Disclaimer: Ben Knight’s opinions and comments expressed in this forum in no way reflect the wholesome, politically correct, fun-for-the-whole-family and completely A-political stance that Felt Soul Media proudly represents. Just ignore him.
First of all, I walked a quarter mile in the rain to take this shower. A shower is especially important when you’re living at Gypsy Corner in the boat yard inside a forty-foot steel storage container. We sleep at the back of the container away from the tools where the mold-shrooms grow. Don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful to have a place to sleep. [Many thanks to Croc, Kai and Tyone for taking us off the mean streets of Dillingham. You guys are one of a kind] Back to the shower. There’s no denying the power of a good shower head and the perfect water temperature. You know, the feeling of putting your head down and letting it just rain on the back of your neck as you go cross-eyed with pleasure. Imagine being several minutes into your steamy bliss. Clunk. Within a split second molten lava in the form of an innocent shower is searing off both nipples and I’m lunging out of the fallout zone almost pulling the shower curtain down with me. It gets so hot that a plume of steam erupts from the shower like a volcano. Repeat this retarded process every 30 seconds until clean and shield the man parts. Welcome to shower time at the Peter Pan Canary. I’ll put up with the evil shower of death because the buffet is a super yummy. The chicken fingers today… holy shit.
T-dog and I rented a jacked-up diesel Ford truck for a couple days with a camper shell and enough leaf springs to haul a bull dozer. This will be our home now. The rental car lady said we could have the beast or a tiny compact car… the choice seemed obvious. It even came with pre caked-on Alaska dirt and a siren, you know, just incase we need a fucking siren I guess? Not sure how to turn it on, but it makes us look even more important than we already are. No, it’s not bio diesel for all you soy sucking hippies who were wondering. I’ve seen no sign of bio diesel in Alaska. It’s not like we’re here to save natural resources or one of the last 3 sustainable fisheries or anything.
Today was officially Felt Soul kick-it with the natives day. [was that not PC? Sorry.] We met Peter Andrew who is a full blood Yup’ik Eskimo who took us in for dinner and gave us an interview that brought tears to our eyes. He and his lovely wife Rose had slayed king salmon all morning with their subsistence net and were smoking the strips of glowing orange flesh with cottonwood. Inside the house we stuffed our faces with fresh baked bread, pickled king salmon, smoked king salmon and salmon chowder. I thought I had tried pickled everything, now I’m sure I have. Oh wait, pickled pigs feet I have not tried. Add pickled king salmon to my list of favorite pink things. I left Peter’s house saturated in kindness. I know people are partly welcoming us because they support what we’re doing, but I honestly feel that Alaskans may very well be a different breed. Most people just appear to be very focused, relaxed and comfortable with themselves and their way of life. I can’t help but wonder if the folks who support the mine will be more skeptical of our agenda.
Random awesome stats:
*Total film shot so far: 200 gigs [approx. 500 minutes]
*Days left: 55
*Number of nipple burns: 2
*Salmon consumed by Ben: 23.4 pounds
*Fish caught by Travis: 30
*Fish caught by Ben: 8
*Ben’s fishing problem as explained by Travis: “Dude, just fish with confidence… every cast, just expect a fish to eat.”
*Ben’s fishing problem as explained by Ben: Nymphing is for tourists.
*Price for a 12-pack of PBR: $13
*Red Bull: $3.50
*Plastic handle of Black Velvet whiskey: $50
*Sockeye salmon fresh from the net per pound in 2007: 65 cents
*Sockeye salmon per pound in 1989: $2.50
*Sockeye salmon at Whole Foods: $19.99
*Fishermen are getting: fucked