From Copper Mountain:
Saturday was ridiculous. Half hour wait in the morn to get on the lift; afternoon powder to make the day worth while. Responsibility for the delayed terrain opening rested solely with the powers that be: the proverbial bureaucratic Man, to use the parlance of our times. First it was 10am, then 11, then 12, then 12:30. Funny, the chair did run for those hours with no one on it. Well worth the wait, of course, but such a tease nonetheless.
The Timberline chair had the run of the day.
We're talkin a fast single track through some tight trees--quite reminiscent of an east coast course...something like Jay Peak mid-season. What a rush flyin' through the glades, hoping not to die from an inopportune encounter with a fir. Lost Dave, lost Leah halfway down, and didn't know if they were stuck in the fluff for a good ten minutes. Crazy that's it's only November. Who knew we'd find a foot and a half in the woods. Giddy as a school girl. Law school out of sight, out of mind. Exams what? Naw, forget that. Bring on the rest of the season and a bit o' air. We're doin' it for the shorties.
Your random moment of the day:
Salsa......hot. (The dance too.)
Street Fighter....classic.
Street Fighter salsa? Kinda lame. It's like an asian mojito; it just doesn't work.
OK, here's kid will never live down this picture. He's probably still trying to recover from the alcohol posioning that put him in the necessary coma for his friends to get away with something like this:
There are some things in life money can't buy; for everything else, there's John Mayer:
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on Monday, November 21, 2005 at 11:45 AM.
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Skool this neophyte on a point of blog-etiquette: do you respond to comments on their space or your own? Maybe I'll be excessive, and do both.
Aww shucks, I hate being obvious, but you caught me making reference to the Rogue Stitch, and were I a smarter blogger, I would have linked HIS name to your site. In my defence, I have been railing against that John Mayer guy since he first ruined my work day. His bi-hourly intrusions on my erstwhile boss' radio were completely intolerable. My body is not Disneyland. T'was a slice of hell, to be sure.
What "they" say is that imitation IS a form of flattery. As we determined in high school, "they," it turns out, are the Van Patten Family. Not too many people know this.
Finally, whereas I would never "flatter" you, Mr. Castleton, in the primary and practically forgotten sense*, I certainly would praise you, like I should.
* - "to compliment excessively and often insincerely" American Heritage Dictionary - I swear there's an etymological connection between that word and "flatus," though no dictionary dare make it.
I really want to know what you deleted above.
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