As with many things, there are phases to an EpicSki Bear's life:
First is the silent phase. You hang out on Epic. You think it's pretty cool. You wonder, "how do these guys know so much about the Icelantic Shaman?" You're too intimidated to post.
Next is the weighing in phase. You leap into discussions on helmet use, ski width and safety bars. "These are the core issues of the day," you tell yourself. You crack a bottle of Moose Drool to celebrate your 100th post.
Then the obsessive phase: Your dinnertime conversations center on whether volantaddict is real. You ask your colleagues if they think Philpug will find true happiness in Tahoe. Your wife says you need to talk. You PM her.
Next comes the snarky phase. You post a lot, but only to put others in their place. You liberally apply the term "Jong" to anyone with fewer posts than you. You figure you're pretty much down with the Jackson Hole crew. I mean, you've been there. Once.
Next, the reflective phase. "Just who are these people?," you wonder. "And what's happening to me?" You post mostly in the "What Are You Drinking Right Now" thread.
The what's in it for me phase: Your only concern is scoring gear deals, resort hookups and cheap lift passes. You claim to be a cop/gym teacher/TV anchorman/fishing guide/pilot/Jainist to maximize your Promotive discounts.
Then the burnout phase. You drop out. And when you do drop in, it's just to lurk. You pretty much only open threads labeled "Bargain" or "Prize" or "Free." Maybe "BBQ."
Finally, the reborn Bear phase. A Splitter or mountaingirl or, yes, Bob Peters trip report opens your eyes again. Suddenly, your quiver looks ample, your home hill steep and challenging. You change your signature. Offer a hand in a "Where to Ski Out West" thread. Lend your polite expertise to "What Skis to Buy for the Wife." And, once again, the sky is blue, the snow is deep, you surf on Epic, and then fall asleep.