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Summit Up

Special to the Daily Happy birthday to Dave Cook.

Good morning and welcome to Summit Up, the world’s only daily column celebrating the fact that there are only 89 more days until summer.

Sure, sure, we know. Spring has barely arrived, technically. But we’re looking around and not seeing a whole bunch of the white stuff laying about. One good rainfall and they can cancel the Eenie Weenie Bikini Contest at Copper Mountain in April, a month we will hereby declare as “autumn.”

Yup, it be sunnin’ weather folks. We have seen more than our fair share of pale skin out there trying to glom onto a few rays of ultraviolet. It’s scary.

All these people out there, white as snow at 9:54 a.m. and lobster-red by 10 a.m. Slather on the sunscreen, folks!

We’re wondering why the weather is so wacky (but we’re not complaining; we got in our fair share of skier days this season!), so we conducted a little research and learned that on this day in 1973, the high temperature was 49 degrees and no hail, fog, rain, snow or tornados struck the area. Whoa.


We have a Happy Birthday! Happy Birthday! greeting going out to Dave Cook from his son Austin: “Happy 40th birthday to our favorite polo playing jet-setter! Thanks for settling down with us! We love you! Sarah, Cecilia, Austin and Grace.

Dave is one of nine people running for the Breckenridge Town Council, on the platform that affordable housing should be truly affordable and not just a bit cheaper than the McMansions and Starter Castles.

Well, we can’t imagine having a better day on which to have a birthday. The birds are chirping and the moon still hangs in the sky.

So have a happy day, Dave! And all those who know him, be sure to ask him how it feels to be so gosh-darned old.


It has come to our attention that people may no longer need to utilize such things as maps when they go on vacation. One of our Summit Up Staffers was talking to a woman from Michigan over the weekend, and noted that the woman kept referring to her hometown by pointing to a place on her upraised hand.

Michigan, you see, is kind of shaped like a hand, and so in that state, people just point at a knuckle or a tendon, and voila! The folks they are talking to know exactly to where the person is referring.

Our staffer, however, is not from Michigan and kept looking at the woman’s hand as if it had four extra fingers and trying to figure out what it had to do with Michigan.

He finally figured it out, and told the woman he was from Massachusetts, balling his hand up and twisting his pinky downward. The woman was not amused, but it got everyone else going.

Another person said he was from Tennessee, and explained by placing his hands flat together, one just slightly above the other. Tennessee! Of course!

Someone else said she was from Alaska by curling the middle and ring fingers into a ball and extending the pinky and thumb and turning the whole hand upside down. Alaska!

Another woman said she was from Oklahoma by balling up all but her pointing finger like a gun.

Our staffer decided he was from Italy and stood up, put his foot on the chair and pointed to a spot on his toe. “Roma,” he said.

Unfortunately, we cannot describe the hand shapes for California, New York and Texas. Suffice to say, they’re good.


We out, wallowing in warmth.

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