Off the Slopes: The accidental journalist

Thing #1 and Thing #2 at a Sheet Christmas party circa 2009. Goforth (left), Wolf (right).

Considering I was super bored and I had no TV, the only thing for a guy like me to do was flip through a copy of the Sheet. Damn, I really needed something to yell at. So naturally, the only logical thing to do was to write a letter to the editor of The Sheet highlighting how crappy I thought the paper was.

I sincerely didn’t have anything against The Sheet. But nonetheless, I irrationally wrote it up and hit the send button. The email was entitled  “Just an opinion.” The following is a copy of that email:

“Reading the Sheet is like listening to a drunken adolescent ramble about social concerns. This periodical is probably the biggest waste of time one can have on a lunch break. Just getting through a sentence requires one to take the biggest breath to survive the never ending run on sentences and grammatical labyrinths. I’m not ripping on the Sheet because I have a vendetta or any subliminal motives. But, if you’re going to print words for the public to read, then please, it is your civic duty to at least proof read your paper before publishing. This paper would be better off if it was taken over by Mammoth Elementary and they let the fourth graders write and edit this jumbled mishmash of news and gossip. Perhaps The Sheet should just limit its publication to one “sheet” of paper, at least then it would be easier to proofread and less torturous to get through. Thanks for your time.”

Man, I cannot believe I sent that. I would later find out that The Sheet actually started out as just one piece of paper and that occasionally beer was involved in the proofreading process. However, a few days later I was shocked when I got a response from the publisher, Jack Lunch, asking for a face to face.

I reluctantly agreed to the meeting but I wasn’t sure what the hell this guy wanted. To me, the only plausible thing I could think of was that he more than likely wanted to kick my ass. So I told my roommate, Tyler Goforth, that if I didn’t come home within an hour, to call the police. The next day I found the Sheet office and strolled in rocking a pink tank top and a pair of “jorts” (jeans shorts). “Is this The Sheet?“ I asked. Lunch turned from his computer with an expression of, “You have got to be kidding me.” He shrugged his shoulders and suggested we step out and grab a coffee at Stellar Brew.

We found a table and Lunch asked what I didn’t like about the paper. I opened it up and began to leaf through it. “This…This…This,” I said, arrogantly pointing to various articles. I had no clue that I was actually sitting in a job interview. In retrospect, the most awkward job interview I’ve ever had.

From across the table Lunch looked up and said, “Well, do you think you could do a better job?” Puzzled, I began to realize what was happening. “I don’t know. Eh, I suppose.”  He suggested I write something up and we would go from there.

After the “meeting” I got home and it dawned on me, “Holy sh$t. I get to write a story for the paper about whatever the hell I want!” Pondering this for awhile, I remembered how I had I spent the last few weeks stewing about how there was little to no late night food options in Mammoth. So that afternoon I wrote my first story for the Sheet entitled, “A Slice of Contradiction.” It was about how I love crushing pizza after the bars close. Thus, 5 Boroughs Pizza should serve slices ’til 2 a.m.

I was proud of that story. But after it went to print, I was surprised when I received my first hate letter (the first of many) from the owner of Pita Pit, Doug Hanna. He lightheartedly ripped The Sheet and myself for forgetting about the importance of the delicious pita as a fourth meal option. Doug and I would later become friends but I actually avoided Pita Pit for weeks, fearing that I may run into this angry Doug dude.

Despite the letter, 5 Boroughs Pizza took my advice and stayed open ’til 2 a.m … and then went out of business a few weeks later. I still believe I had nothing to do with that.

Maybe it was a rough start. But the story went over well, and I kept writing. About a month later, Sheet writer Tony Dublino left the paper for a job with the county and Lunch called me up asking if I wanted to join the paper on a more regular basis. Figuring that writing was something I went to school for and I might well justify my student loans, I put in my 2 weeks at Mammoth’s call center and dove in.

Now the thing about writing for The Sheet that you have to realize is it doesn’t just involve you. You don’t punch in to a clock everyday and sit at a desk. Your office becomes the ski hill, the bars, the bus stop and your friend’s house. Eventually everyone you know, in some capacity, ends up doing something for the paper. So naturally, my roommate Goforth became “Sheet Spokesmodel Goforth.” This worked out great considering I always needed someone to pose for pictures that would be paired with stories talking about the sauce policy at McDonald’s, Mammoth’s mustache regulations, dining with go-go dancers, why you should steal Internet and product reviews on tech gadgets that don’t work, such as the Loud ‘n Clear.

Some stories made people laugh; others inspired people to want to punch me in the face — Goforth too, because oddly enough, people actually thought we were the same person. But I quickly learned that I shouldn’t give a sh$t if people hated what I wrote. After all, most of the ideas I got for stories were from conversations I had with my friends and people within my demographic. To me, those were the ONLY people I was writing for.

Over the next couple of years, there were those who tried to get me fired from The Sheet (at least 3 times that I know of). Every time, Lunch denied their request for my head. Typically,  he would either take responsibility for whatever I’d said or he would get off the phone with some pissed off guy and say, “Hey, at least people are reading your stuff,” or “If people are getting mad, that just means this town has a pulse.” Never once was I told to tone it down.

Because of this atmosphere I got the opportunity to hone my skills as a writer. I learned what it took to get a good interview. I got to hash out ideas such as the 5 Degrees and the Decision Tree series. I also learned what they don’t teach you in college lecture halls, and that’s how to be a resourceful writer.

Once, to get information for a story about declining rental costs in Mammoth, I walked into the Mammoth Times office and asked if I could look at their classified archives. Not wanting to tell them I worked for The Sheet, I pretended to be a kid working on a research project. While sitting at a table in the back of their office, then publisher Dave Balcom, asked me what I was working on. I looked up and said, “I’m just trying to prove a point to my landlord” (which was the honest truth considering Lunch was my landlord at the time). Balcom then replied, “Wow, what an ambitious young man.”

Through The Sheet I met tons of musicians I grew up listening to. I got to witness UFC fighter Royce Gracie’s crazy eye first hand. I interviewed pro skiers and snowboarders, filmmakers, actors, comedians, stuntmen, business owners, politicians, cops and drug dealers. I got to judge bartender competitions, I was a Jell-O wrestling commentator, a bingo caller, karaoke host, night club DJ, and even a winter biathlete. The only gigs I wish I could have landed were strip club DJ, Hyde Lounge Bouncer and MMSA Marketing Director. I leave with no regrets.

I wrote that angry email to Lunch almost 3 years ago. Now, after roughly 200 articles and much consideration, I’ve decided to leave The Sheet and head to one of the biggest ski towns there is: Salt Lake City. I guess you could say I have a bad case of the jimmy legs and it’s time to make some moves. But I also feel it’s time I make a splash in the freelance market, start making grownup money and start slaying more In-N-Out. After all, as Johnny Utah from “Point Break” once said, “You gonna jump or jerk off?”

Please, there’s no need for an Oprah farewell. But I would like to say thank you to the 5 or 6 people who got my jokes, and also to June Mountain, McDonald’s, NPG Cable and, of course, Pita Pit for all the letters of encouragement.

Lastly, thank God for The Sheet, the only newspaper that would hire a self-agonizing jerk who viciously made fun of it.

So farewell Mammoth, you proverbial used car lot of single men and a couple of chicks. Now it’s time to whip up some bitter emails in Salt Lake.