Why Do We Climb?

I have a question and I need some answers. What compels people to climb mountains? I'm not talking about little treks up a nearby hillside. I'm referring to those who seek the thrill that only a summit to Mt. Everest or K-2 can fulfill? I simply don't get it. Why would one have this need to climb 28,000 feet above sea level, risking their life in bitter cold, treacherous conditions without oxygen? Hypothermia, frozen fingers and toes, getting lost, falling off and crashing on jagged rocks below. . . do these sound like fun activities to you? Nope.

My TIVO is recording a show right now documenting the experience of a group of Mt. Everest climbers who had a tough journey. The show is fascinating. The sheer folly (at least in my feeble mind) it must take to say to yourself "hell yes. I'm going to climb to the top." Then, the sheer determination to survive when brutal storms arise and there is nothing to do but gut it out and pray to god you find base camp. While I am thoroughly engaged in the real life story, watching it does not make me feel any closer to understanding what urges people to undertake such a feat. At first I chalk it up to mental ailment. After all, you have to be crazy to do what these people do, right? Thinking about it further, I guess there has to be something more at work. Is it the desire to go above and beyond what is considered humanly possible? Is it the need to conquer fears? To stretch the limits and dominate Mother Earth? To prove yourself worthy? To show up your friends and neighbors? To have something to talk about when looking for a conversation starter at the inevitable cocktail party? What is it?

There is something about the highest peaks that, for time eternal, has called to mankind. Maybe we are just trying to get closer to God. Looking to elevate ourselves to the top of the world in order to touch the heavens, stretch to the angels and, in that act, grab a small piece of the immortal and the divine. A part of me wants to believe that is possible. But, another part of me knows that you don't have to climb 28,000 feet to get there.

Rooney Is Looney

Did you ever wonder why they don't enforce a mandatory retirement age on certain television shows? Have you ever considered that sometimes, just sometimes, it might be time to throw in the towel, pack it up and start drawing what's left of social security while you still can? Yes, I'm talking to you Andy Rooney! Why, dear God, are you still cashing in on your 15 minutes of fame by ceaselessly prattling on and on at the tail end of each and every episode of 60 Minutes? Andy Rooney is my anti-best.

Andy Rooney is to television journalism as Carrot Top is to witty and insightful stand-up comedy. They just don't go together people. I love to hate Andy Rooney. Lest you think this is all about me hating on the elderly and before you call me an age-ist, let me just say that it has very little to do with Andy's chronological age. If he was in his early 30's and still attempted to entertain us with his ridiculous take on the thickness of New York City phone books or the number of old shoes he still owns, I would still despise him. Why does this matter Andy? Why should we care? What is the relevancy for the love of all that is holy? And who in their right mind produces this tripe? I can only assume that whoever is in charge of 60 Minutes -- or the Andy Rooney segment of the show -- is an even bigger curmudgeon than Mr. Rooney himself.

I have this theory and I think it applies here so hang with me for a second. Have you ever seen a person who seems to have found their "best" hairdo in 1981 and decided to stick with it for the rest of their lives? It's like they got stuck and just couldn't get unstuck. That same wavy perm with the Farah Fawcett flip has lasted for well over 20 years and no matter how styles have shifted and hair trends have improved, it just doesn't matter. They are trapped in a bouffant time warp. This is not exclusively relegated to hair do's. Nope. It spreads way beyond. Andy Rooney suffers from this malady too. His commentary would likely be SUPER funny in 1958 but in 2008 it falls incredibly flat. Oh yeah Andy, shave your eyebrows too. They are freaking me OUT. And that, my friends, is the rest of the story.

The Taste Of Summer

It has been a long winter in Minnesota. Cold, snow, ice, frigid temperatures dot the landscape of Minnesotans not so distant memories whilst dreams of blooming flowers, warm lakes and bright sunshine dance in our heads. Well, I haven't seen a snowflake for, uhm, like at least 5 days now. I think one more day and it might actually qualify as Spring. I'm not going to hold my breath but I am feeling ever so slightly optimistic. My giddy anticipations brings to mind many pleasant thoughts. When I think of Summer my mind turns to patio decks and cold beer. Some of my favorites, particularly as the weather turns more temperate, would fall under the wheat beer category. Hints of citrus and clove dance on the tongue as the faint traces of coriander intermingle with the yeasty undertones of the liquid ambrosia.


Ahhhh, wheat beer.

Give me a frosty glass and garnish it with an orange. Sample a few this Summer. Blue Moon, Bell's Oberon and Paulaner Hefeweizen just to name a few. Enjoy the season and quench your thirst.

David (Not Red Bull) Gives Me Wings

Dear friends and loyal readers. [NOTE: I have no readers so I type this with a great deal of sarcasm in my font], I have been remiss. I have failed you. And, for this I'm incredibly sorry. When I embarked on my little blog mission, I said that I would write about 'My Best' things, people, places, experiences, etc. While I have dabbled in this adventure, I really haven't given it my all. You see, I've been a little busy lately. Wedding planning takes a lot out of a person. It sorta became my part-time job. Well, all of that is behind me. The wedding happened. It was lovely. All that I imagined and planned it would be.

And this, dear friends, brings me to my original point. There is absolutely no way I could continue bloggin about my BESTS if I didn't give a huge shout out to my wonderful, beloved, absolutely fantastic, uber smart and cute David. My new hubby, my soulmate, my love. I really didn't imagine that I would find such a man to spend my life with. He makes me incredibly happy. He is supportive and caring and has opened my eyes to new ideas, deeper thoughts, harder questions, living in the present, eliminating fears, embracing dreams and exploring the possibilities. For this, and so much more, I love him.

When we were fast approaching our wedding day, I asked David if he felt any twinge of worry, any inkling of doubt. I wanted him to be completely sure. My fear spilled over into my questions and I conveyed my own concern that someday -- maybe sooner, maybe later -- he would off-handedly refer to me as "the ball and chain." When I told him this, he laughed. And in only the way that David can express it, he said "nah, baby. You aren't my ball and chain. You are my wings. You lift me up." Guess what, David? You are my wings too. Always and forever my love. Always and forever. I love you.