(RE-POST FROM 8/27/06) The Legendary Globe of Death

After attending the fair last weekend and watching an escape artist free herself from "The Water Torture Chamber," I was reminded of a blog post I wrote a few years ago. Enjoy this re-post from 2006.

Last weekend, my husband and I went on our annual venture to the state fair. Dan and I are not overly eager fair aficionados. One of our first dates took place at the Idaho State Fair. We listened to an a cappella boy band croon cover songs, shared our first Pronto Pup strawberry lemonade, and watched the amusing antics at the late night hypnotist show.

It was also on that outing that Dan introduced me to the heavenly gooeyness of the Ice Cream Potato – not a true potato in the root vegetable sense of the word, but ice cream shaped as a potato, doused in cocoa, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup. With the invention of the Ice Cream Potato, Idaho has truly lived up to its reputation as the cultivator of famous potatoes.

So it’s out of a sappy sentimentality rather than a love for genuine western tradition that Dan and I visit the fair every year.

This year, Dan persuaded me to watch the circus act that the fair advertises as a thrilling daredevil spectacle. I’m not much of an advocate of thrilling daredevil spectacles. But I’m not much of a fair ride enthusiast either, and my choices were either watch a thrilling daredevil spectacle or get stuck with my husband in a metal cage that spun on its side, ascended to a vertical 50 feet above the ground before turning its passengers upside down and plummeting into oblivion.

This thrilling daredevil spectacle was no Cirque du Soleil. According to my keen observations that evening, a fair circus act consists of a human size hamster wheel that swings like a pendulum between two rickety metal posts and a steel sphere that the performers proudly call “The Legendary Globe of Death.”

A male and female, clad in shimmering spandex jumpsuits, who gravitate toward feats of psychosis rather than the daring bravery the fair brochure advertises, spent thirty nail biting minutes performing acts of insanity inside this hamster wheel and Globe of Death.

At one point, the male performer covered his head with an executioner’s hood and balanced himself on top of the wheel while it was suspended above the ground. As the crowd cheered in amazement, I looked on in horror, covering my mouth to prevent myself from shouting a not-so-amazed exclamation at the man.

“They don’t even use safety nets!” Dan said, sounding much too enthusiastic about this realization.

Indeed they did not. A fair circus act does not need safety nets. Instead the performers stand below the apparatus so that they may catch one another if mishap ensues.

Before the performers entered The Legendary Globe of Death, they told the audience that insurance companies refuse to cover them so if we would kindly have our photos taken in the steel globe after the performance, all proceeds would cover their emergency medical costs.

Then they entered the legendary globe on motorcycles.

I watched the motorcycles zoom around, upside down, vertically, horizontally, diagonally . . . through my fingers.

"You can't see what they're doing if you cover your eyes." My husband has a knack for pointing out the obvious.

Once the dolorous spectacle ended, the crowd ruptured into applause, and I allowed my face muscles to finally relax after a half-hour of being frozen in fright.

"So, you want to get your picture taken in the Globe of Death?" Dan said.

I responded with a dirty look.

"It's fun to watch these sorts of things with you. It's kind of cute."

Another dirty look, "I'm glad I could be so entertaining."

Then we finished off our evening with an Ice Cream Potato. And the nightmarish visions of The Legendary Globe of Death faded into obscurity.

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What Made Me Happy This Summer

I decided to keep this week's post simple since I am back at school full force, spending what spare time I have preparing my classroom and lessons. Ready or not, my five hundred-plus students will be darkening (or brightening, depending on your perspective) my doorway this Tuesday.

So here it is. These are things that made me happy this summer.

1. Vacationing in Hawaii
Do you really have to ask why?

2. No classes, no extra jobs
This summer, I took my neighbor's advice who said to me about a year ago, "You should relax in the summer. You work really hard." He didn't have to be too persuasive. I have spent the last few summers music directing, performing, teaching voice, taking three-credit courses crammed into nine days. So this year, I finished up my "extra job," a music directing gig, the last week of school, and then I relaxed. (I did, however, write the occasional blog post.)

Of course, "no classes, no extra jobs" means I will be taking on extra responsibilities during the school year. My first extra project starts this Monday. It's just in my nature. I don't enjoy relaxing for that long.

3. Running on the greenbelt
During the summer, I love my morning runs on the greenbelt. I just don't get around to it as often as I'd like during the fall. This past week, considering the stretch I usually jog, I could have literally been running with the bulls this past week.

4. Biking & hiking
Because I did not take on extra responsibilities, Dan and I had a lot more time to go biking and hiking this summer. The best thing about hiking in Hawaii is the lack of large mammal predators, in other words, no cougars and wolves and bears—oh my!

5. Swimming lessons
I am not the strongest swimmer, and Dan was a competitive swimmer, a lifeguard, and a swimming teacher in high school. When we travel, I often ask him to give me "swimming lessons" in the hotel pool. We had a lot of water in Hawaii to work with this summer. Dan said his favorite part about our trip to Hawaii was giving me swimming lessons. How sweet is that? I even beat out surfing!

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Dan and I Buy Unlikely Items

I bought a bikini for the first time since the fourth grade. In fact, I bought two. Last summer, in "The Best Suit for This Apple," I wrote about the woes of swimsuit shopping and how I once again settled on a tankini because of my stomach cellulite and that I wouldn't buy a bikini, no way, no how.

But this summer was different. I was going to Hawaii, and because of this, I was probably more tuned into swimwear (and what was filling up that swimwear) than in years past. I began to notice that women of all shapes, sizes, and ages sported bikinis.

"I am not even forty yet. I should be allowed to wear a bikini even if my stomach looks curdled, and my skin is as white as polar bear fur (Lost reference alert)," I told myself.

And because I don't have the perfect body and because I am incapable of tanning, buying two bikinis was my way of taking a feminist stance against the societal norms that determine whether or not a woman should be allowed to wear a bikini.

While I was out buying my first bikini in twenty-seven years, my husband, Dan, was in deep conflict over whether or not he should buy his first pair of flip-flops in twenty-seven years. He had been wearing his sandals around town to get a "Teva tan" before heading to Hawaii. And though he wouldn't admit it, I think he secretly enjoyed not having to go through the production of putting on socks and basketball shoes every single morning.

He didn't resolve this conflict, however, until a few days into our Hawaii trip when he finally broke down a bought a pair of flip-flops. Most of us have been wearing flip-flops for a long time. I've been wearing flip-flops for so long that when I was a kid, we called them "thongs."

But for some reason, Dan—who has degrees in applied mathematics and computer science—couldn't figure out how to walk in them. It reminded me of the mini-schnauzer my family used to have. Anytime they would dress the dog in a sweater or a shirt—which was a lot because they were the kind of pet owners who loved to put their animals in clothes—she would waddle around on her front legs while dragging her back legs behind her.

Watching Dan walk in flip-flops was kind of like watching the family dog walk around in a sweater.

"What are you doing?" I asked as Dan scuffed his feet gingerly and slightly pigeon-toed along the walkway.

"It's weird walking in these things," he explained. "You have to kind of pinch your toes as you step. Don't you do that?"

"Maybe. I hadn't thought about it, but I'm pretty sure I don't look like that when I walk in flip-flops."

"If I don't pinch my toes, I'm afraid I'll do this." Dan kicked and sent his sandals flying off of his feet.

"Hmm. Well, we can't have that . . ."

We have been back on the mainland for about two weeks now. Dan hasn't worn his flip-flops or even his Tevas, and I haven't worn either of my bikinis since our return. I guess it seemed like a good idea at the time.

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Hawaii, Part 2: The Turner-Duggan Kauai Experience

Na Pali Coast, Kauai

Welcome to the Turner-Duggan Kauai Experience. Here are a few personal observations and anecdotes I collected during my recent trip to Hawaii. We all know silliness has a tendency to follow my husband and me wherever we go.

1. Crowing roosters
You don't really need an alarm clock on Kauai because you are bound to hear a rooster at some point during the early hours (and pretty much all day, for that matter).

Actually, you don't really need an alarm clock with a Dan either. The first morning, he woke me up at six o'clock.

"It's ten o'clock our time," he said, jumping out of bed with an energy he rarely displays at home.

"Then by that logic, we went to bed at two a.m.," I grumbled.

2. The Jeep
We rented a Jeep since we figured a lot of our sightseeing was going to involve driving on rugged roads. I have a sneaking suspicion that Dan enjoyed driving such a manly man vehicle. In any other situation, I would have guilt-tripped him about its carbon footprint and the implied chauvinism of such a monstrosity.

I, on the other hand, could never close the car door completely. It was too heavy. It got to the point that when the door ajar chime sounded, we'd say in unison, "Door!" Dan started opening and closing the car door for me every time I got in and out but not for the sake of chivalry.

The Jeep only played reggae stations. We did eventually find a classic rock station that would come in most of the time. We noticed it shared D.J.s with the Jeep's choice reggae station.

3. Looking young
Looking young is awesome. I am reminded of my grandmother whose claim to fame was that she had always looked at least ten years younger than her age. Even when she was ninety-eight, she bragged that no one could believe she was a day over eighty-eight. I must have inherited those genes. And Dan is the same way. He must have good genes too.

I only mention this bragging right because Dan and I were asked numerous times if we were on our honeymoon. When we answered no—and I usually added, "We celebrate our ten-year anniversary this December"—people would say, "Then you must have been high school sweethearts?"

At this point, I would confess that we were thirty-six because I didn't want them to think Dan and I had been too young when we married.

And the people would say, "Wow! You must have good genes."

I have never been so happy to admit my real age as I was in Hawaii.

4. Tastes, sounds, etc.
In Kauai, I tasted the best pineapples, mangoes, avocados, and bananas ever. In cooking magazines, when they talk about the creaminess of the mango or avocado, you don't really know what they mean until you taste one of those fruits in the tropics. Our bananas on the mainland are the blandest fruits ever known to humankind.

When the palm leaves rustle in the breeze—and there is a constant, gentle breeze—it sounds like rain. A chorus of birds and crickets greeted us anytime we hiked through the island's rainforest areas.

The best part about hiking in Kauai is the lack of large predators on the island. No bears (Stephen Colbert would be happy), snakes, or cougars. This is one of the reasons there are so many feral chickens and roosters running around. Hikers may encounter a stray cat or two on some of the trails. One could feasibly run into scarier animals on the Boise greenbelt.

5. Playing in the ocean
My typically reserved and very serious husband reverted to a happy child around the ocean. At the beach, Dan would play in the waves and snorkel with his goggles. He would return to the shore every few minutes, where I was usually attempting and failing miserably to read, to excitedly tell me about all the fish he saw underwater.

Dan took surfing lessons too. Right before he left, he said, "I hope my instructor isn't like Paul Rudd's character on Forgetting Sarah Marshall."

Afterward, Dan said the instructor asked him, "So the Mrs. didn't want to try surfing, huh?"

Dan told him that "the Mrs.," apparently meaning "Becky," wasn't the strongest swimmer.

"Yeah," the instructor waxed philosophical, "sometimes my job is just about fighting the fear."

6. Sightseeing

When we were driving to the Kilauea Lighthouse, I asked, "Do you know if people can go up to the top?"

"Are you wearing underwear?" Dan asked.

Because he doesn't process his thoughts out loud, I wasn't sure what this response meant. He explained he was worried that there might be holes in the stairs we would have to climb.

"People would be able to see up your dress."

The lighthouse wasn't open to tours, so there were no stairs with holes or otherwise.

On our final day on the island, we went to Kauai Coffee, toured the plantation, and sampled several types of coffee and chocolate-covered espresso beans. We finished the excursion with a latte. I was happily buzzed.

Dan looked at me, his eyes uncharacteristically wide and alert, and asked, "So do you want to try more?"

Back in Portland:
We found out jet lag is much worse when you lose hours. Our first night back in Portland, we decided we were finally hungry enough for dinner around nine, and we tracked down a Whole Foods that was about ready to close for the evening.

Right before bed, I found Dan in the bathroom, flushing our leftovers down the toilet so that he could recycle the containers. And that was the final scene etched in my memory of our Turner-Duggan summer vacation.

For more vacation fun, check out "Hawaii, Part 1: How My Summer Vacation Was Like Lost."

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Hawaii, Part 1: How My Summer Vacation Was Like Lost (Minus the Death Motifs)

Na Pali Coast, Kauai

It is probably not the best idea to re-watch the TV show Lost the same summer you fly to Hawaii. I mean, the entire series begins with a plane crash on a mysterious (very Hawaiian-looking) Pacific island. But that is exactly what my husband and I did.

We didn't visit Oahu, where Lost was actually filmed, but that did not stop Dan from referencing the show every chance he got. Yes, we were those kind of tourists this summer. Luckily, no one heard us since we don't like people enough to socialize while traveling.

Here are my summer vacation's top five Lost references: (I am sure there were more. I just can't remember all of them.)

1. On the Plane
"Do you think we're close to The Island?" Dan asked, studying the tracker on the seat in front of him—you know, the tracker that shows a little plane flying on a trajectory with NOTHING BUT WATER underneath.

Again, it was probably not the best idea to watch Lost the week before flying over the ocean.

2. On My Head
I learned it was best to embrace curly hair. Dan called it my "Kate" hair.
He already calls me "Freckles" all the time. Even though you can't see my freckles very well in this picture (you don't even get the full impact of the curliness that haunted my journey), trust me when I say I have a lot of them. Dan, who would like to be "Sawyer" but is more like "Daniel Faraday," was so happy to travel with his very own "Kate" in Hawaii.

3. On a Hike
One morning, while we were hiking in a densely forested area, Dan started whispering incoherently and making wind noises. I, always the theatrical one, spun around, waving a make-believe torch dramatically. You'll be happy to know, no dead people appeared. You'll also be happy to know that no fellow hikers witnessed this performance either.

4. Out in Nature
Dan said, at least once per hike, "These cliffs look like the ones on Lost!" No, Lost Geeks, we never found a cave full of crossed-out names inside them.







There were also unusual-looking trees around Kauai that resembled the ones on Lost. On one trail, we found a cluster of these trees off the path.

"Is this where we hide from the Smoke Monster?" Dan asked.

5. In My Dreams
The night before we flew out of Hawaii, I dreamed that I was starring in the last episode of Lost, and I was an emotional mess.

"I hope it's not a premonition that our plane is going to crash over the Pacific," I said to Dan.

He just rolled his eyes. He doesn't believe in my self-proclaimed clairvoyance. And he was right. We now know that there were no plane crashes involved in our trip to Hawaii.

But I still think that dream meant more, like maybe it was a metaphor for the sadness you feel when something great comes to an end, whether it's the end of Lost or the end of vacation.

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