I Read Cosmo!
A few weeks ago I received an invitation from Chris and Ares to join them on a ski trip in Andorra, the tiny country seated between France and Spain in the Pyrenees. How could I turn down such a temptation? We had tried to make the trip two weeks ago, but the weather did not allow for it, so we delayed our plans for this weekend in the hope of better weather. Our waiting paid off, as the sky could not have been bluer nor the sun brighter.
I returned from Seville on Wednesday night, had a nice rest and then next day I met Chris at Tibidabo Station, walking distance from Ares’ house. When I got there I noticed he was sitting patiently, reading a book. I sent him a message to his phone that read, “I’m watching you”. And then I hid behind the newspaper booth, staring out one side with my right eye and a grin from ear to ear. We had a good laugh and then started our walk over to Ares’ where we would load up the car and be on our way.
During the little trek Chris informed me that a friend of his from class would be joining us. Her name was Michael-Ann, and if you know anything about the suffix “Ann” I’m sure you can figure out that she is of southern birth. Chris described her as a “southern bell”, and with these words my stomach turned over creating nausea and dizziness. Needless to say, I was a bit concerned over meeting a southern girl as most of my experiences with those encounters have gone off very poorly. In other words, they usually think I’m an asshole and want nothing to do with me; I call it a dark sense of humour, they call me something anti-Semitic.
I’m realizing right now that I have talked about this weekend experience solely referencing our little Michael-Ann and so I will describe the detestable encounter in a very short manner. We met her at a subway station on the Green line and the moment the car door opened the air inside was filled with the aroma of red, white and blue, well, the red white and blue of Louisiana, that is. “Hola, Como estas?” was regurgitated with a thick southern accent. The words were dripping with the white, sheltered, catholic, daddy’s girl speech impediment. I knew we weren’t going to get along.
Sure enough, I could not have been more right. Anytime I opened my mouth to add something to a conversation she would contest it with conservative propaganda. She would criticize everything I said, attacking me as a person and taking any of my own responses personally as offensive behaviour and then give me no opportunity to explain my statements for the weak-minded state of her obedient and submissive psyche.
During one conversation over dinner someone asked “don’t you find it interesting that the majority of the United States Senators are Republican, and then majority of the Governors are Republican and the President is Republican?” A question only meant to use the weight of the majority as false evidence against any claim of injustice a liberal, such as myself could make. I responded with an equally insulting question, “don’t you think it’s odd that in studies graphing the average IQ of a state versus it’s Democratic/Republican leaning found that the majority you claim to be in control of our government is the same majority that loses in a contest of intelligence?” Needless to say, Michael-Ann didn’t like that one. I’m not sure if she even looked at me again the rest of the trip, with the exception of two minutes later when I received an opportunity to explain myself.
“I read” I said. “You claim to bleed red, white and blue and you seem to think that because I am a liberal that I am against my own country. I read ‘The Nation’ and ‘The Economist’ and any English paper I can get my hands on. I read the news online whenever I can. I take in as much information as humanly possible about the state of our world and I draw my own conclusions. Where do you get your news from?”
“I READ COSMO!” was her reply.
Now that I’m done reporting my distaste for all those that believe anything and everything they are told, allow me to tell you how wonderful my weekend was. Andorra was absolutely gorgeous. The first day we woke up at a bright and early 8:30. After showering, dressing, eating and getting all of our gear, we were on the hill at the crack of noon. We took the Funicamp (or gondola) up from town a good 20-minute ride. When we reached the top it was snowing. Not just snowing, a white out. There were times when you could not see your hand a few inches in front of your face, making “follow-the-leader” rather difficult.
After a few hours the clouds cleared and the sun brighter than I had seen it before. I could feel it burning through my SPF30 and became mildly concerned. We skied all day; we needed to. Chris had been skiing in Alaska many times, but had not been on two planks in over three years. Michael-Ann, on the other hand, has a cabin in Jackson-hole, Wyoming, but never uses it because “[her] parents always rent it out”. The two of them had much ground to cover as Ares skies a few times a year and so she and I can hold our own with our respective equipment.
I had to put on the charm with Michael-Ann, otherwise she wouldn’t even talk to me, and that just makes everything unpleasant. “You’re doing GREAT!” I would say after she completed a turn. “You’re really catching on quick!” Anyone who knows me would have dropped to the floor laughing. There are few things in this world that could get me that excited and I’m sorry to say they are all inappropriate to mention here.
The second day was even better than the first. We got up and on the hill by 12:30, and the sun was out from the moment we stepped onto the snow. As the day went on we all seemed to get hotter and hotter. With every lift we took someone was taking off a layer of clothes. I stripped down to a t-shirt and the shell from my coat, and even that was too much at times. While waiting in the lift line I would take off my gloves and unzip my jacket to keep from sweating. Some runs I would take some snow up in my hands a toss a bit down my shirt as well.
When it was time for lunch, I didn’t want to stop. Chris went in first while Ares, Michael-Ann and I did two runs on our own. Then Michael-Ann and Ares joined him while I went out on my own. I took advantage of not having any company; I hopped the ski-area boundary line (don’t tell my mother) and started to hike up the ridge. I walked up about 20 to 25 minutes, took a seat, strapped on my poor excuse for a rental and had the greatest first tracks of my life.
I returned from Seville on Wednesday night, had a nice rest and then next day I met Chris at Tibidabo Station, walking distance from Ares’ house. When I got there I noticed he was sitting patiently, reading a book. I sent him a message to his phone that read, “I’m watching you”. And then I hid behind the newspaper booth, staring out one side with my right eye and a grin from ear to ear. We had a good laugh and then started our walk over to Ares’ where we would load up the car and be on our way.
During the little trek Chris informed me that a friend of his from class would be joining us. Her name was Michael-Ann, and if you know anything about the suffix “Ann” I’m sure you can figure out that she is of southern birth. Chris described her as a “southern bell”, and with these words my stomach turned over creating nausea and dizziness. Needless to say, I was a bit concerned over meeting a southern girl as most of my experiences with those encounters have gone off very poorly. In other words, they usually think I’m an asshole and want nothing to do with me; I call it a dark sense of humour, they call me something anti-Semitic.
I’m realizing right now that I have talked about this weekend experience solely referencing our little Michael-Ann and so I will describe the detestable encounter in a very short manner. We met her at a subway station on the Green line and the moment the car door opened the air inside was filled with the aroma of red, white and blue, well, the red white and blue of Louisiana, that is. “Hola, Como estas?” was regurgitated with a thick southern accent. The words were dripping with the white, sheltered, catholic, daddy’s girl speech impediment. I knew we weren’t going to get along.
Sure enough, I could not have been more right. Anytime I opened my mouth to add something to a conversation she would contest it with conservative propaganda. She would criticize everything I said, attacking me as a person and taking any of my own responses personally as offensive behaviour and then give me no opportunity to explain my statements for the weak-minded state of her obedient and submissive psyche.
During one conversation over dinner someone asked “don’t you find it interesting that the majority of the United States Senators are Republican, and then majority of the Governors are Republican and the President is Republican?” A question only meant to use the weight of the majority as false evidence against any claim of injustice a liberal, such as myself could make. I responded with an equally insulting question, “don’t you think it’s odd that in studies graphing the average IQ of a state versus it’s Democratic/Republican leaning found that the majority you claim to be in control of our government is the same majority that loses in a contest of intelligence?” Needless to say, Michael-Ann didn’t like that one. I’m not sure if she even looked at me again the rest of the trip, with the exception of two minutes later when I received an opportunity to explain myself.
“I read” I said. “You claim to bleed red, white and blue and you seem to think that because I am a liberal that I am against my own country. I read ‘The Nation’ and ‘The Economist’ and any English paper I can get my hands on. I read the news online whenever I can. I take in as much information as humanly possible about the state of our world and I draw my own conclusions. Where do you get your news from?”
“I READ COSMO!” was her reply.
Now that I’m done reporting my distaste for all those that believe anything and everything they are told, allow me to tell you how wonderful my weekend was. Andorra was absolutely gorgeous. The first day we woke up at a bright and early 8:30. After showering, dressing, eating and getting all of our gear, we were on the hill at the crack of noon. We took the Funicamp (or gondola) up from town a good 20-minute ride. When we reached the top it was snowing. Not just snowing, a white out. There were times when you could not see your hand a few inches in front of your face, making “follow-the-leader” rather difficult.
After a few hours the clouds cleared and the sun brighter than I had seen it before. I could feel it burning through my SPF30 and became mildly concerned. We skied all day; we needed to. Chris had been skiing in Alaska many times, but had not been on two planks in over three years. Michael-Ann, on the other hand, has a cabin in Jackson-hole, Wyoming, but never uses it because “[her] parents always rent it out”. The two of them had much ground to cover as Ares skies a few times a year and so she and I can hold our own with our respective equipment.
I had to put on the charm with Michael-Ann, otherwise she wouldn’t even talk to me, and that just makes everything unpleasant. “You’re doing GREAT!” I would say after she completed a turn. “You’re really catching on quick!” Anyone who knows me would have dropped to the floor laughing. There are few things in this world that could get me that excited and I’m sorry to say they are all inappropriate to mention here.
The second day was even better than the first. We got up and on the hill by 12:30, and the sun was out from the moment we stepped onto the snow. As the day went on we all seemed to get hotter and hotter. With every lift we took someone was taking off a layer of clothes. I stripped down to a t-shirt and the shell from my coat, and even that was too much at times. While waiting in the lift line I would take off my gloves and unzip my jacket to keep from sweating. Some runs I would take some snow up in my hands a toss a bit down my shirt as well.
When it was time for lunch, I didn’t want to stop. Chris went in first while Ares, Michael-Ann and I did two runs on our own. Then Michael-Ann and Ares joined him while I went out on my own. I took advantage of not having any company; I hopped the ski-area boundary line (don’t tell my mother) and started to hike up the ridge. I walked up about 20 to 25 minutes, took a seat, strapped on my poor excuse for a rental and had the greatest first tracks of my life.
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