Thank You

I'd like to give a huge thank you, or as the kids say, "big up," to everyone who so generously contributed to the American Transplant Association as part of my quest to complete the Storm the Stars competition in Aspen Saturday night.

The race was a ton of fun, and thanks to your efforts, I was able to raise over $300 dollars, nearly one-quarter of which eventually made its way to the Foundation, with the balance going towards a new wool hat and matching mittens for my wife. But that only makes sense.

I kid of course.

The race started at 6 PM, so my buddy Jay and I were greeted with dark skies, which we expected, and sub-zero temperatures, which we did not. Getting dressed was a bit of a conundrum, as we needed to stay warm, yet not overheat when we exerted ourselves. And with a 3,500 foot vertical climb awaiting us, we would most certainly be exerting ourselves.

The picture above is of all the athletes going throught the registration process. Needless to say, in a town like this, the bad-ass quotient was extremely high. For starters, Chris Klug was there; as he should be, since this is his race.

In case you're not familiar with Chris' story, he was an elite snowboarder who's liver inexplicably failed during 2000. Months away from certain death, his lucky number came up on the transplant list, and he received the healthy organ he desperately needed. Within months he was riding again, and in 2002 he won bronze at the Salt Lake City Olympics in the downhill. It's an inspiring story, and having the opportunity to meet Chris on this night was certainly one of the highlights of my time in Aspen. You can read more about Chris here, and I highly recommend that you do. He's one tough dude.

Also present was Aron Ralston, one very accomplished ski-mountaineer and a client of Terry Schaeffer's. Oh yeah, he's also better known as the guy who cut off his own arm to save his life when he became trapped in a narrow canyon while hiking in Utah. I'm gonna' go out on a limb (no pun intended) and suggest that Aron's a bit of a bad-ass as well. I mean, the guy is back climbing and skiing as if nothing ever happened. It blows my mind just how determined people can be when they're passionate about something.

Here's yours truly at the start of the race. There were three ways to get up the mountain. In increasing order of difficulty, one could choose to use crampons on regular sneakers and hike (kind of hard), wear snowshoes (very hard), or skin up the mountain on skis (obsecenely, disgustingly hard). (I have a post coming up that explains the skinning process a bit more, as it has become my latest obsession. Stay tuned.)

Jay and I, as well as my man Terry Schaeffer, opted for snowshoes. So after donning our shoes, tightening our bindings, and checking the batteries in our headlamps, we toed the start line and waited for the gun to go off.

I had every intention of taking photos along the way, as the scene was a bit unique, to say the least. The falling snow got a bit heavy right away, and the string of headlamps ascending throught an otherwise pitch- black, narrow gulch towards the summit was quite a sight to behold, and would have made for a once-in-a-lifetime photo diary. However, my competitive nature got the best of me, as it sometimes tends to, and I opted instead to leave the camera in my pocket and get the thing over with as quickly as possible. The picture above is of the finish line at 11,500 feet. I finally made its acquaintance after 1:18 of agony; not bad for a kid from Jersey.

This, by the way, is the single greatest picture I've taken since my arrival in Aspen. That is Terry Schaeffer. If you read this blog with any regularity, you already know that Terry is an Aspen icon, and also happens to be the CPA with whom I share office space downtown. He's a great guy and one hell of a crowd pleaser. Here he is finishing, and I believe all of us at the summit were genuinely concerned for his well being. He looked like he had been dunked in a pool and ROLLED up the mountain, as he was covered head to toe in a thin layer of ice. Without a hit of hyperbole, I tell you there were four inch icicles coming off his face. Don't believe me????

I told you so. That enourmous stalactite by Terry's left ear was the last -- and SHORTEST -- of the ice appendages Terry picked up along the way. Volunteers knocked the rest off, but I begged they preserve this lone one so I could capture it for all of posterity. Mission accomplished.
There's my man Jay crossing the line, strong as when he started. Jay's a big, solid kid, and to haul that muscle mass up 3,500 vertical feet is one heck of an accomplishment.

There's Chris Klug, the hero of the night, in the red parka. He hung out at finish line and personally congratulated all 250+ finishers. Class act.
Finally, here's Jay and I enjoying a brief photo-up at the summit. Yes, I need a haircut. Inside the Sun Deck warmth, food, and free booze awaited. I attacked all three with equal aplomb.

I can't say enough about just how cool an expereince this race was. There's something about finding yourself completely alone, 11,000 feet above sea level in a driving snow, surrounded by blackness, mountains, and little else, pain filling your lungs and legs with an ever-increasing cruelty, that makes you feel rather, well...alive.

And to do it all for a good cause, a cause that changed the life of my mother-in-law Rosalie and brother-in-law Freddy, well that's as good as it gets. So thanks again to everyone, and let's do it again next year.

Oh, and Freddy, this one's for you.

Grass, We'll See You In April

Yeah, we got some flurries here this week.

Tuesday after work, Lauren and I threw on our snowshoes and headed out our back door to test the snow depth. Together we hiked about 1/2 a mile down to the Roaring Fork River, where the scenery was pure as, well...newfallen snow I guess.

There's my girl looking resplendent in her Michelin Man-inspired down jacket. She'll be needing it as temps are projected to drop into those ungodly negative numbers over the next few days.

I'm Guessing My Morning Commute Was Snowier Than Yours

Yeah, that pretty much says it. One massive Arctic front + lots of moisture = 1 foot of snow overnight and one very happy, non-working wife. Lauren is home for the day, but being the guy that I am, I was willing to endure my hellish 8 minute commute in order to bring home some bacon.

Another foot is expected today, before the storm finally tapers off tomorrow. Good times.

Christmas. It's A Time for Giving...Right?...Right???

There's plenty to share from the holidays, but first, the unpleasantness...Nobody likes being blindsided and guilted into making a donation, particularly with Christmas just around the corner and money pretty tight.

That being said, I would like to compete in the Aspen Mountain "Storm the Stars" competition on Saturday night. This is a late-night race up the ski resort -- climbing 3200 feet in 2.5 miles -- with all the proceeds going towards the Chris Klug foundation to support organ transplants.

As you may or may not know, my wife's mother, Rosalie, and brother, Fred, know all about organ transplants. When Freddy was in his early twenties, his mother heroically donated a kidney to young Freddy so he could continue to pursue his dream of becoming a professional wrestler under the alias "Sir Hotbod Handsomeface." While the dream may have never come to fruition, it was no fault of the kidney's, which runs like clockwork. Freddy has enjoyed 10 years of good health since the surgery, and Rosalie, stunning medical experts worldwide, has regrown the transplanted organ. (OK, I made that last part up. But that would be pretty cool, wouldn't it?)

Anyhoo, in order to race, I need to raise $160 big ones for the American Transplant Foundation. And no, this isn't some fake George Costanza-esque charity like the "Human Fund" that I invented so I can take your money and spend it on rare collectible PEZ dispensers. If you don't believe me, you can check the link here.

Rare is the opportunity to don spandex and a headlamp and do a good deed in the process. Do you want to be responsible for seeing that opportunity lost? Do you want to open your bounty of presents on Christmas morning, racked with the guilt of knowing you cost the American Transplant Foundation $160 bucks. Do you? DO YOU?????

Sorry...that was uncalled for. This fundraising stuff is kind of hard, so I thought I'd take a page from the Catholic church and push the whole "guilt" angle. If it worked, let me know.

If you are interested in helping all those people awaiting transplants -- and yeah, indirectly, me -- please let me know by leaving a comment, and I will get back to you with a pledge form. The race is this Saturday, but I can always front the money and then chase you down for your pledge on the back end. And if you don't pay? That's when I make a call to Angelo "Big Ang'" Nitti. And trust me, he'll get that money one way or another.

Thanks in advance.

Tony

Addendum #1: Now that I am registered, you can make any pledges you like directly by going through this link. I'm listed under Tony, rather than Anthony, just to disappoint my mother. So go and give until it hurts. Or else Freddy Fares will personally come to your door and suplex you.

You Hear that, Ed? Bears. Now You're Putting the Whole Station in Jeopardy

Busy week for the missus and I.

Monday through Thursday was a blur due to work, but by Thursday evening the dust had settled, and I was able to take a much needed break and accompany my lovely wife to "Beaver Night." While it sounds like something you'd find on Cinemax at 3AM, I assure you, you're way off.

Beaver Night entails meeting Lauren's class at the Aspen Center for Everinmental Studies at dusk to tour the many beaver ponds dotting the grounds. Here's the gang circled around their esteemed leader. Oh, and Lauren's there too.


Friday night Lauren and I went down-valley to Basalt, where we dined at a Chinese restraurant called Zhengs. It's no Olive Garden, but it's lovely in its own right. Lauren ordered the diddled-eyed joe, while I had the damned-if-know (extra points to anyone that knows where that's from). After dinner, we were treated with traditional fortune cookies. Mine read simply, "You will be aroused by a shampoo commercial." Very Zen.

As we made the 12 mile drive back to Aspen, Lauren got a call from her friend Natalie. Natalie, who also moved to town in late summer, had shared Lauren and my dismay at having not spotted a bear during our numerous forays into the surrounding wilderness. It seems everyone in the valley has had a run in with a bear while out on the trails, save for Natalie, Lauren, and I.

And then there were two. Natalie, while cruising down Cooper Street in the center of town, turned a corner to find a five foot brown bear lumbering towards her. Lauren and I sped downtown with the hopes of catching a glipse, but sadly, the bear was nowhere to be found. Perhaps we should have checked Starbucks.

Oh, it probably bears mentioning (no pun intended), ski season officially started on Saturday, as Aspen Mountain cashed in on Monday's 16 inch dump and opened early. I got out for a few runs, but 2500 locals on 150 acres equals a dearth of snow after about 20 minutes. So I packed it in aroudn 11, and today opted for the quiet, desolate backcountry. Good times.

Seeing as though we're official now, it's probably time I lay the ground rules for tracking my ski days this winter. Here's what I've come up with so far:

1. A "day" must include more than 1 run if accessed by a lift. If hiking for my turns either on the resort or in the backcountry, 1 hike/run will suffice.
2. A day can only be considered a powder day if the ski report lists more than 6 inches of fresh snow if skiing at the resort, or anything above boot height in the backcountry.

Following these guidelines, I find myself at 6 days and counting.

SKI DAYS: 6
POWDER DAYS: 1

I've Seen a Peanut Stand, I've Heard A Rubber Band, I've Seen A Needle Wink It's Eye...But Now I've Done Seen About Everything

Sorry for the Dumbo reference, but to quote the late, great Joe Buck from the 1988 World Series, "I don't believe what I just saw." This post is apropos of nothing to do with Aspen, but its subject matter is remarkable enough to demand attention.

At 31 years old, I've bore witness to a polar bear riding a freaking unicycle at the circus, but I've never seen Rutgers fans storming a football field after a big win. And I was pretty darn comfortable I'd see the former again before I ever saw the latter. Guess I was wrong.

Rutgers University Shocks Nation With Landmark Signing

The Associated Press
New Brunswick, New Jersey - In a move certain to fan the flames of the "how young is too young" debate, the Rutgers University women’s basketball program announced during a press conference held today that they have signed Nadia Angel Gray to a National Letter of Intent.

Gray, born just hours earlier to Trenton residents Dean and Erica Gray, is thought to be the youngest athlete in NCAA history to officially commit to an athletic scholarship. While skeptics point to the signing as proof that the ruthlessness of Division I athletics is spiraling wildly out of control, those in command of the Rutgers program view the early committment as nothing more than the natural evolution of big-time college recruiting.

“We apologize for nothing,” said Vivian Stringer, head coach of the perennial power Lady Knights. “In this day and age, you either strike early or you become irrelevant. Some university was going to fire the opening salvo in the fight for Nadia Gray, and I’m just relieved that it was us. Sure people will criticize us for signing a newborn, but the criticism would have been much more harsh had Tennessee or LSU gotten to her first.”

Though some may question how a university can accurately project the abilities of a recruit that won’t suit up until the year 2024, Stringer assured the astonished crowd that the decision was based in sound logic.

“We have been watching Nadia’s development for nearly nine months,” Stringer explained. "In addition, we’ve poured over videos of her father’s soccer career, and his freakish combination of strength, speed, and athleticism is simply astonishing.”

“At first, we weren’t sure about the mother, but an athletic department intern was able to procure a video from a Trenton State College sorority party dated sometime in the mid 1990's. The fluidity and agility apparent in the dance moves Mrs. Gray displayed on that video were all we needed to see. We knew right then that we were dealing with a special cocktail of rare athletic abilities, and we couldn’t afford to drag our feet.”

When asked to comment on the groundbreaking signing of her first-born, Mrs. Gray, still immersed in a morphine-induced haze, repeatedly bellowed, “I’M IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTION!!!!”

Interviews of Mr. Gray proved fruitless as well, as the proud papa seemed genuinely disinterested in the proceedings, instead asking anyone who would listen, “Who you like in that Oakland game tonight?”

In all seriousness, I’m sort of at a loss for words to describe everything I’m feeling this week. To have my sister and Fat Bob become parents to a third little girl, only to watch my best friend and his amazing wife experience the same miracle just days later, well…to be honest, it’s more good fortune than I deserve.

There’s not much to say about my relationship with Deano. He’s my favorite non-spouse, non-Nitti on the planet. Has been since the day we met, will be until the day I die. No ups, no downs, no highs, no lows, just the best of friends, since day one, whether we were around the corner from one another, or 2,000 miles apart, as we are now.

This goes without saying, but I’m not the best guy in the world. Far from it. But whenever I find myself questioning the person I’ve become, I remind myself, ‘If someone like Dean Gray considers YOU his best friend, you’ve got to be doing something right.” The guy can’t walk into a 7-11 without bumping into half a dozen people who love him, yet he asks me to be the best man at his wedding? That, my friends, is a great feeling.

Erica, on the other hand, means so much to me on a very different level than Deano. As I said, with Dean, it’s just always been there. Erica, on the other hand, had to be won over.

When we first met, Erica thought of me what many do upon first glance: what a jerk. Standoffish, arrogant, borderline obnoxious… and she was right. But for reasons I’ll never truly understand, Erica did what few others have: refused to let me be me. She wouldn’t let me stay in my protective little shell, wouldn’t let me push her away, wouldn’t let me go through life not knowing what a wonderful person she is and growing to love her.

And boy, do I love her. As does my wife, my sister, my nieces, and anybody else that spends more than 10 minutes in a room with her.
So baby Nadia, rest easy knowing that you've been blessed with two beautiful people as parents, and if they love you as they love one another, which they most assuredly will, scholarship or not, you'll be one lucky, lucky little girl.

At least, that is, until they dress you up like this...

Where's Your Pocket Protector Joke Now?

As a CPA, I am subject to more stereotypes and broad generalizations than homosexuals, American Indians, and female Asian motorists put together.

You know the image: stuffy…dull…anal-retentive. Blessed with pasty white skin, thick glasses, and a healthy fear of our own shadow, the only thing less impressive than our sense of humor is our aerobic capacity. I present to you Exhibit A:

Pretty funny stuff, right?

CPAs, it has long been my contention, are subject to more scorn and ridicule than any other profession in America, save for perhaps male nurses.

What’s my point? Well, on Friday I attended a local continuing education class. Aspen has a small number of CPAs, so when a class comes to town, pretty much the entire accounting community turns out. As I took my seat, I looked around and had myself a little chuckle, for even in Aspen – perhaps the most outdoor-oriented community in the country – the cast of characters in attendance looked pretty much like the little guy at the top of this post. Stereotype: 10,452, CPAs: 0.

As Terry Schaeffer stumbled in, groggy and incoherent from waking before 11 for the first time in recent memory, he took the seat next to me. He also surveyed the room, and in doing so, stopped suddenly, leaned over to me, and whispered: “There’s Mike Marolt.”

“Who’s Mike Marolt?” I responded?

Well, THIS is Mike Marolt.



I could attempt an introduction, but it’s probably best if I just link directly from the everestnews.com website:

Mike Marolt is recognized as one of the world's best extreme skiers. Mike along with his twin brother Steve, lead and became the first Americans (first from the western hemisphere) to climb and ski from 8,000 meters. Mike and Steve, both CPA's, became the first Americans to ski from the death zone on Mt. Everest.

I can say with absolute certaintly, that is the first and only time since the dawn of man that “CPA” and “death zone” have been used in the same sentence.

In case that paragraph didn’t take hold, let me sum it up for you. THEY. SKIED. EVEREST. Who skis Everest??? Nobody skis Everest. Even the most genetically gifted and mentally tough among us ascend Everest with the sole goal of survival; I can’t imagine what level of insanity it takes to climb 26,000 feet, look around, and say, “this seems like as good a place as any to click in.”

It’s safe to say, based on any scale or measurement method you use for this sort of thing, the Marolt brothers are serious, serious badasses. And most importantly, their status as badasses strikes a blow for CPAs everywhere. And for that, I am forever in their debt.

If you would like to learn more about the Marolt brothers and their other ski descents including Mt. Rainer, Mt. McKinley, Mt. Saint Elias, Mt. Shishapangma, and…oh, most of the 14,000 peaks of Colorado, please consult your local library. Or you could just click here.

Irreconcilable Differences

Each of us, at critical junctures in our lives , are forced to make difficult choices; choices that will go a long way in defining who we are and what we are to become. These choices are not for the weak; they neither tolerate ambivalence nor leave room for hedging. Due diligence is of little help, for these are choices for which no empirical evidence exists to assist you. Instead, you must take a long look within yourself and ask: what do I believe?

Republican or Democrat? Creationism or Evolution? Good Times or What’s Happenin'?

And or course, when you live in the shadows of four world class winter resorts: skier or snowboarder???

Well, my wife has spoken...

She will be a snowboarder.

This weekend brought the fabled Ski Swap to our town, and it was about damn time. We’ve been hearing about this thing since August. In short, people and vendors from around town bring new and used equipment they no longer want/have room for to the High School, where they are sold off in a two-day frenzy, with 20% off all purchases going to the school district. Like they need it. These schools, after all, have more Escalades in the parking lot than a Wu-Tang concert.

Anyhoo, Lauren volunteered to work the Swap, which of course, meant I was volunteered to work the swap as well. On the plus side, volunteering meant we could shop during closed hours, before the riffraff came rolling through.

We had planned on buying ski boots for Lauren to complete the skis/bindings package I surprised her with in May, but sometime between Friday morning and 6 PM, the plans changed.

Lauren -- and only she knows her reasons -- had her moment of clarity, and decided to forsake two planks for one. She is now a snowboarder, and whether she knows it or not, her life will never be the same.

Clothes will grow ever baggier. A general indifference to all things will soon follow. Dreadlocks are virtually inevitable. Chances are good you guys won’t even recognize her when she comes home for Christmas.

Lauren would have posted about this momentous occasion herself, but she's at work tonight. By work, of course, I mean an all-expense paid trip to Vail consisting of dinner, a night in a ski condo, and the morning at a day spa, all courtesy of the parents of her students. Don’t worry, she’s not alone, as the gift was extended to ALL of the school’s kindergarten teachers.

I must say, either she’s got it pretty good at this school, or I’m the victim of an elaborate ruse and my wife is having an affair. On second thought, maybe it’s best if I don’t think about that too much. Good night.

We've Come A Long Way, Baby

Yeah...baby Megan's gonna' have it awful tough. Three days on the planet and she's already decked out in the finest fleece bib money can buy.

I must say, it's a far cry from my days as an infant, when times were tough and we Nitti's did whatever we could just to get by. The steel mill had just shut down, and my old man was hitting the bottle pretty hard. My mom, God bless her, did the best with what she had.

Every Sunday morning she would sneak out before dawn, swipe the neighbor's Trentonian, pull out the Sunday comics, and wrap me up with Scotch tape and twine. And I had to make those comics last the full seven days, or a beatin' was a comin'.

Do you have any idea what it does to a guy to spend his formative years swathed in Moose Miller cartoons? And Lauren wonders why I'm always skipping work, crashing the neighbors swimming pool uninvited, and using my well-trained parrot to steal gigantic drumsticks from Chester Crabtree's barbeque. It's all I know man; it's all I know.

Fun day in the Sun and Snow

Hi Guys! It's Lauren! I finally had some time tonight to sit down and fill you in on the rest of our weekend. Sunday was a beautiful day so Tony and I decided to explore Buttermilk Mountain's trails. This mountain is the closest to our house so it was just a short drive away (5 minutes). When we got to the base we decided to explore a road that led us to the west side. We ended up hitting the jackpot and landing at the base of a lift with some great snow. So...on the snowshoes went.




Here is a quick video of me snowshoeing!!!! It is really a lot of fun. I don't always use Tony's poles but they help a lot!!!


This next picture is a photo of the resturant at the top of the mountain and the peak in the distance is called Pyramid Peak (another local 14er)
Here I am resting on the ski lift at the top of the mountain. Soon enough I will be akwardly riding the lift with my skis as I get ready to slide off and ski down!


Here is Tony! My ever so patient husband who puts up with my fussiness as I figure out my body temperature and decide just how many jackets to wear or not to wear as we climb.


Here is the fun part!!! It is so much fun and a whole lot easier to run down the slopes in the snowshoes.


Check out these turns! I was quite impressed as I watch Tony ski for the first time! I love the sound the skis make as they move through the powder snow. Looks like a lot of fun huh?

Well here is my first appearance on the blog in a long time but stay tuned because I would really like to share some of the scary Halloween costumes from yesterday on the blog very soon. Miss and love you guys a whole lot!

Never Ceases to Amaze Me

My apologies for the posting drought, but I thought it best to show my newest niece (I'm on a six-neice streak, by the way) her due respect by alloting her plenty of time at the head of the blog. Plus, I know how the ladies like baby pictures. And at the end of they day, it's all for the ladies, isn't it?

Of course, all that was once new becomes old, and sadly baby Megan is no exception. From what I'm told, she's already begging to get her ears pierced, sneaking cigarettes behind the local library, and defiantly informing her mother that "she didn't ask to be born." Circle of life, I guess.

That being the case, it's probably high time I get back to some blogging. Lauren and I were plenty active this weekend, and we've got the pictures to prove it.

Saturday morn, I picked up my buddy Jay under the cover of the last darkness 6 AM will provide for quite a while in these parts. (Thank you very much, Daylight Savings Time.) Our goal was to once again hike to the top of Ajax Mountian, only rather than taking the circituitous route I ascended the previous Sunday, this time we would head straight up Spar Gulch. What we gained in ascending speed we would lose in comfort: the climb up the gulch is steep and unforgiving, particularly with 15-20 pounds on your back.

We got started before seven, and by nine, we were still in the gulch and still yet to see the sun. The gulch, as you can see in the picture above, sits squarely in the shadows cast by the surrounding peaks, and with a swirling wind also commonplace, it can be a cold, dark place.

The hike was too damn steep for a lot of picture taking, so there's nothing else until we reached the top. Total climbing time was a shade under 2:45, meaning the straight shot up the gulch saved us about 30 minutes over Summer Road. The trade off, of course, is tired, tired legs. By the time we reached the summit, the sun was high in the sky, and Jay and I were slowly roasting under all that gear.

The picture above is the view from the summit, and the object of my desire is Highlands Bowl -- the home of the most epic in-bounds riding Aspen has to offer. It's super steep, it holds incredible snow, and it's made with bits of real panther, so you know that it's good.

The bowl should open sometime in mid-December, and with the ridiculous early season base our "October Surprise" storms have left, it should be great riding from the get-go. The red lines you see mark some of the more famous chutes found on the Bowl, and I must say, I'm giddy at the prospect of exploring each and every one of them. Lauren? Not so much.

The skiing on the descent was good, though not great. Of couse, it is only October, so perhaps I may be guilty of losing some perspective. After all, ANY skiing this time of year is good skiing, isn't it??

I Shall Call Her, Mini-Me

I'm comfortable enough with my manhood to say this: I love my brother-in-law Rob. Always have. Ten years ago, my sister brought her new boyfriend to the Bottom Half in Lawrenceville, where Dean Gray and I, immersed in a state of drunkeness that only the night before Thanksgiving can provide, gave him the once over and agreed that he seemed alright. Ever since that day, Rob has been a whole lot more brother than he has in-law.

So it's with the utmost respect that I pose the following question: How does a guy who bears such a striking resemblence to Dr. Evil produce such undeniably beautiful offspring?

Come on...you know you've noticed it before. You've hung out with Rob, kept it all inside, then as soon as you left the room, turned to your sibling/spouse/imaginary friend, put your pinky finger to your mouth, and joked, "It's fricking freezing in here Mr. Bigglesworth." And then you all had a big laugh.

Well guess who's having the last laugh? That's right, Big Shot Bob. Because not only did he incredibly outkick his coverage by marrying my smart, beautiful, caring sister, and not only has he developed into a damn fine triathlete, but he has now managed to not once, not twice, but THREE times defy the laws of genetics.

It is with overwhelming pride that I introduce to you Megan Elizabeth Balerna. Born today during the fourth quarter of the 1:00 games (that's how we Nitti's keep time on Sundays), Megan came into the world at 8 pounds and 2 ounces, meaning she's already one-quarter the size of her treadmill-obsessed father. She's beautiful, she's healthy, and she's lucky to have two big sisters to look after her. Oh yeah, and like all babies born in the last month, she's never seen a Philadelphia Eagles victory. We can only wonder if she ever will.

My sister is doing wonderful. She's the toughest person I know, and she proved it once again by delivering despite a nasty, lingering cold. I would have loved to have been able to include a picture of the proud mother with her baby, but all the images I've been privy to would require this blog to adopt a PG-13 rating.

Pregnancy and childbirth are wildly unpredictable. It seems as though every 16-year old girl with more estrogen than common sense can get pregnant despite taking every precaution, while at the same time, so many ready, willing, and deserving women who are just begging to take that step into motherhood can't seem to make the miracle happen.

As you may or may not know, this process has not been easy for my sister. Karen has endured a lot of tough times, and we've all hurt with her. But she never quit, never took no for an answer, never accepted the heartless advice of apathetic doctors. And look at her now. Blessed with three angels and enough memories of adversity to ensure that she will never take one moment with them for granted.

So Karen, from all of us who love you, from all of us who've suffered to watch you suffer, from all of us who are in awe of your strength, this is for those doctors who said, "some women just aren't meant to have children."
As I'm sure you know, Lauren and I wish we could be there. We love and miss you, Rob, Leah, and Steph, and we look forward to making the acquaintance of Megan Elizabeth.

Finally, I'd like to close by saying to Dean and Erica, you're officially out of the on-deck circle. Step into the batters box.

Blizzard: The Day After

Yup, the blizzard you all heard about on the news has come and gone, blanketing our little town in over a foot of snow. Normally, this is where I would wax poetic about the surreal scene the storm left behind, how beautiful and untainted and serene Aspen looks, and how living here is akin to inhabiting one of those sovenier-shop snowglobes. But let's be honest: it's just friggin snow. If I write 4,000 words every time it so much as flurries, this is going to get a bit redundant after a while. This is the Rockies, after all. So instead, let's all watch this gratuitous video and have a good chuckle at something undeniably funny: man's unquenchable desire to blow stuff up.

Baton Down The Hatches

National Weather Service Zone - COZ010

URGENT - WINTER WEATHER MESSAGE

NATIONAL WEATHER SERVICE GRAND JUNCTION CO130 PM MDT WED OCT 25 2006

WINTRY WEATHER HAS RETURNED TO THE REGION...
.A COLD PACIFIC STORM SYSTEM WILL DROP SOUTHEAST ACROSS EASTERN UTAH AND NORTHWEST COLORADO TODAY...THEN WILL CONTINUE ACROSS SOUTHWEST COLORADO TONIGHT. RAIN AND SNOW WILL SPREAD ACROSS THE AREA...WITH THE SNOW LEVEL GRADUALLY LOWERING T0 MANY HIGH VALLEYS TONIGHT. GUSTY WINDS WILL CREATE AREAS OF BLOWING AND DRIFTINGSNOW WITH SNOWFALL AMOUNTS APPROACHING OR EXCEEDING ONE FOOT IN A NUMBER OF MOUNTAIN LOCATIONS.

Any Publicity is Good Publicity, Or So They Say

Alanis Morrisette, long before her breakthrough acting performance as Almighty God in Kevin Smith's "Dogma," once wrote a song titled "Ironic," which while fairly popular, was just plain inaccurate. In it she laments such things as "10,000 spoons, when all you need is a knife," and "a death row pardon, a minute too late," neither of which, incidentally, are ironic, but rather ludicrously tragic, sort of like when a clown dies.

Or sort of like what happened to my man Terry Schaeffer -- the Aspen institution who is quickly becoming a staple in this here blog -- some 20-odd years ago.

Picture this...you're a young professional, desperately trying to make a name for yourself in a new town. One day, you're out enjoying some backcountry skiing, when a local photog snaps a few pics. You figure he's just another tourist taking in the scenery, until you wake up one morning to find a huge picture of yourself splashed across the front page of the biggest paper in town.

For a moment, you're elated.

And then you notice the headline.

Now obviously, Terry has never killed anyone, at least not that he remembers. The 70's were pretty hazy, from what he tells me. He just had the misfortune of making it into the news the day someone decided to unload a semi-automatic weapon on a party. But for all those people who didn't bother to read the article or the caption to Terry's picture...well, to them, his ass was guilty and he deserved to fry.

When Terry showed me the paper today, I just about lost it. In a desperate attempt to make him feel better, I assured him there were plenty of worse things you could find printed in 32-inch font directly above a picture of you, and only you. Eight hours later, though, the only things I can come up with are:

"Former Foley Page Prepared to Testify" or "Local Man Busted In Beastiality Probe"

If any of the more creative commentators out there would like to contribute their suggestions, I'd love to hear them.

This Is Some Story. Compelling and Rich.

I believe it was Socrates who said, "With great power comes great responsibility." Or maybe it was Spider-Man. I always get those two guys confused.

Either way, I can safely say my wife would have made both gentlemen proud. A quick story:

I'm over at the gym today, soaking in the hot tub, looking out over the snow capped mountains and enjoying a light snack of giant prawns. Being the affable fellow that I am, I started making small talk with the lifeguard. After discovering my wife was a kindergarden teacher at Aspen Elementary, the conversation went like this:

Lady: Did you move here from the Pennsylvania?
Me: We did.
Lady: Was your wife a special-ed teacher back at her old job?
Me: She was.
Lady: Well let me tell you, your wife has made quite a name for herself here in town. I've been here 30 years, and I know a lot of parents of kids that age, and I've never seen them so excited about a new teacher. Everyone says she's incredible at what she does.

That's my girl.

Ski Season. It Has Arrived.

That, my friends, is what happiness looks like. For those of you who aren't particularly "wintry," what you're seeing are big, sweeping turns left by a solitary skier on an unblemished mountain. Not just any turns, mind you, but the kind of knee-deep powder turns that cause kids to drop out of Ivy League universities and take a job spinning chairlifts for 7 bucks an hour. And they weren't left by just any skier, but by me. And I must say, for a kid from New Jersey, those ain't bad.

Lots to tell from the weekend, but before we begin, how about a quick break for some comedic relief?

Q: What do daylight and the Philadelphia Eagles have in common?
A: They both rapidly begin to fade as Halloween approaches.

Thank you, Thank you....make sure and tip your waitress.

This weekend was all about the snow, and there was plenty of it. Three feet of the white stuff between Monday night and early Saturday morning had dramatically changed the local landscape, so a group of five headed to Aspen Highlands to try out our new snowshoes and if conditions allowed, to do a bit of skiing.

That would be Chelsea, Natalie, and Lauren, enjoying a respite from the arduous task of breaking trail and posing for a photo-op. Lauren is looking resplendent in her new Tubbs Adventure snowshoes, and let me tell you, once she strapped those puppies on, she shot up Highlands like a mountain goat. The change in her aerobic capacity has been nothing short of remarkable; whereas she once wheezed and struggled on a short hike, on this day she cruised through the deepening snow at an altitude of 9,000 feet like it was a walk in the park.

This is me and my man Terry -- still fit and adventurous at the ripe old age of 62 -- finishing our descent after a long day. We hiked up for about 2 hours, and at around 9700 feet the snow depth allowed me to put my new boards to use, soI dropped in for some decent, boot-high turns.
Sunday morning, I decided to try something a bit more ambitious. I was curious if I could summit Aspen Mountain -- the 3000' foot climb Lauren and I had suffered through twice during the summer -- only this time do it through the considerable snowpack, carrying my skis on my back, and -- due to everyone's unwillingness to wake for a 6 AM start -- go it alone.

I decided to keep a photo diary, just in case I wasn't seen again until someone unearthed me frozen stiff from a snow drift come spring. I arrived downtown at 6:30, and after changing in my office and getting my headlamp working (and snapping the official "start" photo in the mirror of my office bathroom), I hopped on a mountain bike and pedaled the three blocks to the base of the mountain.
I started the climb shortly before 7. Between my pack, my skis, my snowshoes, and some essentials, I was lugging somewhere between 20-25 pounds on my back. Luckily, the snow was relatively thin at the start, but by the time I had ascended roughly 500 feet, it had noticeably deepend. The sky was still dark, and snow was falling lightly as I stopped to take this shot of a sleepy downtown.
This time, I chose to take Summer Road as my means to the top. While much longer than the route Lauren and I took, it is also much more gradual. I also assumed that since the road doubled as a service road for mountain workers feverishly preparing for a Thanksgiving opening, it would be slightly more tracked out and make for easier hiking. I was wrong. As you can see above, even the tire tracks had filled in by the time I was a quarter of the way up the mountain. This would make for a LONG day.
About halfway up, I got a bit concerned when I realized that I hadn't seen another human all morning, on what I assumed would be a busy day due to the potentially tremendous skiing up top. It was also at this time that it dawned on me that in my morning haste, I had forgotten to pack any food or water. With the sun finally emerging from the clouds in all its ultraviolet splendor, I was getting quite thirsty, quite fast. Luckily, you can eat snow. So I did, and lots of it.
After three and a half of the most grueling hours of my life -- at one point above 10,500 feet, I was reduced to doing intervals of twenty steps followed by rest -- I made it to the summit. And the picture above provides all the proof I need! That is the view off the backside of Aspen Mountain, focused squarely on Aspen Highlands, the neighboring mountain we had hiked the previous day. To give you a bit of perspective on our rapidly changing climate, follow this link to a picture we took of Lauren and Natalie from the same vantage point on Labor Day weekend.

Once I got to the top, I called my wife to let her know I was alive, and tried to rest my useless legs for twenty minutes or so. I also happily drank from some icicles that were beginnig to melt on the Sundeck. I was the only person on the summit, which is quite likely to never, ever happen again. It was just a freak combination of the early hour, the heavy snow, and the uncertain conditions that left me feeling as though I was miles away from the nearest human.

Adequately rested, I started skiing, and found the snow much deeper and lighter (meaning better!) than expected. The result was about 1000 yards worth of some the most memorable turns I've ever had the privilege to make. To have a trail to yourself on a power day is a rarity; to have an entire mountain is simply inconceivable. When I reached the bottom of the first powder field, I had to stop and shoot a couple of photos, lest it never happen again.

Halfway down, I was forced to swap the skis for the snowshoes, as the snow coverage thinned to a level that would be hazardous to my new toys. From there, it was still another hour or so to the bottom, but I made it down safe, albeit exhausted and starving.

From there, I unlocked my bike, and discovered something wonderful: from the base of the mountain, I can coast to my office without pedaling even once. I'm fairly certain this will come in handy again at some point.

This is where having the greatest wife imaginable pays tremendous dividends. By the time I arrived home, there was a warm plate of banana pancakes waiting for me. God bless her.