Life is very busy these days. Given the presence of two little blondtopped whirlwinds blowing about the house, there's not much time for reading. Or even looking at something as generically shallow as a ski magazine.
But last night I had a rare moment of space and time. So I foolishly plomped down to scan the pages of the latest ski periodicals to grace our postbox while slurping leftover pasta between gulps of some cheap plonk.
Though we are given to endless bitching this time of year it seems, I'll forgo whining or winging about the clumsy and pallid efforts of the more plopular ski monthly which flails, saucerboy like, in the tracks of Powder. They could have been a contendah.
But I've got to say: nice jawb d00ds. The Morphemes are jewelled chunklets of meaty chaw. The large format pics (and absence of the sequential photo minutia) are stunning. The notes on your special places, to which we can each and all relate in our secretive mien. The avie death article was touching, thoughtful and brutal. And the tongue in cheek self effacing humor shines through.
For what it's worth, from the far flug reaches of obscurest ski-addled parenthood, props to you clowns. Brodacious!
Now about those articles on the anti-bro....
Bookmarks