5 weeks ago in culture: The Charms of Rustic New England.

Let's just pretend that I didn't just ditch this blog for 6 weeks, ok?

Reason # 43 why Montreal is a great place in which to live: Within 2 hours of driving south of the city, you are whisked away from a bustling, metropolitan clusterfuck, a place where metrosexuals rule the roost, where under-sized, bottled beers called “Boris” are consumed by the case, and men and women alike insist on wearing flared jeans (a note to the gents: these do not make you look taller, they make you look more feminine), you find yourself in a world of dairy farms, homegrown beef jerky, rickety chairlifts, and rustic charm.

In other words, I took a thursday off work and headed down to Mad River Glenn, Vermont. I had been meaning to ski this mountain for years, but life kept getting in the way. Finally the day came, and it was glorious. After an industry-debilitating snow drought in the early season, Vermont ski areas were finally getting their due, and MRG got hers in the form of nearly 4 feet of snow in as many days.

A large part of Mad River's charm is the rustic, laid back feel of the mountain. There are no trams or high-speed, quad chairlifts to speak of. Rather, the locals' pride and joy is Mad River's beyond-antiquated, sloth-like, singe-seat chairlift. Everything about the chairlift seems wholly nonsensical, at least upon first inspection. The line for the lift is ridiculously long and snakes around endlessly, and then when the chair arrives to swoop you up, it looks less like the streamlined benches that proliferate most modern ski resorts, and more like a motorized replica of the desk chair you were sentenced to using in grade school. Honestly, I was less afraid of falling out of the chair than I was of being called to the blackboard to do long devision. Blast you, remainder 2, blast you.

But once you've locked the miniscule, tubular "safety harness" (ha!) into place and you start moving, things change. You are immediately launched into your own world of serene introspection. Within 2 minutes of the first trip up, I actually found myself singing aloud the first 4 versus of "Ring of Fire". And by the end of my last trip up, I had resolved to become a better Jew. It's amazing what kind of impact prolonged solitude and 40 km/h winds can have on the human spirit.


FS

This week in culture: Americana Profundo - a.k.a. Superbowl Sunday

When I hear someone utter the word "Super" and then, mere nanoseconds later, I hear that same person utter the word "bowl", I know that that person is probably talking about football. Call it a sixth sense, call it a sneaking suspicion - I can just tell that football is the topic at hand. And it makes me both sad and excited. Because it isn't always easy being a Superbowl fan in these parts. Imagine being the solitary fan of a sport, holding the torch high, when no one else gives a damn. Honestly, is it fair and just that archery, curling, bowling, short-form rhythmic gymnastics, and even hockey can enjoy their fandom to no end, but then football gets no recognition? So it's tough and it's unfair, but I continue to support the Superbowl anyway, in spite of it all. I believe in the sport of football and the sanctity and righteousness of the Superbowl tradition, and I will stand in the face of collective neglect so that I may bring awareness to the game. Now I know how Rosa Parks felt.

So I think my favourite part of this year's Superbowl had to be when Magneto, prime adversary of the X-Men, broke out of his metal-free, high-tech prison cell by drawing and weaponizing the iron from the blood of his prison guard. It was gory, but I give his escape top marks for creativity - way to go Magneto!

In other words, I could not be bothered to watch the actual Superbowl and I instead settled in for a viewing of X-MEN 2, featured on the Fox network. Truthfully, I find televised football to be immensely dull, and the Superbowl is, truly, the worst of the worst. Thankfully, the Fox network was providing an engaging respite from the multi-channel sports orgy (sporgy?) in the form of "X2".

But the movie ended and I wasn't finished nerding out. So stirred was I by Magneto's performance, I decided to Google him after the movie and glean what I could from the various Magneto biographies that were littering the internet, courtesy of the legions of pale, friendless virgins who thought the world should know more about Magneto. So I Googled, and, lo and behold, what did I find? The guy is a Heeb! And i'm not talking about synagogue-thrice-a-year-and-indulge-in-the-odd-dreidel-spin-to-keep-up-appearances kind of Jewish. I mean the guy was apparently a Holocaust survivor who saw his father murdered on their way to Auschwitz. How heavy is that?? What ever happened to the good old days of superhero back stories, when a billionaire industrialist could just accidentally walk into a gamma radiation-spewing cannon and be transformed into a leotard-sporting beacon of strength and justice?

But I don't judge. And while I am, in actuality, enormously proud that such a badass character is representing the Judaica Massiv, i can't say that i'm surprised that Magneto is mishpacha. It all comes down to the dorky helmet he wears. You will notice that Magneto is the only mutant who wears a helmet in the movie, and the reason is pretty clear, at least from my perspective: sure, he says he wears it to prevent his nemesis, Professer Xavier, leader of the X-men, from using his psychic abilities to manipulate Magneto's mind. But it's pretty clear that Magneto's overbearing Jewish mother is the real culprit here, as she probably thinks helmets are safer, and as such he's probably not allowed to leave the house without wearing the thing. The poor bastard.


FS