'Scuse me while I kiss the sky

Look, I had a bottle of wine with dinner. No, I didn't split a bottle of wine with dinner; I HAD a bottle of wine. So, if my funny words are sad or disjointed, kiss my ass.

I love you.

OK, here we go.

Sun Valley. It is not pronounced, "Sun-VALLEY" or even "SUN-Valley." No, as it has been drilled into my head, it is pronounced as one word: "sunvally." It is spoken as if you were in a hurry to reach the end, in an expedient fashion.

History lesson: Some time back in the 1800s, some grizzly stanky-assed prospector and anti-social malcontent found some shiny piece of metal or other in the Sawtooth foothills in the middle of Idaho, long before Idaho was a place. People came and dug holes, more shiny metal was found, but not nearly enough to go around. Eventually, movie stars came and skiing was invented. Or, something like that. I don't really know, I’m usually drunk most of the time that I'm there, and only half-listening anyway.

One additional tid-bit, Sun Valley isn't really Sun Valley. See, the actual Sun Valley is a relatively small private resort. The surrounding city, which most people consider to be Sun Valley, is actually the little town of Ketchum.

Anyway, Ketchum is a small town, likely to get bigger, then rapidly get smaller. In the last few years, as I have visited, I have met Peekaboo Street at my wife's high school reunion, and have seen Clint Eastwood at the supermarket. I have also stopped for a visit to Ernest Hemingway's grave, and watched a movie at Bruce Willis's movie theater.

The benefit of visiting the in-laws in Ketchum is that they seem to know every single person in town. Having held the door open for the Mayor of Boise in Boise, I was able to meet the leading city council candidate, and the only Republican mayoral candidate of the city of Ketchum, in about five minute's time. (Go Maurice!) I suppose that is the benefit of buying expensive coffee in a city of roughly 3,000.

Not only was I rushed into the political frenzy, intrigue and underbelly of Ketchum in that moment, but I was actually introduced to greatness at the same time. For, standing next to, and in apparent support of, "Maurice!," was none other than Dick Fosbury, the 1968 Olympic hero, and innovator of the Fosbury Flop. I, on the other hand, am not famous yet, so I ordered a "Bowl of Soul," and sat my ass down.

Things like that happen in Ketchum, more regularly than any one cares to admit. It wasn't but a few years ago that a well-known aging action star, and current Governor of California, nearly ran my mother-in-law over with his then-new Hummer. On Saturday, I took a hike (walk) on a bike path that was cut to within 20 feet of Senator John Kerry's winter-home's front door. (The secret service must have had a conniption over that one last year...) and a new construction project was pointed out to me, which is rumored to be the new time-share getaway for a couple of guys named Spielberg and Howard. Mind you, I was in the mountains of IDAHO, not the hills above Malibu.

Surrounded on all sides by opulence, all I wanted was a good burger, and a good burger I had, thanks be to the monkey's grandparents, and a small dive called Lefty's. If you're ever in the valley in the shadow of Bald Mountain, I recommend Lefty's, and when they ask what size beer you want, go big. Trust me on this one.

So, on our last night in town, as we wandered out of Lefty's, we stopped to pick up a few touristy trinkets for our dog-sitter, Ann. As we Left Chateau Drug, the only store open at 8:00, the missus and the mother-in-law, winked knowingly to one another, for we were not headed immediately back to the homestead. No, I was in for a surprise, the existence of, and plan for which, was a complete surprise in and of itself.

It was a surprise desert, for down the alley, and across the street was nothing less than Rocky Mountain Chocolate Company. Holy Christ on pop-sicle stick!! It was the home of the every-loving super-fantastic dapple-to-end-all-dapples, Granny Smith Apple Pie Caramel Apple. The single greatest thing I've ever tasted. Jumpin Jahosephat!! If I weren't so goddamned dehydrated from my ungodly consumption of alcohol tonight, I'd be salivating right now like Pavlov's freakin dog just thinking about it.

Unfortunately, the crapass bastards that run the Ketchum RMCC branch forgot the all-important crushed graham crackers. So, the potentially Super-Duper caramel-dunked apple was only "Duper," rating an 8.5 out of a possible 10. Nonetheless, it was most pleasing, and a true surprise.

So, here I am, back at home. Howler monkey is back in bed, and the new car is back in the garage. The dog is at my feet, and is enjoying a moderate sized rawhide. All is well with the world. Oh, but wait, what about the twice-promised naked cheer leaders?? Well, that was admittedly a hoax to get you to read further.

OK, Geez, fine, fine, for the prurient interest in all of you, I will show you a group of naked cheerleaders. (Warning: These are actual naked cheer leaders!! For the love of god, if you don't want to see naked cheer leaders, don't click HERE.)

Happy?

Perverts, all of you...