Antarctica and the Amerikiwi

Once or twice a year the U.S. Consulate in New Zealand travels from their home office in Auckland down to Christchurch.

The meeting place for their services is at the departing terminal for the U.S. Antarctic Program.

I had an appointment to go and sign the paperwork for my son so he could get his Certificate of Birth Abroad and U.S. passport.

I arrived at the location early and this gave me time to look over the facilities.

There was a post office to send packages and mail down to loved ones at the bottom of the world.

Just past this was another office with maps of Antarctica and departure instructions for visitors.

Beyond that was the clothing distribution center where participants get all their heavy duty cold proof gear and smart red jackets.

Around the corner was the actual departure terminal for Antarctica.

The hallway to the check-in counter was lined with clear photographs of polar landscapes and penguins.

Flags of many nations hung from the ceiling.

There was a baggage x-ray machine and a poster showing prohibited carry on items. (Even carefully screened program participants aren't immune from suspicion of terrorism it seems.)

Across from the desk was a large room with theater seats and a movie screen. Above the seats hung a long wooden dog sled.

On one wall there were more polar photographs and on another there were images of the different aircraft that had flown Antarctic missions since 1955.

I wasn't going to Antarctica and yet, I felt a thrill being in that place as if others before me had left some sort of emotional imprint.

I could just imagine what it would be like to go.

It would be like that scene at the end of Close Encounters of the Third Kind where selected individuals get a briefing before they go off into the unknown.

Prior to my consular appointment I had seen a large hangar with "United States Antarctic Program" written on it.

I had also seen the U.S. Air Force C-17 fly over my house on its way down to McMurdo base. The drone of its engine is distinctive and it flies a different path than other planes.

I visited the International Antarctic Center recently and went inside a frozen room with snow in it where they recreate winter storm conditions from the region.

There were certain areas to hide from the wind gusts but I thought I would be a badass and sit on a snowmobile near the center of the room.

The room got dark, powerful fans turned on and the temperature dropped several degrees below freezing. A recording of the howling winds was played and bits of snow hit my face. I soon regretted not taking refuge in the igloo or gust proof regions of the room.

Another display area featured videos of scientist pulling up all sorts of creatures from the deep and talking about how they had developed methods for surviving their extreme environment.

I recalled that one of my professors at Lincoln had been down to Antarctica and talked about how wary the people living at the bases are of newcomers. Apparently things can get pretty strained when you're cooped up in one space for a long time.

There was a display at the Center on how people living at the bases fight depression and boredom.

I hoped it might be possible to hitch a ride down with the crew on the C-17 but the National Science Foundation- which handles the funding for U.S. missions- makes it clear that they don't do that sort of thing.

I don't know why I have suddenly developed this strong urge to see Antarctica. It was unexpected.

I started looking at ways to get funding and an invitation to go down.

I knew I would never qualify to go there and "do a science" unless it was a social science and after my professor's description I can only imagine that my close observation would make people's paranoia act up.

I also think I would be a prime candidate for the early onset of cabin fever.

In case you are wondering how to get down to the southern-most continent, www.usap.gov has the details.

They take engineers, pilots, scientists, service specialists (such as a cooks) and artists,

I think the last category would be the only one I would have a chance at and even then, it definitely would not be for poetry.

Roses are red, violets are blue
There's lots of snow here, and penguins too

Perhaps the appeal of the place is that is holds so much undiscovered wonder and is still relatively difficult to get to.

A few flights from Australia that will go over the region for an exorbitant fee but they don't land there.

Cruises down there are really expensive and sea conditions make land exploration unpredictable.

I guess I better start working on my painting, photography and poetry skills.

Perhaps I could write a musical called "Antarctica!"

It worked for a U.S. state so why not a whole continent?

The Brief Return of DJ Red

I stopped DJ-ing some months ago because I was pregnant and over being hit on by drunk 20-year olds.

My mixer and case sat in a hall closest collecting dust.

I finally decided to contact another female DJ that worked at the same pub as me and see if she wanted to buy my gear.

She did and when I was delivering it to her I mentioned that I would happily take any extra work she might have. She sent me a list of dates almost immediately and I said I'd take them.

My first gig was to be a small gathering at a private residence.

I felt sick to my stomach about it for days.

I reactivated my Virtual DJ account, added some tracks and put cue points in some of the longer songs.

I went to my favorite second hand store and bought two dresses that minimized my "just had a baby" lumps and made an attempt to part my hair in a different location than normal.

I know what you're thinking;don't get too crazy there party animal!

After the other DJ met with the client she called to give me the details and told me he had a nice house and was very particular about the music he wanted.

After she gave me the address I looked it up on Google maps and found that it had been on the market at the beginning of the year and that a virtual home tour video had been made.

I watched the video and felt even more anxious. There was a swimming pool and a tennis court and a little courtyard with a fountain. The house was huge and obviously very expensive. I felt an impending sense of doom.

I tried to arrive at the location early so I could set up and get comfortable but I got lost and arrived with about 15 minutes to spare before the guests arrived.

The husband and wife were obviously concerned that everything would go all right and told me their guests were doctors, lawyers and other professionals and that they wanted to make a good impression.

I soured their first impression of me by asking if they were Russian. They were Romanian.

For the rest of the evening I looked in vain for a opportunity to express my admiration of Nadia Comaneci.

I spent several panicked minutes trying to remember how to hook up my laptop to my old mixer and then connect it to the other DJ's equipment. I failed miserably and contemplated running away and hiding somewhere.

I tried to call the boss on my phone but I ran out of credit (yes, I have one of those phones). Finally I asked to use the house phone and then struggled to dial the number correctly. The wife told me to dial "1" first and this got me through.

After more fiddling around and some reassurances from the boss, I was finally able to connect and get sound out of the speakers.

By then many of the guests had arrived and were standing in a tight circle giving me occasional glances that seemed to express a curiosity as to whether or not I might be some sort of living art installation entitled "Faux DJ With Paunchy Midsection."

The first time the husband came over to me it was to say that I needed to play less House music.

Alas, this was often a comment I received at the pub where I used to play.

I knew this meant I would have to trot out the Top 40 hits and throw in some 80s and 90s stuff.

I had forgotten how difficult it could be to try and please everyone's musical tastes.

I had also forgotten not to assume that others would agree with my examples of beat mastery and sampling genius.

One day I will show up to a party and someone will ask for an obscure dance remix of a song and I will win the day by having it on hand.

I played with the sound turned down at first so I didn't drown out the conversations.

The rest of the evening saw a rather comical back and forth of the husband telling me to crank up the volume while his wife came over seconds later and asked if I could turn it down a bit. They always seemed to miss each other and must have thought I was constantly doing the opposite of what each of them wanted.

Several of the guests came to talk to me and they were all very nice.

One was an eye surgeon and we talked at length about an unfortunate side effect of my PRK.

Soon the alcohol began to kick in and people began to lose their inhibitions.

This first manifest itself through slight twitches and barely perceptible shuffles before eventually erupting into full blown dance extravaganza.

My impression of Romanians (based off the two that I met that evening) is that they are very gracious and hospitable. I say this because the wife kept insisting that I eat something and get something to drink. There was a lovely catered spread but I didn't want to stuff my face in front of the guests and I have a rule about not drinking and mixing.

At the end of the night the husband presented me with a nice bottle of Italian wine and the wife packed me a little tupperware container with some homemade cakes, strawberries and chocolate truffles.

I left their home feeling like life was pretty good and hummed the melody to  Dragostea Din Tei most of the way home.

I don't really want to go back to full time Dj-ing. I feel like I'm getting too old for it and I put a high value on being asleep by 10 p.m.-but I wouldn't mind a few more intimate house parties with cordial couples like this one. (The wine and cakes weren't a bad addition either.)

Mr. Pickwick and the Tittlebats

I have started reading the works of Charles Dickens.

Somehow I made it through high school, college and grad school having only perused "A Christmas Carol" twice.

My mom always liked to rent musicals back in the heyday of VHS so I had seen "Oliver!" numerous times.

I started reading "Great Expectations" a few weeks ago and laughed when one of the characters becomes an actor in the "theatuh" and gives a shaky performance in Hamlet.

Dickens writes that the actor playing Hamlet's father had a terrible cough which he carried with him into the afterlife.

There were also some stockings that weren't doing the wearer's legs any favors.

I read "Oliver Twist" next and was surprised to see how the writers of the musical had made Fagin a more sympathetic and likable character.

What I have enjoyed so far is how Dickens manages to make his social commentary with a touch of humor.

In Oliver Twist, Mr. Bumble is completely unfeeling toward the welfare of the parish orphans and is consumed with pride in his power over the unfortunate. In the end, he marries a disagreeable woman and loses all employment when he conspires with a criminal to hide Oliver's true identity.

I just started reading The Pickwick Papers and was delighted by the titular character's paper entitled "Speculations on the Source of the Hampstead Ponds with Some Observation on the Theory of Tittlebats."

The word "tittlebats" put me in hysterics and caused Nick to give me the side eye (he didn't see anything particularly funny about the word.)

Heh, heh. Tittlebats.