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“the NSX pull out the driveway/feelin’ like Scarface. desperado on the case”

-Royal Flush, 1997

Right when I moved to California, I bought a ’95 Civic Coupe. I had it for no longer than a month. I completely totaled the fucking car.” 

-Caine Gayle, 1997*

I first saw the 101 War Report promo on a VHS cassette tape that also contained Da Deal is Dead, some SMA video, and maybe Vision Barge at Will. In addition to the innovative “jogger” narrative element, the footage of McNatt piloting a silver NSX seemed to communicate a theme. Like, a futuristic car for mad futuristic skating, or some shit. The NSX symbolized Rocco’s New World Order and foreshadowed Clinton-era economic prosperity. While conceptualized as a supercar or some shit, it still had that Civic DNA deep down in its rear-situated engine.

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Megan used to answer when you called the 800 number, right?

Is there a Gino of psychiatry/psychology? During my handful of visits, I should have asked my shrink this, but just explaining to her why Gino is Gino wouldn’t have been worth it, @ $200/hr.

Or would it?

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I started this site (on the old blogger domain, before porting everything over to wordpress) five  years ago today. Shoutout to anyone that has ever read, linked, or commented on my shit. Also shoutout to bobshirt and police informer (RIP) for inspiration. New content coming soon–a shoe review, or some shit.  Within a week to ten days.

Grant Hill and Laettner? Upriver.

First of all, reader smorales noted that I omitted the Gino/Keenan/Pupecki house from the skate house post–a critical oversight on my part. However, I just remembered that I wrote about it a couple years ago. In any event, it still warrants mentioning that said house still holds sway over the collective imagination as the archetypal skate house of the GABR.*

IN OTHER NEWS, two things have sustained me for the past two weeks: The ESPN 30 for 30 Fab Five documentary and what shall heretofore be known as “The Run.” The documentary film provided me with the most potent dose of early Nineties nostalgia I have received in quite some time. Specifically, the manner in which Jalen Rose and them vividly recalled their hatred for Duke, and the resultant hubbub in the sports journalism internets, reminded me of the whole upriver/downriver fiasco.

Still can’t believe they listened to CMW pre-game…

I suppose I could construct some kind of analogy comparing Ray & Chris & Jalen & Jimmy & Juwan to that other “super-team” that came together in 1991. However, the two phenomena, while both culturally significant, differ subtly. All the Plan B dudes except for Duffy were established entities. A more apt comparison would be if Ternasky had recruited Duffy, Ron Bertino, Jeremy Wray, Jovantae, Kanten Russell (who, apocryphally, was supposed to have been on Plan B anyway) and Kareem Campbell on some kind of all-am super-squad type shit.

“The Run,” on the other hand, cemented itself in skate lore on some 1952 Bobby Thomson shot-heard-round-the-world type shit. This is the kind of communally triumphant moment that usually results in looting, jumping on top of cars, and police donning riot gear (as was the case when my hometown team reached the “Elite Eight,” minus the looting). Busenitz’s run portrayed what Dill eluded to in Feedback: technique + form = art.   “No man should be that confident,” my friend observed. Indeed, shutting out Wade** in a friendly game of s.k.a.t.e., with the DLX “underbosses” in attendance, did not seem to faze the dude either. As messageboard dudes noted, he appeared to conceptualize each flatground trick as if he were attempting it over the California St. gap.

Speaking of Shaefer and his business ventures, SPOT dudes recently documented their trip to one of those “MaloofU” contests (is this, like, a real thing?) down in Panama City. As you can see from this edit, the brothers spared no expense with the contest setup.

I think Nieratko wrote about this topic in an old Big Brother, but I always stayed in the city and skated during spring break, eschewing traditional spring break activities for the small banks and the Paine Webber benches. Little did I know that, more than a decade later, kids would be able to kill two birds with one stone, so to speak. Trip the fuck out.

New content coming soon, including some shit about the link between Nineties backpacker hip-hop and skating, in addition to a Real vid premiere report/review.

*Golden Age of Board Royalties

**whose Private Indoor Training Facility part is one of the best this year, taking 360 flip 5/0’s into PJ Ladd quantum physics territory

There Are No Rules Tonight.

December 30, 2010

The other evening, as per usual, I perused the magazine section of Food Lion  while grocery shopping.  Pickings were slim; my mainstay King had long gone out of business. Food Lion never has Transworld nor Thrasher for some reason. However, I was shocked to see an actual physical issue of Maxim . I recall the publisher or editor-in-chief appearing on Stern about a year ago, explaining that the publication would be going FULL DIGITAL. Maybe they were able to outsource their photoshopping to Bangladesh, or some shit.

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November 13, 2010

eh eh, eh eh

Hey, remember in the Nineties when remixes consisted of an entirely new beat with some different dudes, instead of the same beat and some different dudes, in addition to some dude caterwauling on top of the whole production? That was awesome. Contrary to popular belief, Sean Combs did not originate the remix.* He did, in all likelihood, invent the latter form.

In any event, I have been contemplating the concept of remixes for two reasons: firstly, when I heard this remix during my usual Friday night routine of driving around listening to ignorant-ass hip-hop, I instantly got amped on some 20 Shot 2011/NYC IZ BACK-type shit. The synergy of Meth & Cameron Giles over that loop convinced me that maybe if Gucc, Wayne, and TI somehow ended up simultaneously incarcerated the tri-state area could return to prominence.

Delusional, I know.

Secondly, most of you have most probably already seen these, but some outstanding gentleman produced remixes of the holy trinity of “dope” skating, consisting of 411 clips, fondly-remembered video part shit, Girl/Choc box set extra footage, and painstakingly-added skate sounds.   Shit’s got me amped on some DA NINETIES IZ BACK-type shit. Best viewed in Father/Son/Holy Spirit sequence.

*” I guess like the jeans” is probably the worst simile in the history of figurative language.

**new post w/99% original content coming soon


As Chuck Klosterman noted in his review of The Sims, daily life boils down to a series of strategy problems. One of this season’s episodes of Jersey Shore demonstrated this perfectly, as Mike deftly isolated two separate groups of girls in the house, isolated and extracted an attractive female from her hippopotomic friend, and engaged in intercourse with said young lady. Concurrently, Vincent and Paul banged the first set of girls.  This process led me to call several area contractors, asking for estimates on ballpark figures for converting my home’s laundry/utility room into a “smash room.” Read the rest of this entry »

thanks for clarifying that; I was under the impression that you dudes operated under a strict code of conduct

Back in the late Nineties, one of my drinkin’ buddies periodically wore this orange Poison shirt—the same color as the “go directly to jail” card in monopoly. I thought this was cool because, as you probably remember, bright primary color shirts, like yellow and orange were cool at the time–like those first run of “[INSERT CITY NAME HERE] 04” Fourstar shirts. He and I also often contemplated starting a sincere hair metal band. However, I am not sure if he knew how to play an instrument. I don’t think he even had a band name, which is the element one usually creates first in this kind of endeavor. All he had was one song title:

“Unprotected Love.”

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