No Sniveling
Bumper sticker purchased at Kemo Sabe, Aspen, CO
There were times when I was at Snowmass and wanted to whine about my ski boot hurting or how hard it is to be a 54-year-old klutzy beginner. Then I'd see someone on skis wearing a vest emblazoned with "Blind Skier" or watch a guy with no legs blasting down the mountain... and I'd shut the fuck up.

Chicken Fried Steak, Onion Rings, & Bread Pudding
Little Annie's, Aspen, CO
My personal redneck culinary wet dream. Ate every bite. No guilt.

Big Honkin' Goals, Rabbit Ears, and Grieving

The library is such an emporium of riches. Despite the fact that I have no cable or satellite TV and get by with rabbit ears (fortunately, my long hair makes them less noticeable), by exhibiting a little patience, I can watch almost any HBO series I want. Disc by disc, I got to be friends with Carrie, Samantha, Charlotte, & Miranda as I diligently watched each episode of Sex and the City.

About two years ago I caught my first glimpse of Six Feet Under. I got busy buying and selling a house and watching the last of SATC, so I pursued it no further for several months. Then I got serious (we're talking “serious” about TV) and started putting the DVDs for each season on reserve at the 'brary and spent well over a year absorbing 6FU's texture and depth. Each character is fully and tenderly developed with gaping flaws, admirable strengths, and quirky twists. The plots (er… NPI) are absorbing and take the imagination soaring, while exploring the far reaches of what it means to be human. The series unfolds like an amazing journey of interlinked miles, yet each episode stands squarely on its own.

Last night I watched the last episode of the series. When I picked it up at my local branch and was talking to one of the librarians, she said, “I envy you that you’re getting to see this for the first time.” When I returned the DVD this evening, I saw her and told her how powerfully it had affected me. After watching this incredible ending, I was so revved up, I had trouble sleeping. As she and I discussed the series and the finale, it was like our own little funeral for it. We almost wept with the passion we shared for this show and its characters and grieved at seeing the end, while celebrating the fabulosity of its existence. The wisdom of one scene came to mind when several women were gathered around the table after the death of a son. The mother asked, “How will I ever get over this?” And her friend said, “With time you remember the things that are important to you, and you slowly fall back in love with them.” I suggested to my newfound friend that perhaps we should apply this philosophy in moving on from our 6FU fetish.

Now that I have finished the long 6FU journey, I think I need to set another HBO endurance goal. I'm considering The Sopranos. Everyone needs a little vicarious violence in their lives.

Tackling these big library/viewing goals is so much more gratifying than running marathons. Marathons are not nearly as entertaining, and it's tough to fold laundry and clean the kitchen while training for them. Besides... they don’t require those magical trips to the library.

Most Condescending Service

I stumbled across this on the Isthmus.com Forum under the post subject "Most Condescending Service". The addendum read: "The service can be good or bad, but the attitude has to be one of superiority." I loved this poster's style and the story itself. It's not plagiarism if I give credit, is it?

"I miss the Italian Stallion at the Casa Bianca when it first opened. He was surly, mean, ill-tempered and a bitch. It was pure torture to order. He didn't just condescend—he loathed. He wouldn't even ask for your order, he would just roll his eyes and sigh heavily until you told him what you wanted. It got so insane I started telling all my friends about him, and he became quite popular; his anti-service grew to be highly sought after.

Finally, one day I came in alone, ordered, and was waiting for my pie when the Stallion walked over and slammed a glass in front of me. Vodka. Lots of it. "For you," he mumbled. I never saw him again. Posted by notblunt Fri Oct 28, 2005"

Another Kind of Shoveling

I just finished scooping a winter’s worth of poop. It’s been warm this week, and as the snow has melted to reveal its buried treasures, my yard has taken on the appearance of a turd field. When I got home from work, it was raining. I was wearing some nice Anne Klein pants and soft leather boots. I should have changed clothes, but if I did it was going to be into my jammies. And the turd field would have stayed a turd field.

I didn’t even take off my coat—grabbed a kitchen trash bag, stalwartly marched out to the TF, located the 5-gallon bucket and scooping implements, put the bag in the bucket, and began The Process. Still in work clothes, in the rain, scooping shit. Doesn’t that sound like the most miserable scenario in the world? Au contraire. It was strangely gratifying—reclaiming my yard as un-turd space was uncovered, contemplating the brown grass that spring and summer will soon green up, and taking in big deep breaths of fresh outdoors. I wasn’t way happy to notice yellow shit on my boot, but oh well… it eventually scraped off.

The rain turned to snow. I finished filling the trash bag, tied it, and made my deposit in an outdoor trash barrel. My hair was wet, my yard was reclaimed, and my jammies were warm and welcoming.