Defining Moments, or Why "CLOSED-ARRET" Signs Don't Matter

Friends, hello again from Colorado. Amazingly, my woefully out of practice legs have brought me through yet another full day of skiing, relatively unscathed. Just like riding a bike. A really cold bike. That's a lie, I'm lying - I'm from Minnesota. Just a bike.

We skied Snowmass today, and at the very top of the mountain, right at the crest where the ski area ends and the wild takes over, were the most shocking views of mountain backcountry I've seen in quite a few years. Actually, I know exactly when the last time I saw such a scene - coincidentally, the last time I went alpine skiing...

(flashback)

It was December of 2006, and the very first day that the lifs at Les Grands Montets were open. I remember it being somewhat cold, but nothing that a good Minnesota boy couldn't handle with some self-assurance and a pair of mittens his mom had so graciously sent "par avion." I had left my friends from Notts in the condo we had rented, and had taken a bus through the Chamonix valley, up to the ski resorts. While they munched baguettes and lazed about the quaint village, I, I had resolved to ski the Alps, just like my dad had done years earlier.

The bus was full of those sort of stereotypical "Europeans-on-a-ski-vacation" type, replete with tight, neon, Descente jackets and jambon beurre sandwiches. I, of course, looked like who I was - a bright eyed college student truly out on his own for the first time. Of course, I told myself it was all fine, but in reality, I was scared shitless.

So I rented my skis, and some English punk ski-bum fitted my boots. The gondola ride, if I recall correctly, was quiet - for me. I couldn't say the same for the Italian trio that shared the cabin with me.

Of course, the skiing was amazing - indescribable views, great powder, and the like. I did as the Europeans sans jambon beurre would do, and paid entirely too much for a brie and turkey baguette. Quietly eating, drinking a cup of coffee, I remembered that at the top of the lift to the top, I had noticed a few skiers cross a "CLOSED - ARRET" sign, and disappear across a ridge. Maybe it was a moment of self-realization, maybe it was divine intervention, most likely it was sheer stupidity; but I resolved to go under that rope too. I wanted to see what they were doing, because let's face it, I so desperately wanted to be like them.

So I did. I drank my coffee, took the lift to the summit, and while perplexed vacationers gave me that "look at the asshole American" look, I crossed under the rope and skied into the unknown.

You know, I'm almost glad I forgot my camera that day, because not only would I be living my life through a lens, but I think I would have missed the transcendental nature of that run. Taking a picture would have missed the point, it's better I can just look back and remember what I want to remember. Suffice to say, I came out on a huge bowl, not a single human being within eyesight, the faint wisps of just a few tracks through the fresh snow, and across the valley, the most stunning panorama of the Alps spread out before me. And although it was steep, and there were rocks and trees jutting out from the snow, I remember thinking to myself, "well, I can do this."

And I could - I did. I skied down that mountain by myself in an incredibly foreign place, and looking back on it after these years, it was probably one of the most existential things I've ever done. Foolish as it sounds today, I think I grew up a lot on that closed mountain in France. I didn't need to be like the people that crossed the rope before me, because I could be myself, and do whatever that needed to be doing just as well.

Which brings me to my point. A very lame movie (of course, one that I would like) once had a line, that life is about defining moments - either you define the moment, or it defines you. That afternoon in France was a defining moment, and I'm sure there have been many since then, and before then. I wondered a bit last week about what 2011 would bring, and already, I think there are some moments waiting to be defined.

As I expressed in my New Year's recap, I think everything we do is a matter of choice; of how we, as people living in relation to another, decide to do certain things. It's hard for me to believe that a moment can truly "define" someone. It's probably more accurate to say that people allow themselves to be defined by moments either via action or inaction. I chose to go down that closed trail, and I could have just as easily chosen not to. Maybe it's a distinction without a difference, but I prefer to think of such things as matters of volition.

But, in any event, here's to skiing, both in Colorado and in France. Here's to defining moments. And here's to all 2011 will bring.

Here also, is to the chicken pad thai at Taipei Tokyo in Glenwood Springs, Colorado. Easily the best pad thai I've ever had.

Books, books, books for pleasure?

Hello folks. You are now reading the blog of a man who has completed two years of law school. Truth be told, I haven't thought about it so much. It's just an incredible relief to not have to read about the limitation of liability act anymore. But since we're on the subject, and I am a maritime expert; no, I don't think the Deepwater Horizon will succeed.

In my semi-annual celebration of intellectual freedom, I bought a new book to read - for pleasure! That's right, as riveting as it is, Ian Macneil's relational theory of contracts just doesn't quite do it out in the sun. Instead, I'm reading Stephen Clarke's "A Year in the Merde." As some of you francophiles may know, "merde" is the beautiful tongue's word for "shit."



Needless to say, I've found it quite funny so far; in it's pseudo-true tale of an Englishman living in Paris amongst... sacre bleu! ... the French! But then again, I'm a fan of travel writing, especially hilarious travel writing about Europe. I think it's because I can relate to some of it. I've had a few of my own French foibles in particular. Still can't quite forget the amazing "American West" exhibit at the Metz Zoo.

What's the point of all this? There is no point. I've been spending my days as a gentlemen of leisure as of late, and I must admit, I fancy it quite a bit. In true British fashion, I tried my hand at making Pimm's the other day. Truth be told, it turned out pretty solid, though I think I need different lemonade, and cut up the orange slices a bit more daintily. Also need more morning jackets, women in big, silly hats, and drunken chavs brawling in the streets. Dammit, you just can't seem to find what you're looking for.

Tomorrow, I think I'm going to get up, and go on a biking sojourn. I have a couple things to think about, and nothing will help clear things up than a ride in the country. There's country around here, right? Farmington - I should hope so.

Album of the Week/Criminal Procedure Review: Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix

I don't have time to review anything right now, I'm too busy fu¢@ing around with Terry seizures and the plentiful ways police can search your automobile. So, I'm just asking you folks to trust, based on my training and experience, that there is a reasonable likelihood this album is in fact, spectacular.

If I could, I'd Terry seize everyone and make them listen to "Wolfgang Amadeus Phoneix," but that would probably quantitatively and qualitatively interfere with your liberty interest such that it would exceed the scope of a Terry stop. Plus, I don't know if a failure to listen to this album constitutes sufficient "reasonable suspicion" that you are engaged in criminal activity or are otherwise armed and dangerous. Although, it is a totality of the circumstances test, so you never quite know.

However, assuming that I do have authority to seize you, it seems that just listening to the opening track (Lisztomania) would be permissible, since I'm diligently pursuing a means of investigation likely to quickly confirm or dispel my suspicions, such that it is necessary to detain you. My suspicion is that you haven't listened to Phoenix, which is fantastic French rock band, with hints of 80's synth, so it seems quite reasonable to assume that listening to one track wouldn't exceed the permissible scope of a Terry stop. The dangerously catchy beats, slightly foreign vocal stylings, and generally pleasing tone of this one track should be sufficient to confirm/dispel my suspicions. It doesn't matter that "Lasso" is only '2:48, while "Lisztomania" is '4:02, since it's not whether I failed to use a less intrusive alternative, but whether I acted unreasonably in doing so. "Lisztomania" is a bit catchier, so it's doubtful a court would find I acted unreasonably.

Let's assume I have probable cause to arrest you, based upon the crime of not listening to Phoenix, and the hazy, mind-melting crescendo of guitars and electronica on "Love Like A Sunset Part I." We'll just pretend you're in your car at the time of the offense. Boom, automatically, I can search the passenger compartment of your car for evidence relating to the offence of arrest. So, obviously, I'd be looking to see what worthless cd's (or other media) are lying about your glove compartment (within the lunging area, so plenty alright). Also, any containers where evidence of your illegal listening activities could be contained, are also subject to search - for example, your purse, backpack, etc. Probably not your wallet, because you can't stick an album in there. But since I can search your person incident to your arrest, and any containers or articles within your possession, in all likelihood, I'll be searching your wallet too. Actually, wait, you can fit a flash drive in your wallet, which could contain illicit mp3 files, so that'd probably be alright either way.

Okay, so now you're in the back of the cop car. Clearly, you're in custody, since you're being taken down to the stationhouse for booking (and rightfully so, this is a fantastic album, and in fact won the Grammy for best alternative album, whatever that's worth). Let's just pretend I clear my throat, and say in a loud voice to my partner "I really wish I knew where this poor sap tossed the 'Lady Gaga' album prior to arrest. After all, some kindergartner could find that, accidentally play it, and be emotionally and aurally damaged for the rest of their life." Overcome by guilt, you blurt out the location of the offending item. Is it going to be admissible in your upcoming trial for failure to listen to Phoenix? Good question.

You didn't get any Miranda warnings, and you were in custody. The question is, were you interrogated, and by that I mean, did I ask you an express question or its functional equivalent? Well, probably not. It wasn't directed towards you, and it's probably unlikely that I reasonably thought my statement would have been likely to elicit an incriminating response from you. Of course, during this whole conversation, we're going to be listening to the pseudo-apocalyptic "Armistice." Although, it's probably unlikely you're going to be signing an armistice, but rather a plea bargain. After all, the penalties for not listening to "Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix" are probably pretty harsh, and it's in your best interest to just plea, cooperate with the government, and hope that you just get the mandatory minimum, not the sentencing guidelines enhancement.

Moral of the story? Go out and pick up this album, because if you don't, you'll be arrested. It is, ah, dangerously excellent.