How To Snowboard (from someone who can't do it too)

If you squint really hard in Calgary, you can just about not see mountains. It's that difficult to miss the damn things, they're bloody everywhere. As such, mountains magically attract snow,and thus, idiots who enjoy it. 

What could be a more leisurely pursuit of a Sunday afternoon than rushing headlong down a mountain on what is essentialy a Popsicle stick or two. 

"Oh, but it's marvelous and fun and energetic and it makes you feel close to nature" they cry.

"I have a taser" i cry. Then they cry.

Snowboarding is the younger and slightly more stupid cousin of skiing, having been invented when long haired surfer people learned about how water freezes in first grade and wondered if their summer passion could extend to colder times. Snowboarding is actually incredibly simple. Skiing has a variety of different disciplines, styles, variations on equipment and other funny names and technical jargon designed to scare off the peasants who greedily feed on the scraps left from the Aspen banquets. Snowboarding has one fundamental rule, and no alterations to that rule.

Don't fall off.

"Oh, but skiing surely has the same rule!" They cry

"I still have a taser, and I'm talking." i state patiently.

Skiing is a complicated beast. Not only do you have to wear the most uncomfortable footwear known to man (you can't tell me that's the finished design, a boot that practically snaps your ankles when you wear it. Seems a bit counter intuitive to me, like designing a car airbag that stabs you or a reclining chair that punches your groin repeatedly) but you have sticks. Poles, sticks, kebab rods, whatever, they're there sometimes for show, sometimes for purpose. Another prerequisite is to look like a smug git while you do it, if only to mask the pain shooting from your ankles with gay abandon.

Snowboarding is blissfully uncomplicated. But there in lies the problem. Skiing, it's older, more affable brother, is very complicated, so some fools decided that snowboarding had to catch up somewhat. Of course, it would be ridiculous to suggest that Snowboarding has any real rules.

Here are the rules of Snowboarding.

1: You must not fall off.

2: You must wear winter clothing designed by a colourblind chimp. Nothing is allowed to match, and none of it can be deemed to be of good taste. Instead of your usual choice in attire, you must now look like a neon takeaway sign threw up on you.

3: You must talk as if you have suffered a serious head injury and cannot remember the basics of English. Instead of "I fell over" you must now say "I did a sick bail"

4: Sick now means a variety of things, none of which actually have anything to do with illness.

5: you must scream as if you have a colony of termites burrowing through your flesh at every small achievement or trick you accomplish. The less significant, the louder you scream to make up for it. Always describe it as Sick

6: Look down your nose at skiers. Sneer if necessary

7: Get offended when skiers look down their nose at you.

8: High Five. All the time. High five!

9: Don't complain that the lodge charges you as much for a small can of beer as a liquor store does for a six pack. Supply and demand buddy.

10: Don't fall off.

There you have it. I may not be a big fan of snowboarding, but armed with these rules, you may emerge better looking and slightly more talented at it than me. But only at snowboarding. I still rock at everything else.

Don't like it?

I have a taser.

Stop, Collaborate And Listen

Here's the deal:

Any cursory sweep of Calgary's music press will reveal a thriving alternative and independent scene humming with bands full of interesting ideas, lyrical genius and musical talent. Local radio stations like the idea of not having to play Nickleback for the six hundredth time and pay them a few cents a pop for the privilege, and so the two come together in a joyous and unholy musical union born of soul crushing corporate cynicism and the famous quote from Andy Warhol that in the future, everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes.

Check me out, i want in on some of that action

Here's where you come in.

Like the busy busy bee i am, i find time between glamorous photo shoots and hanging around outside the blood bank to write down stupid rhymes that come into my head. I then send these through the magic of the Internet and it's series of tubes to my friend over in England who converts my tuneless rambling into audible sound, and he sends them back.

I would very much like you to listen.

Here are links to several of my songs. I can't embed music into this blog because it's free and therefore lacking in features, so i had to make them into videos and YouTube them instead.

Have a listen

Tell me what you think.

There's a poll on the main page of this blog asking which you like best, so give them a listen, put a tick in the box and if you like it hopefully someone else will and it'll be on a radio station near you in the near future.

Providing you live in Calgary.

And you like at least one of these songs.

Joanna

The Heart May Beat But It's Not Your Friend

No-One But Yourself To Blame

Scream

What's out my window

As you might have guessed (and if you haven't, catch up will you?) I'm an somewhat dapper English pseudo gentleman now living in Canada. Therefore, looking up from working like a crazy man on new PR strategies and looking out the window holds a thousand hidden little treasures to me, things I'd never see in England, new sights and sounds, and experiences totally alien to what i used to know.

I'll give you an example. Where i live, in the dark, rank heart of suburbia (kidding, it's not that bad) you get joggers. Not just one or two occasional ones, upwards of twenty or thirty hardcore all weather Lycra health nuts will whizz past me on any given day during my travels. You don't really get joggers in England, people tend to take the sight of neon Lycra as target practice. Never walk your dog in England, it's always the dog walker who finds the body, who is usually the jogger.

Most of the joggers i see are ladies. That's not to say you don't get male joggers, but maybe they don't have unisex jogging routes yet. I don't know, i subscribe to Robert M. Hutchin's idea on exercise:

"Whenever i feel like exercising, i lie down and the feeling passes."

So there you go. Jam sponge all round. Coming back to reality, many lady joggers have enormous great contraptions that appear to be dragging them about. These are called, rather curiously, chariots. Chariots are basically a massive circus big top tent on wheels, which for some reason you require if you wish to take your kids out in Calgary. It's the done thing. If you want to go out with your kids, make it look like your being dragged around by a runaway Glastonbury tent. Everyone in Calgary has kids. If you're married and you're of the fairer sex, you have two kids. That, or you're working on it. Something in the water says "PROCREATE!" to all women, but once they've squeezed two out it slams the brakes on and says "CEASE! BUY A CHARIOT AND SOME DAYGLO LEGGINGS!" and so the cycle begins. First it's yoga pants and lulu lemon gear, then its two kids and a chariot.

Another thing you quickly get used to in Canada is snow. English people out there: Canada is not a frozen wasteland full of Eskimos and polar bears. Well, Winnipeg is, but the rest is pretty civilized. During the summer, the temperature reaches untold heights of boiling loveliness, and being up in the mountains, it's dry as can be so it's never that sticky hot that makes you feel like you poured jam in your pants. But in winter... Oh the winters. Temperatures fall drastically, and with them comes snow. Not just a sugary sprinkling, a full on foot at least. Snow over here is serious business, but the attitude towards it is... somewhat unorthodox. Only really major roads and arteries get ploughed, everything else is left. If you crash, it's your own fault, dumb ass. Canadians are refreshingly laissez faire about snow, its a fact over here. The trains run, people get to work, and nowhere is shut. It's crazy. In England, a light dusting shuts the entire country. If someone where to try and invade and overthrow the English government, all they'd need do is wait for either a light dusting of snow or a bank holiday.

Anywho, out my window right now are two joggers, one with a chariot, and a lot of snow. I made that last about six hundred words. Bully for me. What's out yours?

Catch y'all later, and if you're on Twitter follow me at http://twitter.com/VCspaceman

Increase the peace. Don't yell at dogs, they might be smarter than you.