When I read the list of pre-filed bills for the 28th legislature, I was pretty disgusted to see Rep. Bob Lynn was at it again with a voter ID law. For one thing, Alaska already has rules about voter identification. It requires one piece of ID, or a poll worker to know with certainty you are who you say you are, or you can vote a questioned ballot. Voter Fraud isn't an issue around here, or in the U.S. as a whole. So why is there a bill on the table to fix this non-existent problem?
It's been a rough couple weeks for many of us. If the crowd at the Newman boys' memorial was any indicator, I might estimate there are thousands of us in pain right now. More now that we've heard news of Jimmy's passing as well. For some, it's the pain of seeing someone die before their time. For some of us, it's the pain of losing a friend. And it's a really bad kind of pain.
For the week after I found out about the boat accident, I wrote letters in my head to Casey, eventually writing some on paper.
A few years ago, I was celebrating not having to work on a Thursday, Thanksgiving, by going out to have some drinks with a friend of mine; when we entered the bar, a woman greeted us with something like, "Happy Native American Slaughter Day" and I had no immediate response.
By the time Alaska's votes are counted in the presidential elections, it's been called. We aren't a swing state; with our population we aren't even a state people think about. In 2008, I was watching polls in the Mendenhall Valley to be sure they stayed open late enough, that people weren't turned away — the televisions were already announcing Barrack Obama the winner.
It's easy to feel like our voices don't count in a race like that, but yesterday's election was only about our voices. So why did only 25-26 percent of people actually vote?
Working in the field of journalism can do weird things to one's hours. In some ways, it is wonderful — I hate waking up early. In other ways, it is rough. I often find myself eating meals at weirder and weirder hours.
Today I decided to heat up some delicious roasted-red-pepper-tomato soup in a mug in the microwave. To avoid soup explosions and unnecessary cleaning, I choose to microwave in shorter increments and stir. When the time runs out on this particular microwave, the screen reads "YOUR FOOD IS READY" even if your food is, in fact, not ready.
I have been pretty lucky in terms of health. I mean, I'm not exactly a vision of olympic fitness and I certainly lack good vision, but I am not often sick and now I am convinced that I have super-human healing powers. Kind of like Wolverine from the Marvel Comics.
Almost every week I have the pleasure of handling engagement, wedding and anniversary announcements. The photos are often of two people looking lovingly at one another, almost with giant sparkles in their eyes, or a couple with arms wrapped around one another like they want to never let go, or sometimes it is of two people with laughing smiles and eyes squinting because, obviously, they find joy in each other's company.
There are locals who won't step foot downtown during the summer months because of the locust-like swarms of tourists — living downtown, sometimes I wish I could practice avoidance — but the tourists, when they find their way out of the diamond stores, are on to something. We live in a super great place. That's why we live here, after all.
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