John Sweden (![[info]](http://p-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif){kind=small} notbinky) wrote,@ 2005-01-03 16:49:00 |
|
lesbian battle monkeys
Back at work after two weeklong vacations bookending a shortened, deserted, and wholly unproductive pre-christmas workweek. I'm not even close to ready to turn my brain back on, and I seem to have misplaced my motivation completely. So I used the last hour or so to finally spit-shine up my writeup of my Whistler vacation and grab a few representative photos to accompany it. It is far too long.
day 0 - dec 11th
After getting a ride to the airport powered by the time-honored fuel of
familial guilt, I breeze my white, male, nonthreatening US citizen ass
through security, snag a creamcheese with a side of bagel, and sit down to
wait for my first flight. Surrounded by iPods, I rue having not asked for
a portable mp3 player sooner than this coming Christmas. I continue
rueing sporadically throughout the trip, largely on days of travel. SJC
to SEA uneventful. Sarah and I share a layover at SeaTac, and while we
manage to get in phone contact, we never actually meet face to face; Sarah
is in another terminal, and travel between terminals requires navigation
of their antiquated and confusing tram system. Sarah takes it once to her
terminal of departure and decides that trying to swing by my terminal
would require her to brave the underground tram tunnels again and possibly
be eaten by trolls. We tough it out and wait 90 minutes to meet up. I
give in and drain my laptop's battery to provide sound, which is
neccessary to mask the startlingly insipid conversation several seats over
going on between a middle-aged man and his 15-year-old daughter, who is
possibly his intellectual superior. SEA to YVR uneventful other than free
beer. Breeze through customs, get luggage, find Sarah. The two of us then
spend a good twenty minutes failing to find James, our not-so-intrepid
camp coordinator. The guy's nice and relatively fun to have around, but
shouldn't be trusted to organize anything more complicated than a
dichromatic sock drawer. We finally find him and the rest of the campers
flying in that day - John, Jerry, and Andre - around 2pm, sit down, and
have a beer - which is when James announces that actually, we have to pick
up one last camper, whose flight gets in at 8pm. Since Whistler is 2-2.5
hours away, this means we have to kill an afternoon in Vancouver. James
suggests we go and get some food. "Nobody's a vegeterian, right?"
Actually, Sarah is vegan. James considers this for a second . . . then
takes us out for all-we-can-eat BBQ. Sarah feasts on cornbread and baked
beans while the rest of us eat enough assorted meats to fuel an Atkins
dieter for a week. I giggle every time I say "pulled pork." Over the
meal, we discuss Jerry's injury - a faceplant-while-wearing-glasses on the
sidewalks of New York the night before left him with a gash above his
right eye which he hasn't had time to seek medical attention for yet.
Before we take him to a clinic, we decide he needs a better story to give
people. Somehow, a variety of suggestions all congeal into the final
explanation: lesbian battle monkeys. As we leave I stumble around,
meat-tipsy, and bum my first of many cigarettes from Jerry, my
roomie-to-be. We drive semi-aimlessly around Vancouver while Yaz, a
friend of James who is Unaffiliated With Camp, alternately trys to find a
clinic to fix up Jerry and verbally berates his cell phone provider.
He's eventually successful at the former and James drops the rest of the
crew off at the drinking alley for a few pints of 10-pin, then takes Jerry
to get fixed up. We bowl on-and-off between beers for a few hours and
debate the differences between mens and women's room vending machines.
If memory serves me (the odds aren't terribly high), I won both games
through no fault of my own. Finally, Jerry and James return and we head
back to the airport to pick up Wayne, the straggling camper. James says
he'll just run inside to pick Wayne up, so the rest of us decide to have
baggage cart races in the parking lot, right after Yaz photographs me
urinating on a luxury SUV. After several near-misses involving person and
property, James shows back up and announces that actually, Wayne's late
flight was delayed even later. We head inside to an airport bar to have
more beer and listen to small asian girls sing karaoke. Wayne finally
shows up and we hit the road to Whistler, stopping for a 12pack of
travelers en route. We're delayed several hours due to a fatal accident
(the first of at least two for the week) on what is apparently Canada's
deadliest stretch of highway, and get in around 2am. Light unpacking and
then bed.
day 1
Wake up relatively chipper despite lack of sleep - we're wired with
snowboard anticipation. James picks us up in the camp van, still replete
with travel beer, and drives us the approximately 37 feet to the base of
the village. We meet our coaches, Brandon and Dylan ("No 90210 jokes,
please.") at the Second Cup coffeshop, and after gathering up all the
campers we hop in the Whistler gondola and head on up the hill. En route,
Brandon, wearing a puffy orange jacket dubbed "the great pumpkin,"
educates us on the finer points of Whistler fashion, which apparently
includes slingin' down your pants so everyone can see the crash pads on
your ass. The day's conditions are unfortunately pretty crappy due to a
rainfall a day or two earlier, so our "mountain tour" is pretty limited.
Instead, we work on some very basic fundamentals, and generally fuck
around. I see the first of nigh-infinite "Ski Boundary Area - No Patrol"
signs, which cause me to have Bad Religion's "No Control" stuck in my head
for the duration of the trip. Off the hill, we proceed to unwind by
purchasing a shit-ton of alcohol. Jerry starts his apres-board ritual of
a glass of Glenlivet and a cigarette. James takes us all out to the Crab
Shack for what is intended to be dinner but what ends up being sitting on
a couch in the waiting area drinking beer and eating a preposterous amount
of chicken wings. Sarah, Jerry and I bring travelers along with us for
dinner, but while waiting for our "table", the maitre 'd spies us drinking
them. Instead of confiscating them, he orders us to pound them before we
go inside. After dinner we head out to MoJoe's at James' suggestion for
more beer. Each of the guys with a camera independantly and unbeknownst
to the others takes a photo of girls dancing on a pool table. I decide to
head out a bit earlier than everyone else because I'm passing out, but
when I leave, I discover I'm far too drunk to find my way back to the
hotel. After a bit of stumbling around blindly, I give up and hail a cab,
which takes me for a minute-long drive back home.
day 2
Our tour of Blackcomb. Conditions still not great, but things have
softened up a bit. We ride through the halfpipe a few times, but it's
icy, and starts to get crowded with people who can actually ride.
General riding and basic technique. We finish out the day with a ride to
the near-peak up Glacier Express, and see the terrain park area that was
our (Sarah's and my) first introduction to Whistler/Blackcomb in a whole
new light. We decide to eat in, so Sarah and I pick up groceries and wine
and make a meal for everyone. Placemats and everything. She does most of
the work. Everyone enjoys the vegan offering except Andre who is
evidently allergic to vegetables of all kinds. Afterwards, we decide to
head to Tommy Africa's for 80's night, but show up too late and give up
after spending 45 minutes in a standstill line in the rain.
day 3
POWDER DUMP! A big phat sack of powder, which had begun falling the
previous afternoon, awaits us when we get on Whistler in the morning. We
head up Harmony chair fairly quick-like and windcliff-drop into a huge
bowl full of untracked powder. It's fucking glorious and I just ride it
out for a while. When I look back up the hill, most everyone else is
enjoying the snow but having trouble with it - some of these east coast /
midwest boarders have never been in powder before. I get aggravated and
take off on my own for the morning, catching some nice powder lines in the
trees and exploring Peak chair a bit. After lunch, Dylan takes us and
shows us how to find the good snow off Peak - another bowl full'o powder.
Further down the mountain, we duck ropes into a meadow/river run, which I
enjoy but head back out of when things start looking sketchy - then laugh
at everyone else as they have to climb over rivers and hike their way out
of a mess. At night, we have James drive us out to catch The Boot
Ballet's performance of "Naked Chicks On Stage." Unfortunately the girl
with the fire sticks is absent and the performances are uninspired.
Also, all three girls are too skinny for my tastes. After the scent of
drunken horny men becomes overwhelming, we head out to check out
Garfinkle's for a night of dancing, but are deterred by a $12 cover and
head instead to the GLC for a quiet, comfy round. We're served by Sharai,
who is just about the cutest and friendliest waitress ever. Head home,
fall down go boom.
day 4
No new snow, but still plenty of fresh tracks to be hunted down, this time
on Blackcomb. We head up to 7th Heaven for a morning of breathtaking
views, and Brandon leads me through some delicious tree/powder riding that
everyone else is scared of en route. Around the second run I lose track
of Brandon for a moment, then spot him another S down the long winding
track. I decide to cut through the inbetween snow in search of powder
lines even though it looks somewhat rocky. When I get down to him, I look
up and see, to my chagrin, everyone else following me. I feel a little
guilty and when everyone has gathered, Brandon announces "OK, Rule #1 -
don't follow Nat." Later we head up Glacier Express again and build a
weird kicker partway down that nobody gets much of anything off of. We
head out for a group sushi dinner at night, then back to the GLC for some
mellow drinks. Once again we're served by the effusive Sharai, who Jerry
discovers shares his love of breakbeat music and dancing. They chat it up
for a bit and she tells him that she'll hook us up with some clubbin' love
if we come back the next night. After getting sufficiently liquored up,
we head off in search of Garfinkle's. Instead, we find James, who informs
us that Garf's is closed for a private function. Instead, he hooks us up
with free entry and a free drink at T&A's. The night is danced semi-away.
day 5
Our last day of coaching. We work a little more on nose/tail presses and
we spend most of the day in the park, working on straight air, grabs,
180s, rails - whatever each rider feels like doing to break themselves.
I think this is the day that we played follow-the-leader with Dylan, only
I didn't quite follow his lead enough to clear the rut we were jumping and
gave myself a good whack on the head - probably my worst injury of the
trip, which is good as I shook it off after thirty seconds or so. At
night, we go get a surprisingly good dinner to go with our drinks at the
GLC. John and I both independantly wear Fender t-shirts. Matt half falls
asleep at the table for the second night in a row. Phil pulls out his
video camera and interviews everyone, but nothing really juicy comes out
save for Jerry describing being hit on by a gay man while bleeding
profusely from the forehead. Three pitchers and two rounds of vodka shots
later, Sharai gives us a magical note informing the bouncers at
Garfinkle's of our rockstar status and we give her a 25% tip and begin
speaking about her reverently. OK, maybe I had already started. Sarah
makes fun of us geeks for taking digital photos of our golden ticket. The
note acts as Moses to the red sea of the velvet ropes, and we saunter
inside to the dirty looks of everyone who's been waiting in line to pay
money like suckers, since we did neither. It's Bad Top 40 night, and we
laugh at the black guys pointedly not dancing to the lousy hip-hop.
?Wayne? keeps shoving drinks at us faster than we can down them, and we
must learn to incorporate beer bottles into our dance routine. Phil at
one point uses his hands to form a frame indicating that he wants Jerry to
take a picture of two girls' asses. Jerry obliges.
day 6
last day of riding - sad. We decide to spend it on Whistler, although in
retrospect Blackcomb might've been better as it was getting more sun and
the snow was hard. After a couple runs with the crew I decide to ditch
them for the morning and go exploring. I head up Harmony and try out
several different routes, finding fresh tracks off the beaten path every
time. Take possibly my favorite photo of the trip after tripping over a
tree backwards down the hill. Meet back up with the folks for lunch where
I gift Sarah and Jerry with his&hers temporary tattoos from a bathroom
vending machine. After lunch we take another run, at which point
everyone's legs are giving out on them, so we take one final run down to
midstation and call it. We hop a shuttle back to the hotel from the
village simply because it's there. The shuttle driver confirms that he
does, in fact, drive the several-hundred-foot route back and forth a
hojillion times a day, which segues nicely into his brief chat with Jerry
about scotch where he confesses to having had four glasses for lunch. We
don't blame him. We do our best to kill the rest of our booze before
heading out for the night - successful except for the dregs of a bottle of
pesudo-Kaluha. Hit up Garf's for a while for some drinks and run into
Sharai, who suggests we come over to T&A's where her boyfriend will be
DJing. She gets 7 of us in for $15 when the cover is $7/person. We fully
dance the night away, closing out the place and ending in a dance circle
which most people are too self conscious and/or sober to enter. I do not
suffer from either of these problems. It's then back to the room to do
some damage to a bottle of rum that Wayne foolishly left in our custody.
Ken gets out-of-control drunk and very touchy feely, tackling me whenever
I start nodding off. We generally act like loud drunken idiots for
several hours, stopping every half hour to marvel that nobody has called
in the SWAT team to shut us up. Maybe Canada doesn't have SWAT teams.
Everyone finally wanders off and passes out around 5am for a good 2 hours
of sleep before our ride to the airport.
</cut>
Back at work after two weeklong vacations bookending a shortened, deserted, and wholly unproductive pre-christmas workweek. I'm not even close to ready to turn my brain back on, and I seem to have misplaced my motivation completely. So I used the last hour or so to finally spit-shine up my writeup of my Whistler vacation and grab a few representative photos to accompany it. It is far too long.
day 0 - dec 11th
After getting a ride to the airport powered by the time-honored fuel of
familial guilt, I breeze my white, male, nonthreatening US citizen ass
through security, snag a creamcheese with a side of bagel, and sit down to
wait for my first flight. Surrounded by iPods, I rue having not asked for
a portable mp3 player sooner than this coming Christmas. I continue
rueing sporadically throughout the trip, largely on days of travel. SJC
to SEA uneventful. Sarah and I share a layover at SeaTac, and while we
manage to get in phone contact, we never actually meet face to face; Sarah
is in another terminal, and travel between terminals requires navigation
of their antiquated and confusing tram system. Sarah takes it once to her
terminal of departure and decides that trying to swing by my terminal
would require her to brave the underground tram tunnels again and possibly
be eaten by trolls. We tough it out and wait 90 minutes to meet up. I
give in and drain my laptop's battery to provide sound, which is
neccessary to mask the startlingly insipid conversation several seats over
going on between a middle-aged man and his 15-year-old daughter, who is
possibly his intellectual superior. SEA to YVR uneventful other than free
beer. Breeze through customs, get luggage, find Sarah. The two of us then
spend a good twenty minutes failing to find James, our not-so-intrepid
camp coordinator. The guy's nice and relatively fun to have around, but
shouldn't be trusted to organize anything more complicated than a
dichromatic sock drawer. We finally find him and the rest of the campers
flying in that day - John, Jerry, and Andre - around 2pm, sit down, and
have a beer - which is when James announces that actually, we have to pick
up one last camper, whose flight gets in at 8pm. Since Whistler is 2-2.5
hours away, this means we have to kill an afternoon in Vancouver. James
suggests we go and get some food. "Nobody's a vegeterian, right?"
Actually, Sarah is vegan. James considers this for a second . . . then
takes us out for all-we-can-eat BBQ. Sarah feasts on cornbread and baked
beans while the rest of us eat enough assorted meats to fuel an Atkins
dieter for a week. I giggle every time I say "pulled pork." Over the
meal, we discuss Jerry's injury - a faceplant-while-wearing-glasses on the
sidewalks of New York the night before left him with a gash above his
right eye which he hasn't had time to seek medical attention for yet.
Before we take him to a clinic, we decide he needs a better story to give
people. Somehow, a variety of suggestions all congeal into the final
explanation: lesbian battle monkeys. As we leave I stumble around,
meat-tipsy, and bum my first of many cigarettes from Jerry, my
roomie-to-be. We drive semi-aimlessly around Vancouver while Yaz, a
friend of James who is Unaffiliated With Camp, alternately trys to find a
clinic to fix up Jerry and verbally berates his cell phone provider.
He's eventually successful at the former and James drops the rest of the
crew off at the drinking alley for a few pints of 10-pin, then takes Jerry
to get fixed up. We bowl on-and-off between beers for a few hours and
debate the differences between mens and women's room vending machines.
If memory serves me (the odds aren't terribly high), I won both games
through no fault of my own. Finally, Jerry and James return and we head
back to the airport to pick up Wayne, the straggling camper. James says
he'll just run inside to pick Wayne up, so the rest of us decide to have
baggage cart races in the parking lot, right after Yaz photographs me
urinating on a luxury SUV. After several near-misses involving person and
property, James shows back up and announces that actually, Wayne's late
flight was delayed even later. We head inside to an airport bar to have
more beer and listen to small asian girls sing karaoke. Wayne finally
shows up and we hit the road to Whistler, stopping for a 12pack of
travelers en route. We're delayed several hours due to a fatal accident
(the first of at least two for the week) on what is apparently Canada's
deadliest stretch of highway, and get in around 2am. Light unpacking and
then bed.
day 1
Wake up relatively chipper despite lack of sleep - we're wired with
snowboard anticipation. James picks us up in the camp van, still replete
with travel beer, and drives us the approximately 37 feet to the base of
the village. We meet our coaches, Brandon and Dylan ("No 90210 jokes,
please.") at the Second Cup coffeshop, and after gathering up all the
campers we hop in the Whistler gondola and head on up the hill. En route,
Brandon, wearing a puffy orange jacket dubbed "the great pumpkin,"
educates us on the finer points of Whistler fashion, which apparently
includes slingin' down your pants so everyone can see the crash pads on
your ass. The day's conditions are unfortunately pretty crappy due to a
rainfall a day or two earlier, so our "mountain tour" is pretty limited.
Instead, we work on some very basic fundamentals, and generally fuck
around. I see the first of nigh-infinite "Ski Boundary Area - No Patrol"
signs, which cause me to have Bad Religion's "No Control" stuck in my head
for the duration of the trip. Off the hill, we proceed to unwind by
purchasing a shit-ton of alcohol. Jerry starts his apres-board ritual of
a glass of Glenlivet and a cigarette. James takes us all out to the Crab
Shack for what is intended to be dinner but what ends up being sitting on
a couch in the waiting area drinking beer and eating a preposterous amount
of chicken wings. Sarah, Jerry and I bring travelers along with us for
dinner, but while waiting for our "table", the maitre 'd spies us drinking
them. Instead of confiscating them, he orders us to pound them before we
go inside. After dinner we head out to MoJoe's at James' suggestion for
more beer. Each of the guys with a camera independantly and unbeknownst
to the others takes a photo of girls dancing on a pool table. I decide to
head out a bit earlier than everyone else because I'm passing out, but
when I leave, I discover I'm far too drunk to find my way back to the
hotel. After a bit of stumbling around blindly, I give up and hail a cab,
which takes me for a minute-long drive back home.
day 2
Our tour of Blackcomb. Conditions still not great, but things have
softened up a bit. We ride through the halfpipe a few times, but it's
icy, and starts to get crowded with people who can actually ride.
General riding and basic technique. We finish out the day with a ride to
the near-peak up Glacier Express, and see the terrain park area that was
our (Sarah's and my) first introduction to Whistler/Blackcomb in a whole
new light. We decide to eat in, so Sarah and I pick up groceries and wine
and make a meal for everyone. Placemats and everything. She does most of
the work. Everyone enjoys the vegan offering except Andre who is
evidently allergic to vegetables of all kinds. Afterwards, we decide to
head to Tommy Africa's for 80's night, but show up too late and give up
after spending 45 minutes in a standstill line in the rain.
day 3
POWDER DUMP! A big phat sack of powder, which had begun falling the
previous afternoon, awaits us when we get on Whistler in the morning. We
head up Harmony chair fairly quick-like and windcliff-drop into a huge
bowl full of untracked powder. It's fucking glorious and I just ride it
out for a while. When I look back up the hill, most everyone else is
enjoying the snow but having trouble with it - some of these east coast /
midwest boarders have never been in powder before. I get aggravated and
take off on my own for the morning, catching some nice powder lines in the
trees and exploring Peak chair a bit. After lunch, Dylan takes us and
shows us how to find the good snow off Peak - another bowl full'o powder.
Further down the mountain, we duck ropes into a meadow/river run, which I
enjoy but head back out of when things start looking sketchy - then laugh
at everyone else as they have to climb over rivers and hike their way out
of a mess. At night, we have James drive us out to catch The Boot
Ballet's performance of "Naked Chicks On Stage." Unfortunately the girl
with the fire sticks is absent and the performances are uninspired.
Also, all three girls are too skinny for my tastes. After the scent of
drunken horny men becomes overwhelming, we head out to check out
Garfinkle's for a night of dancing, but are deterred by a $12 cover and
head instead to the GLC for a quiet, comfy round. We're served by Sharai,
who is just about the cutest and friendliest waitress ever. Head home,
fall down go boom.
day 4
No new snow, but still plenty of fresh tracks to be hunted down, this time
on Blackcomb. We head up to 7th Heaven for a morning of breathtaking
views, and Brandon leads me through some delicious tree/powder riding that
everyone else is scared of en route. Around the second run I lose track
of Brandon for a moment, then spot him another S down the long winding
track. I decide to cut through the inbetween snow in search of powder
lines even though it looks somewhat rocky. When I get down to him, I look
up and see, to my chagrin, everyone else following me. I feel a little
guilty and when everyone has gathered, Brandon announces "OK, Rule #1 -
don't follow Nat." Later we head up Glacier Express again and build a
weird kicker partway down that nobody gets much of anything off of. We
head out for a group sushi dinner at night, then back to the GLC for some
mellow drinks. Once again we're served by the effusive Sharai, who Jerry
discovers shares his love of breakbeat music and dancing. They chat it up
for a bit and she tells him that she'll hook us up with some clubbin' love
if we come back the next night. After getting sufficiently liquored up,
we head off in search of Garfinkle's. Instead, we find James, who informs
us that Garf's is closed for a private function. Instead, he hooks us up
with free entry and a free drink at T&A's. The night is danced semi-away.
day 5
Our last day of coaching. We work a little more on nose/tail presses and
we spend most of the day in the park, working on straight air, grabs,
180s, rails - whatever each rider feels like doing to break themselves.
I think this is the day that we played follow-the-leader with Dylan, only
I didn't quite follow his lead enough to clear the rut we were jumping and
gave myself a good whack on the head - probably my worst injury of the
trip, which is good as I shook it off after thirty seconds or so. At
night, we go get a surprisingly good dinner to go with our drinks at the
GLC. John and I both independantly wear Fender t-shirts. Matt half falls
asleep at the table for the second night in a row. Phil pulls out his
video camera and interviews everyone, but nothing really juicy comes out
save for Jerry describing being hit on by a gay man while bleeding
profusely from the forehead. Three pitchers and two rounds of vodka shots
later, Sharai gives us a magical note informing the bouncers at
Garfinkle's of our rockstar status and we give her a 25% tip and begin
speaking about her reverently. OK, maybe I had already started. Sarah
makes fun of us geeks for taking digital photos of our golden ticket. The
note acts as Moses to the red sea of the velvet ropes, and we saunter
inside to the dirty looks of everyone who's been waiting in line to pay
money like suckers, since we did neither. It's Bad Top 40 night, and we
laugh at the black guys pointedly not dancing to the lousy hip-hop.
?Wayne? keeps shoving drinks at us faster than we can down them, and we
must learn to incorporate beer bottles into our dance routine. Phil at
one point uses his hands to form a frame indicating that he wants Jerry to
take a picture of two girls' asses. Jerry obliges.
day 6
last day of riding - sad. We decide to spend it on Whistler, although in
retrospect Blackcomb might've been better as it was getting more sun and
the snow was hard. After a couple runs with the crew I decide to ditch
them for the morning and go exploring. I head up Harmony and try out
several different routes, finding fresh tracks off the beaten path every
time. Take possibly my favorite photo of the trip after tripping over a
tree backwards down the hill. Meet back up with the folks for lunch where
I gift Sarah and Jerry with his&hers temporary tattoos from a bathroom
vending machine. After lunch we take another run, at which point
everyone's legs are giving out on them, so we take one final run down to
midstation and call it. We hop a shuttle back to the hotel from the
village simply because it's there. The shuttle driver confirms that he
does, in fact, drive the several-hundred-foot route back and forth a
hojillion times a day, which segues nicely into his brief chat with Jerry
about scotch where he confesses to having had four glasses for lunch. We
don't blame him. We do our best to kill the rest of our booze before
heading out for the night - successful except for the dregs of a bottle of
pesudo-Kaluha. Hit up Garf's for a while for some drinks and run into
Sharai, who suggests we come over to T&A's where her boyfriend will be
DJing. She gets 7 of us in for $15 when the cover is $7/person. We fully
dance the night away, closing out the place and ending in a dance circle
which most people are too self conscious and/or sober to enter. I do not
suffer from either of these problems. It's then back to the room to do
some damage to a bottle of rum that Wayne foolishly left in our custody.
Ken gets out-of-control drunk and very touchy feely, tackling me whenever
I start nodding off. We generally act like loud drunken idiots for
several hours, stopping every half hour to marvel that nobody has called
in the SWAT team to shut us up. Maybe Canada doesn't have SWAT teams.
Everyone finally wanders off and passes out around 5am for a good 2 hours
of sleep before our ride to the airport.
</cut>
