I am neither a part of the snowboard industry, nor the snowboard journalist posse. Actually right now, to be honest, I have no job. I’m contracted to write a book about snowboarding for St. Martin’s Press. Ha ha, your thinking. A book about snowboarding. Great. Another person who knows nothing about snowboarding is here to cop a position of authority and cash in. Ha ha, I’m thinking. Yep. That would be me. Hi! Great to be here. Good to meet you. Let’s hook up on the backside of Squaw. Rad. See you there .

I got this gig by boozing my way up the New York corporate publishing ladder, getting people drunk and talking about snowboarding. It wasn’t that difficult, really. But let me go on record right away as saying it’s not really a book about snowboarding as a sport, per se. These days I’m telling people that it’s about snowboarding as a circus. And a circus it has become. What’s funny though, is that to the average Joe out there, snowboarding doesn’t really exist. It’s in the same category as bungee jumping or sky surfing; an extreme sport for the adrenaline starved youth of the ’90s. But I digress. I was telling you about myself.

Want some pertinent background? Ready? I was a skier. Skied my whole life. Have only snowboarded for a season. Know what else? I’m from New York City and have palpitations when I’m out of town for too long. If you don’t hate me yet, how ’bout this; I smoke cigarettes. Now you’re wondering why the hell I even want to write a book about snowboarding. Well I’ll tell ya, I love snowboarding. At the ripe age of 25, it’s the only thing I do that makes me so happy I want to die. It saved me from urban disintegration. I am primarily a magazine writer who drinks too much coffee, smokes too much and never sleeps. But those days are gone. I still drink a lot of coffee and smoke, but I quit my job. I left New York. I’m going native, but as I said, I’m a fish out of water here. The thing is, I’m good at blending, so don’t think you’ll catch me. I stay in the shadows, observing. The geek with the notebook. That’s not to say that I won’t have a total meltdown. And you lucky people may get to witness it, right here on SOL.

So I’m sitting here on this porch in the Hollywood Hills, staying with my roommate’s movie star boyfriend. He keeps asking me how my Rollerblading novel is and I just keep saying that it’s not a novel. I had to get a car, of course. Buying a used car in Los Angeles is like trying to rent an apartment in New York: I’d rather eat bird doo. I ended up with a leased Ford pick-up in beige, and I put this old-school camper shell on it so it looks like some weird Ghostbusters mobile. I guess I may not be blending so well after all. After a jaunt to San Diego for a few days, I will be heading north on my quest to find meaning in snowboarding. Wish me luck. I’ll keep you posted.