If you like skateboarding—pure street skating—no three minutes of your day will be better invested than by watching “Local” by Sean Slobodan. I like how the piece focuses on what’s awesome about street skating, like making wide open concrete a canvas for the creativity of the subjects. These guys aren’t yanking 720s in front of Red Bull banners or filming “fails,” they’re just skating, and it’s old-school and kick-ass all at the same time. It’s also very laid back, which is an aspect of skateboarding so often neglected for adrenaline-driven stunt riding.
Well, if you’ve ever wondered what it might be like to have some avalanche-assistance getting down your line, here’s some beta.
While short-lived and presumably minor, this footage is nonetheless fascinating. Watch how the snow breaks and seems to bubble and wave before Sorin Radu, the rider, turns to work his way out of it. At the 15 second mark he adjusts a bit, just enough to break it loose. According to the YouTube comments, this happened in the Retezat Mountains of the Southern Carpathians.
If there’s one product in America synonymous with football, it’s beer. And maybe Viagra. But mostly beer.
So naturally, we don’t think twice when Budweiser pours a healthy portion of its annual marketing budget into a couple of commercials during the most-watched television event of the year.
In addition to the King of Beer giving us another episode of “Cute Farm Puppy and His Big Equine Buddy,” the company also took a swipe at the little guy, the craft beer maker.
In turn, the website hopstories.com, published a retort of sorts. (Embedded above.)
I don’t think I’m out here on a limb when I say that craft beer is pretty tightly woven into the fabric of the outdoor adventure demographic. Count me among its many advocates. There’s always a few sixers of something with craft origin in the warehouse fridge for guides to sip when unwinding from the stress of safely routing a family of six from Iowa out of the Grand Canyon.
However, there are always a few errant PBRs or Silver Bullets milling about too, maybe next to some left over gouda, which wasn’t consumed because a guest decided they didn’t eat diary on the way to the trailhead. If a name isn’t attached to those beers, bottoms up. (Hey, everyone knows the company fridge rules.)
I don’t want to explain to someone why I ordered a can of the Banquet.
There was a time when I eschewed craft beer largely because of the same notions Budweiser alluded to in its Super Bowl ad: because it was always introduced with an air of elitism, as if its art-house label of the brewmaster’s beard somehow made it superior. I remember being told often that my Bud Light, “Wasn’t real beer.”
In further defense of the macro brew, some German guests I was guiding last summer couldn’t quite understand our fascination with craft beer, IPAs in particular. “Such a headache I got,” was one such comment.
They cited German purity laws, explaining that the rampant growth of small breweries would never make it under the stringent ingredient standards in place to ensure brewing authenticity. Historically speaking, Budweiser is much closer to beer’s true origins than anything Oskar Blues is canning.
(If you really want to debate beer quality, tell someone from Cologne that you prefer the beer in Düsseldorf. Then run.)
All that being said, I just don’t care. I don’t want to explain to someone why I ordered a can of the Banquet. Or a pint of Rogue Hazelnut Brown. Or something with pumpkin spice in it, whatever the hell that is.
Let’s not allow inane subjectivity and the misinformed spoil the reasons why we’re sharing a beer. Let’s just have a beer.
In my fridge right now is a can of Lite, a bottle of Lagunitas Little Sumpin’, a tall boy of Blue Moon, and about six Modelos.