'The Saddest Day of the Year'

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WIB editor's note: In light of Paolo's vacation, Scott volunteered to guest post about his "Saddest Day of the Year" -- the day Crystal Mountain closed.

Well, it has been far from a record-book year, but it is still hard to see it end. Yesterday, April 19, marked the official closing day of skiing at Crystal Mountain.

It was a sad afternoon packing up all of the stuff from the room and heading down. I kept telling myself, “Hopefully, it will be a short summer.”

Many memories were made during my 35 days with Mother Nature this year including finally getting deep snow – even though it took until February to get here.

All those chores I have been able to put off with the excuse of heading up to the mountain are now pounding on my door… (Hi Courtney!) Good thing fly-fishing season is just around the corner!

If you are wondering who around you is in mourning this week over a season coming to an end too soon…

I'm going back to Cali

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Hi all,

Amanda and I are skipping out of town tonight for a long weekend and much-needed vacation in Palm Desert, Calif. We'll be staying with Gramps and Grams at the luxurious Deep Canyon Tennis Club, which mostly caters to transient seniors.

The forecast shows the temperature will be in the 90s over the weekend, which is just perfect and far from the oven-like conditions of my last trip with Katrine and Scott, which reached a cool 119 degrees.

We're heading to Coachella on Saturday (Read about my last Coachella experience here) and I'll update the blog with new photos and video throughout the weekend!

Warm regards,
Paolo

Hairline discrimination

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My hairline, like the economy, is in recession.

I'm not oblivious to the fact that the corners of my hairline have slowly inched their way back over the last few years. I like to think that my widow's peak is just getting longer.

This change is not surprising or necessarily unwelcome. So long as my hairline looks like Seinfeld's more than Costanza's, I'll be A-OK.

I hardly noticed my failing hairline for the last few months, until I had my hair cut yesterday.

The nice, punked-out chick at Rudy's first combed my hair in such a way as to expose my Achilles' corners before going Edward Scissorhands on my dome. Not so bad, I thought. However, SHE was noticeably timid around the corners and even spun me around in the chair a few times to assess how she could manage the damage. It was like I was Lindsey Lohan on a Vegas trip and she was my publicist. WTF?

THIS was a whole new process. I wasn't being put through the regular, half-assed motions like the rest of the guys down the row of chairs. My hairdresser was being MUCH more careful, especially regarding how the front of my hair lied down. I suppose this extra care and attention should be welcomed, but I also didn't arrive on a short yellow bus.

This was hairline discrimination. Separate but equal, my ass.

I often wonder how the truly bald guys, and especially those sporting the reverse yamikas, approach the barber. I suppose it's the same way those with townhouses handle their pea patch lawns -- you just work with what you got.

I'm not ready for that though. Hell, I just bought a house with a sizable yard and LOTS of grass.

My hairdresser did a fine job and I tipped her well considering the attention to detail and extra few minutes that required. I stepped out on to the street and felt the cold breeze on my scalp, the usual gig after a short haircut. I checked myself out in the reflection of my car window as I opened the door. I thought I looked good, and I guess that's all that matters.

I picked up Amanda from work and she commented that the top of my hair might even be too short, which is quite the compliment for a guy who will likely have trouble growing hair to cut in the future.

There's no stimulus package for this hairline recession, but I'm feeling the impact and bracing for the worst. So far, it's not as bad as I thought.