Mighty Girl » Utah

Hello, Salt Lake City

Maggeh — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 22:33:47 +0000

Sorry for the site weirdness over the last couple of days. We were changing servers, and it went less smoothly than I had hoped. Thanks for hanging in there with me. While my site was doing backflips, I was on my way to speak at Alt:

The plane landed yesterday without crashing, which was heartening, and I finally got to meet Miss Marlo.

Heather makes good babies.

So Excited!

Maggeh — Thu, 17 Mar 2005 18:21:00 +0000

Heather and I are headed to Utah for a much-needed girl vacation. It may be the first time anyone has ever flown into Salt Lake City to celebrate St. Patrick’s Day. See you in a bit.

Biathalon: Cross-country Ski and Shoot

Maggeh — Sat, 23 Feb 2002 21:22:09 +0000

Context

Him: Don’t we have more guns per capita than any other nation? We are a nation of guns! Why aren’t we taking this event?

Me: Perhaps if the targets bled.

How much for the team?

Him: This would make a great bachelor party

Me: A ski and shoot?

Him: Yeah. They’re all these tight chicks, they’re wearing spandex body suits, and they shoot at shit. That’s way better than some stripper.

Hurry up Helga

The biathalon isn’t exactly a fast-paced sport. They play up-tempo music over the loudspeakers to amp the crowd, but the race is pretty much decided several minutes before it ends. Announcers still have to come up with something to say, and they often don’t speak English as a first language. Highlights:

Five minutes before finish: Unless something freaky happens to her on the course, it looks like the German team will take it.
Three minutes before finish: If you look at the video board time, then it’s like the Germans are running around with a smile on their lips.
One minute before finish (only one competitor is even in sight of the finish line): She’s looking behind her, to see if anyone can beat her. But 33 seconds, it’s too much.

Women’s Hockey, Germany V.S. Kazakstan

Maggeh — Sat, 23 Feb 2002 21:16:48 +0000

After a few beers, rooting for Kazakstan can be very satisfying. When the crowd goes quiet, there’s nothing like the simple, yet elegant, KAZAKSTAN! Or the quintessentially American, GO BIG BLUE! My companion favored, GO FORMER SOCIALIST SOVIET REPUBLIC!
I love hockey.

Men’s Speed Skating 1000M

Maggeh — Sat, 23 Feb 2002 21:13:32 +0000

I have never seen so many clothed naked men in my life. Also, the Korean uniforms make their skaters look like giant cereal boxes.

Marked by Wisdom and Calm Judgement

Maggeh — Sat, 23 Feb 2002 21:10:47 +0000

The cashier at the Salt Lake City Barnes and Noble had three lip rings, two eyebrow studs, and too much jewelry in her ears to count. She also had dense tattoo sleeves, the most visible one being a tribute to the band Korn. Her nametag read, Sage.

Seven Reasons Why I Like Morons

Maggeh — Sat, 23 Feb 2002 21:08:41 +0000

When I was a kid, all the Mormons I knew had trampolines.
When I was eleven, mom and I took a road trip and ended up in Salt Lake City. Mom, meticulous driver that she is, turned the wrong way down a one-way street. No one honked, no one screamed obscenities, no one even rolled their eyes. Instead, the three lanes of traffic facing us stopped, and everyone leaned out their windows. Ma’am, you’re going the wrong way. Turn around, you’re going the wrong way. My mom gasped, Oh, shit, and flipped a U. The helpful motorists waved as they sped by.
A few days later, a horrible clanking noise seemed to be coming from our engine. Mom rolled into a local mechanic, in an expensive car, figuring we wouldn’t get it back without dropping a few grand. The mechanic got in, rolled a few feet, then got out and tightened a bolt that had been clanging around in our hubcap. My mom swallowed, Oh my God. What do I owe you? He laughed, Nothing! I don’t charge for tightening bolts. Mom gave him a hundred bucks. She had to force him to take it. When we got back in the car she said, Always reward honest people, Margaret.
In high school, Jen Keys used to invite all of us to Mormon dances. We wore skirts that barely reached our knees, and then hiked them up once inside. Five or six of us would start a tame mosh pit while the Mormon kids gave us a wide berth and cast uneasy glances at the Elders scattered around the gym. Everyone danced to slow dances with one hand held out, as though they were waltzing.
A few days ago, I left my purse at a Salt Lake City bar. In the morning I called the bar in a panic. Someone had turned it in. All the cash was still inside, as were my tickets to two events.
Mormons are big into converting people, but they promised to lay off for the Olympics. I was dubious. I had a day to kill in downtown Salt Lake and was approached no less than three times by men who love them the Jesus. My first uninvited visitor sat down next to me at the Coffee House. Baptist. My second friend took a seat with me at the deli despite my most convincing warning look. Baptist. The third one stopped me for directions and segued into whether I had seen his pamphlet, More than Gold. Baptist. Now, most of my family is Baptist, but by the end of the day I was in awe of Mormon restraint. I longed for those bike-helmeted, tie-wearing young men who leave you alone when you ask them to go away.
Many, many Mormons are blonde. Because I have always imagined that the Church must hand you a bottle of peroxide upon conversion, I find this amusing.