Winning: Mexican dominates Utah!

Brown people in white snow among white people with dark hearts, warm magic underwear!

I am a sucker for snowpeople of the Hispanic persuasion. I’m especially a sucker for my Latin snowpeople hailing from the state of Utah. Brown people in white snow among white people with dark hearts, warm magic underwear, and 3.2% beer. Talk about an overcoming adversity. That’s why it’s great to see guys like Jesse Martinez crushing the rail game all over the “Industry” state.

Reminds me of a summer when I housesat for my brother in the heart of the Wasatch. Some Saturday morning, I’m greeted with a knock at the front door. At his house, with no less than three temples within a square-mile radius, I was pretty sure that, as the lone confirmed heathen in that mile radius, whoever the fuck was knocking was knocking for my salvation.

Fuck it, turn the TV up.

Another knock, louder, more urgent.

Fuck it, turn the TV all the way up.

Full scale banging on the door ensues. Enough to startle or enrage.

With only the option of putting on porn at full blast or answering the door, for whatever reason, I chose the latter. Hand on the doorknob, count to three, open quickly and hit ‘em with my opener:

“You guys wanna talk about JEEEEE-ZUSSSS???”

The best defense is a good offense, right? Next question, had I gotten there, was which Catholic Saint had the best ass. The right answer would have been Mary Magdalene but…

Nary an evangelist in sight. I was dumbfounded, a sea of juvenile eyes upon me. Before me I found an entire baseball team of Mexican kids in full gear with a “Gracias Señor [Retracted]” cake, a twelver of Negra Modelo and a hefty bottle of El Jimador.

“Oh no!” Moaned a pudgy kid. “I think he joined the church!” Turns to his homie, “Te dije que lo iban a agarrar, mormones pendejos…”

Turns out, only dude in the ‘hood to donate money to the spring baseball fundraiser that year was my brother, recently relocated from the Northwest and happily an outsider to his LDS neighbors.

Rewind to March. Crew of kids were selling candy. The ultramarathoning, 150-snow-days-a-year, vertically inclined backcountry hardass that is my brother could give a fuck about some Kit Kats. As he later recounted, he asked little dudes how the sale was going.

Not good, answered the pudgiest kid in the crew. Our English ain’t so good. The church people only give money to church people. We sold a few down by the college, but we got all this left, flashes a coupla hundred candy bars at him. Season starts soon. Sponsor from last year, dude from the taquería, got deported. Kid over there, plays shortstop, that’s his nephew. No sponsor to get our uniforms made this year. We’re mostly related, all of our parents are from the same two towns, Acaponeta and Huajicori.

Bro asks how much uniforms were. Some nominal amount, less than a full snow rig. Closes the door. Comes back with a check for double the amount. Tells kids to stay in school, not to take no shit from nobody. Don’t eat all the fucking candy, especially you fatty, yeah you, fat shit, I know baseball’s not exercise, but damn, have some self-respect. Nods to the den mother chaperoning the team, good luck, vayan con Dios, and closes the door.

Back to my summer Saturday. Turns out the team of little sluggers from Los Estados Unidos Mexicanos had bested their Cache Valley competition for the under-12 title. The parents wanted to thank their sponsor; they’d made some stylie uniforms. The team name? The “L.N.” Dodgers.

“¿L.N.? Isn’t it L.A.?” I asked. No, they answered. L.N. means Logan-Nayarit. Sick!

They totally confused me for my brother, but the gesture, unforgettable. I offered a drink to the parents, some cake to the kids. They declined, just stoked that I was stoked. Little fat kid looked at me as they left: “don’t eat all the fucking cake, mister.”

The element in common between JM’s season recap, the L.N. Dodgers, and housesitting? That family tip.

JM’s short flick is produced by hermano (¿o primo?) Edson Ramirez. And while I’m not gonna lie, I’d need to be pretty fucked up to be feeling this soundtrack, the guitarwork is by Jesse’s other bro (¿o primo?), David.

Snow’s currently flying here in the Sierra. Here’s to rolling this 2016-2017 with familia like the Martinez crew and the L.N. Dodgers!

Help: “My wife’s ex-husband is a pro!”

Who once front-flipped a moving train (I think).

I married a legendary professional snowboarder named after a Greek goddess who turned men to swine. She jumped off cliffs, out of helicopters and once pulled a challenger’s pants down and then punched her in the nose.

If that is not enough, her ex-husband is an even more legendary professional snowboarder who front-flipped a moving train, modeled for Ralph Lauren and is current snowboard mogul champion of the world, having held the title for 25 years and counting.

I am pretty ok. Probably exactly average.

Like, I can now ride powder but a make-a-wish kid once thrashed me the first time I tried. In front of my wife.

And ummmm I cannnnn ummmmmmmmmmmmmm like…….. I don’t know. Not fall off when the chair reaches its end.

What if you got showed up by your woman’s ex every time you touched snow? How would you feel?

I can show you.

Film: “Raw, homemade, feral!”

Sound like wonderful porn? Maybe it is! And feat. Nick Russell, Wyatt Stasinos, Cory Stasinos, Jeremy Jones, Forrest Shearer + more!

Snowboarding movies matter only to us. Only ever have and only ever will, despite the best efforts of energy drink purveyors and extreme sports TV broadcasters. This intangible “general public” or “crossover enthusiast” is a figment. People hate cold weather & snow shovels.

So predictably negative, I know. Please disagree citing the need to “grow the audience” with “relatable” content. Parrot that old industry refrain, “it’s a lifestyle.”  But also, ask yourself: if you were flipping through the channels, would you randomly stop scrolling to watch an hour-long, action-based golf movie?

How about bowling?


It of course follows then, that those rare and rarefied, overhyped and over-produced big budget snow films can only fall flat. The heart, soul & truth of snowboarding snuffed out by lofty cinematic ambitions. Extinguished by expectations. By pandering to those who don’t get it.

So then. The alternative becomes obvious. Let’s see the raw, the homemade, the pure. FREE, is a good example; a homegrown and homemade analog snowboard film from a crew of feral adventurers that includes Nick Russell, Wyatt Stasinos, Cory Stasinos, Jeremy Jones, Forrest Shearer & some friends. It’s shot all on beautifully crusty 16mm and Super 8 film. Japan, Chile, Alaska.

No bullshit. Just a group of pals in far-off lands wearing funny hats and pillaging powder.

See the World Premiere on October 27th in Tahoe City, California

FREE- Trailer from Wonderberry on Vimeo.

Yikes: “The stoke grabbed Andy!”

A father x son snowboarding trip goes horribly awry. Let this be a lesson to all.

Winter’s coming, fuck yeah! You can feel it in the air. It’s brisk when you wake up, there’s a little frost, things are looking up. But when the snow finally does fall, don’t let the stoke grab you too hard like it grabbed Andy!

Let this video keep you in bounds and totally aware!

Opinion: Separate us from skiiers!

Another take on Lindsey Vonn's Trump moment!

The other day the skier Lindsey Vonn said “I’m trying to be politically correct here. I do like snowboarders but I think it’d be super-great if we could have a little separation.” I read this, and honestly it didn’t even register as anything, but then I started scrolling through Facebook, and Instagram, and there was post after post about this, from top professional snowboarders.

The Full Moon Film girls called out Vonn, inviting her to their premiere, and made this super long post about having a “separate roped off zone for her, alluding to her comments.

But here’s the thing: who cares if she wants different mountains for skiing and snowboarding? Like would that really be a bad thing? Do you want to hang with whack, pompous skiers? Do you want to chill and hang with a bunch of jocks that just don’t get it?

I know I don’t, and I really don’t give a fuck about what they have to say either. The battle between skiers and snowboarders is over.

All Lindsey Vonn is, is a kook on a radio show.