Babysitting

So what did I do last night? Well, I spent my time getting schooled by an almost-four-year-old on the difference between a bulldozer, a digger, and a front loader.

There's a difference. Who knew.

Adventures in "Skiing"

As someone who grew up in the mountains, I have had my fill of skiing. I have done the obligatory After School Ski Fridays, the birthday parties on the bunny hill, the spectacular wipeouts on the moguls. I have graduated past the dreaded Snow Plow to the parallel stop that sprays everyone around me with powder.

And it was nice, but really, at this point, I am Done with skiing.

But there’s one thing I hadn’t done up at the winter ski resort. Apparently Snowbird not only has ski facilities, but also a spa. And as I have never been to a spa, I felt it was time to investigate. So I joined Mom and my sister at the spa while Dad went to some neurosurgery conference or other. I was running on two and a half hours of sleep,* and if there’s one thing my dry skin needs it’s a lot of steam and hot water. But I did it anyway, for SCIENCE!

And you know what I discovered?

Spas are weird.

I have decided that spa-ing is like clubbing: I do not understand why it is fun.** I mean, I am willing to concede that people might think it’s fun, but I do not know why they do. I have submerged myself in jacuzzis, steam rooms, and saunas, and frankly all it did was remind me of the more unpleasant aspects of Africa—running up a fever in hot, humid weather, staggering down the street thinking you’d sell your iPod for an orange as your knees swell up.

The strangest thing about them is the dichotomy of relaxation and total stress. Traditionally, you go to a spa because you are stressed the hell out. However, the people I saw at the spa, for the most part, seemed not to be any more relaxed by the spa—they looked like trying to relax was stressing them out even more. Mom, my sister, and I sat around and laughed at the weirdness of the whole thing and watched the skiers and admired the mountains and read, but there were a lot of people around who looked like relaxing is hard work.

So while the spa was fun, I’m not going to make a habit of it. What I took away was that some people like to sit around in really hot water. Also, I took away a bruise. Remember, kids: when the jacuzzi is on the roof of a ski resort, the water around it turns to ice.

That’s the saddest ski injury I’ve ever gotten.


*I actually tried to go to bed earlier, but it didn’t work, because I had a panic attack, goddammit. Fukitol withdrawal has hit a snag, and I will be calling the doctor first thing tomorrow.

**Perhaps I should simply steer clear of places that are also verbs.

Astronomy!

By the way, if you haven’t seen the Daily Show’s interview with Neil deGrasse Tyson, it’s here and it’s hilarious. You’ve got to love a guy who gets hate mail from third graders.* (They had a bonus follow-up the next day. Apparently the man’s just a bit obsessive about his Rubik’s cubes.)

And as long as we’re on the subject, can someone explain to me why the reclassification of Pluto as a dwarf planet was such a big hairy deal? What I figured was that we found a lot of other Plutos, and it seemed a little ridiculous to keep one as a planet. Was it some sort of emotional attachment? The problem of having to retcon all the Magic Schoolbus-type books and shows? The sudden obsolescence of a poetic mnemonic? Or what?

Anyway, yeah, I’ve been on an astronomy kick lately—to the point where I was wondering if I should learn that instead of ASL interpreting or midwifery or medical technicianing.** Partly it’s because I’ve been worldbuilding again, partly it’s just my own interests. But yeah, I’ve been watching cosmic shows a lot lately.*** I like astronomy a lot—it makes me feel happy all over.

Plus, I get to fangirl awesome people like Neil up there. You know you’re in a good place where you can’t choose your favorite astronomer/astrophysicist because you have entirely too many of them.


*Which makes me wonder if this was a letter-writing campaign from a whole class of third graders, because that suggests to me that Ms. Wiggins or someone heard about Pluto's reclassification and was incensed and stormed into class one day with a bunch of paper and crayons and said, “Class, this bad man is trying to say Pluto isn’t a planet! Let’s write letters to him saying our opinion—which of course is that Pluto is a planet, because I just spent the last three weeks teaching this unit on the solar system, dangit, and I’m not about to start telling you they changed their minds because we had a hard enough time naming the stupid planets and the mnemonic is already memorized!”

**Why yes, I am my own distraction!

***The UFOs and Hitler History Channel show I’m Netflixing, by the way, still has some totally hilarious analogies. Highlights from the second disc include “The moon is like a child playing ring-around-the-rosy” (one side always faces inward as it circles Earth), “Venus is Earth’s evil twin,” and “The Earth is like a Porsche.” I could not figure out what was up with that last analogy, but I think the documentary producers really liked it and told all their interviewees to explain how the Earth is like a Porsche. It was highly entertaining to watch them struggle to come up with reasons.

At The End Of The Superbowl, One Shall Stand, And One Shall Fall

OH HAY GUYZ, COMMISSERATE WITH ME ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED DURING THE SPORTING EVENT TODAY:

I understand this was the biggest highlight of the game. And I am finally beginning to see why people watch sports even if there is no cheese dip available. (I miss your cheese dip parties, Josh!)