The return of the breakfast of kings. The two towers of pancakes? Fellowship of the french toast? I don’t know guys, I could go all night.
What’s that I see? Some Helm’s Deep Hashbrowns and a couple of Smaug Eggs Over Easy? Totally wizard!
But Hobbit Slam? That doesn’t sound like a delicious and hearty breakfast, made for the type of jolly creature that can eat not only second breakfasts, but even elevenses. By Gandalf’s beard, it sounds kind of like a wrestling move a couple of tag-teaming little people would pull on you, before smacking your cheek with a “Shire sausage” and giving you a close up view of their very own “hobbit hole.”
Saw this on the Bronze tumblr and pretty much had to post it as I’m compiling a list of tricks I’ll never do on the new bank to ledge under the BQE. I think Billy McFeely’s switch nosegrind here pretty much completes the list. Yep, I think that’s all of ‘em. All the skateboard tricks, I mean. Every trick, ever, is on that list.
Wowzers. The dude’s good.
Other amazing feats, nay, nearly miraculous events, captured in this photo? The fact that the new bank to ledge is even still there in the first place!
More proof stacking up for my “Skaters With Tattoos Are Just Better” thesis thanks to this part from Bobby Worrest, Daniel Kim and Tim McDermott from Stop Fakin’ 2. The evidence is staggering, it’s just a matter of rounding it all up in one place that can subsequently be reblogged into oblivion by teenaged girls and other grown men with crushes on other grown men, you know? Anyway, I’ll be working on that essay right after I finish my fabled “The Essential Skaters With Casts Compendium.”
That last line alone is just… the stuff of legend. Love the way that shove-it out of the noseslide kind of just floats down to his feet. The whole thing is a magnum opus of style and control. Holy MC-in-Modus level, amiright?
You know what’s so great about a new pair of Vans? They’re fresh and ready to skate, right out of the box! Just gotta heat ‘em up!
Psych! This is definitely not a recommended usage. They do taste good if you baste them with a bourbon marinade first, though.
No kidding about that ready to skate, right out of the box factor, though. The board feel on a pair of Vans Eras is the truth. It’s basically like skating barefoot, if skating barefoot wasn’t excruciatingly painful.
Big thanks to my kindly master, Ryan, over at that little skateboarding website you might have heard of that I write for on a weekly basis for hooking this one up for me. I’ve skated exclusively in Vans - save for a couple notable freebies here and there - for my entire skateboarding experience (one could hardly call it a career), so getting a pair on the house is kind of like getting a free beer after tipping a bartender all night. Not necessarily expected, but when it happens, you feel like you earned it, and you want to shake the hand of the bartender, or purveyor of skateboarding-appropriate footwear, and say, “Thank you for being such a gosh darned decent human being.”
Sunflower tattoo, take two.
I guess the second time’s actually the charm… at least it was for this tattoo design I came up with for a client of mine. For those of you who tuned in a couple weeks ago, you may remember that particular entry into the bottomless abyss of unwanted, unappreciated and unused drawings I hold in my heart. And lo, it is sometimes a heavy load to bear.
Nonetheless, my client was happy with this one, so I can finally move on with my life. And even more importantly than that, I can finally get paid, and invest in some psychedelic flowers of my own, if you know what I mean… Hey, these whacked out drawings don’t come from nowhere, I’ll tell you that much!
Shiver me timbers, this is the type of shit I love! 5BORO took a trip out to the faraway land of Newark, New Jersey with Willy Akers and Rob Gonyon to skate a pretty incredible DIY spot hidden away in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse or airplane hanger or some shit. There’s definitely gotta be some paranormal activity going on by night, what with all the paranormal skateboarding going on by day.
Somebody, like me, only with much more money, should do this in Brooklyn. Get a warehouse, build something crusty and homemade and cool… like this. Like the BQE spot on steroids, or balt salts, or whatever’s crazier. Something that looks a little different from the warehouse TFs of the greater Los Angeles area with loads of charm. Only key holders (and, obviously, whatever dirt bags they choose to occasionally bring along) would have access, and to be a key holder you’d have to pitch in, build something, bring some shit in… stock the fridge with beer… something. In some ideal world, every key holder would pay some small amount of dues that could help cover rent and you’d have a paradise where you could hang out, drink beers while you skate, perhaps even take part in other more illicit activities while you skate, all in the comfort and privacy of a cold, dusty warehouse. Hey, a boy can dream.
As the 2012 Presidential Election draws near, much of the population is captivated by the country’s political climate. Me, on the other hand, I stay focused on the skateboarding landscape. In fact, I consider it my personal civic duty to inform my audience, such that it is, of developments in the current skateboarding landscape, like the new bank to ledge under the BQE in Brooklyn, for example. Big thanks to the Polar Skate Co crew, along with KCDC Skate Shop and all the local, bridge-lurking talent that came together to improve one of Brooklyn’s best spots / places to stealthily take a leak if you’re in the neighborhood and really can’t hold it anymore.
And speaking of… all inquiries regarding the precise volume of piss and shit that is now encased within this concrete masterpiece should be directed to the aforementioned parties.
For years, the BQE Lot has been a mainstay DIY spot in the heart of Williamsburg. It remains one of the few places in the city where transitionally-inclined dudes wrapped in flannel and high-water Dickies can shred really, really rough concrete, powerslide through human fecal matter, or get broke off on a 2 foot wide disintegrating quarterpipe. The considerable difficulty that comes in skating obstacles that cars have repeatedly backed over is obviously part of the place’s charm, but something tells me this absolutely pristine bank to ledge will quickly become the spot’s main attraction. Until the city tears it out, anyway. Hopefully that doesn’t happen… I mean, bums have probably died there without anybody noticing.
There was talk from one Fred Gall that they might bowl out the corner… but let’s not get ahead of ourselves. As it is, the recent addition is far and away better than the entire McCarren Skate Park mere blocks away. Plus there are fewer bikers. Actually, fuck the bank to ledge. There are fewer bikers. What else do you even need to hear?
I took these shots with my phone, so the quality is even crappier than my night shots usually turn out. Crappiness is an appropriate theme to be working under whenever you’re talking about the BQE Lot, though, considering it recently stole the “King of Filth” crown from the LES park, following that particular under-the-bridge spot’s total overhaul this summer.
Anyway, if you’ved skated the BQE Lot, you’ll know that everything attached to your body will quickly become covered in sand, unidentifiable grime, or worse, identifiable dead bird parts. Accordingly, some speck of shit found its way onto my phone’s camera lens. After it manifested itself into a monstrous lens flare in my first shot, I attempted to clean the lens, only making it even dirtier in the process, as mandated by BQE Lot law. So it goes. Skateboarding, like anything worth doing, really, involves getting a little dirty.
In any case, Polar, KCDC, and Converse are putting on a “bum rush the spot” style contest / mob scene / cop magnet there today at 4pm so all the hometown heroes can sample the new terrain. Be there, or be somewhere less crowded. Once the tweens thin out, there’s an after party at KCDC’s new location (85 N. Third Street) at 7pm, where you won’t have to hide your beer behind a pillar amongst a bunch of trash and cinderblocks.
Wassup, playas? Same ol’ story over here, I’m afraid. Been busy working… and not working… and not blogging very much either, apparently. If you hadn’t noticed, I’ve recently increased my relevancy by another 15% by joining the hordes of others already addicted to making commonplace photos of food look vintage on Instagram. I’m still not entirely sure where to draw the line when it comes to what I should shoot with Instagram, and what I should shoot with my real camera (yes, those still do exist). So I guess for now I’m operating under the loose guidelines that if I have my camera on me, I’ll use that, and if I only have my phone on me, I’ll use that. It’s stressful being this white and privileged, I gotta tell you.
Anyway, you can catch my grainier-than-normal photography on Instagram by following @dedleg, but you probably already figured that much out.
As for my aforementioned “normal” photography… well, you can catch that right here. Or from one night of unprotected sex, 3 (debatably intoxicated) out of 48 doctors agree. Remember, one small choice can change your life for the itchier.
Looks like we’re finally coming to the end of the trail here, as far as these camping photos from last month are concerned. What timing, too, as my intestinal tract seems to have only just recovered from the days on end of eating nothing but encased meat and baked beans, washing it down with nothing but beer and black coffee, and avoiding the rudimentary toilet (read: hole in the middle of the woods filled with festering human waste) at all costs, even if it meant inviting colon cancer in through the back door, as it were.
Why was shitting in the woods a nonoption, you may ask? Well, feast your eyes on the creature below. A couple of these bad boys were hanging out by the river the same weekend we were there — only they had set up camp under the toilet seat. Figured I’d let them use the facilities in peace. Seemed only polite.
An experienced camper will tell you: you never know what kind of creepy crawlies you might find in your shoes after a night in the woods. They’ll also tell you that if you’ve been bitten, it’s probably already too late to save you. Fortunately for me, this guy had already hopped over to the great cobweb in the sky. Any more alive-looking and this not-so-little fucker would be, well, alive!
All quiet on the St. Croix River. Well, except for the faint buzzing of a swarm of gnats fucking overhead… fortunately the camera doesn’t do the elegant mating dance of the common flying insect justice.
A closer look at the encased meats I was talking about earlier. Looking at these stuffed tubes of animal byproducts and miscellaneous carcinogens now, I’m beginning to understand why we usually waited until nightfall to cook dinner…
And like the campers before us, we were sure to leave nothing but smoldering ruins in the fire pit for the next pack of explorers to investigate. Now what are you waiting for? Go make some absurd stories of your own, while it’s still warm enough for them not to inevitably end with an epilogue detailing your urine-soaked long johns and frostbitten fingertips.
So, as it turns out, it seems Dedleg’s tenure in the Big Apple is coming to a close. But that don’t mean there aren’t still apples where we’re going… they’re just a lot smaller.
Indeed, at the end of the month, I’ll be relocating to the Pioneer Valley… an aptly named destination perhaps as I forge ahead into the unknown. If anything, you can count on it getting a whole lot more scenic around here. In fact, I think Rip Van Winkle is a look I can not only grow into, but really pull off. It fits. The potsmoking hermit tucked away in the quiet hills of New England. Call me the Green Wizard of the Northeast.
Dedleg’s trek east soldiers on. Chicago to Brooklyn to Northampton, Massachusetts. If you’re not from the area, that probably doesn’t mean much to you, but it’s a pot-smoking, pill-popping quaint little college town full of tattooed freaks, and there’s a concrete pool down the street. And that’s good enough for me.
Who else is getting kind of psyched for this?
I was a little skeptical at first, but then…
Careful, for what you see… cannot be unseen.
Man, I can’t wait for this fucking movie! Or for Slo-Mo to actually be invented - shit looks off the charts!
This seems like it would be an unpleasant experience.
Better get those breaks tuned up, kid.
Probably should have at least tried to speed float it. There’s a reason late-term abortions are illegal in 36 states, and I think this is a good example of what that reason is. The poor boy waited to bail until it was much too late… or too early perhaps, but either way, it was the wrong time to change his mind. You couldn’t make this set of stairs, now you have to lie on them? I don’t know.