I’m sipping coffee and typing on my Mac in the Ann Stevens room in the strangely luxurious and well-appointed public library in Anchorage. Well, maybe not so strange – I’d want me a good library too, if I were going to spend three months every year in darkness. Ann Stevens was the wife of US Senator Ted Stevens, he of the famous pork-bringing talents (look at this year’s transportation appropriations bill, if you don’t believe me). It’s all dark wood and Oriental rugs on blonde wooden floors – a little bit of east coast way out in the west.

Looking outside, I can see mountains to the east, and people in shorts and t-shirts eating ice cream outside, despite the fact that it’s 62 degrees outside and cloudy. It’s been raining for a week now, including last weekend in Kenai. I guess rainy season has started. It feels like we had exactly one month of reasonably warm weather – mid-June to mid-July – and now it’s going to rain until it snows, basically. Ugh.

The days are definitely getting shorter too – the sun now goes down around 11 pm, and the nights (all five hours of it) are darker. Hence, better sleep for the hk – I slept 10 hours straight last night because the weak light of the cloudy sky only got strong enough around 11 am to wake me up – but also sadness, because as that German tourist said on Flattop on the solstice: “Now we are losing light.”

I think I love Alaska. It’s probably partly due to the rapidly approaching end of the summer (I stop working on Aug. 12), but I keep looking at things around town and thinking how much I like living here, with the easily accessible trails and the manageable traffic and the general politeness of the people and the colorful characters and the moose crossing the road and the mud flats right next to the trail I run on and the lagoon with its myriad birds and flowers and green life so close to the house.

I haven’t liked my job all that much, but I’ve collected a good number of interesting stories from the frontlines of poverty lawyering, both about the clients and the lawyers I worked with. I got to hear about rural Alaskan life from my co-intern. I learned I hate legal research. It was pretty humbling to find out that I’m no good at it either, and that I probably didn’t measure up to my predecessor.

It was even interesting living with Roommate, who is younger than me. I’m not used to being the older one. Even most of my friends are: 1. older than I am, and 2. elder siblings. It was a good experience to be the one who makes decisions about things.

Enough ruminating, though. I still have at least two weeks here! – and more, if I can’t get a seat on a flight to Korea. Quick updates on various things: The night after I sadly bade my dad farewell, Junebug and her friend came into town, to stay with me for anight before setting off on their kayaking trip. Her friend is a kayaking instructor, as well as several other people on the trip, and they planned and set up this trip amongst themselves, which I find almost unutterably cool. Junebug and her friend have taken several awesome nature/adventure-type trips to various places, which I hope to emulate (maybe with Double M).

Because of these multiple trips, they have oodles of cool gear, accumulated through the years: packs and sleeping bags and paddings and bottles and boots and cool neoprene thises and awesome synthetic thats. I had lust in my heart, I admit. But I also think I’m not nature girl enough to buy these things. Yet. Which I confirmed when I went to the local REI store just before coming to the library, where Roommate is planning to buy a pack and sleeping bag for her big camping/hiking extravaganza at the end of the summer. (She’s exploring her Nature Girl side this summer too.) I felt overwhelmed, though, at all the Stuff you could get there, and all the ratings and shit. A sleeping bag to 25 degrees F or 15? The 60 liter pack or the 70 liter? The breathable waterproof activewear shell or the more humble nylon raingear? I feel like I’m in over my head.

Junebug and her friend (over my protests) got me a gift certificate to REI, which I should apply to a big ticket item like a pack, which I actually need for carting some of my stuff back to Crimson City, or a synthetic sleeping bag, which would be useful for life, but the big ticket items are so goddam pricey and scary, I fear I will chicken out and buy a non-threatening fleece and waterproof shell instead.

Part of the chickening out (and what is it with chickens anyway? Are they really less courageous than other birds?) is price-related, but it’s also a bit of principle thing – I mean, $199 for a “breathable, waterproof” shell with fancy technology that lets the sweat out but doesn’t let the rain in? I remember reading somewhere that old-timers laughed at this fancy-pants stuff, because you know, the humble rubber boot and plastic macintosh has gotten “outdoorsmen” like fishers through inclement weather for years and years, and it don’t cost a week’s salary.

But. I do admit that the lime green breathable, waterproof activewear shell with the fancy-pants technology that lets the sweat out but doesn’t let the rain in inspired lust in my heart. I want.

I saw a movie last night with Roommate that made me want something else – namely, to bash some heads. I’d heard good things about “Wedding Crashers,” and I admit that Vince Vaughn has some really good moments in there, but mostly I felt the same way about the movie as I did about “Sideways”: men of America, please GROW UP, and movie-goers and women of America, please stop enabling this infantile behavior. I really disliked "Sideways" because the protagonist was such a mealy-mouthed, spineless, immature wanker, in whom someone cool like Virginia Madsen’s character could not truly be interested. The best character in that movie was Sandra Oh (a sista – awww yeeeeaahh), and the best part of the movie was when she takes her motorcycle helmet and bashes that other wanker’s nose in. Straight up, girl.

"Wedding Crashers" was much less Serious Art House Movie and much more Let Boys Be Boys Until They Find That One Girl And Become All Woebegone and Sodden With Love, and like I said, it had some seriously funny moments in it. But again, the main character was so self-centered and immature, I couldn’t root for him. And in the end, he gets rewarded with Rachel McAdams (whom I totally did not recognize, despite seeing “Mean Girls” just 6 weeks ago)? Who, incidentally, also has zero spine and character, unless you consider laughing about a familial resemblance to Klingons to be some sort of character definition. Ugh, ugh, ugh. The whole movie set my teeth on edge. I couldn’t see any difference between the casually racist and immature blueblood fiancé (“get that wop investigator”) and the casually racist and immature protagonists (“it was my first Asian!”). You know you’re in trouble when you dislike the good guys as much as the baddies.

Anyhoo. Enough haranguing. I gotta go find some fun books to read.

I told a woman to get a gun today. Man, I can’t believe it. But she has a psycho ex, and nothing but faith in god between her and him, and before I knew it, it came out, “Maybe you should get a gun.”

Ah, legal services!

Even funnier: she said she knew how to shoot, and that she liked 45s, whereupon Supervisor started going on about he liked them too, but they “tend to jam after you fire about a hundred times.” Um, okay.

A little less funny was the talk Supe and I had, finally, about that wackjob of a memo I wrote up last week that totally missed some cases and, in his words, “I wouldn’t feel comfortable going into court with that. I still don’t know what the law is.” Ouch. It was a nice way to say it, but bottom line? Your memo sucked the big one, hk.

The talk was actually less of a bloodbath than I thought it would be, mostly because Supe had found another way to make the point he wanted to make in the case. So it was mostly an exploration of why I felt I was so bad at legal research (getting bogged down in details and missing the big picture), and what we could do to fix that (more practice, don’t think of it as research, think of it as writing the brief).

I should say, in my defense, that it wasn’t entirely my fault, this memo’s crappiness. For one, Supe didn’t give me enough details to do good legal research (he neglected to tell me the exact entitlement program in the case, so I was searching for vague terms like “entitlement” and “welfare” and “benefits”). And for another, on our second talk about the research, I actually had brought up the solution that he’d finally settled on, but he dismissed it then. Argh.

Well, all in a day’s crappy work. You try, and you fail, and you try again. All in all, Supe was pretty nice about it. This place is such a revolving door of interns that he’ll not remember me a few years out anyway.

More reasons to be glum, at 12:16 am on a Tuesday night:

- The list of people who DID make it onto law review went up, and I'm glad for the nice, smart, into-law people I know who got on. I'm baffled by one person from my section -- I didn't think she was a particularly sharp needle in the haystack, and the fact that she got onto law review doesn't make me think otherwise. Now I just think that the review process is just as arbitrary and dumbass as the rest of it all. Of the people who stayed late in my hall to do it, one girl got on, and I'm glad for her -- she's a loud, blonde, brownie-making southern girl who also happens to be a law geek. She was printing out her stuff when most of us were just gearing up to really start writing.

It's depressing to think that at this age I still judge myself by external standards. When am I going to stop jumping hurdles for the saking of jumping hurdles? I'm not even that interested in law -- why should not getting onto law review make me feel down?

- I got an email from Supervisor saying that I'd missed some cases in my memo, and that we should talk when I get back into the office (tomorrow). Crap, crap, crap. This is exactly what I fear about legal research. You miss some cases and totally screw yourself over. I'm in for a depressing talk tomorrow. Re-confirmation that I do indeed suck at legal research. If only I could take up Big G's offer and just do legal writing and editing.

The problem is, legal research is really important for lawyering. The fact that I hate it doesn't bode well for my future as a lawyer. I just don't like the type of information synthesizing you do with cases -- I seem to lack the discriminating mechanisms that good researchers use to sift out the useless stuff. Giving me a case to distinguish is fine. Getting down and dirty with a statute and discerning what it means -- a-okay. Finding out information from a client -- I'm on it, chief. Asking me what the courts think about a certain issue -- dear lord, please no.

I know I'll survive this talk tomorrow, but it'll be depressing. I've never -- no, that's not true, actually. I was going to say that I've never been in a position where I kept failing to please repeatedly on a task I was trying to do, but that's actually wrong. When I worked at the exhibit design firm in DC, I was tasked with finding an explorer's map of Africa. The architects had something in mind, but couldn't really articulate it, so I went around to the libraries and research centers around town to find anything that might approximate what they wanted. Nothing sufficed, nothing matched what they had in mind, and they finally said I could stop, and that they would just draw the friggin map themselves.

The same kind of frustrated unease, the same kind of resigned hostility, the same kind of "why can't I do this right?" feeling haunts me in this job.

- Finally, I heard from The Destroyer via email. Remember The Destroyer? He was dating another Destroyer in my section, and I was curious about the effects of two Destroyers meeting. When two people, blessed with an abundance of charm and attractiveness but cursed with an inability to really relate, who leave swathes of broken hearts and injured feelings, who have a curious lack of real friends -- when two of this type meet, what happens? Well, the stronger Destroyer destroys the other, apparently, and in this case, it was the male Destroyer who left. And as he left, he told me all about it. I knew then that I would have to be careful. Destroyers have this way of getting to you, of finding a way in. And getting this email -- short, charming, offhandedly clever -- shows that even though I was careful, he did get in, a little. I should not be so pleased to hear from, nor eager to reply to, someone who is merely a friend.

Oh, the empty spaces where our loved ones used to be.

If the plane took off on time, Dad's been gone 22 minutes from Anchorage. I didn't cry when we hugged goodbye, nor the second time, after he showed the TSA guy his ID and then said, "One more hug!", nor when he crouched down on the escalator to keep waving goodbye, but I do admit that after I couldn't see him any more, I went to the Anchorage North Terminal women's bathroom and cried. And then as I was driving home in the Mighty Mighty Subaru, with the balding tired tires, I looked over at the empty seat next to me and I cried then too.

We did have quite a memorable weekend. I'd planned for backcountry camping in Denali with a whitewater rafting trip at the end, but I'm glad we scaled down -- turns out that my dad had been on a long business trip in Korea the night before, so he slept about 12 hours on Friday night. We did a lighter version of the Denali trip (which I can still save for bigbro now! hear that, bigbro?) in the Kenai peninsula: Saturday we drove down to Seward and pitched camp in Kenai Fjords National Park, at a campsite where the food has to be stored in a bearproof locker and you're warned not to bring anything fragrant (included moisturizer) to your tent). We then walked to Exit Glacier, a nice easy hike with a great payoff -- the end of a great big tongue of ice, moving about a foot a day.

I think my dad was a little nervous about the bear thing, 'cause he kept making comments like, "You're going to put rocks inside the tent to weight it down? Good, good. We can use them to fight the bear if he comes." It was a little nerve-wracking, the whole bear business. We'd spilled some wine in the car earlier, so the interior smelled strongly of Columbia Crest Cabernet Sauvignon, and were nervous about a bear deciding it was an interesting smell. So when I woke up at about 2 in the morning because of the cold, and because I had to use the bathroom, I lay there a long time wondering, "Maybe I can just hold it for another 5 hours." Luckily, Dad had to go too, so we went together through the near-darkness, through the trees where a hundred bears could have been hiding, to the pit toilets at the entrance of the campground. Dad was carrying a rock in his hand the entire way. Hee!

Sunday we hiked the Harding Ice Field trail, which was great and magnificent and freaking COLD. It started raining while we were admiring the edge of the 500-square-mile field of ice, which might be thousands of feet thick (no one knows), and with our clothes wet with sweat, we were very glad for the change of clothing we had brought. Dad especially had brought, like, a magical backpack. He kept pulling things out -- a change of shirts, a wool sweater, a wool scarf, gloves.

On the way up, we saw a mother bear and cub in the distance, and several marmots, as well as a ptarmigan (I think) and her chicks. Glacier-fed streams, magenta fireweed, two skiers, a trillion flies and mosquitoes -- wait, did I mention the skiers? Yup, two skiers were coming down as we were going up -- a father and son, it looked like. I should have asked where they were skiing -- not the ice field, surely? Dangerous, no? -- but I merely smiled and asked if they'd been skiing. Yup, said the younger, who looked rather handsome, as I recall, and inclined to talk more. Oh well.

After making it down the mountain, we packed up our tent and drove to Homer next. We stayed in the Bay View Inn, where the rooms look over the bay and continental breakfast consists of granola bars, yogurt, OJ, and coffee. Dad and I had the rest of the wine and some Korean food my grandmother packed, while sitting in front of the bungalow and looking out over the bay. The rain had let up, and the water shimmered.

In the morning on Monday, after the "continental" "breakfast," we drove out to the Homer Spit, walked down Ramp 2 of the small boat harbor, hopped into a boat called Seabird, and went kayaking in Kachemak Bay. Saw one otter eating, another sleeping, and yet another one grooming. Two sea lions and several bald eagles later, we were fairly wet from the rain and glad to head in.

After a late lunch at Captain Pattie's, where the one poor server for our side of the restaurant looked harried indeed (she later gave us our drinks for free because our meal came so late), we started on our biggest adventure: driving home through the mountains in a rusting car with balding tires (one down to the threads), in the rain. It was the second scariest car ride of my life (after that initial one in the Sube, where I didn't know I needed to be in first gear instead of neutral in order to move the car). Add to the rain and balding tires the Subaru's inability to drive over 65 miles an hour, its disconcerting habit of slowing down on hills unless you shift back into 4th gear, and the general craziness of people passing at 80 miles an hour regardless of the weather, and oh, it was fun, all right.

But we survived! And slept 12 hours again last night. And went up to Flattop in the car with balding tires and looked around and ate good Korean food and went to the airport all in two and half hours.

And now my dad is gone, and there's an empty space in the car where he was hanging on for dear life in the 10 hours I was driving that car, and I miss him. It was a great weekend, soggy as it was, and I miss my dad.

Ugh. Feeling totally squeezy and gross right now, possibly because I ate a huge ice cream cone, bought by the attorney Big G after he and Supe won their oral argument, then ate dinner with my dad at one of many supposedly Chinese food places owned by Koreans, and just now ate cheese and crackers. Ehhhhh.... Next week will seriously begin the getting-in-shape part of the summer.

In between the eatings, I did have a nice talk with my dad about The Problem of Mom, about which I must shake my head, slowly and in disbelief. But also about which I must laugh profusely, which I did in the restaurant, because my mom? She of the supposedly no income and supposedly depending on the goodwill and love of her sister and brother-in-law? She's been withdrawing money every month from the account that my dad set up last fall for her.

I'd forgotten about this, or maybe I just didn't trust that my dad would actually do this, but when I left Korea last year, my dad told me he'd put money aside every month that I could use in emergency situations. I didn't like this, because my mom obviously needed the money more than I did. So I asked him to split the difference and put half of it toward my mom and half toward me. Which he did (yay).

I'd completely forgotten about this until today, when I was discussing The Problem of Mom over kimchee stew, and my dad said she'd been withdrawing the amount each month that he said he'd put aside for her. The spoonful of stew stopped halfway to my mouth.

It could just be the utter audacity of my mother, whom my aunt and uncle think is totally destitute, but for some reason I started laughing in the restaurant. Oh, mother mine! What planet do you live on?

My dad's theory: "I know what she's thinking. She's saving for a rainy day."

My response: "It's raining!"

"She probably thinks it's just cloudy right now."

"But that's because Aunt and Uncle are holding an umbrella over her head! And she doesn't even appreciate the umbrella!"

The REALLY funny thing? She's done this before. Oh yes. When bigbro and I were wee ones, our parents ran a mom-and-pop store of the variety that Koreans are famous for. When I said I didn't remember this at all, my dad said, "That's because we only ran it for 100 days."

Huh?

"Well, it wasn't bringing in the revenue that it should have. We were supposed to clear $5000 a month, but we were only clearing $2000 or $3000. So I said, 'We're not going to do this anymore.'

"Later, we really needed cash, and I asked your mom, 'Do you have any?' and she brought out" -- he mimed bringing out something from his back pocket -- "ten thousand dollars."

Again with the soup halfway to mouth. "Ten thousand dollars?!"

"She was taking a little out each day --"

"Like, a hundred dollars each day! That's the only way you'd get to ten thousand in 100 days!"

I could see him doing the calculations in his head. "Yeah, that's probably right."

Oh, mother mine. Quel planeto es you livin' on, madre? But I can't quite get mad about it. It's too absurd to be angry about, and I have no idea how to process the information. Also, my dad has so much sangfroid about this, it's kinda weird.

Putting aside the Poaching Parent for the moment (or the weekend): I was planning on doing some backcountry hiking and camping up in Denali with my dad, but that didn't seem to float his boat too much, so I canceled all my reservations, incurring a cost of $18 (it would have been $45 but for the virtuoso performance I enacted on the phone about my unexpectedly infirm father -- I SO missed my calling). The upshot is that we're heading for the Kenai Peninsula instead, where the ice field awaits, and turquoise rivers and leaping salmon (75,000 last weekend headed upstream from the ocean) and lovely green mountains. It'll be good to go on a trip with the dad. Let's just hope The Mighty Mighty Subaru makes it all right.

On another tangent, I'm totally terrified that I missed an important case in my legal research on this issue Supe gave me, and that the opposition will find a case that shatters my understanding of the issue. Which isn't that far-fetched, seeing as I found a case today that I didn't find in my previous searches that undermines the point we're trying to make in the complaint. I had to email Supe and tell him that my memo was missing an important case. Sheesh. I can't deal with this pressure. I want out of this freaky field.

Well, I didn't get onto law review. I have to admit that I'm disappointed; I liked doing the competition, in a way, and getting on would have been a nice feather in my cap. And I wouldn't have had to do anything else at law school.

I thought I had a reasonable chance at it, seeing as writing's my strong point. I felt awful about what I turned in, but I've gotten A-'s where I've felt as terrible about the exam as I did about the competition, so I had some hope. Which was dashed. Today. I guess analysis actually does count for something.

Well. This way I have the last two weeks of August free, to go to Korea or stick around in Alaska and do something crazy. Should be good.

I was freaking out for some reason yesterday and today about finishing up this research project at work that has been hanging over my head for three weeks now. Every since Supe(rvisor) said, "It's really not that hard, you should have finished by now," I've been building it up in my head and turned it into a total block. Well, today I had to finish it, since Supe wants to talk about it tomorrow, so I alternated between whining to my Co-Intern, writing, surfing the web, and whining some more about how I hate legal research.

The memo I wrote is pretty crap, but at least I have something to turn in. I'm not even positive that Supe wanted something written, but after talking to Co-Intern and Roommate, who have both been asked to write up memos on their legal research (something that Supe never asked for), I thought, "Daaaang, maybe I should have been writing up memos on all the stuff Supe's asked me to look up too. But he never asked me to write it up! Ehhhh....."

Good writing only gets you so far, and then you actually have to think about stuff. As they say in Bethel, so sick.

Dad's coming to town tomorrow. Picking him up at the airport tomorrow at 11:40 am. I've got a vague plan of what we're going to do this weekend and into Tuesday. I hope it all works out.

Charm and co. just left for their midnight red-eyes back to their respective homes. Roommate's guest left yesterday too, and the apartment seems listless and empty without the multitude of packs, suitcases, sleeping bags and coats strewn around. It's nothing like the stinging emptiness I felt after the folks left, but I do feel a pang, especially because Charm is undergoing surgery next month for what could be deadly serious.

This is my first time seeing Charm in about a year now. The last time I saw her, she was waving goodbye after I helped her get out of a $250 traffic ticket by ditz-babbling at the cops who pulled her over. She and I agreed that our metabolisms are slowing down. We've both gained a little weight over the past year, and it's hard to burn off the masses of food we used to down without a thought. So too have our worlds -- gained in weight, that is. I've known Charm since seventh grade. In the past 10 years, she has shouldered an increasingly heavy load of responsibilities. Whenever I think I have it bad, I think of Charm and her ability to smile through the grief and anxiety. I don't know how the girl does it.

Sometimes I think, in the empty space just after a departure, that I should go back to a place where more of my friends or folks are. To become more anchored. To be able to say, "Call me if you need anything," and feel that I could actually do something because I'm right there. To know that I rest and work and play in the relaxed and watchful gaze of close friends or family, just as they rest and work and play in mine.

I've been thinking a couple things. I've been thinking that I was foolish to go to law school. I knew in my heart of hearts that it was not the profession for me, and I've confirmed it this summer. Co-Intern and I joke about how we'll love transactions, that it's the litigation side of things we aren't loving, but I know better.

But if it was foolish to start law school, it would be more foolish to drop out now. With $30,000 of debt and no increase in earning power, I'd have little to show for this year except a couple pounds and slightly deeper furrows in my brow. If I were sure what I wanted to do, I would quit law school and go do it. But I'm not sure. I've got an inkling, but I'm not sure.

Perhaps more on this tomorrow. After I run an hour and watch "Kung Fu Hustle" at the Beartooth.

Sorry this is so maudlin and serious. It's the departures that do it.

Just came back from my first brush with rock-climbing. I've always like clambering over rocks. I think it's in the blood -- Korea being so mountainous and all. Now it's the next level -- climbing straight up.

I took a lesson ($10) at a local rock-climbing gym. The lesson was okay, not great, and I didn't like the gym that much (I overheard one of the senior instructors telling our instructor that he'd taught us an inefficient way to break the belay, but when I asked if there was something we should know, both of them shook their heads and smiled), but the climbing was great. It's a little terrifying to start feeling the pull on your arms and then look down and realize you're 20 feet off the ground. I know they say to use your legs, but when the wall starts slanting outward, how exactly do you do that?

Most people there had come with a partner, so me and the one guy who came alone naturally paired up. Nice guy, but he must have been at least 200 pounds, so when I was on the ground, he was a little nervous about trusting his safety to someone half his size. Fortunately, the physics works out so nicely, you can actually belay someone much bigger than you. The tie attached to the floor also helped a great deal.

Charm and her friends are in Seward tonight; hopefully they got to see a lot of sealife on their 8-hour tour today. She asked me last week when they all first arrived what things I still wanted to do here this summer. Good question. I wanted to try rock climbing, and I did. I'd like to try sea kayaking and whitewater rafting. I'd like to make it up all the way to Flattop, for once. I'd like to do the entire Harding Ice Field trail. And finally, inspired by Roommate, who came back yesterday from Denali, I'd like to do some serious backcountry hiking and camping. They rented the gear, listened closely at the backcountry center at the park, and set out, encountering caribou, ice cold rivers, and not a single other soul for three days. (Sounds cool, doesn't it, bigbro? Heh... like it or not, you will be assimilated. You can't escape the pull of Alaska...)

So last night Charm and co. came back from Denali and Charm's GF made seared salmon, and we had chocolate cake from Fred Meyer's and it was yummy. It was also eaten rather late, which meant that "experiencing Anchorage night life" also started late. Like, 1 am. When the crazies come out. And -- oh my, were they out.

We went to Chilkoot Charlie's, where the sign features a, um, coot (koot?), I guess, with a woolen hat and red nose, and the motto reads: "We cheat the OTHER guy and pass the savings on to you!" Uh, yeah. So we're hanging out, trying to decide what to do, cuz we're tired and not hoochified like the ladies in tight tops and short skirts sashaying in, and Charm and co. haven't showered for a couple days, and we see a woman sitting outside the door on a planter, holding a white cloth up to her head, and when she lowers it, we see that her face is bruised and bleeding. Ooooh, Nellie! Then we see a guy getting thrown out ("Get him into a cab and outta here!"). Then we see a woman in a red silk bustier and black jacket flanked by two bouncers, one of whom is holding a video recorder and is taping her as she curses him with a string of obscenities that is disappointingly prosaic and oh, by the way, she is HANDCUFFED.

Then I remember that Co-Intern told me that last year, the bouncers accidentally killed a patron who was struggling on the ground with them.

She also said that she's seen people grinding to "Brown Eyed Girl" at 'Koots. Hee to that! But handcuffs. And death. Eesh.

So we left 'Koots alone and went home.

Today, we went hiking up to Byron glacier, saw "The Interpreter" at Beartooth (man, it's hard to eat your burrito when buses are getting blown up), and went on a long walk on the coastal trail, where we saw a mother moose (limping, poor thing) and her two little mooselets nibbling on grass and slurping down water. Oh, and a red fox. All while on a paved trail 10 minutes from the house. Man, Alaska! Why you gotta go and be all cool like that? Everything else will seem so pale after this summer.

Apropos of nothing, except that Co-Intern came up in this entry and her solemn pronouncements absolutely must be recorded for posterity: we were having drinks in Humpy's, a downtown bar, when I told her about the Ringleted One's commandments. (In sum: Thou shall exercise every day. Thou shall drink every day (a glass of wine being enough for thee, hk). And thou shall go to a bar by thineself.) Co-Intern considered this and offered the sage advice: "If your friend thinks you should meet men this summer, you could just come here by yourself. It's a total dude-fest in here."

Dude-fest! God, I love that girl.

I just ate two eggs, seasoned with hot sauce and salt and pepper, plus two pieces of toast generously slathered with butter -- and I am hungry. Sometimes I amaze myself with how bottomless I am.

Or it could be that I'm bored, or sleep deprived, or depressed, all of which make one inclined to eat more than usual. I am getting adjusted to the 20 hours of daylight, so I'm able to sleep past 4:45 am, but I stayed up late on Wednesday (hanging out with Charm and friends), Thursday (talking with Neener on the phone), and last night (watching "Never Been Kissed" and then "researching" Michael Vartan online -- left to my own devices, I revert to the comfortable state of teen losah-dom). To compensate, I slept 12 hours last night and now feel pretty rested, though I really could stay in bed all day (left to my own devices, I also shift all too easily into my Laziest Human Being On Earth mode).

Seeing as how I spent all last Sunday in bed (which was somewhat justified), I figured I should get up and enjoy solitary pursuits today. Charm and her friends are off in Denali, and Roommate and her visitor are also in Denali (but separately), so I've been alone since Thursday. My landlady had originally planned to go to her Kenai house this weekend, but she changed her plans, which I'm rather glad of -- I just don't sleep as well when I'm the only person in the house. I’ll miss the TV-watching opportunity, though.

On Thursday, with the Ringleted One in mind, I went and mailed her a package I’ve been meaning to mail for weeks, and then sallied forth to the Anchorage Museum of History and Art for a glass of wine and some art appreciatin’ (the Ringleted One insisted that I have a glass of wine a day). I first looked at paintings of Alaska, some of which were done in the grand, Hudson Valley School style, and decided they were somewhat pointless – why look at paintings that try to capture the grandeur of Alaska when you can go outside and look at the real thing? (This is the problem I keep running into with photographing scenes when I go on these weekend jaunts.) I’m sure that for their time, those Hudson Valley style paintings were marvels, but I’m a 21st century gal, and have been anesthetized by National Geographic photos and postcards galore of Mt. McKinley et al.

I liked the more abstract paintings a lot more, and I learned a lot from the history exhibits. I love finding out that the names of places come from the (usually European) discoverers; just that day, for example, I had noticed a mobile home park called Malaspina, and wondered briefly at the origins of that name. I learned at the museum at Malaspina was one of the Spanish explorers of 18th century Alaska.

I was surprised, though, and a little dismayed at the absence of Native Alaskan stories and viewpoints throughout the exhibits. Having worked with the people who created the opening exhibits for the National Museum of the American Indian in DC, maybe I’m more sensitive to it than most (in fact, I’m sure I am), but it was really sad to me that this nice little museum lacked cultural sensitivity – or rather, accuracy in representing Native culture. I learned at the NMAI that Native Americans are a living peoples, and Native “myths” are living religions – not dead and stuffed as traditionally portrayed in museums. So when I saw an exhibit at this museum that read (approximately): “Creation stories were an important part of Native religions, and Raven was a central figure in creation myths,” I was taken aback. To Native people who grew up with those stories, this is tantamount to saying, “Savior stories were an important part of western European monotheistic religions, and Christ was a central figure in savior myths.”

(A side story concerning religion: I recently learned about the animistic religion practiced by some tribal people in Laos. Part of the religion involves asking the deities for approval if anybody besides a family member comes into the home. This involves a sacrifice of a pig or chicken to the gods, who then express their approval or disapproval of the person. Interesting, isn’t it? When the person telling me about it smiled and said, “Sounds weird, huh?” I answered no, it doesn’t. No weirder than anything else about any other religion.)

Anyways, I wrote a long comment on the museum’s comment card about this, while sipping some red wine in the atrium, and it was a jolly good evening.

On Friday, smoke from a forest fire down south of Anchorage blew into town, and you could smell it and feel it in your lungs. I’d been feeling pretty good about the week – went to an agency meeting with a client and talked, went to a hearing in front of a judge where Supervisor used the stuff I got from an interview to annihilate the witness, was praised repeatedly for writing part of and editing a brief that we submitted to the Alaska Supreme Court – but then Supervisor asked me about some research I’d been doing, and said, “You know, it’s not really that hard, you should have been done a while ago.” Oops. And ouch. I hate research.

I was planning to go biking along the coastal trail Friday after work but the smoke made me think better of it. Of course, then I got home and thought, “I feel so disgusting and out of shape – I MUST exercise.” So I set out for a run, despite the smoke hanging over the city, and found myself running along the coastal trail. Which was beautiful. I took the southern route, which I hadn’t seen at all, and fell into kind of a trance: the mud flats stretch out half a mile from the water, but the trail wends it way through trees and wild roses and by the airport at one point. I had intended to jog for only 20 minutes, but for some reason kept on running and running. It was a little crazy. I was out for over an hour and probably covered 4 miles. That’s not that much, but I also hadn’t gone running for months.

As I’d covered two of the Ringleted One’s recommendations in two days (drink a little every day and exercise), I thought I’d try to fulfill the third recommendation: go to a bar by myself. Roommate had gone to a music joint called Blues Central by herself, so it was even easier than spit. But ... I chickened out. Or rather, I tired out. I only wanted to go because I said I would go, not because I particularly wanted to go to the place or hear the music. So I drove up to it and past it, and then went to the video store and rented “Never Been Kissed.” It’s okay. I don’t think I need to prove anything to myself.

Working on getting some pictures up on ofoto. Also thinking deep thoughts about family, talking deep about same with bigbro, eating a fantastic wild salmon dinner cooked by Roommate and her visitor (hey, I supplied the salmon. okay, from Big G at my office, true, but still), and mentally preparing for the next slew of visitors, arriving tomorrow.

Also laughing about this morning's hearing, at which I spoke a little bit for our client. Supervisor, as is his wont, bashed some heads together in between my much calmer explanations and interjections. At the end of the meeting, one of the people we were meeting with turned to Supervisor and said, while shaking his hand: "I hope I never meet you again, but it was nice talking with you." Burn!

Supervisor said he felt kind of hurt by that. I believe him, actually.

Was not terrible but felt rather timid this morning. But a VAST improvement over last hearing date, which I slept through. Showing up makes a real difference, I found.

Feeling very bloaty and thick around the waist. Must start running. When think about the skinny, muscled, kick-ass self I was at this time of year last year (taekwondo three times a week and all), I feel quite ick.

Walked into work this morning and was greeted with compliments and fish from Big G, one of the attorneys in the office. Said he, "I feel like I should bow down to you because of how you fixed that brief -- hey, how about quitting law school and coming to work for us now?" Stunned but wildly pleased, I said, "Uh, okay, but only if I can just do editing!" Big G replied, "Yeah, sure! Or maybe I'll call you during the school year and ask you to edit our stuff." I told him I'd send him my rates.

Now keep in mind (as I do) that Big G didn't see the original draft, so I don't know how much of the brief he thought was mine or whatever. But apparently Supervisor -- in his typically bombastic way -- told him that it was crap before I looked over it. Which it wasn't. But it's nice to hear.

Oh, and the fish! Big G offered to give me to give to the folks some wild salmon he'd caught earlier this summer, to make room in his freezer. He said that if the folks didn't want it (they don't -- I asked yesterday but forgot to tell Big G), I could just eat salmon all summer. Sounds good to me.

Compliments and wild salmon are just how I like to start the day.

I wish I could talk more about the other cases I'm working on, if only to bitch about the system, or the utter incompetence I feel, or share the deliciously prurient details, but I'm bound by confidentiality agreements not to even disclose identifying details about our clients.

I will say that both Co-Intern and I don't feel inspired to work for the people so far. It's really depressing sometimes. And the lawyers view victory differently -- Ponyboy, the newest lawyer, won a hearing today, and everyone congratulated him for pulling off a victory in the face of really bad odds (here's where I really wish I could share the details but can't). There was a condition of the victory, though, that caused the client to pace up and down the room, sobbing uncontrollably. She'd said she'd be okay with that condition before the hearing began, but I wonder if she didn't feel pressured to give in. And she was unmistakably terrified of performing the condition. Ponyboy, Co-Intern and I all felt bad for her, but the more experienced lawyers shrugged it aside -- she'd agreed to it beforehand, after all.

It's not that they're hardened or cynical, but you have to take your victories as they come, I guess. It's all very sad.

The folks went to Denali yesterday and had planned to come back today, but they couldn't get onto the shorter shuttle ride into the park that I'd recommended and wound up taking the 8-hour one (at twice the price). And now because they're tired, they're going to spend another night in a hotel. Which my uncle will have to pay for. I can hear the reluctance to spend the money in his voice, and yes, he is quite thrifty, but it makes me sick that he's spending all this money to entertain my mother, who simply doesn't appreciate it. Not planning and having to spend another night around Denali isn't really my mother's fault, but I know that my aunt and uncle have spent easily twice what they usually spend during the time my mother's been living with them, which is now -- sweet jesus -- over a year.

This family problem has been on my mind a lot this summer. The Problem of Mom. The Problem of Aunt and Uncle Enabling Mom. The Problem of Dad Being Irresponsible about Mom. The Problem of Me and Bigbro Not Wanting to Take Responsibility Either and Letting It All Fall on Uncle -- Again. I just don't know what to do. My mother has no income, hasn't for years, and when my father cut her off last year, she had nowhere to go. So she went to her older sister's house -- my aunt and uncle's. And they've been letting her live with them, buying her what she needs, spending money on going out and traveling and eating in restaurants -- all things they would rarely do for themselves. It has the potential to be a good arrangement, because she also drives them around and is there if anything should happen. But she's difficult, my mother, and depressed, and often acts out her impatience by ignoring her sister and brother-in-law, or bickering with them, or giving them the silent treatment.

Her depression, I think, is getting better -- she used to not want to see or talk to me either -- but the bickering has gotten worse. "It's aged me and your aunt," my uncle said, and he's right. This is a man who started out as a buck private in the army, a high school drop-out, who managed through diligence and a forthright, honorable work ethic to buy a house and sock some savings away, and put my maternal grandmother up in a little apartment nearby. Sometimes I think he and my aunt are the only people in this fucking family with any sense of responsibility, and yes, that includes me. Everyone says, including me -- well, what could you do, hk? You can't do anything right now. And while I'm in school, it's true that I can't be the source of any financial support. I could drop out of school and work -- people have done that, because they had to. But as long as my aunt and uncle keep taking on the responsibility, there's no compulsion to take drastic steps like that. It would be one thing if I were doing something that I loved -- I might be able to justify it, albeit guiltily. But that's not the case. The only redeeming thing about law and law school is that I can make a shitload of money after I graduate in two years.

I see-saw. Sometimes I think, as I did yesterday: "There has to be an end to this unhappiness. I can't live my life this way -- I'm too lucky, with too many choices and advantages, to continue doing something that makes me feel almost sick with stress at times, that makes me itch for cigarettes and alcohol, that makes me feel so incompetent and bored." But then I wonder -- what, should I drop out of law school and head into something more palatable but financially unjustifiable, like grad school?

I can't quite explain the sense of responsibility that weighs on me. Why not let my aunt and uncle shoulder the burden once again? Be the dumping grounds for the family? It just isn't fair. There are so many things that aren't fair, and I hate that I'm part of the unfairness.

I should go to bed.

<-- The Harding Ice Field, Kenai Peninsula.

Fourth of July weekend with Double M was great -- we went down to Alaska's playground, the Kenai Peninsula, and did all manner of Alaskan things: a sealife cruise where we saw sea otters, porpoises (they like to swim underneath the bow of the ship as it pushes water aside for them), Steller sea lions, orcas, a humpback whale mother with her little one (flipping their flukes and all), a rare glimpse of dolphins, and puffins; amazing hiking; gorgeous lush valleys and mountains; and the Halibut Capital of the World. Of course.

A story about puffins: Charm, a friend of mine from way back, used to think that the "Tuppence a Bag" song from Mary Poppins (you know, where the old bag lady sits and feeds the pigeons to the tune of "Feed the birds/ Tuppence a bag") went like this -- "Feed the birds/ Puffins a bag..." If you know the scene and song I'm talking about, I think you will agree that there is just nothing funnier than replacing tuppence with puffins. And if you don't, it makes no sense. Life is often unfair that way.

Anyhoo. The cruise was cool. I took two non-drowsy Dramamine and of course drowsed, but the captain, a red-cheeked, blooming short-haired blonde girl, was very good about alerting everyone to the various critters around us. The middle of the trip was 30 minutes of watching a huge glacier calve 100-pound pieces of ice into the sea, with thunderous claps. (Glaciers "calve" when they shed parts of themselves, which amuses me to no end. Calving Glaciers should be the name of a rock band, for sure.)

On Sunday we hiked up to the edge of the Harding Ice Field. The name amused Double M mightily -- she said it sounded like it should be on the moon. Indeed, it sort of looks like it should be on the moon. The ice field is thousands and thousands of feet thick, in the midst of all these mountains, whose peaks peek out above the snow and ice like little islands of rock. Enormous turquoise, dirt-covered, and deeply crevassed glaciers overflow from the ice field, creating and moving through the valleys. The incredible pressure of all the ice changes the bottom of the glaciers to something almost liquid, so that the glacier, as defined, moves bit by bit on its way to the ocean. It was effing unbelievable. I so want to go back. Even though I'm STILL sore from the hike. During which we saw, by the way, a black bear about 15 feet away from us. It followed us for about half a minute, and then left. Much to our relief. We also saw a mother bear and her cub running on a ridge high above us. And we saw marmots. They're rodents. Large rodents. Kinda cute, actually.

You see what I mean about this weekend being very Alaskan?

We headed over to Homer, billed by the writer of my travel book as "Cosmic Hamlet by the Sea," but self-billed as "Halibut Capital of the World." No, really, it's right on the sign. It's a kooky little town, with a fair number of artists, hippie types (like the couple who started the Sourdough Express, a warm and personable cafe with a great halibut sub), and, as my landlady likes to put it, other "end-of-the-roaders."

We camped on the beach so that we saw magnificent snow-capped peaks and a cerulean bay out one tent door, and RVs out the other. There's a lesson to that, I feel.

Double M left this afternoon, and is back safe in Minnie, with a very happy cat. I was sorry to see her go, but had little time to nurse those feelings, as right after work I met with my aunt and uncle and mother, who are in town until Saturday. My uncle was waiting in the lobby for me as I came out of work and immediately launched into laments about my mother, which I sympathize with. "She's so standoffish sometimes," he said in his modified and blurry Kansan accent. "And so difficult. I just don't know what we're going to do. Sometimes I feel like telling her she has to move out, but where would she go?" Sigh.

I took them home and then to the Beartooth for some chow (can't get enough of their blackened fish tacos - have now eaten them with the Ringleted One, Double M, and now my mother). My uncle then made a pretty good push to get up partway on the Flattop trail. The bottom part isn't too bad, but it's gravelly, which was a recipe for a pretty easy spill. My uncle did almost fall, but I caught him, thankfully.

After oohing over the expansive view of Anchorage and Cook Inlet, we hied ourselves to the grocery store, where my aunt and uncle dithered -- as people do, both old and young -- over purchases. Should we get bagels if we're getting bread? Should we get 7-Up? Does hk drink 7-Up? Where's hk's mother? Why'd she go back to the car? Wait, if we're getting bread, we don't need the bagels. What flavor ice cream should we get? hk's mom likes strawberry, get strawberry. No, I want vanilla. hk, how about this Neapolitan one?

Sweet jesus.

I do get impatient, and so I sympathize with my mother, who lives with this dithering. Really, everyone should have their own place and be independently self-supporting. And no one should get old. Wake me up when that all gets worked out.

On top of this, Supervisor came back from his week off today and asked if I was happy with my workload, what I wanted more exposure to, etc., so I asked him in return what he felt I should work on. Answer: "Well, you have to work on never missing a court date," he said. "I mean, even if you're just meeting me at the court, you can't miss it."

I held my tongue and took the beating I deserved, then asked if there was anything else. "Other than that, there are a few things that I might be slightly concerned about if you were an associate, but you're very new at this, so nothing glaring."

Uh, anything glimmering, then?

"Glimmering... well, I hesitate to say this, because I don't really know, and I'm hyper aggressive myself, and people have differing approaches, but you -- ah... I wonder -- I'm not sure that if it came down to it, you would be able to knock heads together if the situation required it."

I nodded, said that I knew I was a little timid.

"No, timid wasn't the word I would use, and aggressive for aggressiveness' sake isn't good either, but the bottom line is that you have to get the thing done, whichever approach you use, and so far I haven't seen you NOT get things done with your approach."

I mentioned that I think I would be able to be aggressive if needed, but that if not, perhaps that was just a sign I shouldn't head into litigation.

"But then it's just transactional work, and I really think you should work for the people."

I pointed out that there were other options, like mediation.

"Oh right," he said with a smile, "there's mediation."

And so ended the evaluation. As it were.

I don't know what it was -- maybe coming back to the office after an awesome weekend, or that weird eval, or the prospect of having to deal with the folks -- but later in the afternoon, I got that same panicky, verge-of-tears feeling that I got back in first semester, when I had to stumble out of the library, hyperventilating from the pressure, the boredom, the work, and the intense dislike of the place. I went for a long walk and sat in the park for a while, crying a little bit in the blinding, warming sun. I thought about quitting. I thought about leaving law school. I thought about responsibility and family and resentment. I thought about how pleasant it was to not think about work for three days, and how it cast a pallor over my day when Double M asked about it on Sunday.

And then I got up and went back.

Last weekend, while sitting and writing on the Coastal Trail, Roommate got cruised by an Anchoragite. He works at the library.

When I told my co-worker, of whom I am increasingly fond, she said: "If he works in a library, he's either really cool or a serial killer."

That has GOT to be the quote of the summer. Unless you count the administrator who's been at my office for 20 years -- talking about her preference for criminal matters, even though our office only handles civil stuff: "Everyone likes a good crime." Indeed.

Double M arrives today from the fair city of Minneapolis. We're going down to the Kenai peninsula this weekend for a wildlife cruise, a hike on Harding Ice Field, and some campin' foolishness. The administrator said of my plans: watch out for the drunk people with shotguns.

Whoa.

And in talking with one of the attorneys today, who was deeply impressed by the fact I'd gone on the Dalton Highway (thanks, Ringleted One!), I realized that it's fairly common for Alaskans to tell people -- "hey, if I'm not in the office by 10 on Monday, you know what to do." (My co-intern assured me she'd call the state troopers if I didn't show up at work this past Tuesday.) The attorney's going on a rafting trip with his GF, and is nervous about bears -- there was an incident in the Interior this past weekend where an experienced outdoorsy couple, sleeping in their tents, got attacked and eaten by a brown bear. Highly unusual bear behavior, and probably a fluke, but it's got people nervous. Apparently, the camp was bear-proofed just like the books recommend.

So, uh, if I don't blog in on Tuesday or so, you, uh, know what to do, right?