fanning out

Morning! It’s the day after I watched an episode of Ghost Hunters and then got scared shitless when Cougs started tapping the aluminum siding outside my window at 4 a.m. like some creep, instead of just meowing to be let in like a normal cat would. But I digress.

So remember a while back when I said I was traveling for work and that I’d tell you more about it? Well, I got invited to judge a snowboard contest, the Roxy Chicken Jam—a women’s pro event in Mammoth. It was hard work, but good work. I have a new respect for people who do this for a living. So hard to compare, and so many variables to take into account. Ugh. When we heard people bitching about our results, I figured I’d have probably said that same thing if I’d just been idly watching, but until your sitting in the judges seat, you just never know….

The judges panel: Mauricio, me, Mr. Brushie, Rachel, Pheobe off in the background, and Chris's lady Kasia...

One of my fellow judges was none other than Jeff Brushie. And I am a fan. Always was. When I was fourteen I had the Burton “Don’t Forget to Brushie!” poster on my wall—at that time he could crush the entire world with one stylish frontside air. These days? Such a nice funny respectful fellow who drives around in an RV just for fun and has a lovely family. It was an honor to sit next to him on the judges’ panel and I’ll admit, I fanned out—but not obnoxiously, quietly, and respectfully, you know.

Brushie back in the day. Style for miles.