At Advanced Smiles Dental in Round Rock, Texas her patients know her as Dr. Juli Eivens

For my whole life I've known her as Junkyard Juli or Doodie. She calls me Dulip. And I have no idea why. That's just how it has always been. Juli is my dentist, my sister and my friend.

When we were young, Juli was obsessed with horses. She drew them, rode them and collected plastic ponies by the crate full. One of her horses she had was called "Big Horse Susan."

Big Horse Susan was a gigantic, stuffed, pink horse and whenever Juli wanted me to do something for her she would say, "I'll give you Big Horse Susan for the day." Depending on the chore or whatever it was she didn't want to do, but wanted me to do, would determine how long I could keep Big Horse Susan.

I'd always do what she wanted, because I wanted Big Horse Susan. Inevitably, in the middle of the night, Big Horse Susan would always trot back to Junkyard Juli.

In Antarctica, there was a period when Shackleton and Scott thought horses were the way to pioneer to the South Pole. Thinking ponies could gallop to the South Pole was nearly as stupid as me thinking that I could own Big Horse Susan.

A horse in snow is like an elephant in high heels. It just didn't make sense. Their spindly legs would sink into the snow up to their chests. The energy the horses had to expend to sledge the gear, would create so much sweat that their bodies would become encased in ice.

Eventually the best use for the horses was to feed them to the dogs. Two of the horses accidentally got on an ice floe surrounded by excited killer whales. To save them from the whales or a slow starvation drifting out to sea, Henry Bowers and Lawerence Oates killed the ponies with pick axes. On Oates' birthday, on the way back from the South Pole with Bowers, he said, "I am just going outside and may be some time." Exhausted and tired like the horses they had to kill sledging to the South Pole, Oates wandered out to pasture and never returned.

Sure this isn't My Friend Flicka or Eight Below, but this is the story of the horses of Antarctica.

A friend of mine, Mariah Crossland, spent the Winter painting a picture of the 29 Ponies who once lived where I live now standing in front of Mt. Erebus. I thought it was beautiful and I got a print of this for your birthday.

Happy Birthday to the Best Sister in the World.

Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday to you
Happy Birthday Phil Jacobsen Dot Com
Happy Birthday to you

The best way to celebrate the Fourth Anniversary of Phil Jacobsen Dot Com is by reliving the blast from the past, the very first post.

On September 26, 2002 this website was started so my family and friends back home could read and see what I was experiencing as a Dishwasher in Antarctica. This wasn't my idea. It was my friend Beth and Dave Adams creation.

Beth has been my friend since 1992. I was living in Provo, Utah and, with my friend Scotty, we started knocking on random doors looking for someone we did not know (that's a different story). Provo is the home to Brigham Young University so random knocking on doors by two men is not too uncommon.

One of the doors was answered by this girl named Beth. She had an antique typewriter so we became friends. Fourteen years later we're still both typing away our friendship. A couple of years later, Beth met a guy named Dave and they flew me out to Maryland to be the photographer for their wedding. Thanks. Do I still owe you money for that?

Her husband, Dave, is and was always on the forefront of computer stuff. He was featured in USA Today as one of the first people to conduct business (a bike shop) over the Internet. I'm not certain, but I think he taught Al Gore how to invent the Internet. Dave talks or collects or finds stories about tech stuff at Osnews.com.

So, when I came to Antarctica and started sending out stories via bulk email to my entire address book, Dave said, "How about I host a website for you to tell your stories." Note: he did not say "blog." This was 2002--baby. Maybe the word "blog" existed, but it wasn't in common vernacular. Or maybe it was and since I was living close to edge of the Earth where people occasionally think I have fallen, I just hadn't heard it.

Next thing you know, I find this fancy pants way to post pictures of myself on the Internet. Back then I wasn't technically "phil jacobsen dot com" because I was hosted on their website. The first incarnation on September 26, 2002 you could find me at www.crazyus.com/phil. Crazyus.com was the website Beth and Dave used to tell their stories. And, like good friends, there I was connected at their hip with a simple slash and a phil.

Somewhere along the lines Dave told me phil jacobsen dot com was available and that's when my name went virtual.

What you read and what you see is only made possible by Beth and Dave. Thank you.

Here is my first posting. Even though it says "writing some more stories" this means "sending more stories to you via email."

When I reread this comment it's like seeing the beginning of a dream and a nightmare as it begins to unfold. The dream was what I saw in Antarctica. The nightmare was that I was actually still enthused about washing dishes when I wrote this. Eventually my dishwashing spirit got cracked and I went a little Kooky.

This posting was called Introduction. And the first comment was left by Bettina (who I will be visiting in Germany in just over a month.)

Introduction

Since my fingers are wrinkled and my head feels like a tub of suds, I thought I'd post a couple of pictures instead of writing some more stories.

This is one of the small pot. Note: No windows in pot room.

This is my uniform. Yellow gloves, blue shirt, blue hat, black pants and a mustache. For some reason Women don't love this man in his uniform.

This is at Hut Point. The closest of Robert Scott's hut to McMurdo.

Hut Point (again different day). I really do have frost bite on my nose. It hurts, hence, the new apparel. In the background are the remains of a seal killed in early 1900's.

The day and moment I arrived in Antarctica.

For when it all hits the fan.

Comments

Hello Philly,
I haven't read the story yet to comment on it, but I was excited to tell you that I won the winners pool and the 7 pool both this week. Unfortunately 4 other people won the 7 pool too. But the winnings are good and Bettina has proven once and for all that she is a expert sports gambler. The win was a bit shallow in that I couldn't immediately call you and your girlfriend Smed to gloat. Miss ya,
Bettina and Kristen and Reggie and Cosmo and Buddy and my extra $200.00!

The last time I flew I was with three other people. We experienced what science fiction writers make up and sleepers dream about. We lept up off the earth, defied gravity and floated or flew, but really we just blew.

The conditions have to be right in order to fly in Antarctica. Or maybe the conditions and my judgment have to be wrong in order to fly, but right now the weather is just right to do what astronauts experience and parachuters feel and that is the feeling of flight.

Our homepage on the Internet give us the daily weather updates. Usually reading the weather comments is like watching the weather on TV--it's not too exciting (except, of course, Willard Scott--He's funny). The last couple of days our weather has looked like this:

It's the phrase: Tonight into Tomorrow it gets worse, so be prepared. That had me thinking--Time to fly, I better get prepared.

With wind this strong, there are two places to go flying. At the feet of Roll Cage Mary, a memorial to a Navy Guy who fell through the ice, or at the base of a Cross on Hut Point. This cross is a memorial to George Vince who holds the honor of being the first person to die in McMurdo when he came sailing in on the Discovery with Robert Scott and Earnest Shackleton.

Mr. Vince got turned around in a storm when he left his ship and went for a hike out to Castle Rock. On the way back, instead of turning left to head to the ship, he took one big step to the right and ended up falling down a ledge and drowning in the Sea. I've heard his final words were, "I'll be right back. In this storm, I think I can fly."

What makes the weather of this storm the perfect time to go out is that the wind is very warm. The temperature has been creeping into the double digits of Fahrenheit (minus nine Celsius) which brings the wind chill down to only minus 15 Fahrenheit (or -25C). Comparatively warm considering most of the other temperatures I've worked in, either in the food freezer or outside in the Mother Nature freezer.

Be prepared.

Getting prepared for this adventure meant only two things. I had to wear my Big Red issued Parka. I rarely wear this jacket, because it's so bulky and warm and one of my "friends" changed my name to Dork. The second preparation was music. If I was going to fly, I wanted the perfect soundtrack. This was Superwolf by Bonnie Prince Billy and Matt Sweeney.

I put on my jacket. Turned up the music. And stepped out the door.

The wind was blowing hard enough to blow the one foot that was outside the dorm out from underneath my weight. I held on to the doorknob for balance and tried to keep my excitement in check. The first song was singing, "My home is the sea." I live on an island. My home is the sea. Sure there are differences between the sea around my island and the island in the song, but these differences only fit the reality of this night.

In Antarctica I can walk on water and I can fly. I love my island.

I was the only one who was out walking towards Hut Point this night. I guess the others weren't prepared.

By the time I made it to Roll Cage Mary the wind was strong enough that hiking was a hassle. The big red parka caught the wind like I wanted, but not while I was trying to walk. My gait looked drunk, head down, feet wobbling, trying to concentrate on every placement of my foot. Up with Mary I took a breather and leaned into the wind. In my mind my body was at a 45 degree angle. In reality, it might have been 47.

I'm an awesome dreamer...Lift Us Up. Lift Us Up.

These words played on my Ipod, so I did. I jumped off the top of the hill and struck a pose like a ski jumper in the Olympics. My cumbersome jacket came into its full glory as it caught the wind like a parasail. It felt like I fell forward and was then blown backwards. Climb. Jump. Repeat.

Goodbye Mary. Hello George Vince.

I wanted to leave this area and head down to the Cross at Hut Point, because I knew the hill had a great incline for flying. Really though, more importantly, I knew what song was going to be playing soon and I wanted to be at the cross.

The wind was coming strong directly into my face. In my excitement to catch this weather, I forgot to bring my face mask and my goggles before I headed out. This meant my nose was cold and now my glasses had completely frosted over to the point that the best use for my glasses was to take them off.

The Wind is for Blowing.

I'd never noticed the line "The Wind is for Blowing" in the song the "Bed is for Sleeping." Just hearing those lyrics meant my journey was going better than I had prepared--aside from not being able to see, my frozen nose and the fact my eyes (without protection from my glasses) were being pelted with blowing ice crystals.

Unlike Vince, I didn't get lost trying to get to Hut Point, and I was right on cue. As soon as I reached out to touch his wooden cross with my mittened hand

Someday I must die
It ain't for me to know why
And I want to die in the sea

I don't know if "leeway" is the right word but this is how I used the width of Vince's Cross for a few minutes as an "allowable margin of freedom." It broke the wind that I had so desperately come out to find. This cross allowed my eyes to see and my face to thaw and to listen to the end of the song, "Death in the Sea."

When I stepped out from behind the cross on "Blood Embrace" I flew. I flew to the point of stupidity. I flew into a reality I will never forget.

Then my Ipod froze. So I went home.

It's happening so quickly. First I was excited to see the Sun, now it's nearly as exciting to see the night.

This post is just for this photo. I don't know who took it, but it seemed to capture this McMurdo Winter perfectly.

It was cold; it was dark; This is McMurdo. I liked being in the dark.

Dick in Darlington first contacted me on March 17, 2006.

I didn't know him and he didn't know me. Somehow he'd followed a few links and ended up at my website. Some people read. Some people leave comments. Dick asked a lot of questions. He wanted to know which way North was if you're standing on the South Pole. He asked about the guy who has to put up the flags that are situated around the South Pole. Then he said, "Jake - Look forward to your help with our world Duct Tape collection, more on that later."

This was where I was confused. Nobody calls me Jake. I've always liked the name. Thought it would be great to have a kid named Jake Jacobsen and even my grandfather was sometimes called, "Jake." Closest to Jake that I've ever come to being called is when Ben Bonnet refers to me as Jack something or another. But Jake?

Then, whether it was meant to confuse or entice, I was also hooked by the teaser of telling me about a Duct Tape collection. And that soon I would learn more about it.

Jake was interested.

A few days later Dick in Darlington (because this is how he signs all of his postings) told the story about his Duct Tape collection. He had Duct Tape from all corners of the world and now he was stuck on the idea of getting some from McMurdo--this was where I came in.

No problem. I said. Happy to oblige. I wrote. The only problem is the next flight to deliver the Duct Tape wouldn't happen for another five or six months.

No problem. Dick in Darlington said. I'm happy to wait.

And wait he did. Kind of like a child waits for Christmas. I found out Dick in Darlington is a school teacher in Darlington, Wisconsin who encourages his students to learn about the world we live in through Duct Tape. I found this out, because he'd write to me occasionally and leave messages on my website often. He left enough messages that my friends and family would ask if he was my friend or if we were related.

No, we're not related, and yes I suppose I would be his friend if I meet him. I'd also be friends with the guy who made Stonehenge out of Cadillacs or I'd be friends with the guy who thought he'd become rich by making a T-shirt for the 2002 Salt Lake City Olympics that said, "I went to Utah and all I got were these Dumb 7 Wives." Oh wait. That was me.

Every so often, every so posting Dick in Darlington would ask some question or tell me about his students reminding me that in 4, 3, 2, 1 months that I needed to remember to send him the roll of Duct Tape.

The roll I chose for Dick in Darlington sat on my desk all throughout my Antarctic Winter. Every so often I'd use it to do something very Antarctican like repair my shoes or my coat or Shandra's water bottle. Since we can't go shopping, Duct Tape is like our Ebay. We don't buy new things, we just repair what we have with what we have on hand at the lowest possible price--Duct Tape.

When it finally came time to send the Duct Tape, I was excited and I was sad. This roll was a fixture on my desk it became a part of my Winter and who was this Dick in Darlington to take my Duct Tape anyhow?

Of course this Duct Tape wouldn't have meant so much if it wasn't for Dick in Darlington, so I found a cardboard box to send him the Duct Tape. He asked that the roll be signed and dated, so I did that, too.

The box I'd chosen to send the Duct Tape in had been sliced open. It wasn't a box unless it could be taped together. It just so happens the very thing I was sending to Dick in Darlington had its last act of usefulness in Antarctica to send itself out of Antarctica. The Duct Tape Duct itself to Wisconsin.

If you'd like to learn more about Dick in Darlington's Duct Tape project, click here.

If you'd like Dick in Darlington's students to learn about the corner of the World where you live, send Duct Tape Here:
Richard Anderson
c/o Darlington High School
11838 Center Hill Rd.
Darlington, WI 53530

Keep on Ducting. For the kids.

These are my hands. These are not my hands. These are my hands.

It's almost a daily mantra in my head when I look at my hands. These are my hands?

My hands have been called soft. My hands have been called delicate and sometimes magical. You should see my card tricks. My hands have been called girly, smooth.

I have worked as a writer, reporter, graphic designer, waiter and my idle hands have been unemployed.

In Antarctica my hands freeze, thaw, refreeze, get hydrated and dehydrated. Antarctica is a desert and it really shows in my hands.

On Saturday I worked with Ben Bonnet in the freezer pulling several thousand pounds of food from the freezer shelves with these hands. They caught, carried, lifted and dropped food for 10 straight hours getting smashed, thrashed, trashed and frozen chicken.

When I worked behind a computer all day, typing crazy thoughts on a QWERTY Keyboard, my hands never got a scratch.

It's really strange to look at a part of my body that I used to know quite well, like the back of my hands, and say "No way. These are not my hands."

Soon these hands will be on vacation for nearly four months.

Now those will be my kind of hands.

I did see the Sun the day I saw the Sun, but what I didn't see on the Sun Day that was on Monday was my Shadow. And this was very disappointing.

The Sun I saw on the Sun Day that was on Monday was like the Sun you would see if you were watching the Sun set. It was bright enough to burn my eyes, but I wasn't bright enough not to stare at it. The Sun had the power to burn my corneas, but it did not have the intensity to cast a shadow.

The next morning I was talking to my friend and I said, "Yesterday I saw the Sun, but I didn't see my shadow. You see I always figured I'd be like that chipmunk Phil who lives in Punxsutawney, Pennsylvania and when he sees or doesn't see his shadow then the world knows whether or not Winter is ending soon or in a few weeks?"

She said, "Which Chipmunk is that?"

I was so frustrated with her, but I knew that as a Winter Over her brain couldn't remember everything about life and M&M's or even a Chipmunk named Phil who looks for his shadow.

I said, "Phil the Chipmunk who comes out in February and looks for his shadow. Bill Murray was in a movie called Ground Hog Day. It was all about the Chipmunk named Phil. Even Bill Murray's character was named, Phil."

It was just absolutely astounding that she looked at me like the United Nation's Deciding Everything Retarded On Our EarthS (UNDEROOES)had put on their Spider Man pajamas, eaten their Butterscotch pudding and then nominated me the King of Retards.

How could she not see the significance and the causation and correlation that my name is Phil and that if I see my shadow (like the chipmunk in Pennsylvania) then it means I only have four weeks left of Winter. Maybe she should be Queen of Stupidville.

"Phil," She said.

At least she knew my name, I thought.

"It's not a chipmunk. It's a Ground Hog."

Whatever. Today I saw my shadow on a box of Sulfuric Acid.

Winter is almost over.

I had this theory over the winter that all things chilly, cold and dark all existed inside this Milvan.

Milvan Number Eight Two Three.

My life as a Supply Guy on station revolves around Milvans. Once I got stuck in one and thought I'd die. And that was nothing next to 823.

You see, there isn't enough room to keep all the little bits and pieces needed to run science in McMurdo inside, in warmth. So a lot of our gear is stored outside in Milvans. A couple to several or only once a week I would have to go outside and get things from our Milvans or count things in our Milvans or put things in our Milvans. There are about 10-20 different Milvans in my jurisdiction and without fail I always had to get, put or count something each week in Milvan 823.

The Milvan doors are over six feet tall. They are metal and they are cold and they catch the wind like metal sails that will and have broken bones. The thing about 823 was it seemed like it was the vortex of the cold and the wind and the snow. Most of the other Milvans I needed to get into I could simply unhitch the locks by rotating one metal latch, then pulling one handle then yanking the other handle to open the doors.

Milvan 823 required lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and lots and damn it lots and lots and lots and lots of shoveling. The wind not only seemed to blow directly into it, it did blow directly in to it. It blew the snow into it and up against it.

Milvan 823 seemed to attract the wind like the Wind wanted to live in 823. Milvan 823 seemed to attract the cold and suck the heat from my body like it was singly responsible for turning Antarctica into an iceberg. Like if I could ship this container to Florida, then Pensacola would become Pensacolda and Antarctica would be Protica the Tropical Paradise.

photo by Cara Sucher
Yesterday as I ran outside to see the Sun and the camera crew who are doing a documentary about McMurdo and Antarctica came running behind me. Possibly it was because they sensed--with vampire-like acuity-- the rising of the sun, or perhaps it was because I paged them and said, "Photo Op--You, Me and Sunshine."

Knowing the Sun had risen two and a half weeks ago, but not seeing it, was like having a relative in town who didn't want to see me. I have carried my sunglasses around every day in hopes of putting them on. And everyday the Sun has said, "I'm too busy for you." When the time finally came I did a dumb thing. I stared at the Sun.

Then I ran closer. I ran to the point in McMurdo where it was the closest I could get without actually going on a hike. My friend Sky was there, too. He stared at the Sun, but he didn't wear sunglasses. I was the only person staring at the sun with my sunglasses on. In a way this makes me smart. In another way, the way I see it, I'm still blind.

The thing I like about this picture is Cara caught me in the moment where I was either taking off, or putting on my gloves. I thought that since I could see the Sun that I should feel the heat with my hands. When I took off my gloves it was freezing, so I had to put my gloves back on.

Once again I have to ask, "What's so hot about the Sun."

Hey there. What's new with you?

Nothing.

Oh.

As for me, I just saw the Virgin Mary.

Yup, she appeared to me in a duffle bag.

Cancel all reports, interviews and sightings of the Virgin Mary. Tell her faithful to end their migration to a piece of toast, a concrete wall or in random windows, because the Virgin Mary is in McMurdo.

This can't be a bad sign. Maybe today I'll see the sun. Not THE SON. Just--the sun.

Then again, this is the fourth time I have seen the Virgin Mary in Antarctica. But, it's been awhile. She must have a busy schedule. It can't be easy burning your image all over the world--I have a hard enough time looking in the mirror when I'm hung over. Let alone scorching my image into a tree trunk.

The first time I saw Mary, she was a bright light shining on the side of Building 203 A. This is a dorm room. It only made sense Mary would be on a dorm room, because everyone in Antarctica is assigned a roommate and a dorm. For Mary, we had room.

Granted the dorm she was appearing on isn't the best dorm in McMurdo--and you'd think she'd have enough housing points to stay in what we call "The Upper Case Dorms." Then again, this the same lady who gave birth in a barn.

The second time I saw Mary, I was sitting behind the Chapel of the Snows looking at the Royal Society Mountain Range and another bright light appeared. Not being all "I'm like Mary only the Mother of Jesus Christ--himself" did she appear on the Chapel. Nope, she shone bright on our Waste Water Treatment Plant. I called this one "The Farting Mary." Because every so often the Waste Water Treatment Plant emits a noise that sounds like gas being released from an ass. This sound seemed to come from the lit up Mary. I did not go towards the light.

Up until today, the last time I saw Mary was when her image came to me in the bright white outline of a snow drift. It, like her, was very pure. I pointed out this snow drift to Penny. Since this was my third visitation, Penny agreed something special was going on, just before she stepped on Mary.

Now, I can only surmise, that since Mary is in a Duffle Bag, that she is promising me safe travels and a bag full of money.

My name is Phil Jacobsen. I passed three psychological tests to come to Antarctica. The Virgin Mary didn't have to pass any tests. She just showed up with baggage.

Got My Sunshine I Feel Fine

I saw Mary six hours ago. It was a very overcast day. And then, six minutes ago, I saw the Sun. I can barely type for the amount of sunspots I have in my head. Thanks Duffle Bag Mary.

At some point during the Winter we had a Spelling Bee (the excitement was palpable). I don't remember which word I could not spell. I did spell, "Mousse."

Two weeks ago the Sun rose on my piece of the frozen pie we call Earth.

I was very excited to see the Sun. So excited in even thinking I would see the sun, I waited to write about the feeling of sunshine on my exposed skin (which would only be my nose, eyes and mouth) for you to read about.

Now I have to say, "What's so hot about the Sun?"

I still haven't seen it. Ever since the Sun rose it's like I've been living inside of a snow globe in constant shake up motion. The sky wants to hint that it can be blue, but it's really gray. This makes me blue.

I can feel myself and other Winter Overs getting very weary of looking to the sky for a hint of sunshine and only seeing the same scene we've been stuck in since April.

Instead of seeing sunshine, this is what has happened this week.

The difference between the new and the old people can be overwhelming. I feel slow. The summer people make me feel slow. They are like puppies. Hyper and sometimes not toilet trained. I mean they're cute and all, but sometimes they really just shit all over the place and don't even realize they have overstepped their boundaries.

Yesterday I was playing cards and a lady came up to the table and said, "Phil, you look like you need a hug." I said, "What I need is to be left alone." She then proceeded to hug me. For her it must have been like hugging a mannequin, I was tight, I was tense....I was bothered.

"Stop touching me," I told this over zealous mutt. Stop pissing on my carpet.

"I'm going to keep hugging," she said, "even if it bothers you."

"You're bothering me." I then did one of those self-defense twist moves and broke my way out of her embrace.

Ben Bonnet was sitting at the card table and he said, "That was great."

Nobody touched me the rest of the night. I thought that was great.

On the good side when the new planes and people came charging into town they brought fresh fruit and vegetables. The Winter Overs have been gathering at Hut 10, a small building that is used like an escape pod from McMurdo. Hut 10 would be equal to Motel 6 with a kitchen. This is where we hid out this weekend.

Inside our escape pod from McMurdo, we brought all of the food that has been donated or sent down to show us how it tastes to live in Sunshine. Avocadoes, red peppers, pineapples and tomatoes. Fresh cheeses, too.

On a Ritz cracker I built an homage to delicious. Using summer sausage, a slice of Peppered Havarti cheese, two slices of tomatoes and a wedge of Avocado. If this had been up for Auction in July, I would have paid hundred of dollars for this one cracker. Instead it was mine, for free and the vitamins and feelings of fresh vegetables in my body made goose bumps stand up on my toe nails.

Then, when Chris came by with a platter of pineapple, I took one piece, popped it in my mouth and sweat formed on my eyeballs. The tartness and taste of Pineapple was too much. Maybe the sweat was really a tear.

Maybe I just needed a hug?

Nah, don't give me a hug. Just give me a vegetable.

Then walk away--slowly.