COLD TURKEY

It’s been over a year since I moved away from the Wasatch Mountains. The day I packed up the Subaru and headed off to graduate school was a bittersweet day. Sure, I’d be getting a great education, but it’s not the same out here.

I’m not the same.

No more 20-minute drives to Goldminer’s Daughter. No coincidental sick days when there’s 30 inches of blower. Hell, The closest skiing I know is somewhere in Tennessee.

Yet I still behave as if I still lived in the mountains. I check the Cottonwood Canyon forecast more than I check my local weather. During winter storm warnings, I obsess over Snowbird’s Snowcam, watching the snow accrue in a crawl.

“29 inches in 24 hours,” I say…No seems to care.

And by my own choice, I quit skiing. Cold turkey. I turned my back on an integral part of my life. A part of my life for the past 12 years. I abandoned it at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains 1 year, 1 month, and 30 days ago.

There’s certainly a part of me missing.

But perhaps it was a good thing, leaving skiing behind. I don’t even know what it’s like to drive for 4 hours to get to the hill. I still scoff at driving more than an hour for my turns. Not having damn-good snow at my disposal seems absurd.

Maybe I haven’t learned anything.

I know this though: my year away from the hill has rekindled my obsession for skiing—for the mountains. Next time I’m in the Wasatch, I’ll cherish my hidden tree stashes at Brighton. My gorgeous powder line at Alta. That chute at Snowbird.

Back where I belong.

Who does number 2 work for?

No one wants to be disturbed in the process of #1 or #2.

That's why using public restrooms takes a certain type of bravado. Certainly not everyone's cut out for it.

There's valid reasons for shying away from doing your business in a Shoney's bathroom. First off: the toilet paper's always horrible—more of a light-grade sandpaper. And it's always one ply.

Second: The lack of privacy. For guys, the urinal situation is just kinda weird. Most dudes completely avoid any form of communication: eye contact and talking are forbidden.

The stall situation is not right either. The gaps in either side of the doors do not inspire confidence, and 7 out of 10 times, the locks do not function properly.

The stall is not a place to relax. It is not a tranquil time.

Marauders could spoil the situation at any moment, so one must make haste.

But this danger brings excitement when using public toilets.Getting your business done in high-pressure situations brings a sense of accomplishment.

You're a clutch player.

If you shy away from the public commode, you sulk home. Defeated by the task, you answer nature's call in the comfort of your own surroundings. Two-ply quilted. Reading material. Pleasant lighting. Perhaps music.

By holding it, you've taken a lesser path. You were beaten.

Next time you're out and about, use the public can.

Show that turd who's boss.

It's empowering.

Emelda Marcos was a CHUMP

I think I may have a serious problem. I really love shoes. No I really, really love shoes. The fact that I actually held a mini photoshoot of my beloved sneaks... and I'm writing this at exactly 2:40 AM makes my hypothetical problem seem, well, even more problematic. Maybe the fact that I know that I have this problem takes me one step closer to self-actualization, or maybe a giant leap to becoming a materialistic prick. You be the judge. I suppose I could be doing worse.

Thing is, sneakers are simply rad. See the picture above me? Particularly the third column from the left, second pair from the bottom? Those are "Money Cats." They're a limited edition Nike SB Dunk. I bought those about three weeks ago. They've already doubled in value since I bought them. Mine aren't worth that, because I actually wear mine, and I was too myopic to buy a second pair of the same pair to keep on "ice" for later resale (a cardinal sin to a true sneakerhead). I like em because they fit like a slipper and they're aesthetically the cat's PJs. You can't beat red and 'Niner gold.

This entry doesn't really have a point except the fact that I'm somewhat of a nerd, and I have shoes all over my area rug in my room. Oh well. They're all set up for me to choose what to wear tomorrow. I'm thinkin' I'll rock the Money Cats.