Bangin' Drum & Bass version of Can't Tell Me Nothin'. Good turkey-fryin' music. Get it here.
Via: White Folks Get Crunk
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Wait Till I Get My Remix Right
Bangin' Drum & Bass version of Can't Tell Me Nothin'. Good turkey-fryin' music. Get it here.
Via: White Folks Get Crunk
I'd Rather Be...
I’d rather be skiing the trees at Brighton.
I’d rather be wakeboarding at Yuba.
I'd rather be on the beach on Maui.
I'd rather be scuba diving with some sea creatures.
I’d rather be biking with my crew at Deer Valley.
I’d rather be eating at Cocina Toscana.
I’d rather be watching a really good documentary.
I’d rather be playing Rock Band.
I’d rather be Driking Diet Coke, lime, and deli ice with Mom.
I’d rather be buying some shoes.
I’d rather be writing an ad.
I’d rather be backpacking in the desert with my dad.
I’d rather be climbing a peak in the Wasatch.
I’d rather be eating a meat pie from Brighton Bakery in Perth.
I’d rather be throwing a football.
There's a lot of stuff I'd rather be doing right now. And it's good. All these things are close to me. And I'm thankful for all of them.
I’d rather be wakeboarding at Yuba.
I'd rather be on the beach on Maui.
I'd rather be scuba diving with some sea creatures.
I’d rather be biking with my crew at Deer Valley.
I’d rather be eating at Cocina Toscana.
I’d rather be watching a really good documentary.
I’d rather be playing Rock Band.
I’d rather be Driking Diet Coke, lime, and deli ice with Mom.
I’d rather be buying some shoes.
I’d rather be writing an ad.
I’d rather be backpacking in the desert with my dad.
I’d rather be climbing a peak in the Wasatch.
I’d rather be eating a meat pie from Brighton Bakery in Perth.
I’d rather be throwing a football.
There's a lot of stuff I'd rather be doing right now. And it's good. All these things are close to me. And I'm thankful for all of them.
Sunday, November 23, 2008
COLD TURKEY
It’s been over a year since I moved away from the Wasatch Mountains. The day I packed up the Subaru and headed off to graduate school was a bittersweet day. Sure, I’d be getting a great education, but it’s not the same out here.
I’m not the same.
No more 20-minute drives to Goldminer’s Daughter. No coincidental sick days when there’s 30 inches of blower. Hell, The closest skiing I know is somewhere in Tennessee.
Yet I still behave as if I still lived in the mountains. I check the Cottonwood Canyon forecast more than I check my local weather. During winter storm warnings, I obsess over Snowbird’s Snowcam, watching the snow accrue in a crawl.
“29 inches in 24 hours,” I say…No seems to care.
And by my own choice, I quit skiing. Cold turkey. I turned my back on an integral part of my life. A part of my life for the past 12 years. I abandoned it at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains 1 year, 1 month, and 30 days ago.
There’s certainly a part of me missing.
But perhaps it was a good thing, leaving skiing behind. I don’t even know what it’s like to drive for 4 hours to get to the hill. I still scoff at driving more than an hour for my turns. Not having damn-good snow at my disposal seems absurd.
Maybe I haven’t learned anything.
I know this though: my year away from the hill has rekindled my obsession for skiing—for the mountains. Next time I’m in the Wasatch, I’ll cherish my hidden tree stashes at Brighton. My gorgeous powder line at Alta. That chute at Snowbird.
Back where I belong.
I’m not the same.
No more 20-minute drives to Goldminer’s Daughter. No coincidental sick days when there’s 30 inches of blower. Hell, The closest skiing I know is somewhere in Tennessee.
Yet I still behave as if I still lived in the mountains. I check the Cottonwood Canyon forecast more than I check my local weather. During winter storm warnings, I obsess over Snowbird’s Snowcam, watching the snow accrue in a crawl.
“29 inches in 24 hours,” I say…No seems to care.
And by my own choice, I quit skiing. Cold turkey. I turned my back on an integral part of my life. A part of my life for the past 12 years. I abandoned it at the foot of the Wasatch Mountains 1 year, 1 month, and 30 days ago.
There’s certainly a part of me missing.
But perhaps it was a good thing, leaving skiing behind. I don’t even know what it’s like to drive for 4 hours to get to the hill. I still scoff at driving more than an hour for my turns. Not having damn-good snow at my disposal seems absurd.
Maybe I haven’t learned anything.
I know this though: my year away from the hill has rekindled my obsession for skiing—for the mountains. Next time I’m in the Wasatch, I’ll cherish my hidden tree stashes at Brighton. My gorgeous powder line at Alta. That chute at Snowbird.
Back where I belong.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Who does number 2 work for?
No one wants to be disturbed in the process of #1 or #2.
That's why using public restrooms takes a certain type of bravado. Certainly not everyone's cut out for it.
There's valid reasons for shying away from doing your business in a Shoney's bathroom. First off: the toilet paper's always horrible—more of a light-grade sandpaper. And it's always one ply.
Second: The lack of privacy. For guys, the urinal situation is just kinda weird. Most dudes completely avoid any form of communication: eye contact and talking are forbidden.
The stall situation is not right either. The gaps in either side of the doors do not inspire confidence, and 7 out of 10 times, the locks do not function properly.
The stall is not a place to relax. It is not a tranquil time.
Marauders could spoil the situation at any moment, so one must make haste.
But this danger brings excitement when using public toilets.Getting your business done in high-pressure situations brings a sense of accomplishment.
You're a clutch player.
If you shy away from the public commode, you sulk home. Defeated by the task, you answer nature's call in the comfort of your own surroundings. Two-ply quilted. Reading material. Pleasant lighting. Perhaps music.
By holding it, you've taken a lesser path. You were beaten.
Next time you're out and about, use the public can.
Show that turd who's boss.
It's empowering.
That's why using public restrooms takes a certain type of bravado. Certainly not everyone's cut out for it.
There's valid reasons for shying away from doing your business in a Shoney's bathroom. First off: the toilet paper's always horrible—more of a light-grade sandpaper. And it's always one ply.
Second: The lack of privacy. For guys, the urinal situation is just kinda weird. Most dudes completely avoid any form of communication: eye contact and talking are forbidden.
The stall situation is not right either. The gaps in either side of the doors do not inspire confidence, and 7 out of 10 times, the locks do not function properly.
The stall is not a place to relax. It is not a tranquil time.
Marauders could spoil the situation at any moment, so one must make haste.
But this danger brings excitement when using public toilets.Getting your business done in high-pressure situations brings a sense of accomplishment.
You're a clutch player.
If you shy away from the public commode, you sulk home. Defeated by the task, you answer nature's call in the comfort of your own surroundings. Two-ply quilted. Reading material. Pleasant lighting. Perhaps music.
By holding it, you've taken a lesser path. You were beaten.
Next time you're out and about, use the public can.
Show that turd who's boss.
It's empowering.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Something Like an Animatronic Feel
...If only Chuck E Cheese had music this rad. It's really someone's job to choreograph a posse of androids to the music. Check their YouTube page.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Sunday, November 2, 2008
Free Reggae
Kya Bamba provided the soundtrack to a ski movie I just watched. To my surprise, and your benefit, their new mixtape is free-ninety-nine.
Oh. This thing has like 48 songs on it. You reggae heads should lively up your Monday with this one. Get it here.
It's that New new album that ain't even come out-chet
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