Courtesy Liz Marsh
Wise men once said, “Be excellent to each other” and “Party on, dudes!” Liz Marsh follows this sage advice as she navigates a life full of close family, high adventure and copious amounts of wine.
We jogged alongside her to find out what it’s like to be constantly on the move:
You wake up to a string of epithets shouted in a familiar voice. Gordon Ramsay is pacing in your bedroom, and he won’t go away until you cook something worth his time. What dish can you make to appease him?
He seems stressed, so he’ll get the Wednesday Night Special: frozen pizza and a box of wine. There’s nothing that can’t be solved with that combo.
You have died and become a ghost. (My condolences.) What place or object do you haunt, and how do you express your otherworldly frustration?
A few years ago, my dad and I went on a big South American adventure, and before we left, I made my sister the sole beneficiary of my life insurance. I didn’t tell her. She was pregnant at the time and was super mean to me. I thought, “That’s fine. You let those hormones rage. I’ll have the last laugh.” And boy would I have. After I died in a terrible pirate incident, my sister would get a letter in the mail, a check. She’d be devastated, of course, but the knowledge that she was mean to me and in return I offered her a selfless gift from the grave would haunt her forever. I would check in on her from time to time to make sure she was eternally sorry.
Wake up, sheeple! It’s a conspiracy! They’ve got everyone fooled, but you know the truth. What are They covering up?
You know the hit song “Oh Where Can My Baby Be”? It’s a super romantic, upbeat little ditty about a dude who accidentally kills the love of his life in a car crash. The lyrics go, “I couldn’t stop, so I swerved to the right.” Sir, are you telling me we are to expect that in a head-on collision, in the rain, a driver swerved to the right and it was his passenger who got hit? Nope. I’ve watched enough Law and Order SVU to know a cover-up when I hear one.
The U.S. Treasury announces it will begin issuing 7-dollar bills. Whose face will be on it?
I’d like to take this opportunity to announce that I am completely, hopelessly, helplessly in love with “Hamilton.” The hit musical, not the dead dude. So here’s how this is going to go. Ham gets moved to the new, weird and sort of upsetting 7-dollar bill. Then we move some badass Founding Mother to the tenner. I recommend Angelica Schuyler, because well, she’s going to include women in the sequel, amirite!
But now let’s go back to the fact that a 7-dollar bill is weird and upsetting. The good lord did not bless me with math skills. I barely make it work in increments of five. Why, U.S. Treasury? Why you gotta fuck with me like that? Who do I blame for this arithmetic apocalypse? Pence? All right fine, Pence my man, thanks for putting a lady person on a bill, finally. But 7 dollars? Seven goddamn dollars? Mother Pence will not be pleased with the adjustment to her grocery allowance.
After a successful interview, the Gods of Small Annoyances have hired you as an entry-level deity. How will your worshipers praise your name?
They’ll throw stupid 7-dollar bills at my feet, of course. And you know what? I’m gonna take them. By now I’ve learned that quippy writing isn’t going to pay my bills. So I’m gonna take those 7-dollar bills, but I’m not going to like it.
You have 24 hours to experience life as the opposite sex. What’s your first move?
Dismantle the patriarchy from the inside. And 24 hours will be plenty of time because from what I understand white dudes can do whatever they want. But I also anticipate once I become a white dude I’ll have less incentive to accomplish anything that doesn’t directly benefit me.
Oh no! You’re missing a finger. How did that happen?
Since I’m a homeowner, I’m going to have to go with lawn mower or garbage disposal.
That astronomer friend who owes you $100 has just discovered the large “Planet X” just beyond Pluto’s orbit. She offers you naming rights to get out of debt. What’s the name that’ll go in future textbooks?
Planet Marshmallow. If we’re going to trash this fucking place on our way out with war and famine and whatnot, shouldn’t we have something goddamn delightful like Planet Marshmallow to look forward to?
What new musical genre will take over the charts in 2018?
After years of research and maniacal laughter, you’ve finally created a terrifying hybrid of plant and animal. It’s alive! Dear god, what have you done?
Nothing! Why do you have to be so judgemental? My creature is a nurturer. In fact, he takes care of both my plants AND my animals. Imagine coming home from work and having the dog already walked and the flowers already watered. Good job, Plantimal Friend!
You’ve managed to slip a subliminal message into every iPhone on the planet. How will you know when it’s working?
7-dollar bills will be thrown at my feet.
Centuries from now, only five words remain legible on your grave. What are they?
She was amazing. His loss.
Read more Marsh: coloradodaily.com/columnists