I'm Sorry
I'm leaving work at 4pm. That's an hour from now. I will drive home via the grocery store, the hardware store, and the ATM. When I get home I'll pack up a duffel with underpants, socks, t-shirts, overshirts, long underwear, swimming trunks, a power strip, various electronic communication and entertainment devices along with their chargers, and a quantity of nylon-coated rubberized elastic outerwear for use on the slopes.

Because at 5:45pm, Brad's picking me up, and we're heading to the airport to meet nine of our compadres to catch a flight to Denver. When we get off the plane in Denver, those among us foolish enough to check bags will wait antsily at the luggage carousel for our heavy, large effects. We will pile into a large passenger van and lose our enthusiasm for the weekend on a cramped four-hour drive to Steamboat Springs.

We will spend the next three days skiing among powder in such quantities to be considered cliche, whiling away our evenings eating unhealthy fattening food followed by destructive amounts of alcohol, while we help ourselves to the warm glow of fellowship and consumerism. I can't wait.

Simply put, it's so imminent that it's all I can think about. That's why I can't check the webserver filesystems, boss.

Chris was sure you'd want to know:
3 hour drive, John!! Be optimistic. ARGH.

2:11 PM, Feb 20, 2008

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