OCR Text |
Show john har ring ton Now that it's golf season (?), you can walk down to the Park City course and play. Just be sure you are hitting those optic orange Wilson Pro Staff golf balls because that's the only way you'll be able to find your shot in the snow. I had my clubs out early in the week and I thought I'd drop ' over to the links and knock the dimpled spheroid about the place when Tuesday's white greeting began the day. Such a long winter it's been, that few people can stop talking about the weather, or writing about it, for that matter. Weather has long been a key component of conversation when there is little else to say, or at times when the weather is really a matter of grave concern. All across town, the talk has been running from boring weather jokes that bear no meaning on the day-to-day, to serious statements of people who seem ready to do something rash in light of the endless winter. Last week, that classic horror film, "The Shining," with the demented performance of Jack Nicholsen as a man with a severe case of cabin fever, hit it on the head: he tried to axe murder his family. How much more rotten weather will it take to drive Park City residents to the wood pile to take up their axes in wigged-out vengence against friends, pets and furniture? Thankfully Mexico, with its peso devaluation, has been a good escape for many of the snow-weary locals, but not everyone can travel. There is something about steady, cold snow falling on May 10 that does something to you. Overheard was this conversation at a popular Park City lunch spot. "Can .you believe this (expletive deleted)?' asked one guy. "No," said the woman, who was twisting the right side of her long hair into an anguished tangle as she spoke. "I'm depressed," she said, "it just won't let up." The woman was talking about her sunburn peeling off from a few sunny days last month and told her friend that she was really upset because she would have to go through it all again on the way to a tan for the one-month summer. A visitor came up to me and said, "Is it always like this up here in May?" Some guy heard the question and walked over to the visitor before I could respond and said: "Listen, pal, there are two seasons here, winter and the 4th of July." I dropped by Freebish's house the other night and he had a snootful. It had been a pretty tough winter for him, and after getting pushed around two weeks ago by Elliot Ness for brewing beer at home, he was on a real bender. "It's the weather, mostly," he said, when I asked him why he was doing this to himself. "The snow keeps falling, but the lifts are closed." Freebish had a big bandage on his left hand. "What happened?" I asked, pointing toward the wound. "Cut it when the bulb on the sun lamp broke and I tried to replace it," Freebish said. "Bleed much?" I asked. "Nope," he said, "There is very little blood left in my alcohol stream." "Ah," I said, thinking all the while, "This weather has got to let up soon." Then I headed out the door, shoveled my way to the truck and went home. |