Wet socks
In my defense, yesterday evening was NOT cold. Not warm, but not cold. Sure, I knew that theoretically it was supposed to snow a couple inches, but I was planning to be home well before the storm. But you know how it goes; one beer becomes three plus shots. Next think you know you’re sleeping...
The Fallacy of Friendship
There is a peculiar fallacy of friendship in the valley. It goes something like this: I drink with you once and we’re best friends forever. [Party Hard, Rock and Roll (Drink Bacardi, Smoke a Bowl)] Here’s my number, what’s yours, let’s ride tomorrow? Right on brother, shred the gnar and hit the pow. (It’s like...
Drinking: The shot ski
Soon after arriving in a ski town, one is thrust into the midst of its distinctive lifestyle. One’s new fellow ski bums, particularly the short- and semi-long-term inhabitants, excrete a particular rowdy, party-driven joie de vivre, replete with cheap drugs (usually weed–the profusion of dispensaries is no sheer coincidence) and cheap alcohol (often PBR, or...
