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A thirty-six person hot tub (the only way to hot tub in our opinion) a’foot a hundred and fifty metre slope, littered with what looks to be a plethora of jumps, rails and boxes? Did you say floating in the Caribbean Sea? Is that what you’re asking Santa for (along with a naughty tennis outfit, and a morph suit)?
You’re Generation Y. You’re plugged in, you blog, probably from your IPhone. Steve Jobs is, and now sadly was, the closest thing you’ve had to a God, and Mark Zuckerberg, an idol. You’re ambitious. You don’t want to change the world but you wouldn’t mind pulling the wool over everyone’s eyes just enough to manipulate them into making you a success.
You. Want. It. All.
And here you can have it. Iglucruise (who we will be honest and say we discovered thanks to the good people of Freeskier Magazine) brings together all the values of our selfish crop, in one ready-to-overindulge package. In the words of T.I you can have whatever you like, stacks on deck, Patrón on ice. The all-weather, open-air Perma-Snow surface, lets you shred some park whilst working on your Caribbean tan as you cruise Barbados. It’s Kate Winslet meets Shaun White. It’s the Titanic of the millenials. But better. Because there’s a hot tub. And did we mention it takes thirty-five of your closest friends? And there ain’t no icebergs in the Caribbean.
We put Iglucruise on par with the Segway, Facetime, and Sea Monkeys. Completely unecessary but undeniably novelty. And if we had a spare £959, we’d be on board.
ColorMe isn’t fresh from the fridge, and its no Art Of Flight spectacular, but there’s something to be said for these Scandinavian pro-riders on their first pro-tour. I’m not sure if its the elvish tongues they speak or the commical directly-translated subtitles that entertain like any speaker of English-as-a-second-language, but it’s very watchable. And the flora and fauna, or lack thereof, of Finland and Italy make a welcomed change of scenery from the standard issue parks/highschools/urban wastleands of Colorado/Wymoning/BC. There doesn’t seem to be a bucketload of cash swirling about them and there’s a kind of fresh-faced honesty that has us relating: we know whats its like being a rookie when the stakes are high.
If you’re looking to further delay your education/thesis/career a further half hour, gladly invest your time into some coloring.
So it’s been ages and neither of you have had much action lately. Deal with it. There are children around who think Mummy is eating Daddy, and people old enough to have a stroke at what they are seeing. And that’s before the cabbies have logged one into the w#nk bank. Wait until you get to the car. Or go to the handicap toilet. Or dare I say it a taxi. Did you know Corporate Cabs have ’security’ cameras in them now? In case of ‘disputes’.
Off you go. Please. Nobody’s thinking oh what a kodak moment . This isn’t Love Actually.
Mid week riding. The creme de la creme of reasons to pull a sickie. Mid week riding has drug-like qualities for an elite group, of which many of us are a part. We stoke on life, experiencing euphoric highs and, for me personally, I generally think to myself hey, I am infinitely better off than most people in the world right now. Riding on a weekday reassures me that I must be approaching the upper tiers of Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs - if you have never done a level-anything paper in any degree at any institutional organization, this may not be familiar to you. You should google this. The long and the short of it is: I am riding in the middle of the working week, so it is probable that I am living the dream.
The stars have aligned to the point that somehow, working two jobs, whilst co-captaining TFA, I still manage to get a couple of days of quality facetime with Mama Nature, hideously well-timed with spring conditions, bluebird skies and oh, what was that? Oh yes, fresh snow b*tches. How good is that. I’ll tell you how good that is. Its f*cking top notch. Because it’s a four hour drive, door to door. That’s timing.
The thing with people that ski and ride midweek is, they’re all legends. They don’t actually really care about tax law, conference calls or weak excuses why they need to be in the office ordering printer toner. They go hey man, it’s snowing, letz shred. You don’t know who they are, but they are sociable chaps and they love to stoke about the day when you land next to them on the chairlift. And their banter is of the purest quality. They tend not to disclose exactly what it is they do, because it’s some make-believe job title they created just so they could skive off up the hill when the weather calls. They’re riding in next season’s unreleased samples, or never to be re-released high vis threads circa 1989. Or just jeans and a leather jacket and a slick head band offering little to no function, but legit street cred if they happen to bum a zig zag off MGMT in the lift line.
After Checking-In to the hill on Facebook (unless you’re friends with your boss – a rookie mistake for a plethora of reasons, and deserving of getting snapped); checking said Check-In to see how many people “Like” this / how many people are bitter and twisted enough about they’re own lack of spontaneity they comment something to the effect of where is the dislike button / how many people (of the legend variety) say me too. In case you aren’t quite satisfied you’re riding on a school day, you now use this opportunity to remind everyone you have an IPhone, by uploading some photos. In reminding yourself, you might now hop up Maslow’s next step. You should probably have a beer, or a shot, with lunch, to confirm this. You probably were doing that anyway.
At the end of the day, if you’re in NZ you’ll be trekking to the car, which will be covered in a give-away amount of volcanic muddy garbage that will define you to inner-city drivers as cool and one who does cool shit, but also carries the risk of outing your weekday antics – the element of thrill you most likely thrive on. You’ll drive back through wilderness you’d expect Edward Cullen to animorph out off, and you’ll need a bucket of Red Bull from the servo to get home in one piece. You’ll unpack the car, only because your gear is so slick its 98% likely any passer-by, thief or not, will steal it. There is a snowman’s hope in hell you’ll deal with washing of it for at least a week. And you’ll rest feeling you’ve used your body. As opposed to that usual feeling that your body has been used.
We all love a racist joke, even if it’s average. Well, not love, but you know what I mean. It’s kind of like the jokes you see on any of MTV’s Roast series. They are rude, crude and shouldn’t be said, but we love hearing them and they conjure up a kind of evil, i-shouldnt-be-laughing-but-dont-give-a-f*ck laugh that we all have deep down inside of ourselves. Check Snoop Dogg’s roasts on the show when he gets Donny Trump and the rest of the comedians pretty gewd. This video is definitely worth a repeat – Snoop rollin’ & roastin’ .
Even though those jokes aren’t racist, they still carry the same vulgarity as some racist jokes that we all laugh at. Here’s an example – Titanic goes down very well.
There are much funnier racist jokes which I’m sure you will find later on within the cyber walls of this blog. But don’t look at them as racist jokes, actually I don’t think anyone really does anymore? We’ve all become so numb to the constant barrage of the odd cheeky joke about this or that, that it’s a free-for-all nowadays. There aint nuthin’ that someone won’t joke about these days. Hell, even AIDS is officially funny… apparently. It’s pretty refreshing to be able to think that we’ve chilled out so much these days, really relaxed our prejudices and taken the advice of the bricklayer on the corner telling you to “‘Bout time you ate a concrete sandwich and hardened the f*ck up isn’t ya little c*nt?”.
That said. Enjoy. And don’t be gettin’ all dark on us now.
SO… Here I find myself getting hungry and it’s around lunch time, whatever that time is these days. I can’t say that my feasting times are something that you could set your watch to, but they happen as often as possible and as quickly as possible. I’m no different from the rest of you lazy sh*ts in that when I want to eat, I want it delicious and I want it fast. Pronto. ASAP. NOW woman… insert classic joke ” When a guy says “Go make me a GOD DAMN sandwich”, what’s a good comeback?”… Me: Well, you had better come back with a GOD DAMN sandwich.”
*slowly getting to the point of the post*
So I guess you could call me impatient. I’m not here to wait around whilst you spit something good out. I guess you could say my friends and I finish each others…. sandwiches? RIP Arrested Development. An apt title for this post perhaps… get the f*ck on with it TFA?!
So back to wanting my food now, I’ve scoured the fridge and all I find is a sack of goon minus a box (is there a mirror in this fridge..?!), mouldy vegetables that were never intended for eating but rather to impress potential visitors/friends/babes to the house that I eat well (yes, indeed, top job sir, by george) and far too many cartons of chocolate flavoured Up&Go. Sanitarium is the slut of our house – everyones knocked it’s top off and left it feeling empty and used in our bed or in our gutter. Yeah so what if I drink it in bed, nude. It’s sanitary…ium. But back to the food. I find myself smashing this stuff because 1- it tastes pretty damn good and 2- It’s got everything in it I need and more and it’s like a business man’s 4 course meal. It’s got the ‘protein(1001,1002,1003…)energy and dietary fibre of 2 weetbix and milk in every 250ml serve. SO what I’ve got here is a premixed meal that has derived itself from one of the great Australian pastimes of eating breakfast and displaying your ball size by how many weetbix you do. How many do you do? No one really gives a f*ck but my god I’ll judge you if you do less than 6 as a guy or more than 6 as a woman.
*not quite at the point of the post yet.. Hey – the world took 7 days. apparently.*
So premixed meals nowaday. Does that mean everytime I crack one open I can pretend I’m a failing rap artist making an electro tune and yell out ‘PREMIXXXXXXXX”….? I hope so. Otherwise I’ve been looking like a fool on the train for the past 12 months.
So now even food has become an altered version of something previous.. is there nothing original (except for this blog)? Food is remixed. Food:Remixed by some *rsehole turning a buck and not giving a …… decent portion size.
*AND WE’RE HERE*
Everything is a Remix – nothing to do with food, well at least the first portion of the 4-part series isn’t. This video is tres interesting and had me watching the whole way, even though I was skeptical as all hell at the start. It centres around music and highlights Led Zeppelin’s career as being “rip offs” – I won’t nut out the whole video for you, but they copy a few things and barely change them like people are doing today. It’s like stealing someone else’s school text books because yours were stolen, then selling them at the second hand bookstore with that person’s name still on the books and getting suspended for it…fml.
Anyways give it a look and I’m sure you’ll watch the other 3. He even asks for some donations at the end to make the rest of the videos so if you’re feeling like St Vincent de Paul, show the guy some love. Otherwise, watch his vid and flip him and his money-asking face off for being so blatantly needy.
Yours in eating,
So this might/probably/definitely will take up your next 30 minutes.Incredibox. Sikh as. It’s a beat producer with entertaining visuals that you try to figure out if its mouthing of the beat is accurate enough for you to be satisfied. I guess it was, I mean…. they could have improved it.. What am I talking about – this thing is BRILLIANT.
Here’s the link – Incredibox – the only box we’re gettin’ down with.
Basically, what you’ve got is a set of:
- chorus; and
All of which are represented by some sweet lookin’ dude who is chillin’ the f*ck out and bustin’ out a few beats at the same time. It’s Incredible. It’s Beatboxing. It’s Incredible Beatboxing. It’s INCREDIBOX! I’ve been sitting on this thing smashing out a heap of different beats that whilst sounding repetitive, sound pretty rad. Sitting here at my desk feeling like a superstar doesn’t happen that often so let me have my moment. Arsehole.
And whilst writing this post I’ve discovered SHUFFLE MODE…. it’s a trap. It forces you to leave the Incredibox tab open for most likely the next few days as an ever-changing beat producer. Wo’ a cun’. The sound is certainly gettin’ a lend of my lobes though and will until someone throws my laptop into the wall whilst singing “Youuuuuuuuu Tell me the right thing.. woah oh”.