Page 6
Dave and
snowboarding
When you're 47 years old, you
sometimes hear a small voice inside you
that says: "Just because you've reached
middle age, that doesn't mean you
shouldn't take on new challenges and seek
new adventures. You get only one ride on
this crazy carousel we call life, and by
golly you should make the most of it!”
This is the voice of Satan.
I know this because recently, on a
mountain in Idaho, I listened to this voice,
and as a result my body feels as though it
has been used as a trampoline by the
Budweiser Clydesdales. I am currently on
an all-painkiller diet "I'll have a black
coffee and 2SO Advil tablets" is typical
breakfast order for me these da:
This is because I went sno
For those of you who,
whatever reason, such as a
to live, do not participate
downhill winter sports
should explain tl
snowboarding is an activi
that is very popular w !
people who do not feel
regular skiing is lethal enouj
These are of course yoi
people, fearless people, peo]
with 100 percent synthel
bodies who can hurl
mountainside at SO miles per hour and
knock down mature trees with their faces
and then spring to their feet and go,
"Cool."
People like my son. He wanted to try
snowboarding, and I thought it would be
good to learn with him, because we can no
longer ski together. We have a
fundamental difference in technique: He
slds via the Downhill Method, in which
you ski down the hill; whereas I ski via
the Breath-Catching Method, in which you
stand sideways on the hill, looking as
athletic as possible without actually
moving muscles (this could cause you to
start sliding down the hill). If anybody
asks, you're planning to stay right where
you are, rigid as a stature, until the spring
thaw. At night, when the Downhillers
have all gone home, we Breath-Catchers
will still be up there, clinging to the
mountainside, diewing on our parkas for
sustenance.
So I thought I'd take a stab at
snowboarding, which is quite different
from skiing. In skiing, you wear a total
of two skis, or approximately one per
I ski via the
Breath-Catching
Method, in which you
stand sideways on
the hill, looking as
athletic as possible
without actually
moving muscles.
foot, so you can sort of maintain your
balance by moving your feet, plus you
have poles that you can stab people with
if they make fun of you at close range.
Whereas with snowboarding, all you get is
one board, which is shaped like a giant
tongue depressor and manufactured by the
Institute of Extremely Slippery Things.
Both of your feet are strapped firmly to
this board, so that if you start to fall, you
can't stick a foot out and catch yourself.
You crash to the ground like a tree and lie
there while skiers swoop past and
deliberately spray snow, on you.
Skiers hate snowboarders. It's a
generational thing. Skiers are (and here I
am generalizing) middle-aged Republicans
wearing designer space suits; snowboarders
are defiant young rebels wearing
deliberately drab clothing that is baggy
enough to cover the snowboarder plus a
major appliance. Skiers like to glide
down the slopes in a series of graceful
arcs; snowboarders like to attack the
mountain, slashing, spinning, tumbling,
going backward, blasting through
snowdrifts, leaping off cliffs, getting their
noses pierced in midair, etc. Skiers view
wboarders as a menace; snowboarders
* Elmer Fudd.
enforced concrete. You
could not dent this snow with a
jackhammer. (I later learned, however,
that you COULD dent it with the back of
your head).
We learned snowboarding via a two-step
method:
STEP ONE:
something.
STEP TWO: Trying to do it ourselves.
I was pretty good at Step One. The
problem with Step Two was that you had
to stand up on your snowboard, which
turns out to be a violation of at least five
important laws of physics. I'd struggle to
my feet, and Td be wavering there and then
~1
spent most of my
time lying on my back
the Physics Police would drop a huge
chunk of gravity on me, and WHAM my
body would hit the concrete snow,
sometimes bouncing as much as a foot
"Keep you knees bent!" Brad would
yell, helpfully. Have you noticed that
whatever sport you're trying to learn,
some earnest person is always telling you
to keep your knees bent? As if THAT
would solve anything. I wanted to shout
back, "FORGET MY KNEES! DO
SOMETHING ABOUT THESE
GRAVITY CHUNKS!"
Needless to say my son had no trouble
at all. None. In minutes he was cruising
happily down the mountain; you could
actually see his clothing getting baggier.
I, on the other hand, spent most of my
time lying on my back, groaning, while
space-suited Republicans swooped past and
sprayed snow on me. If I hadn’t gotten
out of there, they’d have completely
covered me; I now realize that the small
hills you see on ski slopes are formed
around the bodies of 47-year-olds who tried
to learn snowboarding.
So I think, when my body heals, I’U go
back to skiing. Maybe sometime you’ll
see me out on the slopes, catching my
breath. Please throw me some food.
cook my snowboarding
in a small group led by
:nd of mine named Brad
m, who also once talked
ito jumping from a tall
'hile attached only to a
ipe. Brad took us up on
ipe that offered ideal snow
'ions for the novice who’s
to fall a lot;
ximately seven flakes of
'der on top of an 18-foot
Watching Brad do
aroamna.
by Dave Barry
Syndicated columnist
Op/Ed
I wrote something two weeks
ago, I'm not really sure whay
you would want to consider it,
probably just a space-filler.
Regardless, I hope I made a
point. I don't think it was to
stop sleeping, but rather to
consider what is going on in the
world around you. Good
advice? Sometimes. I wish I
knew what was happening.
I go through a ritual every
night before I go to sleep.
Thoughts run through my mind
like tormented ghosts. Maybe
you don’t go through the same
obscure ritual but it seems like
people usually go through a
common routine before falling
asleep. I've tried to figure out
what my ritual means, if it even
has any bearing to my life or if it
is simply a waste of time.
A voice cried to me to sleep
no more and I awoke. Awoke
from everything. I began to see
things in a different perspective,
to see beyond that boundary
which divides reality and truth.
I became confused, angered and
frustrated. Like hunger, sleep is
necessary for survival and is
constantly sought when lost.
I sang lullabies of polluted
streets and fornicated minds.
Institutions burning with greed
filled the air with dense smoke.
Lullaby and good night...
tomorrow is another fight...
another day that we must
cry...
before the final one when we
I told myself fairy tales of halls
of mirrors, with eyes of
emptieness staring back to
alleys of stray cat children. I
was the silver knight asking
vagrants for my name and them
refusing, swallowing comfort in
gulps of Mad Dog. In the story,
I walked glass-pierced streets as
a shadow detached from a
source. I was nothing, nameless,
a lone Whitman spider gazing at
the world for security.
Once upon a time...
someone was rescued...
then lived happily ever
after...
the end
Insomnia:
How to get
to sleep
Thursday, February 16,1995
My eyes grew heavy and my
mind grew thick with these
thoughts. These songs, these
stories. I remembered myself as
a child remembering my mother
singing to me at my bedside.
Her eyes sang too. Those
mother eyes. There's nothing
more comforting. She held my
hand and stroked my hair with
the other. Her voice seemed to
fill the night with the tranquility
that kills the monsters in the
closet, under the bed, and
behind the doors.
I faded back to reality staring
at the white ceiling tiles turned
grey by the filter of night.
Where is that innocence? It
seems like it was replaced with
bitterness to a world that
doesn't seem to fit the
descriptions in the fairy tales.
There are no heroes.
That internal peace is what I
want to find again. This time I
have to do it by myself. My
mother will always be there, but
it’s time for me to protect myself
in armor and rage against the
fortresses of life.
Just think if we could all find
that internal peace and unite
our armies to crusade against
the evil empires.
And the wicked witch and her
evil bards perished beneath the
onslaught of the rebelling
peasents.
There was much rejoicing.
I saw everyone pass to victory
and raise their hands in triumph
and unity.
Finally, I pressed my head
against my pillow. It was cool
against my skin. And then I laid
myself down to sleep...
Now we lay down to sleep
to begin each day with
dreams to keep
if we should fail when the
day is done
give us a new one to aim for
the sun
Moral of the story: Life is a
story, song, poem, and prayer.
by R. Carl Campbell 111
News Editor