It was a long day of work this Saturday. I don’t particularly like working Saturdays…come to think of it; I don’t like working Mondays, Tuesdays, Wednesdays or the rest of the weekdays either. Work sucks. It’s for the birds. Tweet tweet.
I finished my day with a solo date to Valentino’s Café. What a place. It’s warm and welcoming with a slew of locals who are personable. The ones who know my name call it out, and I feel welcome, even though I would not consider myself a local to this establishment, or any other drinking/eating joint for that matter. But, nonetheless, they make me feel welcome.
The best way to enjoy a pasta dinner after a hard day’s work of grinding out mortar joints (the dirtiest, dustiest task asked of man) is to drink five cold beers and two glasses of ice water as fast as humanly possible. My mouth hydrates and my spirit becomes merry, whilst the kitchen’s finest prepare my feast.
The coaster that my beer beverage sits on says, “We are glad you’re here” and I admit, it makes me a little mushy inside. The man beside me is clearly drunk and merry as well. We make small talk and I thank god for social spaces with such souls.
Menus can disturb my appetite into a fit of indecision, and the stomach and I pitch insults to one another while the waitress sighs with a grin. There was no such disturbance and I was quick to order spaghetti with “chunky tomato” sauce and mushrooms. There was an assortment of meat sauce based dishes with sausage, meat balls or chicken to accompany the starch; but even though I am carnivorous, I chose a meat less meal for two reasons: the simplicity was cheaper and meat is not the healthiest substance. Clearly, I am a health conscious consumer.
The sun settled in the western window and the drunken gentleman beside me invited himself into a game of darts taking place behind me. He shot once and said, “I’ve made a very bad decision…I don’t know how to fix it”. And, immediately I began laughing profusely with beer running out of my nose. Quickly composed, I made sure that he was talking about the dart game, and not a fatal error in his complex lifestyle. “Are you talking about the dart game?”, I asked. “Yes.” He said, and I continued my laughter. It wasn’t that a mistake is funny, or that he landed a perfect line like from a joke book. No, my reaction was based purely on how sincere and concerned he was about the current position of his thrown darts. -‘Not like it was a tournament or anything…he just stomped into their game and took his first round. And, I may add that this is not the type of social gathering café that hosts dart sharks. Anyone knows better than to sway their way into a dart game at Hildy’s or Your Place Pizza…no no…we were among friends. Surely his game could be saved; if not even lost in the company of high-life slugging peers. It’s gonna be just fine, dude.
I ate my pasta like a beer buzzed hungry savage and complimented the bar maid’s taste in music, as random Beatle’s songs whispered from the liquor shelf.
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Taste the River, Tito
I am a witness. Technically there were nine of us...the witnesses. I'm assuming that I'll be the only one reporting on the action, so anyone reading will have to trust that this article contains the truth.
I'll bring this whole thing up to speed...
We were skating last night at the bowl. It was a good session with a good mix of heads...including some that I haven't seen in far too long. There was only a few skaters left skating. I was posted up in corner with O-town and Seber. We nursed our injuries with ice cold beer.
Being the last skaters on such nights can be a chore...it's as though sometimes you are the entertainment for the drunks on deck who want you to keep skating so that they are not left staring at an empty bowl. Tito felt no pressure from the mob, skating freely into the night with a crowd and slurry encouragement rubbing him.
Tito took run after run as the crowd called out for more. Finally, he was apparently done skating. He tossed his board into the night lit bush. He threw up his arms and claimed "I'm done". Then, from the shallow end deck side, he did a one handed hand spring into the flat area of the bowl off of the love seat. It happened pretty quickly and quite honestly I was very impressed with his cat-like agility. He landed on his feet,facing away from the benches, did a quick ninety degree turn whilst launching himself into a round off cart-wheel that happened so fast that when he flipped over and landed onto his feet, the fucking back flip that followed happened in pure slow motion. My jaw was open and chins hit the floor! What the hell is going on here? This dude just got done skating by himself (for our enjoyment) in the heat of the summer night and he tops it off with a trio of gymnastics in the flat bottom? Look a him! He's doing a fucking head-high back flip!
Gravity finally kicked in and Tito's flight had ended. He landed with might onto both feet and immediately started complaining of a bruised heel, and we all felt slight guilt for loving his shenanigans so much. We threw beer cans into the bowl and hand fulls of stone.
As of late, when someone pulls off stunt wood maneuvers of great difficulty, it has become a sort of ritual to through stones into the bowl; to show utmost appreciation for their dedication and commitment. You can sort of smell the irony. 'Dude just gets done landing something that he's been trying all night and his fans immediately toss aggregate into the bowl that basically makes the bowl unskateable for the rest of his run. This is a cruel sort of encouragement brainstormed by none other that O-town Wilson. -Now even if someone is getting closer and closer to landing a big trick, we will begin to sift the stones with our hands and feet and it creates an eerie sound that may even hinder the skater from ultimate commitment...like "do I really want to land this now? These assholes are going to through STONES into the bowl if I do?". So far, the skaters involved have liked the stoning...well maybe, I don't know...I think Doug was kind of pissed. Oh well...fuck him. Anyhow, Tito breaks out a back flip off the flat bottom, so we stoned his ass.
Now 'Teets' is sitting deck side shoeless, rubbing his feet and nearly crying about a very badly bruised heel. We all tried to sooth him verbally by telling him that his shoes were cool, but basically they were pieces of shit. Telling him that "Your shoes suck" surely helped ease the pain. Vans are cool shoes, but the support system is a little less than friendly.
Tito now stands up and grabs a 'zip zinger' style board (this is a board with a sort of banana shape and narrow trucks, which are loosely fashioned for amazing steering capabilities). He starts rolling around the deck, and from no where, just rolls into the stone and beer can filled bowl. I don't know if anyone reading this can really picture what I'm talking about...the bowl is made of concrete...it's littered with 3/4" stones and an assortment of beer cans. Everyone in the world has a story about trying to ride a skateboard and then getting tossed off of it due to hitting a stone or a crack and GENERALLY most try to avoid such situations for lifetimes...Tito is charging this shit shoeless on a novelty board, with a bruised heel.
We were fascinted and delighted to no end with Tito's dance with death. We annointed his skating with more empty beer cans and very profane flattery. Some one even offered a cylinder shaped cooler to the bowl's litter. The cooler was red and white. It measured approximately 22 inches high and 12 inches in diameter. Tito charged the concrete walls and rammed the cooler out of his way, sending the cooler itself up the transitions and to the coping, where the cooler did a rock-to-fakie as Tito and stones rounded the corner. Tito held the strings...he commanded respect and called the shots.
Brian leans into me and says "He didn't come here the whole way from Puerto Rico for NOTHING!"
"Indeed" I say "This kid has a story to tell"
We watched this sweaty Puerto Rican Magician make history in front of our very eyes. The sound coming from the bowl was like nothing I'd ever heard before. Cans crunched and skidded. The stones danced up the walls, out of danger's way and then rattled down again into the danger zone. Sometimes the stones would get caught under his wheels and protested loudly that the board stop immediately, but none such action occured. The odd 'stopping' sound echoed into the night, and our hero carved victoriously. The nose of the zip zinger pelted a red and white cooler up the walls and above lip, performing a variety of tricks while master rounded with prevailing urethane humming under his bruised bare feet.
"Best ride I seen...I especially liked the flip of the cooler"
I was star struck with Tito's existence. I hailed his name. He punched me in the chest and smiled. "Fucking right, you sidewalk-makin-mother-fucker"-is what he said to me. I was flattered that he aknowleged me and grabbed another cold round for myself and O-town Wilson.
Tito became bored with the littered terrain and began scooping stone and can mixture with a plastic dust pan while skating. He the grabbed a push broom and rolled even faster around the structure, carving high and shoving dust, stone and trash above the deck with swift motions of a stiff bristled push broom.
Occasionally Tito would wreck, but he fixed himself quickly with the light of a 8 inch long Newport. We called his name and he delivered.
Eventually he walked away. There were no protests from the witnesses. There was nothing left for us to say...not that just anyone would understand. I was scared and afraid I was so alone. We're Neurotic! I've had it.
Thank you Tito. Taste the River! There's a Q in our name. It stands for quality boards, and a quest for fun in every run.
I'll bring this whole thing up to speed...
We were skating last night at the bowl. It was a good session with a good mix of heads...including some that I haven't seen in far too long. There was only a few skaters left skating. I was posted up in corner with O-town and Seber. We nursed our injuries with ice cold beer.
Being the last skaters on such nights can be a chore...it's as though sometimes you are the entertainment for the drunks on deck who want you to keep skating so that they are not left staring at an empty bowl. Tito felt no pressure from the mob, skating freely into the night with a crowd and slurry encouragement rubbing him.
Tito took run after run as the crowd called out for more. Finally, he was apparently done skating. He tossed his board into the night lit bush. He threw up his arms and claimed "I'm done". Then, from the shallow end deck side, he did a one handed hand spring into the flat area of the bowl off of the love seat. It happened pretty quickly and quite honestly I was very impressed with his cat-like agility. He landed on his feet,facing away from the benches, did a quick ninety degree turn whilst launching himself into a round off cart-wheel that happened so fast that when he flipped over and landed onto his feet, the fucking back flip that followed happened in pure slow motion. My jaw was open and chins hit the floor! What the hell is going on here? This dude just got done skating by himself (for our enjoyment) in the heat of the summer night and he tops it off with a trio of gymnastics in the flat bottom? Look a him! He's doing a fucking head-high back flip!
Gravity finally kicked in and Tito's flight had ended. He landed with might onto both feet and immediately started complaining of a bruised heel, and we all felt slight guilt for loving his shenanigans so much. We threw beer cans into the bowl and hand fulls of stone.
As of late, when someone pulls off stunt wood maneuvers of great difficulty, it has become a sort of ritual to through stones into the bowl; to show utmost appreciation for their dedication and commitment. You can sort of smell the irony. 'Dude just gets done landing something that he's been trying all night and his fans immediately toss aggregate into the bowl that basically makes the bowl unskateable for the rest of his run. This is a cruel sort of encouragement brainstormed by none other that O-town Wilson. -Now even if someone is getting closer and closer to landing a big trick, we will begin to sift the stones with our hands and feet and it creates an eerie sound that may even hinder the skater from ultimate commitment...like "do I really want to land this now? These assholes are going to through STONES into the bowl if I do?". So far, the skaters involved have liked the stoning...well maybe, I don't know...I think Doug was kind of pissed. Oh well...fuck him. Anyhow, Tito breaks out a back flip off the flat bottom, so we stoned his ass.
Now 'Teets' is sitting deck side shoeless, rubbing his feet and nearly crying about a very badly bruised heel. We all tried to sooth him verbally by telling him that his shoes were cool, but basically they were pieces of shit. Telling him that "Your shoes suck" surely helped ease the pain. Vans are cool shoes, but the support system is a little less than friendly.
Tito now stands up and grabs a 'zip zinger' style board (this is a board with a sort of banana shape and narrow trucks, which are loosely fashioned for amazing steering capabilities). He starts rolling around the deck, and from no where, just rolls into the stone and beer can filled bowl. I don't know if anyone reading this can really picture what I'm talking about...the bowl is made of concrete...it's littered with 3/4" stones and an assortment of beer cans. Everyone in the world has a story about trying to ride a skateboard and then getting tossed off of it due to hitting a stone or a crack and GENERALLY most try to avoid such situations for lifetimes...Tito is charging this shit shoeless on a novelty board, with a bruised heel.
We were fascinted and delighted to no end with Tito's dance with death. We annointed his skating with more empty beer cans and very profane flattery. Some one even offered a cylinder shaped cooler to the bowl's litter. The cooler was red and white. It measured approximately 22 inches high and 12 inches in diameter. Tito charged the concrete walls and rammed the cooler out of his way, sending the cooler itself up the transitions and to the coping, where the cooler did a rock-to-fakie as Tito and stones rounded the corner. Tito held the strings...he commanded respect and called the shots.
Brian leans into me and says "He didn't come here the whole way from Puerto Rico for NOTHING!"
"Indeed" I say "This kid has a story to tell"
We watched this sweaty Puerto Rican Magician make history in front of our very eyes. The sound coming from the bowl was like nothing I'd ever heard before. Cans crunched and skidded. The stones danced up the walls, out of danger's way and then rattled down again into the danger zone. Sometimes the stones would get caught under his wheels and protested loudly that the board stop immediately, but none such action occured. The odd 'stopping' sound echoed into the night, and our hero carved victoriously. The nose of the zip zinger pelted a red and white cooler up the walls and above lip, performing a variety of tricks while master rounded with prevailing urethane humming under his bruised bare feet.
"Best ride I seen...I especially liked the flip of the cooler"
I was star struck with Tito's existence. I hailed his name. He punched me in the chest and smiled. "Fucking right, you sidewalk-makin-mother-fucker"-is what he said to me. I was flattered that he aknowleged me and grabbed another cold round for myself and O-town Wilson.
Tito became bored with the littered terrain and began scooping stone and can mixture with a plastic dust pan while skating. He the grabbed a push broom and rolled even faster around the structure, carving high and shoving dust, stone and trash above the deck with swift motions of a stiff bristled push broom.
Occasionally Tito would wreck, but he fixed himself quickly with the light of a 8 inch long Newport. We called his name and he delivered.
Eventually he walked away. There were no protests from the witnesses. There was nothing left for us to say...not that just anyone would understand. I was scared and afraid I was so alone. We're Neurotic! I've had it.
Thank you Tito. Taste the River! There's a Q in our name. It stands for quality boards, and a quest for fun in every run.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
OMGDWTFS
WTF?
Shit. I’m just not a gun guy. Notwhatsoever. I’ve never really killed anything. Well, bugs and shit, but not like killed shit for killing’s sake. Yes, yes, yes…I eat meat. Big deal. Meat is murder I know. I KNOW. Look, I use oil and gasoline too…trust me, I’m no good.
The other day, I had to use this dude’s dump truck to do a bunch of work. Nothing special, really we do this type of shit all the time. I do work for him, he does work for me, it’s a nice relationship.
So, I had his truck and I’m down near Maryland with one of his ‘helpers’. We were working all day, poured some concrete, you know…living the dream. At one point I go over to the truck to get something out of the cab, and low and behold…THERE’S A FUCKING GUN BEHIND THE SEAT!!!! Holy Shit! A gun? Dude What The Fuck? Or DWTF?
I was shocked and scared. What the? I was maybe going to grab a few beers later on…what if this kid with me has some weed in his pocket? What if we get fucking pulled over and I’m FUCKING PACKING HEAT?
Then, I found FUCKING BULLETS!!!!!
Look, I may sound like a big pussy and I don’t care. Guns scare me. I don’t like being scared. It makes me feel like a wimp, and you KNOW how I feel about wimps.
EEEEEEEK!
Arment assists!
I wish I could say that this is the first time that this has happened, but it’s not.
I love dogs…but sometimes they are so silly! I know that dogs will eat grass to settle their stomach, and often it is fascinating to watch them eat it as though they are grazing cattle. It’s soothing to watch them feed themselves from the land, and it’s nice to see the higher blades of grass disappear without the annoying roar of a mower. But…
Dumb ass dogs will just eat and eat and eat the grass without wondering how their body will digest the entire intake and…yes. Sometimes large green turds get stuck on the way out. This inconvenience leaves the dog confused and anxious. Lord knows they can’t reach their head around there to bite the dang thing clean off. No. This act results in the humorous spinning and spinning as though trying to catch his or her tail, just like in cartoons, except for the fact that there is a turd whipping in the wind, as the tail turns toward the chase-ee. So weird.
Sometimes a sort of drag is given a shot, to hopefully yank the turd out. Maybe this works, but I’ve rarely seen it…SOOO…you know what happens.
Yes, I’ve done this before. Shit, I’ve even written about this subject in an old ‘zine I contributed to. The dog gives a look. Ok, like tonight Tahlula kept trying to poop out a grass log. She kept trying in different areas (like that would help!), walking around the yard. I wasn’t really paying attention due to the fact that I am a dedicated farmer and needed to tend to my crops…but then….I got the look. She’s haunched over, legs shaking trying to poop and looking at me like “Hey Dude…a little help?”.
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