…that’s a phrase from my resume. In the context that I use it in, it sounds very impressive, but the truth of the matter is, it can also be very comical.

Every year a re-supply vessel brings all the supplies down that will be needed during the next year’s science season. Food, construction materials, machinery, parts, science equipment, liquor…basically everything that one can imagine. Due to the beauracracy of getting items down here, it takes approximately two years from the time an item is ordered until it actually gets here. During that two years, the order is heavily scrutinized and tough questions are asked which establish whether the item is actually needed, can the item be substituted, is there already something on station that could be used instead…The idea is a sound one and the procurement process is designed to maximize your tax dollars. Sounds great right? Well…in some cases it isn’t great. Someone’s job is to ensure there is enough bedding on station to support the approximately 1100 people that the station can hold. This person apparently decided to order new comforters. Through the process of scrutinization, a less expensive alternative was found to the comforters that were ordered, so they were purchased and shipped instead…..so after two years a container full of comforters finally arrived and was promptly put back on the ship to be sent back. Why do you suppose they won’t work? Because they are ‘dry clean only’, and we haven’t got any one-hour martinizers.

Napkins were ordered from New Zealand, but they don’t fit our USA napkin dispensers

Nasty old mattresses were replaced with new ones, but they were ‘single’ mattresses and the bed frames on station are ‘twin’ so they slide around while you’re trying to sleep….the comedy of errors goes on an on.

Myself and the guys I work with took a trip to Cape Evans a few weeks ago. It was a great trip out of town as well as a good bonding experience. This time, I drove the newest, most reliable piece of equipment, that’s the “Elephant Man” on the right. We also took 3 Pisten Bullys and 2 Tucker snow cats. We were out until almost 1 A.M. We saw seals and toured an historic hut that was built in the early 1900′s by one of the first expeditions.

Havin’ a BLAST. Yesterday, I witnessed the launch of this season’s most impressive baloon payload. It’s called BLAST – an acronym for Balloon Borne, Large apeture, Submillimeter Telescope. In a nutshell, its job is to detect star-forming regions.

Recently, some observations from friends of mine who were here under the auspices of the National Science Foundation have been causing me to think. The rhetorical question was asked “Why would you be here if you’re confined to town?” To answer that, first, nobody is really confined to town. Even the people who work in the dining facility get out every once in a while. The larger answer though, is that we’re here for the experience. Just like you are. My experience won’t be less rich because I didn’t spend time in a field camp. My experience will be richer though because you have.

What I’m trying to get at is that your success depends on my success and I am emotionally invested in your project before you even hit the ice. Do you think your transportation just happens? Do you think your gear just arrives? Do you think your meals magically appear? To do whatever it is that you came here to do, you need transportation, quarters, food, gear and various other stuff. We make it happen. Maybe you haven’t noticed, but there isn’t an auto parts store nearby. You probably have noticed that the equipment you are driving around in is used. During a great part of the austral summer, it doesn’t seem too cold at McMurdo, but try holding onto a hunk of metal that is 30 degrees farenheit. Believe me, it’s cold! Knowing that I have overcome adversity, knowing that I have had to make do without fills me with a sense of pride.

Yes, we envy you. We want to get out and experience Antarctica but please don’t pity me for not spending my time here exclusively in a field camp. I take a great deal of pride knowing that I, in the face of great adversity, have contributed to the furtherance of human knowledge. Phrases like “I can’t do that without parts” have been replaced by “I’ll think of another way to do the job”. Thanks to the kitchen staff, the housing staff, logistics, fuels, waste, IT, firehouse, cargo, ATO and all the other departments, without whom I couldn’t do my job and without whom my entire experience in Antarctica might not be as rich.

So what’s up with everyone’s food allergies? I made some crack the other day about seeing signs for “gluten-free” this and that and got a very stern response from a bystander about how people have allergies. There are peanut allergies. You can’t send latex balloons to school because of latex allergies. I have a cousin who has a soy allergy – damn good thing she’s not lactose intolerant as well. I think that the pussification of America may have gone beyond being politically correct and may now encompass every facet of our being. And on that, what’s up with workplace “sensitivity” type training. I’m told that if my actions, words or pictures that I view offend someone in my workplace then I must change my behavior. I have three words for someone who finds my stuff offensive: “Deal with it you moronic, worthless piece of spineless trash”

So….everyone who comes to Antarctica signs an offer letter that states their wages. It is also made very clear to anyone wanting to work here that they will be expected to work 54 hours per week. If you can’t be happy working for that amount of pay and for those hours, then don’t sign up – simple! Also, there was a question asked at today’s “all hands meeting” about televisions and why there isn’t a television in every dorm room. Seriously, did you come here to watch fucking tv?

I had a bit of an emotional meltdown a few weeks ago. Some tough questions came up, and in the end, I am a better person and know more about myself for confronting those questions. As a result of this I now know that, as I get closer to my 40th birthday, that my big aspiration in life is to be a ski bum. That’s it, I’m not going to be the one to cure cancer or solve world hunger or promote world peace. I simply want to ski.

O.K. enough of my drivel. Have a good one!

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.