It’s been a while, again. First off, it’s Facebook’s fault. That’s right, I joined Facebook and I can’t seem to stop checking in every day to update my “status” message and see how many friends my friend Lauren has. But, that’s not the purpose of this post. Discussion on the insanely silly endeavor of Facebook will surely follow, maybe after Thanksgiving.

Anyway, Brenda has been working crazy hours again, and it all came to a head over the last couple-few weeks, and finally ended this past Thursday, when the show she was building some suits for opened at the University of Colorado. And it turns out that the guy who she was working for has a condo in the mountains that was going unused this weekend, so we loaded up the truck and moved to Keystone… resort that is; snowbarders, movie stars…

Brenda & I (and Hooper) had not been in the mountains in the winter yet since moving to Colorado, and it was fantastic. So far this year, old man winter has not really visited the near mountains but that’s ok with us since we’re not skiers or snowboarders. But this gave us a chance to experience a typical Colorado mountain resort town at the beginning of the high season, and it was certainly entertaining for us.

With Hooper settled in the condo, we headed out into the village to find some lunch. As we walked through “town” (Keystone resort is home to several fabricated centers of Starbucks and clothiers and liquor stores situated maze-like, Disney-style, around the lifts) we started to absorb the amalgam of skier/snowboarder fashion/lingo/gait/attitude. At one point Brenda said “uh, yeah, we’ve definitely entered a foreign world”, and I could only laugh and agree. I have been soaking up some of the lingo just from listening to office conversations about ski conditions (apparently the amount of base is important, and for some, a nice run of groomers is awesome, but that definitely outs you as a skier and the boarders will, like, totally frown on you), and I caught some glimpses of the fashions in the sale circulars every week last year, but it wasn’t until we walked through a living breathing throng of True Believers that I really came to grips with the odd, different, and let’s face it, totally cool world of alpine sports.

There’s a certain swagger that the snowboarders have; it almost seems like they’re fully conscious of the outlandishly baggy nylon clothes they’re wearing, emblazoned with obviously targeted graphics that they’ve paid a lot of money for, but don’t care (and to those of you that truly don’t care, I salute you; especially those that can’t really afford all that shit.

The skiers, then: they have this cool way of slinging their skis over one shoulder and hooking their arms over the end of the skis, backing that up with a swagger all their own, a more muted swagger that seems to say “we were her first, assholes, don’t fuck with us (but boy, it sure does seem like you guys are having a simpler, cooler time of things)”.

I was struck by the sense that this was one big party that I had no idea was going on (god dammit); at every bar (of which there were several), there were racks out front where people would leave their boards or skis, after a hard day of sliding down the slopes. My initial reaction was to look for some sort of locking mechanism, but there was none; these people were leaving their high priced equipment at the door, unlocked! This did not compute for this northeasterner. Inside, people sat around and ate and drank in the gear they wore all day as they careened down mountains on slippery planks of various sizes with no brakes. I felt inadequate. I ordered a beer. Here’s what we woke up to, out the front door of our place:

Brenda, Hooper and I made the best of our abilities by going on a couple of short hikes, punctuated with Hooper discovering his love of snow (or perhaps re-discovering; Hooper was a stray from Utah and we figure he was born around early February of 2007, so he’s probably no stranger to snow, but who knows?).

We left early on Sunday, took a scenic way home along the Peak-to-peak Highway, and got home in time to enjoy an early dinner at Zolo Grill, one of our favorite restaurants in Boulder. All in all, a great way to spend Brenda’s first free weekend in a long time.

Well, it sure took me a while, but I finally uploaded my pictures from the trip Brenda, my Mom-in-law, and I took to Paris this past May. Titles and captions are still spotty at best, but the album is in chronological order and it gives you a good feel for where we went, and what we saw. What a great trip.

Paris Photo Album

Brenda turned forty yesterday (happy birthday again, Brenda!), and you know what that means, ROAD TRIP!

Yesterday we rolled out of Boulder many hours late, the end result of Brenda being busy with work, my inability to do laundry, and the need to get Hooper up to the kennel in Longmont. But we had a nice drive over the mountains while listening to the Rockies beat the Phillies (more on this whole baseball madness later), and ended up in Grand Junction, CO as the sun was setting. We had a nice dinner in town and a nice breakfast at the B&B with a couple from Philly, of all places. Mountain bikers, to boot. Then we headed to the Colorado National Monument, which is just a few miles up the road from Grand Junction. It’s like a mini-Grand Canyon; it was interesting to start the hke by descending, rather than ascending, but great views awaited nonetheless. Down in the canyon we saw some Bighorn Sheep:

...and lots of other images that need to get downloaded off my camera.

Back at the B&B, we popped open some champagne and watched the sunset; a severe thunderstorm was in the vicinity as the Yankees were having their asses handed to them by the goddamned Indians. I took some pictures of a sunset:

Tomorrow, we roll out southbound, headed for Durango, and will ultimately rendezvous with my sister and bother in-law in Santa Fe, NM in a couple days. Yeah!

Well, we’re back. Got back last night, after 23 hours of westbound travel. Emma was initially delighted to see us, then she pretended to be pissed off, but then she woke us up every two hours throughout the night to purr her happiness. Today I dug out from two email piles—work and personal—and went for a bike ride. I missed the mountains.

I loved the city of Paris, the Orsay Museum and the Chartres Cathedral. Steak tartare, camenbert and wine from the south of France. Loads to talk about and pictures to process. I hope to post something soon. For now, this:

Today Brenda & I celebrate seven years of marriage. Tomorrow, we head to Paris. That’s all for now. I need to pack.

Brenda & I went to the east coast this past Thursday, our makeup trip for our postponed christmas Visit. Our christmas Visit was postponed due to weather. Perhaps in honor of that fact, we encountered more goddamned weather.

Booked on a noon flight Thursday, our flight pulled back from the gate promptly at 2:15 so we could sit on a taxiway for another 45 minutes before departing. Upon arrival in the NY metro airspace, we commenced a precision hold for another 45 minutes before landing at Newark NJ. Upon arrival, the NJ Transit train we boarded for New Brunswick was horrifyingly similar to the one I left almost two years ago when I finished my tour of duty, but at least this one arrived on time—unlike the one we tried to take the next day to Philly. That one was delayed—thanks to similar weather we experienced when we postponed out trip back in December in the first place—30 minutes, then 45, then disappeared from the planet as the one after it was delayed, then canceled. My brother-in-law picked us up and eventually we arrived at my sister’s house. I am here to tell you that New Jersey Transit’s Northeast Corridor Service is as horrible as it ever was, and I hate the entire miserable corporation with every fiber of my being.

The trip was good, overall, delays notwithstanding. We saw family and friends and saw some old neighborhoods. Unfortunately we did not get to see everyone, but our shit was delayed so what do you expect? Sorry John, Davis, Lisa & Pete, and the gang at RDG.

The big revelation was this: I love where we live now. Yes, New Jersey is where I grew up. Yes, New York City is where I was born, and where my ancestors immigrated to. Yes, the New York/New Jersey Metro Area is where the majority of my family continue to live. And, big yes, I hate when people smugly compare one living situation to another, but you know what people? I earned this, and I wouldn’t trade it.

Most of my family back east still don’t quite get why we love it out here, and I understand that; after all, back home we have cold cuts and the Yankees. But here, there is less shit on the sidewalk; people are, on the whole, nicer; the weather is, on the whole, nicer; there is less horn-honking; less attitude; more bike paths, mountains and beer. And that is the nicest way I can say it. I spent the last five days compiling a long list of sense memories of what I don’t miss, but it’s silly to list them here. Suffice to say it’s a long list.

I’d say I’m done with New York, but we all know life doesn’t work that way. Time will tell. But I’d like to say that I felt a palpable relief when I saw the Front Range out the window of our plane on arrival, and I breathe easier out here. I’d like to stay right here.

The hotel here in Zurich has a web kiosk, so we just HAD to try this out. Don`t worry, it was all my idea.