sasquatch

Some guy set up a motion-triggered camera deep in the woods of Ridgway, Pennsylvania which is about 115 miles northeast of Pittsburgh. He was trying to get photos of deer but instead captured the following:

Is it a sasquatch? Some say yes, others say no. The Pennsylvania Game Commission claims that the photo shows "a bear with a severe case of mange." But those back legs look far too long to belong to a bear. Moreover, they bend slightly at the knee. I see a bipedal creature stooped over in a foraging position. Personally, I don't really believe in bigfoot. But I don't rule out the possibility that it does in fact exist. Perhaps it's a very thin or underweight bear. The front left leg, or arm, looks to be about the same length as its back one. Hmmm... Until I see definitive evidence, not just photographic evidence (which is open to interpretation), I'm siding with the skeptics. But it really does look like a humanoid.

that's just grate

nobody but me

When I started this here blog, I was hoping I could create some kind of cultural phenomenon. I wanted my words to be read, to be interpreted and to be talked about. I soon discovered that nobody wants to read subjective stream of conscious ramblings about this and that. I don't pretend to have my ear to the street or my finger on the pulse of whatever is new and hip--I'm too unfocused for that. Writing is cathartic for me, it's an outlet. And while it'd be cool if other people did get something out of it, I'm not heartbroken that nobody reads the transcribed gas of all my brain farts. So why do I even put it out there in interweb-land if nobody's gonna see it? I don't know. I guess I'm just clinging to the hope. Because really, nobody can do the shing-a-ling like I do. Nobody can do the skate like I do. Nobody can do the boogaloo like I do. Nobody can do the philly like I do.

one man's trash

is another man's treasure. I mined all these pictures from the refuse bin on my computer. They've been piling up in there for awhile now. Contained within said bin were a bunch of photos that I've taken over the past few months. Maybe I'll post those soon. Until then...

PERFIDIA

The last couple weeks have been pretty eventful. The Dregs have been seriously rocking, playing shows across the city and having lots of fun. We've been working on some new material that's sounding super rad too. The ping pong table in my garage is in full effect and dudes are stopping by to get a good rally going. Projects at the house are occupying my time as well. Lots of fun stuff going on!

Nike SB just finished a video featuring all of their riders. They held a premiere and after party in Portland to which Beth and I went. We ran into a bunch of other friends too. The video was cool, Nike's team is a real diverse mix of dudes who all ride different stuff and have different styles. It was fun to watch, this dude Omar Salazar kills it; he's in a league of his own. The party after the premiere was kinda exclusive but our friends had some other friends and were able to get us in. OPEN BAR! FREE PIZZA! Plus I got to meet some of my favorite pro skaters and dudes who I see in the mags every month. Beth was trying to strike up conversations with all these pros, just talking to them about skating and stuff, it was cool. The whole thing was rad, I was really fanning out on some dudes. At one point the dancefloor cleared out and fools were taking turns messing around on a skateboard. A crowd gathered around and cheered on those ballsy enough to brave an alcohol-slicked wood floor. The above photo was snapped right before this guy slipped out and planted his face into the floorboards. You can totally see his drink vacating its glass.Another night, I went downtown to see a band called the Black Lips play. I'd seen them before and it was pretty crazy. People were throwing empty cans and spraying beer everywhere. The same thing happened this time around but the bass player was less enthused. I remember this wasted dude got up on stage and bumped into him and messed up the instrument and kicked over his mic stand before jumping back into the crowd. A bunch of other dudes started doing the stage dive thing too but the bass player was just staring at somebody in the crowd for the rest of the show. When it was over, he dropped the bass and jumped in swinging. A small melee ensued, one of the other guitarists briefly joined the fray. Security pulled the band back onstage and took them away and then held court onstage checking out the scene. I saw a couple bottles fly and decided that I oughta to get out of there. It was crazy, I don't even know how or what or why. I think fighting is pretty dopey though.

memories...

...like the corners of my mind...meow...
So thinking about memories made we want to get some down before I forget them for good. I often forget these stories until someone reminds me. Then it all comes flooding back like a spring gully-washer.

Ok, so I was a young fella, maybe twelve. I was messing about in the forest with some pals. We were doing whatever it is that young dudes do; chopping at ferns with sticks, catching tree frogs, spotting birds. We ended up deciding to throw rocks at a nest of yellowjackets. After a few direct hits, the troops were deployed and they came surging out of the nest ready to attack their marauders. Me and the gang proceeded to hop and swat in our avoidance of the angrily buzzing horde, eager to escape the eye of the swarm. When the assault subsided, we checked to see who had felt the wrath. Astonishingly, none of us had been stung. It was at this point, after all the laughs and high-fives, that I detected a buzzing sensation near my face. Upon closer inspection it was determined that a yellowjacket had gotten tangled up in my hair during the melee. As I tried to extradite it from the ratty mess that was my coiffure, it stung the shit out of me. My face soon swelled up and I spent the next couple days enduring taunts usually reserved for children of the Corky persuasion. That is to say, I appeared to have down's syndrome (which is no laughing matter). Actually, nobody made fun of those kids. My friends were just giving me a hard time, something only friends can do--and in jest at that.

Ok, next story finds me in the seventh grade where my peers are beginning to exhibit signs of maturity and I am not. Our school, bursting at the seams with students, got these portable classrooms set up near the tennis courts and the track. These portables came complete with their own heating and cooling systems which were housed in big units on the side of the buildings. On our way to class one day, it was a hot day, a friend and I were milling about outside before the bell rang. The fan that brought in air for the A/C was seriously humming and we were just wasting time, waiting on the bell.  But the hypnotic whirring was beckoning, calling to us. In the uncut grass that abutted the back of the portables is where all the dogs used to shit while their owners walked or jogged on the track after school was out. So one thing or another led us to start throwing turds into the fan. Like enterprising apes, we used rudimentary tools like sticks and scrap paper to fling more and more shit into the spinning blades. Shit literally hit the fan. To this day, I have no idea what possessed us to do it. Was it angst? Was it the ennui of a youth gone mild? Or was it just two kids siezing an opportunity to shake things up a bit? Either way, once the bell rang and we all took our seats, shit figuratively hit the fan. The room was stinky and kids started looking around at each other with those squished-up disgusted faces that say 'who farted?' Fingers were pointed at likely culprits and innocence was proclaimed. The whole thing turned into your classic 'whoever smealt it dealt it' blame game in which haphazard accusations fly back and forth, none sticking long enough before being deflected. It seemed that the more conviction the accuser displayed in his allegations, the more he absolved himself. Eventually, someone was heaped with the blame and branded a stinky-butted farter. The teacher opened the doors and windows and soon enough, everything aired out.

It's odd that a story like this next one would so often slip my mind (if only for the fact that it involves boobs) but I always forget it until my friend Amy reminds me when she says "ollie up these!" When I was going to college in Eugene, I lived down the street from my friend Beej, who lived with Amy and Emily. I was skating to their house, cruising fast and hopping and bopping down the street. As I was riding, some girls yelled at me. I thought they must be friends of mine since they were yelling so I stopped and picked up my board. I turned to face them and one of them lifted up her shirt, shook her boobs and shouted "ollie up these!" I was awestruck, this was rockstar shit. I just laughed and said something like "ok, cool." When I got to my friends' house, I recounted the events in detail much to their, and my, amusement.

This other time when I was skating in the exact same spot where the girl flashed me, I cut off this dude who was passing me on his bicycle. I couldn't hear him riding because bikes are quiet and skateboards are loud. We collided, he crashed hard and bled and I was totally okay. I felt kinda bad but he seemed cool with it. Oh well.

kooky

This lady in Brazil just gave birth to her own grandchildren. How, you ask? Turns out that the lady's daughter was barren, her insides were a rocky place where a seed could find no purchase. So her mother, the lady, played the role of surrogate mother and bore twins for her daughter. Kooky eh? I hope everything turns out alright with their genes and stuff.

The band played last night. I had an awesome time. The venue was charging five bucks. That seems so dumb. Who's gonna pay to see some no-name band on a sunday night? I wouldn't. But we're gonna be busy in the next couple months, lots of shows.