Pointless Babbling

After the disaster of the Black Island traverse, I've been kept on a short leash so I haven't got any new adventures to report on but out of an overwhelming feeling of obligation to my readers (mom) I feel the need to write about something so here goes... Tucked in the many nooks and crannies of McMurdo you can find lots of things that you wouldn't normally see outside of a mental institution. For example, insane people, boxes upon boxes of paper products and powdered bleach. I guess they try to save on weight when they ship it down but it's really a drag when washing your whites because there aren't instructions on how to mix it for a non-institutional load of laundry. Such is life here.

Last Saturday I was privileged to attend the annual 70's disco themed party. Marsha commented that it was strange that this is part of our lifestyle. She's right, along with world travel and eating dinner amongst some of the best and brightest that the world has to offer, we go to parties where people put on some sort of wig and dance to awful music. Disco music is something that most of us tried to forget, why are we memoralizing it here? Why not a 70's Lynrd Skynrd party or something? I've also come to accept the fact that guys here, especially those who work at the fire department, love to dress up in drag. Didn't Salman Rushdie or someone say that in a society that hasn't got enough females that the males will assume the role? I dunno...I find it disturbing yet humorous. Here are a couple of pics. A big thanks to Sylvestre Guidi for immortalizing these precious moments.


Marsha gets jiggy!


I can dance if I want to




This guy'll be sorry when his senate campaign is derailed by this picture


Lip service is still being paid to safety here. We've all worked places where that happens, but here's how it works here. In the coffee house, there's a space where they show movies from time to time. Last season this space was lit with Christmas lights. They're just about perfect for when you want to go to the restroom without stepping all over the bodies strewn about. Well, this year they have been removed because they are a fire hazard. I now have to feel my way through a maze of sweaty rednecks (well...only on Dolly Parton marathon days) to get to the restroom because Cletus and Lerlean wrapped three tons of conductive material around a tree that nobody has bothered to water since Halloween and they done burnt up the trailer park one Christmas. Meanwhile, my employer is perfectly o.k. with taking someone with two or three year's worth of experience driving their mother's escort and putting them behind the wheel of a ten ton articulated cargo truck and driving up and down an icy 12% grade all day. I feel safer already.

I have a long-standing philosophy about picking up girls at the gym. I have always felt that women who go to the gym may very well be interested in being picked up but it ain't by any man who's there. However, my mind may have been changed. First, you have to consider what some of these girls wear. A baggy pair of shorts and T-shirt are adequate workout wear but when some girl wears a form fitting tight outfit it becomes difficult to not ogle. Lately, the girls who are lacking the form to have form-fitting clothing seem to be trying to compensate by veiling themselves in a cloud of toxic gas smelling perfume. I guess if my eyes are burning from this haze that emanates from you, I can't possibly be disgusted by your haggard looks. I can't help but wonder if we've received a plane load of Eau du Seahag.

Well, that's about all I have for now. I must excuse myself to go snort some powdered bleach to try to rid my nostrils of this stench.