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Summit Up

Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column feeling far too shady for all this sunshine we’re having.

What sort of cruel joke is it that we don’t get sick all winter, and then as soon as the weather starts warming up and the sun comes out, we feel like the mudflap on a Mack? It’s just not right, we tell you.

We’re staying positive, though. This stuffed-up-head condition we have has diminished our brain capacity (yes, dear readers, we can lose more functions). While some people might be frustrated in this shape – forgetting where we put everything, stumbling a lot, having to ask people to repeat themselves – we’re just laughing at ourselves. So what if we can’t find the cell phone? So what if everything we write turns out like the words of William Faulkner in a hallucinatory fit? So what if we have no idea how we got out of the house this morning without pants on?

Oh, what fun we’re having now. Sniffle, sniffle.


After spending the entirety of Saturday morning picking up trash along Highway 9, we have come to the conclusion people either need to quit smoking or switch to Pall Malls. We say this because, while these cleanup days are great for our communities – the Summit Daily staffers stuffed more than 60 bags of garbage themselves – there’s no way we’ll ever pick up all these cigarette butts. It’s too bad those noxious weed goats don’t have a taste for nicotine.

But they don’t. Subsequently, our roadsides are pretty much carpeted with butts. Some day, after all the garbage we’ve created has killed the human species off and aliens start landing here and doing archaeological digs, they’re going to think our cars gave off cotton fiber exhaust.

So, do us all a favor: If you toke, keep it in the car. The modern ones are equipped with these fancy things people call “ashtrays.” They hold butts just as well, too.

As for everyone else who went out and enjoyed the nice sunny morning and joined a little community beautification, we salute you.


Call us cave-mannish in our attitude, but why all this fuss about hazing. We’re watching events unfold over this incident in the suburbs around Chicago – high school girls getting drunk and beating the crap out of each other (likely to spark the next version of “Girls Gone Wild” videos) – and it looks like the parents and community leaders will save face by filing charges against the kids.

For those who haven’t been on a college campus in a while, we should point out that most of these institutions have made hazing illegal, too.

Now, having grown up almost completely in hazing situations – you know, the Boy Scouts, organized sports, roommates who force us to watch Jerry Springer, etc. – and pretty confident that we’re emotionally healthy, civically responsible people, maybe what we need these days is more hazing.

We mean, really, think about it: Your parents, your grandparents – we guarantee they were hazed in some way or another. All this bully-proofing stuff they have in schools these days. Your ancestors didn’t get that. And if you join your elders in lamenting the state of current younger generations, then maybe a little tough love is in order.

Oh, pshaw, you’re probably saying (albeit a bit angrier than that). We must be joking. But in support of our theory, we point out the diversions in which our youth engage. They listen to hip-hop music in which stars beat each other up. They play video games in which the heroes, yes, beat other people up. Need we go on?

So, if you want to do something for posterity, if you want to do something good for a kid today, introduce them to the old-fashioned art of the Indian burn or the noogie.


Our Summit Up Agent in the Field got out of the office just long enough today to witness the marriage of Sarah Lamson and David Watson. What a beautiful ceremony. Best wishes and congratulations to Mr. and Mrs. Watson!


We’re in the need for some stimulating haiku poetry, so take this Sunday and whip out a few lines for us:, fax at (970) 668-0755 or you might be able to leave a voicemail message at (970) 668-3998, ext. 237, if the child welfare workers don’t fill it up first.

We’re out napping in the grass amongst the wildflowers …

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