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.
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.
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...
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.
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.
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.
