I'm Totally Scared- First Descents For A Second Time

I did a stupid thing. I sat up on top of the Cliff Lodge and pretended it was like I was back in high school where I could stretch out on a lounge chair, flip through a Cosmo and soak up the sun. Less than an hour later my upper thighs are on fire. Even my chest got fried despite the SPF 50 I slapped on. I needed this morning of chill. I blew up at Ryan, and Sage was hitting the back of my leg in response to the anger. I snapped her up and forcefully plopped her on my bed, making her cry. All hell was swirling. I feel like I can't get in front of the 8 ball. Ever since Punta Cana I've been playing catch up without success. Looking ahead 10 days I'll be back home and can breathe again. I will do nothing but hunt for a new laptop, write and climb. Maybe kayak too. I don't see me pulling a C to C on account of the ATV crushing my ribs but at least I can paddle.
I wonder if I'm doing the right thing going on another First Descents trip; not because I'm taking advantage of the offering- an all-expense paid whitewater kayak adventure on the Flathead River in Glacier National Forest- but because I may not be welcome. That 'chat' I had with Whitney (one of the FD organizers) questioning whether FD was the right place for me really rattled my ego. Like a breakup from a guy when I thought things were going well, I thought, "Huh?" I wouldn't have signed up for a second camp if I didn't get something out of the camp last year. It was my feedback. It's got to be. Perhaps they're used to only hearing raves. Who would say anything negative when they get it for free? But I was critical- like I always am- not in a bad way or so I thought- but I offered up some constructive feedback that a company looking to forever improve should want to hear. I'm guessing they took it as me attacking their program; which I wasn't. I explained that of course I had an amazing time why else would I want to attend again? My sole gripe was that I felt forced to bond and share emotions. I just wanted to meet new friends (who have something in common) and learn to kayak. I wasn't looking for therapy.
This is the first year in 11 that FD will host camps for 2^nd timers. The first year- just get them down the river. Young cancer survivors testing their determination and living in the moment instead of dwelling on cancer. Many were introduced to something they never in their life thought they would be doing. Now, the second year- turn them into kayakers. The staff is excited about the new offering and so am I. To start up where I left off. Physically, not emotionally. To hone in more time on the river. But I may be entering hostile waters…and Konvict is our leader again. History. It may not be a good thing in this case. It was his job last year to force bonds and make us all share with those nightly campfire chats and I'm pretty sure he told Whitney that I often checked out. She called and we talked. She said that maybe this time around I should tell everyone that I'm an introvert when it comes to sharing emotions so no one takes it personally. I'm more nervous about the group stuff than I am about the paddling. Gulp.

I Need A Wintervention

Just got back from watching Warren Miller's Intervention. The place was packed and the energy electric. I love how ski movies are part of our pre-season ski conditioning. They get you drooling for the white stuff the way a cupcake makes a five-year-old's chin drop. You shut your eyes and imagine the same cold smoke wash over you. But I have a problem with this year's Miller entry.

The skiers are getting farther and farther away from being relate-able. I'm never going to ski Antarctica or Georgia and there's no resort (ie Telluride) that's going to send me out with a guide to ski deep untracked before allowing public access to it. WM producers would have you think the only people who ski inbounds are jibbers who use the lift shacks and towers as terrain park features.

In Utah, we have some pretty mind-blowing turns but to send the Crists over to ski Cedar Breaks National Monumentwhere NO ONE that's not with a film crew is ever going to ski because 1) it's not a true ski area and 2) everything is mandatory air, is pushing it. To be fair, the filmmakers did say that this 61st annual installment was meant to be exotic. I just would have liked the exotic to also be realistic as a destination.

The running theme on addiction and staging a 'wintervention' for your recovery hit home. My favorite quote of the night was "I keep turning down my future just to go skiing one more time."

Anyone who anxiously watches the fall weather patterns for those first signs of snow knows what it's like to Jones for winter. The segments of the late Arne Backstrom floating in Heavenly's untracked (shot at 7 .m. before the mountain opened to the public) were right on the money. And those crazy Kiwis ripping at the Freeskiing Championships and bungee jumping in the New Zealand segment were sick.

No Warren Miller production would be complete without a narrator and Jonny Moseley has finally gotten a handle on his voice overs. They're more friendly and casual- much more like he's talking than reading us something someone else wrote. However, the movie sound in Abravanel Hall was so loud that most of what was said by the athletes was distorted and difficult to understand. Wish I could say that the music was better but it seemed a bit 'off' as well. The songs themselves were great but they didn't complement the moments. Take Mr. Scruff "Music Takes Me Up", for example. It's a very cool song... about music not skiing. And not life. And how about the punkish Grinderman? Something about sucking her dry and biting him on the 29th floor?

Still, you can't get too technical about a Warren Miller film. They call it ski porn for a reason. It's not 'real'. The athletes and photographers bust their butts to bring you some stunning imagery and inspiration so even if you will never spend a night in a tent on a Norwegian island surrounded by polar bears, you can appreciate the effort. Besides, at the end of the night it gets the job done. Wintervention reminds you that it's time for a fix.

Wintervention plays at 8 p.m. in Park City, Oct. 29/30 at the Eccles Center for the Performing Arts.

More film dates.

Buddy Pass? Just say “NO”

I finally did it. $400+ dollars and many uncomfortable hours later, I was back in Utah. The weight of the world lifted the minute I shuttled to the Diamond Parking lot outside of SL International for my car. You can’t help but vow in these instances to “NEVER FLY DELTA AGAIN”. You know you’ll never stick to your guns because there will be that one time you have to get somewhere and they have the only available, cheap, convenient, whatever excuse, flight in town. But I can say it now.
A buddy pass is no benefit when it costs you $288 + $400, leaves you stranded in three airports, with Delta staffers who treat you like you’re covered in poo, before you finally get home (only because you bought the return ticket). And the last indignity? I pay $348 for a one way ticket out of Kansas City only to be seated in the one BROKEN seat on the filled-to-capacity plane. I couldn’t recline, I couldn’t relax, I couldn’t feel like at least you can get what you pay for.
Sitting in Logan International in Boston on Saturday from 4 p.m. to 7 p.m. praying I get on a flight home, being denied; spending the night on the cold polished floor there, trying again from 6 a.m. – 7:30 a.m. to get on (any) flight, being sent to Detroit, sitting at the gate in Detroit, being seated in the very last (non-reclining) row on a plane to Kansas City International, and sitting in a cramped, filthy terminal from 1:30 p.m. to 8 p.m. thinking maybe there will be a standby seat, only to have to check into a roach motel for the night so I can finally get home on the 6 a.m. flight. And then this seat. My back and neck were bitching big time, my ass felt deflated and boney, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. The flight attendant shrugged and said, “I’ll let the captain know.” WTF?
The only reason I took the trek was because of the buddy pass. Had I known I’d lose two days, 10 hours of sleep and over $600, I never would have traveled to Boston and definitely would not have traveled on Delta with a buddy pass. This experience has left a huge disgusting taste in my mouth.
A nasty gate agent that smirks because I am the only person not getting on the flight? That’s out of line. The flight attendant ahead of me in the standby line volunteered to sit in the jump seat so that I could have the last seat on the plane. The agent could have made it happen. He chose not to. It should – and needs- to be his job to accommodate all guests to the best of his ability whether they fly paid or standby, are employees or buddies. I could have been home on Saturday. But this big, flabby, unkempt guy in a T-shirt and big baggy jeans with a belt cinched so tightly the back pockets touched, played God and denied me peace.
And why do gate agents not smile?? If they don’t like their jobs or don’t want to work they shouldn’t be there. I witnessed this attitude at EVERY SINGLE GATE- that’s five in Boston, two in Detroit and four in Kansas City. NOT ONE arrived smiling or greeting those standing in the area. They kept their heads low like bartenders who don’t want to serve certain people at their bar. Don’t make eye contact and they won’t hit you up for something. That’s crap. You can show up with a smile, say, “Hi, give me five minutes and I’ll wave you over” if you need a moment to center yourself.
I felt sick. No sleep, stiff non-reclining seats, and bad attitudes. GRRRR. It was bad enough that on getting to KCI I was in the backseat that wouldn’t recline while five seats went empty in First Class but on my PAID flight home I get stuck again. A miserable experience made worse by nasty, grumpy employees, decrepit planes and airports (with the exception of Detroit’s terminal which structurally sparkled). Even the carpet on the plane home was gross. Usually I can take my shoes off on a plane, but not that one. And there was something dried and sticky in the cup divot of my tray table. Maybe with those soaring profits the airlines are reporting this year they can do something about their service and environment? Nickel and dime us to death but at least use Vaseline.
All passengers regardless of seat number or status should be treated like a First Class passenger. People go to work at McDonald’s every day, 40+ hours a week, serving, dealing with complaints, the superior attitudes of the customers, incorrect orders, and people in a hurry. But they keep smiling. If any of them acted the way Delta’s people do, they’d be fired. Maybe it’s time to clean house and hire people who actually want to be there?? Yet another reason to fly Southwest.
As I sat chatting with other standbyers over the past two days, I learned a few things. Standby ‘buddies’ are treated like the homeless- you step over them. You never fly standby in the summer because the flights are full of vacationing families, and by the time you pay for the ‘non-revenue’ ticket ($288!), the hotel, the food, the extra parking, the aggravation, your time and the stress, you’re better off paying for a fare. Tell your Delta employee ‘buddy’, “No thanks.” And if they tell you there are open seats in Kansas City, laugh and walk away saying, “Good luck with that.”

Back For More

You're shitting me, I thought when my routine mammogram turned into two hours of close-ups and an appointment to come in for a biopsy. I wasn't dreaming and this wasn't last year's nightmare. It was a whole new kind of ugly. The good news- Your left breast (the one with a tumor that sucked away my summer of '09) looks great. The bad news, your right breast has microcalcifications. These look like specs of sand on a mammogram. I had five specs. Five. Five f&%king specs that could turn my life upside down again. 80 percent of calcs are benign. You get a little metal clip in your boob, a pat on your head and be on your way. 20 percent come back malignant and you're back on the operating slab and then on to radiation. I'm starting to get how people could just stop treatment altogether and say f*&k it even if their odds are good.
Every six months I have to go through this hell? This dread that it could be back. Canser. The bitch is back? And even if it doesn't turn out to be canser, my breasts will be Swiss cheese. So this Asian radiologist is describing what will happen next and all I'm thinking is how smudged her glasses are and how I want to pull them off her nose and clean them off for her. Maybe she was just seeing the dirt from her lenses? But then I see the evidence for myself. Those little fricking specs. And I want to run out of the room and cry. But I can't. I have to sit there and pretend like I'm listening to my dentist explain how to floss. I nod my head. I keep my cool. I'm going to have a stereotactic biopsy she tells me. It shouldn't hurt too bad and it won't leave much of a scar.
The procedure involves me lying flat on a coroners' table with my breast hanging from a hole in the center. Lovely. They numb me up then send a giant needle straight to the place where they 'think' the calcs are and vacuum them out. The tissue gets sent to a lab and 48 hours later, I will know.
I talked this all over with Ryan last night. Up until then I guess it hadn't hit me. I was fine all weekend. Even forgot about this 'issue'.
As I described what would happen to me today, I scared myself. Regardless of the pathology, this is my life now. Every six months for the next five years, at least, I will be forced to deal. I can never put it in my past and pretend that was someone else it happened to. Can I be strong and stoic forever? I got a copy of "Somewhere in Time" just so I could have a good excuse to ball my eyes out. I don't like feeling sorry for myself.
My doctor tried to make me feel better. "It's too soon after chemo for this to be anything bad," she said. "I'll see you in six months." God I really hope she's right.
I brought in my Zune and watched a movie while they did their thing today. It helped. Not sure if it was a smart choice to watch "Crazy Sexy Cancer"but I only had 15 minutes left and I wanted to see how the documentary ended. It took my mind off what they were doing under the table. The hot pain of the lidocaine needles, the dig of metal into my ribcage, the snap of the vacuum sucking out my insides. All were slightly dulled thanks to my headphones and lack of focus. The movie ended and I was helped up. The nurse pushed firmly over the wound to squash the bleeding but also to keep me from freaking out when I saw the hole. Oops. Too late. But I didn't freak. In the scheme of things what's one little hole compared to a 2" scar on your nipple??!!! I'll take the hole.
It's been a rough day. Did I mention my Homeowner's Association is breathing down my neck? I got a certified letter today telling me I can't rent out rooms in my house because it's a single family dwelling and that if I stop renting they won't pursue the matter further. NEWS FLASH- single family dwellings these days are defined as three unrelated people living together. That's what I got. And don't you people have anything better to do with your lives than scour Craigslist looking to 'catch' me? My Prepaid Legal lawyers are all over this one. As much as I'm irritated by their Nazi-like abuse of power, I do appreciate that the HOA actually took my mind off canser for the rest of the day. Thanks, guys. I spent all afternoon researching the laws and combing through my CC&Rs. I'm ready to walk- head high- into our annual homeowner's meeting tomorrow night. That should be fun. NOT. I wonder if the person who complained will speak up if I'm present. Or will they be chickensh*t? Stay tuned....

Welcome To First Descents or My Week At Summer Camp

So this part sucks. I can’t find a pen and have to type! 4 women in a tiny cabin, no bath, all with varying thermal temps and everyone but me trying to sleep. I want to write. Damn! Where’s that pen?
The light tapping of keys sounds more like footsteps in this dark silence. I’m exhausted yet inspired to write. I came on FD so I could have just one time in my life where a trip was for me- not work, not family- and just languish in it. But then there’s the part of me that can’t help but document this experience. I’ll say it’s for Sage. So one day she’ll understand why I left her alone with Daddy for a week while I went whitewater kayaking in Montana.

A year ago today, I was sitting on the roof of Ryan’s car, watching the Park City fireworks and wondering what having cancer means to me. At that time I had no idea what stage I was, what my treatment would be, whether I would see my daughter grow up. I was numb. I watched the lights in the sky and blanked out. I told myself not to think about it because there was nothing I could do over the holiday. On July 5, however, the wheels burned rubber. Like a leopard focused on his prey, I pounced on this cancer thing. I stopped contemplating a future (or better stressing about one) to deal with the here and now. The summer swirled down the drain- flushed like bad poopy as Sage would say.

One year later, I’m here, I’m strong, I’m ‘surviving’ and I’m about to punish myself in freezing waters for five straight days in the woods. First Descents out of Boulder, Colo., is a non-profit org that puts on something like 15 adventure camps a year for cancer survivors. Idaho, Jackson, Washington, Colorado, Montana, Utah. Rugged places if you’re up for a challenge.

My only luxury is Internet. We have to walk 5 minutes to the showers and toilets. There’s no running water nearby and no TV. It reminds me of my eight grade retreat to Yosemite.

Just yesterday I was bombarded by high-tech gadgetry. I had an MRI yesterday. The experience sucked. That’s about right. Took two nurses, several shrieks and three tries to get the IV in. An hour and 40 minutes later, both boobs were scanned and I was dressed and out the revolving door. I won’t have the results until Tuesday or Wednesday; I see my doctor a week after that. Will I be back at square one, don’t pass GO, Don’t collect $200 or will I be able to relax and feel like I’ve poked my head out of the woods? In other words, will I have to repeat last summer or not?

In a way, this trip is my last week before the news. Like a deathrow inmate getting his last meal….Or it’s a celebration of the new – I can’t say ‘me’ because I’m the same me only a little less cocky and a lot less immortal- so I’ll say it will be my homecoming. My new year; my Cancerversary. Please let it be this and not the former! All of us here – at this First Descents Camp – have some form of cancer. No one talks about cancer here. Not yet anyway. Not on our first day. Maybe we never will. This is emotional therapy by way of the physical. We get to kick our butts on the river, feel strong and come home with skills. We don’t need to deal with cancer this week. We have better things to do.

One year ago today, I wondered how my life would look. Today, I’m still wondering. Tomorrow, however, I’ll be stuffed into a plastic torpedo, forced to roll it over and swim in water only penguins appreciate. I won’t have time to think about the good or the bad of my test results. I’ll only have time to “be”.

You don’t get those kinds of opportunities that often, Sage. So I’ll understand if you choose to do something completely selfish and extreme when you’re older. Leave me alone for a week with your Daddy and do everything you can to squeeze life by the balls and make it scream in your face. You scream back, dammit! And for just that moment feel like you can control your fate.

A little about me.

I've known about Frank Garrish's acting class for years but have always been hesitant to enroll. He's scary- or so I've been told. He'll make you cry. He doesn't hold back. It's not that I can't take the criticism but I'm hardest on myself so when I hear from someone else that I'm not measuring up, I double that criticism and get discouraged. The last thing you want to be in acting is discouraged.
I've been at it for as long as I could control my own life. My parents refused to drive me to auditions or pick me up from play rehearsals so I had to wait. I combined my ability to write with my interests in media and - no- I did not become a screenwriter but a broadcast journalist. You know those people you see on TV telling you the news every night? I did that.- at KSPN in Aspen, Colo. and at KUTV in Salt Lake City. Then I was laid off. So I addressed another passion. Skiing. I joined Deer Valley's Ski School and taught skiing to all ages and abilities. I have been skiing all my life- including a stint as a racer in college at UCLA. Came in 7th in slalom out of 36th. Not bad but my dad says if I don't win, it's not anything. See where I'm going with this? He poo poos acting too- If you don't get a role, it's not anything.
I absolutely love acting and the training of an actor. I have studied with practically everyone in Utah- Anne Sward, Geoff Hansen, Jeff Johnson, Catrine, Kate, Judy, Molly Benson and anyone else who sounds like they have something to offer. Not because I think they're going to win me a roll but because I can practice with my peers, grow as an actor and 'disappear' for moments into others' skin. If I make it past the audition and into a callback, bonus!
I'm SAG eligible. Got my card after five days as a featured extra on Doctor Quinn Medicine Woman. I had spent the summer in LA working for a talent agent at ICM (who's now president of Warner Bros.) and did the stint on the Dr. Quinn set. I moved back to Utah and scored more roles - Promised Land, Touched, I was the soccer coach in Return to the Secret Garden and have three national infomercials to be (not so) proud of. I've done a handful of short films and if you asked what I dream of when it comes to acting it would be to star in a (good) independent that wins raves at Sundance. I have no desire to move back to LA. Ick. I have a strong freelance writing career, an adorable 3yo, a hot, loving boyfriend (her daddy), a great home in Park City and I ski 70 days a season. Why would I want to give that up?
To be honest, I want to nail more callbacks. I'm hoping Frank's class will advance that goal. Please, Frank, don't make me cry too much.
Update: Frank's not so scary at all! We did some Meisnerish type things that got you out of your head, talked about acting technique and started to work a short scene we'll do next week. As I was leaving he told me "You did good! And you listen, that's important." It felt like my dad had just told me he was proud of me.

Birthcontrol

So I'm thinking I must have been living in some fantasy bubble that's finally popped. I don't have a dream child. I have the child from hell. My dad announced today from the front passenger seat as Sage was engaged in a full-blown, mind-bending tantrum, “I'm not going anywhere with that thing!” And, so, no trip to Orlando this summer. I've always known that Sage has an eye-popping set of lungs but the outbursts ended as quickly as they erupted when she was a babe. Now, at 3.5, those throw downs sound out as often as the word NO and last for an hour. In fact, it's usually 'no' that instigates it. I've followed all the rulebooks- ignore the screams and tears, take away cherished items, never give in, time outs; nothing curbs the horror. Today, this morning, it was wanting to watch Dora. Because Dora wouldn't come on for another three minutes and she couldn't wait, she got worked up. I shut off the TV and told her she wouldn't watch anything then. Hoo boy. Screaming louder than a tea kettle and crying so hard she had trouble breathing, I dropped her in the bedroom, told her she could come out when she calmed down, and took a shower. I dried off to her thumping on her door and my mother trying to tell her to stop. I took over and she stopped pounding but she kept crying. “You can come out when you're done crying,” I told her. Eventually, she came out. That works when you are at home with no immediate plans but what about the car?
Heading home from Fruita last weekend, she lost it. Because we told her to let her food digest after she said she was hungry and she had already eaten a cheeseburger and a quesadilla (road food). She thrashed about in her carseat. We took things away from her. Her sippy cup, her stuffed bunny, her shoes, her jacket! She could get items back when she calmed down. Nope. We threatened to not take her on another roadtrip, we pulled over for a brief moment (but really needed to get home), we ignored her and talked amongst ourselves. No end. Then it was her pants, her shirt and voile she was sitting in panties and crying her head off about being cold with no sign of letting up to get her clothes back. We didn't know what else to take from her! After an hour of torture (on us), she literally passed out. All I had to do was insist on her shutting her eyes. In five minutes, she was sound asleep. Poor thing was exhausted. Three and tired, with a pending cold. Of course! But then my dad has to go and say, “No excuses. Stop making excuses for her.” Stella saw Sage in action when we visited in January and Sage refused to take off her daughter Alyssa's princess costume so we could leave for the airport. I saw concern, shock, sympathy, disgust in Stella's eyes as I shut Sage into a side room for yet another timeout while she tried to blow out her vocal cords. Again, she was exhausted from five days of convention walking at the SIA show. I'm thinking of my dad's words. No excuses. Just because she's wasted does not make it ok to sound like a five-alarm fire and you're being attacked by pitbulls all at once.
After today, I can no longer live in denial. I'm calling an intervention on myself. We need help. Even Ryan agrees now. It's happening at least once a day. At home, we can shut her in her room until she chills. We aren't embarrassed because the displays aren't public. Here, in San Diego, very public. We had a perfect 2+ hours in the movie theater watching Ironman 2; she comes trotting out all gleefully talking about how she wants an Ironman costume for Halloween. In the bathroom, she softly says she doesn't have to go potty. In the parking lot she shouts about how she has to have chocolate ice cream. It wasn't a scream. An adamant demand. I told her not to shout or she won't get any ice cream at all. "But, Momma! I had chocolate ice cream with Noah and Isaac!!!" She shouts. There was absolutely NO cause to raise her voice. But she was in the moment I guess. I told her well, that's it, no ice cream. And so it began. The entire drive home was a nightmare. I felt the way I did when I wanted everyone to see how awesome Tenaya was but instead she barked at them and they called her Cujo. My heart sank. But to tame the beast and turn her into one of the most loved dogs in the neighborhood, I used a shock collar. Don't think there's a legal one for children. DAMMIT!!! Sage was once again wiped out from a weekend without naps and 8-hour (rather than 12-hour) nights. No excuses. She kicked, screamed, cried, SPIT all the way back to my parent's house. We all pretended she wasn't there. No luck. My dad put down his window and told her he would roll it up when she stopped. Nope. Just made her scream about being cold and her hair getting in her mouth. She tried to undo her seatbelt. I grabbed her wrists. She spit on my arm and screamed. I swear the drivers next to us must have thought we were kidnappers. She peed on herself, then cried about it. We got home, got out of the car and my parents hugged me and said they were sorry I had to go through this. Then they ran. I carried Sage to the bathroom, changed her clothes, put her in the bedroom to calm down- which she didn't do for another 30 minutes. No ice cream, no swim, no bath; there went all the things she wanted to do today. I wish I had recorded the fit. You can't begin to imagine.
Once she calmed down, I sat her down and explained that we don't act like this; that others do not want to hear her scream and cry and that she's not going to get what she wants with ths bhaviour. Yeah yeah, you're thinking well she's getting my attention. But she gets that plenty without the screams and how do you explain the car ride?
She's sound asleep now. Been that way since 7 p.m. Poor thing's exhausted. No excuses! I'm picking up the book Love and Logic tomorrow. If that doesn't help, I'm sending a tape to Super Nanny. This has got to stop. Her preschool teachers have no idea what I'm talking about. Apparently, Sage is a little angel for them. Ryan says it's because no one tells her 'no' at preschool. I can’t believe that. Plus, I don't really say the word 'no'. Most of the time, what she wants is reasonable or I offer a substitute I know should make her happy. The "no" comes after the tantrum starts. Like with the Dora thing today. I told her she could watch Dora… when it was on in 3 minutes. I never told her she couldn't. She threw her fit; I turned off the TV. I said she could have ice cream. I didn't have a problem with that. She yelled, I said no ice cream if not quiet, more yelling then crying.
I want to go to Orlando. And I want my parents to see how great Sage really is. I want to be able to say no to Sage and not worry that I'm starting WWIII. Any advice? Bring it.

Three Fests in One

The way I see it, Sundance is really three festivals. There's the film part. You go up to Park City, have a movie marathon until your butt can take no more, then you take a couple of pain killers and keep watching. With screenings from 8 a.m. until 11 p.m. you can be scheduled out the entire time. There's the party part. This is not an all day thing but rather an all night thing starting at around 4 p.m. each day. Every movie has its premiere party; every production company like IndieVest hosts a party, often, companies like Kenneth Cole, Gen Art, and Vitamin Water do it up big- usually at private homes where they can go till 3 a.m., take some painkillers and keep partying. Hence, you are wasted for any of the daytime activities; and then there is the gifting part. An all day traipse up and down Main Street, hauling paper or eco-friendly sacs a forearm thick.
Sundance organizers frown on gifting as they see it disrupting the creative process and turning their event into something of a corporate commercial enterprise. Plus, those doing the gifting are outside the sponsor realm. Marketing firms set up "houses", "lounges" and "suites" around Park City and rent out booth space to boutique companies, promising their products exposure from A++ celebrities and media attending Sundance yet they don't give any money back to support the Festival itself. Plus, they're terribly exclusive and off-putting to the average festival goer.As I sat next to Jeff Best at the MySpace Cafe in the Village at Sundance, I heard him lament about the transformation of his brainchild. Best Events took the Town Lift project and turned it into a mini Hollywood gifting village for four years, dubbing it the Village at the Lift. After the same number of years of contention with festival organizers, Best caved for the greater good. After all, his number one plan all along was to show support for the film industry and if it helps everyone get along, he's willing to play nice. But while we sat munching on scrumptious cheeseburgers (better than you would get if you paid for it at the actual restaurant taken over by MySpace for seven days), and the paparazzi angled for a better shot of Paris Hilton in the booth behind us, he dropped his head and spoke about the financial hit he took. "I had sponsors in line for this year but when I told them they also had to be official Sundance sponsors as well (and pay the official pricetag and no gifting allowed) they backed out," he said. It's often too much money to go mainstream with not as much promise for celebrity exposure.They found other places to go- Fred Segal, one of the VAL's anchor 'stores', joined the Village at the Yard on Kearns Blvd. for five days of gifting products you typically see in their store- Retro Brand with their vintage sports team and college logo T-shirts, skate and urbanwear by Hurley, George, Gina and Lucy eccentric yet chic handbags, Undun eco-denim, Nightcap primo cottonwear. K-Swiss shoes and more. The Yard also started their own café courtesy of T-Mobile. Nickelodeon nabbed some first-class acreage across from Fred Segal to celebrate the 10th Anniversary of SpongeBob Squarepants and next door to them was drugstore.com, gifting travel essentials like bronzer, shampoo, Advil, Alka-Seltzer and Chapstick. Living Proof showcased a line of no-frizz hair products by having stylists blow and style your do. I had a brief conversation with Eliza Dushku (star of the new series Dollhouse) about snowboarding in Utah while they primped her for her movie premiere. She says she'll be skiing from now on as she's not too keen on pain. The conversation started because she noticed my luscious Scope Zip Hoody from Oakley and said she picked out the exact same one at the Oakley House during their Learn-To-Ride event over the weekend. Yep. I was there.
Oakley organizes these Learn-To days for celebs and VIPs who want to learn a sport from snowboarding to motocross without the hassle of going through the public process. It's an intimate setting with Oakley products and athletes and a one-on-one introduction to both to ensure they have a positive experience.
Singer/songwriter Kelly James escorted me onto the bunny run at Park City Mountain Resort for an unofficial snowboard lesson. He was a sweet guy; extremely patient. He spent a few runs with me and then kicked me out of the nest. Luckily, I had already had time (last year) with a 'real' instructor at Brian Head and the few great tips Kelly gave me made sense. I felt sorry for Eliza as she should have had a professional instructor first and not a professional boarder. Those who 'can', can’t necessarily teach. But whether we could ride, we sure did look good.
Oakley's gifting centered around the Gretchen Bleiler signature line of women’s snowboard apparel. The line, designed by the 2006 Olympic Silver medalist and S Games champ rocks. It fits flatteringly well, the colors pop, and the details make sense for the most part (except that I wasn't wild about the giant belt and buckle at the bottom of one of the jacket styles). Even her signature goggles sit well on the smaller frame of a woman's face.
Beyond the Oakley House (which was located way off Main in Park Meadows), some of the usual suspects still turned up on Main.
In order to try to get a little taste of all that is Sundance, I find myself like a chicken with its head cut off; running in all directions, not sure where to go next and just missing someplace I 'should have been.' The horrific traffic doesn't help. The police have blocked off Heber Avenue so there's no way to get from Park Avenue to Deer Valley Drive without heading up Main Street.

(Look, Ma, I'm snowboarding thanks to Oakley)

Coming down Swede Alley or Deer Valley Drive is the nightmare-especially if it's past four.

Avoid, avoid, avoid driving in Park City right now and park and ride the bus. You also need to get creative. I went into the Yarrow and was able to find a hotel guest who gave me his parking pass. Another girl I met, whipped out a handicap pass and her cane for VIP parking. A taxi driver picked me up after I stuck out my thumb. I got in when he said he was going my way and wouldn't charge me. Turns out he and his son are driving for his friend's cab business and pulling in $400 a day. Next year, I'm coming back as a cabbie!
I've set small goals for myself. Two suites a day, one movie a day and one party a night. So far so good. And lucky me, each movie has been noteworthy- Moon, Humpday, Max and Mary, September Issue and Adam. Both Moon and September Issue had been flukes. I showed up at the theater expecting different films but they had been switched last minute. September Issue about the making of Vogue's Fall Issue impressed me with its storytelling, infusing warmth into Editor Anna Wilson a compact woman with a cold as ice reputation. Moon, with Sam Rockwell, was supposed to be Castaway in space but instead turned out to be a compelling sci fi tale about a man whose last weeks on the moon turn into a nightmare of diabolical discoveries and thoughts on the humanity of man and machine. There's more to tell but I must get some sleep.

FYI, the major push for the Fest is over now and though the coming weekend will bring another rush of celebrities, it'll be nothing like it was last weekend. Now's the ideal time to see a movie (lots of tickets are still available) or get into a party. Chat chat chat. That's how. We went to a party for "Carmo, Hit the Road" Monday night and a woman handed us invites to the closing party at the Queer Lounge on Wednesday. Earlier, I ran into an old friend from my Deer Valley teaching days who promised to get us into the Kodak party Tuesday night. The parties are last on my to-do list but may be first on yours. If so, get some sleep, dress warm and hit the pavement by 4 p.m. for the intel.