Category: Best of the Blog

My favorite things I’ve written.

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Brush with Greatness

True story. My first “real job” out of college was selling copiers. Outside sales. One day I was out cold calling in my super horrible sales territory, just going through an office building talking to people. I went into a small movie production company and met the owner, Terry Lofton (yes, close last name). They had produced this wonderful film — Nail Gun Massacre. I have never seen it.

Apparently Terry died in 2011, at the age of 48, and NGM was the only film he ever made.

I did not succeed in selling them a copier.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nail_Gun_Massacre

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A Trip to the Ball Park

This week I ran face-first into the America. I went to a professional baseball game.

I come from a baseball family. My dad and his twin brother played minor league ball. My cousin played minor league ball. My other cousin was a major league pitcher for many years. I inherited none of that skill, talent, or competitive nature. I’m OK with that. I’m proud of what my dad, uncle, and cousins accomplished.

When I was young my family went to many Texas Rangers games. Honestly, it was really just about the only thing we ever did. We didn’t go camping. We didn’t go to the movies. We didn’t go on vacations. We went to baseball games. Oh, we went to Houston a few times. To see baseball games. I didn’t really know that other people did things besides go to baseball games, so it didn’t bother me.

One of my favorite memories of going out to the ballpark goes something like this. We drove out early (as we always did) so we could be there for batting practice (not even kidding). For some reason we stopped at a Mr. M food store (kind of like a 7-11). There was a comic book rack. I procured what I believe was a “giant size” issue of Justice Leage of America. I was so happy! This was a real find! When we arrived at the ballpark I left the comic in the car, so as not to get it dirty or torn.

What followed was four or five hours of glorious anticipation of the time I could be back with that comic. The game couldn’t be over fast enough. I watched each and every moment of that game, silently urging them to finish so I could leave, go home, and read that comic.

That story encapsulates my level of interest in baseball at that time. A few years later I played one season of little league baseball. This was the mid-1970s, way before today’s world of little kids having private coaches, “travelling leagues”, etc. Even so, I really wasn’t into it, and I sucked. By that time I had discovered skateboarding, and so began my lifelong condition of really not caring too much about anything else.

As the teen years came along, I went to the ballpark with my parents less and less. When I did go, I often had a Sony Walkman and a paperback book to read. Yes, I was the kid in the stands with headphones on, listening to the Vapors, while I read Elric of Melnibone stories. I wasn’t intentionally “being rebellious”. That was just my way.

Now, decades later, baseball does hold some level of nostalgia and goodness in my mind. All of those years of going out to see the Texas Rangers play, and often lose, must have seeped in somehow. The year after my father died, the Rangers actually went to the World Series for the first time. Of course they lost (like he said they would), but still it was cool that they went. I think my dad’s absence increased its meaning for me. Then they went to the Series again the next year! And lost again! That pretty much used up my entire lifetime supply of Fan Power. Still would like to see them win, but I’m not gonna invest a lot of emotion into it.

My wife is a fan of the Chicago White Sox. Growing up in Chicago’s South Side, she learned early on to hate the Cubs and their fan base of lawyers, investment bankers, hedge fund scumbags, and other such vermin. So when the Sox came to play the Rangers last week, we procured tickets and went to the ballpark.

Now, this isn’t the same ballpark I went to so long ago. Back in the old days, the Rangers played at Arlington Stadium, which was the slightly improved stadium of the minor league team that had been there for some time, the Dallas-Fort Worth Spurs. I believe it had been known quite glamorously as “Turnpike Stadium” ( the imagination just soars, doesn’t it?).

As a side note, the “Turnpike” refers to what is now a 30 mile stretch of Interstate 30, which connects downtown Dallas and downtown Fort Worth. I had a little trouble remembering some of this, as it was pretty long ago and I was a child, but the Wikipedia entry is pretty interesting, noting how the creation of the Turnpike stimulated the growth of the cities between Dallas and Fort Worth. The City of Arlington, in particular, capitalized on this with quite a bit of vision, with the creation of Six Flags Over Texas and many other sports and amusement attractions over the years. They continue to do so.  This guy has some cool pictures of the old toll booths.

OK, where am I going with this? Oh yeah… the ballpark, sarcasm, and elitism.

So, off the “the Ballpark in Arlington” we went.

Flashback. We tried this six years ago when the Sox were in town.  Six years ago, we had my recently widowed mom with us. About 5 minutes into the game (or maybe before), it was announced that some very severe weather as moving in. The sky darkened. Radio reported a tornado in the general area of the stadium. Full-on ruined evening baseball tornado apocalypse was upon us. We decided to split. I ran to get the car, but had to take cover in a nearby government building as the tornado sirens were blasting and the rain got fierce. Meanwhile, my wife and mom were waiting for me to bring the car. Stadium employees were instructed not to let anyone leave, as the shit was about to hit the fan. My wife, having learned the lessons of Nine-Eleven quite well (if they say to stay in the building, ALWAYS leave) said “F this, we’re getting the F outta here”, stuck her foot out so the gate couldn’t close, and got herself and my mom out of the stadium. They waited outside, under an overhang. Finally I was able to get to the car and pick them up. We drove back to Dallas in-between two massive and violent thunderstorms.

So this last week, when we sat down in lower left field, and saw the Dark Clouds of Doom rolling in, we wondered what kind of curse had been put upon our House three or four generations back to warrant such a run of luck.  The game began, by the middle of the 3rd inning the wind whipped up, the rain started, and we took cover down inside the stadium. This time it was only a massive amount of rain, wind, thunder, and lightning. No tornados. We stuck it out for an hour or more for the rain delay.

As we leaned against the wall eating a small mountain of “Cajun Fries”, what else for the obsessive blogger to do but to observe, evaluate, and chronicle the parade of Humanity before him?  Let me just begin by saying that while individuals may be almost genetically indistinguishable,  the outward diversity of humanity is staggering, and America’s Pastime attracts a very substantial slice of the phenotypic pie. I reckon this to be a good thing. It is something I like about The America.

Now, I don’t go to a lot of sporting events, so I am not really used to seeing people in such deplorable physical condition, in such great numbers, as I encountered that night. I’m not exaggerating when I say that at least 50 percent of my fellow sports fans that night were seriously, morbidly obese. No judgement here. Just the facts. Just reporting on what I saw. We gots ourselves a problemo, but for the consessioneers there was no problem, as many beers, $6 hotdogs, and other stuff was sold and devoured that stormy night. Honestly, the Cajun Fries — I could only eat about six of them. Six fries. Upon hitting my stomach the combination of grease and seasoning was sickening. We threw more than half of of ‘em away. Was this an subconscious desire not to end up in one of those scooter chairs with a reaching stick? Probably.

That all being said, and with the rain interrupting the game, I saw nothing but smiles on faces. People getting along, stuffing their faces, and spending the last of the rent money. Games aren’t cheap! Outfield tickets fairly low in the stands were $40 each! Taking a whole family to the game is not something for the financially weak-of-heart.

When the game resumed, the people sitting directly behind us included some classic ballpark loudmouths. I remember them from the old days. These were apparently “super fans”. They knew all the players, and enjoyed shouting insults at the opposing team’s outfielders.  When the 7th inning rolled around, and the Rangers were losing badly, these super fans decided it was time to have one last beer for the road and take off, for adventures unknown. Had they stayed, they’d have seen a comeback by the Rangers, scoring seven runs in the bottom of the 8th, to win 13 touchdowns to 11. People got excited about this! Sox fans reacted with disappointment. Bloggers found themselves in states of detached amusement. An exciting match, and probably an olympic record!

My wife of course gives no credit to the Rangers, insisting it was simply the collapse of the Sox that enabled the home team to “win.” But as a great man once said, “That’s how baseball go.”

 

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DracuStein Meets the Wolf Man

Earlier this week I went to a screening of Frankenstein Meets The Wolfman, again at the Alamo Drafthouse.

Lon Chaney Jr was born in Oklahoma City, during the last year in which OK was still a U.S. Territory, a fact I discovered while writing this article - blogging is educational!
Lon Chaney Jr was born in Oklahoma City, during the last year in which OK was still a U.S. Territory, a fact I discovered while writing this article – blogging is educational!

Of course I’d seen it on TV a number of times before, but it was cool to see it at the theater. Granted, when the monsters finally fought each other it amounted mostly to the Wolf Man climbing up on stuff and then jumping on the Monster (props to my friend Kyle Duval for pointing this out), but still, it was pretty cool. I think that back then it was amazing enough just to SEE the monsters. They didn’t have to really do very much.  Lon Chaney Jr’s Lawrence “the Wolf Man” Talbot is such a tortured soul, and he is not going to ever let you forget it. He JUST.WANTS.TO.DIE. OK? Can’t anyone just understand that?

Strangely, in this film Bela Lugosi dons the makeup of Frankenstein’s Monster. It’s a bit weird. He still has those squinty Dracula eyes. I think he stomped around a little to stompily. Chewed the scenery a bit much (which is hard to do when playing the Monster, but he rose to the occasion.) But I’m sure by this point he was getting pretty cynical. At any rate, he was a pretty good Monster.

Lugosi, as DracuStein. See, the eyes give it away. Kinda looks like he thinks he's putting one over on is, but we know the truth...
Lugosi, as DracuStein. See, the eyes give it away. Kinda looks like he thinks he’s putting one over on us, but we know the truth…

And yes, in that link to Frankenstein’s Monster, I linked to the literary version of the monster, just so’s I could educate anyone without much book-learning as to the original, more articulate and thoughtful nature of the monster. I mean, he still kills people in Mary Shelley’s novel, but he can say real words and think thoughty thoughts and stuff. He’s the original goth, the goth that all modern goths aspire to (so all you vampyres — you’re just posers.)

By the way, you MUST READ the production notes in the Wikipedia entry for this film. As I’ve learned from listening to the Dana Gould podcast, the stories behind these films are often more interesting that the films themselves. In particular, the history of Bela Lugosi’s involvement in this franchise, and their decision not to allow him to speak in this film, are quite funny. You will laugh. I wish they’d left all the cut material in the film. It would have made a lot more sense.

faro_la_faro_liSpeaking of laughing, or scaring the shit out of little kids, there is a musical performance of the folk song Faro-la Faro-Li. It is truly the most disturbing thing in the film, and owes its disturbing quality to the as-yet-unidentified man singing it …this guy. Luckily for the children of the town, Frankenstein’s Monster shows up to disrupt the party and save them from additional emotional trauma.

I’m going the spoil the end of the film for you. An angry villager blows up the dam right behind Frankenstein’s castle with classic sticks of dynamite. I guess there was a lot of dynamite around back then. People probably just kept it around the house. The ensuing flood destroys the castle, our heroes (really?) escape, and yep – we really don’t know if the monsters are destroyed.

As a last note: Deadpool was showing too. I saw this instead. I would see it again before seeing Deadpool.

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London/Paderborn Trip

As I begin writing this I’m about two hours into my eight hour return flight from London to Washington DC, which will connect me to a final flight home to Dallas. I’m deeply tired, but it’s a good tired, the kind of weariness that comes from expenditure of energy on one of the best skate experiences of my life.

I just finished a journey that took me to England to skate with my friend and co-founder of the Freestyle Podcast, Tony Gale, and then through three other countries as he, I, and 6 other skaters attended the legendary Paderborn freestyle contest in Germany.

My trip began when my wife dropped me off at DFW International Airport. I was loaded down – backpack, small duffel full of clothes, and a longboard bag with my freestyle board, my street board, a backup freestyle board, and 4 decks requested by various Brits and Europeans. All together it was heavy.

I arrived at Heathrow and my research regarding my train/tube rides payed off. Finding the Heathrow Express was very easy, and it got me to Paddington Station very quickly. I took the escalator down a level to the Underground, purchased an Oyster card, and boarded the Bannerloo line to Charing Cross Station, went back upstairs purchased a ticket to the Southeastern Line train to Hastings — which quickly got me to Tunbridge Wells, home of Tony Gale and his girlfriend Georgie, who picked me up at the train station. We returned to their flat, and as Tony was at work until late, I crashed there for a few hours of much needed rest. Sometime after 9pm, Tony arrived with freestyler Simon Mrozinkski who had also arrived at the station after a 3-hour train ride from Salisbury.

I can’t exactly describe how fantastic it was to meet Tony and Simon in-person after all these years. Tony and I of course communicate all the time, and do the Freestyle Podcast together, and I already felt like I knew him. I guess I did. Likewise, Simon was very much already considered a friend. We all exchanged various gifts and deliveries for each other, and talked until fairly late. This was all on Thursday, London time.

The next morning we got up and prepared for the journey to Paderborn, Germany. 5 other freestylers were to arrive, including our driver James “Fairbro” Fairbrother.  When most of us were there, we took off fo a quick freestyle session at the little skatepark that Tony frequents in the town. Eventually the rest of the crew got there, we sessioned a bit more, then took off for Germany.

First stop, Chunnel. What an amazing feet of engineering. We purchased a ticket and boarded the Chunnel train, by simply driving on to a train car and parking there for the 30 minute trip under the English Channel. Incredible. We emerged in France, went through border control, and proceded on our way, passing through beautiful French countryside and into Belgium, then the Netherlands. We stopped a few time for food, etc. and pushed on through Germany to the town of Paderborn, arriving at the skatepark and camping location at about 2:30am. Fairbro is a really driving machine, and as the other two don’t drive, I can’t express my appreciation enough for him driving the whole way to and from Paderborn.

The organizers had the group tent set up for us, but the folding beds were not to be found, so we spread our sleeping bags on the ground and attempted to sleep. There were already some skaters in the tent, and a few smaller tents set up. We had no idea who they were.As soon as I went in the tent, the freshly cut grass on the ground activated my hay fever, so I knew it was going to be a rough night and rougher morning.

Sunrise at that latitude is about 4am, and certainly by 5 most of us had given up on additional sleep. We emerged from the tent still clothed from the previous night, grabbed our boards, and walked down to the park to start sampling the surface. That’s right. Skating before 6am. Insane, but true. My eyes were on fire with hay fever, but I managed to keep myself together, and the problem lessened slightly after leaving the tent.  After some time skating and chilling, James, Tony, Simon and I drove to town to an Aldi market for food, hit up a coffee shop for much needed caffeine infusions,  and I managed to find a pharmacy.

The friendly German pharmacist was able to understand my request of non-drowsy allergy medicine, which I purchased and took immediatly, later offering some to my traveling companion Denham Hill, who was also suffering from the malady.

This was on Saturday, which was the day for the street skating event at the park. Lots of great riders showed up and practiced, while the Brits and I immediatly began skating again. We were joined by some of the guys already there – Marco Sassi of Itally, Mario Steinemann of Switzerland, Turi Zoltan of Hungary, and Marius Constantin of Romania. I have long been in communication with these guys, and it was utterly fantastic and dreamlike to be there at the contest practicing with them.

As the street contest got under way, the freestylers left the skating area and joined the very large crowd there to see the event. The park is surrounded by small hills, almost forming a natural ampitheater. Families were there to see the skating. The only contest I’ve seen like this one is the EZ-7 Turkey Jam ditch contest in Houston, which has the same vibe. This is the way skate events should be.

Eventually my friend Yoyo Schulz arrived from Frankfurt. Man, it was good to see Yoyo again. We spent some time catching up during the street event.

A little more about this 2-day skate event. This is also known as the BBQ contest, as there is a food stand selling Bratwurst, other foods, beer, soft drinks, etc. Skaters entered in the event — registration fee of 30 Euros – get a wrist band allowing them to get as much bottled water as they’d like, for free. There are plenty of toilets available and a small skate shop in a tent.  Down the road through this park there is an atheletic facility that has showers. Sadly, we didn’t really get access to the showers until Sunday morning, so by then we were pretty damned smelly and dirty, but that’s camping with skating, right?  Fairbro and I discovered the bottled carbonated water is quite refreshing when poured over your head and used to quickly wash your face and hair.

Street skating wrapped up, so the Brits and I loaded into our two cars and headed to dinner at a very good Italian restaurant (at this point we were still pretty filthy, heh heh). After dinner, of course, we went back to the park and continued skating. As the sun went down sometime after 9pm, most of us sat and talked while Tony Gale and Robert continued to skate in the near dark by a small light, while photos were taken. I would say we all got to bed about 10pm, except for Steinemann and Sassi, who arrived back at the tent about 4am after a night of partying in town.

On Sunday, we again awakened about 6:30am, to discover that James Fairbrother had been up and skating since about 5:30. James is a builder, and he naturally gets up very early.

Sunday morning was cold and overcast. “Bleak”, as Fairbro put it. The scene of the skatepark, empty but for us, in the strange bleak German morning, was for lack of a better word surreal. I stood there in my shorts and a borrowed hoody, envisioning a contest largely devoid of spectators — the freestylers skating in this strange environment.

As the morning progressed, the sun came out and the day transformed from something out of some dismal myth to a beautiful, sunny, perfect day. Perfect temperature. The contest organizers provided an excellent free breakfast and I slammed down a couple of coffees to keep the brain in check. Finally shower access was granted, so Tony, Simon, James, and I managed to wash the grime of a couple of days off and get refreshed before the contest started.

More and more people started to appear, both skaters and spectators. I can honestly say I don’t think any other freestyle contest gets the kind of interest from non-skaters as this one. This was the 15th year they’ve done this contest, and people know about it. They know the freestyle skateboarders will entertain them as they compete, they know the contest environment is fun, has great food, is friendly, and great for families, and they show up to see it.

I liked the way they ran the contest. Skaters got two 2-minute runs. Amateurs skated, then with no break the Pros and then again with no break, the Legends. Then a very short break, and they ran through the order again.

Let me just express an opinion here, which I know not everyone agrees with, but it’s my blog and you can start a blog if you want to say otherwise. The 2-minute run is the way to go. If you are going to have a real freestyle contest, one that really exhibits the best qualities of the skaters, both artistic and technical, you need to do the 2-minute run. I have now done both, and there’s simply no comparison. The 1-minute run format, the “battle” format, etc., might have their place, I don’t know. But the 2-minute run allows skaters to access different styles, slower paces, and just generally express themselves. That is how any kind of freestyle “championship” needs to be. I’m not taking a shot at anyone personally here. We’re all entitled to our opinions, and to run contests the way we want, but that is my opinion. The first of my runs, which is described a little later in this post, was to a slow song. It was a more slow, contemplative run. THAT is what I was trying to get across, because there was some real, actual, emotional content that I wanted to express. Whether I achieved it is debateable, but it was important to me.

I don’t want to go on too much about the results here, as they are published elsewhere, and several people have provided video on youtube — every single run is available — they were there the next day.

Here they are.

Organizers of other contests – take note. Getting the video up weeks or months later, or never, is not good and not helpful. It does not generate excitement for your events. You need to do it like the Germans. Tape every single run, then go home and get the video processed and uploaded. No editing is required. No clever bullshit. Let the other videographers there do the highlight reels and edited stuff. But organizers – just post the runs, like the Germans did, in their entirety and on the next day. We are freestylers. We want to see and study everyone’s runs. We enjoy that, and we have the patience for it. Frankly, when skaters spend their own money to travel long distances to be at an event, I think they deserve to have good video of everything available in a day or two. I think they are right to be bummed when this doesn’t happen.

Regarding the judging: It was good. Having watched the video and knowing what the Paderborn judges are looking for, I feel that they got it right. Here is my editorial comment: My podasting partner Tony Gale got 2nd in Pro. Tony blew the metaphorical roof off that place like nothing I’ve ever seen. A high energy, high difficulty run that had everyone watching say a collective “holy shit!”. It looks really good on video, but in person it was fantastic verging on superhuman. BUT – Guenter Mokulys, the 11 time world champion, European champ, etc, is a machine. He had a couple of misses, but his precision is just unmatched. His tricks are difficult and usually executed to perfection. So while I think Tony’s runs were an order of magnitude more exciting, and perhaps even more difficult, I have to think that a couple of extra step offs may have made the difference, and at Paderborn that’s important. And it should be. Given similar levels of skating, the guy who screws up least should win. But I think that Tony really served notice that there’s a new preditor in the jungle, and he can’t be ignored. That being said, a massive congratulations to Guenter, a great great skater who continues to get the job done and skate at a remarkably high level. Seeing Guenter skate in-person is an eye-opening experience. 3rd Place was the absolutley amazing Marco Sassi, of Italy. A lot of Marco’s really great stuff is so subtle that a non-freestyler would not even understand it. His footwork is complex, original, difficult as hell, and beyond smooth. A very strong argument could me made for him for 1st place. That’s how good he is.  It is really something for which to aspire. Finally, 4th place was Germany’s Christian Heise. Chrisitan is just a great all-around freestyler. Smooth, slick, and amazing. I really enjoyed seeing his skating in-person.

The Ams were all great fun to watch, and skated well, Marius Constantin of Romania took 1st, and I think he has earned the right to join the pro ranks. He is a guy radiates enthusiasm, his skating is right up there, he is scene-building hero of freestyle, and I admire his humility in not just jumping into the pro ranks. He told me he really wanted to earn it, and he has.

The German MC was fantastic. Super positive and all his comments were smart and appropriate.  The contest was judged by people knowledgeable about modern freestyle — freestylers themselves.

Since this is my blog, I want to talk about my performance. Though I’ve been doing freestyle a long time, looking back this is only the 5th freestyle contest I’ve ever been in. That’s kind of weird to think about. Two of them when I was 15, one when I was 21, Philly in 2013, and now this one when I am 50. I entered the “Legends” category, mostly because I am a lot older than most of the skaters in the Am division, and I’m certainly far from Pro material, not because I actually consider myself a “legend”. Truth is, I’m not even that good. I was once, but now I’m just an old Texas skater who likes to roll around and do a few tricks, who is still trying to improve.

I had the honor of skating the Legends category with a true Legend, Yoyo Schulz, of Frankfurt, Germany. He and I have been friends for many years now. A better person than Joachim “Yoyo” Schulz would be hard to find. The man is a fantastic skater, runs a small skate business to help provide excellent freestyle equipment to the UK and Europe, and is one of the driving forces behind the European freestyle scene.  He was the only other person in the Legends group, so I knew going in that in the contest I would simply get 2nd place. And I am very very happy with that. Because the real prize I got means so much more to me than a trophy.

As I sat there watching the first section of runs, I honestly had no idea when I was to come up. The German MC, speaking German, began to speak, and was apparently introducing me by explaining to everyone there about my old Bob’s Trick Tips website, and then in English thanking me for “all you have done for freestyle”. I simply didn’t know what to do. It was emotionally overwhelming. Throughout the weekend many skaters approached me and thanked me, saying things like “I wouldn’t be here if not for you.” All of that was just very, very hard to compute. I thanked them all,  explaining that at the time I really had no idea, and that I’m just on old skater with a computer and a  camcorder. But then, to be publicly acknowledged, all I could do was try to thank them and not act like a jackass. Really, this was probably the high point of my skateboarding life.

Then my music started. Only a few people know this, but a few weeks ago our beloved  cat Pancho died very suddenly and at a young age. My wife and I have really felt devastated, as happens when one loses a loving little companion. Our other cat is named Lefty – they are named after the characters in the song Pancho & Lefty, written and best-performed by Townes Van Zant, of Texas. So I decided weeks ago to use this beautiful, sad, and quintessentially Texan song for my first run, as a tribute to my little buddy.

My British friends have told me how relaxed I looked while I was skating, but I was actually kind of emotionally worked up. I guess they couldn’t see it. I knew going in that the song might upset me a little, but for some reason I wanted that to happen. I simply didn’t care. My skating is very simple anyway. I messed up a couple of tricks, and slipped out and went down on some very simple footwork (not bad — not a slam really – caught myself with both hands and popped right back up). That’s fine. It didn’t even upset me. The unexpected adulation of these people and the chance to pay respects to Pancho, and the wonderful companionship and brotherhood of my British friends, were enough. To me that was a 1st prize.

I write this not to say “I don’t really suck that bad”, but rather because I want the people there to know how much it all meant to me.

Thanks to all from the bottom of my heart.

My 2nd run was technically better. I stuck to Texas music, playing ZZ Top’s classic “Just Got Paid”, just to give the crowd a taste of a different kind of Texas music. I really didn’t have a routine planned out for either song. I had a few sequences to work in, but I just went out and skated. Even without any technical tricks and looking not so great, my runs made me happy. Just participating in something like this, traveling far from home, skating, and making new friends is very satisfying.

Here’s the thing about contests. The point of entering a contest doesn’t have to be to win. That is a great goal, but especially in a small community like the freestyle world, the contest is a chance to have time to show your friends and fellow freestylers what you can do, and a time for them to take joy in your skating. If there is a contest you have reasonable access to enter, by all means, enter. Be part of the thing. Let your friends enjoy your skating in that format.

Now, on to the Brits. Tony Gale, James Fairbrother, Simon Mrozinski, Nathan Pseuzan, Michael Erskine, Denham Hill, and Alex Foster. A better group of people to travel with and do a contest with I cannot imagine. We had so much fun. Just such cool guys.

The German crowd was excellent and engaged, but the Brits brought a new, fun, raucus energy to the contest. A bunch of fookin’ ruffians! Team GB. Or as I’ve been calling it, Team GB/TX. We whooped and hollered for each other during every run. We hugged, fist bumped, and high-fived each other after completion of a run. None of this was planned. It just happened, because we were all so happy to be there, and so genuinely supportive of each other. It was just a great experience. All of these guys seemed to be having a great time during their runs, and their attitudes were infectious. This is how grassroots contests are in Texas. It’s the way they should be.

After the trophies were awarded people slowly began to leave. It was obvious that everyone really just wanted to stay and skate.  We said our goodbyes to the other skaters, thanked the organizers, and Fairbrother used his unique charm to sweet talk them into leaving the tent up for us Sunday night, so we could sleep there again and get an early start back to England on Monday morning. Then we went out for more Italian food, came back, and chilled at the park and skated a bit more before going to bed.

We pulled out of the campgrounds/skatepark I think before 6am, and hammered back through Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, and France, to the Chunnel. After a small mechanical scare — turned out to be nothing — we boarded the train, went under the sea again, and were soon again driving on the left side of the road, past the beautiful green hills of Dover. All met back at Tony Gale’s place in Tunbridge Wells, where we said our goodbyes, and they left me and Tony there.

Tuesday was to be my last day in England. Tony and I took the train into London, carrying boards and backpacks, and we hit the classic London skate spots of South Bank and the Kennington bowl. Southbank is gnarly. Videos and photos simply don’t do its gnarliness justice. It is all made from big pave stones. None of the stones are quite even. It can be slick. As Tony says, it is a classic English spot — “rough as shit and smells like piss.” We skated there for a while then ventured south to the Kennington Bowl, which is a capsule-shaped bowl built in the 1970s. The walls are steep banks with good transition. Some years ago, Converse did a retrofit of the bowl, resurfacing it and adding some fairly stupid round wall sections and a strange and not very usable ledge. Now, maybe 4 years later (?), the flatbottom is chunking and cracking at the seams, leaving it almost as gnarly as South Bank. Tony rips at this place. He’s known for freestyle, but he can skate banks really well, and loves the shitty greatness of this bowl. It’s not a place that skatepark kids will thrive in, but for the dediicated it is cool.

We then headed to Brixton, where there is another 1970s era skatepark. There are a few modern retrofits, but the snake run into a big banked bowl was intact. I felt like I was back at Wizard skatepark in Dallas in 1979. It was just extremely fun. It is in a somewhat rough looking neighborhood. Tony told me it was the stabbing capital of London, or something like that, but the skaters at the park were cool. No bad vibes at all. We skated there longer than the other spots.

We skated there until 5pm, and then headed to the underground, going up to Buckingham Palace so I could see a few standard tourist things and take a few pics. We both got pics skating in front of the palace. Then we headed for Waterloo Station, stopping to each pick up a serving up traditional English chips, which we devoured on the train back to Tunbridge Wells.

We got home, cleaned up, and went to dinner at 9pm at yet another delicious Italian place.

This morning I got up at 5:30, made sure I had all my stuff together, said farewell to Georgie, and Tony and I walked back to the train station, where I did the train/tube/train thing back to Heathrow, which brings me to the present.

I’m 4:12 into my eight hour flight to Washington D.C., to then make a connecting flight to Dallas. I’m tired. My legs are sore. I haven’t shaved in a week. I have ignored jet lag and weariness for the last week, half of which I spent sleeping in a cold tent for about 5 hours per night, and for some reason have not closed my eyes on the plane. I guess I’m still just to fired up.

A huge thanks to Tony and Georgie for hosting me. Looking forward to doing it all again.

And biggest thank you of all to my wife, Toni. Without you, Toni, this trip couldn’t have happened. You are the most supportive wife ever. Thank you for understanding me.

 

·

Falling Down

Two weeks ago I was skating the little ditch near my house — the one I’ve been skating since about 1978 – and I ate it. Rolling in, about halfway down the wall, I hit a little rock and got pitched.

So to the concrete I went. Both hands out in front, I naturally went to my leading side and slid to a stop. I got a little bit of a hipper, scraped my palms a bit, but got up and kept skating.

I’m 50. Yeah, I know I mention that a lot. I think it is often relevant. You see, I got up and kept skating. The slam pissed me off. I got back up, kicked that goddamn rock out of the ditch, rolled right back in, and skated for another hour. Most dudes my age can hardly get out of their chair. So that’s why I mention my age.

I’m not going to lie. I don’t like falling. I don’t like getting hurt any more than the next guy. If someone says “You know, I hate falling and I’m done with this” I totally understand. There have been plenty of times when I slammed harder than this and just packed it up for the day. Slams that just knocked the fight out of me and reminded me that gravity and the concrete are actually in control. Frankly, I’ve taken shots in the shin from my freestyle board that dropped me right then and there to the ground gasping for air. BUT — getting back up and continuing to skate two weeks ago was killer. I did, in fact, think about just leaving. But I didn’t. I got mad and kept skating.

After taking that slam, and surviving, the rest of the skating was better. All day it was better. For the rest of that ditch session I was looser and faster. At the parking garage where I sometimes go to street skate I skated better. Getting the shit knocked out of you, shaking it off, and continuing to skate can really put you in the right frame of mind and give you the right perspective. You fall, it hurts, you didn’t die, and you keep skating. Some slams are worse than others, but after many years, I’ve decided that if you can go on skating, you should.

You see, most normal humans live in mortal fear of getting hurt. They avoid injury even if it means avoiding fun too. This is natural. This is the survival/breeding instinct in action. Survive to live/breed/raise kids/grandchildren another day. Seek pleasure avoid pain. But that doesn’t mean it’s always the right course of action.

There seems to be very little in the basic survival programming about accomplishment. Sometimes you have to just say “fuck it” and keep doing the possibly injurious thing, because even that fall will lift you up in the end.

·

Dudes who got it right

Age gives an the advantage of perspective on earlier years. Is it an advantage? Maybe. I guess. I’m sure that in future decades, should I be lucky enough to have a few more, I will think that as of today I didn’t know a damned thing. However, I think these dudes are a bit of an exception.

Henry with a few of his books.

The guys in these pictures — they got it right.

Henry Rollins, Ian MacKaye, and Jello Biafra. (You can click on these images to go to their sources).

In my mind these guys are the Trinity of Punk Rock.  When I want to listen to some punk, it’s going to usually involve Black Flag, Fugazi (or Minor Threat), and the Dead Kennedys.

But when I say they got it right I’m not talking about the music. I’m talking about everything else.

These are pretty much the three smart dudes from punk. They are the ones who have grown into intelligent, progressive, well-spoken adult human beings.

I am constantly amazed by how many people I know who “love” punk rock, and are skateboarders, grow up to adopt a repressive, conservative political and social ideology. I think part of this conundrum stems from the fact that punk (at least the kind from the 1980s) tends to be very aggressive music, and thus it attracts not only smart people but some fairly not-quite-as -smart people too. I’m sure a lot of young people are just trying to “find themselves” or enjoy being part of an outsider group, so they get into it. I’m sure this happened with my generation. My friend Bosco says young people are often just “trying on different uniforms.” Then they grow up and become their parents. Sometimes that’s a good thing. Sometimes not so much. Honestly, I have never “worn the uniform” of anything but a skateboarder. But as I’ve gotten older, and these guys have gotten older, I’ve come to appreciate them more and more.

 

I just find it fascinating because these three guys, while they have grown up and evolved and become more sophisticated in their thinking and more articulate in their communication, to me, seem like they kind of got it right in the first place.

Somehow, from a young age these guys had a clarity of thought that a lot of people just don’t have. Some people never get it. I think Henry probably had a rougher time with his youth, but he made it, and if you listen to his spoken word, he is right on target on almost everything.

I am reminded of a quote from Bike Snob NYC, regarding the music of Jello Biafra and the Dead Kennedys. Here’s the quote. Click through and read the whole post though. He’s a great writer.

As I got older, however, I “matured,” and my outlook on life became more pragmatic.  I no longer grouped things into “good” and “evil” categories based on where they fell on the Jello Biafra Outrage Scale.  (The more shrilly Jello Biafra sings about something the more evil it was.)  I no longer automatically rejected anything “mainstream,” and I stopped assuming that anything that was part of the mainstream was somehow automatically tainted.  Most of all, I laughed at my own naïveté, I dropped the attitude, and I got down to the non-ideological business of becoming an adult.Jello. Photo from http://noisecreep.com/jello-biafra-band-nostalgic-punk/

But then, years later, something amazing happened, and I realized that all those albums I used to listen to were right.  Well, maybe they weren’t right about a lot of the specifics, but it turns out that the general message–that mainstream culture is vacuous and bankrupt–is pretty much entirely correct.

In the last 7 years I’ve had the chance to see Henry and Jello both do spoken word performance. Both these guys are downright masterful in this craft. Entertaining, engaging, thought-provoking, and just provoking. Really good. Ian doesn’t do spoken word, but I keep up with him and if he is ever in this area I will surely to see him play. I saw him with Fugazi back in the 1990s.

Well, that’s all I’ve got to say today. Go have some fun.

 

·

An Honest Talk About Football

I was inspired, one might say compelled, to write this by the conversation I was eavesdropping on this morning, outside my office door. Unintentional eavesdropping — they were invading my sound-space. And brother, when you invade my sound space, it is on!

Deep male voices — the name Romo comes up a few times – talk of options and blah blah blah. Yes, it was a Monday morning discussion of yet another glorious Dallas Cowboys victory on the field of simulated battle yesterday.

The NFL Robot and entire TV spectacle combine the things modern young men love - violence, football, and video games.
The NFL Robot and entire TV spectacle combine the things modern young men love – violence, football, and video games. And beer.

This has never been my world. I’ve never had even the slightest interest in football. None. While I enjoy a good baseball game and I like that sport, I don’t go out of my way to watch it. Basketball — every game is the same. Sorry. It is. But of all the “big 3” sports, football offers nothing to interest me at all. When dudes start talking sports in general, and especially football, I’m pretty sure my eyes glaze over as if the Zombie Virus has just taken hold of me and my mind has gone empty. Which is weird, because to me they’re the zombies.

Before I go on, let me just clear this up. I just said I like baseball. I do. Baseball, for all its steroid scandals, is a great sport. Some will say it is “too slow”. To them I say “No. YOU are too slow, idiot!”. Still, I rarely devote the many hours required to watch a game. I save it for the World Series, but usually I pretty much skip that too. Sorry, I have a life.

My brother-in-law took me to a Boston Bruins hockey game a couple of years ago. First time I’d been to a hockey game. Now THAT was an experience.  I can’t say I’ll spend a lot of time watching hockey, but it was fun. And the fans…let’s just say the crazy meter was on “11”.

Now I will continue…

At any get-together, if I meet a new person and they bring up football (which is common and usually happens in the first three seconds of interaction) I know the conversation is over. Done. As soon as those words leave his mouth, I am looking for my exit. “Can you excuse me? I have to go home and put some new doilies on my tea table.” Before you think too badly of me for feeling this way, keep in mind that as soon as that person realizes that I have no idea what he’s talking about he will quickly be scanning the room for safer territory. It’s like being a librarian in a room full of salesmen (I have been in this situation). As soon as they find out you’re a librarian and can’t do anything to make them money, they never make eye contact with you again.

The only thing my liberal intellectual elite mind finds less interesting than professional football is, you guessed it, college or high school football. At least I am vaguely aware of the names of professional teams. In our culture you can’t help but be. But it seems unreasonable to expect me to know anything about your favorite college team. Sorry, but the inner workings of the mind of the coach of the Chickenville State Worm Gobblers isn’t foremost, or even lastmost, on my mind. Getting all worked up about your college or high school team, well, it’s just infantile.

I don’t know any of the millions of rules of football. It’s just too complicated.

I have always preferred doing things myself, rather than watching others do things. I’d rather be skateboarding, or drawing, writing, or reading, or going to aikido practice. Or staring blankly into the sun while wearing a turtleneck sweater on hot summer day with gnats buzzing around my nostrils.

I’m not saying that watching football (or other professional sports) is for stupid, uninteresting people. I know plenty of intelligent interesting people who enjoy watching football. BUT – I’ve never met a stupid uninteresting dude who didn’t love watching football. So there’s an intersection of several Venn diagrams there, and it’s a space I don’t want to occupy.

You’ve probably heard the theory that professional sports are a substitute for war in our society. Instead of city-states actually fighting, they compete on the sports field. Doesn’t seem to be working. Last I heard, people around the world are still killing each other, in-between halves.

It’s more likely, I think, that sports watching/football fanaticism provides some common topic for adult men to discuss — something to insure that at that next dinner party they don’t get mad about politics and start tearing each other apart. Football talk is just violent enough to engage the lizard-brain ever so slightly. I feel my brain stem tingling a bit just thinking about it.

Soccer fans are always quick to point out that soccer is the “real” football. Yeah yeah. Tell it to someone who cares. As much as I don’t care for football, soccer is even worse. Entire games where there is hardly any score. They just run around. They spend a couple of hours accomplishing nothing. Worse part is this — the fans take it so seriously they will KILL each other over it!

While we’re on soccer, let me just mention that what I hate about it is the way the players always pretend to be injured. They are great athletes, but for some reason the culture of the game allows this bullshit acting, and the actors aren’t publicly shamed! This last weekend I went to a pool skating session where a guy tried ten times to ride his skateboard straight into the deep end of a swimming pool. Dude tried about 10 times before making it at  least enough to roll away up the next wall. Crashed the other 9 times. No complaining. No crying. Just picked his ass up , climbed out of the pool, and tried again. So you see, I have no patience for soccer players who pretend to be injured.

Back to football…soccer is too big a subject to work in here properly.

I’d rather hear dudes talk about hunting. I don’t even like hunting, but at least  in hunting sometimes interesting things happen, like that time Vice President Dick Cheney nearly blew that dude’s face off. See — that is interesting. The potential for good events is there with hunting. You don’t get that with fishing. What’s the worst thing that might happen (other than an occasional drunken drowning)? Getting a hook caught in your nostril?

Here's a good hit for you. If the position of this guy's legs confuses you like a Mobius strip, congratulations, you are normal. It should.
Here’s a good hit for you. If the position of this guy’s legs confuses you like a Mobius strip, congratulations, you are normal. It should.

Which brings me to the one part of football I do like — the injuries. Now let me be clear. I really do feel bad for the people who get brain injuries in football. Or the kids who get paralyzed. It’s a violent sport. I don’t really understand why parents let their kids play. I’m certainly not a wimp. I’m a skateboarder, former wrestler, and a martial arts practitioner. But football is really really really not good for the human body. Parents, seriously, what the fuck? Sure, injures happen in all sports, but in most sports a 300 pound human isn’t targeting his mass x velocity at your knee.

Now, back to my enjoyment of the injuries. Really, I think most people are hoping for injuries. They want their team to really injure the shit out of the opposing team. They want to see “a good hit”. So I’m not alone in this, my sole pleasure from football. I’m just  honest about it. Everyone likes to see a good Joe Theismann hit. Fans get to live vicariously through the action of the person inflicting the hit. “MAN I’d like to do that to that guy who takes the last cup of coffee in the office without starting another pot”. That’s what they’re thinking.

One thing that make me sad is when women get dragged into the world of football by their boyfriends or husbands. They become fans. Usually, husbo is a football fan and the choice is simple. Either convert or be an infidel. Being an infidel is not good for the relationship, because there are actually three members of the “couple”, the third being the girlfriend/wife — also known as the “second wife”. The primary wife is football. And football is a very demanding spouse, as it requires huge blocks of time. Watching a football game essentially takes an entire afternoon or evening. So if there are two “important” games on during the weekend (and two is a very light viewing load), well, you get the picture.

All this, and to what end? Well, let me tell you what this is really all about. The purpose of televised sports. The cause of all this misery. One need only watch 15 minutes of a game and it is painfully clear what football’s special purpose is. Selling beer. All the body building, steroids, HGH, and injuries of the players. All the marital/relationship stress, sublimation of violent urges, social isolation and feelings of masculine inadequacy, lack of exercise and associated carb-fueled weight gain.

NFL_Kickoff_PackagingIt’s all about selling beer. Beer finances it all, while still managing to make a healthy profit. If you doubt this, I challenge you to look at a game without your beer goggles on, and be honest with yourself. It isn’t about athleticism, courage, determination, or character development. From peewee league to the NFL, ultimately it is about selling beer.

If this article has angered you, please, I entreat you to seek out a competent mental health professional, because you are sick.

All this being said, if you invite me to a Superbowl party there’s a good chance I’ll show up, because while I don’t care for the game I do enjoy the spectacle and hanging with friends.

·

Encounter with The Scary

There are at least two cultures living in our society in parallel. I’m not talking about racial divides, gender, urban vs. rural, or even really “class”.

I’m talking about the world of most of us – normal, working, peaceful, sane people, and the world of the Sketchy. The Sketchy World is the one full of people who live on the very edge, where criminality is common, where no thought is given to the future (and by the future I mean 30 seconds from now), where education is low, where confrontation and animosity are often high. Substance abuse and addiction are the norm. The Sketchers are in survival mode 24-7.

These two worlds sometimes come into contact. In more urban environments they see each other more often. Who doesn’t love being in the city when some lunatic begins shouting out that Jesus is on his way or something like that? I love it. In the suburbs contact is less frequent, but does happen. But when it happens, it’s weird. Bus stations are a great nexus of the two universes.

Skateboarding can also bring you into close contact with the Sketchy, but generally everyone just wants to skate, so things are usually chill. Still, in skateboarding you sometimes have to be aware of the Sketchy. Keep your wits about you, and make sure you aren’t pulled in, at least not too far.

I’m sure this is why cops always seem weird to me when I meet them. They spend so much of their time dealing with humanoids who have no idea or ability to get along harmoniously in the world that they must start seeing that aspect in almost everyone.

But I digress…

The other day I was walking to lunch near my place of employment. As I waited for the lights to change so I could cross the street, I noticed a young couple across the street with a baby in a carriage (yeah…of course…they had to have a baby, right?). The woman was really impatient. She could hardly wait for the “walk” sign to light up, as she stood there shifting from one foot to the other, cigarette dangling from her mouth. Her male companion was standing slightly behind her, pushing the carriage. Both looked to be in their late 20s, but with a lot of miles on them.

When the light changed, she took off across the street, jumping way ahead of the man and the baby. As I passed her going the other way, I swear she was trying to invade my space. Seriously. I mean, it is a full size crosswalk, but this fucking hag is trying to take as much of it as possible.

Now, I credit my aikido training for improving my sense of what is going on around me. It hasn’t made me paranoid or anything , but after six years I have developed a bit more of a sense of people’s body language and “way”.  I was actually kind of on my guard, just in case this woman was crazy.

Now, of course there was no collision or anything. But afterward as I thought about it, I realized that a lot of people live in that world all the time. — the world where tiny stuff can turn into an altercation, where the lizard brain is primary, and it’s often under the influence of one or more mind-altering substances.

As I passed the guy with the baby carriage, he seemed like he was just wishing that maybe she’d get hit by a car or something. He didn’t look too stoked about being there with her. Who knows what was going on with them. You just really never know what kind of stuff is happening in people’s lives, and with inhabitants of the Sketchy World you really have no idea.

Looking forward to my friend Mike’s comments here, as his line of work (which is perfectly legitimate) often puts him in contact with the Sketchy-verse.

Peace out.

 

·

Obsolete!

I don’t watch a lot of television until about 10pm. Really, it’s rare that there’s anything worth watching until 10pm.

I know some of you out there will disagree, saying something like “But CSI: Forgotten Pedophile Investigation is on at 8pm”. Well, let me break this news to you. If you like that stuff, you need to hang yourself. Seriously. CSI? Ever been to a police station or any other kind of government office? Guess what…

Not what your local police station lab looks like. Grow up.
Not what your local police station lab looks like.
Grow up.

They don’t look space-age. The “crime lab” at your local police station doesn’t look like the control room of the Time Tunnel. If your pre-10pm hours consist of watching CSI, Bones, or the latest “fat guy with hot wife” sitcom, I respectfully (not really) suggest that you may want to begin living your life — immediately.

Don’t get me started on Glee.

I have discovered this channel called MeTV. They show the Twilight Zone in the late evenings, currently between the Bob Newhart Show and Perry Mason.  

Librarian Romney Wordsworth pwns the Chancellor.
Librarian Romney Wordsworth pwns the Chancellor.

Last night I watched an episode of the Twilight Zone that I had never seen before, the Obsolete Man, starring the great Burgess Meredith. If you don’t know who Burgess is because you are young, or older but stupid, click that link and begin to improve your cultural literacy. A quick summary of the summary you will find on the link above – Burgess plays a librarian in a totalitarian state, and he is condemned to die — live on television (thank God there’s still TV in the future!) —  because he has been found to be “obsolete”. However, he manages to turn the tables on the State, by involving and humiliating the Chancellor of the State, demonstrating the superiority of intellectual freedom. Awesome.Being a librarian myself, I of course immediately dug this show. While perhaps “the State” hasn’t gone full-bore into the killing of librarians, we do fight an almost constant battle against the powers of stupidity. From ignorant, pig-like, illiterate Tea Party types trying to starve valuable public services of operating funds, to psychotic religious fanatics trying to ban books from library collections because they fail to mention Jesus on every page, your friends the Librarians fight the good fight every day. Coming to work every day, it is easy to forget that as a librarian I am part of an ancient profession, one that matters and makes a difference. So I loved this episode of the Twilight Zone. So bad ass. The man of learning in intellectual/spiritual victory over the efforts off the totalitarian conservative buttholes. And it was bad ass! Burgess, in the role of librarian  Romney Wordsworth, DOMINATES the situation. 

We librarians just forget how f’ing bad ass it is to do what we do. You know that poor kid growing up in the conservative religious “Ned Flanders” house who comes into your library? The library is the only place that kid is exposed to information that isn’t Fox News/Pat Robertson propaganda! 

The enemy – must be defeated.

All of this got me thinking about the great librarians of fiction. My favorite is Dr. Henry Armitage, chief librarian of Miskatonic University, from H.P. Lovecraft’s “the Dunwich Horror“. Armitage not only saves the whole town from some Cthulhu devastation, but likely saves the whole world! Kick Ass!I like to think of religious and political conservatives, tea-baggers, and the other mental-midgets of our society as our equivalent of the slobbering, shambling, slimy, mindless, abominable horrors of the Lovecraft universe. Every time we defeat those fetid, reeking, semi-sentient masses of vomitus-like humanoid flesh, we are saving the universe. We save our planet and the universe one mind at a time. It’s a fight worth fighting.