ski wax


Waxing Gibbous Moon - June 4, 2017 by Joseph Brimacombe
Via Flickr:
Taken from Savannah Skies Observatory using a Skynyx 2-2 high speed camera and 10-cm Takahashi Apochromatic Refractor at F/8. IMAGE INFO Five frames Capture start time = 19:52:55 / UT+10 Hours Capture duration = 82.36 Sec Captured frames = 1000 Capture frame speed = 12 Fps

A silver Lucifer
cocaine in cornucopia

To some somnambulists
of adolescent thighs
in satirical draperies

Peris in livery
for posthumous parvenues

Delirious Avenues
with the chandelier souls
of infusoria
from Pharoah’s tombstones

to mercurial doomsdays
Odious oasis
in furrowed phosphorous

the eye-white sky-light
white-light district
of lunar lusts

Stellectric signs
“Wing shows on Starway”
“Zodiac carrousel”

of ecstatic dust
and ashes whirl
from hallucinatory citadels
of shattered glass
into evacuate craters

A flock of dreams
browse on Necropolis

From the shores
of oval oceans
in the oxidized Orient

Onyx-eyed Odalisques
and ornithologists
the flight
of Eros obsolete

And “Immortality”
mildews …
in the museums of the moon

“Nocturnal cyclops”
“Crystal concubine”

Pocked with personification
the fossil virgin of the skies
waxes and wanes

—  Mina Loy, “Lunar Baedeker.”

ok but when I said I want to see the sand siblings ski I meant that I want to see them go through amazing experiences such as:

trying to do the herringbone up a hill and then failing and ending up having to do the crabwalk of shame

or losing control of your legs while going downhill

or finding out too late that you used the wrong ski wax

or how bout just trying to ski in a straight line

pls dont underestimate how fucking awkward and weird skiing really is

Zeno Colò in an ad for Holmenkol ski wax.  Colò was a champion alpine ski racer from Italy, born in Abetone, Tuscany. He was among the top ski racers of the late 1940s and early 1950s.
At the 1950 World Championships in Aspen, Colorado he won the gold medal in both downhill and giant slalom and the silver in slalom. Two years later at the 1952 Olympics in Oslo he won gold in the downhill.
He won the Lauberhorn downhill in Wengen in 1948, and took the slalom title there in 1949 and 1950.


Remember back in the day when this was a running blog?

I stayed out way too late last night, but bossman gifted me with a couple of Sundance tickets, and I couldn’t say no. I also stayed out too late on Thursday and Monday. A pattern (involving shitty sleep) is beginning to emerge.

This morning I woke up about three hours before I wanted to. Storm skiing commands it. I texted the Prince of Norway. I finished waxing my skis. I texted him again. And again. And again.

Normally he texts me at around 6:30 asking if I want first chair. It got to be 7:45 and I hadn’t heard from him, and I was actually starting to worry. Turns out he was awake, he blew his alternator, and he had to wait for the auto parts store to open.

By the time I got on the road, it was too late. All of the sleepyheads were out and trying to get up my beloved canyon. I pulled off the highway and canyon traffic was backed up almost to the exit (the canyon is 17 miles of single-lane traffic). That is like a 2+ hour wait at the very least. I tried to stick it out. I wanted to ski so badly, and Jess and E were already up there.

I lasted about 45 minutes before getting plus or minus nowhere – halfway between the off-ramp and the mouth of the canyon. My crankypants and I flipped around and went home.

After rage-cleaning my apartment (and with nothing better to do), I packed a bag, queued Hamilton to flow through my headphones, and set outside for I-had-no-idea-what.

I’m not even sure I would call this running – more like forward-moving knee-highs. The storm I so badly wanted to ski was dropping some wet and heavy snow in the valley, varying from 2-6" deep along my path. Stretches graced by the warmth of the sun turned to icy slush puddles with underlying blankets of mud. To say that this run was an exercise in stabilizers would be an understatement.

At first I thought I’d just do the easy 3-mile neighborhood loop, but I found myself heading south, meandering along the river trail, crossing foot bridges, and prancing through calf deep snow. When I eventually found firm footing, I headed east and set my sights on the Temple. The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, so then I figured I should run up to the Capitol to catch the golden and ruby rays fading over the Oquirrhs and the Great Salt Lake.

And then it was dark and I was getting cold, so I donned my headlamp and reflective gear, and shuffled down the icy hill toward home.

8.5 miles later, and I’m considerably happier and significantly more tired.

Sleep comes extra early tonight. Tomorrow is a powder day, and I’m not throwing away my shot (shot).