oopsie daisy

My Thoughts on the Alpine Meadows/Squaw Valley "Merger"

If you follow me on Twitter, you’re probably well aware of how much I love Alpine Meadows and how often I snowboard there. I grew up in San Francisco, so I’ve had a chance to ski and ride almost every resort in Lake Tahoe, but even as a kid, Alpine Meadows was one of my favorites. I loved the trees, loved the friendly staff (this matters when you’re stuck in ski school all day), loved the terrain, and loved that so many of my friends went there.

I’ll never forget Ski Week in 7th grade. My friend Marcella and I were very into skiing. But we were also VERY into finding cute boys. It was one of those magically warm Tahoe weeks and we skied without gloves or hats, our hair flying in the wind as we flew down the mountain. I even somehow convinced my mom to let me ski in jeans on the very last day. You have NO idea how cool I thought I was as I bombed through Hot Wheels Gully, showing off for whomever might be paying attention. (No one, but I was twelve, so I just assumed everyone.)

Fast forward to five years ago and my return to SF after fifteen years on the east coast. I was now a (brand new) snowboarder and free to ride wherever I want since my mother no longer paid for my lift tickets.  There was never a question in my mind where that would be and as soon as I joined my first ski house in 2007, I got an unfiltered (read: no black out days) pass for Alpine Meadows/Homewood. Obvi.

I was a pretty new snowboarder when I moved back to California and Alpine was the perfect place to learn. The fact that there are trees between most of the runs made me feel safe and very aware of my surrounding, which is key when you’re just starting to turn. The runs were groomed impeccably and my instructors were super friendly and great teachers. (Also: hot.)

Last year, when I launched a jump and crashed really badly, Alpine Meadows’ ski patrol and nurses took incredible care of me. Within seconds of falling, a staff member was on his radio and it less than three minutes before I was surrounded by people who were there to make sure I was safe and healthy. Later that night, Alpine employees tweeted and Facebook messaged me to check in and see how I was doing. My spine was fractured, but I didn’t know that yet. I was back out on the mountain the next day.

The injury was brutal, yes, but the snow last year was too good to let it stop me. I snowboarded at Alpine almost every weekend, including Easter weekend and even the 4th of July.

I’ve been snowboarding for four years now and I’ve gotten a pass at Alpine Meadows for each of those. Every year I’ve found something else I love about Alpine that I hadn’t discovered before: The hikes, the trees, the Ice Bar, Randy, James and Scott, Kate and her magic wand at Summit Chair, women-only clinics, the amazing super-friendly marketing team, hula hoop competitions, free socks, and did I mention the hikes, the trees, and the powder? Oh. And the rescue dogs! Tell me seeing a Golden Retriever rescue dog riding down the chair lift, heads on paws, BY HIMSELF, isn’t the cutest thing ever. No don’t. Because you’d be wrong.

Last year, on a cold, blizzarding Monday, I rode straight down the mountain in three feet of powder for the very first time. I want to say I felt like I was flying, but that description doesn’t do it justice. I’ve been going to the mountains since I was three years old, but I’d never experienced anything like this. It was totally overwhelming and I never wanted it to end. My adrenaline was threw the roof. And when I got back to the lift…I burst into tears. The first time in my entire life I’ve ever cried tears of happiness. It was amazing.

Everything I’ve just written doesn’t explain, however, why I was so disappointed this morning when I woke up to the news that Alpine Meadows merged with Squaw Valley, so let me explain.

Squaw Valley is known worldwide for its amazing terrain and steeps. It’s known locally for it’s snobby staff, corporate attitude, elitist clientele, incredibly long lift lines, and the fact that it gets skied out in moments. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not opposed to getting a drink in the Squaw Valley Village après ski, but only after I’ve enjoyed an awesome day at Alpine Meadows and paid a visit to the Alpine Bar to say hi to the bartenders who greet me by name.

Alpine Meadows is more of a locals’ mountain. The staff is super friendly. The vibe is chill. You can find stashes of powder days after a big storm. It’s exactly what I want when I’m trying to escape from the city and the chaos of life.


In addition, with an Alpine Meadows pass always came a Homewood pass. Homewood is the perfect place to go on a windy day when the lifts at Alpine (and Squaw) aren’t running. There are many things about Homewood that could be improved (mainly the chair lifts), but Homewood is even chiller than Alpine and doesn’t seem to get skied out-ever.

Now, assuming everyone who loved Squaw continued to ski at Squaw and everyone who loves Alpine continued to ski at Alpine, this merger wouldn’t be that big of a deal, right? The only bummer would be the loss of Homewood as part of your pass (as of next year), which would be sad, but not a deal breaker.

Unfortunately, my prediction is this:

Any time Squaw skiers think Squaw is going to be crowded (long weekends etc.), they will come to Alpine Meadows and create longer lift lines and chaotic runs.

Any time there’s a powder day, Squaw skiers will flee the three hour KT lift lines they experienced last year and come to Alpine. In addition, those who do go to Squaw in the morning, will abandon Squaw as soon as it’s all skied out. By eleven a.m., most likely.

This merger is AWESOME for people who love Squaw. And the reactions on Facebook and Twitter have shown me that Squaw skiers are stoked. This is only good for them. They get to ski on their favorite mountain and then come take advantage of mine when they’re “finished” with theirs for the day.

But I can’t see anything good about this merger for people who call Alpine Meadows their home mountain. I have no desire to ski at Squaw. I don’t like the vibe or the lift lines, and frankly, I’ll take High-T over KT any day.


Alpine Meadows promises that they’re going to work hard not to change the laid-back neighborhood vibe. But how much say will they really have now that KSL is in charge?

Mostly, I just hope I’m wrong and that this is a good move for everyone involved. It's possible, for sure. But I’ll believe it when I ski it.

Until then, thank you everyone at Alpine Meadows for some truly amazing years. You guys are the best and I'll never forget your hospitality and awesome snow.

Is It Too Late to Write This Wrong? The Story of My Struggle, Frustration, and Desire to Get Paid More Than $10/Hour to Do What I Love.

The following is an email I wrote in response to a job offer from a company that, after receiving my resume and cover letter, asked me to complete a three-hour (timed) edit test. After they received my edit test, I was immediately (within the hour) offered a part-time freelance position: five consecutive hours a day with a starting pay of $10/hour and the opportunity to eventually go full-time.

I have yet to hit "send." But ohmygod, do I want to.

Hi [name redacted],

Thank you for your interest in hiring me to work as a writer/editor at [redacted]. When I received your offer, I would have cried, if I'd only been able to stop laughing.

I'll just assume you didn't bother to read my cover letter or open up my resume because if you had, I can only hope that you would not have wasted my valuable time with a THREE HOUR edit test, all the while knowing there is no way I would (or could) take a job that pays the same amount as the starting salary at In-N-Out Burger.

But honestly, my Masters Degree and my 10 years of copywriting experience don't even matter here. Offering to pay ANY writer, regardless of experience or education, TEN DOLLARS AN HOUR is disrespectful and insulting. It is quite clear that despite your claim that you are "leaders of a new journalism" movement, you don't value one of the most important aspects of journalism: great writing, otherwise there is no way you'd ever consider offering an hourly payment that is a mere EIGHT cents above minimum wage. No self-respecting or talented writer/editor would take a job with that pay, so I hope you're not surprised when you end up with flaky employees who do a horrible job. Frankly, if you want my take on it: your best bet is to outsource to India. You'll get hard workers AND you can probably pay them even less! [Edited to remove this statement as it was hastily written and does not accurately reflect how I truly feel about the situation.]

In the job description, you said you preferred someone with a "strong social media presence (e.g. over 1000 Twitter followers). Lucky for you, I happen to have almost 3000, as well as countless more who read my blog. I can't wait to take this story to them.

Oh, and far as I can tell: you owe me $30 for wasting my time with that three hour edit test. You can mail it to the address on my resume. You know, the one you never read.

Sincerely,

Daisy Barringer

p.s. At least at In-N-Out, they also get free food.

Here’s the thing: I want to be a writer. I want to write books and essays, and maybe screenplays or TV shows.  It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted to do and the only job that will make me truly happy. However, in order to make a living, I also write stuff that is not any of those things, stuff like ads and marketing copy and instruction manuals. This type of writing is absolutely fine, and I’m good at it, but ultimately, I don’t get any personal satisfaction from it. It’s work that pays (some jobs better than others) and that is all. 

In addition to the (mostly unfulfilling) writing jobs that provide me with a paycheck, I am also lucky enough to occasionally get an offer to write content for a publication that I love and respect or that will look great in my portfolio. When I receive these offers, I feel I have to say yes, even if it means writing for very little money, or, more often than not, for free. I’m not in a position where I can turn down the exposure, and honestly, find myself hoping that eventually, one of these gigs will be the one that lands me a book deal. (Yes, I know that’s not how it works, but please don’t crush my dreams.)

But maybe the fact that I often write for little to no pay is why companies like the one above feel they can get away with offering to pay writer/editors ten dollars an hour. Maybe it’s actually the writers’ fault. We love doing what we do so much that when a publication like Bleacher Report or Huffington Post says they want us to write for them, we are willing to create quality content for “nothing.” (Those sites argue that exposure is “something,” but when you’re dealing with that many writers, are most of them actually getting the recognition they deserve? Highly unlikely.)

I want to believe that our society still values things like good writing, but maybe I’m being naive. Maybe it’s unreasonable to think I deserve to be paid for my blog posts, many of which I spend hours writing. Perhaps I should just accept that it’s almost impossible to make a living writing original material. It’s depressing, yes, but not as depressing as the thought of not being able to write, or just as awful, not ever being read.

Of course, my choice to write my personal blog or to write posts for other websites for free (or a small fee) is just that: my choice. It certainly does not make it okay for a website with over $8 million in venture funding to pay writer/editors $10 for tedious, time-consuming work. If we want to write our own stuff for free, that’s our choice. But to pay minimum wage for a job that won’t give us public credit or creative satisfaction? To pay an hourly rate that is less than the price of a movie theater ticket, but requires thought and creativity, and can oftentimes be so draining, there’s no energy left to focus on our own writing? That is unacceptable and, as I said in the email above, insulting.

I want to be a writer. I want to make a living writing. I want people to read my work. I also want to believe that these things are possible and worth a hell of a lot more than ten bucks an hour.

Your Tweets Bug Me

Now that Google+ has made Twitter and Facebook totally obsolete, I figured I could  finally post my list of Top 10 Things on Twitter that drive me absolutely bananas without actually offending anyone. Because, apparently, offending people is now something I care about? (No, not really.) (Also: that's how Google+ works, right? It makes all other social networks "ohmygod, sooooo yesterday?" I don't actually know because the whole thing is too much geometry for me and instead of making an effort to figure it out, I'd rather spend my free time sitting on the couch knotting friendship bracelets and watching "Pretty Little Liars" on ABC Family. Just like every other 30-something woman you know.)

Anyway, enough bragging about my amazing life, let me get to the part where I denounce yours.

See, here's the thing. I would never call my best friend and announce, “Wow, I just had the best cup of Blue Bottle coffee!” and that’s not *just* because I am not a weirdo hipster who orgasms when my coffee comes with a perfectly drawn can of PBR in the foam. No, it’s because I’m alive, and as a result, am unfortunately forced to interact with people on an almost-daily basis, and you know what I’ve learned about people? They don’t care about my coffee. Or my commute. Or my job. Or my vagina. (Okay, fine, they care about my vagina. Rather, they did before I got in a relationship and it shriveled up and died.) And yet, for whatever reason, with the invention of Facebook and Twitter, people now feel that they need to elucidate their friends and followers on the most mundane, and frankly, pathetic aspects of their lives.

Listen, Bob, we barely even spoke in high school, so I promise that I do not need to hear about how your daughter’s diaper smelled like rotting whale carcass. Also, you’re a man, so no one even believes you change your daughter’s diapers! Stop lying, Bob. Also: HIDE. UNFOLLOW. DEFRIEND.

And yes, I realize that the bitching about how people share stupid things we don’t care about (like their morning coffee) on Twitter has been done a bazillion times, but you know who hasn’t made a list of things she can’t stand seeing on Twitter? That’s right: ME. And since I follow people who bug me (NOT YOU, OBVIOUSLY) just so I can get a feeling of superiority when they tweet yet AGAIN about their emotions (Seriously, who does that? So gross.), I’m totally qualified to write a list like this.

So here goes. In no particular order.

SHIT PEOPLE DO ON TWITTER THAT THEY SHOULD REALLY STOP DOING RIGHT THIS SECOND. (PLEASE.)

1. Oh, you cleaned your apartment? Since you're tweeting about it, it appears you’ll be shocked to hear that no one cares! There's not one single soul who wants to hear how many hours you spent with a bottle of 409 in your hand unless, of course, you're tweeting about how you're trying to get the blood of a dead hooker out of your carpet. Also, why do you have carpet and not hardwood? Gross.

2. It's even grosser that you have carpet since you have a dog. And yes, I know. Your dog is cute. Your dog is silly. Your dog has really stinky farts. I get it: You love your dog. That’s awesome. But guess what? He doesn’t need his own Twitter account. SERIOUSLY. Unless your dog is actually a magic typing dog in which case, WHY ARE YOU NOT A BIZILLIONAIRE?

3. Along those lines…you love your baby. Not gonna lie, your tweets would be a lot more interesting if you couldn’t stand that thing, but since she’s over a decade away from puberty, you might as well come to terms with that fact that right now, all she can do is sleep and shit, and I promise you, no one cares. She's even less interesting than a dog!

Even worse is when you decide to speak for her. “My daddy is so great; he took me to the park today!” Listen buddy: You can tweet that your seven month old is thinking that, and you can even believe it if you want, but we all know that all she actually thinks about is her mommy’s boobs. Also, no girl ever says, “My daddy is so great,” unless he gives her a BMW for her sweet 16. That’s right, dude. Better start saving.

4. Oh no! Thoughts of expensive BMWs keeping you up at night? Can't fall asleep for the life of you? MAYBE IT’S BECAUSE YOU’RE PLAYING WITH YOUR PHONE INSTEAD OF LYING IN BED WITH YOUR EYES CLOSED. Next time I can’t sleep, I think I’ll send a singing telegram to your house, which isn’t actually a parallel experience, but will definitely be super annoying—just like your 3 a.m. insomnia tweets.

5. Frankly, it's a little weird that you can't fall asleep, since you were home at 10 p.m. to watch "Top Chef" just like you are EVERY Wednesday night, but I'm not going to judge you. (Lie.) I do, however, want to be very clear that I swear to god, if you post who got kicked off immediately after the show airs one more time, I am going to move to the East Coast so I can see it before you and then invent teleportation so that I can come back to San Francisco at 9:58 p.m. your time and stand outside your home with a megaphone blurting out the name of the person who got sent home. And yes, I get that it might be hard to invent teleportation, but even if it takes me the rest of my life, it will be time well spent in order to punish you for doing something as egregious as putting a spoiler in your tweet.

6. And sure, I get it. You don't care what I think about your constant barrage of reality TV spoilers because you have real friends who are THE BEST! You’re the luckiest person in the whole world because ohmygod, they're the most amazing friends in the whole wide world. They totally get you and you just feel so close to them right now. BFFs 4EVA! You know what else? YOU’RE WASTED. Stop tweeting and do another shot.

7. And yes, I get it you don't even have to pay for the shot because, yet again, you’re at a super exclusive invite-only event and it’s the most amazing thing ever. You can’t believe you got to meet [C-list celebrity] and how awesome the goodie bags are! I mean, sure you already have a [highly coveted tech item] because you got one the day it came out because you’re you, but you can totally use another one that you'll put in a drawer and forget about. No, you should definitely keep tweeting about it because I’m pretty sure everyone loves a showoff. And don’t forget to mention that right after this, you have to hop on the red eye to fly to [exotic place] for work, but it’s fine because you totally got upgraded to first class. I know it’s super hard to imagine this, but some of us are always smooshed in the middle seat between a fat person and a drunk guy with a cold, so we definitely want to hear more about your free champagne. No seriously. GO ON…

8. Oh, go on? You don't mind if you do! Because, guys! Something amazing just happened. It’s so exciting! You couldn’t be happier! Life as you know it is probably going to change forever. But, "Oops, I can't actually tell you what it is!"

Here’s a tip: if it’s a secret, then shut the fuck up and stop tweeting vague hints that scream, “You should totally ask me what happened because my parents didn’t give me enough attention when I was a child.”

9. Speaking of attention: No one cares if your email in-box is at 6 million or six. We get it. You get a lot of email. So do we all. Sure, most of mine is from Neiman Marcus and Shopbop, but that still totally counts as email and yet you never hear me bitching about it. So don't bother announcing to all of your followers that you finally got your inbox down to zero, because I promise no one is going to show up on your doorstep with a bottle of Veuve and a cookie.

10. And finally! Now that you got all of that email out of the way, why not go on a run? A five mile run! Or yoga every single day for a month! Better yet, get up at 5 a.m. to meet with your trainer. Okay okay, I get it! Not only are you smarter and more efficient than I am, you're also in better shape! Good for you. Honestly, I hope you kick ass in your marathon. Just please don't make me read about it over breakfast while I'm dipping my donuts (plural) in coffee (Irish). Thank you for all that you do.

God, that felt good. Probably the only thing left to do is hit "publish" and then go tweet about it!

Label Whores

I joined a new ski house this year after deciding that coordinating a ski house was too much work with too little reward. Seriously, that shit is basically a part-time job and all you ever hear is "The hot tub is broken," "The driveway's too icy," "That was the worst hand job ever." And you're like "Bitch, I don't get paid to do this crap, take a bath if you need to soak, buy a car with 4WD; you rent a cabin in TAHOE, and yes, it was a shitty hand job because hand jobs aren't a real thing that people actually give so you shouldn't have demanded one from me in the first place, but since it kept you from masturbating yet again in the shower we all share, I guess it was worth it."

Someone from last year's house who didn't realize what a thankless job it was did put together a new house for this season with many of the same people, but somehow between last winter and this winter they all became couples and, well: EW. Couples are gross.

So anyway, I'm in a new house with only a few people I know. And this house is very different from any house I've been in before in that people take over the kitchen and cook elaborate fancy two hour meals. For just themselves. Also, people write their names on all of their food items. Not just their wine (which I only did after someone drank an entire bottle of mine leaving me with only a third of a glass which basically meant I had to spend the entire night locked in a closet huffing glue) or their Odwalla orange juice (that shit is nine bucks, yo), but like their gigantic block of parmesan cheese. And their Costco-sized bag of sliced bread. And their butter. Seriously. Their butter! It's weird. I mean, don't get me wrong, I get not wanting people to eat your food, but when I was a kid and I wanted to make sure there were Oreos for me to eat later, I didn't write my name on them, I just hid them under my bed like a normal selfish person.

Anyway, the point of this is that last week I got to the ski house with my bag of groceries (read: wine, orange juice, goldfish and cookies) and grabbed the permanent marker to label everything. I autographed my $9 orange juice and went to put it in the fridge. And that's when I saw all of the sharpied names on egg cartons and salad dressings and gallons of milk and bags of baby carrots and butter containers staring back at me. It was like everything I never wanted my life to turn into had manifested itself into a collection of labeled groceries on the top shelf of that refrigerator.

And in that moment, I decided I was not going to write my name on any of my food. Rather, I asked Campfriend to drop his pants and proceeded to sign my name in cursive across his penis. Because, honestly, I don't give a shit if someone eats my cookies, but that dick? It's all mine.

Oh. And also that whipped cream. I'll be needing that later.

A New Spin on Valentine's Day

Can I just say that walking into the lobby of the building where I work this morning only to be accosted by a huge basket of red and pink Hershey kisses was totally unncessary? I don't even want to get into the fact the this building turned the 12-days-of-Christmas into a two month long fiasco complete with string quartets and carolers and Dicken's characters and awkward breakfast buffets and then, towards the end when they were running out of ideas and/or money, one lone guy with a Casio keyboard plucking out Jingle Bells as though each note were as painful as Mary giving birth in that god damn barn.

No, I don't want to get into that. But I do want to let you know that I do not appreciate their attempt to force me to linger pathetically over an oversized wicker basket full of chocolate while strangers push by me in a ridiculous attempt to pretend like they actually want to make it to work on time. No. I prefer to do my shame-inducing emotional eating at home, alone, with my remote control and an episode of The Real Housewives of Beverly Hills. Don’t try to trick me into partaking in that kind of behavior in public by placing a trough of chocolate between me and the elevator.

So yeah, you'll be shocked to hear I'm not a huge Valentine's Day girl. I won't be going out to some cheesy prix fixe dinner. And I won't be feeding my boyfriend chocolate cake from a plate that has "Happy Valintine's Day" misspelled in raspberry sauce. And I won't be exchanging mediocre presents, or putting on lacy lingerie, or trying to give the best blow job of my life because I actually didn't get him anything because I didn't know that exchanging presents on Valentine's Day was something people really did. Why won’t a perfectly mediocre blow job suffice? I mean, it’s a Monday for fuck’s sake. No one should be getting a blow job at all!

(I actually have no idea what that last part means, but it sounds like something that is likely very true.)

So, uh, no. I won't be doing any of that...

Instead I'll be doing what every girl should do: Putting on a pair of cupid wings, a sparkly headband, and going to spin class and dinner with her very best friend.

Watch out. Or I will shoot you with my arrow. And then you'll be no better off than I.