Marathon Day is upon us.  Somewhere a red cup is being prepared for marathoning triumph.  In another place, a tuxedo is being dry cleaned to run 26.2 miles in.  I’m sure a cat in the hat costume is being mended.

And another of Boston’s mascots is getting ready for his 26.2 miles:

 

 

 

 

As the founder, senior reporter and editor in chief of Wrong Side of the Camera, I make sure that we (meaning me because I like to run a lean operation) are always where news is happening.  Not actual news, but news of the weird.  News of the fun.  News of delightfully wacky or tacky.

Worldwide Wrestling Entertainment’s Tuesday Night Smackdown is the kind of event that we (again meaning I) feel fits with the editorial mission of Wrong Side of the Camera and as such I attended, turning my editorial eye to the proceedings:

 

Yeah, I know, it kind of looks like a model of wrestling, but no, it is an actual WWE event.  My camera resources were limited.  The ticket stub made it rather clear that my giant camera would be unwelcome and my smaller camera is a bit out of commission after ski season, so all I had was my phone.  I sharpened, I improved the photos on my computer.

Actually, the proceedings rather resembled pop art:

 

 

 

And when they didn’t, I helped things along to make them look slightly more pop art:

 

I have to say that the whole thing resembled more of a theater production than actual violent fighting.  There are heroes, there are villains.  One guy seems like he is winning and then another guy jumps on his face and he is the “winner.”  The fighting was so hilariously choreographed, but yet all in good fun.  I also wanted to add that the ticket was a mere $35 and WWE provided me with at least $70 worth of show and I last bestowed such a compliment on Metallica.  Bob Dylan, whose concert I paid $70 to go see, provided me with $5 worth of show.  Bob, I know you are a cultural icon, but I want my money back from that show.  To go see WWE again!

 

And just like that, we reach the end of ski season.  No more early mornings, no more smell of ski wax on Sunday mornings, waffles at the end of a long day.  No more sound of powder crunching under my skis, which I love.  No more bounce in my step when I get on the slopes.  Eight months until I see another snowy peak.  I can hardly believe that to be true.

Today I went to Wachusett, the old standby, the place I go when I don’t feel like getting up at 3am and spend six hours going to Vermont.  It was melt down day, with the people in the weird outfits, half melted slopes and band playing Jimmy Buffet songs.  In other words, heaven.  I forgot how much I loved Jimmy Buffet until I heard “Wasting Away in Margarita-ville.”

Oh well.  Gotta wait another 8 months to go skiing again.  Until then, we can just remember it for what it was:

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To this:

 

First of all, how cute are these dogs???:

 

 

And what are they talking about at the staff meeting?: