Living in a ski resort town, we get all kinds of people. The weekend tourist, up from Denver, or the Front Range somewhere, the European skier, the west coaster and the east coaster. They come from everywhere - all over the United States. Depending on the time of year usually dictates what we see as far as tourists go. Right now, its "Blues Break". Some school systems in the United States have this second winter break, mid February. Steamboat is no different. This time of year offers families, and also the high dollar tourist some pretty good snow conditions. The last week saw 5 feet of the white stuff falling. Funny how Ann Coulter shows up in town, and all of a sudden powder gods dump 5 feet of deep powder across the Yampa Valley.
I detest the chore of grocery shopping. During off season, its not too bad, as most locals have a brain between their ears, and not some vast, wide open spaces, as the Dixie Chicks lamented about a few years ago. Maybe its the metal detector, or the TSA security checkers who are doing body cavity searches. I don't know. But what I can tell you is that tourists in Steamboat can be the most vacant headed of people in the entire world.
I never knew it took 8 people to pick out a frozen pizza at the grocery store. I also did not know that when all the cars in a parking lot are nosed in, going a certain direction, that odds are that some one from Texas, Jersey, Tennessee or Florida can take that to mean they should drive the opposing direction in the parking lot.
Locals can often be overheard uttering under their breath, "tourons". The grocery check out lane that reads 15 items or less, or quick check out should then be interpreted as 100 items or more, plus 5 extra people just to keep you company, while you chatter away, causing mass congestion. It simply defies logic.
Today my husband and I ventured into our local grocery store, against our better judgment to pick up a few items, 3:30p.m. on a Saturday. When every fiber of your being tells you not to walk into a burning building, but you still do it - well I suppose we were just asking for it. One of the mannerisms I possess, which I firmly believe that my husband wishes I would lose, is my ability to strike up conversations with anyone. That, coupled with the fact that apparently we are not the only locals dumb enough to enter the grocery on a big ski day, introduces a demented type of social hour in the pasta line. I usually find some other local to chat with. We are smart enough to pull our carts to a side aisle, where there is no way that we can be in someone else's way.
At any rate, here we were, in the grocery and trying to get a few things. One of my biggest irks are full length fur coats. Really? Is it THAT cold inside the grocery store that you need to wear a full length fur coat? First and foremost is the fact that some poor little creature gave his life so that you could dress in such a hideous manner. Secondly, this is Steamboat, not Vail or Aspen. Locals here in Steamboat pride ourselves in dressing like real people. Its not uncommon to see a local walking in their old Uggs, over sized sweats and a sweatshirt at any given time of the day during winter. We are at the grocery store to buy produce, or meat or mixers for cocktails. Its not a fashion show or a runway in Paris during fashion week. It's City Market. We want to get in, get our stuff, and get out.
So, back to the fur coat. This afternoon, common sense was out of stock and stupidity, and lack of consideration were overstocked. We were unlucky enough to be stuck behind some dame in a full length mink coat, with a weird GI Joe kind of belt, a red fedora and a cell phone surgically attached to her head. I suppose that cell phone was the only thing keeping her head warm, as I am sure there must have been a wind tunnel between her ears, and underneath her over bleached hair. I tried in vain to navigate around this woman. Of course it was evident that her GPS system was out of sync. No matter what I did to attempt to get around her, there was no way around it. She was a road block on my grocery store freeway. I looked at my husband, and he gazed at me, and there we stood, our shoulders shrugged, and chuckling. I guess you have to laugh, because what else is there? Sure, I could open my mouth and say something, but in the end, all this would accomplish is my husband getting upset, and me needing an ativan. Keeping sober is top priority to me, so, I try not to get my dander up when stupidity comes within range, disguised as an older, fur coated, cell phoned lady. At least I was not the only one who noticed this absurd display of lunacy...other shoppers were equally amused. That's what we do in Steamboat, we share! This dame looked like something out of the Vagina Monologues. Really, who wears fur with a red fedora?
My husband mentioned to me that after a 30 minute trip to the grocery store, on a weekend, with the fur coat lady causing traffic obstacles, he now fully understood Hannibal Lecter's desire to eat the the rude - the free range rude as it were.
Prilosec. I had to detour around her, and found myself standing in front of antacids. Somehow a 30 year old Jameson sounds more relaxing.
About Me
- anniemac
- My husband tells me I am a makebate. So, what's wrong with that? I love to write. I have 2 great kids and 1 grandson. I'd love to say I am "retired" but really, who retires from life? Shoot me a question, comment, rant or rave. They are all welcome here. Love dogs, my family, and most of all, debate. Pro NRA, conservative and a right wing lady.
Saturday, February 25, 2012
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
I want my Free Speech - and maybe even a ticket to Ann Coulter
Our forefathers were pretty smart fellows. They came from a country without democracy, and started something new and exciting over here in the new world. They drafted documents that would seal our fate as a democratic nation; "one nation, under God" ... and now 200 +years later, the great scholars of every street corner USA are trying to put their own spin on those "guidelines".
My favorite, aside from all men being created equal, is the Free Speech banner. The 1st and 14th amendments lay it out in relatively plain language. Nothing too glamorous. We, as an over analyzed, overly sensitive, nation have somehow take the forefathers intent of free speech and pretty much washed it in too much debate to the point where it no longer is a true reflection of what the forefathers were probably trying to convey.
Common sense. Thomas Paine wrote about it, but apparently some were absent the day common sense for the every day man was being taught in 7th grade social studies class. That seems to be the major idea lacking in current society. How many people back in the days of a new nation would have ever thought that someone whack job might take a fancy to screaming "FIRE" in a crowded movie theater, and then further add insult to injury by trying to defend that ridiculous level of stupidity with free speech.
Brandenburg v. Ohio, 395 U.S. 444 (1969) took on the free speech argument in 1964. Again some level of common sense needs to be allowed to filter through the dense, thick skulled minions of the KKK, and surely a reasonable and sane person would perhaps realize that making inflammatory remarks about "niggers and jews" in the 1964 racial movement of segregation, and civil rights, would most likely incite other followers/hate mongers to possibly act in a violent manner. Thus the argument of a clear and present danger. No, I'm not talking Harrison Ford and Tom Clancy novels here. (Schenck v. United States, 249 U.S. 47 (1919)
Last weekend, The Steamboat Institute hosted a dinner which included conservative writer, political pundit, lawyer and public figure, Ann Coulter. I attended the engagement. It was fantastic. Prior to her arrival, some citizens were up in arms that our community would be hosting someone who is a "hate monger", a "racist", just to name a few choice name calling and highly bland comments uttered by the people in the back row of a free speech class in high school. Why, we even had a few "Occupiers" out in the cold winter air, 8 of them, voicing their freedom of speech as to how they found Ann Coulter.
The question does beg for an answer though.. What if Maureen Dowd, James Carville, Alan Colmes or even Rachel Maddow were the speaker that night? Would these figures who are equally polarizing and offensive to the more conservative viewpoint, been met by the same occupiers? No, I doubt it. The freedom of speech thing seems to swing only one way; and that is usually against a conservative speaker. I had to laugh that the libbies were hell bent on making sure Ann Coulter not come to Steamboat, yet they failed to see the most important part of this social studies lesson - the free speech argument. Ms. Coulter was allowed to come here speak, not inflame anyone, and enjoy the beauty of Steamboat. Isn't that a gift of free speech? It would appear to me that liberals only look at one side of the story.
Tonight, NBC Nightly News (OMG- A conservative such as myself watching the evil NBC, a liberal news program) featured a story of a man who falsely portrayed himself as a war hero and Medal of Honor recipient. His attorney was arguing his right to free speech. Has society really slipped into this dark hole? Come on, really? Are we to presume that the dishonest man in question has so little opinion of himself, that he then seeks out an attorney, who will actually take the case and defend it under the guise if freedom of speech? Has society slipped so far away from common sense and what our forefathers had in mind when they were having a "get together" to scribe out our future "guidelines", that its turned into an "anything goes, freedom of speech" soiree?
This country has turned into a love fest of white bread speakese, where no one gets hurt, the truth is never told because we are afraid to hurt feelings, and there are thousands of lawyers who will take these silly cases, when really, the notion of free speech had nothing to do with what our fore fathers were facing back then.
In my perfect world, I say what ever I want, in a respectful manner, with some consideration for how it may offend someone else. I try to be respectful towards someone who has a view that is 180 from mine. I listen to their free speech, they listen to mine. Maybe we might meet in the middle, perhaps even come to come sort of common ground. Other times, the argument becomes about as hot and miserable as sitting in a un-air conditioned station wagon in 1964. Once we take away freedom of speech, this country loses some of its greatness, and one of the forefathers turns over in his grave.
My favorite, aside from all men being created equal, is the Free Speech banner. The 1st and 14th amendments lay it out in relatively plain language. Nothing too glamorous. We, as an over analyzed, overly sensitive, nation have somehow take the forefathers intent of free speech and pretty much washed it in too much debate to the point where it no longer is a true reflection of what the forefathers were probably trying to convey.
Common sense. Thomas Paine wrote about it, but apparently some were absent the day common sense for the every day man was being taught in 7th grade social studies class. That seems to be the major idea lacking in current society. How many people back in the days of a new nation would have ever thought that someone whack job might take a fancy to screaming "FIRE" in a crowded movie theater, and then further add insult to injury by trying to defend that ridiculous level of stupidity with free speech.
Brandenburg v. Ohio, 395 U.S. 444 (1969) took on the free speech argument in 1964. Again some level of common sense needs to be allowed to filter through the dense, thick skulled minions of the KKK, and surely a reasonable and sane person would perhaps realize that making inflammatory remarks about "niggers and jews" in the 1964 racial movement of segregation, and civil rights, would most likely incite other followers/hate mongers to possibly act in a violent manner. Thus the argument of a clear and present danger. No, I'm not talking Harrison Ford and Tom Clancy novels here. (Schenck v. United States, 249 U.S. 47 (1919)
Last weekend, The Steamboat Institute hosted a dinner which included conservative writer, political pundit, lawyer and public figure, Ann Coulter. I attended the engagement. It was fantastic. Prior to her arrival, some citizens were up in arms that our community would be hosting someone who is a "hate monger", a "racist", just to name a few choice name calling and highly bland comments uttered by the people in the back row of a free speech class in high school. Why, we even had a few "Occupiers" out in the cold winter air, 8 of them, voicing their freedom of speech as to how they found Ann Coulter.
The question does beg for an answer though.. What if Maureen Dowd, James Carville, Alan Colmes or even Rachel Maddow were the speaker that night? Would these figures who are equally polarizing and offensive to the more conservative viewpoint, been met by the same occupiers? No, I doubt it. The freedom of speech thing seems to swing only one way; and that is usually against a conservative speaker. I had to laugh that the libbies were hell bent on making sure Ann Coulter not come to Steamboat, yet they failed to see the most important part of this social studies lesson - the free speech argument. Ms. Coulter was allowed to come here speak, not inflame anyone, and enjoy the beauty of Steamboat. Isn't that a gift of free speech? It would appear to me that liberals only look at one side of the story.
Tonight, NBC Nightly News (OMG- A conservative such as myself watching the evil NBC, a liberal news program) featured a story of a man who falsely portrayed himself as a war hero and Medal of Honor recipient. His attorney was arguing his right to free speech. Has society really slipped into this dark hole? Come on, really? Are we to presume that the dishonest man in question has so little opinion of himself, that he then seeks out an attorney, who will actually take the case and defend it under the guise if freedom of speech? Has society slipped so far away from common sense and what our forefathers had in mind when they were having a "get together" to scribe out our future "guidelines", that its turned into an "anything goes, freedom of speech" soiree?
This country has turned into a love fest of white bread speakese, where no one gets hurt, the truth is never told because we are afraid to hurt feelings, and there are thousands of lawyers who will take these silly cases, when really, the notion of free speech had nothing to do with what our fore fathers were facing back then.
In my perfect world, I say what ever I want, in a respectful manner, with some consideration for how it may offend someone else. I try to be respectful towards someone who has a view that is 180 from mine. I listen to their free speech, they listen to mine. Maybe we might meet in the middle, perhaps even come to come sort of common ground. Other times, the argument becomes about as hot and miserable as sitting in a un-air conditioned station wagon in 1964. Once we take away freedom of speech, this country loses some of its greatness, and one of the forefathers turns over in his grave.
Wednesday, February 15, 2012
Jill Kinmont on the Other Side of the Mountain
During the winter of 1976, while playing as a sweeper fullback for my AYSO soccer team, I broke my right arm. Snap! Both the radius and ulna were broken. An opposing offensive player came at me with the ball, and I came in from the side to tackle. I managed to get a yellow card, and also a cast clean up to my humerus head. There was no such thing as fiberglass back then, and so I returned from Christmas break with a full cast and tales of glory over a great defensive move. More than likely, the pain I feel in my arm, especially on night's like this, when the barometric pressure has dropped, and snow has begun to fall, are the lasting effects from that break in 1976.
During my Christmas break, my adoptive gramps, Nick Zeiner, gave me a book in order to help me with my recovery. "The Other Side of the Mountain". It was a true story of the 18 year old U.S. Olympic ski team hopeful, Jill Kinmont. While at trials in Alta, Utah, Jill crashed on a run, slid into a spectator and then a tree. She broke her neck. From that day on, Jill lived life in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the shoulders down. My "gramps" thought I could relate to Ms. Kinmont. Of course, at the time, in 1976, I was not an avid skier. I had taken up the scary sport a few years earlier, at Mammoth Mountain, CA, and was still on the timid side of the sport. The thought of flying at exceedingly, dare devil speeds was not my forte.
However, I suppose my Gramps saw in me some sort of free spirit. I loved soccer. I played softball for a few years through Northridge Little League, but really, my game was soccer. My parents had my siblings and I all in the sport. While some of us were better at offense than defense, I thrilled at the chance to be a defensive player. I was either in the goal, or on the fullback line. I was not a big girl, but rather had a hell of a kick, and thus when a winger would come speeding down the field towards our goal, I knew they'd have to get past me. I played soccer until I was in the 11th grade. If only I had stuck with it, I would not be cursed with the ever daunting task of watching my weight.
But, I am off the subject now. A few days ago, the music world received shocking news that yet another once talented singer had fallen as a result of a life of drugs, booze and too much partying. The Grammy's were "a celebration of Ms. Houston's life", and entertainers were fast to get up on stage and pontificate as to how Ms. Houston may have touched their lives. Don't get me wrong - having suffered the horrors of addiction myself, I know it's a disease. It can be a disease that an addict can control though. And certainly, just as others have fallen prey to the enticing lifestyle of addiction, there are always enablers. So I suppose my sympathy isn't as devout as some of the enablers that Ms. Houston had in her life and more than likely, her death.
Silently, Ms. Jill Kinmont Boothe passed away on February 9, 2012, just 2 days before Ms. Houston. I couldn't help but see the irony in this. Although I am not speaking from any type of personal experience, and have no one directly in my life who is a quadriplegic, I can only imagine the battles that an 18 y/o sports figure, like Jill Kinmont endured after her horrible crash in Alta. So much promise on the skiing circuit, her chance at international fame was cut short. However, such obstacles did not define Ms. Kinmont. She was able to overcome her disability. She attended college, earned a degree; actually two. She married, and taught school in Bishop, CA. She lived a long and fruitful life, and I am quite confident that her students are glad that she was part of their lives.
So, what did the main stream media do about this sad news? Nothing. I read about Ms. Kinmont's death in the OBIT section of the Los Angeles Times. Not even a full page. Jill Kinmont rose above her disability, and did not let that deter her from great achievements. Did anyone in Steamboat even know that Jill Kinmont was at one time the girl friend to the very mountain we see in front of us every day? Buddy Werner. Mt. Werner. Ms. Kinmont had every reason to give up on life, do prescription drugs, booze and destroy her life. She kept on living. She never gave up. Yet, our media is so obsessed with stardom, that we can't fathom the other people in the world that make a difference in hundreds of peoples' lives every single day.
What about the military men & women who never return home from war? How many times does the media make a big, stinking deal about those heroes? Are we, as a society, so addicted to being voyeurs into celebrity lives, that we are unable to fully appreciate the measures that our military go to in order to give celebrities a voice in a free country? It boggles my mind.
The next time a celebrity bites the big one over a self induced lifestyle to the evil ways of addiction, I wonder which news outlet will fall over the other to get the big story.? What about the next time someone like Jill Kinmont leaves this world - will we even realize that the world lost a bright and shining star?
During my Christmas break, my adoptive gramps, Nick Zeiner, gave me a book in order to help me with my recovery. "The Other Side of the Mountain". It was a true story of the 18 year old U.S. Olympic ski team hopeful, Jill Kinmont. While at trials in Alta, Utah, Jill crashed on a run, slid into a spectator and then a tree. She broke her neck. From that day on, Jill lived life in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the shoulders down. My "gramps" thought I could relate to Ms. Kinmont. Of course, at the time, in 1976, I was not an avid skier. I had taken up the scary sport a few years earlier, at Mammoth Mountain, CA, and was still on the timid side of the sport. The thought of flying at exceedingly, dare devil speeds was not my forte.
However, I suppose my Gramps saw in me some sort of free spirit. I loved soccer. I played softball for a few years through Northridge Little League, but really, my game was soccer. My parents had my siblings and I all in the sport. While some of us were better at offense than defense, I thrilled at the chance to be a defensive player. I was either in the goal, or on the fullback line. I was not a big girl, but rather had a hell of a kick, and thus when a winger would come speeding down the field towards our goal, I knew they'd have to get past me. I played soccer until I was in the 11th grade. If only I had stuck with it, I would not be cursed with the ever daunting task of watching my weight.
But, I am off the subject now. A few days ago, the music world received shocking news that yet another once talented singer had fallen as a result of a life of drugs, booze and too much partying. The Grammy's were "a celebration of Ms. Houston's life", and entertainers were fast to get up on stage and pontificate as to how Ms. Houston may have touched their lives. Don't get me wrong - having suffered the horrors of addiction myself, I know it's a disease. It can be a disease that an addict can control though. And certainly, just as others have fallen prey to the enticing lifestyle of addiction, there are always enablers. So I suppose my sympathy isn't as devout as some of the enablers that Ms. Houston had in her life and more than likely, her death.
Silently, Ms. Jill Kinmont Boothe passed away on February 9, 2012, just 2 days before Ms. Houston. I couldn't help but see the irony in this. Although I am not speaking from any type of personal experience, and have no one directly in my life who is a quadriplegic, I can only imagine the battles that an 18 y/o sports figure, like Jill Kinmont endured after her horrible crash in Alta. So much promise on the skiing circuit, her chance at international fame was cut short. However, such obstacles did not define Ms. Kinmont. She was able to overcome her disability. She attended college, earned a degree; actually two. She married, and taught school in Bishop, CA. She lived a long and fruitful life, and I am quite confident that her students are glad that she was part of their lives.
So, what did the main stream media do about this sad news? Nothing. I read about Ms. Kinmont's death in the OBIT section of the Los Angeles Times. Not even a full page. Jill Kinmont rose above her disability, and did not let that deter her from great achievements. Did anyone in Steamboat even know that Jill Kinmont was at one time the girl friend to the very mountain we see in front of us every day? Buddy Werner. Mt. Werner. Ms. Kinmont had every reason to give up on life, do prescription drugs, booze and destroy her life. She kept on living. She never gave up. Yet, our media is so obsessed with stardom, that we can't fathom the other people in the world that make a difference in hundreds of peoples' lives every single day.
What about the military men & women who never return home from war? How many times does the media make a big, stinking deal about those heroes? Are we, as a society, so addicted to being voyeurs into celebrity lives, that we are unable to fully appreciate the measures that our military go to in order to give celebrities a voice in a free country? It boggles my mind.
The next time a celebrity bites the big one over a self induced lifestyle to the evil ways of addiction, I wonder which news outlet will fall over the other to get the big story.? What about the next time someone like Jill Kinmont leaves this world - will we even realize that the world lost a bright and shining star?
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Zuma Beach, Zumba and a Hot Flash, too!
Hot flashes. I had a whopper of one last night. I think it was more like a night sweat and a hot flash combined, which then drove me sweating so profusely, that I had to change my clothing. Nothing like drenching your night gown from the hormonal monster to send you almost over the edge. My question is: What did woman do to deserve such a beast of a middle aged curse?.
My best friend Kris has taken up Zumba Classes in Los Angeles. I have several friends who have been telling me about Zumba, and how you "sweat like a pig, while burning calories, and having fun"... so, for me to hear sweating like a pig - I pause and think to myself; I'm already doing that, and its called Menopause. The only thing missing from my hot flashes is some hot looking Latin guy (or Tom Selleck) and some Latin music (or Toby Keith's country). I do have to hand it to my friend Kris though. She, being the same age as me, and facing the same menopausal disasters, has taken to the gym (disguised as a church meeting room), and started Zumba-ing. Apparently, she loves it as well. So, good for her, I say.
As the snow is falling outside my living room window, I am looking up towards the mountain, and unable to see the gondola through the shroud of fog and heavy snow. Usually, I can catch a glimpse of the gondi cars, making their way up the mountain, packed with skiers, who are no doubt, enjoying this latest round of white stuff. However, on this day, the snow gods have given us some love in the way of snow. As I have mentioned before, I am no longer someone who skis; rather someone who finds folly in tourists who don crazy looking ski outfits, and pay up to $100 a day for a lift ticket. I'm more inclined to look at the snow as a way to a cozy camping night, around a fire, in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of summer! If the snow drought had continued, camp fires would have banned again in the state.
So, what does Zuma Beach have to do with all of this? The other night, in the midst of massive sycophants lamenting about yet another celebrity possibly overdosing, the Grammy's featured the reunion of the Beach Boys. Hearing Good Vibrations, I was suddenly transported back to the days of my youth, a tan, warm winds and a beach. Zuma Beach, which sits just north of The Colony in Malibu and Pepperdine University, on PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) was quite the playground when I was younger. During summer, my best friend and I would tag along with her older brother and head to Zuma Beach. Where you went to school, or ranked in social status directed you to a particular lifeguard shack. 1-10, if I recall. Zuma 1 was closest to the "nude" beach, and south entrance of the state park. If memory serves me well, I think we were somewhere in the middle of strip, and spent tremendous amounts of time worrying whether or not cute beach boys were in the vicinity.
Now, in a perpetual state of hot flashes and weight worrying, thinking about the boys of my summer seems miles away. This isn't to imply that I have lost the desire, but seem temporarily distracted from those happy memories. Getting old hasn't been quite what I thought it was going to be like, but like everything else in my life up until this point in time, I am taking it in stride, and maybe even a few Zumba steps on Zuma Beach this coming summer. Now THOSE are some good vibrations.
My best friend Kris has taken up Zumba Classes in Los Angeles. I have several friends who have been telling me about Zumba, and how you "sweat like a pig, while burning calories, and having fun"... so, for me to hear sweating like a pig - I pause and think to myself; I'm already doing that, and its called Menopause. The only thing missing from my hot flashes is some hot looking Latin guy (or Tom Selleck) and some Latin music (or Toby Keith's country). I do have to hand it to my friend Kris though. She, being the same age as me, and facing the same menopausal disasters, has taken to the gym (disguised as a church meeting room), and started Zumba-ing. Apparently, she loves it as well. So, good for her, I say.
As the snow is falling outside my living room window, I am looking up towards the mountain, and unable to see the gondola through the shroud of fog and heavy snow. Usually, I can catch a glimpse of the gondi cars, making their way up the mountain, packed with skiers, who are no doubt, enjoying this latest round of white stuff. However, on this day, the snow gods have given us some love in the way of snow. As I have mentioned before, I am no longer someone who skis; rather someone who finds folly in tourists who don crazy looking ski outfits, and pay up to $100 a day for a lift ticket. I'm more inclined to look at the snow as a way to a cozy camping night, around a fire, in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of summer! If the snow drought had continued, camp fires would have banned again in the state.
So, what does Zuma Beach have to do with all of this? The other night, in the midst of massive sycophants lamenting about yet another celebrity possibly overdosing, the Grammy's featured the reunion of the Beach Boys. Hearing Good Vibrations, I was suddenly transported back to the days of my youth, a tan, warm winds and a beach. Zuma Beach, which sits just north of The Colony in Malibu and Pepperdine University, on PCH (Pacific Coast Highway) was quite the playground when I was younger. During summer, my best friend and I would tag along with her older brother and head to Zuma Beach. Where you went to school, or ranked in social status directed you to a particular lifeguard shack. 1-10, if I recall. Zuma 1 was closest to the "nude" beach, and south entrance of the state park. If memory serves me well, I think we were somewhere in the middle of strip, and spent tremendous amounts of time worrying whether or not cute beach boys were in the vicinity.
Now, in a perpetual state of hot flashes and weight worrying, thinking about the boys of my summer seems miles away. This isn't to imply that I have lost the desire, but seem temporarily distracted from those happy memories. Getting old hasn't been quite what I thought it was going to be like, but like everything else in my life up until this point in time, I am taking it in stride, and maybe even a few Zumba steps on Zuma Beach this coming summer. Now THOSE are some good vibrations.
Friday, February 10, 2012
All A Twitter About Snow - Steamboat's Winter Carnival
Snow. It's white, cold, crisp, clean and no flake is alike. Wow, sorta sounds like the first 20 or so Presidents of the United States. Ha - seriously though, SNOW.
Living in a ski resort town, nicknamed "Ski Town, U.S.A.", the white stuff holds the starring role in the play known as Tourism. Steamboat has produced more Olympic athletes than any other city in the United States. (Steamboat.com ). We rely upon the snow gods to deliver phat, white fluffy Champagne Powder to this pristine valley. Sometimes the gods hear our prayers and deliver it in abundance. However, this year the snow gods have been on a budget of sorts. Up until Wednesday February 8, 2012, the mountain was looking pretty sparse, and so were the tourists. Apparently, gods know that the economy is in the tank, so they have been a little stingy on delivering the tourist dollars - the green snow - in the state of currency.
The patron saint of snow is Saint Eulalia of Merida. Legend says when she was thrown naked into the streets, snow fell to cover her. Up until February 8th, there wasn't enough snow to adequately cover the slopes of Steamboat's Mt. Werner, let alone the main drag running through town, Lincoln Avenue. Of course, this being winter carnival weekend in Steamboat, the possibility of someone being dragged in the street can be counted upon. Alas, those poor souls will be clothed, skiing, behind horses, while thousands of bundled tourists cheer them on.
I no longer ski. My old bones gave up on me a very long time ago. The thought of falling, and possibly breaking a hip deter me from clicking on skis, and letting myself fly through the skies above Steamboat. And really, truth be told, I have actually grown weary of the white stuff. The past few days have been heavy snow, slick as snot, wet and I have already taken a "digger" while getting out of my car. I detest stomping through the stuff, to retrieve steaming piles of dog poo. My pups can't take the dump right next to the sidewalk, where I can easily scoop it up - no! They go to the middle of the yard, and lay it down. Ugh. Thank goodness for Uggs...the comfy boot of the north!
Right about now - mid winter - I am dreaming of warm wind. I actually sat, mesmerized by the History Channel and a segment on the geology of Death Valley. All of a sudden, the thought of becoming a geologist sounded more exciting then being a wife, mother and grandmother. I miss the beaches of my old home in Ventura, CA. Walking along a sandy shore, just as the sun is setting on the Pacific, pants rolled up, mid calf, while carrying my flip flops; this is how I see myself...yes, there's the rub; the stuff dreams are made of!
Back to the snow. With snow reports coming in, and the tallies of how much we got, hopefully the tourist dollars will flood this valley with prosperity. Skiing and winter sports are an industry in this valley. And, if you ask a local, they usually will say they came for the skiing, and then stayed for the summer. The opposite of the phat snow, are the spectacular summers in Steamboat. There is nothing like them. Blue bird skies, cool winds, wild flowers, and mountain rivers full of rainbow trout. The mountains come alive with green, and a hike to the top of Rabbit Ears Pass can often leave a wanderer spell bound with the beauty of nature. I'll take summers over winter, any day of the week and twice on Tuesdays.
Alas, I should probably sign off for now - as its time to venture out with the dogs again, and a hunt for the steaming brown pile!
Living in a ski resort town, nicknamed "Ski Town, U.S.A.", the white stuff holds the starring role in the play known as Tourism. Steamboat has produced more Olympic athletes than any other city in the United States. (Steamboat.com ). We rely upon the snow gods to deliver phat, white fluffy Champagne Powder to this pristine valley. Sometimes the gods hear our prayers and deliver it in abundance. However, this year the snow gods have been on a budget of sorts. Up until Wednesday February 8, 2012, the mountain was looking pretty sparse, and so were the tourists. Apparently, gods know that the economy is in the tank, so they have been a little stingy on delivering the tourist dollars - the green snow - in the state of currency.
The patron saint of snow is Saint Eulalia of Merida. Legend says when she was thrown naked into the streets, snow fell to cover her. Up until February 8th, there wasn't enough snow to adequately cover the slopes of Steamboat's Mt. Werner, let alone the main drag running through town, Lincoln Avenue. Of course, this being winter carnival weekend in Steamboat, the possibility of someone being dragged in the street can be counted upon. Alas, those poor souls will be clothed, skiing, behind horses, while thousands of bundled tourists cheer them on.
I no longer ski. My old bones gave up on me a very long time ago. The thought of falling, and possibly breaking a hip deter me from clicking on skis, and letting myself fly through the skies above Steamboat. And really, truth be told, I have actually grown weary of the white stuff. The past few days have been heavy snow, slick as snot, wet and I have already taken a "digger" while getting out of my car. I detest stomping through the stuff, to retrieve steaming piles of dog poo. My pups can't take the dump right next to the sidewalk, where I can easily scoop it up - no! They go to the middle of the yard, and lay it down. Ugh. Thank goodness for Uggs...the comfy boot of the north!
Right about now - mid winter - I am dreaming of warm wind. I actually sat, mesmerized by the History Channel and a segment on the geology of Death Valley. All of a sudden, the thought of becoming a geologist sounded more exciting then being a wife, mother and grandmother. I miss the beaches of my old home in Ventura, CA. Walking along a sandy shore, just as the sun is setting on the Pacific, pants rolled up, mid calf, while carrying my flip flops; this is how I see myself...yes, there's the rub; the stuff dreams are made of!
Back to the snow. With snow reports coming in, and the tallies of how much we got, hopefully the tourist dollars will flood this valley with prosperity. Skiing and winter sports are an industry in this valley. And, if you ask a local, they usually will say they came for the skiing, and then stayed for the summer. The opposite of the phat snow, are the spectacular summers in Steamboat. There is nothing like them. Blue bird skies, cool winds, wild flowers, and mountain rivers full of rainbow trout. The mountains come alive with green, and a hike to the top of Rabbit Ears Pass can often leave a wanderer spell bound with the beauty of nature. I'll take summers over winter, any day of the week and twice on Tuesdays.
Alas, I should probably sign off for now - as its time to venture out with the dogs again, and a hunt for the steaming brown pile!
Wednesday, February 8, 2012
Million Moms - Rock on Ellen
Okay.. Here's one that is really eating at me. Bill O'Reilly had a segment on the O'Reilly Factor the other night on how the Million Moms had their panties in a wad because J.C. Penney has Ellen DeGeneres as one of their spokespeople. News flash - Ms. Ellen is gay.
What that has to do with promoting a retail store is beyond me. The last I saw of J.C.Penney, they were running ads about clothing, jewelry, etc., not putting Ellen in a room with purple dinosaurs, rainbows or big banners overhead proclaiming bans for or against gay marriage.
Millions Moms are wrong on this. The mommies are upset because, apparently, Ms. Ellen's presence in some clandestine way is sending the wrong message to our youth. I don't know about the rest of my readers, or even the general public, but J.C. Penney peddling their wares is not an announcement in promoting sexual behavior or orientation.
As a conservative Catholic myself, I do believe that homosexuality is wrong. However, if someone wants to engage in that lifestyle, well, its their business. I also believe that Nancy Pelosi is a pinhead, the B. Hussein Obama has no clue about the economy, and that Planned Parenthood is nothing more than a front for promoting abortion. But, really, Ellen and J.C. Penney?
Growing up in a conservative, Democratic household, I would find great humor in my Daddy getting worked up about what he perceived as sexual promiscuity on NYPD Blue. I would say to him ..."Look Daddy, if you don't like the show, then don't watch it, and don't buy the products that are advertised on the network". I mean really - I think that the way to voice your disdain now-a-days is to simply hit someone in the pocketbook, wallet or bill fold. Plain and simple. It offends no one.
The same should be said about the Million Moms. So, you are irked that Ms Ellen is not a role model. You don't approve of her sexual orientation. Well, okay. There is the old saying.."Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one." Instead of smashing Ms. Ellen, why not applaud her for her success as a woman. She is an accomplished entertainer. Last time I checked, Ms. Ellen is not running around in slinky negligees, or standing on some podium, like Rosie O'Donnell attempting to shove something down our consumer throats. And so what if Ms. Ellen is in a relationship with another woman. I may not agree with that lifestyle, but it has absolutely no bearing on whether or not I would shop at J.C. Penney.
Being conservative is a lifestyle I have chosen. And for the most part, I have no regrets on this decision. I believe that our country is lacking some serious moral fiber. I don't understand for the life of me why NBC or the NFL contracts MIA (who the hell is this entertainer?) for Super Bowl halftime show knowing the odds are in favor of some asinine gesture, such as the single bird salute. What happened to country singers?
While in opposition to the notion of gay marriage, I am not going to condemn someone if that's how they chose to live their life. It's their business. But, personally, I believe that all the Million Moms have accomplished with their contempt regarding Ms. Ellen and J.C. Penney is to throw old fashioned bigotry in to main stream consumer America. All I can ask is why?
Go shop at Target.
What that has to do with promoting a retail store is beyond me. The last I saw of J.C.Penney, they were running ads about clothing, jewelry, etc., not putting Ellen in a room with purple dinosaurs, rainbows or big banners overhead proclaiming bans for or against gay marriage.
Millions Moms are wrong on this. The mommies are upset because, apparently, Ms. Ellen's presence in some clandestine way is sending the wrong message to our youth. I don't know about the rest of my readers, or even the general public, but J.C. Penney peddling their wares is not an announcement in promoting sexual behavior or orientation.
As a conservative Catholic myself, I do believe that homosexuality is wrong. However, if someone wants to engage in that lifestyle, well, its their business. I also believe that Nancy Pelosi is a pinhead, the B. Hussein Obama has no clue about the economy, and that Planned Parenthood is nothing more than a front for promoting abortion. But, really, Ellen and J.C. Penney?
Growing up in a conservative, Democratic household, I would find great humor in my Daddy getting worked up about what he perceived as sexual promiscuity on NYPD Blue. I would say to him ..."Look Daddy, if you don't like the show, then don't watch it, and don't buy the products that are advertised on the network". I mean really - I think that the way to voice your disdain now-a-days is to simply hit someone in the pocketbook, wallet or bill fold. Plain and simple. It offends no one.
The same should be said about the Million Moms. So, you are irked that Ms Ellen is not a role model. You don't approve of her sexual orientation. Well, okay. There is the old saying.."Opinions are like assholes, everyone has one." Instead of smashing Ms. Ellen, why not applaud her for her success as a woman. She is an accomplished entertainer. Last time I checked, Ms. Ellen is not running around in slinky negligees, or standing on some podium, like Rosie O'Donnell attempting to shove something down our consumer throats. And so what if Ms. Ellen is in a relationship with another woman. I may not agree with that lifestyle, but it has absolutely no bearing on whether or not I would shop at J.C. Penney.
Being conservative is a lifestyle I have chosen. And for the most part, I have no regrets on this decision. I believe that our country is lacking some serious moral fiber. I don't understand for the life of me why NBC or the NFL contracts MIA (who the hell is this entertainer?) for Super Bowl halftime show knowing the odds are in favor of some asinine gesture, such as the single bird salute. What happened to country singers?
While in opposition to the notion of gay marriage, I am not going to condemn someone if that's how they chose to live their life. It's their business. But, personally, I believe that all the Million Moms have accomplished with their contempt regarding Ms. Ellen and J.C. Penney is to throw old fashioned bigotry in to main stream consumer America. All I can ask is why?
Go shop at Target.
Wednesday, February 1, 2012
Domestic Goddess - What A Thrill
Well, all things considered, I believe that the title, "Domestic Goddess" has a nice ring to it. Makes me sound like I am sitting around all day, being pampered, waited upon, treated to Godiva chocolate and swooned over.
Of course, the cold hard truth of it is that a domestic goddess by any other name is "housewife". In this palace of the Court of McArthur, a day in the life of the domestic goddess consists first and foremost as not scaring the living bejeesus out of my commander in chief in the morning. Ole Annie Gartlan-McArthur has one of helluva an appearance first thing in the morning. Wild head of hair, over sized t-shirt, yoga pants, and earplugs. I turn over and tell my husband to please re-set the alarm for 0800, and then go back to sleep. On the rare days that I awake before him, I shuffle, heavy footed to the coffee pot, hit the "on" switch and try to coax the dogs off the bed and outside for their morning constitutional. After 10 or 15 minutes, the dogs say..."done..its cold" and we head back inside. I stand at the altar of the coffee machine, fill up my golden goblet, turn on FOX News, and settle into my recliner.
Tasks that can be included to the routine of domestic goddess vary from day to day. Take this fine day - February 1st. A day off from one job, but not all. After sleeping until 0830, I realized that my joints and hip are just too painful to venture out too much. So, instead I start on the heaps of laundry that seem to accumulate quite rapidly here at the Court of McArthur. Between John's blue jeans, mine, heaps of wool socks, t-shirts, and towels...I am just amazed how quickly those items seem to pile up. I got a bug in my butt today, and decided this was the day to strip the bed, wash the sheets and blankets, and after they dry, I will prepare for my weird addiction of ironing my bed linens. Nothing says "a good night's sleep" than freshly pressed sheets.
I also ran a few errands. A trip to the post office, to drop off an envelope for my brother and then over to the dry cleaners to pick up the down comforter and mattress pad for the bed. Our dog felt that our bed was a nice place to toss her over stuffed gullet of dog food over a week ago. Nice, eh? $84 later, the dry cleaning is home, and back on the bed. I think the dog needs to have her own throne to reign over - on the floor, where a dog needs to be in the first place.
A tri tip roast has been taken out of the freezer for the divine feast at dinner time. How this shall be prepared is any one's guess. While a Californian at heart, the thought of standing outside in the cold to BBQ doesn't sound too appealing. The roast will undoubtedly end up in the oven, and master John will accept any meal I prepare for him. He will not complain, and the only way I will know that my cooking was a success is that there will not be a shelf of left-overs past 2 days. I guess this domestic goddess is lucky in that her husband does not complain when I fudge up the meal, rendering it bland and beyond gourmet.
By the end of the day, I will have accomplished 6 loads of laundry, some ironing, some blogging, a meal, and taking the dogs out for their breaks, all while watching re-runs of the Waltons on Hallmark Channel. I will then retire to my bedroom, in the ensemble I had on the night before, spray the room with lavender to help combat my constant irritation of the dreaded insomnia, and put in my earplugs to drone out the rockets red glare and sounds of glorious victory that resonate from John's nostrils. Half way through the night, I will probably be sitting wide awake again, in the living room, wondering why insomnia is my constant companion.
This domestic goddess business is rough. And this gal needs a vacation!
Of course, the cold hard truth of it is that a domestic goddess by any other name is "housewife". In this palace of the Court of McArthur, a day in the life of the domestic goddess consists first and foremost as not scaring the living bejeesus out of my commander in chief in the morning. Ole Annie Gartlan-McArthur has one of helluva an appearance first thing in the morning. Wild head of hair, over sized t-shirt, yoga pants, and earplugs. I turn over and tell my husband to please re-set the alarm for 0800, and then go back to sleep. On the rare days that I awake before him, I shuffle, heavy footed to the coffee pot, hit the "on" switch and try to coax the dogs off the bed and outside for their morning constitutional. After 10 or 15 minutes, the dogs say..."done..its cold" and we head back inside. I stand at the altar of the coffee machine, fill up my golden goblet, turn on FOX News, and settle into my recliner.
Tasks that can be included to the routine of domestic goddess vary from day to day. Take this fine day - February 1st. A day off from one job, but not all. After sleeping until 0830, I realized that my joints and hip are just too painful to venture out too much. So, instead I start on the heaps of laundry that seem to accumulate quite rapidly here at the Court of McArthur. Between John's blue jeans, mine, heaps of wool socks, t-shirts, and towels...I am just amazed how quickly those items seem to pile up. I got a bug in my butt today, and decided this was the day to strip the bed, wash the sheets and blankets, and after they dry, I will prepare for my weird addiction of ironing my bed linens. Nothing says "a good night's sleep" than freshly pressed sheets.
I also ran a few errands. A trip to the post office, to drop off an envelope for my brother and then over to the dry cleaners to pick up the down comforter and mattress pad for the bed. Our dog felt that our bed was a nice place to toss her over stuffed gullet of dog food over a week ago. Nice, eh? $84 later, the dry cleaning is home, and back on the bed. I think the dog needs to have her own throne to reign over - on the floor, where a dog needs to be in the first place.
A tri tip roast has been taken out of the freezer for the divine feast at dinner time. How this shall be prepared is any one's guess. While a Californian at heart, the thought of standing outside in the cold to BBQ doesn't sound too appealing. The roast will undoubtedly end up in the oven, and master John will accept any meal I prepare for him. He will not complain, and the only way I will know that my cooking was a success is that there will not be a shelf of left-overs past 2 days. I guess this domestic goddess is lucky in that her husband does not complain when I fudge up the meal, rendering it bland and beyond gourmet.
By the end of the day, I will have accomplished 6 loads of laundry, some ironing, some blogging, a meal, and taking the dogs out for their breaks, all while watching re-runs of the Waltons on Hallmark Channel. I will then retire to my bedroom, in the ensemble I had on the night before, spray the room with lavender to help combat my constant irritation of the dreaded insomnia, and put in my earplugs to drone out the rockets red glare and sounds of glorious victory that resonate from John's nostrils. Half way through the night, I will probably be sitting wide awake again, in the living room, wondering why insomnia is my constant companion.
This domestic goddess business is rough. And this gal needs a vacation!
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