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Summit Up

Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column that has reassessed the meaning of life and discovered it is S retirement.

Summit Up regularly forms expeditionary teams to venture out into the crazy world beyond our topographic borders (it’s good to occasionally see how “real” people are living, you know). This past weekend, the field agents ventured to Casa Grande, Ariz., the world’s capital of gated retirement villages. And, we have decided that we are retiring, effective today.

People keep telling us you need to work for a few decades before you start asking for the gold watch and farewell cake party (with little pointed hats, trick candles and noisemakers, of course). They say we might need a pension or a retirement fund of some sort. But that’s a bunch of hooey as far as we’re concerned.

We’re so intent on retiring because all the people we encountered seemed to be doing all the fun things we complain about not being able to do because we’re chained to this desk pounding out these columns. The place we stayed at – called “Palm Creek,” which had a lot of palm trees, but a creek that was so green it looked like it was modeled after the gooey river in “Charlie and the Chocolate Factory” – had every kind of game, craft and recreational activity you can imagine. It has golf, tennis, swimming, lawn bowling, shuffleboard, softball, poker, dominoes, bingo, silversmithing, ceramics, stained-glass window-making and (our favorite) plenty of happy hours and potluck meals.

Now, somebody explain to us why we should work for the next 30 years to enjoy those things when our bodies are much more suited for doing them right now.

Honest, we promise we’ll work later.


Deb Sweeney, whose fiance dropped her huge honkin’ engagement ring in the snow at Keystone while proposing (as you might have read among these pages last week) wanted us to thank Jeff Hill and the other patrollers who spent three hours helping her and her man (whom we’re refraining from referring to as “Butterfingers”) dig through the snow looking for it. They never found it, but several people called Deb after reading the story to say they’d take their metal detectors up and help out.

So, if you see some beachcombers up in the Outback with their magic wands roaming the snow, you know why.


Jilian at Windy City Pizza in Breck reported a Scum Alert!! Scum Alert!! Someone reached into her tip jar and stole all her tips. There were at least a couple fives and some other big bills in there. She turned her back for maybe two minutes, and it was all gone. “I can’t believe someone would do that. He’s a scumbag.”

Karma has a way of working holes into the pockets of people like this, Jilian. Let’s hope they cash their paycheck and visit a bathroom right before you do; keep your eyes on the floor.


Last week, the question bugging us was the mechanics of how flies land on the ceiling, i.e. do they fly upside down and land right-side up? Or do they fly right-side up and just flip around when they get there.

Our Frisco field agent Charlotte got back to us on that one:

“Back in my other life (college professor), I read a book about the scientific method called “To Know A Fly.’ This guy spent his whole life researching everything about flies. He even did brain surgery on them. I think his method of producing the right surgical instruments was rather novel – he dropped pins on the floor. The various bends and notches created suited his purposes when operating on flies.

“He also had a unique way of exercising flies. He’d tie them by a light string to an old 78-rpm record turntable and set it to go so they had to fly.

“Anyway, a fly lands on the ceiling by flying right side up to it, then reaches up behind its head with its two front legs, grabs the ceiling and flips over. So there.”

Without our readers, we’d never get any sleep at night. These questions would just haunt us.


It’s Thursday. Tell us what questions are haunting you at, fax at (970) 668-0755 or just do Alex Trebek’s impression of a ghost wailing on the voicemail at (970) 668-3998, ext. 237.

We’re our registering with AARP …

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