always in fashion

So every year at holidays when my four brothers and sister are over at my dad's place, with all of the spouses and kids and friends and whoever, it never fails that one of my older brothers will comment on this photo that sits right next to my dad's dining room table:

Yep, that's me, right in the middle, about 10 or 11 years old or so. Every year I'm subjected to ridicule by my siblings, as though at age 10 or 11 I was responsible for choosing what the hell I was going to wear when we all went in to Yen Lui Studios to get our picture taken. For some reason my twin brother Dave isn't subjected to the same ridicule for his killer plaid pants -- he's subjected to ridicule for other reasons. Last year at Christmas, I decided to take matters into my own hands. Actually, I made this decision at Christmas '09 for Christmas '10 -- thinking ahead. I was going to find a plaid jacket and bowtie and kill it. Luckily enough, I found at Tiedeman's a plaid jacket that fits and is almost identical to the one in the picture. Got a blue bow tie on Ebay, but I couldn't quite pull the bowl cut. Yes, my mom actually pulled out a mixing bowl on more than one occasion and gave me and my brother hair cuts. So I rocked it:

Instead of my brothers and sister I had the lovely Meg with me, even better ('cause she puts out!). People liked it (and if you look closely, you can see the back side of Mr Nubbins, as well as a tall can of Peter's Dutch style pilsner -- it's German -- and a large helping of meat). The crowd went wild, and one sibling's significant other who shall remain nameless believed me when I said it was the same jacket, and tha tI had just gotten the sleeves taken out a little. Ha!

Rainier Beer!

Too many to post... I remember all of these from growing up in Seattle. And this too:

For some reason, can't upload the good one from youtube -- copyright? Just search "boomerang Marni Nixon." Meg and I met her a couple weeks ago, on her way to receiving a Peabody Award. She did the singing for Julie Andrews in "Sound of Music," and for others, including Marilyn Monroe.

MR. NUBBINS FINALLY APPEARS!!

Sorry for yelling, but it's hard to tone down my excitement. After weeks of anticipation, Mr. Nubbins has finally made an appearance. He can be a shy little bugger, and sometimes it seems like spotting a rare species out in the wild. There he was, at Josh and Heather's wedding in Cornville:

He was psyched! Later he helped DJ the tunes for the wedding:

Sure, it's a little blurry, but he was WASTED! Things got even blurrier when he got back to the hotel room and passed out:

But in all seriouslnous, it was Heather and Josh's day, and we all send congrats and wishes for a long and happy life together!

By request...

Evidence IV: The ol' In-N-Out

Hoss had spotted one, and it looked good from his recon. Hoss does a killer job of finding stuff, riding his bike around for hours. The crew was assembled: Hoss, B-Rad, Andrew and me. Parked down the alley at a park across the street, then we lurked to the pool. A quick fence hop and we were in. This one was bone dry, but with a lot of dried up pool dust where the scum line was. I took off the diving board bolts while Hoss and Andrew swept and B-Rad blogged.

This was a high profile situation. Although it was a corner house, there were neighbors on one side and across the alley, and we saw some people around when we made our approach. As a result, we decided to limit ourselves to 15 minutes of riding. The face wall was smooth, the left hand pocket was perfect, and the shallow was workable. Everyone grinded. 15 minutes were up, and Hoss and Andrew hopped the fence. They saw a cop on the other end of the alley, so Brad and I scaled the fence under pressure. We walked around to the front, back to the car, and rolled away, another bowl under our belts. We scoped one or two more in the neighborhood, but nothing was as good as this one. I didn't quite feel like a swashbuckler -- something some goon from the New Times called me a few years ago in an effort to allow them to tag along and write a story (short story: we refused, they got pissed and threatened to "expose us" -- it's all here on my hasn't-been-updated-in-8-years-but-I-still-sell-one-or-two-t-shirts-a-year-from-it website: www.pooldust.com) -- but getting a high profile pool like this and making a clean getaway carries a certain exhiliration.

More evidence...

Hoss and Andrew clean up.

Hoss grabs nose and goes b-side.

B-Rad, B-side.

Me, about to blog the fuck out of that photo.

Andrew hits it F-side before we bail.

Steaming pile of turd down the block.

Painting a Royal Enfield Tank

Ripped off from le Container, who ripped it off from... ?

Evidence III: Go Skateboarding Day

I feel kinda bad, because Cowtown is a ruling shop and I should always do whatever they say. Several years ago, a crew of us went up to Prescott and skated the new park on Go Skateboarding Day. On the way back, after imbibing several beers, we stopped by the old Cowtown ramp that was in a warehouse in Phoenix. They had an event there for the day, and they were making announcements and someone just handed me the mic and said "say something." So I said something along the lines of "Everyday is go skateboarding day, not just today. In fact, don't do what people try to tell you to do, take a day off from skateboarding on go skateboarding day! Be a non-conformist! Go against the grain! Carpe Diem! Hail Caesar..." and I kept muttering stuff until someone took away the microphone. So, I get it, not cool to tell the kids to not go skateboarding on Go Skateboarding Day. Am I forgiven?

Yesterday was Go Skateboarding Day 2011, so we went skateboarding. Hoss, Andrew, Brad and I set off for the West Side. We met up with Dixon at the new Cowtown ramp, and he gave us the coordinates for the pool on the agenda for that day. We took back the alley, in through the open gate, and there she stood. Crazy weird left hand wall, a little tight in the shallow, but everyone grinded. Andrew went for light-death, but that will have to wait for next time. After 20 minutes or so we got spooked with a lot of activity, including what sounded like a big dog (along with a small dog) next door trying to jump over the fence and eat us. We split.

Andrew checks the specs.

B-Rad, regs, BSG.

Hossy, goofs, BSG.

If you see this in a pool, I've skated it.

Takin' back the alley (photo Hoss).

Spits are playing at this year's Johnny Rad Fest!

Back at the ramp, some young guns were shredding. We all took some runs (although Hoss bowed out -- but Rob Locker skated, which guaranteed that I wasn't the oldest guy at the session) and shot the shit. Then it was on the Cowtown event.

Court and Jay.

Dickman.

Young gun going FS 5-0.

We rolled up and there were half a dozen cop cars and SUVs, and about 15 or 20 cops. I Thought this was funny, and when we walked by said "Wow, heavy presence at the skate event," to one of the cops, who didn't think it was funny. I guess it wasn't meant to be. They showed a Transworld video, which was OK (but I swear it seemed like after every trick they filmed they tried to get arty by either zooming in on the skaters' legs or slowly panning the camera up and shooting the sky, which got very old and very repetitive very fast -- but there was some sick skating).* Then mayhem ensued as the Cowtown crew unleashed a fusillade of product from on top of their van. It was just like an old product toss but multiplied by 4.3 on the Sickter scale. Oooh... that was a bad pun. They gave away so much stuff, seems like every kid walked away with something. As we were leaving, I asked some of the cops if they were having fun and snapped their photo. One of the cops saw I had a camera and quickly reached for his flashlight and shined it at me (to wash out my photo?) but it was too late. He was also by far the shortest cop in the bunch, so I thought maybe his flashlight makes up for his small penis?

I told Hoss that eating ice cream in public is not punk, a lesson I learned from Tom Price.

Product Toss mayhem, it was so dusty all my flash photos look like shit.

Soda, doling out product to the masses.

Trent lets a board fly while a competing blogger attempts to block my access to the money shot.

The fuzz. Reactions range from making a face, to amused, to tough guy, to "I'm gonna get a flashlight and blow out the photo" (far left). Didn't work, guy.

We then went to the George and Dragon for some of the worst food I have eaten in a long time, and watched overweight and generally unhealthy looking middle age dudes get a little too caught up in their sweet poker games.

At home, the team of Janet and Meg gave conflicting advice to my suggestions to Brad about women. Their advice: "Don't fart in front of girls except on very rare occasions." My advice: "You can't respect a girl until you have held her close and farted on her." Listen to me Brad, I know what I am talking about.**

*Disclaimer: I work for Thrasher, the real skateboarding magazine.
**Please don't write and tell me I am fucked, because I already know that.

Bloggadocio

So I've been joking around, bringing my 5-year-old digital point and shoot everywhere, being obnoxious and telling my friends "I'm gonna blog the fuck outta that!" They put up with me, I guess; don't know if I would. But I've decided to give my behavior a new name: Bloggadocio. Bloggadocio is when you talk too much or brag about your blog. By the way, my blog is pronounced "blodge," rhymes with lodge.

I've also been lagging. Ryan and I had a killer (relatively) early SaTURDay AM run up South Mountain (let's jsut say I don't normally wake up at 7:30 on that day), then on to coffee, and on to Bob's. I promised him I would blog the fuck outta that motorcycle trip, because motorcycles are so fucking hot right now.

Not an over the shoulder boulder holder, but an over the shoulder photo of Ryan closing in on his CB550 on the twisties up South Mountain.

 Westward Ho Hotel, now a halfway house. Our friend Virginia made a killer print of this and gave it to Meg for her birthday. If she lets me, I'll post it. Gotta frame it and hang it...

 Bob's Used Motorcycles. A huge slice of heaven. don't bother going to pick thropugh the CB400F parts, I've got them all. There's a '77 frame still, though.

"It's not revenge, it's punishment" -- sweet tank, bro!

Which is better? Deep Purple or Metal Church version

So when faced with the question of "which version is better, the original or the cover?", I usually go with the original. And when I hear a song that's a cover, I tend to go seek out the original just so I can make the comparison. To wit, the Detroit Cobras do mostly covers. I've tracked down on vinyl almost all of the original versions of the songs, and with a few exceptions ("99 and a half won't do," for example, which isn't really a cover in the strict sense of the word, but more influenced by the orignal) I tend to like the originals better. Have you heard Otis Redding's "Shout Bamalama?" The single goes for big bucks -- I think in the $60-$70 range, or more -- but it's also available on the Old King Soul #4 compilation (I'm only telling you thin because I already own it). I tend to think that there's something about the original that just makes it superior, partly because the original is often written by the performer (not always, and frequently not for older stuff when songwriters wrote most of the stuff that other people performed -- see, e.g., Neil Diamond).

So, backtrack to 1984. I had been into punk for a few years already, thanks to my older brother turning me on to the Clash, Sex Pistols, Specials, etc. Hardcore was at its height, and loud and fast ruled. Hair metal was also at its height (think Van Halen (who oddly I appreciate now but hated then), Whitesnake, Ratt, all that shit). As a punker, I hated the hair metal. I used to give the metal dudes shit, and they'd give me shit. A couple of the rocker guys on my high school soccer team called me "the punk" derisively, for example.

But then a funy thing happened: Metallica released "Kill 'Em All" and Slayer released "Show no Mercy"in 1983. My friends Rob, Trev and Drew, who lived in the more metal friendly 'burbs of Redmond and Juanita, got into Metallica and Slayer, and turned me on their records. Metal Church was a local band from the Eastside burbs, and they put out their self-titled debut LP in 1984. Their chops were gutsy and tough, and their singer had a set of pipes. They were firmly in the speedmetal zone but had a few wimpy elements about them (the singer's screams were part of what I thought were funny). But we rocked that record (and I saw Metal Church play with Kiss and WASP once). I play Metal Church when I DJ, people dig it, and that first record kicks ass.

So why all the rambling? The other night were were going to visit our friend Jay after skating some pools. In the car we were listening to the radio when Deep Purple's "Highway Star" came on. Dixon, Brad and I were rocking out and singing along, and we pulled up to Jay's with 30 or 40 seconds left on the song. "We can't get out until this song is done," I said, so we listened until the end. And then I realized I was trying to add in Metal Church's screams to the Deep Purple version, and it didn't work. It was at that point that I decided I liked Metal Church's version better. You? Listen to them both. It's almost 11 minutes. Then you decide.

  

Lagging

Some work over the weekend, yard work too, a ride up South Mountain, a trip to Bob's motorcycle junkyard for fuel line and a grommet, lots of skating, some pool playing, an Irish wake, and more skating. Too busy to post, but evidence later. For now, ladies and germs, please enjoy the Misfits singing about Arizona.

James Brown teaches you how to dance the boogaloo!

Am I allowed?

Since I can't post the se photos on Facebook, am I allowed to join the ranks of people who post cheesecake photos of girls and motorcycles? No? What are you going to do about it?

CB750!

This little piggy

This little piggy went to Art Nolte's...

This little piggy stayed home.

This little piggy went to Cowtown...

This little piggy went to Bob's Used Motorcycle and Salvage.

This little piggy dripped oil, burped and farted, and cried "wah, wah, wah" all the way home.

Maybe it's time to drop that 400F engine into this 350 frame. Threw on the straight pipes to dial in the carbs, but two carbs were pissing -- need float adjustment -- ran like doo-doo (sounded good though...), and I noticed the oil seeping around the head. Do have a 400F engine, extra 50cc, extra gear... We'll see.

The second bike is a 2-stroke, 250cc Suzuki Hustler (also 6 gears). Working on it for Cowtown. They bought it for $200 to use as an obstacle in last year's junk jam, but when I saw it, I talked 'em out of it. Went down to Bob's with them and got a piece of shit Honda 125 that they used in the poster (with Chris Malouf kickflipping it -- kid's got pop):

Cleaned out the 250's carbs, but it's got electrical issues that are stubborn. Calling in a favor from my buddy Derek on that one. I'm just stoked to be working on a bike called "the Hustler."

My buddy Brock at HedKase Cycles (http://hedkasecycles.blogspot.com/2011_06_01_archive.html) came through with the sissy bar for Meg's bike today:

Meg's SR250 needs a little work but it's getting there:

And the 160 is now guarded by a Javanese demon.

No Evidence

Went back to second pool from evidence II, forgot my camera, no evidence. Mini ramp bachelor party last night, that's gotta count for something?

Oldie but goodie?

Sure, this one's been making the rounds, but if you haven't seen it, it'll crack you the hell up. If you have seen it, it'll still crack you the hell up.

Evidence II: Dead dogs smell bad

Met up with Dixon, Craig, Joe Dirt and Sean, head west then north. Met up with Nick at the spot, down the alley, and into the bowl. Smooth, killer right hander, tile coping, and I slapped my nuts first run, thought I was gonna puke. Everyone grinded, Joe Dirt got b-side air, Sean got f-side light-box, Craig got light-box, then on to the next one.

Apparently Court and Dixon had been scoping, but the presence of two guard dogs and a mysterious SUV in the front kept them out. SUV in the front turns out to be abandoned -- possible police chase vehicle ditch? -- and the asshole left his two dogs to die in the backyard. Advanced stages of decomposition in the Phoenix heat, but not enough to stop us from riding. Big Anthony coping, but not enough to stop the onslaught. Is that tough enough sounding for you? Cool Dolphin tiles.

Stumbled upon another empty on the way back to the car. Another killer day, thanks guys.

Left feeling like this at the end of the day: