don't worry, i won't start wearing mom jeans

out of sitka into seattle

i looked like a meth addicted hobo getting onto the plane. i had mosqueeto bites all over and wet hair. i had 1o0 lbs of crap allocated into two rolling luggage bags, and, thanks to gas price fueled airline restrictions, had to wear everything else. this means that my handbag included 4 books, a scale, my teddybear, a tuxedo shirt, a wool sweater, 4 longs bags full of pictures, a polaroid, my fisheye etc. and that i wore my ipod and bose headphones, digital camera, a scarf, an ukelele with two eagle feathers and another book inside the case, and my muscratt hunting hat. people stared.

for some reason, i've been thinking a lot about visage and attractiveness. in sitka, anything with legs is considered sexy. i blame this on the long woman-less weeks of hard labor in the middle of the ocean. cool in sitka doesn't really exist. there simply aren't enough people to have a social heirarchy, at least in my experience.

today i ran errands and waded through the infinte strip malls that comprise the greater seattle area with my aunty and cousin. the vastness and diversity of the people was startling after crunchy, vanilla alaska. i saw so many shapes and colors and faces and proportions that i couldn't tell what was beautiful from what was ugly, what was cool from what was stupid, what was desirable from what was repulsive. in my shell shock, i just saw. skinny people were skinny. some people put gell in their hair. what's the difference?