Frozen dead guy days--it was a great idea. If there is one psychological dilemma that plagues us citizens of the indispensable nation, it's death denial.

Maybe that's why we start wars, so we can see the phenomenon on a truly grand scale. It's as good a reason as any to explain the unexplainable.

Having just come back from old Mexico, I thought about the difference between the Mayans, Aztecs and the U.S. when it came to human sacrifice. Aztec gods, like the bloodthirsty war deity Huitzilpochtli, demanded fresh hearts from their victims for religious reasons--to keep the sun coming up in the East.

The Mayans gave you the kibosh instead of a trophy for winning a soccer game. They did it for sports.

Our own bloodlust, which we imperfectly sate by watching action movies, rubbernecking traffic accidents or watching CNN, is only quenched by letting the already-dominant machines of the world have victory over human life itself. The bombers, missiles and ships are fetishized on the front page, natural progressions from the automobiles, televisions and computers that usually only kill our time. 
Coffin races during "frozen dead guy days" in Nederland, Colorado
The festivies in Nederland were a sight to behold. Tourism is down almost everywhere, and winter snow isn't a sure thing anymore in the Colorado Rockies. So why not celebrate the cryonic freezing of an old man in a tuff shed?

Bredo Morstoel was (is?) the old man's name. He died on a solo ski adventure in his native Norway over a decade ago. Then his enthusiasticly eccentric grandson, Trygve Bauge, put his ancestor on dry ice in back of his Colorado mountain house. When Trygve joked about hijacking at the airport and was subsequently deported, grandpa started to thaw out.
My friend Robin made Grandpa's in the Tuff Shed about the whole affair, and I can tell you that the first half of her movie is hilarious. During the second half, I had to take a wicked piss, but was too embarrassed to get up from the front row where I sat with Arlen, Robin's father.
I knew that the secret genesis for Tuff Shed was his belief that doctors or Discovery magazine would soon find the key to immortality.

Robin's movies are family projects. She introduced it with her two sisters in front of the packed house. "This is a full-length version of the original Tuff Shed movie," Robin began. "The old one was like my first boyfriend--long on enthusiasm, short on technique." Sister Shelley shrieked and pointed at me, "And he's sitting right here now!" I tried to melt into the cushioned chair.

I had my doubts about her remaking the movie until I realized how much my visiting her would be a replay of our relationship.

"But he's not dead. Really," writes Bo Schaeffer, the cryogeneticist responsible now for grandpa. "He's just awaiting re-animation. It is extremely important to maintain his environment, because if it fails he will be killed."