My cousin Eric Shafran lives in Denver but has a place up in Beaver Creek, so I went over there last night for Shabbat dinner. The last time I had seen Eric, I suspect I was wearing Batman underoos, so it was nice to connect. (And yes, that could well mean I saw him last week---don't judge my underoos, you know you are just jealous.) I had a very nice time, and it also reminded me that whatever misgivings I may have about organized religion, there are several aspects of Judaism that are really rather appealing. Now, don't worry, I'm still a cynical bastard who thinks our life after death consists of being an amuse buche for earthworms. However, the notion of setting aside one day a week to slow down, put aside the frenetic pace and concerns of weekly life and focus on what really matters (family) is something we got right. I also hadn't sat down with family (or anyone else for that matter) for Shabbat dinner in who knows how long, and I realized that I actually do miss it. Of course, you can't beat a Shabbat where you talk about "Lazy Sunday" directly before benching. (For the older readers: Lazy Sunday is a recent SNL skit. For the Goyish readers: benching is grace after meals) It will be interesting to see if Judaism is something that becomes more important in my life as I get older, given how strongly I feel about it on one hand, yet how ambivalent on the other.

Thankfully, I am scheduled to work tomorrow night so I at least get paid for having to deal with the inanity that is New Year's Eve. I am of course traumatized that I won't be able to spend another Dec. 31 at the Velvet Dog (not a euphemism for some sort of sexual and/or drug exploit, but rather a bar in Cleveland). I sure will miss the overweight shirtless man with the scrolling LED display hanging around his chest that read "I Wanna Lick Your Nipples." Ahh, memories.

It's 3:30 in the morning, and by all rights I should be sound asleep. I'm obviously not. Why? Could be the lack of heat in my apartment. (again.) Could be the fact that I've blitzed through the entire first 2 1/2 seasons of The Office over the course of three days, including a solid 4 hours tonight. (Speaking of which, I am finding myself overwhelmed by a burning desire to encase the valued possessions of my bosses, friends and family in Jell-o) But the real reason I'm awake is that I have to finish a list I have had weeks to prepare, and that I need to have to my father by 9 a.m. EST. I even managed to procrastinate by having fun today---skiing for a few hours at Copper Mountain in a blizzard, then rendezvousing with cousins Jon and Meg for a drink at a Communist Bar and awesome gourmet tapas with their friends Joe and Carolyn. (not kidding about the commie bar---hammer, sickle, lots of red, stripper pole. what more could a lonely pinko want?) Back to what I'm so successfully procrastinating--the list. It is a list of the possessions I would like to have from my grandma and grandpa's house. My dad and his three brothers are meeting tomorrow with the unenviable task of figuring out who gets what. Now, I've been putting this off for two reasons. Reason One: I know better, but I can't shake the incredibly tacky feeling I get treating the cherished possessions of my grandparents as my own personal eBay. Admittedly, unlike eBay, rather than reselling the items within week I plan to keep them and hopefully someday give them to my children, or at least a niece, or failing that at least a genial hobo. Still, it feels icky. (scientific term) Reason Two: As excited as I am that Jon and Meg are moving into the house, that house has been the focal point of my larger family life for as long as I've lived. Not only do I miss Grandpa and Grandma like hell, but I miss those times like hell. Friday night dinners, cherry pop, watching Pat dump an entire tub of liquid butter on the scalloped potatoes...I learned a lot in that house, both good and bad. I learned how to beat Super Mario Brothers 3 by getting both whistles, and I also learned what happens when you eat an entire platter of asparagus. I also learned that people get sick and don't come back--you know how some images, for whatever reason, are seared into your brain? Hearing about the JFK assassination? Where you were when Edgar Renteria beat the Indians in the '97 series? Well, when I was 11, I remember my grandfather starting to cough and not stopping. I remember my mom taking me away from the table to the upper part of the dining room, and explaining to me that grandpa was coughing because his health was failing. When I asked what it meant, she said it meant he wasn't going to get better. And she was right. Things change, people get older, people die, new people are born, the lion eats the gazelle and Simba inherits the kingdom. In theory, as life marches on it brings new challenges and new excitement. And that is true. But, as my father says, when you look around a room and all you see are ghosts, it is hard to see the new challenges through the fog.

I bet they are having one helluva game of pinochle up there.

Random nice thing of the day: (admittedly, nice thing of yesterday, but what the hell)

Just as I was closing the bar two nights ago, a young German tourist came in wanting a margarita. I made it for her, and she was very apologetic about being unable to give me a tip. (She only had a 10 and the drink was 9.90.) The next day, she came and found me (no small feat as I was working in a different bar) and gave me a 5 dollar tip.

I managed to work in not one, not two, but three different bars yesterday (including the aptly named Ice Bar--kind of nice, actually, limited supply so I actually get to tell people no. As in, you want Shiraz, too fucking bad, I've got Merlot. Insert Sideways quote here. Allright, fine, I'll do it for you. I'm not drinking fucking Merlot.)

I started watching The Office, and the girl who plays Pam is a perfect example of the importance of personality. While by no means meeske (sp?), she is also no Jessica Alba. But her manner is so totally charming she is made much more attractive. There are also plenty of girls who might be nice to look at, but once you see them open their mouths, or talk to a waiter, it is game over.

Yet another long, frustrating day at the bar that is not worth rehashing. (The actual bar tending/client interaction is great, it is everything/one else that is problematic) I also officially hate mojitos, they take for bloody ever to make, especially when the bar is packed, which it now is pretty much all the time. One amusing note about the level of communication: The boss of my bosses boss (the Food and Beverage director for the whole hotel) quite a few days ago and no one bothered to tell us. It's a shame-he was both competent and a decent guy, which has proven to be an unusual combination. Two characters for my upcoming feature film/sitcom/Ken Burns documentary: 1. The Brazilian who found it hilarious that I knew and used the Spanish word for clown, and insists on saying it and chuckling every single time he sees me. 2. The Indian who has absolutely fallen in love with one of the Brazilian girls, and hounds her simply by pronouncing her name endlessly with a maniacal puppy-dog twinkle in his eye.

I was really hoping to be able to ski during the days before work, but when I don't get to sleep until 3 or 4, it makes that plan kind of difficult. Somethings gotta give. [token movie reference]

Worked in the lobby bar today, which, although less my kind of place than the bar I typically work in is definitely a better gig. Even though it is markedly busier, because you have 3 cocktail waitresses, and don't have to deal with the myriad of other random stuff my bar entails, its actually less work. More time spent making drinks, less crawling around on your hands and knees trying to get the fire to work. Had a guy come in today ordering $65 cognac, only to ruin it by requesting a splash of Frangelico (a hazelnut liquor) in it. Yuck. Also had a lovely family of three who were really irked they couldn't buy me a drink, and proceeded to leave me a 50 percent tip. Thought I was going to have my lunch handed to me today and it really wasn't all that bad---with the exception of managing to break a key in half.

This week finally worked out like they have been supposed to! Working the right hours, got out skiing four times, then a quick trip to Denver to see Jon, Meg, et al for the last night of Hanukkah. It was nice to spend the last night with them, especially as this is the first time I haven't been home for the holiday.

I took a lesson on Friday and my instructor decided it would be a good day to test me out on some black mogul runs. Needless to say, by the time I made it down to Denver I was dead. As always, Denver was quite fun--I really don't know where Ava gets her energy. In no particular order, some of the cute moments:

--After lighting the candles, Ava, in the midst of running around completely overwhelmed by excitement blurted out "family hug family hug" A genuine "aww" moment--and oddly nostalgic, as its was/is something my sis and I did/do.

--Jon and I crawling around on our hands and knees being mommy and daddy cat while Ava bossed us around. She later decided to put us in a bowl of soup and cook us I blame the cannibalistic instincts on her being raised a vegetarian. The look on Meg's face watching aforementioned interaction was pretty good too

--Jon being used as the pretend litter box for Ava's feline alter ego to repeatedly pretend defecate on, and his exclamation that "I just LOVE being a litter box". Don't advertise that one, buddy.

--Taken Ava sledding on an absolutely gorgeous day today. 3 year old. Sled. Nuff said.

Going to hit the hay with the vain hope of getting some hill time in tomorrow before work. We'll see how that goes. Also, for the record, Ursula is still freaking scary.

I know what you were all thinking. Two days without posting, maybe he's fallen off the wagon, maybe I'll finally be able to stop wasting my time reading about Ratner's life and waste my time doing something more productive, like Pong. Alas and asunder, no such luck. I couldn't post two days ago due to the internet being down, and couldn't post yesterday due to passing out. (from exhaustion. and crystal meth.) We got hammered by a blizzard the past few days (made national news) which meant I got to spend two days at Vail with my new skis. (Admittedly, I just really like typing "new skis" because it reminds me of how sexy they are.) This most elemental day was definitely exhilarating--and hard to describe. The snow was so thick that you could barely see the terrain ahead of you, and between that and the powder you really had no concept of the gradient of the hill until it was underneath you. Adding to the experience was the general paucity of people (who would be nutty enough to be outside?) in the back bowls. (More trees than people is always a good thing.) The only issue was that, apparently, some of the markers that point out hazardous terrain blew down, and I very nearly skied off of a 10 ft. rock ledge. That would have been bad, m'kay? Quick tangent--I may be a bit oversensitive, but when they decided to name the restaurant at the top of Vail's gondola "The Eagle's Nest", didn't they realize that name was already taken? Vail should unveil (no pun intended) their new mascot, Goebbels the Gopher, any day now.

Three other random anecdotes from Wednesday:

It's a shame I'm not a screenwriter because I have enough characters for 8 movies after a little over a month on the job. My favorite Wednesday was the 12 year old from Texas who, when ordering a cherry coke, gave me his best Stifler look and said, "how about a little Captain Morgan with it this time?" Smooth kid, smooth.

The mercurial nature of the service industry also never ceases to amaze--I got a $6 tip on a $60 tab, and 10 minutes later got a $20 tip for bringing the pool balls out for someone.

Finally, I walked into HR Wednesday and someone asked me the name of my "hot girlfriend" When informed that I had no girlfriend, hot or otherwise, she insisted that a coworker had seen me with some gorgeous lady. If you are reading this, hot girlfriend, you are clearly lost and/or misplaced. Give me a call (you should know the number) and I will be happy to pick up and/or rescue you. Sincerely, Matt Ratner

The only thing I can say is that I wish I had something to say. I admit that I was hoping this blog could go back and forth between "journal" type entries and pieces of a more Op-ed nature. Obviously, of late, I've been so wrapped up with work, that the blog has been entirely the former. With luck, that should change beginning next week. Slowish night today, which was sorely needed, although we did find out that Hyatt has determined Ryan can no longer work as a bartender. What this does to my schedule remains to be seen. Saw Tom Vilsack on The Daily Show and was actually relatively impressed- at the very least he is articulate and has a sense of humor. It will be hard for him to pick up much traction over the heavyweights, but he would make an interesting VP candidate.

Where to begin? Today, well, it was quite a day. Started off promising enough--fresh powder to break in my brand new, incredibly sexy skis. (It was snowing basically the entire day, and very large, beautiful flakes.) Things turned ominous when the chairlift I was on broke down for 20 minutes, followed by my slipping on some ice and taking a fat loss on cobblestone, messing up my knee in the process. Bar got hit pretty hard for a spell, and I got to go back in time again thanks to the old lady who ordered a Stinger. The problems really began when a very nice couple (let's call them Jane and John) came in towards the end of the evening. Their serenity was interrupted by three tipsy Germans. One of the Germans (Klaus, for argument's sake) was feeling a bit more sociable than John, and when he informed John that his wife was quite beautiful, John, who hadn't had a drink all night, snapped, got in the German's face and said "if you say another motherfucking word I'll smash your face in." It wasn't encouraging that John was about twice my size, and I was lacking my tranq gun. Jane and I were able to get John to leave, with his Jane explaining that "he's a really nice guy, but he's a police officer so he has a quick temper and gets violent." Hmmm. What's wrong with that picture? Now, I had already decided that my German friends would not be having more than one drink, and when I refused to serve them more I was offered a 20 to look the other way. Having none of it, I gave them their bill, only to turn around and find that they had vanished, leaving only half of the money they owed. Thus, at midnight, I got to chase three drunk Germans around in the snow, finally catching up with them trying to bribe their way into another bar. Just another day at the office.

Another interesting day at the ranch, aside from my second busiest day thus far. As previously noted, the Eagle County Sheriff's office doesn't have much to do with their time. Unfortunately, this meant that yesterday they sent an underage girl, in the company of a 45-year old man, around to the bars. My co-worker, Ryan, who has been a bartender for 5 years, served her a beer, at which point the police officer smiled and essentially said "You're screwed". It's unclear what the ramifications will be--at the minimum Ryan has a $500 fine and a court appearance- he could be stripped of his right to serve for 6 months. He also faces Hyatt discipline- I wouldn't be shocked if he was terminated. Poor guy, he looked totally ashen today. He also won't be working any bar shifts till this is resolved, meaning my "part-time" status may be somewhat problematic. It also means I have to work in the lobby bar venue the next two days, which is a zoo anyways, plus I'll be working without a service bartender. I'm preparing for chaos. In case you are scoring at home, in the five weeks I've been working here, we have one bartender fired for blowing off shifts and allegedly trashing a Denver hotel, one with a DUI, and one caught serving minors. Go team!

War on Christmas

At around 1 pm today, I was overwhelmed by the desire to jam cocktail picks into my eyeballs. The Browns weren't playing, so the only logical reason for this urge was that our music in the bar changed over to "Holiday tunes". When I go into a bar, there is nothing that makes me want to drink and be merry more than Frosty the Fucking Snowman. After the third rendition of Jingle Bells in an hour, I realized what I am really in for working at a resort over the holidays, and that I truly cannot stand Christmas. Not to mention ALL the Whos down in Whooville, the large and the small. I really don't think this is about me being Jewish, although there is a certain, how shall we say, goy-ishness, to the whole thing. If I had to listen to "Dreidel Dreidel Dreidel" 8 bazillion times in two weeks, I would probably hate Hanukkah too. And, I know the Salvation Army is trying to do good things, but enough with those damn bells already. That is probably curmudgeonly enough for one post---so I will admit I think the white lights are quite pretty.

Also, further proof that Cleveland Rocks!

An interesting impact of the regularity with which I'm posting the mundane events that currently comprise "my life" (cue Billy Joel) is that I have managed to make myself totally superfluous. Out for drinks the other night, I realized that every story I began to tell, my buddy had in fact already read thanks to this website. This means, of course, that it is possible to be completely clued in on the happenings in my life without ever actually having to converse with me. And the peasants rejoiced! On a related note, it means you all know far more about me than I do about you. I was talking to a friend tonight I hadn't spoken with in over a year, and while I didn't know where she worked, she was probably well aware that I had a tasty rib eye the other night. It is a sort of curious phenomenon.

Big week coming up work wise---after the schedule for next week is posted on Saturday I'll know whether they are (finally) going to accommodate the hours I've said I would work, and if not, I'll be looking for a new job. The pace this week is also going to be comparable to what it will be the majority of the winter, and if it is so hectic that I don't enjoy myself, I will also be seeking other means of gainful employment.

Sarah had to have her surgery delayed due to the qualms of an anesthesiologist, but was able to have it today. (On her birthday, what fun) She is officially thyroid-less and recovering--the surgeon said all went very well and she should be home tomorrow. Huzzah!

The other night Madorsky informed me about an interesting issue as regards the relative size and girth of the Indian phallus. The issue being that, apparently, their penises are too small for condoms. Being a skeptical sort where Alex and penises are concerned, I googled for myself, although, admittedly, a touch nervous as to what hits such a search would yield. Lo and behold, he speaks the truth; you can read the article yourself here. Madorsky, I should never have doubted you. Steven Colbert is going to have fun with this one.

Have you ever encountered old-world racism? You know, the kind where Grandma adamantly asserts she isn't racist, its just that black people...fill in the blank. When my Grandma would make these comments, it used to make my blood boil, but lately I've come to realize change is not a viable option, nor is greater self-awareness, so far better to just bite my tongue and frantically apologize to whomever she may offend. Today I had taken lunch over to her apartment, and, after being chastised for my lack of a girlfriend, (I believe, "What the hell is your problem" was the exact quote. Thanks gram.) I commented that she had noticeably more pictures on display of my sister than myself. Grandma's rejoinder was "and they are all crooked. That must have been Bert [her black housekeeper]. Have you noticed black people always put things on funny angles." Yes, ladies and gentlemen, my Grandma truly believes that setting pictures on angles is a racial issue! Hell, I suppose it is progress that didn't use a more racially charged term.

You ever have one of those days where getting out of bed was clearly an error?? By my count today, I walked into two lamps, one door, stepped on one plank of nails, got my hand stuck in one old toy, and dropped the complete dvd series of friends on my big toe twice. in case you were wondering, 40 odd dvds in a display case does, in fact, pack a wallop. I redeemed myself a bit by grabbing dinner with dad, uncle jimmy and aunt susie, followed by a rather therapeutic hot toddy with madorsky. and the best part is, i didn't even spill on myself!

Talking to Max is always good, not only because I happen to like the schmuck, but also because it causes me to remember at least a small portion of the absurd yet fun stuff I did in college. (mojitos made from ciclon [the whole bottle] and the Adam West Batman movie, anyone? for those of you who are blissfully unaware, ciclon is a bacardi product that is 90% rum and 10% tequila. truly foul stuff)

It is always bizarre when a memory recurs to you, vivid as if it were yesterday, yet you are aware that had the memory not been jogged it likely was on the verge of fading from conscious recall. The example that came up tonight involved my laborious efforts to warm cognac as a sophomore. You see, my father had given me a small cognac sampler that Max and I were going to enjoy, and it seemed a grave injustice to drink cognac without heating it. (despite the fact that we were drinking it out of shot glasses) Lacking a snifter, I instead took an empty giant Altoids tin, melted some Chanukah candles onto the tin, and placed a wire basket upside down over the flame. Two rather flammable matzo boxes held the basket at the appropriate hight. I then placed the shot glasses on the wire basket, hoping to heat the cognac, but in reality succeeding only in singeing the wire and nearly burning down the dorm. My efforts, of course, had no perceptible impact on the warmth of the brandy.

I cannot believe it has been a year since Grandma died. The stone setting today was the predictably odd juxtaposition of emotions---a terrible reason for the family to get together, but the fact that everyone was in was really nice and would have meant a lot to Grandma. This past year, my family has been hit with the realization that a part of our lives is over like a ton of bricks, and to say it has been bittersweet would be an understatement. (I graduated College, Sarah graduated High School, the dog died, grandma died, and dad is turning 60. We might as well have hung a big "You're Old!" banner for my parents.) It is very hard at this sort of time not to "play it forward" and start thinking morbid thoughts, which I tried to distract myself from by watching football. Although an ineffective strategy, it did consume time. It's hard not to be wistful for the past during moments such as watching Ava throw snowballs at Uncle Mark. Lately, the only time the extended family has been getting together is when someone dies---hopefully that will change. There is a nice continuity in the fact that Jon and Meg will be moving into Grandma and Grandpa's house. Weird as it is on one level that, for the first time in 50 years, the house will not be Max and Betty's, it is far better for it to stay "in the family" than be unceremoniously sold to John and Jane Doe, or, as my ever regressive father suggested, burnt down. Moreover, the notion that Ava, Charlotte and Lilah will grow up playing in the same house that their Grandfather grew up in is actually oddly comforting. Before I get too maudlin and start singing "Cat's Cradle" or something, onto other subjects.

On a completely unrelated note, how bad is Bryant Gumbel at calling a football game? The only thing worse than watching my Browns get demolished by Pittsburgh was listening to Gumbel catatonically mumble his way through the rout. He reminded me of Monty, Bob Uecker's companion in Major League. "Fly Ball. Caught" You could practically hear Chris Collinsworth biting his lip every time Gumbel made such sagacious remarks as "Cowher looks content to run the clock down to the three minute warning" (not a joke), or when, in a voice amazingly proficient at sucking all excitement out of a play, he would pronounce. "Pass. Endzone. Touchdown." In fact, I'm not entirely sure Mr. Gumbel had seen a football game before last Thursday. At least he didn't wax eloquent on the Turducken, or advocate fast actin' tinactin. On second thought, I wish he had.

I'm back in Cleveland for a few days, which is nice, although the circumstances certainly aren't. Tomorrow is my grandma's stone setting, and then on Tuesday my sister is having surgery to remove her pesky thyroid. (I still think out notion of having Jack Bauer simply point at knife at the thyroid, causing it to leap out of Sarah and go cower quietly in the corner is a viable option) Given the amount of suckitude that has ensued on the home front over the past year this is definitely bittersweet. I cannot believe it has been a year since Betty died, and over a year since Caramel died. Playing with Ava this morning (I spent the night at Jon and Meg's, catching Ava's cold in the process) I mentioned to her that when we got to Cleveland she got to play with my dog. Oops. Denial much? As terrifying as the surgery is for Sarah, I really think it's a good thing---her body has been holding her hostage for years, and it is high time she got it back. She's been incredibly courageous throughout this whole ordeal, and I can't wait for it to finally be a footnote in her life experience.

My friend Lindsay sent me a pretty amusing e-mail the other day in which she pointed out that

"Clearly someone who hates people as much as you do should
definitely be in a service job, such as bartending, where you deal
with a lot of people constantly. I'm glad you've made such a good
decision."

Although she definitely has a point, I think I am pretty tempermentally suited for bartending. Viewed from a professional distance and in small doses, I am able to find the...nuances...of the people I serve interesting, and watching the way people interact from my vantage point (that of a fairly passive bystander) is actually fairly fascinating if not occasionally depressing. I think the same part of me that was attracted to directing is drawn to this contstant ability to observe human nature. Moreover, by dealing with people professionally, and thereby having no expectations, I am able to observe without being disappointed or particularly invested.

America, Canada, Mexico, the U.K., France, Ireland, Bulgaria, Argentina, Brazil, South Africa, Australia, India, Japan. The roster of an international conference on regulating sperm whale populations? Quite possibly, and a valid guess, but in this case incorrect. Rather, it is the various nationalities represented in the restaurant and bar where I work. Definitely one of the cooler parts of my job---and, at times, one of the more frustrating. Those years of model U.N. in High School are finally having a practical application. Decided that my diet of staff cafeteria/frozen dinners was getting old, so a couple of guys and I went out for a good meal tonight---I have consumed a heck of a lot of cow in my life, and the steak tonight was one of, if not the best I've ever had. Best part is, it probably only shaved 2 years off my life expectancy.

Another slow day at the bar---and by slow, I mean I had time to organize my Scotches by region. Perfect day, and I managed to get in a solid two hours on the slopes before heading in to work. I have the next two days off before heading back to Cleveland for a few days. The break will be nice--familiarity has certainly been breeding contempt, and it will be full steam ahead when I get back.

It's quite amusing how people's perception of drinks often has precious little to do with flavor. I made a bunch of pomegranate mojitos tonight without realizing that our pom juice had gone rancid. (As in, tasted like fermented yak urine) Not only did no one complain, but people actually complimented the, I can only imagine, undrinkable drink. And after making a mai tai for an Austrian guy he practically wanted to hug me.

Some amusing moments from the past two days:

-Yesterday I waited on a married couple who were in business together as divorce lawyers, and who wouldn't stop talking about their dog, Mr. Snuggles. That's right, his name is Mr. Snuggles, and I'm sure he is a delicate flower.

-A forty five year old man who, while his wife was in the bathroom, told me he thought his wife wanted him to have another apple martini because she was "feeling frisky and wanted to have her way" with him. Believe me, not a pretty mental image

-The 35-year old blond wearing a low cut V-neck to show off her brand new implants, who kept flirting with me in a (successful) effort to piss off her boyfriend.

-The two guys who showed up for last call, one of whom was in awe that we carried Green Chartreuse and couldn't stop talking about the Benedictine monks who invented it, the other of whom, when informed that any smart, pretty woman within 100 miles has a boyfriend expressed his indignation that a fellow as "good looking" as myself would have any issues in said department. Why is it only the old men who think this??

Nearly the entire staff went to "White Trash Wednesday" at the local dive; mercifully my late hours gives me an excellent excuse to avoid what, I have no doubt, must have been a rockin' good time.

Another beautiful, frigid day today. I was hoping to get out on the slopes but woke up with "Dad Back". Called a Chiropractic who sounded like he was hopped up on E and introduced himself as Dr. Brian. Memo to all the crunch crunchers out there: no one thinks of you as real doctors anyways, and presenting yourselves the same way as Kindergarten teachers doesn't help.

Busy again in the bar with loads of Pomegranate Mojitos. By the end of the season I may not be able to speak as a result of biting my lip so hard it falls off at the rampant corporate idiocy.

Helmets and Weather

Bar was packed from the get go today, so I didn't make it home til well after 2. A couple of thoughts before I pass out.

1. I briefly felt guilty about my decision to sleep in and watch football on such a gorgeous, albeit frigid day. What I've realized is, unlike the midwest, days when the sun is shining are not so rare that one must feel compelled to take advantage. It was sunny today, and it will be sunny tomorrow. I'm so not used to this.

2. Speaking of things I'm not used to, the Browns won today. After hearing that Dawson made the OT kick, (I had to leave for work at the end of regulation) I kept waiting for the inevitable "And Dwayne Rudd throws his helmet into the air causing an automatic forfeiture of game" call, but it never came. Feeling joy at the end of a football game is an odd emotion that I'm not quite sure how to deal with. Sure, it's nice, but it leaves me nothing to bitch about for the subsequent week...

The Personification of Evil

Yesterday I finally vanquished an age-old foe. The personification of evil, if you will. You see, some eleven years ago, I was but a small, innocent child in Beaver Creek Ski School. It was an icy day, the kind that would make Professor Coldheart maniacally laugh with joy, and my group was skiing down the moderate to easy blue hill known as Bitterroot. All a little boy wanted was to finish ski school and enjoy an overpriced hot cocoa, but Bitterroot, that villainous rogue, had other plans. At the end of the hill, Bitterroot turns off onto a catwalk, but on this iciest of days, your young hero's skis would not edge, and Bitterroot flung me into the dark abyss. (In reality, about 20 ft. into the air before being knocked unconscious by a conveniently located tree.) Bitterroot's base and vile nature was only full revealed in the aftermath of "the incident", when it manipulated ski patrol into not notifying my parents for several hours, leaving me, alone, with nothing to watch but endless coverage of the O.J. Simpson trial. Bitterroot owned me, and it cast a dark pale over my very existence. Until yesterday.

Yesterday. The day I bravely trod where only countless thousands had trod before. A grueling effort to reach the summit (8 minute lift ride) and there I was, face to face with He that had wronged me oh so many years ago. I skied. I conquered my age-old enemy. I bellowed to the heavens and praised the almighty Zoroaster. I slew the Dragon, smote his ruin upon the mountainside, and rescued the fair Lady Gwendolyn, winning her heart in the process.

Alright, so maybe that last part is a bit embellished for the benefit of the narrative. But just that last bit. I promise.

Watched the World Cup Men's Downhill today, which was quite the unique experience. You really don't appreciate how fast a human being traveling 75 MPH is until you see it live...or how painful it must be to crash into a gate head first at said speed. (the fate of an Austrian skier today) The event was surprisingly riveting, and the fans determined despite the cold and snow. The award for best nickname goes to perennial champ Hermann "The Herminator" Maier, but the awards that mattered went to the Yanks, with Bode Miller winning the event and Steve Nyman (my age) taking the bronze. Watching anyone perform at the peak level in almost any discipline is engaging, and today was no exception. I've attached a few pics, along with two random ones of my Uncle Mark that happened to be on the same memory card.

Winter Wonderland

American Marco Sullivan

A very a happy Steve Nyman

Uncle Mark and Dad, happy as always

Mark and Sarah

The French cocktail waitress, Florianne, is unbearably hard on herself, becoming nearly reduced to tears after simple gaffes that are language barrier related and predominantly irrelevant. One of her more amusing malapropisms is that, whenever she has a cash payment she urgently requests "Matt, will you please change me." I've attempted to explain that such an act might create a bit of a stir, but poor Flo still isn't quite sure what I'm talking about.

In other international news, Ikohiro (or Ike, as we have taken to calling him, in a nod more to South Park than Eisenhower) managed to get himself arrested last night. (Oh, the Park Hyatt gossip travels fast...) Poor schmuck was out at a bar and decided to help out by driving some people home. Problem one: he doesn't have an American driver's license. Problem two: he was drunk as a skunk. Problem three: the Eagle County police found neither problem one nor problem two amusing and promptly carted him off to jail. Welcome to America, Ikohiro.

Current temperature in Edwards, CO: -15 degrees.

Had an older couple in today that should have been sipping Mint Juleps in the antebellum South. It wasn't that they were old--mid 70s, I would guess, but they just had the aura of being from a different era. The woman told me a story about how she used to spend 30 minutes making her own Bloody Mary mix, and how everyone had a recipe whose secrets were zealously guarded. I don't know if it's possible to feel nostalgic for something you never experienced, but speaking with her made me long for the days when everyone wasn't prepackaged, from Bloody Mary mix to personality. Our increasingly flat world, as Tom Friedman characterizes it, leads to amazing transparency but also unfortunate similarity. A Starbucks in Bangkok produces the same Cappuccino as the Starbucks in Brooklyn, and I'm not even remotely convinced that this is a good thing.

Well, we finally got the big storm we've needed---about 2 ft. of snow. I got up for a few hours today and was literally in powder past my knees. Another dead bar shift, although an Olympic gold medalist passed through, which isn't something you see every day. (from France, I forget his name) I actually had a guy come in and order several Grasshoppers today, and between that and the Frank Sinatra playing I really felt like I was slinging drinks in the 50s. Random tangent: Speaking of Grasshoppers, it made me think of one of my favorite scenes in The Muppet Movie, when Kermit walks into a bar after having a fight with Piggy and orders a Grasshopper. Low and behold, on the DVD version of the film this scene is omitted due to Disney's fears about having the famed frog drink. C'mon! It's one thing to ruin Star Wars by having Greedo shoot first and digitally adding Hayden "Limp Fish" Christiansen, but messing with my muppets?!? Oh, the humanity...

We finally are getting the snow we have been desperately needing late tonight, and with any luck we will have 6" by tomorrow. Today made me realize how much I'm actually going to be able to ski this season---even though I slept in until around 10, I was able to get a solid few hours on t he mountain before going into work. It was a bit surreal as the conditions are quite icy so I had the mountain essentially to myself. The resort is totally dead right now making "work" little more than watching Monday Night football for 3 bucks an hour, although I did get a group come in and drop $300 on Scotch. Also had a few members of the Austrian ski team--they are in for the World Cup events being held at Beaver Creek this weekend. I'm hoping to try and catch some of the events--I hear its unbelievable. (They ski ~85 MPH)

Goldens, Goldens, everywhere

But not a one that's mine... Honestly, its been some sick joke how many dogs in general and goldens in particular I've seen since I've been out here. After my first day skiing at Vail, I nearly skied into one coming down after my last run. I saw no less than 3 just running out to get a sandwich. And, on the employee bus down the mountain yesterday, I spent the entire ride across from a 5-month old. In addition to making me miss my dog like crazy (its been over a year, but I'm still waiting for the joke to be over) it has really made me want to have a dog. (Missing having my pooch specifically and having a pooch generally are distinct, if related, emotions.) Then again, the people who I spent Thanksgiving with (friends of Jon and Meg) have a dog with cancer, and talking with them made me remember how totally fucking miserable the process of losing Caramel was. It's definitely God's perverse sense of humor that man's best friend would have a life expectancy so much shorter than a human. And, given the way I feel about most dogs vis a vis most humans, logic would dictate the life expectancy should be the other way around. Supposed to get a massive snow today or tomorrow, and we sure need it. Hoping to motivate and get on the mountain before my shift tomorrow.
Today was torturously slow---its been feast or famine thus far.

Holiday Photos

As promised, here are some photos of Halloween and Thanksgiving. Click to zoom in.


Ava, as her alter ego Sassy Cat, flanked by Meg and myself, with Jon and Meg's friend Carolyn in the background. Check out the feet.The three kids spontaneously decided to beat the hell out of me with their bags of candy.
Tofurkey Day-- Ava and friend Elise holding Ava's sisters Charlotte and Lilah.
A tiger with a cellphone. Enough said.

I knew there would be a day where I would have my "Cocktail" moment and have my lunch totally handed to me, and that was today. I woke up in Denver at 6:45 AM, got some face time with a very cute and very hungry set of twins, and then embarked on my second 15 hour shift in the past three. During lunch I am responsible for all the drinks for the outdoor restaurant, which is huge. (side note: whoever started the notion that Bloody Mary's should have olives in them needs to beaten to death with large chunks of pimiento. It's just plain wrong. Sort of like mayonnaise.) Dealing with the restaurant is one thing, but today I got two tables of 10 people wanting to order full lunch from me, and predictably chaos ensued. On the bright side, I finally made some money, and have plum shifts next week. (Sun-Wed, 3-close, meaning I can sleep/ski during the day) In the evening the resort had its Christmas tree lighting, which literally drew hundreds of people, so the night shift was crammed as well. I realized I take for granted how helpful 22-years of English is. I think that I can get overwhelmed, but when someone says "Crown and Ginger" or even "Coors" I actually know what they are talking about. Florianne, my incredibly sweet French cocktail waitress, (before you ask, she's taken, by another Frog named Ben. Bitch of it is, he happens to be a very nice guy.) was nearly driven to tears tonight by the insanity, and there was precious little I could do. All right, my redbull has worn off, so its beauty sleep for me. Its funny, I keep wondering whether I will meet some people, but between all the social interaction at work and time I want to spend skiing, I wouldn't be able to find time for friends outside work if I had them. Very excited to scale back starting next week.

So, I made it down to Denver today (in record time, I might add) and got to spend Thanksgiving as one should--with family. Great to see Jon, Meg and their litter as always, and particularly nice to be with fam as this is actually the first Thanksgiving I haven't spent in Cleveland. Ava, the three year-old, is adorable as always (once I plied her with presents to overcome shyness) and being absentee uncle is really a good gig. In fact, it has made me quite certain I want my sister to have kids---all the perks, none of the diapers, and when they get annoying, you can leave. That being said, I did have quite a marathon game of "Hunter", mostly involving me, as "Mommy Bambi", hiding under a blanket or table while Ava took great pains to protect me. Of course, even if she was across the room, the moment I let my feet slip out from the table I was hastily reprimanded for subjecting myself to such great danger. Four years of undergraduate theatre training at Northwestern, and I'm reduced to playing "Mommy Bambi". Forty grand a year to good use, if you ask me.
It's a bit hokey (I'm a softie at heart, after all) but their really is no more instantly rewarding feeling than having an infant smile for you. I even busted out a hearty rendition of "Hush Little Baby" for Charlotte, although I must say my lullabye repetoire is a bit thin. I'll try and upload some photos tomorrow. I hope everyone is enjoying their tryptophan hangover, and remember not to massacre any helpful and well-intentioned neighbors in honor of the pilgrims.

Well, I left my apartment at 9:30 Wednesday morning and got back around 2:00 A.M. Thursday, working a marathon 15 hour bar shift. I was only supposed to be on until around 7, but Ikohiro, who was supposed to take over has such a poor command of English and general lack of knowledge (e.g. he doesn't know which coins are dimes) that I stayed to ensure he didn't burn the place down. I actually would feel really bad for him if he wasn't so frustrating. "Can you get salt and pepper" is like a 15 minute conversation with him. On the bright side, I have tomorrow off so I get to spend Thanksgiving with my cousins and their kids. (three daughters--one is 3, the other two are 6 months) I also think I've ingratiated myself to my boss due to my general awesomeness/competence, so my schedule for next week should be scaled to the part-time hours it was originally supposed to be. (note: for those of you who know me you will realize that the preceding sentence, which could be viewed as smug, is actually a delicate combination of smug, sarcastic and self-deprecating) Despite the long hours, I am actually enjoying the bar tending piece of it---although I have to bite my tongue every time someone orders a chocolate martini. Its fairly amusing how often I'm doing something so stereotypical I feel like I'm part of a Billy Joel song (No Madorsky, not Captain Jack) It is also interesting how people are so overwhelmed by you just being a nice guy and doing your job. Even though I was closed, I let some people use the pool tables while I cleaned up, and they practically called the Vatican to being canonization procedures. Time to pass out, Happy Thanksgiving everyone.

Have you guys been following this Michael Richards thing? Cosmo, how could you, after all we shared....

Things are getting interesting over at the Park Hyatt. The mountain opens tomorrow, and we actually got a decent crowd for lunch. (people sure do love their apple martinis...) The chief to Indian ratio is so skewed that almost nothing gets done, and I have been truly amazed by how disorganized things are. One example: I inherited four people to help me polish glassware because they had been scheduled to work at a bar that is under construction until next week. It doesn't help that none of my three supervisors seem to like each other, and the amount of petty dick-fighting between them is fairly high. On the bright side, I showed up to work today to find out that one of my colleagues, Damon, had been fired. Normally I wouldn't take pleasure in another man's pain (or at least admit it publicly) but this was a long time coming. In addition to being a lazy S.O.B. who didn't do any work on the rare occasions when he showed up, within five minutes of meeting him he produced a photo of his most recent "conquest." And he had a mullet. Always a good warning sign ladies, avoid the guys with mullets who carry pictures of the female anatomy in their wallet. Remember, only YOU can prevent forest fires.

I'm really getting frustrated with Studio 60. I desperately WANT the show to be good---I think the cast is generally terrific, although the Harriet character bugs me, but thus far the show has been nothing more than lots of pretty words. Sorkin's intensity of dialogue just works a lot better when talking about a pending nuclear crisis than whether or not to do product placement. And all the pretty words can't make up for lack of discernible plot. All the self-referential humor about the Eastern intellectuals is getting tiresome too. Hopefully they will get back to the basics and give the very interesting characters something correspondingly interesting to do.

After two days of nonstop skiing at Breckenridge, it's time to drag whats left of my legs to bed. Beaver Creek opens tomorrow, so hopefully there will be plenty of people to ply with my $16 martinis.

A Big Day

Everyone should be very impressed that I actually motivated myself to get up at 6:30 this morning to go to Breckenridge--which meant I would be unable to watch the Browns-Steelers game. I believe this to be a major turning point in my emotional development. Speaking of emotional development, it's probably best we not discuss aforementioned Browns game for several weeks, lest I sink into irrational and immeasurable despair, doubtless stealing Sudafed in order to produce crystal meth in a vain effort to numb my sorrow.

The response to this initial foray into blogging has been varied and quite entertaining, but the winner for both best and most prescient response is clearly Jali, who writes: "I am hoping that your blog becomes a drug and alcohol-induced haze of META rambling on life with the occasional sober emergence and subsequent bemoaning of your True Hollywood Story-esque life. Please...please?"

I'll do my best Jali, I'll do my best.

New Rules

I watched the season finale of Bill Maher tonight, although this show would have been more appropriately title "Mr Dreyfuss' Opus" as the actor hold court on the importance of reinstituting civics. Maher always ends his show with a series of comedic "New Rules", and after watching a protracted debate about the responsibility of the media in choosing what to report, I've decided to add one more rule to Maher's list.

New Rule: We have to stop blaming everyone but ourselves. It has become very posh to do a lot of finger pointing, and there is certainly plenty of blame to go around for all that is wrong with our nation. The President, for leading is into the Iraq Quagmire, the Democrats, for a general lack of both spine and alternatives, and the media moguls, for placing a higher importance on revenue than journalistic integrity. But the fact of the matter is that a republican democracy works only if the citizenry holds its leaders accountable and demands answers. Instead of wasting time whining about the press and the stories it chooses to cover, we can simply refuse to watch yet another Laci Petterson story. Maher's comment that when aromatic food is placed in front of us we cannot resist eating it reduces us to the role of dogs with the media as our masters. I am probably more knowledgeable about politics than the vast majority of Americans, yet I can name more members of the Cleveland Browns than the U.S. Senate. Yes, the media should be held to a higher standard, but that does not excuse the general public from having the right and responsibility of being informed citizens.

Maine- The Way Life Should Be

I made it over to Vail today for the first of what I hope are many ski days. Picture perfect day and I actually felt better than I thought I would, though I stuck to Greens and a couple of easy Blues. What's terrific is that I was able to ski for 4 hours this morning and then go into work later in the afternoon. Needless to say, my body isn't used to working this hard, so I'm going to go pass out, but before I do here are some photos Tony finally sent me from what I hope will be a recurring and expanding trip to Maine. Click on the photos to see a larger version.

Striking our best Album Cover pose at Pemaquid Point
Max and myself
Ben the Lobster at Shaw's Wharf
Putting Tony in his place on the dock
Enjoying the Lake

The Phenomenon of Borat

Given the tremendous amount of press it received, hailed by many as the funniest comedy of the year, yet decried by others as the most anti-Semitic film every made (Leni Riefenstahl, anyone?) I decided that I needed to see Borat and make a determination for myself. I'm not familiar with Sacha Baron Cohen's other alter ego, Ali G, nor do I find films such as Jackass entertaining. That being said, the first thing to know about Borat is that it is funny. Gut bustingly funny. Horrifyingly funny. (I may not be able to have a sexual thought for a solid month without wanting to vomit.) It is "Can they really do that?" funny to the highest degree. It is also profoundly disturbing for a variety of reasons. David Brooks wrote an Op-ed entitled "The Heyday of Snobbery" in the Thursday New York Times. In it, he states that "the genius of Sacha Baron Cohen's performance is his sycophantic reverence for his audience, his refusal to challenge the sacred cows of the educated bourgeoisie." Brooks points out that Cohen knows his audience, making fools out of gun-toting homophobic hicks, while side-stepping any attempts at "ridiculing the pretensions of somebody at a Starbucks or a Whole Foods Market."

It is indeed a flick that causes those of us who "get it" to have a terrific time laughing at the fools who don't. In this manner, it caters to "blue America snobbery, as people on the coasts try to fathom those who would vote for George W. Bush. The only logical explanation is that they are racist, anti-Semitic idiots who can be blamelessly ridiculed" One of the the Democrats major miscalculations (and there are oh so many to choose from) was to dismiss Bush and his cronies as country hicks. Say what you want about Bush, but he has proven to be an incredibly shrewd politician, and the part of me that finds Cohen's portrayal of so-called middle America hysterical is the same part that foolishly and egotistically dismisses those who don't like Cappuccinos and the Whole Foods olive bar.

The flip side of this equation is the fear that the laughter heard throughout the theater was not out of appreciation for Cohen's satire, but of an agreement with his absurd positions. (One early scene features the Kazakh capital's yearly "Running of the Jew", and the Jew is listed as one of Kazakhstan's three major problems. Cohen himself is actually a devout Jew.) I have doubtless become more sensitive to this in the past week, as the only thing that seems to unite the melting pot of the Park Hyatt is disparaging remarks about Jews. The problem with Borat is that if I am not laughing out of an intellectual elitist sense of superiority, I must be laughing out of racism or homophobia. Perhaps it is a bit of both, and perhaps the problem is not with Borat but with me. Indeed, Cohen would argue that the point of his film is in part to ridicule the absurdity that anyone would hold the views the film puts forth. I'll leave the societal nuances and implications of Borat to the likes of David Brooks, but suffice to say that it has been quite some time since a film made me simultaneously laugh and think as hard as Borat.

Let's Do the Time Warp Again

Between full-tilt Hyatt-izing (we did skits...we had acronyms...we never want to relive the cesspool of wasted time and money that was Park Hyatt orientation again...ever.) and the logistical hassles inherent in getting a new place set up, tonight was pretty much the first night I could bother to be social. I decided that, despite my better judgment, I would attempt to do this social thing people speak of, and went to see Borat (more on that later) followed by a birthday party for an Aussie at the Eagle Bend apartments. Eagle Bend, about a 7 minute drive away, is where the majority of the Hyatt employees live. It had everything your dear writer had grown to hate about college (with the exception of about a 50/50 American/Latino split)---indeed, I felt like I had stepped into a time warp to 2002, albeit with "Hips don't lie" blazing in the background. The good: Ikohiro, my Japanese bartending cohort slamming Smirnoff Ice and exclaiming, in broken English, "this party fucking awesome" followed by a declaration that we were soul mates by virtue of both being 22. The bad: the 35-year old guys who have been here for five years and still get a kick out of this sort of thing. The ugly: Cops showing up due to an obvious lack of anything better to do. Honestly, I felt like I was back in High School, minus John Goheen. I nearly got into it with the cop who wanted to prevent me from driving out of a misguided power trip (I had consumed all of two beers) Thankfully, I decided discretion was the better part of valor, but I'm not sure how much energy I have for this sort of thing. Hopefully a few people will emerge. Did I mention that I hate dancing? On the bright side.....well, one must preserve a bit of suspense. First ski day of the season tomorrow!

What's in a Name?

So, why on earth would I choose to name my little slice of cyberspace after some moldy fruit? Funny you should ask. (And if you didn't, shame on you) It all began in 1961.... when a funny little Jewish guy by the name of Mel Brooks had gout. Brooks complained to his friend Carl Reiner that he felt like a 2000-year old man, Reiner asked him what in the name of Moses that felt like, a tape recorder appeared, and, voilà, one of the most hysterical series of radio humor in existence was created.

My father, with his odd (read: Jewish) sense of humor, exposed me to this stuff at a very young age in the form of a 1975 cartoon. Go watch a clip from it here. Go on, it won't bite you.

So what in the name of Gilbert's Grapes made me think of this as the title for my blog?!? Here's a mildly absurd answer for you: I have a tendency to over think things, and ignore what I really want (the wonderfully symbolic nectarine) for what I think I should want, or for what other people think I should want (that damn ripe plum). If I were really stretching, I also might try and wax eloquent about the fact that sometimes in life all you want is a ripe nectarine, but that surly fruit vendor only has rotten ones. You can either go a day without nectarines (the Eighth Deadly Sin) or suck it up and enjoy what you can get. Too much? Did I mention that I also have a tendency to imbue far more significance than I should to zany Jewish comics? Hell, I needed a title, Mel was there for me. Just be grateful I stayed away from anything too pretentious. And do yourself a favor and buy the CD or DVD. You'll never look at Saran-Wrap or Paul Revere the same way again. "I guarantee it"

Introductory Email

N.B. This is the e-mail I sent out introducing the blog. If you got that e-mail, you've read this. -Matt

Hi, all--
First off, as always, sorry for the mass e-mail. You are getting this e-mail either because you were on my South America trip e-mails, or because you were unceremoniously and foolishly left off that list, and I've since learned from my heathen ways. You are also getting this e-mail under the assumption that you have some moderate interest in whether or not I'm presently in a federal penitentiary. If that is not true, feel free to delete this e-mail and return to the epic game of Solitaire you were doubtless playing.

Still here? As many of you know, I can be stubbornly iconoclastic when it games to modern means of staying in touch. I hate Facebook with the irrational fire of a thousand suns, and have sworn off the IM crack. That being said, I wanted to give people a way to keep tabs on me, an have a way to keep in at least relative touch with all of you. My South America e-mails became rather....unwieldy....both to write and I'm sure to read given my tendency to blather so I'm moving to another format. That's right, I'm entering the world of the blogosphere. I'm going to try and post something every day....some days it may just be a random quote or amusing anecdote, other days might get full-fledged Ratner prattle. I'm basically going to play it by ear and see what works. Some important things to know about the blog: much like the trip e-mails, it is serving as a way of forcing me to chronicle my experiences. This means that it won't be nice, pretty and sanitized. (Three words I tend to associate with myself...right after sarcastic.) Your opinion of me will doubtless plummet if you read the blog, so do so at your own peril. Also, if you are reading it, e-mail me and let me know. I actually like the vast majority of you (except that damn Tony Senagore kid...) and am doing this in large part to keep in touch with you. Along those lines:

If you are a recent college grad and switching from your college e-mail, let me know

If you have recently left the world of the living and will not be receiving e-mail in the Nether world, let me know

For those of you who don't know, I decided after graduation that I was just a bit too fried to pick up and move to Argentina, although its still something I would love to do at some point. With the encouragement of my parents, I decided that all of my internal pressure to figure out what to do with my life was bullshit and it would be far better to just start living it. I had been a halfway decent skier about 6" and 100 lbs ago and had always wanted to to cement that skill. I had also taken a bartending course that I really enjoyed about a year ago. Combine the two, and a plan was born. I ate a flan to finalize the plan, and then in August went out to Colorado interviewing for bartending jobs in the Vail Valley. I'm still not quite sure how, but I got one at the Park Hyatt in Beaver Creek, and moved out to lovely Edwards, CO about 10 days ago. I've been living an Orwellian nightmare of Hyatt brainwashing since then, but am about to emerge (relatively) unscathed. We had our first big snow the other night, and its absolutely beautiful here. Also, for what its worth, I had to take a two bedroom apartment and have both a very comfortable AeroBed and fold-out couch. More on the new digs and job later, but I think you brave souls have soldiered on long enough.

Most importantly, the blog can be reached and bookmarked at The Rotten Nectarine Yep, I made you read the whole e-mail just to get the link. What a schmuck!

I hope everyone is doing well---do let me know how life is treating you.

All the best,
Matt