Numero Uno: Vail, CO

The venerable Ski Magazine came out with their annual rankings of the Top Ten Resorts in North America last week and much to the delight of our local tourist industry Vail took the top spot after a runner up showing last year. Despite the media review website Mondo Times claiming that Ski is one of the worst American media outlets, high rankings from Ski are more sought after by resorts than the powder that so often blankets the hallowed hills. A top spot on the list is an advertisers dream - but why is it so coveted? It's because resort marketers know that people take this stuff as gospel and the demographic that typically reads Ski has pockets deeper than the snow in Blue Sky Basin after a mid-winter dumping.

Relying on the opinion of ranking makers is a hell of a lot easier than going out and making the decision on your own. But what rankings don't account for are the differences in people's preference when it come to what they desire - in this case a ski vacation.

Now don't get me wrong, I think Vail is a fantastic resort and ski area, but some vacationers may not want to hop on the next flight to Eagle before a little further investigation. Though Vail did hit the top ten in 13 of the 18 categories defined by Ski, it was only in the top five in two (terrain/variety and lifts) - and it wasn't number one in any single category. I'm not sure if price was one of the categories (the article doesn't hit newsstands until this week), but I'll venture a guess that affordability isn't one of Vail's claims to fame.

The amount of credence people place on rankings from mediocre media sources amazes me at times. Rankings come out constantly about the best places to live, best colleges, biggest party schools, highest paying college major, top companies, and whatever other non-quantifiable topic they can come up with (ok fine, you can quantify salaries). Denver/Boulder was recently ranked the best city for singles, which I think is a total crock. However friends from other parts of the country used to ask me if it's tough to beat all the women off (when I was living there of course). I doubt that a city nicknamed Menver can really be the best place for singles - whether you're male or female.

The college rankings have gotten my goat for years. The choice of a college is so personal that it can't be anywhere near possible to make a list of the country's best. I could see a particular individual making their own ranking of colleges that would be best for them, but a blanket statement of the best schools for everyone is downright impossible.

In fact, there has been much controversy over the validity of college rankings. U.S. News and World Report, which has long been touted as holier than thou when it comes to college rankings has been accused of changing ranking criteria to shuffle schools out of the top spot in an effort to peak more interest in their rankings. In 1998 the Association of American Law Schools called the U.S. News and World Report law school rankings, "misleading and dangerous". Basically these rankings are taking a subjective topic that differs for every individual, trying to make it objective and homogeneous, and then throwing in their own manipulative agendas.

Oh well, at least I live at the number one ski resort.

The Summit of Life

My buddy Rob was in town this weekend. That in and of itself probably doesn't excite the masses of literary connoisseurs reading this post, but the reason for his visit is a bit more interesting. Rob works for a company in Los Angeles that broadcasts satellite television. This company, oh what the hell its Direct TV, is having an inspirational meeting with the top executives at the company. They were looking for a speaker that would capture the audience with inspiring words about overcoming adversity. They looked toward Denver and a man named Erik Weihenmayer.

Erik lives in Golden, CO and is an amazing world-class mountain climber who has summited the highest peak on all seven continents - this of course includes Mt. Everest being the highest peak in Asia. Erik is also a marathon runner, paraglider, skier, and adventure racer. Many of his adventures are captured in a book he authored called Touch the Top of the World. These are all impressive credentials for an athlete 37 years old, but one minor detail makes it all the more inspiring. Erik is blind.

There are few people that I can think of that would be more appropriate to say a few words at a meeting set to discuss overcoming adversity than a blind man who has summited the highest peak in all seven continents, and the first blind man to summit Everest. However, he had already scheduled a talk during their meeting so Rob hopped on the next flight out of LA to shoot a short speech by Erik Weihenmayer set to be played at the meeting.

When I was a kid I used to think that being unable to talk would be my preferred handicap - I guess I realized at a young age how much unnecessary bullshit flies around. After reading up on Weihenmayer a bit, I started thinking about what it would be like to be blind. It's difficult to fathom going through life with memories built upon touch, smell, and sound. I bet Erik can describe the smell of all seven summits with the utmost of detail and accuracy. The wind, the cold, the warmth of the the sun, the crunching of crampons on snow - this is Erik's recollection of the Seven Summits.

Of course, I don't know exactly what went on in the interview. I'm going to have to wait for Rob to get back to the office and edit the thing up, but I do know one thing - when Erik Weihenmayer stood on top of the World as the first blind man to summit Everest - his view was spectacular.


Check out Erik Weihenmayer's website at www.touchthetop.com or for something a bit less exciting (but still fun) email John Poole at poolejohn@gmail.com.

Week 1: Harvesting the Vegetables

For better or worse, the National Football League, in all it's glory, got off to an illustrious start this week. The start of the football season is the time of year that men love and girlfriends and wives loath. I think women get more pissed off about men watching football than if they were watching hard-core pornography. I actually think most women (and possibly more than I think) would be more into hard-core porno than a Monday night showdown between two AFC West rivals - and more into the agility of John Holmes than Jake Plummer. But when you think about it, you can't really blame them. Watching football for hours on end is like hitting the power button on your brain and completely committing to vegetable status. A brisk game of connect four would be more thought provoking than staring mindlessly at whatever consolation Fox decides to throw up in their 2 pm slot (Mountain time). But the reality of the situation it that football is still pretty cool. Relaxing into mindlessness is comforting, however, for some reason more so for men than women.

Football is the modern day version of those gladiator fights that Romans used to have (or was that the Greeks?) minus the climactic death of one of the participants. (Of course I am an expert in the history of ancient sporting events because of some movie I saw a while back with Russell Crowe) I wonder how women back in those days felt about the gladiator events. I wonder if all the men sat around with fresh bags of Cheetos and their hands down their pants gambling on who was going to kill whom. Unfortunately that was probably the case.

Maybe the NFL should have a fight to the death segment of each game. Each team could take their third string quarterback and have a gladiator fight at halftime. The winner would be awarded three points - the value of a field goal. Or maybe the kickers should fight to the death at halftime. Then the losing team would not only have lost three points but also the ability to kick field goals for the rest of the game. That would make the the position of back-up kicker extremely nerve racking. The poor soul would want to be good enough to make field goals in the event of the death of the first stringer, but certainly not good enough to be promoted to first string. I think I'd shank a few here and there just to stay in the second fiddle position.

Despite the onset of pissed off women and degenerating men, we were blessed with a week of fantastic football. We saw a left handed pass (from our very own heroric quarterback) and two, count-em two, Monday Night Football games. Not only were there two Monday Night games (this probably should have been a national holiday), but MNF was no longer on public television. ESPN is now the proud owner of the event that takes the brutallity of the NFL one day more than it really needs to go. Granted, Disney is the owner of ESPN and ABC and this was a strategic move most certianly for their own financial gain, but nevertheless still kinda sad. I'm sure Mickey and Minnie spent the entirety of Monday evening sobbing in each others arms.

So let's join Mickey and Minnie in a collective sob for the next four months of vegetating men and cranky women, but feel free to put your hands down your pants and grab some Cheetos.

Throw John Poole a flee flicker Hail Mary at poolejohn@gmail.com

Jersey or Bust

Ahhhh, the fantastic paradise of New Jersey - the state were locals refer to highway exits when describing where they grew up. Jersey kind of stands alone when it comes to stigmas and stereotypes of states in this country. Though New Jersey does have more car theft shopping malls, and toxic waste dumps than any state in the country it would probably be unfair to pin stereotypes over the entire state - though I would certainly not like to carry the burden of "Jersey girl".

I actually visited this lovely state over the Labor Day weekend. My brother, four years younger than I, got himself a beach house for the latter part of the summer with several upstanding young gentlemen. In living in the land-locked mountains of Colorado, I thought it might be nice to spend some time with my brother and his friends while enjoying the scenery and lively night life of the Jersey shore. I thought I could "hang", but by the end of the weekend, I was barely hanging by the thread of my bathing suit.

I think my brother's friends are great guys and I do thoroughly enjoy "hangin'" when the opportunity presents itself, but man these folks like to party. And whatever partying I had remaining in my relatively elderly body was quickly exhausted and beaten to a bloody pulp after the second straight day of drinking Natural Light out of rinsed out coffee mugs.

Tropical Storm Ernesto was no help to the situation. At least when you go to the shore you can arrive with the intention of spending long days on the beach surfing or playing volleyball. However, bad weather turns any aspirations of somewhat healthy activity into fears of the keg being kicked before everyone wants to go see cheesy cover bands play repetitive top 40 songs loud enough to fracture your skull.

It was definitely a scene to which I was not privy during my slightly younger years. I was always kind of a moderate partier with moments of greatness (or should I say disaster) on rare occasion. Now, as a washed up working stiff closer to 30 than 25, this weekend was evidence that I should probably hang up the beer bong.

As I was leaving the ransacked and beer drenched beach house (and it's lovely stench) I felt, in a strange way, sad. I was sad to leave the youthful and free spirited oasis from reality. I was sad to leave my bro. I was even a little disheartened about leaving the cover bands that blew melodic power chords through my eardrums.

Maybe I'll catch them on next year's tirade through south Jersey, but I doubt I'll be hangin' with quite as tight of a grip.


Join John Poole for a Natural Light at poolejohn@gmail.com.