I now know how a black person feels when they visit Utah. Our first night in Orlando and my dad picks a place called Mama Nem’s for dinner. The soul food restaurant in a strip mall about 20 minutes from our hotel (the Marriott Grand Vista) came recommended. By whom I’m not sure but there we were; hesitantly shuffling past a sranding-room-only waiting area of black people all staring at us as if we were lost. Two white seniors, two white adults and a little white girl who kind of looks like the All-American Kid. The only white people in the entire place! We held our heads high and waited to be seated. It was like that scene in Animal House just before the guys come up to Boone and say “Do you mind if we dance wif yo dates?”
Everyone was extremely nice; the hostess grabbed a piece of melt-in-your mouth cornbread for Sage while we waited. After about 5 minutes, however, mom was visibly uncomfortable. Let’s go, she said. It was the wait not the company that bothered her. They had caught the redeye from San Diego to Orlando last night with very little sleep. The hostess had said it would be another half hour….until we offered to seat Sage in a high chair at a four-top instead of a bigger table. All of a sudden it was 10. They didn’t want us to leave!
The restaurant itself wasn’t much. Zero atmosphere. WE were the atmosphere- for tonight anyway. It was hilarious. But when I tried to take a photo of my parents from across the table. Ryan stopped me and said it was rude. HUH? He accused me of trying to take a picture of black people (like when I took a photo of these girls lined up in bikinis outside of my acting class just because I’d never seen anything like it?) OMG could he be serious? I take my camera everywhere and I shoot it everywhere- including dinner. Tonight I told him that he was the rude one for making me act differently just because we were in an all-black restaurant.
Bikinis on Main
The food soon arrived, piled high on the table. Collard greens, fried green tomatoes, mac n cheese, fried chicken, ribs, corn, fried shrimp, mashed red potatoes. All of the usual heavy southern foods. The sides were on the money, the main dishes not so much. The ribs held very little meat and our chicken was dry- Sage took one bite of her drum stick and handed it to Ryan. But I’ll tell you- even when Sage got off the high chair and started boogieing in the middle of the room to the hiphop music overhead, they didn’t rush us out.
We drove back to the hotel a bit weary from the experience. Tomorrow we test out our Disney World tickets. I got them off eBay and the seller dropped them at the hotel this afternoon. I’ve read the warnings and posts all over the web. Don’t buy tickets on Craigslist or eBay because there’s no way to tell if the ticket’s already been used but the dude had near 100 percent feedback and I used my credit card. Worst case scenario: the tickets are confiscated, we buy at the gate for the regular price and I dispute the charge on my card. I’ve always been one of those people who had to “learn the hard way”. We’ll see what happens tomorrow. Wish me luck!
Just got back from watching Warren Miller’s Intervention. The place was packed and the energy electric. I love how ski movies are part of our pre-season ski conditioning. They get you drooling for the white stuff the way a cupcake makes a five-year-old’s chin drop. You shut your eyes and imagine the same cold smoke wash over you. But I have a problem with this year’s Miller entry.
The skiers are getting farther and farther away from being relate-able. I’m never going to ski Antarctica or Georgia and there’s no resort (ie Telluride) that’s going to send me out with a guide to ski deep untracked before allowing public access to it. WM producers would have you think the only people who ski inbounds are jibbers who use the lift shacks and towers as terrain park features.
In Utah, we have some pretty mind-blowing turns but to send the Crists over to ski Cedar Breaks National Monumentwhere NO ONE that’s not with a film crew is ever going to ski because 1) it’s not a true ski area and 2) everything is mandatory air, is pushing it. To be fair, the filmmakers did say that this 61st annual installment was meant to be exotic. I just would have liked the exotic to also be realistic as a destination.
The running theme on addiction and staging a ‘wintervention’ for your recovery hit home. My favorite quote of the night was “I keep turning down my future just to go skiing one more time.”
Anyone who anxiously watches the fall weather patterns for those first signs of snow knows what it’s like to Jones for winter. The segments of the late Arne Backstrom floating in Heavenly’s untracked (shot at 7 .m. before the mountain opened to the public) were right on the money. And those crazy Kiwis ripping at the Freeskiing Championships and bungee jumping in the New Zealand segment were sick.
No Warren Miller production would be complete without a narrator and Jonny Moseley has finally gotten a handle on his voice overs. They’re more friendly and casual- much more like he’s talking than reading us something someone else wrote. However, the movie sound in Abravanel Hall was so loud that most of what was said by the athletes was distorted and difficult to understand. Wish I could say that the music was better but it seemed a bit ‘off’ as well. The songs themselves were great but they didn’t complement the moments. Take Mr. Scruff “Music Takes Me Up”, for example. It’s a very cool song… about music not skiing. And not life. And how about the punkish Grinderman? Something about sucking her dry and biting him on the 29th floor?
Still, you can’t get too technical about a Warren Miller film. They call it ski porn for a reason. It’s not ‘real’. The athletes and photographers bust their butts to bring you some stunning imagery and inspiration so even if you will never spend a night in a tent on a Norwegian island surrounded by polar bears, you can appreciate the effort. Besides, at the end of the night it gets the job done. Wintervention reminds you that it’s time for a fix.
Just because you don’t go to college doesn’t mean you have to pay extra to ski. Alta’s got a new season pass option for slackers. The Young Adult Pass is $599 if you buy it before September 29. That’s $300 less than the regular pass price. The pass is for adults 18-25. “We are in a unique economic environment where more and more of our college-age skiers are having to work more hours and take fewer classes,” said Alta’s Connie Marshall. “The old model of offering an incentive to full-time college students has become impractical.” Alta says they want to make sure cash-strapped youth still ski. Alta’s college, college spouse, military and senior passes are all $599 before September 29. If you don’t fit into any of those categories I suggest marrying a young’n or getting a fake senior ID. FYI- Park City Mountain Resort also has a College/Youth season pass for $450 for 18-24 year olds.
Once again my blood is churning. I stayed home from my kayak class to get some writing done, told Ryan to order pizza because I won’t take a break from writing to cook and we get jacked by the Davanza’s at Kimball Junction. I don’t know why we even bothered at this point. Maybe because we always have a great experience at the one at Foothill in SLC. But this one in PC is beyond bad. They get the order wrong 100% of the time, they rob you on delvery charges, the food is at best mediocre and now they charge you for all sorts of extras without disclosing it first. No more. I’ll pick up from the Davanzas in SLC before EVER ordering from the Kimball Jxn spot. Times are tough but not tough enough to charge $40 for a large 1/2 n 1/2 pizza!! They wanted to rape us for going halvsies. SINCE WHEN IS THIS GOOD CUSTOMER SERVICE AND SINCE WHEN DOES THIS EVER FLY WITH US? $6 extra a side, plus $14 to change olives to tomatoes on both sides!! I told them to take their pizza back and shove it. Maxwell’s here we come.
So this part sucks. I can’t find a pen and have to type! 4 women in a tiny cabin, no bath, all with varying thermal temps and everyone but me trying to sleep. I want to write. Damn! Where’s that pen? The light tapping of keys sounds more like footsteps in this dark silence. I’m exhausted yet inspired to write. I came on FD so I could have just one time in my life where a trip was for me- not work, not family- and just languish in it. But then there’s the part of me that can’t help but document this experience. I’ll say it’s for Sage. So one day she’ll understand why I left her alone with Daddy for a week while I went whitewater kayaking in Montana.
A year ago today, I was sitting on the roof of Ryan’s car, watching the Park City fireworks and wondering what having cancer means to me. At that time I had no idea what stage I was, what my treatment would be, whether I would see my daughter grow up. I was numb. I watched the lights in the sky and blanked out. I told myself not to think about it because there was nothing I could do over the holiday. On July 5, however, the wheels burned rubber. Like a leopard focused on his prey, I pounced on this cancer thing. I stopped contemplating a future (or better stressing about one) to deal with the here and now. The summer swirled down the drain- flushed like bad poopy as Sage would say.
One year later, I’m here, I’m strong, I’m ‘surviving’ and I’m about to punish myself in freezing waters for five straight days in the woods. First Descents out of Boulder, Colo., is a non-profit org that puts on something like 15 adventure camps a year for cancer survivors. Idaho, Jackson, Washington, Colorado, Montana, Utah. Rugged places if you’re up for a challenge.
My only luxury is Internet. We have to walk 5 minutes to the showers and toilets. There’s no running water nearby and no TV. It reminds me of my eight grade retreat to Yosemite.
Just yesterday I was bombarded by high-tech gadgetry. I had an MRI yesterday. The experience sucked. That’s about right. Took two nurses, several shrieks and three tries to get the IV in. An hour and 40 minutes later, both boobs were scanned and I was dressed and out the revolving door. I won’t have the results until Tuesday or Wednesday; I see my doctor a week after that. Will I be back at square one, don’t pass GO, Don’t collect $200 or will I be able to relax and feel like I’ve poked my head out of the woods? In other words, will I have to repeat last summer or not?
In a way, this trip is my last week before the news. Like a deathrow inmate getting his last meal….Or it’s a celebration of the new – I can’t say ‘me’ because I’m the same me only a little less cocky and a lot less immortal- so I’ll say it will be my homecoming. My new year; my Cancerversary. Please let it be this and not the former! All of us here – at this First Descents Camp – have some form of cancer. No one talks about cancer here. Not yet anyway. Not on our first day. Maybe we never will. This is emotional therapy by way of the physical. We get to kick our butts on the river, feel strong and come home with skills. We don’t need to deal with cancer this week. We have better things to do.
One year ago today, I wondered how my life would look. Today, I’m still wondering. Tomorrow, however, I’ll be stuffed into a plastic torpedo, forced to roll it over and swim in water only penguins appreciate. I won’t have time to think about the good or the bad of my test results. I’ll only have time to “be”.
You don’t get those kinds of opportunities that often, Sage. So I’ll understand if you choose to do something completely selfish and extreme when you’re older. Leave me alone for a week with your Daddy and do everything you can to squeeze life by the balls and make it scream in your face. You scream back, dammit! And for just that moment feel like you can control your fate.
