Saturday, February 22, 2003

Reading Sex and the City is dangerous. It is dangerous not only because you start thinking how she writes (which isn't toxic, really, just sets you up to sound witty and intelligent--which, hey, is not a bad thing after all), but also because you start thinking you can afford her lifestyle. And when you live in a ski resort with no thrift stores, nary a one, that can be dangerous indeed, mostly for your pocketbook. But I really did need those new Gola shoes! And I really did need those new jeans, with the black leather belt that fastens with a big silver hoop! And what about a spring jacket...I never used to care about 'spring jackets' or any other wardrobe associated with a particular season, beyond of course the obvious: snowpants, snow boots, gumboots, a warm hat and scarf, mittens maybe, and a swimsuit. Pants were pants and shirts were shirts. Then again, that's when I was 8. And speaking of being 8, the new Gola sneakers fasten with--velcro straps! It's either a goofy return to childhood or a hip new twist in shoes, I haven't decided which yet.

Carrying my bags through town (when usually I have with me a backpack or a purse, nothing else) made me feel gaudy. I liked what I'd bought but I didn't like announcing that I was a "Shopper"--one who trounces around the Village Stroll, really believing in the Village Stroll, carrying oversized bags with store names on them--Guess, Pharcyde, Gap, Roots, Evolution, Le Chateau, Eddie Bauer, Westbeach. I usually look at Shoppers and think of them as being tourists, women with money to burn in the apres, women who just need that new top to go out to Maxx Fish (or Moe Joe's, or Garf's, or wherever else they're going) that night. And here I became one, after stopping in only three stores. I didn't like the transformation, and I didn't like identifying myself to strangers by the bag I was carrying. Usually I do that with my appearance (well, let's admit that we all do it, shall we?) and by the book I read on the bus, if I care enough to think about it.

I miss the city. I miss the variety, the choice, the cheap thrift stores. Whistler needs them, but then Whistler isn't what you want it to be. Whistler is probably not going to be, ever, given it's nature and it's history, and hey let's face it, it's owners. This article sums up nicely what Whistler is and isn't.

What it is, though, today, is glorious. The mountains, that is. It snowed last night, and today the sky is shiny and blue, and there is a distinct snowline halfway down the puffs of mountainsides, seperating green from white. It's warm in the village and minus eleven in the alpine, so everyone should be happy. Speaking of people being happy in Whistler, or not, it happens too often that I pass whiny, griping couples in the Village (stroll or square or wherever), and I look at them and think, "My God, here they are, they've got money and time and a vacation in this beautiful valley (no matter how little snow we're getting, it's always been skiable) and all they can do is complain about the winding village and losing thier way or the food they had or the kids or something." And it's always a wake-up for me, no matter where I am.

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