Allow me to challenge Mopsie’s bonus #12 on the fetish list, telemarkers. Whenever I meet someone that telemarks, you’ll notice, I must always inquire as to how they came down with this strange affliction. Tele just doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you just happen to get into, like your parents put you into ski school, or piano lessons, or horseback riding. The story always involves some combination of living at/near a ski resort, a shady friend or colleague who lent the victim some gear and took him out for the day, and some underlying need to be nonsensically different. (See also: harpists. But I have a personal grievance with harpists, which is a story you’ll have to ask me about at apres some time.)
So let me quote from this recent devastating takedown:
Fortunately, I was able to do some research into the ‘soul‘ of telemark skiing and it turns out to be the exact same sort of ‘soul‘ that 8-track tapes, horse-drawn carriages, and pit outhouses have in common. ‘Soul’ as it refers to telemarking is, in it’s essence, an out-dated, inadequate, godawful, worthless, defunct, low performance version of it’s new age counterpart.
The Bunnies are, of course, traditionalists with modern sensibilities, which means we ski only, with the latest gear, and torment our frenemies by shushing over the tips of telemarkers and hockey stopping in close proximity to the ever-sitting snowboarders who litter the slopes.
