take the skinheads snowboarding!

I didn't sleep too well last night. I had a reel of fitful dreams, one in which i was Luke Skywalker and during a duel with my blue saber, i cut down Princess Leia. Then turning to the nearest wall i imagined the force drawing through me; i sensed my father on the other side. And so, i used my lightsaber like a saw and cut a doorway in the wall. I could hear Darth Vader breathing now, that mechanical rasping... i knew i was done for. Then on cue, right at the climax, i woke up.

It was still dark out; the temperature gauge read negative five. While the coffee brewed i walked across the icy street to the elderly home and snagged one of their papers, lying cold untouched on the lobby doorstep. Morning paper, coffee, followed by breakfast. I was feeling alright, though i could've gone for one of Limbaugh's horse tranquilizers. The poor bastard! Good way to start a day i guess.

I donned my gear and clipped my snowboard to my pack. Climbed aboard my bicycle and pedaled over to the in-town ski resort. It's a joke, but it's fun. A clear blue day except for a snow halo around the mountain, snow machines growling on the slopes and makers spitting up a cloud of white. No one was there except for the lift operator. We exchanged a good morning and i sat the crawl up the mount. By my second run a few loners had showed up to practice on the sharp groomed slopes. Most were like me, amateurs in the snow seeking out space and solitude to learn the sport. Halfway up the hill i became engulfed in the human snow excretement, cutting visibility to a sum of yards. I dropped my goggles down and peered around feeling like a Polish ski assasin hunting Nazis. And through the light lift drum, and the otherwise quietude, i heard a kid yell "Oh shit!" as he imperceptibly bit into the snow. Another poor bastard in the newfangled morn.

I was riding chair 64 with one foot kicked upon the seat, the other dangling to my snowboard. Another fantasy, this time of Sylvester cliffhanging with a gaping crevasse beneath him. Then appropriate catastrophe while mudslinging some cable and he let loose that sorry fellow. Hey, meatheads feel pain too man! If only my biceps functioned beyond trophies, his character thought.

The snow felt good beneath my board. I eased into turns thinking the word effortless, again and again. A repetetive meditation, stolen from an overheard conversation on snowboarding. "It's not easy, dude! It's effortless," said some bum in clothes worth a thousand to an up-and-coming bum at the bar. Sounded like a good thing, though at the time i nearly snorted my beer. Thoughtful, like a motherfucker.