Adventures in a Winter Wonderland Apartment annihilation. Body ache. My neck feels like it has the mobility of a tree trunk cast in cement. Slumbering log sawing younger brother at arms length away; his cell phone exploding with juvenile love, his flatulence filling the otherwise silent sunlit room. A random stream of thoughts at 8:30am on a marvelous Sunday morning. I look about and am stunned with the proof around me at how quickly males can destroy a living space. Females can as well; it’s just that males usually destroy more rapidly, more often with destruction of property that is higher on the scale of disgustingness. In comparison to females, I think we as males are less averse to conditions of vileness and somehow and someway are more prone to it. Simply not giving a rat's *** is my scientific hypothesis. (These are comparisons obviously being made in large generalizations).

The conditions of which I speak involve perishable food products left out well on their way to degrading, recyclable and non-recyclable rubbish dominating every horizontal inch of surface space, and the personal effects of three brothers strewn about with no particular rhyme or reason, as if an imaginary explosive device containing thick winter jackets, digital cameras, cell phones, snowboards, ridiculous fur lined caps with earflaps, and gold bond had exploded with a kill radius of 20ft. Poor Wes, his apartment has seen cleaner days, and I also must think to myself poor Wes's apartment, it has probably known better interior decoration. I’m no guru or feng shui expert, but college deco...so funny, so mandatory, so tasteless, so beautiful and so indicative of the times. When else can you celebrate how much pizza you’ve eaten with a cardboard wall installation? At least unicorns and gag-balls were absent in design plans. I am no person to talk of tasteful college room art, as I lived in a room with the phrase “Lights out bitches” painted on the wall. All college attendees were once there, and we are all guilty of it/unabashedly proud of it.

Oh my goodness do I feel how George W. runs a country. I guess this can only be expected from reliving a typical college-esq. night and then getting ruffed up snowboarding on the slopes of Mt. Baker. A list of notable details: Consumption of cheap beer packaged in quantities exceeding counts of 24; hanging out in the converted living space (a garage transformed into two closet sized bedrooms and one social area) where worship, praise and tribute is given to alcohol in 3d and 2d forms of art; doing the meet n greet with middle brothers social network, myself being the patriarchal elder (what happens when you bridge the age gap to spend time with younger brothers and their friends); rocking out to a musical dvd entitled "the last waltz" directed and produced by Martin Scorsese about a band called "The Band," quite hippyish, rich sound, atrocious group singing that united everyone in glorious fist pumps regardless of age, ethnicity, or creed; calming of emotionally unstable Shelley who literally thought she had peed out a goldfish, when in fact there had simply been a purge in a nearby tank....the unfortunate fish was simply in toilet purgatory and not sent to his watery grave until being urinated on and then discovered in shock; and finally a long, frigid walk home/2am Western campus tour.


That glorious version of a written and music less montage was all part of a plan. A Careful and tedious plan involving a day of snowboarding the beautiful and pristine slopes of Mt. Baker. Between the three of us (J.griz, Dub CG, Young Z, = the brothers grim) total times of boarding snow = 1. Saying we are beginners would be saying too much. Needless to say, the first five minutes of strapping both feet into a board and trying to navigate felt like being a gerber gorged baby taking his first steps. There were many unfortunate run-ins/terrible tangos with a demon possessed chairlifts which upon dismounting, usually left the three of us in a disheveled mass of snow pants, beanies and grunts; just the kind of thing to instill confidence before taking it to the slopes. I will say though, that the Greenberg men are decently athletic and able bodied with catlike speed and reflex. We learned quickly enough, and knew the definition, difference between, and physical application of things like heel carving and toe carving by the days end. It was some serious fun. There were of course major and monumental crashes and burns, the kind where you feel like a rag doll…a rag doll being thrashed by an abominable snowman. This is why my neck has 30% of its normal motion and why left gluteus maximus muscle feels like it was shot with a bowling ball. All bodily pain aside, the bewitching feel of gliding over snow, adrenaline releasing speed, and shredding in the company of brothers wes, and zach…company I haven’t had in 8 months, all combined for a magical day. Not to mention the scenery…jagged snow capped spikes of rock rising swiftly and abruptly, carved out forests of silent and frozen evergreen trees enduring the elements, the eerie and almost unnatural hush that seems to blanket everything…complete bereavement of sound. My eyes will forever crave natural beauty of the environment....as long as it remains to be beheld.

We are currently in a midmorning stalemate trying to decide if we are man enough to conquer Mt. Baker on back to back days; or whether to return home, nurse our aches and pains, and return in a purple plymouth voyager minivan full of fistpumps, a will to win, and a passionate resolve to party hard. But first, off to house cleaning and groans of muscular discomfort. Dope Boy Magic signing off.

Ps. Notable weekend quotes:
“We have friends, not fans!” – Andrew W. K.
“This guns for hire,” – Bruce Springstein.  ¶ 10:15 PM