Janet Urquhart: Welcome to whine country
February 20, 2004
“I suppose I should go skiing.”
A deep sigh and exaggerated eye-rolling often accompanies this lament.
It’s a classic case of whining, Aspen-style, which, God knows, I’m good at.
The weekend rolls around and that two-day ski pass I bankrolled last summer needles me like a pair of Gucci loafers gathering dust in my closet. It cost a fortune. Better use it. So, I have to go skiing in Aspen when I’d really rather go snowshoeing, or grab my cross-country gear and glide for miles beneath a sky too blue to believe. Life is tough.
At least I am occasionally cognizant of my circumstances. I’m not sure anyone else is.
It’s all I can do lately to keep from swatting an assortment of locals and tourists over the head with a rolled-up newspaper at the first hint of grumbling. Everywhere I turn lately, I get an earful from somebody whose life just sucks because their car
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broke down in a town where they don’t need one, or they’re fed up with a job that provides them with a full ski pass and a place to live within walking distance of the slopes. Bummer, dude.
OK, after you’ve dug your car out of the snow for the umpteenth time, plugged another roll and a half of quarters into the machines at the Laundromat, worked 50 hours for 40 hours’ worth of pay, and succumbed to late-night grocery shopping because it’s the only time you can get a parking spot at City Market, life can get old. But still.
When I’m out in sparkling, backcountry snow beneath an azure sky and the only two people I encounter are arguing because one of them was supposed to get up and make pancakes for breakfast, but didn’t, and the other was supposed to do the dishes, but didn’t, I’ve gotta wonder. That’s what the Hickory House is for, people.
The tourists are even worse. I’m constantly amazed at the frequency with which I’m witness to some petty argument among couples who are here on vacation. Really, I see this all the time ” people spending obscene amounts of money to visit Aspen so they can snipe and gripe when they get here. Welcome to the whine country.
I, on the other hand, can scarcely remember my last vacation. Heck, I can’t remember the last time I ventured past the roundabout, let alone made a right turn at Glenwood Springs. I haven’t sniffed the acrid air of Denver since last June. I need to bust out of this burg, take a road trip to the big city. May do a little bitching and moaning while I’m there.
Unless we get that big snowstorm. Then I may have to stay home and ski. Damn.
[Janet Urquhart can always find something to complain about, even if it’s only other people’s complaining. Her e-mail address is email@example.com]