Just returned from the annual all male, though still largely heterosexual ski conclave, with this year's version in Park City, Utah. No one was maimed or killed which was a success in itself. Yours truly did get clipped not by an idiot snowboarder but by some fellow geriatric type which resulted in the privilege of eating about fifty yards of snow on one of the endless runs off of the King Con lift line. Always interesting to note the various fleeting thoughts as you're sliding down the mountain--mine were largely in the areas of "this doesn't feel all that terrible" and "maybe drinking all that scotch wasn't such a bad idea after all."
It's a trip that the wives are ecstatic that they're not included on and that's saying something in that they are usually highly pissed when we're having fun with them not around. No, they much enjoy not being around men bent on eating as much bacon as possible, skiing up and down the mountain on a continuous loop between 9am and 4pm, and afterwards eating mounds of animal protein and throwing down single malt scotch products and then screaming curse words at one another over cards. Noteworthy, is that I have not yet mentioned the other principal pursuits of the trip which include manufacturing a poisonous amount of natural gas and the ensuing strain on both the internal plumbing of the unfortunate owners of the rented condominium and the public works department of Park City, itself. They're glad we're out of town.
We'll do it again next year.
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