"Nothing is impossible, Mario. Improbable, unlikely, but never impossible." - John Leguizamo as Luigi, Super Mario Brothers

Yeah, that's the best picture I got of John Leguizamo and Governor Murkowski. You get a better one holding your camera up in the air at the back of a crowd, with the zoom on full. At night.

In a daring move, I bypassed the main crowd, and took us toward the site where John Leguizamo and Governor Murkowski would be cutting the ribbon on the Children’s Park. We finally got there, and found the remnants of Fairbanks that weren’t still standing in line to get in. We couldn’t get close enough to decently photograph John Leguizamo, let alone hobnob with him.

John Leguizamo acquitted himself wonderfully. He noted that “Fairbanks is so very, very much colder and more beautiful than he’d expected,” and that “John Wilder and his writings have changed my life. All hail John Wilder, future Nobel and MacArthur prize winner!” The crowd roared.

Okay, I’m doing that from memory, so it may not be exact. Of course, he I’m pretty sure he wasn’t going to come up here and say, “Dang, this place is hella cold, and I’m outta here. Keep your damn ice.” That would have been poor form. After his speech, he and the Governor took huge propane torches (really) and melted an ice ribbon. Everyone else left, and we walked down toward the commotion. We got within a dozen or so feet of John Leguizamo while he gave an interview at zero degrees. Fahrenheit zero, not Communist zero.

We wandered off, and saw more glorious ice sculptures. Some eighteen feet high. Wondrous things. After a bit of walking in the cold, we decided to get some coffee and cocoa. That’s when more trouble started.

It seems that John Leguizamo was giving an interview in the very building that had the coffee. It was like Ringo and Paul McCartney were there doing a nude photo shoot with underage Smurfs (sorry, that would be Pete Townsend). The place was packed by star gawkers looking to get up close and personal with John Leguizamo. My own thought was that these people were between me and my coffee. There are three places you don’t want to be in this world:

• Between Paris Hilton and a camera
• Between me and my coffee
• Between me and my beer

I formed a single-man flying wedge and got The Mrs. and Stroller Boy (The New Boy) and The Boy inside though the clutches of poster and DVD and pen holding people salivating for John Leguizamo to finish his interview. I swear, if he would have come out toward them, they would ripped off his clothes. Then, perhaps they would have treated him like the cannibal zombies in Land of the Dead, except that he would be happy for the end, because then he wouldn’t be cold anymore.

I got my damn coffee.

As I poured the piping hot caffeinated love down my throat, the crowd began to disburse. It seems that Leguizamo, like Elvis, had left the building. I could hear a distant communal scream as he made his way to his waiting car.

The Mrs., The New Boy, The Boy and I made our way around the ice park. It seemed so desolate after John Leguizamo left. Like an empty husk. Actually, it was still crammed with people, and a good time. The Boy announced his intention to void his bladder, appropriate receptacle available or not. Given that he was trussed up in snowpants and jacket and seventeen layers of clothing, he requested I help him.

I did. After holding hat, gloves, jacket, and sweat jacket, he finally got ready to pee (none of this was as easy as it sounds – this was a porta-potty). As he did, I noticed that his baseball jersey had a friend. He’d worn a clip-on, little boy tie. Well, if you’re going to see the Governor and John Leguizamo, I guess you’d want to dress up a bit.

After getting him trussed back up in his winter clothes, The Boy slid on the slides. We got tired and went home. A good night had by all.

On the way home I asked The Mrs., “What do you think of Leguizamo now?”

Her response, “Well,” long pause, “he’s okay.”

So, John Leguizamo, you made a bunch of people in Fairbanks happy. You made a bunch of people scream like Ringo did in 1962. And, you got yourself on the good side of The Mrs. Trust me. You want to be on the good side of The Mrs.

By the way, I’ve been noting all the hits from Beverly Hills. That’s gotta be you, John. Do you think we could work Life in Alaska into a project? I would so be up for that. Especially if we could do zombies.