Well, ladies and gentlemen, we are now back in January. These last twelve months seem to have simultaneously flown by and dragged on. How is that possible? Ah, the mysteries of time.
Another year ends, and that means another New Year's Eve. Usually this holiday is by far my least favorite one; it is always anti-climactic and leaves me with a terrible taste in my mouth. Not the best way to enter the new year, mentally.
But this year was different. A small group of people, me and three friends, went to my aunt's lakehouse outside Madison. We skied on Saturday and nursed our muscle soreness with lots of alcohol. It was nice to ease the midnight hour in in relative quiet and calm, and it was a great grouping of people. Small numbers are so much more managable. And it was the first time of hopefully many like weekends, and that can be had by more people.
Stoughton, Wisconsin, is not a hip place. But everything is even more square on empty holiday weekends. Friday night, after getting pulled over on Highway 51, between the lake and the town, and dealing with a dickhead cop who just hates Illinoisans, we went in search of some food. There was nothing to be had, as the three bars we could find had closed their kitchens for the night. We were in each place for an average of thirty seconds, and every time we left smelling of smoke like we had put our clothes through a nicotine bath. It was remarkable, and as such, we remarked. We ended up eating at Culver's.
We had quite a breakfast of eggs, french toast and a whole package of bacon. Gearing up for a day of mass-calorie burning of running down a mountain on waxed metal feet never tasted so good. The slopes of Devil's Head were nearly empty. This is the day to ski. Mary and Jeff hadn't skied more than once each, as kids, so they needed a refresher course on the greens. Ever since my nasty accident two years ago, I've been leary of testing my ski limits, and though I didn't exactly admit it, I needed the greens too.
After a couple hours we took a break for lunch and then split up so Matt and I could ski the black diamonds, since Jeff and Mary didn't want to. We skied the rest of the runs and had no problem until the double black diamond. I kept trying to get Matt to ski the moguls, and he kept saying no, they "scare him," so imagine my delight when we get to the ridge of the double black run and after the steep ledge, all there are are moguls. It was great! The first time we skied it, it was empty except for two teenage girls whose faces were as white as the snow. It was not that scary; it's Wisconsin after all. But the secret of skiing black diamonds is to do it slowly. Be in control. It's hard to learn; as a kid I would ski those slopes in thirty seconds, just crouched down and flying as fast as I could. We decided to ski it again, but this time it was much more crowded. You don't want many people falling down when you're trying to ski a difficult run. I asked this guy stopped on the ridge looking down if he was going to do that side of the moguls. He said he wanted to, but no. So I went, and all of a sudden I see him cutting me off and skiing right by me. And so I fell over. I got up and fell over again on the next turn. Not bad falls, but annoying ones. Then another guy who was in the group of the first guy was near me and I saw that he was videotaping while he skied. I wanted to get the hell out of there after that.
The mountain closed for an hour while they groomed the runs and then Jeff, Matt and I went on some more black diamonds that we decided Jeff could ski well. He did fine and enjoyed it after he got the hang of the speed and started weaving more.
Exhausted and starving we drove back to the lakehouse. We made fajitas for dinner and then started in on the beer. We drank and drank and watched the Dick Clark and Ryan Seacrest trainwreck on TV. We had a lot of champagne and rang the new year in from a remote lakehouse in the Midwest, absent of all the disappointing factors that usually turn that event into a horrible party.
The drive back Sunday night was rainy but regular. The jury was still out as to whether this would be repeated next year. I went to bed an hour after I got home and slept for twelve. It was a great weekend.
But now 2006 begins in earnest. What will it hold for me? For you? I want to be more assertive when I'm by myself, which is another way of vowing to not be so lazy. I will finish blogging about my trips to Sydney and London/Dublin, despite no one still caring, but because it will allow me to finish what I started. I hope to continue travelling this year, to somewhere, to anywhere, I haven't been before. There's a whole world to see, but I should start with the rest of this country. Hopefully I will start school and begin planning for my career. I want to feel like I'm going someplace in my life and not just waiting the months out. Right now I don't have that, and so I want to spend this year working toward carving our a more defined existence than what I currently have. I'm leaving it vague on purpose, because I don't know what my limits will yet be. There's so much to do, and it's time to start.
Happy New Year, and hopefully you'll all be on the road to securing your own existences, however you define that. I'll see you there.
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