apathy?)
9. Practically every time I stop in at the grocery store in town to pick up milk, there are only two gallons of skim from which to choose. And more times than not, they're both expired.

So, much more good than bad. I really can't complain, which is why I haven't.

Coming tomorrow, things I miss about Juneau contrasted with those I really don't.

My disease has a name

Courtesy of a random comment on a random blog, I learned I suffer from vasovagal episodes. I told you about my birthday HIV test where I passed out soon after having blood drawn. Well, it turns out that is one of the triggers for these episodes, which lead to lightheadedness, ringing in the ears, and tunnel vision, among other symptoms. And when the episode leads to fainting, it's called a vasovagal syncope.

I'm somewhat relieved to read that both dental and eye examinations are common triggers for these episodes. I've come ever so close to passing out at both the orthodontist and optometrist over the years.

During my orthodontic consultation back in junior high, I felt dizzy at the sight of my mouth molds. The orthodontist had them in his hands, using them as props as he described how my bucked teeth would magically turn into a movie-star smile - in just 10 years! I couldn't handle it, placing my head on my arms on his desk. My mom didn't know what was going on, but nudged me to sit up straight. We laugh at this story now, as this was when my parents and I knew I wouldn't be attending medical school.

I visited the eye doctor for the first time in 2001 while living in Texas. I was a squinter, for sure; I had known since at least high school I'd probably benefit from glasses. Well, I was fine for the "Which one is clearer, 1 or 2?" portion of the exam. It all went downhill, however, when the woman conducting the exam pulled out that neon blue light, moving it up to my eye ball. I'm pretty sure she thought I was a problem patient when I told her I needed to take a short break.

After the drops were applied to dilate my eyes, I stood up to walk back to the waiting area. That's when the room became fuzzy. The feeling was familiar from episodes involving blood over the years. I leaned down to put my hands on my knees to calm down. Only, I missed my knees, almost rolling forward onto the floor. I never lost consciousness, but it was close. I was given a cup of water and a washcloth as I waited for my eyes to dilate.

This incident had long-lasting effects. It took me seven and a half years to return to an eye doctor. And I only went then (last summer) because my glasses broke.

And I now I find that my affliction has a name! What's better is I could evidently have it even worse. Much worse. Looking at the list of triggers, I see both urination and defecation cause episodes for some folks. Jesus. I mean, passing out while giving blood is inconvenient for me, to say the least. But at least I managed to get a good story out of the ordeal. I couldn't imagine passing out while on the toilet. I'm not so sure I'd publish that on this blog. (I'd probably share that information with a few select people, however.) And I don't know about you, but I have blood taken much less frequently than I use the bathroom facilities.

If you're a sufferer of defecation syncopes, I feel for ya. If there was ever a need for Vasovagals Anonymous, that'd be more than reason enough.

Leave the new millionaire alone

It has been just over two months since local rancher Neal Wanless won the $232.1 million Powerball jackpot. Multiple sources around town reported his family carrying away caseloads of mail soon after. I wonder what all of those kind folks are after? His cattle?

In fact, there has been some discussion on our Board about hitting up Mr. Wanless for a donation. You know, since he promised he'd repay the community that had been so generous to his family over the years and we're just poor poor poor. Luckily, my input counts for something around here. The organization has decided to hold off on sending the letter until Neal's life has settled down some. (Who gets to decide this on his behalf is beyond me.) I'm going to do my best to ensure the letter is never sent.

There was talk at the last Chamber of Commerce meeting about writing a similar letter. Then, I came across this Time article about private citizens raising money to save teachers' jobs. About halfway through was this gem:

Suny Bruun, a mother of two in Winner, S.D., this summer bypassed the PTA and formed an independent parent fundraising group, Keeping Intelligent Determined Students (KIDS). ... Bruun has even made overtures to a local man who in May became the winner of the ninth-largest Powerball jackpot ever: $232 million. "I sent him a letter," says Bruun. "It has gone unanswered."

Well, no shit! I know I wouldn't have responded either in his situation. If I won the lottery, I already know which people and organizations would share in my winnings. And believe me, I've thought about it. A certain friend of mine in Texas and I would fantasy about such a scenario on our Powerball/casino runs to Shreveport. If you're not on the list (a rather extensive one, actually), don't even bother asking.

Geez, you would think a check was already in my bank account! But my point is:

It's tacky to solicit money from any lottery winner. But to go after the local man from a family that's had some hard times over the years, declaring, "Hey, you promised!" is just disgusting. Sure, Habitat could sure put a couple hundred grand to very good use. But how classy is it to send him a letter that is sure to get mixed in with the umpteen other requests for money, the marriage proposals, and the notes from long-lost family members?

I think you call them "people"

Last night, prior to the start of City Council, there was an inappropriate conversation about what to call black people. There was some consensus that "coloreds" was outdated. I'm not sure how all this talk started, but once I figured out what the topic of discussion was, I did everything in my power to feign inattention. Yes, I could have provided the voice of enlightenment; however, right or wrong, I've learned to pick my battles when it comes to race relations. Touchy subject for me.

I think many of the comments were actually borne out of ignorance, given African Americans comprise 0.6 percent of the state's population. Hell, according to the 2000 Census, there were eight total in all of Todd County. But still, stating with authority, "There was a time when you called them [n-word]," is just wrong, even if you whisper the n-word.

Square peg on the softball diamond

Going into the softball league playoffs last week, my team, Lakeview, was seeded sixth out of 10 teams after finishing the regular season at 7-9 - a mediocre record, but we finished up on a five-game winning streak.

We defeated our first opponent via the mercy rule last Monday. The next night brought us stiffer competition in the double-elimination tournament, the undefeated top seed. It didn't look good early, as we gave up five runs in the 1st inning. Our defense held up well after that though. The only problem was our offense. We weren't making contact, which led to a couple 1-2-3 innings.

We were down 9-1 when we figured out what the problem was: their pitches were nowhere near the plate. Evidently, their regular pitcher was out for the season with an injury. We started taking pitches, and we started walking. And walking. And walking some more.

The walks and runs began to mount. The opposing team was visibly frustrated. They must have tried four or five different pitchers. Same result with each one, however.

***

I've mentioned before about the unsolicited coaching I've received over the season from my teammates. The most vocal have been some of our most unreliable, least athletic players. I'm not sure how that dynamic originated. All season, I've bitten my tongue and nodded acknowledgment at the supposed words of wisdom. On this night, I released a little of the tension at a situation so insanely ludicrous it required a response.

Our team was on a roll with all of the walks when I stepped to the plate. The most nerve-wracking times I've experienced during the season have occurred while batting in a clutch situation. I've actually been relieved while in the on-deck circle, watching the hitter in front of me make the third out before the game was on my shoulders. I really don't want to be the one to kill a rally and then have to walk back to the dugout to face the team. Why I put that kind of pressure on myself is beyond me.

All of these walks preceded me, so I figured I needed to take at least one pitch. Ball. I took another. Ball. The count was 3-1. (At-bats in our league start at one ball, one strike.) It was at this time that I hear a timely remark screamed down the third base line, near my dugout: "Don't swing at the first pitch Brian!!!" My immediate response was, "What are you talking about?!?! I didn't swing at the first TWO pitches!" I walked after taking the next pitch for ball four.

I can't say with 100 percent certainty which ignoramus yelled (and I mean yelled) the helpful hint, but I have a pretty good idea it was one of the dickheads on my team. (And he's a certifiable dick. I've received independent confirmation.) So, it's bad enough when one of these guys decides to teach me how to play ball; it's a whole other ball game (ha!) when they're not even fucking paying attention to the goddamn game. Holy smokes.

***

Back to the game. We surged into the lead. Okay, "surged" is a bit dramatic considering the lead was practically handed to us on a silver platter. The point is we took a 13-9 lead into the top of the 7th. A rally was staged, but it wasn't enough to keep the previously undefeated team from falling into the losers' bracket.

At this point, we were guaranteed no less than third place. Next up after a short break was the second-seeded team. I don't know if we were rusty from all of the inaction from the evening's first game or if our opponents really were far superior, but we were quickly dispatched to the losers' bracket ourselves via the mercy rule.

Fast forward to last night. Our opponent would not be known until the first two games had been completed. The other diamond was not in use, so we were able to put in some needed BP. (That stands for batting practice, for the uninitiated. See, I do know a thing or two about softball.) It was while playing second base that I sustained my final injury of the softball season: a hard groundball to the outside of my left knee. There was no blood, but there was some swelling and I had a bit of a limp the rest of the night. It's one thing to incur some injuries while playing sports; it's another when said injuries mostly occur prior to the start of the game.

Our opponent last night was a team that had manhandled us twice during the regular season. Their lineup was filled with big (huge!) guys who can hit it out of the park with ease. (Getting around the bases is another story. But who needs speed when you've just hit a home run?) They're also a controversial bunch. They had to replay one of their playoff games from last week because they used an ineligible player. (Playoff rosters may only contain folks who played at least 10 games on the same team during the season.) Their game last week was held up 45 minutes because they tried to skirt the rules. They've been asked to not participate in the league next year.

Courtesy of one big inning, we found ourselves up 12-5. Our offense then went to sleep, and our opponents crept back into the game, taking a 13-12 lead into the 7th inning. I led off the top of the 7th, hitting a grounder to the left side of the infield. I just missed beating the throw. As I made it back to the dugout, I was told, "That's why you have to leave the box quickly after making contact." I ignored him.

A rally was not in the cards, and we went down with a whimper in the 7th. Game over. Season over. Third place.

***

Looking back at my first softball season, I shouldn't complain with my play. On defense, I played second base for the most part. I missed a couple balls, but so did everyone else on the team. There was a time or two when I didn't cover second base when I should have - my bad, for sure. And I probably played it safe more times than not - catching the ball with two hands to get the sure out at second, for example, eliminating a chance at a double play with a quick throw to first.

And I hit the ball well. I often found myself on-base. I even had an inside-the-park home run after an outfielder underestimated me. I think I struck out two or three times though, even once looking. (Okay, that's bad. But I own it.) Overall, those damn high standards of mine often left lingering thoughts that I could have performed better.

I did have fun this season. No, really, I did! Some of my teammates just pissed me off on a regular-enough basis to leave a bad taste in my mouth. The capper was last night while playing second base. The first baseman told me when and where to backup certain throws from the outfield. I made an adjustment and tagged a guy out at second who had overrun the base. The first baseman's response back in the dugout afterward: "See what happens when you listen to me." Nice.

I can own up to a mistake and accept some positive guidance. (I did make the adjustment.) I just don't want to hear the condescending remark afterward. I thought about this on the ride home last night. I'm a runner. The camaraderie between runners at races big and small is an aspect of the sport I love. We're all out on the course competing, but we're really all in it together, especially with the longer races.

The inability of my teammates (and players on other teams) to see that we were just playing slow-pitch softball and not curing cancer really did take away from my enjoyment some. And this is coming from someone who considers himself pretty competitive at times. But what do I know? I truly was the square peg in this round hole of a team. I didn't grow up with these guys. I didn't play ball in high school. I'm not overweight. And I don't use chewing tobacco, one of the nastiest habits I can think of. Actually, seeing pieces of chewing tobacco in a guy's teeth is probably even more vile. ("None for me boys. I enjoy having a jaw bone, thank you very much.")

The verdict? The good times definitely outweighed the bad this season. But am I going to run out and buy a "I'd rather be playing softball" bumper sticker? Nah. I have a half marathon to train for.