‘Sup playas. So, after I went to court yesterday and subsequently was turned away by the surprisingly friendly officer at the front desk for being too responsible of a citizen and actually showing up before the deadline, I had the unique opportunity to catch up on Dedleg responsibilities. That said… I got tattooed and drank a bunch of beers instead.
But you know me, I’ve always got a stack of photos I shot while hanging halfway out my window on file for times like these.
Saw a whole fuck-ton of birds flying in front of the sunset the other day and totally had a moment. It was all magical and shit, until I realized that flocks of birds flying south generally indicates the onset of winter. Indeed, it was a downright chilling thought that filled me a visceral dread. And yeah, the change of seasons could be seen as magic, too, I guess… dark magic, maybe.
Catching birds mid-flight, in focus, proved to be something of a challenge. Dude on the bottom is about to make an aggressive pass and capture the lead… high-energy stuff like that is exactly why I love watching Pro Migration.
It’s been a busy week. More later.
Your captain has been bombarded with less-than-desirable obligations this week, so you’ll have to excuse my absenteeism. Well, you don’t really have to, per se, but it’s not exactly going to make updates magically appear on this website, either.
Anyway, today I get to play a fun game called “Dedleg Goes To Court!” I’m pretty excited about it… well, at the very least, I’m excited about what this is going to do for my street cred. I’ve got to be at least 100% better at keeping it 100 than Rick Ross by now — if I keep this up, I might even be able to out-trill some rap stars that didn’t start as correctional officers.
If you’ve ever seen Hellraiser, chances are good that you were deeply and hideously scarred by it, not unlike the film’s charming antagonists. But as time goes on, those scars recall an almost nostalgic fondness for the merciless rending of flesh, a kind of comfort in the familiarity of an eternity of screams. That’s probably why I love Peter Ramondetta’s “Pyrobites” series of wheels Spitfire just put out. In fact, I love them so much, I want to string them up with hundreds of hooks and chains and rip their souls apart.
No Pinhead wheel graphic though? Seems like a wasted opportunity. You’ve got a graphic for fat ass Butterball, but no Pinhead, the fucking leader of your so-called Pyrobites? Get real.
Anyway, Spitfire also just released a bunch of wheels in 80 durometer — soft enough to ride over even the crustiest of New York spots. The promo video is pretty awesome, if only for the dirt-boarding section, which reminds me of the carefree days of youth, when riding down a grass hill seemed more fun than falling all over rough concrete. Actually, not that much has really changed…
There is a certain allure to being able to ride over terrain that is often a deal-breaker when it comes to certain potential skate spots, not to mention, there is an even stronger allure to being able to skate on rocks and logs and shit, too. Nonetheless, these seem like they must be soft as Play-Doh. I like to powerslide, and moreso, I like my wheels to be round, so for the time being I remain firmly entrenched in the ranks of 99DU.
When was the last time you spent a couple hours admiring the rusty shackles of an underground prison dating back to the 1870s? Never? You don’t say. Well today you can enjoy a brief tour thanks to the only mostly misinformed travel guides here at Dedleg Worldwide.
Oldest wood schoolhouse in the U.S.A. or oldest dungeon with fully-equipped torture chamber? Or are those just the same thing anyway? Jokes! In reality, St. Augustine touts the oldest schoolhouse constructed out of dead trees in the country, and as for the oldest dungeon full of dead bones in the country? Unfortunately that’s a bit of an exaggeration by yours truly. However, adjacent to the historic lighthouse, that I featured several photo posts ago, stands a building with an impressive basement… if you’re a sadomasochist, anyway.
Some necessary perspective: I took this photo through a round hole in the wall, like the two you can see on either side of the back wall. The place is spacious for a studio apartment in New York City, maybe, but the window situation is not ideal.
Now, everybody knows Florida is full of some really old shit… old as in elderly, if you catch my drift. But did you know St. Augustine is the oldest continuously occupied European-established city in the continental United States? Hey, you don’t get a nickname like “Ancient City” out of sheer irony, folks. Remember, when St. Augustine was first founded, hipsterism had another 400-something years before it would don its first pair of plastic-framed glasses.
In any case, while this particular jail cell is a wonderfully quaint place to die, full of rich history and suspected paranormal activity, it is far from the oldest in the country. But, as I’ve heard many ghosts tell it, once you’ve stalked the haunted grounds that you once inhabited in your mortal life for nearly half a millenium, the years all start to look the same anyway.
Out with the new, in with the old, that’s what I always say. Well, actually, I don’t. But I may have to start, if only because while I was down in Florida, I really took a liking to those sunglasses people with cataracts get to wear.
This video is so definitely not safe for work (NSFW), which is why I’m putting it up on a Saturday, but believe me when I say this… IT ABSOLUTELY MUST BE SEEN.
And still the coolest, too.
It’s Veteran’s Day, so it only seemed appropriate to dedicate a post to one of the most legendary veterans of Operation Skateboarding.
Only but one of his many fantastic, entertaining and “I have to go skate”-inducing parts, the inimitable Mark Gonzales, everybody.
[Photo via The Green Diamond]
Why yes, Zachary, I do.
When weed looks this good, as a card-carrying cannabis connoisseur, you’re kind of obligated to take a photo of it. And smoke it. Duh.
Some of my associates and I created hanging decorations for Halloween, and given our year-round appreciation of the creepy, the kooky, the mysterious and the spooky, they took a little longer to part with than the pink plastic vampire fangs that rip the shit out of your gums. Plus, they cast really cool shadows on the wall, which are almost decorations in and of themselves.
Can you figure out which one I made?
Gosh, I sure love a Friday off. As the wise Britney Spears once said, you feel like paradise — and I need a vacation tonight.
What, you mean I can’t buy a Snickers while I load up on fun-sized firearms? Sigh. And blood-shedding always works up such an appetite. I didn’t want it to come to this, but I’ll just have to eat my victims, again, I guess.
The selection leaves something to be desired, but at least it’s always well-stocked.
It’s a well-documented fact that subway advertising is where graphic design goes to die. Indeed, it was upon viewing the endless procession of nonsensical stock imagery, thoughtless font choices and phosphene-inducing gradients that I actually decided a career in graphic design would be good for me, and by “good,” I actually mean, “easy and yet relatively lucrative.” Nonetheless, occasionally there are ads so hideously bad that their feculent stench rises to the top of the reeking bog like so many bubbles bursting on the surface of a giant vat of boiling shit. Introducing the Fall 2011 Good Day New York campaign:
These monstrosities have been pasted across entire subway cars for the better part of a month now, and let me just say, it’s been a tough month to have eyes.
By the way, Greg, you should probably fire those “boys in graphics” because they really can’t “do photoshop” very well. You know your ad is bad, and I mean, like, the epitome of all things that have ever been considered bad, when the use of Comic Sans is far from your biggest mistake.
The content around this shadowy corner of the Blogodrome is leaning extremely skate-heavy this week, so you have my apologies if you happen to be a nerd and aren’t interested in skateboarding. I think my propensity for posting skate-related content has an exact, inverse relationship with how often I actually get to go skating. Ahh, vicarious-living… it’s what the Internet is for!
Since I had the afternoon off yesterday, I was planning on making the journey out to the new Far Rockaway park, since it looks like heaven. Appropriately, it’ll take you so long to get there by train there’s a good chance you’ll actually die en route, so it kind of makes sense. Unfortunately, darkness now falls around 11:45 am, ever since we turned the clocks back to the benefit of that small minority of the population that still grows their food in fields, as opposed to just finding it placed neatly within a box marked “10 Piece Chicken McNuggets” like normal people. So, with only a couple hours of daylight left, I decided wasting them trapped in New York’s black, cavernous nexus of subway tunnels was perhaps not my best course of action. Temperatures were in the 60s, and there isn’t going to be too much of that weather left in this calendar year, so instead I chose an alternate route.
Back before New York’s recent infestation of quality, concrete skate prisons, I used to occasionally mull over the idea of checking out the rough-around-the-edges bowl complex in Bay Ridge’s Owl’s Head park. However, as I was living in the Bronx at the time, the companion idea of having to spend hours trapped in New York’s black, cavernous nexus of subway tunnels always stopped me. But now, its relatively convenient location necessitated a trip. Lucky for me, the park was closed when I got there.
The skate park appears to be closed for the winter — I guess this must occur in tandem with the ceremonious shutting off of every water fountain in the city. The local gang of scooter kids didn’t have much information on the subject, though they were clear on one thing: the cops make a point to regularly patrol the area to make sure there aren’t any delinquents actually attempting to skate in the skate park. Great.
Unrelated, but for anybody wondering, yes, that is fire in the photo on the right. It was coming out of a large chimney in the Owl’s Head Water Pollution Control facility, which I have to assume is normal… like an eternal flame burning in memoriam of all the shit - and I mean literal, human shit - getting pulled out of the New York Harbor each day.
In any case, does this shit make sense to anybody else? The bowl-riding/potentially suicidal skater sect in New York is handily screwed between both Owl’s Head and Pier 60 getting locked up for the entire winter, which in this city, apparently starts on November 1st. The whole thing is doubly infuriating when the basketball court and playground down the path from the skate park are both open. In light of that fact, the “Closed” sign hanging around the skate park gate reads a whole lot more like “ATTN Skateboarders: Go fuck yourselves.”
What’s the point of spending money on a facility where you can cage in troublemaking skateboarders if you’re not even going to take advantage of it? You don’t need to wait to throw us in real jail for trespassing, guys. There’s a jail already built and we’re more than happy to go inside, if only you’d open the gate.
Needless to say, I hopped the fence and had a great time.
Seems like it’s pretty much modeled after my (now-classic) “dream home” illustration dating back to the first day of second grade. Although it’s missing the ball room and root beer drinking fountain in the shape of a boob, so that’s definitely going to drive the price down.
Still, at $299,000 it’s a heckuva deal. Sure, it’s a bit of a fixer-upper, what with the whole house having to come down to make room for the snake run and China Banks replica, but I think it’ll be worth the work.