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.