I used to go skiing once in a while. Still do, in fact. It was fun, especially when my parents would turn me loose and say to just meet up with them later at the car or lodge. Later I would go with my friends, and we would dare each other to do increasingly stupid things on jumps, slopes, cliffs, etc. until we were too tired/injured to even watch each other wreck anymore. (These are mostly good memories.)
I still go now and then, but sometimes I feel sort of like an anachronism sitting on a chairlift wearing a wool hat, sunglasses, with "Elan" brand skis bound to my feet. It seems my skis might as well be made of wood, and my poles have baskets made of a steel hoop with leather straps, and I might as well be dressed in sheepskin rubbed with beeswax. And please don't put me on a lift with some kid from Draper. Can you imagine the kind of conversation we'd have?
TR: How's it going?
Kid: Oh, epic man. Epic.
Kid: Epic. I totally just nailed an Eisenhower 540 Backside with a Double Reverse Cowbell.
TR: Oh. Cool.
TR: Nice day for it.
Kid: I know, right? It's sick.
Kid: Yeah. Ya know. Ill.
TR: The day is ill?
Kid: Yeah man. I mean it's been puking all day.
Kid: No, man. Sick.
Kid: But my friend just had a sale and got this ridiculous raspberry on his leg.
TR: Oh. That's...that's, uh.......
Kid: Yeah, no kidding. He had to get like five stitches.
Kid: No man, not sick. It was nasty.
(Notices my skis)
Kid: Oh sick man. Those are classics!
TR: Oh thanks. Yeah I've been thinking of getting new ones.
Kid: No way, man. You should rock those in the park. Do they shred?
Kid: Yeah. Shred the gnar?
TR: Oh yeah, the gnar. Well, uh.....yeah. Yes they do.
Kid: Sick man.
We could go on, but you get the idea. I do like skiing though.