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February is officially coming to an end which means two things. Spring riding is nigh and ski-school sessions are over. This means no more group lessons at my local hill, but it also means more random people riding. This week in snowboarding has been a rather eventful one for me, I busted my snowboard twice. Most recently I pulled the heel side screws right out of their inserts effectively stripping them (I'm e-mailing my snowboard's manufacturer to complain about that, my board is only three months old). This sent me on a quest to find some hardware since I lost a screw; the quest continues but that's not pursuant to the current blog post.

Having moved my rear binding back by half an inch to use new inserts, I went to Cascades to test out my new wider stance (if 3cm makes a difference in snowboard length, 3cm might make a difference in stance too). After a couple runs, I was casually carving turns near the bottom of the main blue run when a skier collides with me from behind. He just clipped me so I managed to sustain verticality but he went down so I decided to slide down to make sure he was alright. This is when he started hollering at me for being irresponsible and that I should be more careful... what? I promptly recited the alpine responsibility code to him and was strongly tempted to tell him that if he can't ski in control that he might want to consider golf; but I held my tongue. He didn't however, and became rather confrontational with me; I think he actually wanted to fight me. Now I'm not a big dude but this guy was starting to piss me off and I was very tempted to put this geezer on his ass; but again I held fast.

Once he gathered up his gear from his recent “yard sale”, he made his way back to the lift line with his two kids in tow (Wow! What a fantastic role model). I was getting on the chair behind him with my buddy Dana and his friend Perkins. As his chair started up the hill, he turned around to me and uttered some threats, shaking his fist at me and everything (See above comments about role models). I was expecting him to be waiting for me at the top of the lift (Sigh! beating up a middle aged man was not what I had in mind when I decided to go snowboarding tonight). Not surprisingly though, once we got to the top, he and his kids cheesed it pretty quickly and were not to be seen for the rest of the night, not even by the lifties who at this point were quite curious about what all the ruckus was about.

Morals of this story:

• Forget about respecting your elders, RESPECT ME! I'm probably in better shape than they are.

• If you're going to act like a tough guy, don't yell threats from the chairlift then cheese it right after; it will just make you look like a fool.

• If you're going to behave like this guy did, be careful to not confront resort staff; we can clip your pass.

Well I'm off to wait by the flag pole; I've got more crotchety middle aged men to beat up. Until next time...

Keep Shreddin' the GNAR!

J.

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Oggi al Gladiators Snowpark di monte Livata si teneva lo Snowboard D-day, ovvero, Barbecue, Musica, Birra e rail contest... cosa si può chiedere di più!

Tuttavia ben presto la giornata si è trasformata nell'ennesima giornata di merda a cui ormai sono abituato da mesi a questa parte....

 
Sono partito da casa, cosa straordinaria anche in anticipo. Ho messo 20 euro di benzina ed erano mesi che non ne mettevo tanti, il serbatoio non ci credeva nemmeno. Non ho trovato traffico sulla Cassia.

Avevo lo snowboard accanto, una cassa di birra nel sedile di dietro e una bella compilation di musica punk che faceva tremare gli specchietti della macchina. Quasi perfetto, non mancava quasi niente! (ho detto quasi!).

Arrivo al raccordo anulare e sento una canzone del cd che usciva dalle casse tutta distorta ed incomprensibile ..... provo a cambiare canzone, stessa cosa .... cambio di nuovo canzone e mi si spegne lo stereo per non riaccendersi più.

Faccio un altro chilometro e mentre sfrecciavo bello e beato la macchina comincia a singhiozzare, a rallentare, faccio giusto in tempo a parcheggiarmi nella corsia di emergenza che si spegne definitivamente. Provo a riaccenderla ma non mi si riaccende più.

Casualmente proprio in quell'istante si ferma uno col carro attrezzi che mi dice che di sicuro è l'alternatore che è andato e non ricarica la batteria.

Mi "offre" un passaggio fino all'officina più vicina per "soli" 100 euro e lo mando via pensando alla mattinata sprecata (e alla pioggerella che nel frattempo scende lenta).

Finalmente verso mezzogiorno, dopo più di due ore passate ad osservare le macchine che mi facevano il pelo sfrecciando veloci sul raccordo, mi portano una batteria carica con la quale torno fino a casa. La giornata ormai è andata, penso tristemente al gladiators snowpark, lontano chilometri.

Scusate se non sono venuto, la birra la porto la prossima volta.....

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Where Have all the Real Men Gone?

About ten years ago a horrible rumor started that changed how men and women acted for the worst. It was so bad that sub-cultures were spawned and television will never be the same again. What vicious lie was so bad that it affected not only our sexual relationships but also the world as we know it? This simple statement: Women like sensitive males.

Now, you may ask yourself what is so bad about being a sensitive male. You even consider yourself one. But as a woman I am here to let you know that the time of sensitivity has passed. Every woman I know has dated her share of caring men, those who will ask about your feelings and cry on your shoulder during every movie you see. And every woman has dumped that guy in favor of the Marlboro man who screws anybody with tits. Why? Because if we wanted sensitive wed all be lesbians and to hell with men. But alas, some of us still crave cock. So in an effort to help rehabilitate the sensitive male into a man women will actually want to have sex with here are some helpful tips.

1. Dont ever refer to yourself as Metrosexual again, unless you want your date to vomit in your lap.
2. Dont ever cry at a movie. If you start you might end up seeing your girl leaving with the jackass who was telling you to shut the hell up from three rows back. In fact the only time its ok to cry is when your dog dies, or the Seahawks win the Superbowl.
3. Dont refer to something as cute, even if its your girlfriend. Cute is a word that older women made up to sound more like the sixteen year old girl that every guy wants to f*ck. And unless you want to come off sounding like a sixteen-year-old girl and run the risk of a gang-bang in county lock-up, dont use cute.
4. Looks matter. If she says she loves you for what is on the inside, then why is she blowing Juan the hot Latino waiter in the bathroom of your favorite restaurant? You dont have to look like Vin Diesel, but dont show up looking like you let your mom pick your clothes either. Just take a little time to reflect on the greats, John Wayne (In any role he played), Sean Connery (As James Bond), Bruce Willis (Mmmmm sorry), and dress accordingly. Forget shopping at the mall anymore, just throw on jeans and that T-shirt you got blood all over in the pit at a Casualties show and ring my bell.
5. Attitude. No, Im not saying two snaps and a hand on the hip. I mean Male attitude. Youve got balls so let em hang. When a girl asks you where you want to eat, dont ask her where she wants to go, make the damn decision yourself. Nothing says hot man flesh like a guy who knows what he wants and is not afraid to tell you what it is. And if she doesnt like your idea of steak at the Acrop, give me a call.
6. SEX SEX SEX!!! In the bedroom real men take control. Screw female domination. Pull my hair, smack my ass, call me a whore and Ill suck your cock till the wife comes home.

So men, its time to stand up, push out your chest, and declare in a resounding voice "I am a heterosexual male and I demand to be treated as the sex pig that I am." Now go out and knock the first woman you see over the head with a club and drag her back to the cave (just remember to drag them by the hair or else they fill up with rocks). Make her cook you dinner barefoot then engage in sexual acts that would make a Scottish sheep blush and in the morning kick her ass out. In short, stop being such a god damn pussy!

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