I apologize for my blogging absence. First there were exams, when I was so busy and brain addled that I could barely write my own name let alone a blog post. Then I flew home on the most boring transatlantic flight ever where the in-flight entertainment system died within an hour of takeoff (no bad Katherine Heigl films for me) and my reading light didn't work. I swear it was cruel karmic payback for putting my takehome exam off for so long that I nearly pulled an all-nighter. Finally I was home and ready to write in something other than a blue book and then I got the stomach flu. I recovered in time to eat my weight in cheese during Christmas, as you do. I was hoping to take photos of a beautiful Minnesota white Christmas, except we never got one. The weather is so warm that I'm forced to admit that the only reason why I'm wearing flannel is because I'm a hipster, not because it's cold out. But finally I have something to share with you that isn't contagious, the father-daughter ski trip in Utah we took before 2012!
I say ski trip, but a snow globe probably had more snow than Park City did, as you can see from these photos. The skiing itself was like the Dairy Queen menu. The first day it was akin to a blizzard, snow mixed with nice rocks to crunch over every so often. I like softserve, but I don't appreciate skiing on it. This was the result of the second day when it rained in the morning and warmed up enough in the afternoon to induce sundae style ski conditions. Day three was a crunch cone from hell as ice pellets smacked into my face. We finally got good ski conditions on our last day and by that I mean gale force wind in the morning, sheets of ice to glide over, but at least sun. Global warming, we got the message.
What the slopes lacked in entertainment, the city and tourists made up for. If you didn't know this already, I'm the real life version of Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. While running late to a dinner reservation one night, I ran into a girl I took racquetball with during my sophomore year at GW. It's a small world after all. Therefore, it was no surprise when my dad and I shared a chairlift with two Glaswegians. I can't avoid the Scots! With my luck, I was sure I was going to run into Robert Redford (years ago, my mother claims to have spotted him on the chairlift) or Aaron Eckhart (who I saw going incognito with a strategically grown beard over his famous chin a few years back). Sadly, neither celebrity nor snow materialized.
Although the bottom of my skis looked a little worse for the wear after that trip, it was nice to get a change of scenery. I fell victim to my pattern of shooting upward when in cities, but the sky is so brilliantly blue over the Rockies that I hope you'll forgive me. Park City is as commercial as its Hollywood Sundance film festival, but I appreciate good paint jobs and Western kitsch in any form.