Living in Alaska is like:

Living in Alaska during the end of summer is like:

-Smelling, perpetually, like a camp fire. And after bathing, you smell like camp fire/soap.

-Crowd surfing when the crowd you're surfing is gravel. This stuff is everywhere. One ended up embedded in my car's windshield the other day. Needless to say, Novus and Speedy Glass do well out here.

-Living 4 hours behind the rest of the world. Because we know the whole world is in the Eastern Time Zone.

-Keeping constant vigil for animal droppings. Why? Although stepping in it would be stinky and nasty, running into who left them would just be nasty.

-An orgy of duct tape. Because duct tape is everywhere and if, heaven forbid, you run out of the stuff the Walmart in Wasilla sells more of it than any single store anywhere else in the world.

-Struggling to have just a little heat, warmth, coziness. There's a dearth of sunshine here during the rainy season so emotions run high in a sad way. Rainy and damp. And chilly. It's an epic setting for a Hitchcock, Wes Craven collaboration. Worst of all, I've found love is in short supply. There's no cat and mouse to play, no flirting, no gesturing. People here are clad in flannel, are hearty and are forward. In short, the people are as cold as the name Alaskan implies.

-Everything you expected it would be. Today someone down at Keith's Service Station called me looking for a moose tag. She gave me only 4 digits for her phone number. People routinely refer to 30 miles down the road as "just" down the road. Addresses aren't addresses as much as they are mile posts. I sleep at milepost 231 and I work in and around milepost 238.6. You hitchhike, wear Merino wool socks, fish, hunt, drink, and have fingers built like beaver tails.

Pissing under the Northern Lights

Friends, I can't provide a picture for this post. I just couldn't do it. I tried snapping one, but there was no justice. Tonight, I went to the Panorama Pizza Pub just south of Denali here in Alaska, which produces some awful grub. But I had a few Miller High Lifes and took to getting home just before midnight local time. Obviously, upon imbibing my beer I had to relieve myself and tonight, of all nights of my almost 30 years on this here planet, tonight I peed under the Aurora Borealis.

Timbuktu

Morning. It's still night here... but I'm 4 hours away from most anyone who would read this. And by that, I'm referring strictly to time zone. No way anyone is traveling 4 hours and ending up in Denali, Alaska. Not if you're anyone I know anyway.

So what have I seen? Duluth, MN. Great place. Really.

I think I passed Glacier National Park in Montana. There may or may not be a glacier.

I saw Calgary, Alberta. Not a nice place. Very middle of nowhere-trying-to-be-somewhere.

Whitehorse, on the other hand is a gem. Drunk First Nationers and francophones all over the place. They've also got a Walmart whose parking lot doubles as an RV park. And a campground where I paid C$1 for a 4 minute shower.

I saw bison walking along side the road in the wee hours of the morning. I swear to you, they are so dark, had it been in the middle of the highway in the middle of the night, I'd have been stew meat. That far north, you only read about street lamps. Quite dangerous.

I saw Fairbanks. Nothing fair about it. They've a couple of great outfitters, a McDonald's that sells the McMckinley (a Big Mac with bigger beef patties), and the largest Walmart I've ever seen.

I saw Anchorage. Drunk eskimos abound. The people are rude. They practice shady business. Very disappointing.

I saw Wasilla. Wasilla is Alaskan heaven. The people are nice. They remind me of pleasant Canadians.

And of course I've seen Mt. McKinley. Big. Word on the street; it's bigger than Everest. It starts lower, has a higher rise (18 thousand feet, whereas Everest, though taller, rises a lowly 13 thousandish), and a larger base.

Oh yeah, I've peeped a cow moose and her calf eating the life out of some leaves not 100 feet away from where I sleep. Talk about big. I've seen a threaded flange break off my car's alternator. I've seen the Stampede trail made famous by Christopher McCandless and that whole Into the Wild hoopla. I've seen the midnight sun. I'm not exactly in Timbuktu, but I'm not in Kansas anymore either.

Summer 2009, will you marry me?

Ah man! It's been almost a month, but Canada is rocking my socks off. I'm shipping off to Alaska tomorrow morning and I am going to miss this balls to the wall place.

Last night I did Osheaga. Girl Talk hit with pounding synth beats and La Ronde (the local Six Flags amusement park) serenaded us with fireworks. The weather was absolutely perfect. I can't say anyone could ever plan a better party on paper.

My time here is clearly winding down and with my future up in the air here comes this pesky down, depressed me again. But seriously, lately I've done everything from trying to illegally escape Canada on foot, to riding home on a stolen Bixi at 4 in the morning, to developing a reputation for drinking everything out of extra large yogurt cups.

I just can't take blogging. Too much of a responsibility. I feel guilty. I can't update the blogosphere on my comings and goings. MY comings and goings. I can't, in reality, because why would anyone care, either way?

But I trudge. And my spell check seems screwed. And I've met the best people in the world. HERE. And I'm leaving in 24 hours.

"Je suis contente parse que nous somme ensemble."