Monday, December 20, 2004

I heart Park City

This is the third time I've rerouted a road trip in order to stop here, and it's probably not the last. I have family friends who live here, who are the nicest people I've ever met (to illustrate, I always quote my friend Catherine, who visited with me the first time: "I feel bad breathing, because I'm taking up their oxygen"). No matter what we do, it seems to make them happy. Need coffee in the morning? Get a choice of several different coffees, sugars and cream, and this from a woman who never drinks coffee. Car trouble (again)? Escorted trip to the mechanic and then to the other mechanic, plus use of their Mercedes while the other car is incapacitated. This would be the most stress-free vacation in the world if it weren't for the guilt of feeling so undeserving of it.

Then there's where we are. Park City is lovely town, set against the backdrop of gorgeous mountains that are clearly visible through all the clean air. There's no traffic or crowds to speak of (though I'm sure that changes in the week between Christmas and New Year's and during the Sundance Film Festival), at least not by my citified standards. And the skiing is great. Yesterday was an absolute dream: no wind, not a cloud in the sky, 35 degree weather, and slopes free of ice, rocks, slush, and hordes of skiers. I could be a speed demon with impunity (dude I own those blue squares), and avoided injury due only to a mild self-preservation instinct and the fact that it took me a lot longer to get to the top of the mountain than it did to get to the bottom. Surely that broken leg (or neck) is waiting for me somewhere off the Motherlode chair tomorrow afternoon. But the highlight of skiing yesterday: sending a lift attendant into a fit of laughter at the sight of my skis, which are straight, a style that seems to have declined in popularity somewhat since the last time I went skiing... and by "declined in popularity," I mean "have passed out of cultural consciousness entirely, thus labeling anyone who actually uses such antiques an amusing novelty." Whatever. I'm just glad I still fit into my ski clothes. Style is something I can't really hope to achieve here.

And then there's the free time. I watched "It's a Mad Mad Mad Mad World" on TCM last night (hilarious, but damn that's a long movie). I've caught up on my emails. I've caught up on my news. I've read about a third of Naked and I love it. Thus far it's even better than Holidays on Ice (where the first story raised my expectations to a level the rest of the book never quite reached) and Me Talk Pretty One Day (the quality of the different stories seems to be more consistent), though I suppose I should wait and render judgment when I've actually read all of it. Thus far the major difference I've noticed is that he tries to make his stories have a point or fit into some larger context, which he kind of gives up on in Me Talk Pretty One Day, which is a good thing--they're hilarious and speak for themselves. But even if the rest of the book totally sucks, just read those first few stories. Today's moment of zen: "The Greeks had invented democracy, built the Acropolis, and then called it a day."

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