Ugh, wha' happened?

When people ask me what’s going on, I only have one response.

“Everything and nothing at all.”

It’s not a smarmy thing. I honestly try to think of something new, but I’m tired of talking about the weather. There’s a lot happening in my life, but it all really amounts to boring details that I'll try to keep to a minimum.

Here’s my April:

A shorn-chin lad just followin' the fad

As intended, the final picture of the post a month ago was supposed to be a cliffanger and -- at least for my mom -- a "holy sh**" moment.

Well, it was, but I didn't mean to leave the final note hanging out there that long. It's become an annoying screech that I semi-subdued with an updated Facebook picture. But to give y'all the whole story: I went from this:
To this the next day: To the infamous fu man chu the next (including time at work): Gave the Super Mario 'stash about five minutes: And now I'm rocking the burns, as usual: Because if you're gonna shave your beard, have some fun with it.

The main reason for my latest absence was my trip to Florida in mid-April.

If I didn't see you, I'm sorry, but I crammed as much into those 10 days as possible. Not to mention cramming as much beer down my gullet as possible.

And somewhere along the way, I wrote this while waiting for a plane to pick me up in Atlanta:

***

’Cause we don’t believe in filler, baby. But there ain’t anything wrong with fillin’ up

This post is brought to you by the letter P.

P is for Pepto Bismol.

Specifically the three doses creeping toward my gastric organs as I balance the laptop atop my bloated belly in the Atlanta airport.

Russ just dropped me off from too much food and too little conversation (never enough) at the ESPN Zone. Russ is my eternal sports-talk buddy. The Armageddon could be happening, and we’d find a way to talk about how it affects Mon Williams’ chances of proving himself as a between-the-tackles back.

And dinner didn’t last long enough for us to get past Gators football, so even though I’d scarfed down a mondo philly steak and baked potato, dessert was in order.

We traded opinions on the upcoming NBA playoffs as we pecked at what remained of a ice cream-topped brownie made to serve four. The tight pain just above my obliques was certainly worth the chat. We talked for two hours about things that weren’t really that important, and I couldn’t have enjoyed myself more.

As an experienced glutton, I knew I could bust out a few stretches and push through with a few thousand more calories, but dusk came and it was time to head home.

I had a harder time force-feeding myself the idea that this trip was going to go off without a hitch. When it comes to social atrophy, I’m a hypochondriac. It’s been a few months since I’ve hung out with friends on a regular basis, and I was worried I’d lost touch with the jokey, interesting Josh with the sharpened wit.

But so far, so good. I’m not even done flying and I’m having an awesome time.

Well, what I’m doing in Alaska is experimenting with new beats and textures and … and …

These posts are yours.

In late March, I finally took a camera with me on a stroll through Creamer’s. The whole experience of documenting what I’ve already seen got me pondering my motives for being in Alaska.

Are my reasons professional? Partly. Isolated from the chilly front of economic depression that’s engulfing most newspapers, the News-Miner is really the only game in Northern Alaska.

Are they selfish? Certainly. I’m 23 and not caring about the fate of another soul on Earth. I’m seeing what I want to see, dang it, and you should be happy just to get pictures.

I moved up here because it was the best choice among Wyoming, Utah and Alaska.

I moved up here because I’m unchained to any geographic location, and very few people have the opportunity to just get up and go as far as possible.

But those are all reasons that would have led me to Alaska at the age of 22. All things told, I decided to move here when I was 7 and looked at a map, saw Baffin Island all the way up at the top and wondered what life was like up there. Not just how people got by, not just what the place looked like or how cold it got -- but how it actually felt to live there, to wake up and accept an Arctic setting as your surroundings without a second thought.

I’m nowhere near Baffin Island, but I think I’m finding the answers here.

And so much with that … the times, they were a’changin’, but now they’re just a’going.

***

Since my return, I’ve returned to my standard six-day schedule at the News-Miner, and -- despite the serious health risks -- I’m not letting that seventh day be for rest. It’s not like I can get much shut-eye anyway.

The sun is out 17 hours a day. Sleeping in isn’t a problem, but getting to bed before 2 is starting to become impossible. It’s not much of a hassle since I work until 1, but on my days off, it’s become awkward to enter my place while it's still daylight and tell myself, “OK, that’s it for today.”

What I need is some blackout curtains, but I’ve gotta wait to move into my new place first.

Oh yeah, the Box era is over.

It’s been good to me, but I can’t say I’ll miss those four walls after an Alaskan winter surrounded by them. I’m headed to the other side of the Chena River to live with a friend I met at the Big I.

At the request of my parents, here’s a final look at the Box …



Seeing as I have proper weekends now, I'll be posting again quite soon.