The Dilemma of a Man

I wish Dave could see me now. The Larry Bird of Perfect North Ski School watched his promising pupil fail time and again merely two weeks ago on the icy slush of Lawrenceburg, Indiana. As we parted ways, I could see it in his eyes… “Kid, you’re destined for a day on the training slopes at a top speed that would struggle to keep up with Verne Troyer carrying Terrance Cody over his shoulder down a sandy beach… You’re just not cut out for this. Stick to the grass, buddy, and the world will spin a little smoother.”

Dave, I agreed with you. I agreed with you in Indiana, and I agreed with you at the top of the lift in Breckenridge, Colorado. Then came a revolutionary revelation: Two weeks after beginning my quest for the 2014 Winter Games, on a hill far away, I learned how to turn left. The Rocky Mountains were mine to conquer.

With my newly discovered ability, I could now stop getting angry at 6 year-olds humming past me on the slopes. I could move on to seeing how close I could get, at my pedestrian speed, to the woods without actually visiting the ghost of Sonny Bono past. I can’t explain how relieving it was to no longer be a complete failure. I had moved on to being below average, and I was thrilled.
There was no green circle slope in Breckenridge that could contain me. Sure, there were a few that took me down a time or two, but Colorado had no idea how good I got in Indiana at getting up on skis.

Turning right and left, snowplowing straight ahead, I was practically unstoppable. Then my so-called friends led me to a new lift. Whether it be a skewed view of myself or not, I like to think I’m rather perceptive. Observing my surroundings, it became evident that there was no green circle waiting for me at the top of this ride….

Here I was faced with a classic dilemma: what is more important to a male, pride or a general concern for self-preservation?

You cannot have both. At some point in your life, you will be forced to choose. The great males in history have all faced this dilemma at some point in their lives.

• Kevin McAlister chose to man-up and embarrass the wet bandits [You could argue self-preservation here, but you’d be wrong. That little hero could have wimped out, called the cops, camped out in the Catholic church, or hopped on a Penske truck to New York, but he chose to go all Under Armor and protect his house. And the movie would have sucked if he didn’t.]
• John Lennon went the love-clouded self-preservation route and scurried off with Yoko. Sure, he avoided a few cold showers, but the world missed out on at least another decade of nonsensical lyrics.
• Jimi Heselden chose pride. He set out to prove to the world that his Segway creations could do more than putter along at 2 miles an hour. Forget Red Bull. Buy a Segway and fly.
• Long before Jared walked to Subway and Jillian Michaels conned her way into a career of yelling at people, Gandhi threw self-preservation to the wind, embracing hunger for a greater cause.
• Tiger Woods should have been sitting in his recliner, popping Vicodins during the 2008 US Open but he chose pride. He hobbled around, making the world feel like the 200 million dollar man was the victim. Pride got him a big trophy, a big check, and probably two or three additional STDs.
• Michael Scott roundhouse kicked pride in the stomach and pawned his golden ticket idea off on dedicated Dwight K. Shrute. Dwight, on the other hand, put Dunder Mifflin’s reputation on his broad, beet-stained shoulders and made humanity proud to know their way around a pair of nunchucks.
  

I’m no John Lennon. I shuffled up to take my spot on the chair lift to my impending vegetative state. We rode that lift, bodies scattered on the ground below, to a dizzying altitude at which there were people in planes using approved portable electronic devices that were not as close to the ozone as we were. As the lift rose higher and higher, a great sense of apathy came over me. No fear. No adrenaline. My time had come. It was time for me to make up for the Michael Scotts of the world. We passed the “Tips up” sign. The snowy ground evened out. The chair began to turn, empty, leaving me alone at the top with only my skis and my pride.

Then I fell.

Tumbled right off the chair. Popped a ski off. Spun my pole like a baton twirler at halftime.

I picked up my pole, my ski, and fumbled around for my confidence. It was all downhill from there. Only literally though, not metaphorically. Breckenridge blue diamond achieved. Dave was right there beside me the whole time. Metaphorically, of course.


Don’t get me wrong… I’m still not a good skier. But the secondary mantra for the weekend proved true [NOTE: the primary mantra was Firework by Katy Perry, but that one wasn’t really a demarcation point for success.] Practice makes not so sucky.

An Open Letter from a Plane

Dear Ten Thousand Feet,

I have never longed for you more than today. After an hour of sitting in the plane on the tarmac, I have missed you like Lieutenant Al Powell of Die Hard fame misses Twinkies. It seems Denver had a mile high of 9 degrees today. Therefore I got my first de-icing experience. Unfortunately, this came at a time when I was seated in front of a very talkative threesome.

Things started off promising. As a Southwest B01 boarding pass, I had to go to the rear of the plane to get my aisle seat. However, I did manage to lock down row 17. For those frequent Southwest fliers, you know what this means. For the grounded, this means I am on the first row for drink orders in the back third of the cabin. Count it. Then the conversation began behind me…

The young gentleman began explaining the de-icing process and related payment schedule to the two young ladies. When asked how he knew all of this, he explained he was in construction and his boss had sent him to Aviation conventions. A few jokes and casual references to his smoking and drinking habits later, the ladies revealed they were doing graduate research at Vanderbilt. Their field: Molecular Physiology.

Bob the builder was not fazed by this daunting career variance. The ladies began explaining their fields of research, each having a focus in Diabetes. Bob talked about how his grandfather makes a great cheesecake. They begin explaining the differences between type I and type II. He tells about how someone in Denver offered his grandma a bowl of marijuana. They explain how a research facility operates. He talks about roofies.

I cannot make this stuff up.

[Meanwhile, as I have discovered that typing these things makes a flight go by faster, I am at it again. The flight attendant just moved on to take row 18’s orders. Unfortunately, an old man had just finished up in the rear restroom. This old man passed the flight attendant right at my shoulder. And yes, he did go butt towards the flight attendant. As I had been missing you so much, I had my earphones in at 10,002 feet; therefore, I had no audible warning of the fast approaching old man genitalia. Four layers of fabric have never felt so insufficient as the four between my shoulder and that old man’s crotch.]

The combination of early boarding, waiting for connecting luggage, and de-icing provided me a full hour of this auditory anguish. Currently, the ipod is at full volume. Alas, Bob’s chainsaw of a voice still pierces my ears. The scientists appear happy to be conversing with something other than a fieldmouse, so the conversation continues.

Ten Thousand Feet, as soon as I sit down in a fully upright seat, there’s always something missing. My approved electronic device waits, patiently stowed, for me to retrieve it. Without you, TTF, I am incomplete. I know so often you go unnoticed. A mere number, a threshold of aural enjoyment. Not today. Today, TTF, I thank you.

Well, I guess we’re together now, and I finally got that off my digital chest. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m going to go ahead and bask in the joy that is you. Still though, I think this plane is bound to land with at least 4 people who are dumber than they were when we began de-icing.
This is me promising to never again take you for granted.

Love,

Row 17.

[NOTE: Tune in next time for my most recent skiing adventure... it went a little differently than the last.]

Living the Mile High Life

What did you learn this weekend? Ok, I’ll go first. Well, I pretty much learned how to ski – more of that to come in a later post – but, outside of skiing, this was still a very educational weekend…

• I learned a new game… Irish Uno. With the new game came the following lessons: How to sing “Firework” while keeping one’s tongue outside the classic barrier that is one’s lips. Loren learned how to play an entire game without using the first person subjective pronoun. I also learned that everyone I was playing said game with spoke much better British than I.
• I learned one can sleep in a ski lodge and people will go on about life around you, especially children showering you with their slobbery Oreo crumbs.
• I learned that near the prison outside of Denver, there is a sign that reads, “Correctional Facility: Do Not Pick Up Hitchhikers.”
• I learned a fireworks show on top of a mountain consists of 3 One Bad Mothers, a Louisiana Yard Dog, and an Ultimate Fantasy.
• I learned if you’re looking to buy weed, all you have to do is move to Denver and pull a muscle when you sneeze.
• I learned real people really do ice-fish. We drove past a frozen lake on Sunday to see 15 iceholes on the lake. Beside the iceholes, there was also an icy racetrack where jeeps were going all "2 Fast 2 Furious."
• I learned to not take my six-and-a-half foot shower head for granted ever again.
• I learned, for some people, adjusting to the higher altitude means you have the stomach of an Olsen twin. Hi, I’m some people. I never thought half a cookie would do me in. Forget Jenny Craig, just live on a mountain. As the mysterious third verse of “The Wise Man Built His House Upon the Sand” goes, when the altitude goes up, the BMI goes down.
• I learned really good and really bad snowboarders both have a keen sense of knowing when they’re up a proverbial creek. As one gentleman was boarding up a ramp he began his profane proclamation. He waited until his head hit the ground to finish.
• I learned not having cable is totally worth not watching Jersey Shore.
• I learned that when one finds oneself “shopping” with friends of the opposite sex, seeing how many times one can ride the escalator in Forever 21 before leaving can leave one feeling very creepy. One gave up after merely two escalator laps.
• I learned there was a “Take the Money and Run” before “Take the Money and Run.”
• I learned one can park a 4-Runner in a Nike Shoebox. Just don’t expect the door not to get stuck.
• I learned girls look very attractive in a ski resort.
• I learned you can’t see wedding rings through ski gloves.
• I learned that the Tulane and New Mexico basketball teams fly Southwest. And, as a result of my seeing these teams and knowing how to use Google, I learned that New Mexico would beat Tulane by 20.
• I learned there is a time and place for bunkbeds. Namely, childhood or prison.
  

Finally, I learned that suckers like you will read anything I put up here. But seriously, thanks for stopping by. I strive to give you all the highlights of my boring life while hand-selecting the grammar rules I want to break each post.