JUNEAU -- Alaskans can find novel uses for all sorts of things, like changing tires with a Mag-Torch or shoveling snow with a weed-burner. There's a cabin up the road shingled with a bunch of old records — vinyl siding.
This idiosyncratic utilitarianism is due to the fact that almost any activity up here requires burlier gear than anywhere else. For instance, you can't pull certain Alaska sport fish into your boat without shooting them first — right in the face. Routine yard maintenance routinely requires a chain saw. And outdoor summer wedding attire means full Hellys.
But Alaskans also prize resourcefulness. For instance, I've learned masonry trowels make excellent spatulas, spatulas make excellent Play-Doh tools, and Play-Doh tools make extremely painful things to step on in the middle of the night.
This is to say nothing of the tarp, by which I mean the blue plastic variety as opposed to the federal relief fund (although you have to admit, a little federal relief is starting to sound pretty good). Up here, people use tarps as windows, roofing, carports, boat sheds, wood sheds, for tying down truckloads of other tarps, as outerwear, as underwear. Heck, with a section of tarp, a washcloth and some bungee cords, you've got yourself a wilderness diaper, sir.
Then, of course, there's Alaska's favorite all-purpose material. You know the one (hint: It rhymes with "plucked ape").
We all have our favorite uses for duct tape: book covers, wallets, reattaching bumpers, wrapping and/or sealing ducts (interestingly enough, among its least effective uses), a cheap and durable mummy costume for Halloween, lifting and separating when you wear a strapless evening gown. The list goes on.
However fond I am of duct tape, I love another multiuse adhesive even more. And I don't mean electrical tape (although that's good stuff, too, for fashioning a makeshift puck to slap around the garage when you're supposed to be cleaning it out, not blasting Metallica and playing push-broom hockey with yourself).
Spell it with a 'K'
No, I'm talking about ethyl cyanoacrylate, commonly sold under the trade name Krazy Glue.
First of all, Krazy Glue is more than just regular glue. It's krazy —with a K.
They say that when all you have is a hammer, everything looks like a nail. Well, when all you have is a tube of Krazy Glue, everything looks like a construction worker hanging by his hard hat from a steel girder.
I use Krazy Glue for everything: reattaching coffee cup handles; repairing furniture; patching waders; fixing broken Play-Doh tools after stepping on them in the middle of the night. Several of my toenails have been reattached using it.
Hobby enthusiasts build models with Krazy Glue. Criminologists use Krazy Glue to reveal hidden fingerprints. Surgeons use Krazy Glue to close wounds. Krazy Glue was the basis of a hilarious gag involving a mix-up with shampoo in "Police Academy 2." One story on krazyglue.com even tells of a man who used it to free himself from a portable toilet. I'd like to see duct tape do that.
Before I continue, let me go on record: For all you kids out there (and, let's face it, some adults, too), I DO NOT condone the recreational sniffing of Krazy Glue. Not only can it cause permanent brain damage, you run the serious risk of accidentally gluing your nostrils shut. Talk about a buzz kill.
ER or Krazy Glue?
Which brings me to my favorite use of Krazy Glue: healing those annoying little splits I always get on my hands.
I learned this from an accomplished wilderness first-responder. You know, one of those guys who's got stories about stitching up his own wounds with duct tape sutures and a Leatherman after applying lighter fluid as an antiseptic (while cooking a pot of caribou meatballs on his snowmachine engine).
The other day, a friend's son took a nasty spill, opening a several-inch gash in his head that necessitated a trip to the emergency room. Jokingly, I asked this friend why he didn't just stitch it up with duct tape. Not nearly as jokingly, his wife said that was his original suggestion.
These friends weren't hundreds of miles into the Alaska wilderness (they actually live a few houses down from the vinyl siding guy). Western medicine practiced by licensed providers at a state-accredited facility got the call that night. I think that's important to remember -- even in Alaska, a little modern civilization can come in handy.
P.S.: Guess what the ER applied on top of the kid's stitches, which weren't made of duct tape, by the way?
Krazy Glue. I rest my case.
Geoff Kirsch is a Juneau-based writer and humorist currently working on an essay collection based upon his long-running column in the Juneau Empire.