Category: blog

Alice and I like to consider ourselves the artistic type. As such, we have taken on several crafts throughout the years – the most recent being cork balls. Alice found the idea online and felt we could easily complete the task. After sharing the idea with me, I agreed.

 

Thus, last week we started the project and found the painting of the balls took more time than expected. “No problem. We’ll finish them next week,” I told her. With this week being next week, and after receiving a text from Alice, “Ready to screw and glue?”,  we again tackled our balls. Glue guns were plugged in and loaded. Hot Mustard handled the screws and strings. A large bag full of corks was at our ready.

 

Alice started with her smallest ball and I chose the medium of my three. We had been gluing for about an hour when Alice made an announcement, “I’m kind of over the balls right now. This is a lot of work.” “Why do you think most of your stuff is made in China? Nobody wants to do the work. The prep time is clearly the easiest,” I replied pointing to the bag of corks and added, “We can do a few more.” We did, literally, a few more and then Alice was saved by the pitch – anyone who knows Alice knows nothing gets in the way of a Yankees game.

 

As we watched the game, I proposed bringing the balls, corks and glue guns into the room so we could watch, screw and glue. “No, not tonight. Tonight we prep,” Alice replied.

There are hundreds of scenic byways across the United States. Becoming a scenic byway, however, does not happen overnight – the road or highway must meet one of six qualities: archeological, natural, historic, recreational, cultural or, lastly, scenic (seems like that should be standard). Today, we found one other qualifying quality: missed turn.

 

As Ice Cream Man, Sleepless and I attempted to return from our weekend trip, we somehow managed to miss our turn and ended up on a road none of us had ever traveled – Robert Frost and M. Scott Peck would be very proud.

 

“I believe we are heading West,” Ice Cream Man advised us. “How can you tell which direction we’re going?” Sleepless asked. “The sun,” he replied with great confidence. “You stood on that sundial at Mountain Village for like one minute and now you know all this?” I asked. “Yep,” Ice Cream Man confirmed. “We really are the lost people of Mountain Village,” Sleepless noted.

 

As we drove deep into the bowels of a gorgeous canyon, the only signs we saw read, “Scenic Byway.” 90 minutes later, as we exited the canyon, we saw a large camp of emergency response professionals, vehicles and equipment. “Regional Search and Rescue, you can stop looking, we’re here,” Ice Cream Man joked. We were ‘here,’ however, still had no idea where ‘here’ was. After figuring out where we were and where we needed to be, we got back on Highway 141, waved goodbye to Search and Rescue, and continued heading West.

 

We arrived home, safely, approximately 10 hours after we left. “Funny. A six hour drive takes us about nine hours,” Ice Cream Man observed. He made a good observation, unfortunately, ‘timely’ is not one of the criteria/qualities for a scenic byway. Fortunately, ‘timely’ is not a criteria/quality of any of us either. Scenic, cultural, natural (mostly) and recreational are, however, some of our qualities. Thus, according to the Federal Highway Association, this not only makes us a Scenic Byway, it makes us All-American – lost All-Americans on a Scenic Byway.

As we were walking to the village market, Ice Cream Man and I were discussing the most expensive film we have ever watched. “If we don’t watch any more festival films, I would have to say Big in Bollywood,” I advised him. “How so?” he asked. “Well, I figure our passes were $250, we’ve only seen two films so far, and that one was my favorite. So I would price the ticket for it at $180. Which would make the ticket price for Bidder 70, $70. Which seems appropriate,” I replied.

 

We actually ended up watching several other films, several of which were shorts, which ended up averaging our per ticket price at about $40. While at dinner we reminisced about the good times we’ve had the last few days. Da Bomb Pop and I had shared several deep and philosophical discussions. My favorite was the one he started like this, “I don’t want to be presumptive, but I think this next question may take two-three weeks to answer.” I answered the question immediately and we moved on to the next topic.

 

Sharing these discussions with Sleepless and Ice Cream Man reminded me of a question I wanted to ask them. “So what was your favorite movie?” Sleepless immediately responded, “Oh, I never see a movie more than once so I don’t really have a favorite….”I I interrupted to provide clarification, “I’m not talking about in general, I’m referring to the festival.” “I kind of wish we had let her keep talking,” Ice Cream Man said in between laughter. “This is why I’m the chaperone,” I said. “OK, I get what you mean now. Big in Bollywood,” Sleepless said and then added, “Although I did watch Dirty Chicken Ranch twice yesterday.” “It’s Best Little Whorehouse in Texas,” Ice Cream Man advised her. “That’s probably why you’ve never watched a movie more than once – you can’t remember the name,” I quipped. “That’s actually probably very true,” Sleepless agreed.

 

And with that we got back on the gordondola where Ice Cream Man, once again, realized he would be owing Sleepless $20.

Besides seeing films/documentaries, Ice Cream Man had only one other request while in San Miguel County: to hike. We decided to hike the two-mile, uphill trail to the St. Sophia gondola station. Traveling by gondola takes about 4.7 minutes, by foot, slightly longer. Sleepless and I agreed to the hike and off we went. As steep as the mountain was, we did not relent. Instead, we took breaks every now and again – primarily for photos. “The trick to getting us to do something like this is simple distraction and intermittent photo shoots,” I advised Ice Cream Man as he took pictures of us pretending to climb a pile of ice snow. “Did we think about checking a map before doing this,” Sleepless, always responsible, asked. “Did I think about checking a map?” was Ice Cream Man’s reply. Her concerns were real. As we toggled the mountainside I did wonder if we might end up like The Lost People of Mountain Village – a short 2009 mockumentary.

 

Luckily, we safely made it to the top and then descended upon Telluride utilizing the gondola. “We’re right on time,” Ice Cream Man advised us. Apparently he had planned for the hike to take us approximately one hour and we were within the hour. He also planned, at some time during the trip, to try to win a bet with Sleepless, which involved time and the gondola. The ride between St. Sophia Station and Telluride Station is 6.2 minutes and he waged they could copulate between one of the two ‘rides.’ “You’d have to hit it and quit it pretty quickly,” I advised him. “I can do it,” Ice Cream Man replied. “With a few minutes leftover,” Sleepless quipped. So far, Ice Cream Man is losing the bet.

 

Once in Telluride, Ice Cream Man saved our place in line while Sleepless and I attempted to purchase things with our good looks. Being that she was pretty and I was pretty neat, we didn’t understand when they wouldn’t accept our driver licenses as tender – something we both accidentally tried to do. Luckily, Ice Cream Man was close by and Sleepless used his credit card to ‘redeem her winnings.’

 

When the film ended, I inquired about the time. “It’s ice cream time,” Ice Cream Man excitedly replied. With that, we skedaddled over to the Ice Cream Social where, after gathering several Hump Smarter condoms (maybe they could use them on their 6.2 or less minute ‘ride’), I found Sleepless with two cones – one of which was dripping all over her hand. “Brilliant idea,” I said and grabbed two myself.

 

We decided to take a break from the festival and returned to our hotel (in the sex-free gondola) where we watched the not so sex-free, Best Little Whorehouse in Texas – twice. Like ice cream and us, good things (clearly) come in pairs.

 

With Hard Candy Christmas stuck in our heads, we returned to Telluride to meet up with Ice Cream Man’s dad, Da Bomb Pop, and family friends to celebrate Not So Reserved’s birthday. Being pretty much the only one not drinking, I, like the week prior, became the ‘chaperone.’ Although I handled my position well, Ice Cream Man had concerns, “You really picked the wrong week to quit drinking.” He was right. The drinks looked and smelled delicious, but I had to be responsible – like an eclipse, this is not something that happens often and requires either solar eclipse glasses or beer goggles to see it.

 

After hours of dining and imbibing, they brought Da Bomb Pop the bill. Since he had primarily participated in the latter of the two, I helped him do the math. “Do you hire out?” he asked as we finalized details. Good question and idea. With my ability to do math, incredible point-and-shoot camera, karaoke machine and occasional sobriety, I could really have a good business. I’ll have to really think about this next time I am on the gondola, while others are thinking about the money they are losing/winning.

Getting into Telluride is not an easy task. In fact, just when I thought we had arrived, I woke up to learn we were actually in Mountain Village – a town with an elevation (over 9,000 feet) that is about nine times it’s population. Due to the proximity and location of both Telluride and Mountain Village, there is a free gondola that takes visitors to and from each town. I found this news to be pretty exciting because I love cheese – bleu, swiss, havarti, gorgondola.

 

After an exhilarating ride up and down the mountain, we finally arrived in Telluride to find almost everyone is named Sam or Steve. Why? We have no idea. Like so many other life mysteries (how the gondola actually works), we just appreciated the facts and went about our business. For Sleepless and Ice Cream Man, this meant enjoying the delicious adult beverages at the saloon. For me, this meant enjoying Colorado’s natural spring water.

 

We arrived at our first film to find some family friends of Ice Cream Man. They were excited to see us and kind enough to let us cut in line with them. Cutting in line is not something we normally do, but we didn’t think too many people would be upset by this since many of the film’s supporters were actively promoting peace. As they played the guitar and sang, “This land is your land, this land is my land,” we changed the words to, “This line is your line, this line is my line,” and all was good.

 

Once seated in the theater, one of the family friends complimented Sleepless, “You are so pretty.” Then, not wanting me to feel bad, immediately said to me, “You’re pretty too. I saw you earlier today – before I knew you – walking around town, and I thought, ‘I wish I was brave enough to wear tights, knee highs and boots like her.'” Bravery. Pretty. They both end in ‘y,’ so I guess I see the similarities.

 

After one film and several hours in town, we decided to take the gondola back to Mountain Village. As we were winding down, Ice Cream Man kissed Sleepless on the forehead and said, “I think you are so pretty.” Then, he looked at me and said, “You’re pretty neat.” “Thank you,” I replied and added, “Twice in one day. Amazing.” Sleepless, the pretty one, could not stop laughing. Nothing like being the ‘pretty too’ of the pretty two.

 

 

 

Sleepless, Ice Cream Man and I decided to take a road trip to the town where Butch Cassidy and his gang, ‘the wild bunch,’ committed their first bank robbery (on record, that is) – Telluride. This isn’t because we have a fascination with bank robberies and want to become modern day Bonnie and Clyde and Blanche (Barrow, one of their sidekicks). Rather, we wanted to celebrate the birth of one of Telluride’s most famous visitors: Sleepless.

 

Somehow, we managed to fit all of our belongings (it takes a lot of stuff to ‘camp’ in a hotel for four days) into Ice Cream Man’s car. It is days like this and, on days when I’m craving a Nut Sundae, that I wish Ice Cream Man had a van. Once we were in the car, the road trip festivities began.

 

In preparation for the road trip, Ice Cream Man offered to purchase Sleepless an iPhone, “so you two can play games in the car.” ‘You two’ meant me and Sleepless. Although the three of us squeezed into the back of a Prius last year for a ride to JFK, this was really Ice Cream Man’s first road trip with the two of us and he was in for a sweet surprise. “He has no idea,” Sleepless told me after sharing the iPhone/game story.

 

There are all kinds of books and online articles offering advice on road trips – especially when taking road trips with kids. Though Ice Cream Man didn’t read up, he did seem to, innately, know some of the tips. He shared family stories, had a ‘go-kit’ equipped with chargers, maps, magazines, snacks (O’Doul’s for me – very nice touch), and historical information about Telluride (which is how we learned about Bonnie and Clyde).

 

As we traveled through an area with no cell phone service, he asked us questions about Telluride’s history and geology. “Not fair, I can’t Google the answer right now,” I advised him and added, “Had I known we wouldn’t have coverage for a while I would have packed an encyclopedia.” Sleepless concurred.

 

We crossed state lines without incident and without cell phone coverage or phones with games, and continued to road trip ‘old school’ – talking, observing signs, avoiding wildlife. Ice Cream Man was telling us a story about someone who may or may not be gay. “Have you asked him?” Sleepless asked. “I have, but he won’t be straight with me,” Ice Cream Man replied and Sleepless and I started giggling. “Seriously. I’m in a car with ten-year-olds,” Ice Cream Man stated and we giggled some more.

 

Approximately 11 hours after our intended departure, we arrived at our hotel. The bellman kindly approached the car, opened the doors and exclaimed, “Wow. You’ve got a lot of stuff in there.” Then, just like we did in New York and like clowns do daily, our wild bunch and all of our belongings exited the vehicle and began our adventure in Telluride – an old mining town that was first called ‘Columbia,’ and is now known for skiing, festivals and, after this weekend, mayhem.

 

 

As most do, I visited my doctor for a yearly appointment. As most don’t, I had to return a few months later. My doctor went through the standard questions with me, however, when it came to my sexual activity, she improvised a little. “How long has it been since you’ve had sex? Months? Years? Decades?” I let her know it not been decades. As I left, she said, “Well, let’s keep our fingers crossed.” I quipped, “I’ll continue to keep my legs crossed.”

 

Then, I came home and, completely sober – because I can’t drink for ten days – sent a message to Alice on facebook about our cork ball crafts. “Alice, we must pant our balls and hang them to try prior to corking them. Damn.” Damn was right. My words were all wrong. As I’ve told a million people a million times, I drink for balance.

 

Alice came over and, as planned, we painted/panted our balls and then let them dry/try. We are anxiously awaiting the corking of them. “Will you be able to drink when I return next week?” she asked me. I counted my medications, then counted the days, “Maybe.” Alice looked more disappointed than me. In fact, the way she responded, one would think I couldn’t drink for months, years, decades, even.

 

 

Alice, we must pant our balls and hang them to try prior to corking them. Damn.

We met for our second art class and, because of the great success of the first class, added a few more students to the mix: That’s Not Chinese and Unfazed.

 

Each of us selected a picture that we would replicate and That’s Not Chinese was quite excited to be painting a quaint little building with the words, “The Paris Post,” on it.

 

As Ice Cream Man’s Mom provided us instruction, Unfazed – unfazed by the instructions – started her project and was added color to the mix while the rest of us were still taping our paper to the table. “No fair, you’re a professional,” Sleepless noted. Unfazed – unfazed by the comment – continued on.

 

While others had chosen flowers and animals, I decided to paint a man. As I sketched it out, erasing that which didn’t work for me, I couldn’t help but sing, “In just seven days, I will make you a man, man, man, man, man.”

 

We all finished our paintings and were proudly displaying our work when That’s Not Chinese made a sad discovery about her painting. “This is in Paris, Idaho!” Although the English words, “The Paris Post,” should have given it away, it wasn’t until she read the flipside of the picture which detailed the location of the building. “No worries, I can fix it,” she said while grabbing her paintbrush and adding an ‘e’ to the end of ‘Post.’ “There we go,” she said and showed all of us her revised painting which now read, “The Paris Poste.” Apparently French is a lot like Spanish, if you’re not sure how to say/fix it, just add a vowel at the end and leave the ‘the’ intact. Silly That’s Not Chinese, that’s not Paris (France).

For a 24-hour period I was the responsible party. This doesn’t happen very often or for very long and it isn’t typically an assignment, it just happens.

 

While eclipsing, Calling The Dog and Rebel Dancer quite enjoyed their wine while I, merely because I was quite parched, was enjoying water. As a result, I became the designated driver and chaperone – positions I assumed for the duration of the trip.

 

After safely returning them to the hotel, they decided they needed to smoke. “This is why she is my compadre,” Calling The Dog told me, referring to Rebel Dancer. “It’s true. We smoke when we smoke. I mean drink,” Rebel Dancer replied. “I’m sure we can just buy two cigarettes. I don’t want to buy a whole pack,” Calling The Dog told Rebel Dancer as they prepared to venture out on the sleepy town for cigarettes. “Unless you are buying from someone on the street, which I doubt you will find, you’re going to have to buy a whole pack. No stores sell one or two cigarettes,” I advised while grabbing my jacket – it was clear they would be needing a chaperone. “Damn,” Calling The Dog replied.
We somehow managed to safely cross the street, without using a crosswalk, and the first thing we saw on the side of the road was a wooden cutout of an Indian who was pointing South – not sure why. Calling The Dog and I posed for a picture and, after Rebel Dancer took it, she asked (referring to the wooden cutout), “Is that an ice cream sandwich?” I was really started to wonder what was in that wine.

 

They purchased their full pack of cigarettes and within an hour, only after taking advantage of the hotel pool/hot tub, they were in bed and sound asleep. As I tossed and turned, they snored. At some point, in the middle of the night, Rebel Dancer got up to use the toilet and, on her way back to her bed, got disoriented and almost got in bed with Calling The Dog and I. “Oh my, I am so sorry,” she told me. “It’s OK. Do you want to turn a light on so you can see where you’re going?” I asked. “No, no, I’ll figure it out.” “Close encounters of the weird kind,” Calling The Dog sleep quipped – she has no recollection of this classic comment.

 

As I drove us home, Rebel Dancer shared a freeway story with us. “Did I ever tell you about the time I saw an ostrich right here on the side of the road?” This was my first road trip with her, so I had never heard the story. Calling The Dog, however, had traveled with her several times and it was the first time for her to hear it. “No. An ostrich? Really? Strange. Was it hit?” Calling The Dog asked. “No, it didn’t appear to be hit. It was just there with it’s head like this,” Rebel Dancer said while elongating her neck, sticking her head forward and making a wide-eyed, stiff lipped expression. “Maybe there is an ostrich farm around here,” Calling The Dog told her. “Maybe. All I know is I memorized the mile markers and then called 9-1-1 to report it,” Rebel Dancer advised us. “Did you get pulled over a few minutes later for a sobriety test?” I asked. “What? No,” Rebel Dancer answered and continued, “I just kept asking myself, ‘Did I really just see that? Did I really just see an ostrich?'”

 

And with that comment, my designated driver and chaperone duties continued until Calling The Dog and Rebel Dancer were both safely home.

In March 1977, Penthouse magazine published Children of the Corn by Stephen King. In May 2012, Calling The Dog, Rebel Dancer and I watched an annular eclipse in a town that very well could have been the setting of this story – minus the killing and horror. It was just a small town with vast open spaces – spaces that were occupied by hundreds of people with cameras, telescopes and lawn chairs.

 

Like the rest of the annular eclipsians, we were wearing our solar eclipse glasses and patiently waiting for the moon to pass between the moon and the sun. While we waited, we created our own eclipse by passing our  wine glasses between the bottle of wine and our lips. Our lips were also very busy singing songs about the sun and moon – Ring of Fire, It’s a Sunshine Day, Moondance, Walking on Sunshine, and our own little parody, Annular Eclipse of the Heart. Pretty sure the latter was a crowd favorite.

 

Like so many other things in life, we waited with great anticipation, for several hours, for an event that lasted only five minutes and 46.3 seconds. Like a five minute and 46.3 second one-night stand, we quickly packed up our things to leave, however, discovered we had a dead battery. Luckily for us, several young Forest Service employees, with Penthouse March 1977 mustaches and attire, emerged from the fields to help out. After two jumps and a quick photo shoot – so Penthouse of us, we waved goodbye to our helpful porn stars and drove off into solar eclipse sunset.