Memorial Day Weekend Parking Lot

I have to say, "shame on the California Department of Transit and CalTrans." Who, in their right minds would decide to do construction on one of the biggest, most traveled interstates over Memorial Day Weekend, causing "up to 5 hour delays" without actually warning the travelers in advance? Did the DOT conveniently forget that I-5 is one of the 2 main routes connecting LA to Northern Cal and that you can't really go anywhere but through a traffic jam once you've reached the Grapevine, i.e. the 5-hour pile up of idiot drivers, douche bags jerks who put their hazards on and drive the shoulders, and the cluster-f**k of people trapped at the mini city at the start of the hill attempting to park so they can pee before their 1-mile-an-hour crawl home.

Well, there was a sign 104 miles before the construction was to start, but at that point you're driving freely at 85-miles-an-hour thinking, "yea right, 5 hours? The sign must be broken." So you drive onwards, not heeding the advice to drive 56 miles out of your way to the alternative route, especially since you just came from that direction.

I went up North to the Bay Area for a Memorial Day Baby's Weekend. It must be something in the air because all my friends have been popping little bundles of joy out for the past few months. I haven't really had a chance to see any of them, so my friend, Nina, and I decided a 3-day weekend was the perfect opportunity. Knowing that Memorial Day is usually packed with other vacationers, we left the Bay Area early enough that we would be home at a decent hour, accounting only vacationer traffic, into our travel time. When we had driven over the 5 on our way north, no signs stated a construction delay on south I-5 for the weekend. We didn't know any better then to assume the freeway was in working order.

I guess we were a little ignorant of not checking news or traffic for the 6 hour journey home, but if something as major as a 5-hour delay is going to pop up, you'd think the DOT would have been advertising for weeks beforehand saying, "construction starting on "so-and-so date, going through to so-and-so date. Be prepared." Especially if you're driving down 101 and you cross over to the 5 via the 152. There should have been a warning telling you what an awful idea that is and to just stay on the 101. Instead, the only warning sign is 50 miles south of the 152, right before the 46.

Now, if you just traveled 52 miles to hit the freeway you want to be on, would you seriously drive 56 miles back to the freeway you came from to avoid a traffic jam you assume wouldn't actually be because you're thinking like any sane person, "there is no construction on a holiday weekend." Case in point, 1000's of people did the same thing we did and drove onward. It wasn't until we reached Lavall Rd, at the base of the Grapeville that all car movement ceased and we exited the freeway to pee and find out about the delay.

After weaving our way through the middle-of-nowhere's version of Carpocalypse - honking horns, people running red lights because they couldn't move on green, utter confusion of travelers, and assholes walking in front of the cars that can actually move - we peed and then asked the gas station attendant what was going on. Apparently there was construction for 13 miles heading up the hill and he had no clue when the crews stopped for the night or if at all. Nina and I wanted to wait it out, seeing as no one could even get out of the gas station parking lot, but if the crews worked 24-hours, we were going to have to endure the snail ride home eventually.

We decided on food and then travel. By the time we exited Panda Express, the cars were at least advancing onto the freeway from the parking lots, a vast improvement from an hour and a half earlier. We decided to risk joining the crowd. I ended up driving in the truck lane, a smooth 5-mile-an-hour lull upwards which turned out to be better then the constant stop-and-go of the other lanes. After about an hour and change, we merged from 5 lanes to 3 and the average car speed climbed to 30 mph. No construction crews, apparently they had taken the weekend off. But by looking at all the road work signs and the way the lanes merged, construction on south I-5 has been shitty for a while.

I would assume that all the locals in the area knew about the problem areas, but if you're not from the area, you're just baffled. So, no construction workers causing the 5-hour delay, just good old fashion freeway expansion and very poorly advertised warnings for the non locals, i.e. the holiday drivers. Hell, when the Bay Bridge was closed for construction there were warnings 200 miles away. So, DOT and CalTrans, next time, tell someone, advertise your massive delay way before it's too late to turn around. And that's all I've got to say!

Us 5.5 Million Matter!

I am annoyed!!! Annoyed with stupid television executives that don't really care about what an above average television viewer wants to watch and instead they focus on the majority of viewers - those middle of nowhere, average people that lounge around in their sweats drinking beer while watching another awful reality show about some moron who isn't them. I found out that The Finder was cancelled due to bad ratings - only 5.5 million people watch it. What?!!!! 5.5 million people are nothing, you say? Sucks, because there are 5.5 million people out there that tune in every week to be entertained while trying to solve a mystery, or two, in a creative and witty way instead of turning into a zombie drooling over a Kardashian or getting their Jerseylicious on like the other 7 billion people in the world (although half of those 7 billion I think live in countries without a TV).

Us, few, but proud, 5.5 million people can actually appreciate when a great show comes along that uses subtlety and riddles to progress the story forward instead of always spelling everything out. I enjoy the twist and turns of a good mystery and when I can watch a show where I don't immediately figure out the killer or the key piece of evidence to solve the case, I'm intrigued. I want to be baffled, shocked, surprised. I don't want everything handed to me on a silver platter with all the answers spelled out. Why can't those Executive Suits understand that? Instead, they looked at us messily 5.5 million fans and said, "Axe the show, we'll make a cheaper and more profitable reality show to fill the time slot." 

Now, I understand the appeal of a reality show - watching a life you can't have and would like or watching a train wreck and marveling at how some people manage to survive past infancy. Hell, I work in the Reality TV industry, it pays my bills and entertains me immensely while filming, but when I go home, I want to watch something that will make me smart again - reaffirm my faith in humanity that not everyone is a camera hungry lunatic. I believe that Reality TV makes the world dumb, most of it anyways and since I'm out helping to make the world that much stupider, I'd like to come home and relax in front of the tube watching something that will reaffirm my believe that there are some intelligent shows still being made in the world. That there is hope to make people use their brains again instead of letting them slowly ooze out their ears.

So, you Fox Execs that think we don't matter, that our TV interests aren't worth a second glance because it doesn't fill your pockets with the amount of green you want, think again. Our opinions matters. We want smart shows being made and aired. We want to watch a program that has our neurons firing. We want to be awed. Can't you see that? Can't you believe that not all viewers are the average sheep? Please, start thinking about us small 5.5 million not so inconsequential few that matter what they watch. We might surprise you.

Writing Out of Depression

Hi everyone, I'm back! Yes, I managed to disappear for a really long time, I think almost a year. I would like to blame a cosmic accident or being buried under some exotic ruins after a massive cave-in, but the answer is much less spectacular and rather simple... basically, I was depressed. You would think that when you have a lot of free time, you make plans to see long lost friends, you go to the beach, you work on your closeted hobbies and you enjoy life until the next gig comes along and grabs all your time. But, no, I just watched the clock tick by each and every day. Sure, I had jobs to fill some of the time, but not enough.

I'm not one of those people that likes to be alone with their own thoughts...my mind scares me (and a lot of other people). If I was working, I would get home after a 10-14 hour day filming something or other and zone out in front of the TV for countless hours until it was a reasonable hour to go to bed. The next morning I would head right back out to work. No time left for thinking. I love being in the field and working in the mist of chaos, but learning how to be by myself (during my off hours), it was/is pretty tough. When I was between jobs, I'd sleep as long as possible in the morning so I would have less time to figure out how to fill during the day. It gave me time to think, time that I didn't want.

In the end, I read a lot, about 75 books, went on a couple hikes and pretty much begged my friends to run errands with them so that I would have an excuse to put on real clothes and soak up some Vitamin D. You would think that I would turn to the computer to write weekly blog stories, with all my free time, but since I wasn't happy in my own life, I didn't feel like putting anything down on paper (so to speak). I had ideas of stories I could write about, but they were mostly evil thoughts on stupid people that I'd worked with or things that I didn't find agreeable in society and I didn't want to write puff pieces, I wanted to say it how it was; write the gritty truth, which would essentially be a career killer or at least, a black-list offense. So I refrained and just thought my evil thoughts while brooding in the dark.

I also think maybe I am to blame for all my free hours because as a little kid I hated procrastination and therefore I now complete all my tasks efficiently, maybe too efficiently. During the last year I did have ample time to contemplate all those energetic people that run around like their hair is on fire and the world is ending while they try to complete their "never ending" todo lists and I think I've come to the conclusion that they're insane. Seriously, how can they not find the time complete everything? Do they just spend hours deciding what task to finish next that it's become dark outside and they accomplished nothing? How do people like that survive because they seem to always starts things, but do they ever finish them; the stress from that must be killer. Maybe it's another version of depression - active depression, and I have lethargic depression. Hum... But even though I will never understand the chickens-with-their-heads-cut-off people, I might envy them a little because they seem like they'll never run out of activities to complete and so it seems they won't ever have free time to contemplate what to do with.

So now, yes, I'm still not sure how I feel about the world and my small self in it, but I'm getting better.  Last weekend was my cousin Dan's birthday and while we were celebrating he had asked me why I had stopped writing my blog. I just told him I didn't have anything to say, but that isn't really true, so Dan, here's my birthday present to you, I'm starting up my blog again. Hopefully the next post was be a little happier and probably a lot more wittier.

I'm more a Fighter than a Breather

Ok, I know that I never finished writing about Alaska, but I promise I might. ;) What I want to write about today is the fact that I took everyone's advice and tried Yoga for the first time yesterday and realized I strongly dislike it. All my friends and half the crazy world that goes on about Yoga releasing the mind and the body's stresses, seriously do not have ADD.

I'm laying on the floor with my left leg practically bent in half over my stretched out right leg and attempting to focus on my deep breathing, but I can't stop all the asinine thoughts running through my head. It's like recess for my brain; nothing to do (yes, I don't count concentrating on breathing acceptable as a attention grabber) to occupy my mind, therefore it's conga line time for my thoughts. My eyes want to wander, so that they can focus on something, but my head is tilted to the side that faces spinning machines blocking my view of the mirror. But I didn't really think I wanted to look at myself in the mirror, probably wouldn't have been a great image anyhow.

"Ok people, exhale into the Downward Dog and inhale into the Upward Dog. Make sure your butts are sticking out," the instructor drones.

He's so at peace with himself that he's lost his ability to put inflections in his voice. I would be getting sleepy, but I'm more focused on my shirt riding up and if the weird guy behind me is more focused on his breathing or my ass sticking straight up in the air. I don't have much time to dwell on this particular problem as the instructor moves in rapid succession through a bunch of twists and bends that everyone, but me, seems to be following.

I can't figure out how everyone just knew all the moves that the teacher was telling us to do; is there not a beginners class where someone explains what a Vinasa move 1 or 2 is, or how to twist into the Downward Dog correctly. I felt like I had just stepped into a school on the first day of class and everyone had known to read the required literature before showing up, but I of course, hadn't received the list.

We're standing with our right knees bent and our left legs straight shooting imaginary arrows at the front of the class, giving me the perfect opportunity to let my eyes wander. I would be moving my head around looking at people, but then I might get chastised for not concentrating on myself and my breathing. Hell, half the time I forgot I was suppose to be breathing. I was more focused on what I doing with my gangly limbs than my breaths. Besides, breathing deeply when I'm not having an asthma attack somehow seems to induce them, so I'm not a huge fan of concentrating on my breathing. I like to just let my subconsciousness handle that aspect of my life. Anyhow, it seemed that a lot of people's legs were starting to shake from the strain of the position and here I was going, "what the hell is so difficult about this pose?" I guess each to his own, because the leg lift things we did next seemed to kill me.

I also couldn't understand how every time we put our palms on the mat and lifted a leg or held our bodies above the mat, no one, but me, seemed to be having the "sweaty palm disease". I swear, after 3 seconds of touching the mat, my hands wanted to slide in whatever directions I was stretching. How are people suppose to hold a pose when they're hands are about to spay outward at any moment? I wonder if it would look really stupid wearing gloves during Yoga? Can't look as stupid as falling flat on your face.

"Ok we're going to come straight up while bringing our hands in front of us. Don't straighten out your hair or fix your shirt, we're just going to mess them up again. Just focus on your breathing. It's all about the breathing," inspirational words of advice from the teacher.

I think my mind was starting to go into overdrive of boredom. My eyes sought out the clock while my inner voice chanted, "are we done yet?" over and over again. I was barely sweating and the only things that kind of ached were my arms from holding an imaginary ball over my head and rotating it. This definitely was not the "sport" for me. It was cool that someone was telling me what to do, as I have a hard time following through with exercise if someone isn't there to direct me, but I didn't feel like I got that much of a workout and my knees were killing me from digging them into the ground to hold poses, plus, I'm definitely not a fan of sticking my ass in the air for extended periods of time. I can see why men take Yoga.

If I'm going to be stuck exercising on a mat with sweaty palms, I'd rather be fighting an opponent than struggling to keep myself from falling. But this is just my opinion. I'm sure Yoga is great for the people that have tamed or trained their minds to turn off. And I salute those people, because it's a damn difficult accomplishment.

Hitting the Wall

So I realize I haven't typed anything in a long time. I think that I've just hit that wall, the one that you just one day go, "hum, I really don't want to be doing this right now. I just want to be anywhere but here." (It more pertains to this job then the writing, but semi similar). John hit it the other day as we drove through five mud pits while a storm thundered at our heels to film the closing of an outer camp. He was so grumpy.

The last of the participants will be leaving camp tomorrow and that leaves a smattering of crew members to clean, put away and close down everything and anything for the winter. It seems so daunting right now after 7 weeks of harsh weather, long days and very little appreciation. Tempers are flaring, feelings hurt, stress points reached for my crew as well as the Camp's crew. You would think that being in a camp like setting doing what you love for months would be wonderful, but it wears you down and after a certain point, you just want out. You're body and mind are screaming for every little thing you've taken for granted, but have lived without these past months - TV, flush toilets, central heat, non wet shoes, a mattress, food other then something canned and able to survive decades in a tin can - you just want creature comforts...badly.

Right now, Beau, John, Chris and I are sitting at the Polar Cafe typing away on our computers, soaking up 56K Internet like it's the best thing in the world, maybe it is for all we know, just a small peace of normalcy to what our lives were before coming to the end of the world; the end of what we've lived with but didn't know we had until we didn't have it. I don't know, I sound so unappreciative and whining. I've traveled all over the world, visited 5 Continents, and never hit cultural shock, but I guess being still in America and not having what you know America has to offer, is a cultural shock.

I think that I'm in this Television Industry because I have this lovely vagabond nature and I have a constant need to do something different every few months or year. I'm like the main character in Chocolat, the east wind is calling my name and urging me forward. This Alaskan experience has been an amazing, exhilarating experience, but I feel a growing breeze at my back...an urge for a new adventure closing in on me.

The other day Chris, John and I drove 16 miles on a dusty and partly muddy road to town after shooting all day in the rain to eat a decent meal in town. When we arrived at restaurant Chris turns around and starts laughing. John and I had been driving behind him on the road and we could barely see as our goggles fogged up from the bandannas around our mouths and noses and the mud spattering on the lens. We looked at each other and our entire front halves were covered in a fine layer of mud, as well as our ATVs. It was hilarious, walking into the clean and cozy dinning hall and leaving dust tracks in our wake. Maybe not as funny to the waitresses, but it made the ride from hell amusing. The hot meal, sounds of people chatting on subjects other then gold prospecting, and the warmth of a heater alleviated rest of our foul moods and reset our minds to continuing the journey for rest of our 10 day stay in Nome, Alaska.

Hopefully I'm good to go these last few days because I really could do with a new subject matter for work or just more traveling away from Camp. Maybe just a good weeks sleep in a room with a heater, who knows. I apologize for the ranting and will leave you with lovely photos to look at as a prize for not wanting to kill me after reading this post.

Cute Sislex

The pet fox at drege Camp trying to eat yucky stew

Adam and John imitating superheros

The Boy's shooting

John Backflipping

DeadBunny trying to steal all the gold draw gold.

Lola, the most photographed woman in Camp (that i didn't know about until yesterday)

Mud and Rain

Hi Everyone,

I assume about 3 of you are still reading my blog. So to catch you all up on what’s been going on… hum… I’ve been sitting around the chow hall drinking coffee; playing cards with all the teenagers who think I’m a cooler, older version of themselves and that I’m about 20-years-old; nursing a 3-week cold that’s developed into a dual ear infection; trying to find a new camera since mine committed suicide and refuses to close the lens or turn on anymore; and avoiding my birthday by not telling anyone at camp because who really wants to be sung to in front of strangers and eat a half-stale cake?

That’s about it. Most of the time we plan to go shooting, but then the stupid sky opens up and cries. Seriously, is summer in Nome really this wet or are the Nomites this year getting screwed out of their 3 months of sunshine? If so, that would really suck for them – 9 months of darkness and up to -60F to have 3 months of 30F and rain. And people live here willingly. I keep coming to town and I hardly ever see the same people twice. For a town of 2300, there sure are a lot of under 30-year-olds that pop up. Most of them were born here and choose not to leave. Maybe since this is what they’ve always known, they figure it’s safe to stay and not explore the rest of the world.

I met a young lady that was born here, went to College in Las Vegas for 4 years, and still came back to Nome to work fulltime. It must be something in the water, why else would you come back once you’ve escaped. We stopped by one of the tents scattered along the beach on the way back to Camp the other evening and chatted with an ex-camper who still comes to Nome to prospect ever year. He says he pays $200 a year to camp on the beach and that it’s peaceful.

Not sure living with a sand floor, using wet wood to heat your stove, and having the tundra as a toilet counts as peaceful, but him and about 30 other guys, they seem to think it’s heaven. He even convinced his wife to come up and stay in the tent. Most women I know are all for vacationing on a beach, but I don’t think that the cold, wet, and gloomy beach of Nome is what they had in mind.

Then again, I willingly came up here, but someone paid my way and I get to make a documentary on the crazy people that chose to pay to come to a wooden campsite in the middle of nowhere. I often wonder if some random person were to fly over Nome and down the coastline, when they’d come upon the camp, would they mutter, “who the hell lives out here?” or “hum, I’d like to stay there?” It’s a remote and strange sight to someone who doesn’t have a clue what GPA is.

One of the only adventures I went on lately was yesterday when the guys and I ATVed out to Creosos camp, about 12 miles on the ATv, but along a heavily mudded dirt road. 2 months ago the road was just dusty, but the lovely 18-day stretch of rain has created potholes and mud puddles that sallow ATVs. Everyone is always saying how so and so had to tow them out and I was a little worried about going on the journey because my boys like to drive really fast and I always feel the need to keep up with them so they don’t think that I’m “just a girl” and suck at ATVing – which I kind of do. Maybe I just have a self-preservation gene that kicks in and say, “slow the F**k down, that’s a 3 foot drop,” where as the boys see the same drop and go, “Weeeeeeee!!!!” as the skid all over the place.

Anyhow, driving through the mud turned out to be awesome. I didn’t get stuck and I got covered in mud from the back splashes of driving head first into numerous bogs. It was awesome. I was even tailgating a bit. I feel a lot more confident in driving along a crappy road now and I love being covered in slim, as long as I’m wearing my waterproof clothes.

That’s about all that I’ve done. I now in a coffee shot typing this blog after transversing the soft, ATV eating sand and petting rain. My goggles kept fogging up making it really hard to see, but taking them off just allowed the rain to pelted me and therefore squint. It was kind of a catch 22, but I made it, I’m now dry, enjoying a great cup of coffee and when I finish this blog in 2 sentences, I’m headed to the movie theater inside the Subway to watch Kungfu Panda 2 and eat dinner. Thanks for reading and have a great day!!!

The Bear Experience

It’s always nice to be joy riding back to camp after a pleasant day of internet surfing and shopping in town, when you happen to look up and spot a rather large, brown blur galloping across the sand 200 feet in front of you. As you slow down the ATV and your brain has a chance to process what you’re seeing, you piece together that a Mamma Grizzle bear is hauling ass up the beach embankment and disappearing into the Tundra. It‘s only natural that the first two words out of your mouth are, “F**k!” and a few seconds later, “F**k.”

Everyone at camp likes to tell tales of their bear encounters. They round a corner and see one on the Tundra or they have to sneak around it as it’s lounging by the river. They always sound like it’s no big deal when you run into a bear, just keep riding up wind and you’ll be fine intermixed with horror stories of friends and Nome locals getting their faces ripped off and their tongues eaten. One of the participants even joked to her husband that she wanted to bring a 22 pistol to camp and the husband was like, “why would you want that? I’m bringing the 357.” The wife replies, “so I can shoot you in the leg and get away.” Ah, true love.

About a month ago, there was a Mamma Grizzle and her 2-year-old cub playing at the Cripple River. We managed to capture some blurry imagines of them on camera, but we didn’t feel like getting too close. After that there’ve been sightings of the 2 bears up at Dredge Camp and out where prospectors metal detect. The bears haven’t come back towards main camp since…until 2 nights ago when the baby cub was spotted along the far shore of the Cripple, trying to fish the salmon. From where I was standing, Mamma wasn’t in sight. Not good considering how protective she is of her baby.

A crowd gathered to watch the cub play but then it moved into the Willows and we’d all thought it had run away. Not 5 minutes later, the cub prances out of the trees on the camp side of the Cripple, right at the entrance to where everyone drives across the river, 200 yards from where I was. Right behind baby, Mamma’s head pops up from the bushes; she’d been on our side of the river the whole time. The two of them start sniffing the air and then head up river through the Willows…or so we thought.

You might have seen from the previous pictures that I posted, John standing over a dead, headless 8-foot whale half buried in the sand. The whale washed ashore last Friday, 20 yards from the A-frame. Apparently Mamma Grizzle and her cub could smell an evening meal and came exploring. They rounded the corner of an outer placed Hooch and started towards the A-frame, the last anyone saw of them that evening.

When I went to breakfast the following morning, the crew asked me if I’d heard the gunshots. Mamma and baby had been back at the river fishing and the men had to fire over their heads to scare them off. I’d slept through the shots. Neither John, nor I thought of the bears again as we went into town to hang out for a few hours. It wasn’t until we were riding back to camp, speeding along the beach, I just happened to pay attention to my surroundings and Mamma Grizzle was galloping across the beach, up and over the tundra.

She’d been having a mid-afternoon snack of whale when the noise of our ATV’s frightened her into the Tundra. I stopped once I spotted her and turn to John, who barely realized there was a bear on the loose. “What do we do?” I asked. I had no idea if we were down wind from the bear or not and if we should play it safe and head back the way we’d come or continue the last mile to camp. John replies, “Just go and don’t stop.” I put the ATV in 5th gear (the highest) and sped along the rough terrain, alternating between watching the Tundra for Mamma and the giant, gravel speed bumps in front of me.

Surprisingly I wasn’t scared. My heart rate didn’t go up and my palms weren’t sweating. It was just a natural reaction of “F**k!” when I first spotted the bear and then driving by, hoping the thing didn’t come back. A little ways past the A-frame, the dead whale, and the bear, I spotted a lone prospector braving the cold weather. John and I stopped and when the guy wandered over to me, I told him to watch out because there was a bear and her cub feeding on a dead whale not a 5th of a mile from where he was standing. The guy looks at me and says, “Oh, that was a bear? I thought it was a dog.” Maybe I should have just kept going and let the moron get eaten.

I came back to camp to alert the staff that the bears are hanging out near the road to town, but no one seemed to mind. They just said not to get in the way of Mamma and her cub and you’ll be fine. Some of the prospectors were packed in a truck headed to town; instead of worrying, they all got out their cameras. It’s definitely a different breed of people out here.