It has been almost a month since I've put anything up on this site, which is really rather pathetic. For the past few weeks I've quite literally had absolutely no excuse for not posting. It has been a terrific, diverse month since I've last posted encompassing everything from an awesome week long road trip with Sarah to spending an entire NBA finals game sitting next to Ahmad Rashad. There are innumerable anecdotes in between, and one of the reasons I haven't posted is because at this point recounting them would be far too much like work. I'm also OCD enough to be unable to simply write up a few highlights--and even the few highlights would constitute a massive post. I realized the other night that the point of this blog was for it to be fun for me, and that getting a post up had become a stressor. That is just ridiculous (read: idiotic). What this means is that I am going to be taking a hiatus from blogging for the foreseeable future. In the next few days I'll post some pictures of the past month, and then disappear from the Web for a while. I'll send out an e-mail when/if I get back to blogging. Thanks for reading.

-Matt

In order to avoid unbridled amounts of grief from my father, I would like to point out that despite the reference in my previous post, I am not, in fact, of Armenian descent. My father was a wandering Aramean, thus once again proving the evils of spell check.

In a somewhat shocking development, I am, in fact, alive. For the past couple of weeks I've been blissfully out of e-mail contact, and truth be told, for the past week or so I've been meaning to blog and having trouble figuring out how to encapsulate my month without writing a Russian novel. (The Russian novel form was out once I realized no one I know has had consumption. Yet.) It has been a terrific trip on many levels, from the simple awe of natural beauty to more internal experiences. My initial draft of this blog post read as follows: "Writing one of my long-winded trip accounts would be highly problematic due to the similarity of much of my time (hiked to X, X was beautiful. legs hurt) and the mental health of my readers, so I've opted for a more streamlined version. I'll break this post down into a few sections, and you can read whatever interests you." Turns out that was just a tease, because what follows is a long-winded, rambling trip account that jumps back and forth like Mexican beans. Best of luck. For the impatient, here is a link to 20 pictures.

Since my last post, I've been to 6 national parks, 4 state parks, 2 national monuments, 2 national recreation areas, Las Vegas and Los Angeles. I've also eaten rattlesnake. I'm currently in LA house/dog sitting for my cousins who are down in San Diego. Sarah comes out tomorrow and, after a week of much needed nothingness, I restart the cross country extravaganza on Monday. (Extravaganza, for some reason, brings to mind sequins and fireworks) I pretty much collapsed once I got to Santa Monica, I think the whole moving out/rotator cuffs/3 weeks of hiking finally caught up with me. In addition to spending a bunch of time with Frank, a very good friend from forever, (and one who appreciates the quiet glory of sitting on a boat in the middle of a lake drinking mojitos out of plastic tubing) I've been seeing a good deal of Kevin, Alisa and their two boys Max and Ezra. (3 and 10 months, respectively) Max is pretty outrageously cute, and, as always, the attention of a child is the world's best ego trip. It's hard not to feel pompous when Max asks his mother why I can't live with them always. I've said it before, and I'll say it again, this absentee "Uncle" thing is really a good gig. Now, lest my mind wander like my Armenian ancestors, we return to the beginning.

Those of you who read my South America trip e-mails are probably sick of me fawning over pretty rocks, glaciers, waterfalls, and what have you, but I really am perpetually amazed by the amount of beauty in the world. The scale of the Southwest is also shocking--as someone who has very little experience with domestic travel, this trip made me realize that it is quite possible to spend a lifetime traveling without a passport and still not run out of things to see. The pictures tell the story better than words, and even the pictures fail in attempts to capture the odd mixture of raw power and serenity that is the National Parks of Utah. Of course, the serenity is somewhat hampered by the crowds, but venturing out on the longer, less popular day hikes usual affords you relative calm. My favorite stereotypical moment: after hiking to breathtaking Delicate Arch, the following conversation occurred:

New Yorker: Hey buddy, how about you move from under the Arch so the rest of us can take pictures?
Texan: I drove 2000 miles to put my hand on this damn slab of rock, and I'm not going anywhere
New Yorker: Listen [expletive], you aren't the only one who came a long to see that thing.
Texan: Then its a good thing I got here first. (evil belly laugh)

By about the midpoint of the trip, I was certainly pretty damn sick of clambering over slick rock, but overall I was actually pleasantly surprised by the geographic variety in the parks I visited. I'm already making plans to return. "Favorites" are impossible to distinguish, as each experience is colored by those before and after, but a few moments stand out. The hike out to the waterfall at Calf Creek (In between Capitol Reef and Bryce) was terrific. Seeing all that water, and its impact on the surrounding foliage, after two weeks in a desert climate was almost surreal, and the hike itself was a pleasant, easy jaunt. I also fell in love with Kodachrome Basin State Park, about 30 minutes from Bryce. (Bryce was another favorite, the "hoodoos" are otherworldly, majestic, captivating, etc. It was snowing [in May] when I was there, along with a bitter whipping wind, but it is a place I must get back to.) Not only was Kodachrome Basin blissfully uncrowded, but the rocks formations are this beautiful pink hue, and jut out in a wide variety of gorgeous, yet disturbingly phallic forms. The campground was also far and away the most pleasant I encountered, and I ended up staying there 3 nights. Of course, it was so windy that after returning to my tent one night the inside was literally caked in sand. Everything--clothes, sleeping bag, air mattress---it looked like Pompeii. That night, it dipped to about 25, a touch cold to be sleeping outside, although a dram of Balvenie warmed my spirits. The next day I returned from hiking to find that the wind was so fierce it had ripped my tent stakes out and suspended my tent in a tree. At this point, I realized that the camping portion of my trip was over.

Overall, I was surprised by how much I enjoyed both camping out and doing this trip alone. I do think a trip like this, that is inherently more of an internal experience, is much more conducive to going solo than, say, a trip to New York. It was also greatly facilitated by the physical nature of the trip--when you spend six hours hiking, then pitch your tent and make dinner, by the time you crawl into your bag you are too tired to get overly ruminative. After I ended up spending a night at a Best Western I realized that sleeping on the ground with torn rotator cuffs may make my shoulders hurt, but being out in the parks and sleeping in a Best Western makes my soul hurt. I ended up not doing any of the back country stuff I wanted to do, instead making due with camping in the established campgrounds. This was both as a result of my shoulders (carrying the overnight pack around=not good) and simple bad luck. Driving out to the trail head for an overnight in the Needles district of Canyonlands, I noticed the storm clouds getting progressively more threatening, and congregating over my destination. By the time I got there the thunder was rolling, and when I got out to take a look I was promptly greeted by twin lightning strikes, more thunder, and a raven crossing my path. I settled for a couple of day hikes, and was proven correct when it began to pour in earnest. The raven ended up being a light motif actually---one of them tried to steal my license plate, and at the top of a mountain pass the wind was so strong that a raven literally couldn't fly. (This was more interesting than it sounds---Ravens are big birds and to see one get bossed around was really unusual.) Of course, people complain about how aggressive the birds are, yet proceed to feed them Fritos. One of the scarier moments on the trip was when, after an elderly, corpulent lady fed a raven half a Twinkie from her hand, she informed her friend "oh yeah, he takes it real nice. all sweet and gentle like." Umm, ew.

Being divorced from technology was really terrific, and definitely made me think a bit about what makes me happy. Spending the day hiking, making dinner and then sitting outside smoking a pipe and drinking scotch---that makes me happy. I'm such a high octane/stress producing person that putting myself in the polar opposite situation is tremendously beneficial. You also realize just how "plugged in" we are. When I got to the aforementioned Best Western I immediately checked my e-mail, turned on the TV, used my cell, etc. Being in situations where you are not so constantly bombarded with stimuli is remarkably, well, relaxing. Now, I'm not saying that I want to live in a yurt in southern Utah, but having a "simpler" existence, weeding out all the bullshit, does have its appeal. I'm doing a pretty poor job of recounting my time, but the truth is that it didn't yield that sort of stories that my trips to South America and Thailand did. Rather, it was just a stretch of constant wonder at the natural beauty of our world, mixed with anger at the way we treat it, and a wistful longing for a less complicated existence. (As in, a lobotomy) Don't worry, I'm not going to go all granola on you. In all seriousness, I can be a, ahem, large personality, and doing this trip by myself, being fairly self-contained, was just really nice. It was also pretty much the perfect length---by the end of it, I was quite ready to see people I care about and sleep in a bed.

What I wasn't ready for, however, was Vegas. It doesn't get much more jarring than going from quiet desert harmony to the ritz and glitz of Vegas, with only a quick detour to Hoover Dam in between. I had never been to Vegas before, and it really is another planet. Eight of the ten largest hotels in the world are in Vegas. It truly is Disney Land for adults. My mother (she met me there) and I ate at a restaurant, "Picasso" that derived its name from the collection of original Picasso's prominently displayed in the dining room. The value of money also changes in Vegas---in order to get anywhere you have to walk through the casinos, you practically can't take a piss without spending twenty bucks. We saw one guy lose a grand on blackjack in all of five minutes. You just have to give in and embrace the absurdity, but after two days your eyes are spinning like the slots and you need to get the hell out of dodge. We did see a terrific Cirque de Soleil show "KA", which aside from being obscenely visually compelling was a great lesson in storytelling. From Vegas my mom and I drove through Death Valley en route to L.A. Death Valley is a pretty fascinating place in its own right---it was a cool 112 when we were there, but hey, at least it was a dry heat. I could write for days about each of the individual parks, but that would bore you and exhaust me. I also think that a play by play of each hiking trail would be about as exciting as grits. That being said, you should all feel free to buy me a beer and I'll ramble on till my heart's content. I'll try and do another update when I get to Chicago. Until then, good night, and have a pleasant tomorrow.

I'm sitting in the Landmark Motel in Moab, Utah---which is precisely where I was sitting at this time one week ago. The amount that has transpired in the intervening time has been, in a word, absurd. My past week, in brief:

Wednesday- Finished packing, drove 4 hrs to Moab. Actually patronized place called "Eddie McStiffs"

Thursday-- Up at 6 a.m, entire day spent hiking in Arches. Copious natural beauty seen. Legs destroyed. Nice people met. Walking stereotypes encountered. Campsite in Arches full, nearby campsites either full or awful. Ended up staying in The Gonzo Inn---rather appropriate. (More details on Arches to follow in my next post)

Friday--Booked whitewater rafting trip. Got phone call that my MRI results from a few days prior were back and I had minor tears in BOTH rotator cuffs. Canceled whitewater rafting. Got in car and drove 4 hours back to Colorado, sketchily picked up MRIs from underneath picnic bench circa 9 PM.

Saturday-- 7:45 A.M. flight back to Cleveland to see orthopedic surgeon. Running late for plane. After 8 hours plus of driving over the past few days, it is the twenty minutes to the airport where I'm pulled over by someone straight out of Super Troopers, complete with hat and mustache. All but acknowledges he is trying to get an early start on his quota, does acknowledge that I wouldn't have been pulled over if I didn't have out of state plates. Miss flight. No more flights to Cleveland, so I get on a connection to Chicago via Denver. Travel agent tells me that he told his building contractor that he wished the contractor's wife had ALS. Get into Chicago, meet up with best bud from college and hang out for a few hours. Thoroughly confused.

Sunday-- O'Hare Hilton claims they never got my wake up call---I wake up at 6:59 for a 7 a.m. flight. Manage to sprint from hotel to terminal and make a 7:50 connection. Stop home, shower, proceed directly to Cavs openning playoff game with Dad and one A.R. Madorsky, esq. Cavs win, shwarma consumed, sleep had.

Monday-- Go see orthopedic surgeon who pokes me, then has resident A poke me, then has resident B poke me. Altogether too much poking. Says that surgery in my case might make matters worse, best option is to do PT for 3 months and let the body heal itself. Also says to avoid activities that obviously strain rotator cuffs. One good example: white water rafting.

Tuesday-- AM flight back to Denver, hoping to be in Beaver Creek around 1, allowing me to get to Moab that evening. Encounter massive blizzard, several Semis stuck on Vail Pass, two hour drive takes 5. Finally get into Beaver Creek around 6.

Wednesday-- pack (again), drive 4 hours to Moab, handles some logistics, marvel at that fact that I've engaged in either air travel or vehicular travel exceeding four hours six of the past eight days.

It's been a doozy. I guess this falls under "character building experience" The good news is, with the exception of a few activities, the doc didn't seem to feel I should avoid doing much on my road trip. It is also a relief to realize that my arm pain/weakness the past 2 years or so was due to a legitimate medical issue, rather than my hallucinating. So, we'll take a mulligan on the past week and try this whole thing again. (2 to 1 odds my next blog post is about getting a snake bite in Canyonlands tomorrow.) Apologies for the rather linear posting---I promise my next post will be rambling as usual. Now, a few pictures of Arches:

View down into the "Fiery Furnace"--I'm going on a Ranger-led hike there tomorrow

Aptly named "Balanced Rock"

Ute Indian petroglyphs

"Delicate Arch"--the most popular and famous Arch in the park. Well worth the hit my ego took on being based by a 70-year old woman on the hike up.

From a post about the past, we turn to a post concerned with the future. (As you can see, I'm not particularly good with the present!) I've always wanted to drive cross-country, and am in the unique position of having the time, and a nominal reason (getting my car to Cleveland) to do it. So, beginning on Tuesday, I'll spend somewhere in the neighborhood of two months going from Denver to Los Angeles to Newcastle, ME. The first bit is going to be primarily camping out/hiking through Utah's National Parks, where as the last bit will be essentially a whirlwind tour through places I have friends. (I know, you thought you were my only one...) One of the advantages of this road trip is the flexibility---if I love a place, I'll stay a few extra days. My primary goal for this trip is to not get ahead of myself. Now, a VERY rough itinerary, and highly subject to change. Basically, a best guess.

Depart Edwards, CO through Grand Junction, CO to Moab, UT
The five National Parks of Utah, roughly 3 weeks, me thinks. (Arches, Canyonlands, Capitol Reef, Bryce, Zion, plus Grand Staircase Escalante National Monument)
Hoover Dam/Las Vegas
Death Valley
Los Angeles---for a bit, I'll definitely need some civilization at this point, plus I have family/friends there. This is also likely where my sis will meet up with me for a bit.
Joshua Tree
Grand Canyon
Mesa Verde/Black Canyon of the Gunnison
Denver
Flat, boring, nothingness
Custer State Park/Rushmore/Badlands, maybe a jaunt to Pine Ridge if I feel like getting depressed.
Chicago!
Cleveland
DC
NYC
Boston
Acadia if I'm not passed out yet
Newcastle, ME. Nibbling on sponge cake, watching the sun bake

So, there it is....I'm pretty excited, provided I don't get bitten by a rattlesnake in the first 24 hours. Incidentally, I'm hoping to write a decent amount of postcards---I got one from my Aunt Shell the other day and realized how nice it is to get something hand written. (Plus, what the hell else am I going to do??) So, if you want one, e-mail me your address.

Once I get to Maine I'll take a few weeks to relax, then I'm heading South. As in, I'm moving to Argentina, most likely Buenos Aires. This hasn't been fully fleshed out yet, but the basic plan is to stay down there until I can speak Spanish. Living in a foreign country is something I've really wanted to experience, and I am in the unique position of having essentially no commitments, making it an ideal time in my life to up and move to a foreign country. I really think having a fluency in Spanish in today's America is an invaluable skill--it also allows me to get back to an intellectual challenge. I think I'll take intensive language courses for the first few months until my Spanish is passable, then move somewhere and devote a few months to doing humanitarian work. (Something else I've been committed to doing at this highly flexible stage of my life)

Needless to say, most National Parks don't have WiFi, so my blog posting may fall off precipitously. When I do get a chance to post, I'll make sure to include a link to pictures as well.

A couple of travel-related quotes before I go, ranging from quasi-pretentious to geeky:

"The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeing new landscapes, but in having new eyes."
- Marcel Proust

"A good traveler has no fixed plan and is not intent on arriving."
- Lao Tzu

"The world is a book, ,and those who do not travel read only a page"
- Saint Augustine

"We shall not cease from exploration, and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive where we started and know the place for the first time. "
T. S. Eliot (Oh Shaker Theatre, you follow me everywhere. And, resolve.)

"All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost"
- J. R. R. Tolkien "Lord of the Rings"

As my time here in Edwards comes to an end, I think it only appropriate to devote a few words to reflection. Certainly, my time here did not work out as I anticipated---for four primary reasons.

Reason 1: The job thing--already much belabored in this blog.

Reason 2: My penchant for tilting at windmills---it was probably a touch unrealistic to expect I would become an expert bartender, ski like Bode Miller, play guitar like Jimmy Page, speak Spanish like Borges, and get in shape like LeBron.

Reason 3: My personality. There are very few people who could manage to make skiing and bar tending in Beaver Creek stressful, yet I managed. I think I just need a base level of stress in my life, and this stress is so internal that it doesn't change much if I'm lying on a beach or running the CIA. (my night job) In short, I don't relax well.

Reason 4: Going cold turkey from an academic environment to its very antithesis. I try very hard not to be an intellectual snob, but most of the people I worked with probably thought Barack Obama was a tasty Indian curry. I don't need pretentious assholes, but people with whom it is possible to have a conversation beyond how many inches of powder there are would have been nice. This, in turn, contributed to a much greater isolation than I had anticipated.

These factors notwithstanding, my time out here was quite valuable, and a unique experience that I don't regret. When I graduated, I felt strongly that a break from academia was needed, and this seemed an ideal way to do it. I cemented a love of skiing, and improved drastically in that area. (Of course, not as much as I wanted to, but that is to be expected) I also ended up feeling very positively about my aptitude as a bar tender, and there certainly were aspects of it that I enjoyed. Moreover, I think the mere experience of working consistent 12 hours shifts in the service industry was invaluable. I was able to get very close to Jon, Meg and their three children---people who force me to challenge my sometimes dour view of humanity by virtue of their overall terrific-ness. (A technical term) Last, but certainly not least, I fell in love with this part of the country--and realized how beneficial an active lifestyle, couple with unending natural beauty, can be to not only your physical but mental health.

A mixed bag, certainly, and quite the growing experience. What lies in store for me next?? Well, that will be for the next post.

Every once in a while, someone will do or say something that makes it very difficult to be a cynical asshole, and my three year old cousin Ava filled that role admirably the other day. I was taking her for a walk and saw some flowers that had fallen from a tree. I suggested she pick them up and take them home for her mother, at which point she insisted I take some for my "mommy and daddy" too. I then suggested that Ava smell the flowers, and asked if they smelled nice. Her response: "They smell more beautiful than I could have ever imagined in my heart." [pause for aww-ing] When they say things like that, it really isn't fair. Part of the wonder of kids that age is that they feel everything so acutely. Their emotions are essentially lacking any sort of gradation, so every joy, and for that matter every sorrow is felt with equal and extreme force. (The flip side of this equation was manifest by a meltdown over not being able to ride in a specific car seat)

So, I'm planning some portions of my road trip and reading a guidebook on the Utah national parks. Some of the gems I've encountered in my bedtime reading:

"Southern Utah is awash in critters that, if bothered, can inflict a fair bit of pain, including rattlesnakes, scorpions, tarantulas, black widows, wasps, and even centipedes."
"Rattlesnakes, who like to warm themselves on trails..."
"[the ringtail cat] has been known to unzip tents and backpacks..."
"Don't run, as that will trigger a chase. If the lion does attack, fight back"

Fight back? I think once the mountain lion starts attacking I'm going to pretty much give up the ghost...My bold prediction: what is supposed to be three weeks of camping turns into two days after I get so freaked out by every minute noise that I'm only able to sleep with a bottle of Balvenie in me.

Speaking of sleep, I have to get up in 4 1/2 hours to catch my plane, so it's beauty sleep time.

Of course, I also might do enough peyote to truly commune with nature and become this guy

Forgot to post this before, courtesy of IMDB

Rolling Stones star Keith Richards has stunned fans by revealing he once snorted his father's ashes, mixed with cocaine. The 63-year-old guitarist, who has long been associated with all manner of substance abuse, has told Britain's Nme his most bizarre drug-taking session came after his father Bert died in 2002. He says, "He was cremated and I couldn't resist grinding him up with a little bit of blow. My dad wouldn't have cared. It went down pretty well, and I'm still alive."

There's fucked up, really fucked up, and then there is this.

It really is true, as my dad remarked earlier today, that if you aren't careful, hospitals can kill you. I've been pretty blown away by the overall lack of care my grandmother has received: the other day she was in so much pain her teeth were chattering, yet it took her "team" of nurses an hour of tripping over red tape and each other to get her a heavy duty painkiller. This is made even more remarkable by the fact that Grandma is at the Founder's Suites at the Cleveland Clinic---essentially the VIP rooms. The Clinic is held in universally high esteem, and if this is the level of care the "important" patients receive (a notion I have major problems with in and of itself) it is really a sad statement. Another sad statement: while leaving the Clinic yesterday a nurse in the elevator commented to my mom that she must be excited to be taking me home. I know I'm pale, but I didn't realize I had a deathly pallor!!

On a more lighthearted note, LeBron James is building a 35,000 sq. ft. house that features a bowling alley, two-story closet and a barber shop. Oh, and a limestone bas-relief sculpture of his head. I wonder if he sprung for Cedric the Entertainer.

I was totally taken aback walking through Hopkins on my arrival back in Cleveland. I've been in something of a bubble out in sparsely populated, active Eagle county, and getting back to the midwest made me realize how damn fat this country is. Walking through the concourse watching people waddle up to Sbarro was really fairly appalling. Of course, I'm being a touch hypocritical as I went out for a brief jog today and almost died. I could literally feel the fat dripping off of my tell-tale heart.

We had a small party for my father's 60th birthday last night, which was notable primarily due to the relative civility everyone displayed, and by the absence of a certain salient feature of such events. That feature was my father's mustache, which he shaved shortly before the event. My mother, who has known my father since she was younger than I am, had actually never seen my father sans stache. My dad has had his mustache for 39 years---and seven presidents. The poor man is having a bit of separation anxiety, as well as bewilderment at the strange sensation breathing through his nose now imparts to his upper lip.

My grandmother, who transported chicken liver wrapped in tinfoil to our house in her purse today, is having hip replacement surgery tomorrow, so we are all a bit anxious. Then again, as my mom quite correctly points out, on paper Irene is probably healthier than any of us!

Well, in the past twenty four hours, I've had my front bumper destroyed via the time honored tradition of the hit and run, movers show up on 30 minutes notice, and killed the President of Paraguay with a fork. How've you been?

The first person to correctly identify the film and speaker referenced above wins either a dollar or magical mystery prize. Also, two of the three assertions made about my past twenty four hours are true. Which two? Only I know......

I started packing up my apartment today and I am in absolute awe of the fact that I am moving again. Whatever I do next, it's either going to be longer than six months, or require no more possessions than I can fit in a suitcase. "Whatever I do next" continues to be vexing, although I am making a decision by April 1. Once I leave Colorado, I'm planning to do something I've meant to do for a while---the cross-country road trip. Actually, in my case it'll be cross-country and a half, as I'm heading West, through some national parks, to L.A. before heading back East. (Will Ratnerpalooza be visiting a city near you? Is Darth Vader your father? Answers to these, and more burning questions, will be revealed! When? And by whom? It's a mystery!) In any event, I know myself well enough to know that if I don't have some sort of resolution on the next part of my life before my road trip, I'll spend the entire time stressing about that rather than enjoying myself. Of course, I managed to make being a ski bum stressful, so this is hardly an accomplishment. It is an interesting time--- I have unlimited opportunities and unlimited interests, which is both a tremendous opportunity and damned frustrating. My attempt to ignore idiotic internal pressure to follow a more linear path is meeting with mixed results, but I'm working on remembering that I'm only 23. (Only 17 years until I'm 40! Ah!) Will Brooding Existentialist Matt succeed in his diabolical plan to destroy Irreverent, Care-Free Matt?
Stay tuned!

Many people have been blasting the Hualapai Indians responsible for the opening of the brand new shiny walkway over the Grand Canyon. Now, I hate sullying our natural beauty as much as the next bleeding heart liberal, but doesn't this strike you as a TAD hypocritical? Let's recap: we come to your unspoiled eden of a continent, and proceed to systematically annihilate everything and one you hold dear. When we are done slaughtering you, we proceed to make and break treaties leaving you with small, token parcels of land, leading what remains of your once-proud culture to sink into unprecedented levels of alcoholism and poverty. In exchange, we give you casinos. A few hundred years of raping the land for profit later, when you are finally assimilated enough into the American way to do the same bloody thing, we point fingers and cry foul. Go us.

Oh, and we also managed to drive all of the brown-bar-ba-loots away in the interest of thneeds, which everyone needs. How I miss the brown-bar-ba-loots....

On a related note, Al Gore, who has his own gravitational pull at this point, testified before the House and Senate on global warming today. (Note to Al: If you are thinking of '08, lay off the cheetos.) Texas Rep. Joe Barton, the leading Republican on the House Energy and Commerce Committee apparently got into a testy exchange with the Veep, stating "You're not just off a little, you're totally wrong," and "Global warming science is uneven and evolving." On the bright side, gotta love the rebuttal from Gore: "If the crib's on fire, you don't speculate that the baby is flame retardant. You take action." All I have to say is, whatever cataclysmic event occurs in my lifetime, we are so asking for it.

Note to self: Develop flame-retardant baby.

True fact one: America now is proudly home to more shopping malls than High Schools. Unfortunately, we have yet to discover a way to buy our outsourced jobs back.

True fact two: Starbucks carries several CDs that are appealing to me. I feel somewhat dirty.

After being up till four last night, I took half an ambien tonight. It has apparently "kicked in" because I walked into a wall twice while attempting to get a drink of water. I take this as a sign that it is time to hit the hay and let ambien work its sleepcooking magic.

I am an idiot. You heard it here first. (Ok, probably not.)

It was another beautiful day here, 65 with nary a cloud in sight. While aesthetically pleasing, the weather is hardly conducive to good skiing. (I know, poor me) After a couple of ice and slush filled hours on the slopes, I decided to bag it and head back towards Glenwood Canyon. There is a fairly popular hike in the Canyon to Hanging Lake that I had heard great things about and wanted to try. The hike is only about 2 1/2 miles roundtrip, but ascends something like 1600 ft. The first thing I learned after embarking on the hike was that skiing, while fun, is worthless as aerobic exercise. About fifteen minutes in and I could literally feel the fat dripping off my heart. The second thing I learned was that, although it was 65 and sunny at the base, once under a tree canopy and a thousand feet higher, the temperature plummets. (Hence the "I am an idiot" part) My learning was not yet complete, for I also learned that, at this time of year, what is probably a moderate hike under normal circumstances becomes akin to walking up a luge run. Regardless, I did eventually make it to the top, and was well rewarded. The lake resulted from the collection of water in a fault, and the shore was bulit up by mineral deposits. The result is an idyllic lake of a fantasy like blue-green hue, complete with trout, a waterfall, breathtaking views of the canyon, and a mini waterfall/stalactite formation.

That was all well and good, but the luge run did me no favors on the walk down. (Who's bright idea was it to wear worn out tennis shoes?) I only managed to slip on the ice approximately 42 times, including one particularly fetching display where I managed to cut my hands to the point of bleeding on the ice. Worth it? Of course. But I think I'll wait for the snow to melt before I go back.

Related thought: All throughout Glenwood Canyon are signposts lauding this portion of I-70 for being the most environmentally conscious interstate in the country. This actually has some merit, as it was also the most expensive stretch of highway built due to the money spent figuring out ways to route the road that minimized environmental disturbance. That being said, isn't an environmentally conscious interstate a bit like an honest crook? I mean, at the end of the day there is still a bloody four lane highway running through the pristine beauty of the canyon.... [cue Joni Mitchell] Time to take four advil and call me in the morning.

The Setup: In my typical overly-analytical fashion, I've spent far too much time out here either feeling a compulsion to ski when not in the mood, or feeling guilty about not skiing when I don't get out on the hill. (something that has occurred more frequently than I care to admit) Now, I of course realize that absolute idiocy of creating an internal pressure to ski, which is, after all, a leisure activity that is supposed to be fun. Then again, I am often an idiot, and could probably create a pressured situation out of watching a sunrise. It 's something I've been working on, so for my last few weeks here I've been trying to do what I FEEL like doing, not what I feel some asinine internal pressure to do. There's you backdrop.

The Day: After a pretty hard ski day yesterday I decided to just take an easy day, do a few runs, and then take care of a bunch of other stuff I needed to get done. The 50 degree cloudless day had other plans. I decided to screw the errands, and my knees, and tackle Grouse Mountain for the first time since I was about 10. (Grouse is where the majority of the expert terrain is located) In two weeks, I'm planning to attempt the "Talons Challenge" which consists of skiing the 13 most challenging runs on the hill in one day. Today, I rather impulsively skiied 8 of them, including 5 I had never skied before, and two double blacks. Not only that, (shameless plug) I actually sucked far less than I thought I would, and had a blast doing it. Never mind the fact that my legs are all Jell-o (it's alive!) and I have a full day ski lesson tomorrow. Now THAT should be interesting.

Well, I need to go find the bones that normally keep my legs from getting all squishy like. Goodnight, and good luck.

The most recent episode of Bill Maher, which I hadn't caught in a while, reminded me why I both love and hate the show.

Why I hate it (other than Maher's smugness, which threatens to envelope the greater L.A. area by next Tuesday): The "celebrity" guest, in this case Roseanne Barr, is always the least knowledgeable person in the room, yet always talks the most. (and is always toadying Maher) This leads to the knowledgeable panelist, in this case Washington Post correspondent Dana Milbank to futilely attempt to engage for about 15 minutes, before giving up and sitting in silence for the duration of the show. In Milbank's defense, shutting up Roseanne is a truly daunting task.

Why I love it: simply put, it's on HBO, so they can get away with a lot. Talking about dear old Newt, Maher said "Gingrich just acknowledged, that while he was leading the charge against Clinton for having an extramarital affair, he had an (you guessed it right) extramarital affair! Unbelievable. [pause] Somebody fucked Newt Gingrich." The more I've thought about this one, the more unbelievable it seems. Remember how people said the Kobe rape case actually HELPED his image because it gave him "street cred" Is it possible that Gingrich is lying about cheating on his wife because some moral failing has almost become a prerequisite in politicians these days? Hell, it's a lot more plausible than someone voluntarily sleeping with the dude.

On an completely unrelated note, should I ever have children, they can never go skiing. Riding up a lift today a ski instructor asked me to take up one of her six year old girls. It occurred to me that should she sneeze, it was quite possible she would simply slip out from under the bar and plummet to her death, leaving me to explain her demise to some very angry parents. I was literally nervous the entire ride. Yep, its an impermeable bubble for my kids.

Of course, it didn't help that the kid spoke without pausing to breathe for the entire lift. She had the most monotone, flat affect I've ever encountered, such that it was vaguely creepy in a Children of the Damned sort of way. One conversation sampler: "Do you hear the bird. I think he is trying to tell me something. I know that this lift is 12 minutes long. Do you know how I know? I know because I like to eat carrots. But not carrots that are too big. Because then I spit them up. Carrots are mostly orange but sometimes more like yellow." Really, there was nothing cute about this. In fact, I'm half expecting her to bust into my apartment with a butcher knife.

Back to trying to figure out whether Winthrop is as sexy an upset pick as everyone else on the planet seems to think. Question of the night: Do I have the Onions, capital O, to pick 14 seeded Oral Roberts over 3 seed Wash State? Stay tuned.

With apologies to those of you who aren't basketball/Cavs fans....

Did you see that Pistons game?!? It really was sports at its finest. A battle between the two best teams in the Leastern Conference. You often here the term "playoff atmosphere" bandied around, but in this case there was no question that both teams were playing for keeps. Once the Pistons pulled close after a Cavaliers dominated first quarter, everyone knew, as Fred McLeod said, that this one was going down to the wire. (Side note: I like McLeod a lot better than Reghi for a couple of reasons. A. I just think he is a more exciting, better announcer, and B. I once saw Reghi, who always seemed smarmy, be a total jackass to an 8-year old kid. Get over yourself.) More so than just being a close game, it was a great game. Often times a sloppy game ends up close when everyone decides to try in the final five minutes, but in this case the performance was superb throughout. (Exhibits A and B were the low turnovers on both sides--really crisp) It may have been the most complete game I've seen the Cavs play--you had Sideshow Bob and Gooden crashing the boards and fighting for every ball, Z reacquainting himself with his midrange jumper, and Hughes (finally!) attacking the hoop and opening things up for LeBron. Speaking of which....hot damn. He really must be sick of everyone claiming something is wrong because he is "only" averaging 27 points. King James got the scary look early and didn't let it go, even after his would be buzzer beater was waved off. (Unintentional comedy award goes to Mike Brown, who was halfway down the tunnel and getting the hell out of Dodge by the time he realized they had to play OT) This was a game where you could literally watch LeBron's maturation before your eyes, and it made you realize that good as he is, he could get a helluva lot better. The Cavs could go to the NBA finals, or lose in the first round, but when they play a brand of basketball that suits them, they can be just plain fun to watch.

Yesterday, in about a 3-minute stretch, I burned my hand on a pan while randomly making eggplant manicotti, stepped on a shard of glass that remained embedded in my foot for 12 hours, and made a free phone call to China. Yes folks, the fun never stops in Edwards, CO.

Chez Ratner had its third guest in as many weeks when, a few hours after Max left, my Dad arrived. (He stopped here for a day and a half before going down to Denver for business) Spent the whole day skiing with him on an absolutely gorgeous, balmy Monday, then gorged ourselves on sushi for my birthday. (Which is actually today, but hell, it was close enough) We had an excellent time as usual. It is very odd to me that I'm 23, and have been a college graduate for nearly a year. In some ways, I feel like I graduated about 2 weeks ago, but then I think back and realize that, at this time last year, I was on a boat navigating around Cape Horn. In three weeks I head back to Cleveland for about a week, and I hope to have some notion of what the hell my next adventure will be. (I'm heading back home for the triple threat of Passover, my Dad's 60th (ah!) and my friend J.R. being home from Beijing.) I have a couple of ideas, but I'm going to keep you all in suspense for now. (And yes, secret mountaintop ninja school is a prime contender, as is demonic Super Villain)

Between my cold, Max's exhaustion, and the fact that the temperature was hovering right around zero, we made the surprisingly smart decision not to go skiing today. Instead, we opted for a road trip to Glenwood Springs, where we promptly embarked on an impromptu three hour hike. Strike one for Northwestern education. It was actually a blast--the drive to Glenwood, about an hour, goes right through a major canyon that is pretty staggering, and Glenwood Springs itself is a cool town that I hadn't been to in nearly a decade. On the way back we stopped at "Grizzly Creek", where we thankfully didn't meet anyone of the Ursine persuasion. The trail mercifully wrapped away from the highway and became quite narrow as it snaked along the creek and through the canyon. I really do love that this is my backyard, although loafers may not have been the way to go. The most bizarre moment of the day occurred when, just after I had randomly mentioned Caramel, a golden retriever shot by us with his owner, and then proceed to literally run back directly to me, stop, and look up at me with those soulful eyes. Someone call "Crossing Over".

Weird Matt fact of the day: I remember that my license plate starts DVT because it stands for Deep Vein Thrombosis. (J.R., that is on you)

I actually used the phrase "Rock on Dude" in conversation today. Please forgive me. Next thing you know I'll be swilling Jager, carving freshies, and just livin' man.

Max decided to bring some Chicago weather with him, so while he was learning how to ski down at the relatively tame bottom, I was up top in white out conditions and dealing with what I later found out were wind gusts up to 45 mph. I also managed to take a nasty spill and ride my arm socket down the mountain. It was one of those days that was a total blast at the time and idiotic in hindsight.

Today's Browns Quiz: Top Free Agent Eric Steinbach will
A. Continue to be injury free during an All-Pro career
B. Blow out his patellar tendon on the first snap of training camp
C. Become the victim of a freak decapitation
D. Be consumed in his entirety by Romeo Crennel at the preseason team banquet
E. B, C, and D, in that order.

Go Browns!

It became abundently clear to me today that Hashem, in all his wisdom, has it in for me. Or, more specifically, for my close friends and their efforts to spend time with me. When Jeff came in a few weeks ago, his plane was eight years late, and today, as my buddy Max was waiting for his flight at O'Hare, he was informed that the plane he was supposed to be traveling in was, I kid you not, struck by lightning. (After several hours, a missed connection and copious amounts of duct tape and super glue, the plane finally did take off.) The occurence of these two events in rapid succession clearly indicates that the Lord is invested in my living a hermetical lifestyle. Am I perhaps reading a bit too much into two days of bad weather in February by implying that these flight delays are actually a divine act aimed solely at dissuading my friends from visiting? Am I in fact an incredibly egotistical prick for assuming that God has nothing better to do with time than screw with me? The answers, of course, are no and yes respectively.

Note: Male pronouns used for simplicity's sake.

Some Oscar thoughts:

Thank god for TiVo, or more precisely my generic version of it. Fast forwarding the majority of the Oscars, even more self-aggrandizing than usual, made them at least relatively tolerable. I understand, sort of, the "we've screwed the pooch on this one too many times sympathy Oscar" for Scorsese, but the Departed for Best Picture? Come on... I thought Ellen was about as engaging as a Strom Thurmond filibuster, and the only briefly amusing moments came from the Jack Black/Will Ferrell duo and a quip or two. (Robert Downey Jr.'s comes to mind) The unintentional comedy award is a tie between Eddie Murphy and Peter O'Toole's inability to mask their disappointment. I think Murphy realizes this means he has to make Norbit 2, and O'Toole is old enough not to give a shit about false pretenses. All in all, a total dud, although I'm sure Melissa Etheridge thanking both Al Gore and her wife for her Best Song Oscar caused more than a few conservatives to, as Jon Stewart said, "vomit in their mouths" Discouraging movie fact of the day: More people have seen "Ghost Rider" thank "Babel" and "Letters from Iwo Jima" combined. (Full disclosure: I have yet to see any of the three)

I want to end on a positive entertainment related note: Tonight's episode of Heroes was hands down the most engaging forty minutes of television in a long time. Fast-paced, terrific writing, heart-breaking acting, and a legitimate "edge of your seat" tension. Good stuff.

Just got back from an amazingly easy trip to L.A. for my cousin Kevin's 40th birthday. It was great to see everyone (Kevin's brother and sister, along with their spice and kids, plus Mom, Dad and Aunt Shell), particularly because lately when a large segment of the family gets together it has been for less ebullient occasions. This was actually the first time all seven of my Uncle Chuck's grandkids were together, and it was really neat to see all the rug rats in the same place. (For what it's worth, when they are all capable of independent movement, we are in serious trouble.) Too tired for more muse-ing, but here are some photos.
Jon, Ava and I enjoying the hot tub
Pants? When you are going on a trip in your cardboard rocket ship, Max doesn't need any stinking pants!
Jon, Charlotte, Lilah, Rachel, Dalia, Ava, Avra. Phew!
Ava decided I need to have my toenails painted--a lovely shade of pink, I might add. (Good thing I'm secure...)

Easily my favorite product placement in recent memory occurred during last Monday's 24. After literally getting a drill in the shoulder and subsequently giving a lunatic the capability to arm suitcase nukes, our dear friend Morris O'Brien had a wee bit of trouble reintegrating into his work environment. Off to the corner store he went, which is never a good sign for a recovering alcoholic. Morris promptly bought a bottle of scotch, followed by a request for some Altoids. Cue camera pan in on curiously strong mints. I really wanted Morris to break the fourth wall, turn to the audience and say "Have you just fallen off the wagon and desperately want to hide your relapse from your employer and/or loved one? Try alcohol masking Altoids. Also available in cinnamon and wintergreen." Then again, I also really wanted Papa Bauer's text message to Jack to say "Call Rolo Tamasse" Last, but not least, how great was President Logan's "I'm in Witness Protection now" beard. Because, after being a traitorous President, a scruffy beard is really going to help you blend in and live a normal life in Bumble Falls, North Dakota.

Easily my favorite product placement in recent memory occurred during last Monday's 24. After literally getting a drill in the shoulder and subsequently giving a lunatic the capability to arm suitcase nukes, our dear friend Morris O'Brien had a wee bit of trouble reintegrating into his work environment. Off to the corner store he went, which is never a good sign for a recovering alcoholic. Morris promptly bought a bottle of scotch, followed by a request for some Altoids. Cue camera pan in on curiously strong mints. I really wanted Morris to break the fourth wall, turn to the audience and say "Have you just fallen off the wagon and desperately want to hide your relapse from your employer and/or loved one? Try alcohol masking Altoids. Also available in cinnamon and wintergreen." Then again, I also really wanted Papa Bauer's text message to Jack to say "Call Rolo Tamasse" Last, but not least, how great was President Logan's "I'm in Witness Protection now" beard. Because, after being a traitorous President, a scruffy beard is really going to help you blend in and live a normal life in Bumble Falls, North Dakota.

Sorry for the brief lag in posting, but to be perfectly honest it has been a few days since I've had an original thought. Having Jeff in was a good deal of fun, and we managed not to do anything TOO stupid. (Given that we once threw quarters on a map to decide what to do on a given evening, this is a more major accomplishment than it may seem. I believe we ended up at a hunting club...) One of the more amusing occurrences took place at Fiesta's, a Mexican restaurant. After a big meal the night before, we felt like something quick and easy. (Banish those impure thoughts you are having!) What could be simpler and tastier than some enchiladas, right? Boy, were we mistaken. Turns out that of the four waiters on staff, two had called in sick, making the place pretty much self-serve. After finally getting our drink orders in, the overstressed waiter presented me a beer that had not only a lime inside it, but also one sitting in the neck. (That's 2 if you are keeping track at home.) After I dispatched the extra lime, the waiter made another sweep, and fearing he had been neglectful, promptly presented me with a lime for my beer. That made a grand total of three pieces of fruit for one drink. Somewhere, the Men of the Square table are crying man tears. After getting our food, the waiter confessed that once the night was over, he would consume an entire bottle of tequila and use it to beat the people who called off. Neither Jeff nor I were entirely convinced he was joking.

My buddy Jeff is up visiting for the weekend, and having someone up here who doesn't get to see the Rockies every morning reminds me how bloody lucky I am, and how truly gorgeous it is up here. Despite a 3 1/2 hour delay, Jeff finally got in around 1 in the morning yesterday, and we got out for a terrific day of skiing today, with nary a cloud in the sky. They even had I-70 closed for a while, meaning that the President's Day onslaught was not as bad as I feared. That being said, we certainly got to see some of the stereotypical tourist crowd---the type that ski with their fur hood and Dior sunglasses. The amount of posturing and preening is pretty hysterical-much like a peacock, and the odd juxtaposition of the glamor shots with the laid back to a fault locals makes for some amusing chair lifts. On the subject of odd fashion choices, our hostess at dinner tonight was wearing leather pants. Unless I'm at an S and M club, I don't want to see you in leather pants, and certainly not at a nice restaurant. That, combined with our baked waiter named "Rife" only added to the amusement level. I must return to my futile attempts at digesting my ribeye....

Ahh, Valentine's Day, a guy's chance to temporarily atone for days and nights of being emotionally and/or physically unavailable in one fell swoop with candy and chocolates. When you think about it, V-D is kind of like a Yom Kippur for relationships. The best part about Valentine's Day? Only eight months until Sweetest Day! I feel obliged to point out that I just don't get this one---I don't feel the unbridled hatred I do for other holidays, just a general apathy. The apathy also doesn't appear tied to my relationship status-it's pretty much the same whether I'm seeing someone or not. (Note to ladies: The reason I am apathetic about Valentine's Day is, of course, that I am so sensitive that I don't need to set aside a special day to extol your virtues. I do it every day. I'm also a really good pretend listener. I mean listener.
Call now 847 555 HAIR)

[TV SPOILERS AHEAD]
So, the creepy ring lady on LOST tonight? Actually getting to see characters other than Jack, Kate and Sawyer? Leaving loads of unanswered questions but finding it captivating rather than irritating? To quote Mr. Pacino "Just when I thought I was out...they pull me back in. Hoo-ha!" I will admit, I am concerned that there is, at this point, almost no way to wrap this show up in a manner that resolves the plethora of unresolved issues. With the obvious exception of ninjas. Ninjas, who of course, will be led into battle by Vincent--the true heir of Alvar Hanso.

24, on the other hand, has had a few disappointing rounds. Don't get me wrong, watching poor Morris literally get drilled filled all those weird latent male tendencies towards violence quite nicely, and James Cromwell is sufficiently evil as his character from L.A. Confidential...I mean Jack's Dad. But, it does irritate me how often that show has to sacrifice character for plot. Palmer's barely-a-protest at Karen's resignation a few weeks ago, followed by the totally implausible notion that Morris would give Fayed a working detonation device this week-I understand that both choices were necessary to keep the pace moving, but both instances, particularly in Morris' case, rang pretty false, ultimately detracting from my immersion.

And now, a special Valentine's Day bonus video clip--The Colbert Report segment where Deborah Dickerson asserts that Barack Obama is, in all actuality, not black.

Poor Barack Obama---just out of the starting gate, and he is already having egg thrown at him from every possible direction. Bad enough that the guy's middle name is Hussein, but he also attended a madras, which is scary because it isn't an English word, and that must mean he is a terrorist. Ok, maybe not, since the story was a large crock of Fox News hooey, madras just means school, and the only terror being taught at Obama's school was the terror of dangling modifiers. Obama might not be a terrorist after all, but according to Bush stooge and Australian PM John Howard, his position on the Iraq war only emboldens the terrorists. As Obama pointed out in as many words, it can only be taken as a compliment if a Bush crony is attacking him the day after he announces his candidacy. Of course, much of the publicity Obama receives is because he is the first black candidate for President to have a legitimate shot of winning. Or is he? Not "or is he a legitimate candidate" but rather "is he black?" You see, salon.com contributor and author Deborah Dickerson asserted on the Colbert Report recently that Obama actually was not black, because he was not a descendant of West African slaves. Dickerson's argument was as convoluted as it was inane, but it illustrates the political quandary Obama finds himself in--if he wants a shot at capturing the Presidency, he will need the support of moderate whites, who would be alienated by Obama alligning himself with Black Power movements. However, he must also bring out the black vote in droves to stand a chance, and he won't be able to do this if he is perceived as an Oreo. Obama is perhaps the most riveting Democrat since Bill Clinton--despite his lack of experience he is a dynamic presence who possesses the rare gift of getting people excited about politics. It is a pity that rather than a substantive debate on his policy views we are reduced to juvenile banter about his "blackness" and what schools he attended some 20 years ago.

I've decided to stop crying over Anna Nicole long enough to ask that we all take a moment to acknowledge how bloody weird the Lisa Nowak ordeal is. (Yep, it's been an odd week in the news rooms.) In case you missed it, Nowak, a NASA astronaut, was charged with attempted murder after driving 900 miles to confront an engineer over what she perceived as a love triangle between the two and a Shuttle pilot. Nowak wore adult diapers for the entire drive to avoid the need for rest stops, and arrived in Orlando with a trench coat, wig, pellet gun and pepper spray. I have not made up a single element of this story. The story begs several questions, the first of which is "shouldn't NASA have tests rigorous enough to avoid sending someone clearly severely mentally disturbed up into space?" Moreover, is our society so screwed up that an admittedly sensational incident involving a sick woman vaults to the front page of newspapers and is only pushed aside when a former Playmate dies?? Our appetite for the odd is insatiable--if for no other reason than it makes us more secure in our own, relatively mundane, abnormalities. Unfortunately, this voyeuristic need to stare at the car crash obfuscates anything that might actually legitimately be considered "news". (I couldn't even escape the story on ESPN. What makes this a sport?) Then again, what could be more important than an astronaut wearing diapers?

Oh, and, the rights to the story have already been purchased by a movie production company.

Got out skiing for a few hours today in a desperate attempt to get back on track. It had been about two weeks, and it definitely showed. It was a little pathetic how rusty I was, but it was fun to get back out there. Actual conversation heard on the chairlift today between a 10-ish year old girl and her apathetic ski instructor:

Girl: My dad's old job, before he met my mom, was driving around a wrestler.
Instruction: Yeah?
Girl:No, wait, maybe it was a boxer. Yeah. Muhammad something. Ali I think. Yeah, he drove around this Muhammad Ali.
Instructor: After this run we'll stop and get lunch.

I was sorely tempted to push them both out of the chairlift to see if they floated like butterflies, but wisely restrained myself. How the hell could not a single synapse of this woman's brain recognize that her snotty student was talking about The Greatest?!? Argh.

Snicker Doodle Dandy

Much has been made over the Superbowl Snickers ad, so I figured I would add my two cents. First and foremost, the ad quite simply wasn't funny. It features two men, desperate to enjoy a delicious candy bar, who pull a Lady and the Tramp and find themselves almost kissing. To "atone" for this mishap, they decide to do something manly, which apparently equates to pulling out large clumps of chest hair. The ad was derided as being homophobic, and subsequently pulled from the air. What interests me about the ad is that there is nothing inherently homophobic about it---the point of the joke is that two people are kissing who shouldn't be. Given that it is a 30-second spot with limited time for character development, showing two guys kissing is the most effective way to communicate the joke. (Two girls and it would be a beer commercial) If the joke were used for a sitcom, it could just have easily been a brother and sister, or simply two friends. Any homophobia is contextually conferred by those who are viewing it. This speaks to the truth that the culture we live in remains predominantly homophobic. It is very easy to live in a liberal bubble, read the New York Times, watch the Daily Show, and forgot that the vast majority of Americans don't think like you do. This was manifest in yet another homophobic incident this week. After retired NBA player John Amaechi came out, Philadelphia player Shavlik Randolph commented " "As long as you don't bring your gayness on me I'm fine" reducing sexual orientation to a communicable disease and hearkening back to a time when AIDS was more commonly known as GRID (Gay Related Immune Deficiency) Remember, roughly 6 out of 10 Americans do not approve of gay marriage. Steven Colbert claims he doesn't see color, and only knows he is white because people tell him so. Hopefully, one day, we will arrive at a point where we don't see sexual orientation as.the salient characteristic of a human being. But it sure seems to be a long way off when we see it in a candy bar.

I saw the film Blood Diamond recently, and while flawed in many respects, it is also remarkably engaging. The captivating nature of the film can be attributed in large part to the performance of Leonardo DiCaprio, who is getting better and better at playing morally ambiguous characters. The onus of carrying this movie is placed on DiCaprio's shoulders from his very first scene, and he captivates throughout. (For what it's worth, I saw both this and The Departed and thought the Academy got it right in deciding which piece DiCaprio should be nominated for.) Any time you make what is essentially a "message" movie, you run the risk of getting preachy, and Blood Diamond certainly succumbs to this flaw. (Admittedly, it is hard NOT to be preachy about such horrors) Most of the hackneyed dialog falls to Jennifer Connelly, playing the journalist who still feels she can make a difference. The fault here is not necessarily Connelly's--she is saddled with a naive, half-baked character, and has to hold up her end of a predictable, equally half-baked romance as well. Plot contrivances notwithstanding, this is a good, if not great film, featuring great performances. (An underutilized Djimon Hounsou is arresting as always--I would pay money to watch him read a shopping list) In addition to being a good film, this is an important film, and illustrates the potential power of film making. There is an adage about theatre that holds a director has done his job if one audience member leaves the room somehow richer for the experience. Blood Diamond will not bring DeBeers to its knees, but it is both possible and probable that it will cause people who had never heard of the Kimberely Process and had no notion that Africa even had diamonds to think twice and ask a few questions before sliding on that new ring. Modern Cinema has unprecedented reach and thus unprecedented power. It is encouraging when every once in a while a film is released to a nation-wide audience that uses that power for something more noble than Eddie Murphy in a fat suit.

Thought I would post a few photos from when my Dad was in visiting a few weeks ago.

Multiple Ratner men doing something borderline athletic? (cue Twilight Zone music.)
Dad and I forming the base for a reenactment of Dumbo's "Pyramid of Pachyderms", starring cousin Ava
Joined in the Pyramid by Nora---note how red my face is..as I was to soon find out, I apparently make a good jungle gym.

Super Bowl Sunday is upon us, and shockingly the Browns are once again notable only by their absence. With the Cavs playing the Pistons early, I have absolutely no reason to engage in any activity more strenuous than operating a microwave tomorrow, and I'm damn proud of it.

I, like everyone except the Mike's (Ditka and Wilbon) am picking the Colts to win tomorrow. The Bears certainly COULD win. Peyton COULD throw a costly INT or 3, da Bears ground game COULD wear down the Colt's resurgent D and keep Manning off the field and Vinatieri COULD miss a clutch field goal. (Allright, strike that last one.) The reason I pick the Colts is two-fold, and has nothing to do with football knowledge, which I'll leave to the likes of TJ and Jaws. (Side note: How many males in the 18-24 age demographic do you think can name more ESPN personalities than U.S. Senators? I'm going with 63%) I think the Colts will win due to my (ir?)rational hatred of Rex Grossman, who just seems like a total sleaze bag, and my desperate desire for Peyton to get a ring. This is really not altruism on my part, I just have no desire to spend the next five years hearing talking heads prattle on about how Peyton has never won the big one. Colts 24, Bears 14.

I'm back! And I bring you this very important, breaking news: Fresh on the heels of Joe Biden's announcement he will seek the Democratic nomination, I would like to officially declare that I will not be running for President in 2008. Apparently, you have to be at least 35 years old. I tried to point out that age has clearly has no bearing on competence where politics is concerned but those stuffed shirts at the Electoral College just got their knickers in a bunch and spewed their wooden teeth at me. Oh well. I was looking forward to using the same slogan I used when I ran in 3rd grade, the oh so catchy "Vote for Matt, he's not a Rat" (I "tied" with Clifton Williams, and my attempts to stuff the ballot box with ill-gotten Kindergarten votes failed.) Of course, my more recent political history is a tale of failure, as you all surely remember my Dewey-esque loss to one Miss Sharm Starks, who, following her 9th grade Presidential victory promptly got expelled. I guess I needed more edge.

Indeed, I feel as though it has been a solid 8 years since I've been on here, but in reality not a whole lot has happened. My sexy new computer came about a week ago, but I promptly got the Black Death, which has me pretty well laid out. Thankfully, a rigorous treatment of antibiotics and leeching has (finally) taken hold, and I'm starting to feel a bit better. Better enough to blog in any event, and hell, that's more productive than I've been in a while. As you can tell from my post time, that whole circadian rhythm thing has yet to work itself around.

I know you are all celebrating my (temporary) absence from the blogosphere, but I want to interrupt your revelry with this update: My computer has been having seizures. I mean this literally, I start it up and the monitor image begins to distort and "shake". It also occasionally won't start up at all, but rather turns a brilliant hue of purple, followed by an odd morphing into other colors. No, I'm not on acid. It also occasionally talks of wanting to "Phone Home" and going to a farm with lots of rabbits. I suppose that is what I get for naming it Hal. In any event, it won't work for more than five minutes without shutting down, making blogging a pretty futile effort. (This is attempt 4 on this post) I managed to convince Dell to send me a new computer, which, according to them, should arrive somewhere between 7 business days and three years from now. So, provided Hal doesn't bludgeon me to death in the interim, I should soon return to my hallowed place in your web browsing history, just after Mauritanian Frisbee Golf highlights.

Sarah and I definitely didn't sit in my car in the parking lot drinking Scotch and listening to Hakuna Matata at full blast. That's far too ridiculous, even for us. And, there most certainly aren't pictures documenting the event, seeing as it didn't happen.

My computer has been even more spasmodic than usual lately, and my Dell technician, based in the Phillapines, informed me that the problems I was having with my computer were "weird". Definitely worth the 30 minute wait for that penetrating analysis. Go Dell. They finally gave up on me, and after three years admitted I got a lemon. The good news: this means they are sending me a new computer. The bad news: this means I can't justify getting a sexy new computer and switching over to Mac. It'll be a week until I get it, so my blog posting may fall off a bit. (I know, you are all heartbroken)

In less than a week, Jack's back. This really means far more to me than it should. Jack Bauer could strangle you with a cordless phone. Is it Sunday yet?

Perfect conditions today so I skied the Men's Downhill course a couple of times from top to bottom. Actually skiing the thing, it is even more absurd to realize that the racers fly down it at 60. Celebrated Chanukah with the fam at my apartment tonight--lots of fun, and, as usual, some incredibly thoughtful, fun, and zany gifts. Sarah documented the event quite well, so I'll try and post some photos at some point. One of my favorite parts of quitting was that I had to sign a form stating I wouldn't set foot on Hyatt property for 60 days. Apparently, they think I'm a loose cannon. Then again, they may have a point. After 3 straight full days of skiing, I need to pass out in the worst possible way.

Well, two big items today: On a glorious powder day, I skied my first double black (admittedly, groomed, but nonetheless) and I quit my job. The job thing is a saga I don't feel like reliving, but it has definitely been brewing for a while. To be honest, it probably should have happened a bit ago, but I wanted to give it a far shake. At least it was a bit gratifying to have the HR people make every effort to keep me. Walking into the HR exit interview was like a scene right out of the Office. "Thomas, I really feel you should attend the HyStar dinner as it is in your honor, and it would send a really bad message if you didn't go" [Thomas is silent for a few seconds] "We are going to have steak." [Thomas says "I like steak. I guess I'll go."]

I'm definitely a little bummed the job thing didn't work out--I really tried hard to line up a good situation, and was very comfortable with the bars. That being said, it made no sense to be miserable for the next four months for no reason. My plan is to take the next few weeks and enjoy myself (the week my parents are in and the week following) and then start hunting around for another PT bar gig where they treat the staff like human beings.

Mom, Dad, and Sarah arrived safely today, and, as always it was great to see them. Also, as always, chaos nearly ensued. We are all pretty zany incredibly wonderful people, and mange to bring out each other's zaniness in ways only a family can. Within minutes of their arrival at my apartment, the keys manged to get locked in the rental, leading to profane outbursts and Dad trying to break into the car with a coat hanger. The other classic exchange of the evening occurred over a late, not so great meal of generic "Asian". My mom exclaimed "I think I am having an aneurysm" to which my oh so sensitive father replied "Does anyone want coffee?" I must admit to taking some measure of satisfaction watching Dad covet all of my sexy ski stuff. We also may or may not have killed a baby, but I'm not permitted to speak further on the subject.

Oh, and the place we are staying in (I'm staying with them) has an African drum. Really.

Commentary of the night award for tonight's Spurs-Cavs game, paraphrased for your pleasure:

Austin Carr: Like I said earlier, the Cavs started getting defensive stops and that led to energy at the offensive end.
Kevin McLeod: You're clairvoyant as usual, A.C.
A.C: [laughs oddly, trying to figure out if he knows what clairvoyant means, and whether it was a compliment or an insult.]
[long pause, A.C. still trying to figure it out, gives up]
A.C: Defensive stops, offensive production [loud thunk as McLeod slams head against desk]

All right, so it was a heck of a lot funnier live, and no where as good as anything that comes out of Bryant Gumbel's mouth, but it amused me.

My parents and sister are coming in tomorrow for about a week, so I decided it would be an opportune time to clean my apartment. Of course, I decided this still not feeling great and at about 1 a.m., (after impulsively making pancakes-and no, I wasn't high.) which meant that my brain thought "cleaning", but my body thought "drop two bottles of wine on the floor before you start cleaning for the added challenge" As usual, the body won.

To bed before an a.m. meeting with my boss that should be...interesting...

I really have always loathed New Years. A whole mess of people getting loaded to blot out all the horrific things they did last year. Or, conversely, getting loaded in order to get a head start on all the horrific things they will do this year. Besides, I don't need an excuse to get drunk and do things I'll regret the next day. Happy New Year, everyone!!

All right, I'm (almost) done with the misanthropy for this post. In all seriousness, a happy and healthy to everybody. Not surprisingly, my shift ended up getting prolonged so I worked from 2 p.m. to 3 a.m. on New Year's Eve without a break. I was also the only bartender with any background in the bar, as our other bartender was a Brazilian who usually works in room service and hadn't been behind a bar in 3 years. A really nice guy, but still, it was a touch overwhelming given that I sold $6,000 worth of drinks. On the bright side, I managed to make about $600 in tips despite the lousy service given as a result of being chronically understaffed. Other highlights included the lady who spent ten minutes telling me how dirty she liked it (her martini, I assume) and the lady who called me Joaq the entire evening (presumably because she thought I looked like Joaquin Phoenix. Conversely, I could have misheard her, and she could have been calling me Guac all night because she thought I resembled an avocado.)

After finally getting home around 4 a.m. I proceeded to vomit for the next hour in the hallowed New Year's tradition---unfortunately, not due to any revelry but rather due to an incoming flu. It was definitely one of my more interesting New Year's, and I suspect more drama to unfold in the days ahead. Stay tuned.