COOL SCHOOL: A day in the life of one of Whistler’s chosen
By Leslie Anthony
Ever wondered what it’s like to be one of skiing’s rock-star wunderkind? We checked in with Will “Huck” Finnegan, one of Whistler’s new breed of tricky slough-riders, to see what it’s like to spend a day in his boots…er, uh, slippers.
8 a.m.: Answer phone call from local Joe Lammers, who wants to ski because it’s a huge powder day. You’re too hungover, and besides, the hill is too busy in the morning on pow days, and nobody can tell who you are in a storm. Take a rain check for the afternoon.
8:10 a.m.: Have sex with girlfriend, finish flat Jack and Coke you left on nightstand at 4 a.m. after getting home from private party. Unplug phone, go back to sleep.
9:30 a.m.: Have sex with girlfriend, shower, shave goatee down to soul patch, and taper sideburns to harsh points. Shave forearms so tattoos show better. Muss up hair.
10 a.m.: Plug in phone, check messages. Return calls to sponsors and potential sponsors on cell phone outside on your deck, where it’s windy, snowing, and sounds like a chairlift.
11 a.m.: Hunker down with Sony PlayStation and entertain a steady stream of “Santa’s little helpers” from Purolator, FedEx, and UPS. Act casual about each item. Throw them on a pile of unopened packages in the front hall for effect. (You’ll open packages later in front of friends and complain about how long they took to arrive and that they aren’t exactly what you wanted.)
11:30 a.m.: Receive fax that clothing sponsor has dropped you.
11:31 a.m.: Obtain new clothing sponsor.
11:32 a.m.: Suddenly remember you’ve just decked out your girlfriend in previous clothing sponsor’s street and outerwear; realize it will be a huge chore to change her entire wardrobe.
11:33 a.m.: Change girlfriends.
11:45 a.m.: Have sex with new girlfriend, give her some glisse-neutral stickers for her snowboard.
12:15 p.m.: Have coffee with sponsored friends. Talk industry trash, slag other skiers, their sponsors, writers, photographers, and complain bitterly about contracts, late photo-incentive checks, your latest poster, and anything you’ve received lately in the color orange. Keep cell phone on table in prominent position so that everyone can see the display. It rings constantly but you never answer.
1:05 p.m.: Japanese girls recognize you in village; sign their breasts while American tourists from “Christians for Snow” ski club look on in horror.
1:10 p.m.: Bask in self-glory on way home.
1:20 p.m.: Check e-mail, send out more proposals.
1:47 p.m.: Muss up hair.
1:59 p.m.: Check e-mail.
2:05 p.m.: Nap.
2:41 p.m.: Phone call from cinematographer Tom Ericson alerts you to the rumor that nobody will film with you next season unless you get a sled.
2:46 p.m.: Buy snowmobile.
3:10 p.m.: Receive call from super-hot Swedish freeski chick who gave you a handjob at the last movie premiere. She’s in town and wants to meet on the hill. You call everyone back who called you to make good on rain checks for skiing. You bust a nut to gear up and get to the hill just as the snow turns to rain and the lifts shut down for the day.
3:35 p.m.: First Jack and Coke on La Brasserie patio, in full costume.
3:47 p.m.: Field three phone calls in a row from sponsors: Your movie segie producer is threatening to drop you unless you throw down harder; your ski sponsor wants you to do more tricks; and your clothing sponsor wants more big mountain stuff. You tell the first one you just bought a sled and are going filming in some sick shit tomorrow, the second one you’re in the terrain park right now (scrape bottle along patio railing to simulate railslide), and the third that you don’t have time to talk because you’re on top of Mt. Currie and are about to drop into a heinous first descent.
4 p.m.: Order a triple Jack and Coke
