We gonna give that smack down a beat down, Torn Slatterns and Nugget RanchersHow do they think they are?
Did you see the nasty spat on “American Idol” where Ryan Seacrest and Simon Cowell accused each other of being gay? That’s like Paris Hilton and Madonna calling each other sluts.
On “American Idol” did you see the snippy gay accusations between Simon Cowell and Ryan Seacrest? It was so bad Elton John called it bitchy.Don’t light those candles
Osama bin Laden celebrated a 50th birthday last weekend. It was nice, they served a pita cake and sang; “For he’s a jolly good Mullah.”Ry-Ry
A former male contestant on “American Idol” is being charged with trying to force un-wanted sex on a male “American Idol” staff member. As the charge was a man forcing unwanted sex on another man, authorities will question all “American Idol” employees except Ryan Seacrest.
A former male contestant on “American Idol” Mario Vasquez is being sued for sexual harassment against a former “American Idol” male staff member. Ryan Seacrest has offered to settle the whole thing in his dressing room.Since you asked:
Been gone to Park City for an awesome ski/snowboard trip. Sorry if you tried to e-mail but the crappy e-mail thing I am using got full and sent stuff back. It is clear firstname.lastname@example.org
It was a blast, great folks, great place, amazing dinners, feisty poker tournaments, lots of yucks and good snowboarding. OK, one day was a trial of tears as we went down the wrong side and ended up on sunless backside of the mountain on an endless patch of ice. An iced over black diamond run (meaning very steep) had me sliding 200 feet on my back down to an endless icy, narrow and brutal cat trail.
To give you some idea what it is like to fall on a snowboard on an icy run, imagine you are in the back of a flatbed truck going, oh, say 30 miles-an-hour on the cement road only with both your feet strapped into a single slalom water ski. And then you jump out.
And the cat track was a endlessly long ten-feet-across trail that slanted up towards the hill so to go straight you had to stay on your toe edge, which means standing up on your toes. Try standing on your toes while bouncing up and down for ten minutes. You can actually hear your calves scream in agony. That is when you are not also screaming in pain.
But if you stop, you have to unbuckle your back foot and scoot skateboard paddling style until it gets steep enough to go again. And then you have to stop and rebuckle that back foot. Repeat twenty times.
But the next two days were great.What is the deal with packing?
(In my best Seinfeld voice)
What is the deal with packing and unpacking? Why do we make it such a big deal?
We just got back from a wonderful ski/snowboard trip to Park City where a truly marvelous time was had by all – save for one incident where I nearly killed the sweetest, kindest, best doctor in the world, Dana, with a van door – but that is another story.
Why do we fret ourselves so much about packing? The need to pack, un-pack, re-pack and un-pack is an albatross that hangs over your head like a vulture, excuse the fowl mixed metaphor. The entire industry of cruise ships was invented just so you could see other countries without packing and unpacking. The idea of being on a boat with a bunch of old people and stuffing yourself with endless buffets seems tolerable only because you don't have to pack so much.
Granted, packing for ski/snowboard trips is a bit daunting. There are ski clothes, après ski clothes, swimwear for the hot tub, clothes to wear if you go out to dinner. And that isn’t mentioning the actual gear.
So you worry about packing for about a week until two days before then you really start to panic. Oh my word, do I have time to get my ski jackets to the cleaners? Next thing you know you are begging the dry cleaning guy to let you pick it up early.
There is the classic line from my wife, Virginia, that illustrates how much of packing is planning and organization. One time we were just about late to leave for a chartered flight to Cabo San Lucas, Mexico – there is no missing a charter flight. You miss, you screwed – so I asked my wife;
“You are packed, right?” She replied;
“Yes, I just have to put everything into the suitcase.”
As stupid as that first sounded, she was right; once everything is cleaned and folded and ready to go, the actual packing doesn’t take any time at all. It is just that the entire process of planning and getting ready falls under the category of packing.
Oh, but is there a better feeling than when you are packed and ready? It is that I-clipped-my-nails, flossed-my-teeth, finished-the-term-paper, shopped-and-wrapped-the-Christmas-packages feeling.
Then when you arrive you have to unpack. This I was never big on. The stuff is in the suitcase, why not just keep it in the suitcase? But now I am more of a “Let’s hang things up and get them out of the way.” The prior tends to cause a massive, messy pile on the floor by the suitcase.
Now the trip is over. I generally make it a point to slightly under pack. If you have to you can wash something in the sink and dry it with the hotel blow dryer. Lord forbid there is something that I packed that I didn’t wear. I will take it out and wear it just to know I did.
My Dad was a neat half-German who served in the Army. That means a neat nut times four. He brainwashed me into folding all the clothes back up and repacking just as you had when you initially packed. It was a genuine pain but it was how I was raised.
One day in New York I was watching this bon vivant Euro bond trader client/friend of ours packing back up to return to London. He just stuffed everything into the suitcase in seconds flat. I was in shock. What the? He didn’t refold everything? You can do that? It took no time, it took up no more room, the clothes had been worn and dirty anyway and had to be washed, so why not?
But what hit me hard was on this last trip. To prepare for “Casino Royale” DVD we have purchased, I watched a classic Sean Connery Bond flick, “Thunderball.” This was the movie that made me decide, when I was a very young boy, that I knew I wanted to grow up and be a spy. Not for Britain, like Bond, but for the good ol’ C.I.A.
There was not doubt in my mind that my life would consist of sleeping with countless beautiful women (OK, that part actually worked out, not to brag) wearing tuxedos, flying private planes, captaining yachts, drinking martinis and coming up with a witty wry remark right after I killed the bad guy.
That is so much not how my life has turned out. Not that I am not complaining, I have it pretty good, but nowhere in the area code of being James Bond.
This fact really hit home when I was packing up after this Park City trip and putting my toothpaste, toothbrush, cologne, razor, deodorant and other essentials into Ziplock plastic bags.
Dammit all, James Freakin' Bond would not pack his stuff into a damn plastic Ziplock bag.