Memories of Autumn
2001-2011
There is a tendency to consider things older than ourselves permanent into our future since we have no memory of a time without them. Autumn was in New York City before I was and it had soldiered on for so long that I only imagined that it would continue to do that. Now the shop is closed. I will be thankful if this writing of Autumn’s death proves premature or temporary. Its rebirth is the SnackMan’s number one prediction for 2012 and my fervent hope too, right up there with last year’s prediction of Slicky Boy switch Nosegrinding a handrail. I feel the coming of both may arrive jointly, or once Slicky Boy’s rap money allows him to buy out the whole block of 9th St, reinstate Autumn with the bowl on site and start the Tompkins Deli back again too with a nightclub downstairs that will create its own Barmuda Triangle with Blind Barber and Lit. A resurrection of Autumn would be similar to the creation of Nobel Prizes once the living Mr. Nobel was declared dead in the press, that is a chance to live again more vigorously than ever before in the celebration of ideals, effort and truth, for all of which Autumn was a beacon despite its lack of extensive storefront signage. It existed in location and aesthetic right between Supreme and KCDC. The development of the gentleman skater genre owes much to Autumn. One time this kid asked the Philosopher how to get to Autumn and Philosopher told him to stick around the TF till 7:30 then help carry the box back to the shop.
The first time I visited Autumn in 2004 I saw a shuttered storefront in daylight and thought it had gone out of business. In my life as a skater in search of skateshops I have come across a vacant location more than once. In this case I came from Indiana and had the address of the old 2nd St location. Then I read a sign that directed me to Autumn’s second and for now, last location that would anchor my location for much of my time in New York.
My first visit did not result in a purchase. Snackman is right, there was no complimentary massage at Autumn. I don’t remember who sat behind the counter in silence. I was free to browse as I wished. I wanted to buy a Tino Is My Homeboy shirt but had not met Tino at the time, only seen him in videos. I wondered if that made me his homeboy and once I was in the shop my conscience wouldn’t let me buy the shirt even though I was certain we would get along once we met. I was younger then and didn’t realize that at a store in a city where no one knew me no one would know who I knew. But then I figured everyone who knew would know. I didn’t think how Autumn would appreciate the money because Autumn was a shop that needed money to run. I picked up an issue of Vice for free. Anyway, I would be back and spend money there, though the Tino shirts had sold out by the time I met him.
In skate shops it is acceptable behavior to sit all day reading a magazine. This is also a discreet way to monitor the comings and goings in the shop. There was the friendly repartee with the UPS man and the shop gave him a pair of shoes he had asked about. I saw Clyde Singleton out front and had to call my friends in Indiana to tell them. Patrick O’Dell was there sometimes and I saw Spanky. I had read Patrick O’Dell and T. Barrow’s writing about Autumn in the magazines, how O’Dell had mail delivered there and Ted conducted Gentlemen’s meetings in the back. Epiclylaterd was my laptop homepage before Quartersnacks emerged from the death of 5050skateboarding. Since I was too young for the Fish at the time, Autumn was my best chance to see the people who do things that are cool in New York on their daily grind.
The mid point of this millenium’s first decade was in the heydey of the allover print t-shirt, and I purchased a rainbow shirt with diagonal striped colorful print and the black shirt with white stars all over it, the same one FlatBar Dave had. Owner Dave Mims’ wife Kristen was working that day, before I knew her as Dave the owner’s wife and I felt like this beautiful woman was giving me a homie deal because I wasn’t charged tax, but then I was unaware of tax free shopping since I was new to the city.
I was sitting at the shop one evening, reading a magazine, when people were going to the Autumn Bowl and asked me if I wanted to come. We drove in Dave’s car with Alex Porta and Oscar. I couldn’t believe I’d been asked to tag along when I was quiet. Once in Greenpoint we made my first walk down the alleyway type thing and walked on planks set down over standing water, then were in. Some other dudes were already there and the session was too heavy for me so I dropped in and took a couple cruises through but ended up sessioning the mini ramp in the other room with Oscar. The last time I skated the bowl I did my first grind in the deep end. I guess the fact that the Autumn Bowl closed was proof that Autumn didn’t have the funds to maintain a Brooklyn outpost that was not a store, rather an amazing, beautiful handwrought space that existed only for stoke, but Autumn did the best things as much as it was able and we all benefited from all of them.
My parents came to visit my first fall and we saw Dave walking through Tompkins Square and he stopped and introduced himself and my parents were happy to see that I was friends with quality people. It was easy to find quality people at Autumn. Paulgar sat behind the counter cool as can be with pomade in his hair drinking iced coffee on a summer day when the shop was hot with no airconditioning, one fan running and the door propped open with the tail of a snapped deck. Grandpa would price things in his mind and always was generous. It was said that the whole city was on Autumn flow. I cannot wait much longer for Jilleen and Brengar to collaborate on the Autumn video that has still not come out. There was the Zero style Grandpa pro model wearing his beanie that hung at the tresh hold to the back. Charles Chatov and Brett Land worked there some and called me the Prophet when I would come in there dazed from contemplating skate theory and needing an outlet. Brett Land’s Doghouse made of skateboards was in the storefront for a while. The front window was also a first home to the world’s finest example of contemporary portraiture, Gigliotti’s study of Brengar with the popsicle. One time last year I called the store and asked if Dharam was there. I knew he wouldn’t be, but wanted to keep his name on people’s lips and heard laughter over the line when Dave announced my question to whoever else was in the store.
My first board purchase from the shop was a dipped white 5Boro Virgin Mary board and I learned switch crooked grinds on the black flat box at Tompkins right after I set it up. I bought my first Zip Zinger there then Jake Hanly and I kicked it in south Tompkins and watched The Virgins play. Many times I used the shop tools to assemble the hand me down boards that Roctakon offered. There was the board that had all of the photographs of girls blowing bubble gum and they were the girls I wanted to meet in New York.
One time at the Fish Ted Barrow told me if I went up and talked to this girl she would kiss me. I walked up to her and told her I liked her dress. She said “Really?” I told her yeah, that the pattern was remarkable. Soon enough we had gone outside and were kissing. When I came back in to grab my board to leave, Ted focused my board in front of me. He then apologized and said he owed me a board. Three years later he told me to stop by the shop and there was a Workshop cruiser board covered in Aesthetics and Autumn stickers waiting for me.
At the end of my first schoolyear in New York, before I left for Indiana for the summer, Jeremy Corley, he of the 100 dollar haircut and small dog, said I could take a Slayer shirt on the house. I wore the black shirt often that summer and have used it as a pillowcase. There was the burning Church t-shirt in orange that I gave to a friend, The bela Lugosi is dead t-shirt an ex-girlfriend took off me one night to have sex with me again anyway. The No-Beach t-shirt that I have managed to keep free of stains. The Morrissey in Supreme font t-shirts in black on black and white on white. The white Autumn hoody with the green circle logo on back I like to wear with the Orange Helmut Lang jeans I picked up from the 12 and A flea market when that was still running. Autumn sold the Palace t-shirts that help attract models. I gave my all over print horror movie tshirt to this girl in Brooklyn maybe named Zoe after we made out one night at a party. There was the Fuck The Police t-shirt with Sting’s band on the front. Autumn had better vintage pieces at more reasonable prices than anywhere in the East Village, the only skateshop in the universe where you could find Yves Saint Laurent and Brooks Brothers collars. I bought my first Five Brothers flannel that I am wearing in my current facebook profile picture from Autumn. On a number of occasions I grabbed an extra layer before heading somewhere. One time I bought a longsleeved black metal band t-shirt and we were debating how much Dave should charge me. Someone pointed out that it would sell for 100 at Search and Destroy. Having seen Miles’s purchases there I believed that. Dave ended up giving it to me for 25. On the front it had skeletons in electric chairs sitting down to the Last Supper. On the back it featured a baby’s head in a vice with the words “I was Born Alive. Isn’t that punishment enough?”
Much of the time Autumn didn’t have stickers, but when they did they were great and generously distributed. They may not have had many shoes, but the shoes they did have were straight from Dave Caddo’s packages. The Chief in the frame watched you while you tried on clothes. Andy Kessler’s last shoes found a home at the highest point in the shop. There were few things better to do than moving the bench out front in pleasant weather and watching the girls walk past while assembling a board. No matter how inconsistent Autumn’s soft goods selection could have been, they always had boards and all the hardware that you needed to stay skating which is the most basic and important definition of a skate shop.
Danny Weiss and I were in there with Miles on his 18th Birthday when Grandpa searched up a Deluxe catalogue and Miles took the Anti-Hero Eagle, added an American flag to its talons and we headed down to St. Marks for Miles's first tattoo.
I was in New York most recently in November. I wanted to maximize my time in the city so took the first flight in. No one was really stirring when I made it to the East Village with my bags before noon. I waited at Autumn until Dave rolled up to open the shop. He let me leave my bags there until I figured out where I would be sleeping.
Before the shop closed for good, the shop closed at 7:30. There were the times in the summer when the box or ledge would have to go inside when there was still prime shredding going on in late daylight at TF. In the winter, the box would be returned when it was dark before 5 and we hung around the shop because it was too early to go home and too cold to be outside. The TV didn’t always work, but you could crowd around the counter in back and watch whatever the employee wanted to see on youtube. I remember Slicky Boy unsuccessfully trying to get Martin to play an A$AP song but he obliged to look up another beat on the condition that Slicky Boy freestyle over it. There was the bathroom with toilet paper roll on the truck where the wheel would go that was a preferred stop to the Tompkins park facilities. Autumn gladly provided a venue for me to distribute my short stories. Roctakon tre flipped inside the shop and taildropped out of it. I have never been into the shop that Waka Flocka blessed on 11th St because I always went to Autumn instead. This winter I’ve been wearing the yellow Charlie brown hat and my favorite black Autumn pants ever that I have in sizes from 28 to 36 and keep wearing long after I have had to have all the top buttons replaced. Autumn was the place Jake Johnson returned to after his days spent wandering, where Lurker Lou saw him that morning as he finished painting the front of Autumn’s pull down screen.
My first winter in New York, after darkness shut down the TF, I was in a pizza shop up Avenue A one night with Ryan Chin. Mike Wright stopped in with a pair of IPath Cats with Shearling inside and said that we were eating where ABC skate shop used to be. I had seen the video with Matt Rzeszutko’s part in it, but I had no idea where the shop had been. We thanked Mike for the knowledge.
The last time I went to Autumn was on my last night of my most recent time in New York. I went over after the TF got dark with an hour to spare before meeting Liz to talk about Miles. Switch Back Ted had just set up a board and wanted me to confirm that one of the handsome dancing characters on the fresh Mike Carroll graphic looked like him. The Snow Man and the 12th St Assassin stopped in then left to play Uno. Jilleen came in and offered me a beer straight off. She was with Julian whose band the Morning Benders made Torey Pudwill’s song in the Transworld video. We set about kicking it, talked about when we listened to music on Discmans and only the good ones had shock control, and I filmed them doing slappies on the box in the shop. I bought Jerry Hsu’s Decapitated Bart Simpson tshirt that Ted told me was a slim fit that I wouldn't like. I had overheard him say this to someone else a few days earlier and knew this to be the case, but was buying the shirt for a friend and told him so. Martin was at the counter reading a pocket edition of a populist novel set in developing California. I gave him a crisp 20 in exchange for the shirt. Liz’s haircut took longer than expected so I walked down to the beer store and returned Jilleen and Julian’s beer favor as we continued to lurk. When Liz was finished I left the store with the t-shirt that I would end up using as a scarf that chilly night. I said goodbye to everyone there, but did not known I was saying goodbye to the shop. I had no idea that less than 2 months later as we celebrated Autumn's 10th Anniversary the shop was set to close.
I imagined returning to New York in the spring and finding Autumn just as I left it that last night. Now I will return to a different New York. I am sure this closing will effect TF and world culture to some great extent. At least product can outlast the stores that produce them and I will treasure my Autumn product now more than ever. As Grandpa said in that interview, everybody is on the Autumn team. As 2012 begins we have lost a beloved sponsor that I was proud to support. For now Autumn can exist in products, words, video, our hearts and minds and Lurker Lou’s Autumn paint job still riding on the pulldown grate that marks where this skateshop Autumn once lived.
Monday, January 2, 2012
Sunday, December 4, 2011
Thursday, October 6, 2011
do you hate me in the light? Did you get a fright when you looked across from where you lay?
IPHUN –
A video made by the roommate of the shop employee at Infinity in Saint Louis who sold me the video and identified a spot I drew’s location in Kansas City.
Joe Koplowitz, a Saint Louis native, has said that the best plots involve losers turned winners. At the 11:50 mark of iphun there is an unexpected micronarrative, when, in the course of a bluntstall attempt on a bank to wall, the back wheels fail to lock above the wall. The skater loses contact with his board. Initially he looks destined to fall to his head, then appears he may recover only to land credit card, or avoid that and twist an ankle, then shoot out and smack his head. Instead, his feet somehow land on the board and he rolls away, tic tacking to fakie. This flirtation with disaster brings to mind Lincoln Uyeda’s faux-loss of control ender in 7 Year Glitch. The footage is a reminder of the occasional miraculousness that skateboarding begets, the singular event that stands out in one’s mind among a lifetime of 10% success at backside tailslides.
The video begins with scrolling words in the Star Wars manner, that tell how little of a shit the creator gives about our opinions. The words scroll by very fast, at once a speed literacy test and disregard of text. Theattemptatreadingwithoutapausebuttonisfurthercomplicatedbyadesiretolistentotheclassysongofinvitationintothisvideomade “fer der hermez by der hermez.”
One of the homies is named Chill Von Penguin, there will be blood, and the dudes skate a concrete plaza spot with block sets and ledges. Someone rolls smokes while driving, another gives a quality attempt at a front-shove it, unhappy authority figureheads spew their language to unappreciative ears, and remarkably, a boy performs a beer can renegade to lit cigarette swallow that inspires devotion from those present. Hardware store parking lots at night can be a reliable spot.
There is a even mixture of street skating, an extensive DIY spot under a freeway that probably has a daily scene, and park skating of both the concrete and prefabricated genres, mostly done by boys, though an older longhair shines with a nollie back heel on a natural bank. The soundtrack is an unremarkable punk rock for a while, though one can imagine how fans memorize the mantras yelled over fast chords. Someone made the six hour drive to stick an ollie down the biggest stair set at Dyrdek’s Kettering Plaza.
The editing includes some still party shots, then a sequence ends with freestyle rapping from a white boy wearing a bicycle helmet and elbow pads. One of the present commentators claims his performance to be a million dollar freestyle that we receive at discount rate. Along with consistent skating, iphun has provided a trio of unique thrills and shone some light on the relationships formed between young males brought together by the magnet of skateboarding.
We see a boy growing stomach hair, more raps from the helmet boy while his brothers contribute beatboxing and OJ da Juiceman ad-libs. One boy with long jean shorts and tattoos does a good line through a concrete park that ends with a blunt shove transfer over a spine. A boy in a bedroom inhales redi-whips then tries his hand at freestyling. A skater wearing flip-flops tre flips in a garage, some do boardsports at a backyard pool party with pizza delivery in the middle while Juvenile raps then the vomit spews to feel better after it happens with the offensive substance expelled.
The boy in the Hawaiian shirt leads a competent session at an abandoned toilet that may have shit inside it. Interactions with the detached bathroom piece bring to mind Duchamps urinal and methods of appropriation. Someone does a varial heel the hard way over a hip. One narrative test depicts the patient, frustrated, persistent process of landing a crooked grind on the table level of a picnic bench along with the friendship and shit talking that occurs in the process. A taquito party is proposed, then we know success is destined with the opening chords of Morrissey’s song from Roctakon’s t-shirt in his gold dunk days and Josh Orr’s You are the Quarry double feature part in The Other Side of Things, “Irish Blood, English Heart.”
We watch a birthday session at a roller rink with white walls and floor that bring to mind the gallery space. A skater wears the outfit black half cabs, olive pants and navy shirt. The video ends on a strong note some big tricks, homie tats, skating on spots with no concrete and girls shotgunning beers. Infinity shop may be one of the few skateshops in existence without a Nike account and the lack of swoosh trickles down to the skate footage. The video presentation of a large healthy scene with no one having a part or anything reminds me of the Hollywood video with the long name in the checkered case. There’s a half pipe snake run that the Axe Throwers may come to session next summer. Our boys session a fullpipe and clean a bong. The after credits song by the Felice Brothers features the haunting line “He seems to know something I don’t know about my lover’s whereabouts.” There are plenty of Bonus Features if you’re in the mood to get your money’s worth.
For further interaction call Infinity at 314 843 1989. They’ve been around since 1999 so can probably figure out how to take your 5 dollars over the phone. Alternately, you can be the first person to send me 10 dollars and I’ll send you my copy with a signed copy of this review.
A video made by the roommate of the shop employee at Infinity in Saint Louis who sold me the video and identified a spot I drew’s location in Kansas City.
Joe Koplowitz, a Saint Louis native, has said that the best plots involve losers turned winners. At the 11:50 mark of iphun there is an unexpected micronarrative, when, in the course of a bluntstall attempt on a bank to wall, the back wheels fail to lock above the wall. The skater loses contact with his board. Initially he looks destined to fall to his head, then appears he may recover only to land credit card, or avoid that and twist an ankle, then shoot out and smack his head. Instead, his feet somehow land on the board and he rolls away, tic tacking to fakie. This flirtation with disaster brings to mind Lincoln Uyeda’s faux-loss of control ender in 7 Year Glitch. The footage is a reminder of the occasional miraculousness that skateboarding begets, the singular event that stands out in one’s mind among a lifetime of 10% success at backside tailslides.
The video begins with scrolling words in the Star Wars manner, that tell how little of a shit the creator gives about our opinions. The words scroll by very fast, at once a speed literacy test and disregard of text. Theattemptatreadingwithoutapausebuttonisfurthercomplicatedbyadesiretolistentotheclassysongofinvitationintothisvideomade “fer der hermez by der hermez.”
One of the homies is named Chill Von Penguin, there will be blood, and the dudes skate a concrete plaza spot with block sets and ledges. Someone rolls smokes while driving, another gives a quality attempt at a front-shove it, unhappy authority figureheads spew their language to unappreciative ears, and remarkably, a boy performs a beer can renegade to lit cigarette swallow that inspires devotion from those present. Hardware store parking lots at night can be a reliable spot.
There is a even mixture of street skating, an extensive DIY spot under a freeway that probably has a daily scene, and park skating of both the concrete and prefabricated genres, mostly done by boys, though an older longhair shines with a nollie back heel on a natural bank. The soundtrack is an unremarkable punk rock for a while, though one can imagine how fans memorize the mantras yelled over fast chords. Someone made the six hour drive to stick an ollie down the biggest stair set at Dyrdek’s Kettering Plaza.
The editing includes some still party shots, then a sequence ends with freestyle rapping from a white boy wearing a bicycle helmet and elbow pads. One of the present commentators claims his performance to be a million dollar freestyle that we receive at discount rate. Along with consistent skating, iphun has provided a trio of unique thrills and shone some light on the relationships formed between young males brought together by the magnet of skateboarding.
We see a boy growing stomach hair, more raps from the helmet boy while his brothers contribute beatboxing and OJ da Juiceman ad-libs. One boy with long jean shorts and tattoos does a good line through a concrete park that ends with a blunt shove transfer over a spine. A boy in a bedroom inhales redi-whips then tries his hand at freestyling. A skater wearing flip-flops tre flips in a garage, some do boardsports at a backyard pool party with pizza delivery in the middle while Juvenile raps then the vomit spews to feel better after it happens with the offensive substance expelled.
The boy in the Hawaiian shirt leads a competent session at an abandoned toilet that may have shit inside it. Interactions with the detached bathroom piece bring to mind Duchamps urinal and methods of appropriation. Someone does a varial heel the hard way over a hip. One narrative test depicts the patient, frustrated, persistent process of landing a crooked grind on the table level of a picnic bench along with the friendship and shit talking that occurs in the process. A taquito party is proposed, then we know success is destined with the opening chords of Morrissey’s song from Roctakon’s t-shirt in his gold dunk days and Josh Orr’s You are the Quarry double feature part in The Other Side of Things, “Irish Blood, English Heart.”
We watch a birthday session at a roller rink with white walls and floor that bring to mind the gallery space. A skater wears the outfit black half cabs, olive pants and navy shirt. The video ends on a strong note some big tricks, homie tats, skating on spots with no concrete and girls shotgunning beers. Infinity shop may be one of the few skateshops in existence without a Nike account and the lack of swoosh trickles down to the skate footage. The video presentation of a large healthy scene with no one having a part or anything reminds me of the Hollywood video with the long name in the checkered case. There’s a half pipe snake run that the Axe Throwers may come to session next summer. Our boys session a fullpipe and clean a bong. The after credits song by the Felice Brothers features the haunting line “He seems to know something I don’t know about my lover’s whereabouts.” There are plenty of Bonus Features if you’re in the mood to get your money’s worth.
For further interaction call Infinity at 314 843 1989. They’ve been around since 1999 so can probably figure out how to take your 5 dollars over the phone. Alternately, you can be the first person to send me 10 dollars and I’ll send you my copy with a signed copy of this review.
Wednesday, August 17, 2011
My shades are dark, can't see no art
This is an unpublished introduction to my review of R. Zarka's skateboarding chronology that appeared on Quartersnacks
http://quartersnacks.com/2011/08/book-review-on-a-day-with-no-waves-a-chronicle-of-skateboarding-by-raphael-zarka/#comment-23398
The Snackman was supposed to have been here forty minutes ago, but there are worse places to wait for a meeting than the rooftop of the Standard Hotel. The magic of that second vodka gimlet coursed through my veins while Anabel Dexter-Jones walked past laughing at something Lou Doillon told her. As the sun set over New Jersey, I BBMed with the Two Foot Gangster about unemployment benefits and listened to an advance copy of the Slicky Boy and Mr. Gorgeous mixtape.
On my next drink of the gimlet I could hear the straw slurping the bottom, a sound that would bring any attentive waitress over momentarily. I hoped the Snackman was still coming, since I had spent nearly all of my money at Sin City last night and looked forward to charging these drinks on the Quartersnacks black card. I felt a vibration on the table and my phone showed the Snackman had texted. He would arrive in ten minutes. I looked up to see my attentive waitress asking if she might serve me another of the same.
“Yes, please.”
Once Snackman arrived, he placed an order for a Henny black.
“You mean the Mr. Moya special,” our waitress confirmed.
“Yes, please.” He turned his attention to me. “Sorry I’m late. I had to meet with Lomez up at the polo grounds and he was behind schedule because the homie Chlorine was late coming through with the Lemonheads.” I assured him that I had not minded the delay and asked about the business that brought us here this evening.
“Right,” he said, as he took his first sip of Henny, set the glass back down and opened his drawstring backpack to produce a book that he set on the table before me. The paperback edition bore a black cover and read On a Day With No Waves. A Chronicle of Skateboarding 1779-2009 by Raphaël Zarka. “Have you heard about this thing?”
I hadn’t.
“Scott Bourne gave it to me in Barcelona last week. He said that ever since Slap stopped doing his Black Box column, Quartersnacks has been skateboarding’s most literate institution so he thought we might enjoy it at least, give it a review at most. It’s financed in part by Carhartt Europe, presumably in lieu of opening their shop behind Supreme. Would you be interested in reading this and doing a write-up?”
“You know I am, daddy.”
“Good looks, G-Man. I knew I could count on you. I would do it myself, but between keeping up with Travis Porter singles for the Rap Desk and preparing that Comme des Garcons line with Rei, I doubt I’d find the time.”
I assured the Snackman his faith in me was well founded and he said cool. I was grateful my camouflage pants had cargo pockets as I stowed the book there for safekeeping. Reading and writing the review would only take time. Making sure the book made it home with me was the difficult part. We clinked our glasses and set about enjoying the evening. Traphouse Conner would start spinning in the Boom Boom Room at 10, and Doug Park, Boss Bauer and Roctakon joined our table as the hour approached. Bauer caught Dree Hemingway’s eye and she came over to ask after Marquez. We told her that he was hot on the trail of Ayman al-Zawahiri so she suggested we drink to Marquez’s patriotism and back tail 270s reverts.
The drinks, girls and Brick Squad songs soon began to run together, then the last thing I remember is Snackman walking through the pool with a topless girl on his shoulders while Mooney’s surrounded by two blondes giving him a beard of foam and calling him the Santa Claus of Spring Street. I woke up in the morning, fully dressed, alone in my bed with my laptop opened to my last girlfriend’s facebook photos and the book still in my cargo pocket. I scraped under the sofa for enough change to go out for a bagel, came back from the deli and sat down to work.
http://quartersnacks.com/2011/08/book-review-on-a-day-with-no-waves-a-chronicle-of-skateboarding-by-raphael-zarka/#comment-23398
The Snackman was supposed to have been here forty minutes ago, but there are worse places to wait for a meeting than the rooftop of the Standard Hotel. The magic of that second vodka gimlet coursed through my veins while Anabel Dexter-Jones walked past laughing at something Lou Doillon told her. As the sun set over New Jersey, I BBMed with the Two Foot Gangster about unemployment benefits and listened to an advance copy of the Slicky Boy and Mr. Gorgeous mixtape.
On my next drink of the gimlet I could hear the straw slurping the bottom, a sound that would bring any attentive waitress over momentarily. I hoped the Snackman was still coming, since I had spent nearly all of my money at Sin City last night and looked forward to charging these drinks on the Quartersnacks black card. I felt a vibration on the table and my phone showed the Snackman had texted. He would arrive in ten minutes. I looked up to see my attentive waitress asking if she might serve me another of the same.
“Yes, please.”
Once Snackman arrived, he placed an order for a Henny black.
“You mean the Mr. Moya special,” our waitress confirmed.
“Yes, please.” He turned his attention to me. “Sorry I’m late. I had to meet with Lomez up at the polo grounds and he was behind schedule because the homie Chlorine was late coming through with the Lemonheads.” I assured him that I had not minded the delay and asked about the business that brought us here this evening.
“Right,” he said, as he took his first sip of Henny, set the glass back down and opened his drawstring backpack to produce a book that he set on the table before me. The paperback edition bore a black cover and read On a Day With No Waves. A Chronicle of Skateboarding 1779-2009 by Raphaël Zarka. “Have you heard about this thing?”
I hadn’t.
“Scott Bourne gave it to me in Barcelona last week. He said that ever since Slap stopped doing his Black Box column, Quartersnacks has been skateboarding’s most literate institution so he thought we might enjoy it at least, give it a review at most. It’s financed in part by Carhartt Europe, presumably in lieu of opening their shop behind Supreme. Would you be interested in reading this and doing a write-up?”
“You know I am, daddy.”
“Good looks, G-Man. I knew I could count on you. I would do it myself, but between keeping up with Travis Porter singles for the Rap Desk and preparing that Comme des Garcons line with Rei, I doubt I’d find the time.”
I assured the Snackman his faith in me was well founded and he said cool. I was grateful my camouflage pants had cargo pockets as I stowed the book there for safekeeping. Reading and writing the review would only take time. Making sure the book made it home with me was the difficult part. We clinked our glasses and set about enjoying the evening. Traphouse Conner would start spinning in the Boom Boom Room at 10, and Doug Park, Boss Bauer and Roctakon joined our table as the hour approached. Bauer caught Dree Hemingway’s eye and she came over to ask after Marquez. We told her that he was hot on the trail of Ayman al-Zawahiri so she suggested we drink to Marquez’s patriotism and back tail 270s reverts.
The drinks, girls and Brick Squad songs soon began to run together, then the last thing I remember is Snackman walking through the pool with a topless girl on his shoulders while Mooney’s surrounded by two blondes giving him a beard of foam and calling him the Santa Claus of Spring Street. I woke up in the morning, fully dressed, alone in my bed with my laptop opened to my last girlfriend’s facebook photos and the book still in my cargo pocket. I scraped under the sofa for enough change to go out for a bagel, came back from the deli and sat down to work.
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Saturday, April 9, 2011
a pond of two tales
saw some small creatures during yardwork
coming soon: 38th Street News
sup bros
time to head to putnam county
Travis started off the session
hobie heated up and kept reeling them in
we went to a second pond that was less windy. here is where i caught my fish.
i feel compelled to walk around the perimeter of bodies of water whenever possible.
this trek proved difficult
especially with a fishing pole
but i perservered
turns out that it was the fishing hook rather than the thorns that snagged me
nice
jamie was our host at this second pond
the bounty
the white river is within its banks
went for a spin on party mike's Tomos. note the blue jean pocket, for sparkplugs and whatever else.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Sunday, March 27, 2011
these fragments i have shored against my ruins
this is cash that i spent in japan. it must have gone toward drinks and shoes. please continue to keep sending good vibes and red cross donations japan's way
bird on patrol
mr dans is good. they are open 24 hours, have a variety of burger toppings and sprinkle seasoning salt on their fries. also, you can wash your car while on the block.
white girls love st. patrick's day. my middle name is patrick so the holiday is worthwhile for me. it is the day of the year when my birthday festivities finally draw to a close.
i took the photo since the pup was loving the day, yat's is also present, so props to them.
this is at Indianapolis Museum of Art. It's part of this vast depiction of hell and is most likely the best piece of art in the museum. it's good to know that people were thinking about hell in creative ways a long time ago.
this lady, laurel fletcher, was married to booth tarkington for a minute.
this cost 50 cents and will look good enough to eat, so is nearly a quartersnack.
the misspelling is fitting
this maserati doesn't run right now, but maybe this isn't the last you will see of the machine.
once i told jessica latus about the pinball machine, she knew the truck stop of which i spoke
late night session at hutch's ramp. timing action shots on a digital camera takes effort.
so do front feebles.
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