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Summit Up


Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that isn’t going to waste any time before going off on another completely pointless and tangential rant, all before even having had so much as a glass of OJ or a cup of coffee, much less a good balanced breakfast featuring all the major food groups, like donuts and bacon. Come to think of it, maybe that’s why we’re feeling so feisty today. We haven’t been getting our Wheaties lately, or what we’re really craving – a nice bowl of Lucky Charms. What’s the deal with Lucky Charms, anyway? What ARE those little bits and pieces of colored stuff? Whatever inspired someone to come up with a cereal like this and connect it with Ireland? This had to come from the sick, twisted mind of a sugar-deprived marketing junkie who was locked in a dark room with Barry Manilow 8-tracks playing 24-7. After a few hours, inspiration strikes. A leprechaun mascot! Sheer genius. Now, let’s shape all sorts of pseudo-Irish symbols from barely edible chunks of congealed sugar and call it good. Slap up a website … Man, we want a piece of that action! By the way, we once counted all the “lucky charms” in a box (yes, we know, we need to get a life). And since this is an interactive column, we invite you to guess the total. Any readers that come close to the right number wins a personal tour of the Corporate Suites as well as an autographed copy of the Summit Daily News. Aaah, how we long for the day when we were able to offer real swag for these little Summit Up contests. Anyway, send your best guess to or give us a jingle at (970) 668-3998, ext. 13627 and don’t forget to put on your best Irish accent.But we’re getting off track. Back to our rant. We feel an irrepressible urge to share this with you simply because it makes us feel better. Yes, you, dear readers, are our inspiration and sounding board, and this column is a mental trampoline, the place where our verbal back flips and semantic somersaults are rewarded by ooohs and aaahs of astonishment and amazement. It’s the Ringling Bros. of daily columns, where you might one day, at least metaphorically, see a tiger leaping through a ring of fire, and the next you may be lucky enough to see a seal balancing a beach ball on its nose.So one of our ace reporters was cleaning out his garage over the weekend, trying to winnow through a winter’s worth of accumulated flotsam and jetsam, and in the process decided to sweep the floor. And this is where our rant comes in, so thanks for being patient. While brushing the floor in a Zen-like exercise our roving journalist noticed that the cement slab was completely pitted and crumbly in a pattern that corresponded roughly with where the fender-bergs of winter melt and drip off the car. Our intrepid field agent realized all of a sudden that our smooth garage floor was being eaten away by mag-chloride drips! This stuff is nasty! We need to get a grip on ourselves and really question whether we need to be spreading millions of gallons of such a corrosive substance all over the state’s highways. It just don’t seem right, is about all we can say. Maybe it’s some kind of conspiracy. No wonder parts of I-70 are so rugged. And think about it. If this stuff can eat away concrete, what is it doing to the grass and trees alongside the road? We think that CDOT has just plumb wore down the opposition by its persistence in claiming that the stuff is harmless. Yeah, right. Whatever. What we need is a good anti mag-chloride bumper sticker and T-shirt and get people fired up about this again. We’re thinking maybe the classic logo: A big orange CDOT mag-chloride sprayer truck with a red circle and slash oughtta do the trick. And we need you, readers, to help us out with a catchy slogan. It really needs to short and sweet enough so that even a pot-addled college sophomore can remember the words, like the old Vietnam-era “Hell no, we won’t go” chant. So help up out here! Send your best anti mag-chloride slogan to have word of yet another contest that sounds somewhat dubious, but we’re on board all the same, since dubious is our middle name. Heidi Ho, the author of A-Basin’s famed Pali’s Pitch newsletter, e-mailed to tell us that the folks up at The Legend are in search of the funniest, most well-defined goggle tan. The reason this sounds dubious to us is the whole skin cancer thing, which freaks us out a little bit, but who are we to crimp anyone else’s appreciation of melanoma. The comp is on through June 4, so send your best goggle tan photo to, along with your name and number. No word on what the prize is. Maybe a year’s worth of sunscreen?We want to end today by writing about apple strudel, just because it’s a fun phrase to write and to say. Go ahead, say it out loud to yourself: “Apple Strudel.” If that doesn’t put a smile on your face … So we baked one of these tasty treats just last night, working from an ancient Austrian folk recipe scribbled in elderberry ink on an old wrinkled piece of parchment, and were amazed at how times have changed, at least when it comes to cookbooks. Nowadays, you look into a modern cookbook and there are pictures of every ingredient, lists, measures, diagrams; really detailed instructions for every step of the process. Our strudel recipe, on the other hand, is about two paragraphs long, basically saying, “chop the apples, make the dough, roll ’em up and bake.” It doesn’t give an oven temp, or how long you should bake it, none of that. We come to the conclusion that these old-time cookbooks really assumed that everyone had some basic cooking skills and knowledge.So we dished it up and our eight-year-old promptly scooped a big portion of chocolate ice cream on to the strudel and then scraped the fruit to one side.”The apples make it taste funny, dad.”Our chef replied: “Well the apples are what this desert is all about, son. That’s why they call it ‘apple strudel.’ “”Well can’t you just make a chocolate strudel, dad?”***We out, counting our lucky charms.

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