Terror on the Slopes

The high seas are nothing compared to life on the treacherous slopes of Snoqualmie Summit. I know - I'm a maritime lawyer, and I've done both. -obligatory preliminary comment by my alter ego

Yesterday, I was preempted from watching my beloved figure skating by a rehearsal and a line-memorizing 'party' at Nathan's eclectically-decorated house, which was fine as I watched the skating on youtube later. I don't think I've got a handle on Mrs. Linde. It's frustrating. As you may have divined from Chareth, I did indeed have my first skiing lesson today. But it wasn't terror-filled or treacherous. I got up at 5 this morning - because I set my alarm wrong - made my way to Seattle University, and met the people I will be carpooling for the next six weeks (five, actually - I'll have to miss the week of the Play). There's Sandy, who drove today, a responsible-yet-daredevil Asian (Chinese) girl, Bernadette, a less-responsible and certainly less-daredevil Asian (Filipino) girl, and Brian, a white snowboarder, the strong-and-silent type. (He answers the phone with "heh-ehh." Not like the laugh, but a kind of grunt). (By the way, "Asian" means "Asian-American" here; they didn't have accents or anything, but I figure fully 50 percent of my readership might be interested).

Sandy is very capable, but gives me faint whiffs of my mother. "Make sure you guys go to the bathroom before we leave," she instructed. "Girl, you need to go home and study," was her response to Bernadette's rusty Italian. She's certainly not shy of professing judgment. Nonetheless, she is friendly, and is providing me with transportation.

I hadn't skied since I was ten, when I took lessons at Summit West. In my mind, Pacific Crest and the other lifts I used to use had been reduced by my memory to gentle beginner-level slopes. These Husky Winter Sports lessons are at Summit Central, but I got a glimpse of West as we drove past it on our way out, and they did not look gentle, they looked long and steep.

We stayed on the easiest green-circle run today (green circle = beginner, blue square = intermediate, black diamond = advanced, double black diamond = obvious), and parts of it felt quite steep to me. I did well, if I say so myself, which I believe I just did. But as I looked up at "Parachute," the ominously-named black diamond run, I marvelled at the way my ten-year-old self had actually traversed down those very same slopes. (I remember saying to my mom, "We went from West to Central in a trail among the trees and then went down Parachute! PARACHUTE!" "That's nice, love," she replied, or something equally nonplussed). I will not be doing any parachuting soon. My stomach clenches at the thought.

I had chosen the "I have skied a few times and know how to get off a chair lift" level on the online form, but Bernadette, who had also skied before (2 years ago), chose the "I am an absolute beginner" one, and I decided to stick with a familiar face. Better to be safe than sorry, after all. We started out on the rope-tow and did one run on the chairlift. It turned out that Bernadette was having difficulty turning and fell into me twice, the second time knocking one of my skis off. That was scary. Falling on your ass in skis on an incline is an awkward position. Afterwards I glanced over my shoulder nervously, trying to keep my distance.

The lesson ended at one, and Bernadette decided she was uncomfortable skiing without the instructor. I decided to go it alone, because I'd paid $40 for my lift ticket, and I was not about to get shortchanged. The scariest part of it all, for me, is the chairlift. Riding up in the chairlift alone was freaky. Never mind the little kids in their mini-skis who swing blithely on the chairs that are suspended, guard-rail-less, in the middle of the air, from a hook onto a little cord, far above the packed snow. 18-year-old quasi-adult or not, I do not like heights, and I am not fond of chair lifts. I mean, you are sitting in a completely non-enclosed chair - like a dining room chair to the untrained eye - in the middle of the air! And every 20 seconds it stops and just HANGS there, nothing pushing you forwards, because someone is having difficulty getting on! My strategy was to close my eyes, pretend the gentle rocking motion was that of a waterbed, and try not to let thoughts of death, or "Why the hell did I CHOOSE to do this?!?" enter my head. After the chair lift, everything seems a little easier. So I was quite proud that I managed to get myself down. I know 50 percent of my readership likes how tos, so here are the tricks to wedge turns: (1) look in the direction you're turning. Do not look down, (2) start the wedge before the turn, (3) lean hard on the outside leg and let the inside leg come along for the ride, and (4) try to get in a rhythm of turns, letting your body do the work, rather than over-thinking it.

Well, it was a successful day. If I made a complete fool of myself in front of a bunch of fearless 10-year-olds (ah, to be 10 - although I personally was NEVER fearless), so be it. Although I don't think I did - they were pretty self-absorbed, and I don't think they were watching anyone else.

PEE ESS. Alissa Czisny, not Kimmie Meissner, should be the new US national figure skating champion.

You can all relax and stop sending me sympathy notes and chicken soup. My advisor (ser?) and I have found each other. We took a brief moment this morning to... reconnect. He is still nice, and was impressed with my lit review, which was gratifying, because the honors committee wasn't. My brain tells me that I should trust a cabal of three wizened and wise scholars over a first-year professor who didn't answer his email for over a month. But my gut tells me to relax and enjoy the ride. My gut is also very hungry...

Actually, my gut isn't hungry at all. Before work today, on the fifth day - I might add - of my self-started Eat Healthy! challenge, I had a small veggie Quiznos sandwich for lunch while waiting for the bus downtown. Finding myself with 17 minutes to kill, I took a stroll through Pike Place Market, and bought doughnuts. Doughnuts! On an Eat Healthy! di... er... challenge! And after lunch!

I have decided to start a Bridget Jones-style food and exercise diary, though. Here is today's. Feel free to skip it.
Breakfast: Trader Joe's high fiber all bran cereal, milk, a banana. I realize how impressive this sounds (well, doesn't it? Doesn't it?) but it was an accident, alas; we were out of sugary stuff.
Lunch: Small Quiznos veggie sandwich, Baked Lay's, Lemonade
Degenerate Extravagance: 4 (rather small) Pike Place donuts
Dinner: Have not yet had, do to noticeable presence of donuts in stomach.

Alcohol units: none
Exercise: none
Cigarettes: none

My! Aren't I doing well?

I'm struggling right now with whether to watch Heroes or 24 tonight. My mother always tells me that all problems can be solved if you evaluate the pros and cons and make the best determination for yourself and your future. So that is what I shall do.

HEROES:
It has Greg Grunberg, my lovable actor pal*
It has an impressive ratio of "meaningful dialogue" versus "things getting blown up and shot at" and "antiterrorist agents making eyes at each other as they ask subordinates to set up parameters."
Although I don't remember the plot from before the break, or why one must save the cheerleader to save the world, I do remember that it was interesting
President Wayne Palmer from 24 is annoying and wimpy. His sister isn't annoying enough to be interesting. Whereas President David Palmer from season 1 was awesome, and his wife Sherry was a full Lady Macbeth-style horror, which was entertaining.

24:
The last episode ended with Los Angeles - SPOILER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! - being blown up by a nuclear bomb, which is quite the set-up.
Kiefer Sutherland is a total hott tea, and admittedly slightly more attractive than my Hollywood buddy** Mr. Grunberg. From a little background reading on Greg (TV star not Capitol Hill mole), it seems that his major claim to fame is being the best friend of the creator of a show called LOST. Which brings me to my final point...
Heroes is a TINY BIT like lost. In the "sneaky" placement of clues, and web of weird, broody people. Better, of course, but still... 24 is nothing like lost and everything like an hour of Kiefer and friends blowing shit up.

Hrm. It's a toughie. But don't worry, I'll let you know what I decide.

*random guy who shares my name
**possibly incestuous crush

OK. Now I shall cease this post to do some homework (ha, ha). Just as Jews open the door for the prophet Elijah each Passover in the hope that one year he might come in and collect his reserved glass of wine, so shall ye continue to check this blog, believing that in time I shall post something interesting.

Rather sexist

"If Americans want to vote for a female candidate for the presidency, Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton of New York sought to oblige them this weekend" -International Herald Tribune.

Gosh. Just in case anyone wants to vote for a female candidate, odd as that inclination would be.

my aunt cursella is coming to sit on the roof

I have such strange dreams at "that time of the month." (Maritime lawyers sometimes exhibit female characteristics. It's no cause for concern). During that first night of the curse, my sleep is almost feverish. In fact I suspect my temperature might rise during that time. My mind can't settle on one thought. My dreams are restless and outlandish. Instead of sinking into deep, relaxing slumber and having one dream about something reasonably coherent, it's like falling into a whirlwind of pent-up nervous energy. I can't remember what I dreamed about this time. I forgot almost as soon as I woke up.

Last night, though, I had my yearly "I'm on stage and have forgotten my lines" dream. It's weird, because during the day the play is the last thing I'm worried about, and stage fright hasn't set in yet, but apparently my subconscious has other ideas. I kept on getting on stage with only a vague idea what the scene was supposed to be about, and improvising terribly. It was embarassing. I also think bagels were involved.


So Hillary and Obama are running! An exciting time on the Hill, I presume?

Tacoma

is bathed in snow. I stayed in Seattle on Sunday, but at work on Monday, my mom came and picked me up from Tukwila. Some more snow, I thought, wouldn't be such a big deal - we de-iced the driveway, and the express buses always run, even if they're late. But we can't see the ground at all here. The trees have that mystical quality where they're frosted with white, making the green parts prettier. I feel like given we can't get to the mountain, the mountain came to me. Actually, we can't get anywhere - I got my mom to try to take me to the bus stop, but she lost traction and we slid down the steep driveway. Thankfully the emergency brake kicked in before we tumbled down the stairs into the backyard.

I wish I had stayed in Seattle, although one of my classes is cancelled, because there's a test review in Hebrew, the test is tomorrow, and I'm behind. But I've never known Tacoma to get more snow than the rest of the Sound, and I haven't seen my home like this since 1996. It's so beautiful, I love it so much! It should have come over break - Christmas, even - but late is better than never, I'd say.

Oh, I was also going to get my hair cut today. Oops. Guess it'll stay a disaster until whenever the cut is rescheduled to. Risa can breathe a sigh of relief.

Blades of Glory

Trailer here. This movie has figure skating, GOB Bluth on skates, Amy Poehler (Blamey) on skates as his partner, Sasha Cohen as herself, and Will Ferrell and Jon Heder as the sport's first male team. Unfortunately, it may suck monkey balls, but I'll be seeing it anyway!

complaints

When I left home this morning (after being sick for three days), my neighborhood was a winter wonderland of what looked like an inch of snow at least. Now I'm in Seattle and there is NO SNOW. This makes me MAD. And there's something dusty about my room here that makes me sneeze and I don't want to get sick again, dammit!