Loser April 19, 2007
Listen: Kurt Vonnegut, the greatest philosopher in all of American history, might have had some important things to say about this week’s current events, had he stuck around on earth for another handful of days. We’re thinking that he might have laid the entire Virginia Tech tragedy out in simple, truthful, and re-assuring terms: Cho Seung-Hui was a failed human machine, with crossed wires and fried circuitry, who was living a misfortunate and lonely life on a planet where it was just as easy to go pick up a Glock 9 mm as it was to buy an apple scented candle…
He might have been able to address the situation in a meaningful way that would have allowed us to understand the situation while engendering exactly the right amount of sympathy for it’s originator.
We, on the other hand, are bored to tears with the attempts to sympathize and explain. To us, it’s this simple: Cho Seung-Hui was a fucking loser. A douchebag. A repressed cock gobbler not worthy of breathing the same air as his classmates at Virginia Tech. Yet all week, we’ve seen countless psychiatric experts drone on and on about Cho’s obsession with violence, narcissistic tendencies, limitless anger, and bottomless pain, as if this offers some sort of window into a tortured soul who deserves our compassion and understanding.
Listen: part of being human is being angry, obsessed with violence, and in love with yourself. Otherwise, why would Fox News, CSI: Miami, and Myspace.com be so grotesquely popular? The human condition is all about pain, and life can really suck at times for just about all of us, even the people who look like they’re having the most fun. However, only a grundle-wart like Cho decides the answer to his own misery is to pile more of it on everyone else.
At this point, we’re so over hearing pro-Cho rationalizations from made-for-TV doctors. We’re over reading his crappy little plays; we’ve had it with his pre-pubescent monotone voice droning away over the TV. As far as we’re concerned, there seems to be absolutely no comfort or value in offering the tiny bastard any sort of understanding. (Aside: were it that the dude was still alive and not yet a mass murdering asswipe, it’s a different story entirely. But, as it stands, the little bitch left the party early and called the cops on his way out. Therefore he deserves to spend eternity being mocked relentlessly.)
It sucks, but the reality is, a handful of human piece of shit psychopaths are born every year, and unfortunately, raising a sociopath is not yet a crime in most countries. So for the time being, we get to share the planet with them, just like we get to share it with the AIDS virus, cancer cells, sharks, and Dick Cheney.
If there’s a deeper meaning here, it’s certainly this:
Get out and snowboard while you still can. After all, we are human only to the extent that we’re still out riding.
Comment below, because you sure as shit can’t say what you’re really thinking on anyone else’s site.
Jekyll & Hyde? April 3, 2007
Some days in Alaska are gloriously epic, and some could possibly resemble an average Saturday in Cleveland. Yesterday was one of the former, and here’s what it felt like:
With one knee down, you brace yourself against the incoming rotor wash. Suddenly, it’s hurricane winds all around you; bits of snow become flying bullets, and unattended bags get swept into the air. Flying chunks of ice not withstanding, you observe the giant metal bludgeoning devices attached to the bottom of the heli, on which it will hopefully land. It will sometimes land on the snowboards in front of you, unless you manage to pull them out of the way.
Then you get in.
Dan Milner said it best when he asked, “Do they put monosodium glutamate in heli fuel?” Heli-riding is addictive - even the chairlift is an unbelievable rush when you’re in heli mode, let alone the plundering of acres upon acres of fresh powder in the sunshine. You could probably choke on all of the adrenaline, except that when you breath all you can come up with is huge gulps of pacific mountain air.
Hours afterwards, your hands still shake.
Other days, like today, you wake up to find cloudy skies, with completely flat light, grouding Heli ops and rendering resort riding in Alyeska’s above treeline terrain a vertigo inducing crapland. So, you wait, eat Reindeer Sausage Pizza, and ponder whether you should deign to go watch Bode Miller and Ted Ligety race. (Ed. Note: Ligety, a gold medalist in some 2 planked event in Torino and Hyde to Bode’s Jekyll, was out with CPG yesterday too. We got to see a line or two of his, and share some vittals in the Alaskan spring sun. Our verdict: meh. We woulda rather partied with Bode.)
Comment below if you don’t want us swept off a cliff by rotor wash.
Update: Suddenly, it’s Jekyll again; our there’s an openning in the weather, and we’re pumping up into the Chugach at 12:30. This is Chugach Life, Son!
The Great Alaskan Invasion April 1, 2007
Reportedly, Alaska is the best place in the world to snowboard. The GR is here to find out; we’ll spend the next 8 days riding Alyeska resort, pumping up in helis, dancing, and drinking beer in the sprawling non-metropolis of Girdwood, AK. Here’s what we’ve learned after 24 hours:
- The front page of the Anchorage Daily, on this particular day, asks the following questions:
- Everyone in Girdwood smokes rolled cigarettes, and some locals wear spikes of metal on their shoulders. Fire up that Parliment, gaper!
- In every great small town, there is a greater town drunk. In Girdwood, his name is Pando, and he gets very upset if the jukebox at the Chair 5 bar stops playing music. He’s seen Jane’s Addiction 13 times, and claims that Perry Farell once pulled a tampon out of his ass during a concert: “For protection!”. We believe him!
- At the resort, there is a Christmas chute but no Hanukah or Kwanza chutes. The New Year’s chute is sublime and wonderful until you are in the icy narrow part. At that point, you believe in any God that will hear your prayer.
- As of press time, there are many aspiring women ski racers working out in the hallway just outside our door, drilling with jump ropes and ladders placed across the floor. They haven’t had as much to drink as we have. Olympian Bode Miller is also in this hotel, or in a nearby bar, preparing for the U.S. Alpine Championships. We imagine that at this moment, he’s rocking out to this Iggy Pop lyric: “I am the world’s forgotten boy/The one who searches, searches to destroy”
Should you post comments? Yep, unless you wish us to be buried underneath an avalanche.