Fake Bake'n

16 days and counting until my friends' wedding. I kind of ski a lot, as you may know. In the spring, when it's 60 degrees out, snowmelt and sweat compete for drenching rights. The days are lovely and feel like being on a beach surrounded by endless, free slushies. A few of the noteworthy, possibly less desirable consequences include...

1. Stinky boots in the locker room. 100+ pairs of em can almost knock you out on a humid spring afternoon, seriously. Boo.

2. Funky tans. Usually only on the lower face and hands, if they're glove-free. These can be interesting conversation pieces.

Case in point: I did not manipulate the colors in this photo at all. Spring 2008's goggle tan.

Normally, I'd sport the spring ski tan with pride. However, something tells me it would be impolite to show up in the bridal party rocking a stark white chest and arms accented by a dirty tan lower face and brown hands. Especially noting that the dress I will be wearing is sleeveless, and these are my friends, and this is their actual wedding, and they probably want the photographs that are costing them thousands of dollars to look nice.

So, I did the preposterous. I paid to be locked in a light bulb coffin with the intent of turning colors. I am going to do it a few more times before the wedding, even though it is ridiculous. The cute, energetic salesgirl actually tried to pitch a $100 bottle of lotion to me - right. No. I'll only go so far with vanity in the name of friendship, that is over the limit. As if I would piddle away money that will otherwise go toward climbing gear, real life, etc on lotion, of all things.

Go ahead, play the game.
"What do these items have in common...?"

1. Tanning Bed





2. Space ship








3. Toaster Oven (buns not included.)






[Hey, you soon to be newlyweds, now you know how much I love you. ;) ]

Eyelashes Beware!

It's always seemed counter intuitive to put these things reallllly close to my eye and clamp down.
Recently, that feeling has been justified. Did you know that if you squeeze hard enough, it's possible to bust through the little pad and lop your lashes right off? It is. Just thought I'd pass that on, while I'm sitting here waiting for 1/4 of them to grow back.

Signs of the Times

In all my disengagement, I haven't avoided as much of the junk show campaign process as I would have liked. Money, solicitation, wasted resources – propaganda today, landfill tomorrow. The hurled insults, the debasement, the ridicule. The looks of arrogance and pride, and the unrelenting vocal polarization of solutions and ideas. The annoying calls I keep getting from unknown numbers. "If the election were to happen today..."

I can affirm with full confidence that there is nothing supernatural or heroic about the animalistic claw for power I’m watching and listening to from the opposing camps. This is not a battle of Good VS. Evil. You do not make yourself look better by flexing your destructive powers on the opposition. I don’t want to see a well rehearsed destroyer and defamer become the next Commander in Chief.

Whether it's in simplicity or naivete that I utter this, all I want is to live a good life and be happy. I'll work for it. I'll do my part.

I don't expect the government to deliver it to me on a silver platter - though I would be among the most grateful beneficiaries of Universal Healt Care, I see it as a pipe dream in the midst of instability and financial turbulence.

I DO expect a goverment that leaves the delicate landscapes of this beautiful country AT the LEAST, preserved. Every time I hear Sarah Palin utter the word energy, I reach for a paper bag and start hyperventilating. When she says “drill” and “nuc-yelur,” I actually hurl.

I want the next generation to know what it feels like to run barefoot on a beach, ski on pristine layers of fresh fallen snow.

I'd like there to be markets and production of gear/transportation/etc. that makes playing outside comfortable. But the humans before us could ski on planks rougher than today's hardwood floors and love it, I could learn to, if push came to shove.

Growing up, we played hard and busted ourselves up on gnarly playground equipment. [Anyone remember old Camel's Back park?] If the world as we know it were to end, it might take a while to reverse adaptations to padded, plastic coated play time and easy, hand-it-to me routine, but the fittest would survive.

Is that what we're looking at here? Complete failure of the system, or a the next Savior of the human race?

Regardless of the victor this fall, they’ve got their work cut out for them. One half or the other of us is going to have to console ourselves with, at best, some new tunes, a warm bath, maybe a run around the block.

Maybe, just maybe, a run to your bomb shelter in the hills. I'd be prepared. Just make sure it isn’t on the north slope of Alaska, because it might not be there this time next year.