And we're back...

Oh wowsers. It's been SO long! It's to the point now where I have to force myself to write something.

Ho hum, where to begin? I live by myself, in a studio. It's fantastic.

Excuse the mess. Actually, no. It's my house. Deal with it.

I'm now, for the first time in my (almost) 7 years in Whistler, Creekside based. Here's hoping I get up to Whistler alpine a little more. Plus: Million Dollar ride outs! 

I got picked up by ThoughtCatalog for an article, which I later had to pull because the subject was uncomfortable with the content. Which I respect. So I'm pouring a lot of concentration into a bigger, better article for Mountain Life... If you know how to get hold of John and Eric Jackson, send them my way. I could use their help. 

I'll be perfectly honest I'm struggling with some serious writer's block. I didn't understand that idea until now. Before, when I had trouble exposing an idea, I just have a couple of beer and let my fingers do the work. Now... It's looking at a page of about 500 words, for hours on end, until I want to throw my laptop out of the conveniently located window to my left.  So I'm really using this post that you're reading now to get the creative muscles flexed again. 

I also have a review of an album that's approximately a week overdue... Here's the weird thing: I LOVE the album! I just haven't wanted to sit down and write about it.  That's getting started immediately after I finish this. As an aside, I also received an email from Carl Coleman, lead singer of Sink Ships. I reviewed their EP about a month ago, and they wanted to thank me. Which was fucking awesome. It's easy to lull yourself into thinking that no one reads your work, particularly when it seems I just churn out one review after another, 300 words at a time. It's nice to have feedback, particularly when you consider that i'm doing this on my own time, with no recompense.  So, Rolling Stone, if you're reading, I only do what i'm good at, and listening to music and writing about it is enjoyable. Send me an email and we'll get the wheels in motion.

In the meantime, I promise not to leave you all in the lurch for so long again. (PS: how good was Batman!?)

By The Way: I've been reading webcomics for a while now, and there's a couple that I regularly read. The first, Least I Could Do, has broken boundaries in my opinion by having not only a character, but the main character, in hospital with a serious malady Indeed, one strip this last week or so implied that they had killed him off. To someone that doesn't read it, it sounds stupid to be emotionally invested in a fictional person, but to you I ask: Did you cry when Dumbledore died? How about Forrest Gump's Jenny? It's the same thing, and LICD has shown that well written stories need a balance of humour and tragedy.

The second, XKCD.com, is wildly popular, in part because there are a lot of jokes about math, physics, and weird situations that most humour websites overlook. I wanted to bring attention to their recent strip. Entitled "Click and Drag", it opens up a vast snapshot in the XKCD universe, and with many punchlines happening all at once, I had to physically restrain myself from going all the way through. I highly recommend it for a rainy day.

Reasons Why This Summer's Going to Kick Ass

A beautiful day of contemplating life in the sun and I'm compelled to write this list. There's movies too, for you hungover people.



1. FUCKING BATMAN.

Seriously. The Nolan Trilogy will be complete, and there's all kinds of theories on the Internet as to what's going to happen. Watch that trailer up there (like you haven't already) and tell me you aren't excited that blockbusters are a thing.

2. The 2012 thing

I'm not superstitious, religious, pious, or even a little bit suspicious about the Mayan calendar. They ran out of rock, ok? You don't freak out when your desktop Far Side tearaway calendar gets to the cardboard at the back, you just buy a new one (or, more likely, unwrap it at Christmas).  Plus, Mayans didn't do leap years, so by that calculation, the apocalypse should be happening right now. Except last year. Yep, like so many other Doomsday dates, this one came and went. Sorry, New Agers.

Except here's the thing: While I don't by into astrological claptrap, I do know what happens when a group of like minded people get together out of fear. I read Frankenstein: angry mobs. Scared villagers, except our village is on a global scale. There won't be a problem if we don't make it a problem, but even so, this could possibly, however insignificant, be the last summer where you aren't hiding out in a bunker, protecting your family and Twinkie supply from marauders.

3. I'm happy with who I am, and so should you be

For some reason, this radical perception of myself has presented itself in the last 6 months or so. I don't feel the need to answer for any of my "flaws" or shortcomings, nor for my decisions. Example: Yeah I have a hairy chest. Have done for years. You don't want to sleep with me because of it? That says more about you than it does about me.  What torture it must be in your mind, full of barely pubescent boys that don't even know how to aim that thing, let alone how to use it properly (and by "properly", you know what I mean, ladies.)

4. This Speech:

Possibly bolstering #3 on the list is Adam Baker's TED talk from a couple of years ago. It's funny and informative, as all TEDtalks are, but this just spells out clearly: There is no "right" path. Just YOUR right path. I don't want to give it away, but it helps me justify living where I live.

Walking away from the safe option is never easy; we as a species fear change. Yet, we as a species are highly adaptable; the most adaptable species on our planet. Taking that into account, you can make it work. Whatever it is.

5. I MIGHT BE DOING THIS FOR MONEY!

Not this, specifically. But writing. I recently started writing for Brolog.ca, and in just under a month we have received a lot of interest. So I'm confident in saying that, at some point soon, I'll be getting a paycheque for putting my words online.  (I write under a pseudonym though, you'll just have to read everything to find out which alter ego is me.)
Check that out, Like it on Facebook, and if you like what you read, tell 5 friends, and tell them to tell 5 friends.



I think that's it so far - wait, did I mention Batman?

Kindred Spirits and Fickle Minds

Sorry for the delay in posting, my few but devoted readers. Yesterday was Gaper Day. I bitched out on last year's post, but I am determined not to repeat the lack of performance for 2012.

 It was cold, and a little wet, and I broke my old Kemper binding clean off my Mambo board, but I got drunk with friends, and I still got to go snowboarding so all in all I had a great Monday. My Tuesday was somewhat hungover, but not nearly as bad as my associate, Dave. Jules, I think the only person NOT dressed up in offensively retro ski gear, had never experienced a Gaper day. Indeed, one older skier saw all 150 of us and exclaimed "Who ARE you guys?!"

 This is why I'm here. It's all about the ski; the fun of the hill, and sharing the insanity with friends. We lost a lot of good people this winter as a community, and days like yesterday are the days I'll remember when I'm old and maybe too decrepit to ride 85 days a year. I may not be filling the bank account, but I'm truly happy. I know that the percentage of friends outside of Whistler that can honestly say that can't be higher than 10%.

 Speaking of people I get on with... I've known about Waiter Rant for a couple of years when I received his first book for Christmas, but I finally got around to checking out his blog, the one that started it all. I started at the very beginning, and as of now I'm at April 15th, 2008's entry. An anonymous writer in his late 30s, "Waiter" tells all the sordid stories that I know only too well. It's funny; the more I read, the more I realise how many idiosyncrasies I share with the protagonist:

 He serves tables, I tend bar.
A penchant for whisky, fancy words, red heads, and a good book.
A fantastic writer (hey, it's MY website. I'll say what I want!)
Prone to singledom infused minor bouts of depression, which he is all too happy to divulge with his readers.

 The list goes on.

Frankly, if you like my stuff, you'll LOVE his. You'll get a feel for the other side of the fence with respect to going out to dinner. If I get a chance, I'd love to buy this man a drink and give him a couple of stories of my own.

Finally, I'm watching the Billboard Awards, and I gotta say: seriously? Chris fucking Brown? He hit his woman - Rihanna, no less. He gets best R&B artist of the year? Do people not remember his past indescretions? I'm surprised he didn't thank his attorneys in his acceptance speech. I know I'm late to the party with this, but it just gets my ire up. Guys who beat their lady are weak and insecure, and there's no excuse for taking it out on anyone except a brick wall or the heavy bag at the gym. Fuck you, Brown. I honestly hope you read this. Go die painfully.

 Keep fighting the good fight, my friends.

End of an era.

Well folks, it's been over a month. So much has happened. I went to England to visit family with Jules, which was fantastic; I even managed to catch up with some old school friends, some of whom I hadn't seen in almost ten years! The final Telus sponsored Ski and Snowboard Festival came and went, and I had a blast. Thank you, Press Pass! Though I couldn't see the sheepdogs at either their outdoor show or at their late night extravaganza at Bill's due to work, there is no doubt that this was my finest yet. Check out my blog entries for the OFFICIAL! website, where I covered State of the Art's Opening Party and the Olympus Pro Photographer Showdown. Speaking of work, I have a new job. My previous restaurant shut down at the end of april, so now see me doing all kinds of food and drink stuff at La Bocca! Seriously. It's awesome. But not till next week; I'm in England. Again. Yeah. More news; less fun. My little sister Ali lost a long battle with cancer days after her 22nd birthday. The funeral will be this Thursday, and it sounds like it's going to be one hell of a turnout. I'm in the middle of writing a little something to say, but I don't think I'll be able to read it, especially not now that it may well be standing room only. Which, when you think about it, is fuckin' awesome. The impact of her merely existing and getting through this horrible chapter the best way she could, with dignity, left people awestruck. It's tough, but like I've been saying the whole time: if she'd been healthy her entire life, and been fatally struck by a car just after her 22nd birthday, we'd be totally unprepared. At least we've known that this could have been a possibility from the outset. BUT! the important part. My mom, in her ingenious way, has organised a minisite where you can donate to CLIC Sargent, a charity that helped Ali all the way through and did wonderful things for her. Go to her site and give what you can, and/or share it with people. At the time of posting, including offline funds, my mom has raised over 4000 GBP (I don't have the sign for the Pound). Only a couple of days remain to help, and it'd really mean a lot. OK. Enough sad stuff. Go to awesomepeoplehangingouttogether.tumblr.com/ and cheer yourself up.

High Streets, Best Sellers, and All Night Parties

For those of you unaware, I am in England. I'm visiting family but there is definitely something that I had forgotten about. That is, the ubiquitous commercial shopping zone, or the "high street." Why ubiquitous? For starters, every town (almost every neighbourhood) has one, and it consists of the same businesses: a pharmacy (Boots), a coffee chain (though not Starbucks; the cafe du mode is Costa) and a smattering of interchangeable department stores (Debenhams, Marks & Spencer, John Lewis, and so forth) with a couple of 'greasy spoon' diner/cafeterias, usually named something agreeably twee like Auntie Mae's Kitchen (really, who has an aunt Mae except Spider-Man?), a dodgy-as-shit pub called The Old Shield or Broadmoors, and so forth. You could be dropped, blindfolded, out of a helicopter into the centre of one of these pedestrianised areas, and unless you had been there before, you would have no idea where in England you were without asking someone. It's cookie cutter
The reason I bring this up, besides the obvious globalisation/capitalist-ish nature (something that could be discussed at exceeding length), is the fact that these streets seem to attract the worst group of people in the country. The homeless, the crazy/misunderstood, teen gangs (active only at night) and trashy moms with 4 bratty kids in tow, another very much on the way, and a cigarette in her hand (this is something I actually witnessed this week). How does this apparent draw to the city centre become such a haven for the fringe groups of society? It's certainly not anywhere I would choose to be on certain nights, because I am fatally allergic to knives. (Just the pointy bit; I can still put peanut butter on toast.)
Why don't the chains do something - after all, it's their windows being graffitied and urinated on, their good name sullied by back-alley violence and drunken shenanigans (something I am sure you know I am not averse to, but come on!) Surely they could put up some money toward a countrywide task force, posted in these roads to deter the "problem citizens". I don't know. I just tend to forget about these things until I come back to England. (At least my mom has moved; at the old house, I would never leave because of our proximity to one of the roughest - and ugliest - boroughs in Portsmouth, which is really saying something!)

While I'm over here, I started reading the Hunger Games, by Suzanne Collins. Yes, I started because the movies came out, no, I don't have any intention of seeing the movies until the books are completed. Yes I am a bandwagonner; no, I don't care. This is set to be the next big - no, HUGE thing to happen to the literary world, and I'll be damned if I'm going to miss out. I put so much stock in this and not, say, the Twilight "series", for one simple reason...

There is not enough space on the internet, nor time in my life to express my abject indifference to Stephanie Meyer's "contribution" to literature. Never mind that vampires don't "glitter" in the sun, they fucking die, according to - literally - every other pop culture reference, but Meyer (I know I spelled it wrong, and if that's the biggest inaccuracy you can find with MY writing, then read on) is apparently incapable of writing prose that is, for want of a better word, "good".
Exhibit A: this tumblr site chronicling so many, many things wrong with Twilight, from redundant narrative, to plot holes like the chick's "monthly gift" being tougher to deal with for a "vampire" than an actual injury on her, and so on. But how do I know that the Hunger Games Trilogy will be better? Because I've only read the first 20-odd pages (the free version on Kobo) and I already care about the characters and the story that has emerged. If you've read it, the inhabitants of District 12 are just getting to the Main Square in anticipation of the name draw for the Reaping. In that single sentence, I've admitted more knowledge about the plot than I even care about with Twilight, some love story analogy that falls at the first hurdle. I'm BUYING a Kindle to read the rest of the HG books.

Man, that felt good to get off my chest.

OH! And Telus Fest, possibly the last one ever, starts this Friday, the day after I return to Whistler. I might, maybe, possibly, have a press pass for the whole shebang (through MVRemix, the music website I write for). So if that happens, I'm gonna be one busy son of a bitch, the nights I'm not working. I'll be writing about the shows I can get to for them, but if I can get to the Fashion show, the Photographer's showdown and so forth, I'll do my best for you here. Check out the lineup here.

Because sleep is for May.

Signs the Future is Bright

Signs the future is Bright

Last week, I worked as a volunteer for a new annual Family Day for Whistler Blackcomb, sponsored by Nintendo. My station was the Canadian Avalanche Rescue Dog Association, and their event was a demonstration on how these highly intelligent dogs are able to find people buried in an avalanche faster than the most modern technology we as humans can use.
One lucky kid was picked from the audience and “buried” in one of 3 snow caves, with the help of a ski patroller (we’ll call him Andy). While Jen, the host, explained what was going on, answered questions, and distracted her dog from seeing where the kid was hidden, Andy buried him and came back to the group. Anyway, the dog found him, we all cheered, and Jen thanked everyone for coming to see the show. Just then, the child tapped Jen and said he had seen Andy drop $10 while he was digging, and could she give it back to him please?
Later that day, at work, 2 sisters came into my restaurant and sat at the bar. They were my only customers, the older about 13, the younger about 10 or 11, and I was able to carry on a distinguished conversation with them while Shrek played on the tv (I had actually put it on before the kids got there). While the younger didn’t talk much – I suspect she was just shy – I really enjoyed meeting these Portland kids, they restored my faith in the future of humanity. I bet they listen to Led Zeppelin.
Then last night, again at my restaurant, was a quiet one for service (as Mondays are wont to be) when a 13-top (that is, 13 people in the party) walked in – 6 adults, 7 kids, 0 reservation. At first I’ll confess I was filled with dread ; groups can be a hassle; that’s where the auto gratuity was borne of. There’s no [point running around for a big tables every whim only to get stiffed on a huge bill (this table’s was almost $450, and they didn’t even have dessert). Furthermore, kids can be bratty, and taking care of 7 of them no matter how temporarily, makes me feel like I need a teacher’s diploma.
Fortunately, they were all fantastic kids. The family was from Mexico and the kids spoke better English than I speak Spanish. Every time I filled their water glasses, brought them their pop or dinner I was greeted with 7 thank-yous. I even helped them with a game of Hangman – in English – when the girl didn’t know how to spell her word. They were even sitting at a separate table, something I think all three parties enjoyed (including myself). The adults were just as good, but you don’t get a gold star for doing what you’re supposed to.
Just makes me think that maybe this world won’t descend into anarchy when people still remember to say please and thank you.

Songs That Remind Me of Girls

First of all, it’s important to know that, often, the girls in question don’t know that I have attributed their memory with a particular tune. I have never bought into the idea of “our song’. It’s cliché, and moreover, it’s art. It’s everyone’s and no one’s. I don’t think anyone owns the rights to Happy Birthday, for example. I’ve had relationships, I’ve had one night stands, and even though I’ve slept with my fair share of women, I only have a handful of girls that I think of when the right song comes on the radio. In the interests of privacy for the parties involved, I have changed the names of the women to girl’s names I’ve never been connected to. But, if these girls were to read this entry, it’s entirely possible they’ll know to whom I’m referring.

Sublime – Santeria: Way back when the internet wasn’t as big as it is today, and before I had even considered smoking weed or listening to stoner music, this girl told me about this song by this band. I don’t even remember where I found it for the first time, but it worked. I had just come out of a long relationship, and I was fairly inexperienced in relationships and women in general. My ex girlfriend was smart, straight laced, and very vanilla (in a completely non offensive way. Average, as opposed to bland.) Then I met Lisa. She was the complete opposite. Beautiful, tiny, and worldly (she spoke Spanish!), she took a big part of my heart, largely in part because I had a big crush on her when I was attached (so sue me) and after one or two beers I told her, whereupon she told me she felt the same. That is the best feeling in the world. Anyway, she told me about this band Sublime that sounded so Latin and different (this, by the way, was long after Bradley had commited suicide). Incidentally, though I don’t really like the band, I can also attribute Dashboard Confessional’s “Hands Down” to a memory where we slept on her couch after getting naked together. I woke up, and the rain was beating down on the corrugated glass you sometimes get on greenhouses in England, and remembering that, for a moment, time had stopped.

Frank Sinatra – One for my Baby (and One More for the Road): This is a funny one. I never heard it in the brief time I was with Paula, but it resonated with me the day after she ended it. I had been, for want of a better word, a man slut, for the better part of 2 years, and after meeting Paula, thought she was something real, something long term, and I’m pretty sure she felt the same. For reasons I won’t go into, it didn’t work out, but the feeling of desolation was hard. It wasn’t even the being dumped; it was the complete blindsiding of the break up. Frank’s voice sounds like the lyrics are coming to him as though in conversation, and the lone piano blues accompaniment exemplifies the loneliness. You can just picture the glass of whiskey in Sinatra’s hands as he sits at the empty bar, Joe the bartender polishing glassware listening to his sole customer after hours.

Rolling Stones – Gimme Shelter: The best lay I’ve ever had. It was so different, so raw, like two people that know it’s the end of the world; primal. We bonded when we met over our love of the Stones, and she asked me to play Gimme Shelter – on repeat – as we got down to it. And it’s fuckin’ hot. I still can’t hear that song without thinking of that night.

End of Fashion – Oh Yeah: I almost got married once. Like to the point where my dad offered me $1000 toward buying a ring. Fortunately, in the long term, Natasha ended it before I left my favourite place in the world to move to Melbourne, Australia. I would have missed the Olympics, as well as some truly fantastic days on the hill. I’m not cut out for big city living anyway. End of Fashion is an Australian band, and Oh Yeah was her ringtone the 2 years we were together.

Willie Nelson – Remember Me: You know what’s awesome for break ups? Country music. When Natasha called me and said “Don’t move here; I don’t love you anymore”, Willie Nelson had my back. Even though you feel like you’re alone, country singers remind you that everyone gets dumped. Willie’s voice is so humble, so sweet, it’s comforting in the way that your buddies might say “I never liked that bitch anyway” just to make you feel better. As a matter of fact, the entirety of Red Headed Stranger is ideal for those bad days, as it tells a story of a man that killed the woman he loved and her lover. Country’s answer to the concept album.

Hugh Laurie – Let Them Talk: I met this girl Molly that came up from Vancouver, and I was floored. Blonde, big blue eyes, Ivy League education, and, most importantly, she laughed at my stories. We had a lot of fun that summer when she came up on weekends (her parents owned a place in Creekside), but deep down I knew it was short lived. The first night I went to her place, there was no speaker set up but I did have my phone on me, with Laurie’s album, so I put it on the coffee table, and we got close on her couch... Maybe I misremember, but the final track, Let Them Talk, was when I kissed her. It’s a great song that classes up “Haters Gonna Hate”, and in a way it’s incredibly romantic.

Music, like smell, has the ability to call up long forgotten memories. It is one of the anchors to the past that we need to remember our past, and in some cases, to learn from it.

The Perfect Day

Waking up at around 8am feeling like you could run a marathon. No fogginess to speak of, not in your head, not outside. It’s a beautiful sunny day, with just enough chill in the air to blow the cobwebs out of your lungs.

On the way to the bathroom, you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. Damn. You lost a little bit of weight. Those pyjama bottoms are sitting right where you want them to.

The perfect shower, it goes to exactly the right temperature. Warm enough to accentuate the under-the-covers glow you’re still rocking, but not so warm that you never want to leave. You have a new… what are those things called that you put soap on and wash with? Those poofy things. A new one of those, and it’s like being scrubbed by your parents when you were a kid and the tub was a playground, and they just want to make sure you’re clean, because Lord knows Grandma’s gonna check the back of your neck.

Great shave, no nicks. You have the skin of a 12 year old.

Turn on the radio and there it is. Fuckin' Everlong. If you ever meet someone that doesn’t like that track, destroy him. He’s a robot.

Clean t-shirt, comfy pair of jeans. Those sunglasses that make you look and feel like a boss.

Next track: Jefferson Airplane’s Somebody to Love, a song that just makes you sing along.

Catchin up with your buddies for breakfast. On your way, you get checked out. A blatant leer, too. Someone won money on the game last night, so they buy you a Caesar.

After breakfast, you bump into your ex in the street. She isn’t as hot as you remember. You wonder why it took you so long to get over her. That, alone, is worth the mental fist bump with yourself. And you can’t have a good day without the Beatles, specifically Rubber Soul’s I’m Looking Through You. It’s got enough simple swagger to make walking down the street feel fantastic.

A day off from work. All you have to do is nothing. Anything. Let’s go get drunk together. Let’s not get out of sweatpants all day. Let’s just go hang out in the arcade and play House of the Dead. Thanks to the extension of adolescence, it’s totally cool to loiter again.
Finish off this perfect day with a beer, the hockey (your team won, fuck yes.) Lupe Fiasco’s Kick Push soundtracks your walk home. Nothing gets in your way, you feel unstoppable. Back to bed.

You just won Life.

Exes and Me: An Introspection

I wrote this the other day. I've discovered a new website entitled Thoughtcatalog.com and I'm determined to get all up in that. So I sent this in, but I like it too much for it not to hit the Internet.

Exes and Me: An Introspection

Look, I’m a nice guy. Always have been, despite my hardest attempts at reversing this personality trait. That says something about society: why is it such a bad thing to be the White Knight, the guy that doesn’t cheat, the guy that will tell someone if they dropped a twenty.
I’m totally serious when I say that I have lost count of the girls I’ve met who are looking for a great guy, then when I offer myself to the holy Boyfriend altar for sacrifice, either they aren’t interested, or I’m the “friend”. And I don’t get it.
Once in a while it works, for a little bit at least, and it’s awesome! Talking to someone who just gets you, no awkward silences, and sex where you can explore, discover each other’s wants. Then it fizzles. And that sucks.
I rarely get close to a girl emotionally, thanks in partial to an erstwhile Australian girl calling me up early one November morning a couple years ago and telling me she doesn’t love me anymore, and maybe I should reconsider moving to Melbourne. (Which was awesome, by the way.)
So while the odd one night stand is always welcome, it’s uncommon that I progress it further than that. I live in a community where the girls are heavily outnumbered, many are bar-stars, and the rest are already taken. So when that special girl does cross paths with me, I really try hard not to screw things up. So when they inevitably do, my Facebook feed becomes a minefield. My mind runs a gauntlet every time I see “Possible-Love-Of-Your-Life is now friends with Some-Unknown-Dude-Who’s-Probably-Cooler-Than-You-Because-He’s-Talking-To-Her-And-You-Aren’t.” Is this her new guy, even though she told you she’s “not ready” or “too busy” or “looking for something different”?
I’m that guy. And I’m tired of hearing about all the assholes in town, and asking where the nice guys are that don’t smoke weed all day.
In economic terms, I’m a hot commodity. I’m oil in the Middle East, water in the desert, vodka Red Bull in those douchey clubs on that Jersey Shore show. I’m the long straight Tetris piece, the elusive MewTwo, the Stanley Cup. (Actually, maybe the Conn Smythe Trophy; I’m not rich, after all.)

So why is nobody buying stocks in Tall, Literary, and Handsome?

Answers on the back of a postcard.

Thoughts on Burke

Lately, there's been a lot of talk on the hockey front in regard to concussions, and while this certainly is an important topic of discussion, there's something more pressing to discuss.

This week marked the passing of a living legend, a pioneer in her field, and an incredible athlete. Sarah Burke was just a year older than I, and her sudden and unfortunate death yesterday has sent shockwaves through Whistler, and the skiing community at large. Last week, she was put into a medically induced coma after a particularly horrific crash in Salt Lake City, UT, and though doctor's were able to contain the ruptured vertebral artery, there was irreversible damage done to her brain. Had she survived, there is no question that she wouldn't be the same.
Granted, the circumstances were exceptional, competing in an event by Monster Energy. Nonetheless, it highlights the importance of safety on the hill. Yet today, after just a couple of runs on Blackcomb, I noticed the continuation of a particularly scary trend.

WHAT THE HELL IS WITH PEOPLE NOT DOING THEIR HELMETS UP?!

Seriously. It's all these d-bags in the park who think they're invincible. I wear a helmet all the time, a Sandbox helmet with a small brim. One time I was riding from my house to the chair and the damn thing flew off. Like, just lifted off my head. I need that damn strap. Never mind that this season I have sustained both major whiplash and a minor concussion (separate events). And I was wearing my helmet.

Everyone, it seems, has a helmet on the hill; not everyone is keen to fasten the strap. It's exactly the same as a seatbelt: it's there for a reason. Why not just get rid of it altogether? Oh right. "Sponsorship" stickers. Look, I hate to be the one to tell you, but you aren't that good. And if you were, you'd be playing safe.

You don't do it up because you don't fall? Alright, fuck you. You aren't trying hard enough. And rails hurt like a sonovabitch when you hit it with your head.

Hopefully, Sarah's passing will raise a lot of concerns for skiers and snowboarders. I would love to see a helmet mandatory WB, and fines for incorrect use. But hey, that's just me.

So long, Sarah. This town has lost one of its heroes... again.

Happy 2012, here's to the end of the world.

Well, what a Christmas holiday, or rather lack of. I have worked in one way or another since Dec. 21st, and now, JAnuary 6th, I have the night off. I really shouldn't do anything, as 1) I have friends from Vancouver heading up tomorrow looking to party, and 2) my pops gets here on Sunday for a week, and I'll need some money for that. But hey, I'm not going to meet exciting people in my living room!
Weather wise, La Nina is taking her sweet time... Just like a woman, to think it's totally fine to show up late to the party. But, slowly and surely, we're getting the snow. About time too; if I don't get into the steep stuff soon, I'm liable to really hurt myself by skiing recklessly. Since Christmas, I've sustained a minor concussion, severe whiplash, and today I shoulder checked a tree. To cut a long story short, I need some fucking powder.
Let's see. WhistlerisAwesome.com was voted Whistler's Best Website of 2011... Oh! And I wrote a Top Ten Albums of 2011 for iPartyinWhistler.com so when that gets posted you should check that out. But I don't have it yet.

That's pretty much it.

Check out Freerice.com, and feed some people. While you learn new words. It's win win.

*Mic Drop*