In the words of jsmooth. Real stories, real laughs, real life. A sneak peak at the fun he has, journeys he encounters, and everything he has some serious time to write about. So take a sec, and enjoy it, on me.

Wednesday, December 14, 2005

Long live the pond.

Long live the pond.

Skates were laced up, stick was taped, retro hockey shirt was pulled on, and shovel was grabbed. It was time for some good old fashioned pond hockey.

The air was a crisp -15 or so, but really, who needs to feel their face, toes or hands when you're playing hockey anyways?! Eight chums converged on the frozen swamp with shovels in hand and begun the rather long, but elegant job of removing snow from ice. Skating back and forth, up and down, side to side, until the light glimmered off our playing surface, and it was ready.

Each player's secret 'pond-hockey-only' stick was brought out, revealing 8 hunks of tree branch, colourful tape, and a whole lotta splinters. They may look like junk, but these babies have been with us through thick and thin, and have been apart of every re-inactment of every great goal ever scored by our hero's. Ah yes, the sticks are out from their summer hide-a-ways, and its time to rock n' role. They were all gently tossed into the middle of the rink, and teams were chosen.

The puck was placed in the middle of the not so smooth ice, and faceoff rituals commenced.

Game on.

The goals were racked up, and the arguments about the opponents net being bigger than the other began. The lights began to dim, the temperature continued to plummet, and the game went on. Toes were well past frozen, and lips were chapped to the max, and all that mattered was the puck.

No one really ever knows what the score is, somewhere up in the 90's by the games end, but that doesn't really matter. Stats are never really kept, but that doesn't really matter either. The only thing that is remembered after a game on the pond is the game itself. The hours on end that were spent circling the ice time and time again. The sweet passes, nice deeks, and brutal falls that were made in the game.

"Next goal wins!"

The famous words are said, and a mad dash to the net is made, ending a long, hard fought game of classic pond hockey. The winners are dubbed champion for that day, and everyone goes home to relive the game winning goal that is so saught after, the one who potted the winner goes home hero for a day, but a day only. For the game of pond hockey never really ends, sleep is the equivilent to a commercial break, school just means intermisson and food is only eatin because it keeps you moving. But the game itself lasts an entire winter of endless fun, long lasting memories, and nightly laughs.

"Pain heals, chicks dig the scars, but glory lasts forever..."

... or at least 'til the next night.

Long live the pond indeed.


Saturday, December 10, 2005

That Feeling...

The feeling is back with a vengence. Oh, you know the feeling i'm talking about. The one that sends a shiver down your spine, and gets your heart racing at the beginning of each season. Straped into a snowboard standing atop a mountain looking down at pure powdery goodness will do that to you, and oh, did it ever yesterday. Every year at about the beginning of December, is when the withdrawl symptoms start to kick in. A lack of boarding over the summer starts to have its affects on the boarder nation, we start to get the shakes, can't sleep, get light headed, and wake up finding ourselves straped into our boards, standing in the middle of the basment on the occasional night. So was it ever good to get back on the hills yesterday! The idea rose when a good buddy of mine, who happens to work at a nearby ski resort, mentioned that is was now open...and ripe for the pickin'. Mmmm yes, sweet sweet candy indeed. We called everyone up who owned a board, told them to wax it up, cause it was time. We planned that Friday, right after school, we would all cram into as many cars as it took, and jet it up to the slopes to hang ten.

As you can imagine, sitting in class that day for each of us was a task and a half. Doodling on anything we could to pass the time, talking about what jumps we would hit, who would no doubt get the highest, which we all thought would be ourselves, naturally. There was the attempting to sleep, in hopes to suddenly wake up and it be the end of the day, no dice though. We tried the 'all going to the bathroom', wishing that hanging out outside of class would some how make the stupid clock tick a little faster. Of course, none of this worked, and it just happened to be one of the longest days of school in my education career. Every second we sat there, looking out the window at that holy whiteness, the fear of it suddenly all melting racing through our minds, made things even slower. But alas, as everything eventually does, it ended, and we realized the time had come to leave the school, the teachers, even leave the women, to head north, or in this case east, to do what had been waited for long enough.

25 minutes later, after a van ride of blasting music, more bragging on accomplishments of last year, and promises to go bigger and better this year, we were there. Infront of us, stood a sight only to be described as, HUBBA HUBBA... There she was, standing a million miles wide, and twice as high..and the greatest part was,

We were there first.

No line-ups, no nothing, we got there 10 minutes before it opened for the day, beating out everyone, even the locals...not a single mark in the snow anywhere on the hill. Just freshly fallen snow, a foot deep, ready and waiting for us. As we strapped in at the bottom, things got serious. iPOD's and MP3 players were turned on... full blast... hats and goggles were positioned perfectly dans la noggin to insure maximumus coolestnus lookageus. We started the short treck to the lift, and as we got on, we pictured in our small, but focused brains on what was about to happen.

The lift ended, we hoped off, turned the corner that lead us to the trick park...and stopped. The sight we saw, took the breath right out of us. The jumps, ramps, rails and half pipe that lay in front of us, calling our names, was a sight of unpresidented SICKNESS. You could see for miles, just white covered everything. Our cars the only ones in the parking lot, and one untouched run in front of us. We turned to look at each other...gave the smile, nod, and the words we had been waiting for for months were finally said...

"Dropping in!"

I'll let your imaginations take you from there. All that needs to be said is having an entire mountain to you and a bunch of freinds for one crazy night all to words come close to describing... but the pictures, well, they do all the talking we need...

Enough said.