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Saturday, June 1, 2013


I never look at my desktop, I just save everything there. So of COURSE I forgot all about this sample write up I did for a project that never came to fruition. It's actually one of my favourite pieces: I hadn't written anything in months by this point, and it felt too organic to just wilt away on my laptop.

Hope you like it.


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They call it Whistler University for a reason: your first winter in Whistler is just like being a freshman at college: all night partying, all day shredding, and general happiness and fun times, with the odd couple of hours of work thrown in for good measure.

Yet, while many equate the life of a Whistler Ski Bum to a deleted scene from Animal House, certain things – the backstage things – still need doing. Rent needs paying. Laundry needs doing. And sleep must be had, no matter how raging the bar star/shredhead. These things, amongst so many others, can make it difficult for the average WSB (patent pending) to find quality time with himself, let alone with the other people he actually wants to see over a couple of beers.  Things get in the way, week by week, until one day when you’re walking through the village and you see an old friend. Both of you will think the same thing: I thought that guy left town.

You can’t let your friends be just Facebook friends. The only “poking” you want to do is with people IRL… It’s way more fun, and the payoff is more than just saying hello. (Although, you will meet a girl here and there. Wrap it up, is my advice.)  

They say that life is only best when shared, and that rings pretty true in Whistler. When you stumble across an epic pow stash, it’s like you and your buddies’ super-mega-awesome secret, and you high-five and hug at the bottom. When you’re apr├Ęsing, those are the best laughs, reminiscing on the day’s events while the evidence of the fruit of your labour slowly turns into a puddle around the coatrack.  
And sorry to make things all deep and meaningful, but things can still happen.  Good friends leave, to see the world or to start their big kid job. Injuries can be so severe that the victim is housebound, resigned to his Xbox and physio exercises. Hell, sometimes, people die, and we’re all left wondering what could have been. 

Just because we’re living the dream, doesn’t mean there aren’t monsters under the bed.

You need these people, those 4 or 5 “best buds” to help you through the downs, so you can have more ups together. Think of them as your safety net, when your footing falters. They’re the closest thing to family you’re going to get most of the year. 

Last night, I went out with some of my closest friends, some of whom I hadn’t seen in three months. We had sushi, and afterward (and also during) had a couple of drinks.  But at one point there was this moment where everybody, all of the friends, had their arm around another one. Bros for life or what?, I thought.  We’ve been through some real good times together, and it’s nostalgia like that, the kind that’s still tethered to the present, that I love about Whistler. I’m “nu-local”, and I want to keep that spirit alive for as long as I live here.

Sweet dreams, readers.

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