desert school/pool duel.

sweet little biscuit

Sam @ Joes

Doug -FS deathbox @ Joes

nugget of joy

Ozzie- side stairs @ Rossmore permission.

Doug- rock n roll boardslide over shallow deathbox @ Rossmore

By all reports, it was to be a potential rainout in the Badlands this weekend. Previously, I had spoken to Doug Kinkade about a possible desert excursion to rip some roundwall with him & a few pool pals. When I checked the weather report on Friday evening, I knew we would be desert bound on Saturday. I awoke at 4am or so. It was dark, cold and I could hear the gutters gurgling. Pulling back the blinds I peered outside, absently noticing their dustiness & thinking that I needed to clean the house more thoroughly. The rain was falling in cold, wet sheets; flooding the intersection & our low-lying front yard. It was going to be a bitch on the freeways….of that I was sure!

I wrote for a bit, read some Dostoevsky, drank coffee & then listened to Keith Jarretts–’Nagoya’. This haunting saxophone hymn was like a narcotic,  on this bleak morning. I contacted Doug & Sam around 630 am & told them that the weather reports for the desert areas were calling for a minor chance of rainfall. We would be coming east. Sam arrived & off we went. Rain & wind followed us , but by the time we finally arrived at Doug’s, it had dissipated. The sun even poked its beaming face out of the clouds to lift our spirits. I knew then that Jeff Phillips & Andy Kessler were smiling down on us! (R.I.P.)

We drove to Joes pool. Joes is a Blue Haven right-hand kidney ridden by permission only. Joe told us that his family moved into the house in 1979 and supposedly, older skaters had ridden it before then. Joe & his family had swam in it until 1988. It remained empty thereafter. The property backed up against a school & Joe stated that school kids sometimes cut across the property to get into the neighborhood behind his house. It probably wasn’t too  difficult to see the pool sitting there & I smiled at the history he gave us. It made sense. Peter King told me that in the early to mid 1990s, he was flying with some friends in a Cessna airplane & spotted the pool sitting empty.

He made a note of its location, went back a few days later & was the first to take runs in it…in a long while. There were no grind or wheel marks that he could see. He was chased off the property by the owner. It turned out to be Joe. Texas Dan & I found it in 1998 while driving the grid out there & asked Joes mom if we could take a few turns. She said, “A few” and we handled it. Now, Doug had it on permission & held all the aces. It was rad! We bucketed a few inches out, wiped it down & commenced an ass-kicking on the pool & ourselves. The sun broke out, blue skies held fast & all was well for a few hours. Sam  was riding fs edgers up the hip, while Doug & I fought with the deathbox FS. We all made our wish list & the session was fun.

Blue skies, pool pals & permission. How could it be better?. We decided to ride some others after a quick stop for drinks & snacks. We stopped & checked a few that Doug has stashed away in his deep bag of pools…kidneys, capsules, eggs and amoebas. Stellar. We made it out further east to another permission he has on his list. An old (1950s) blue-tiled Rossmore kidney.  I was watching Doug handle the pool from the “go”. He was fast & smooth. Doug is a rad skater. He has super board control & held it down all day. The last pool was at this house and the young kid living there has started skating it. I was stoked when he told me that he had already rode a neighbors pool nearby. He was grinning the entire conversation. He knew. You could see it on his face. Pool pals.

We rode hard for another hour at this beautiful old backyard pool. There was no light or obstacles on the facewall & Sam kept telling me it was messing with his head. I asked him why and he answered, “Its like a tit without a nipple.” We laughed. Well said. The skies grew ominous & the wind picked up. We were running out of daylight & luck. The storm was coming. Doug threw down a rock n roll boardslide over the shallow box that blew us all away & Sam tore a double-double line that was poetry…perfect grinds & flow. I got mine as well with a BS hit over the side stairs. I then sat down….happy as can be. It was a great session with  skateboarding brothers. Thank you to my friends. Thanks Doug. Thanks Sam.  Epic. Skate Long-Skate Strong- Ozzie

Friends.

scott ward- fs tailslide

I met my friend Scott Ward at Buster Haltermans ramp in the fall of 1989…I believe. It could have been 1988, but old age and memory impairment are getting the best of me this morning. He was a kid-no more than 15 years old. He was already a better skater than me. It pissed me off back then. He was smooth, stylish & talented. WTF!? We all lived in Pennsylvania & really started riding vert together around that time. I have some classic memories of sessions in Busters barn with Scott & friends. One night in January 1990, we were all riding. The memory is clear because I have a video clip on VHS tucked away somewhere of that night. The radio is playing in the backround and you hear the DJ say, “…it’s 18 degrees in Harrisburg on WTPA. The home of Rock-N-Roll!!” In the video, you can see Scott standing there all sweating on the deck of the vert ramp….he was actually ‘steaming’. Steam was coming off of him, it was that cold!

Funny. I recall trips to Cheap Skates Skatepark with the crew. I have insane memories of Cedar Crest Country Club BBQ sessions in Virginia. I remember driving-half asleep-to Eastern  Vert in North Carolina, to ride with Neal Hendrix, Darby, Opie, Devin Maquire, Paul Urich, Sean Andrew and Scott with the rest of the PA crew. Awesome times! I moved to California permanently in October 1997. Scott left PA about 2-3 years later. He set himself up as a writer & ultimately ended in Laguna where he started a successful landscaping company. He rides backyard pools with us out in the Badlands & throws FS Stalefish airs better than most. He cruises with a smooth, fast style & my only complaint to him is that he doesn’t skate enough. This is a great big ‘Hell yeah!’ to friends. Scott has seen me through most of my ugliness & downturns; helping me become a better person. By-the-way; Scott thinks everyone should listen to death metal… preferably the mighty ‘Opeth’ .Thanks to Peter King for the image.-Skate Long-Ozzie

thanksgiving morning.

kyle lightner

I don’t feel at home anywhere. Without skateboarding, I would feel little in life. Existence through pain. Attempting to enjoy this solitary  existence I chose,  I walk with my back hunched over into the cold, morning wind. I stride past a row of ancient trees that stand gaunt; stripped of leaves.  Later, I pass red brick houses where warmth & life shines from the window glass….calling  to me. I smell wood smoke, baking ovens, and the coming rains. I hear a child’s shrieking laughter and the playful yapping of dogs from the well-kept lawns. Bundled into sweaters, the children kick a colorful, blue rubber ball around and wave innocently. A fresh- faced young woman saunters past; her red, laughing mouth curled like flame. She has hair spilling over her shoulders like dark sea foam. Her walk is mockery itself. Silk, legs, lies. I look away into the gutter. It seems a fitting gesture.

Pushing my hands deeper into my wool, plaid pockets, I wrap myself tighter into me. Protection. Defense. I am my own. Alone, I wander the boulevards-up & down-while the dry leaves are blowing. In me, there is endless weeping. Every night, I watch the sun hiss itself into the green sea. Every dawn, I welcome the sunlight into my room, like an old friend. Repetition. Monotony. Before bed time, I indulge myself in flannel, hot Chai tea & old musty books.  Rimbaud, Rilke, Verlaine, Baudelaire. I deem myself a poet of the dark leather armchair…yet know that I am but a cipher; nothing.

Candles cast wavering shadows on my walls; like ghosts…they speak to me in a language forgotten when Rome was young. Sitting quietly, listening to George Winston-’December’, I hear the tree branches tapping & scraping on the glass of my bedroom window. Life moves by the house in a shadowy world of crime, chrome and headlights. Furtive whispering; shallowness. Deals are made & escape is found. People find each other; gasping and hurried like young lovers anxious to please themselves. They share their pathology. All life moves and still I sit…pondering. For what?— Thank you to Kyle Lightner for the images. Without which, this would simply be a useless collection of words. Skate Strong-Ozzie

light plate-find em/drain em/grind em'/ claim em'

 

laconic.

brant austin -fs air

salba

tristan rennie- 11 years old!

I have little to say lately. The holidays are fast approaching & I don’t really care for them. I am currently speaking with Steve Caballero & we are working on a long post about his career & life…it’ll be a few more days before its ready. If I don’t post before Thanksgiving, I want everyone else to have a nice holiday. Thanks to MRZ & Peter King for the images. Please go Skate-Ozzie

The broken.

 

one of the broken sleeping at shallow end of pool.

stu graham amidst the graffiti…

skreech w a wicked front foot decision.

I was scrambling all day today. I had to go to court & pay late fees on a cell phone/driving ticket. My car registration is due at months end so….a visit to the DMV followed & the day just seemed to get dirtier from the ‘go’. Parking the ‘shitbox’, I walked the 6 blocks over to the courthouse. I passed  brightly -clad office girls enroute, all gossiping among themselves or mumbling into the ever-present cell phones, that -seemingly -sprout from peoples heads these days. I cut across a greasy street and through a small alleyway. The alley was dark and gloomy. Dumpsters sat askew against brick & mortar buildings; festering with trash & god -knows what else. Refuse littered the ground in heaps and nauseous puddles had to be avoided at every step of the way.

Turning a corner, I almost ran into him. He was probably 50 years old, but looked much older. He looked like 70 miles of badly traveled road. He reeked of piss & shit. I side-stepped him and slowed down. He was mumbling to himself or so it seemed. The ragged man was wearing threadbare, blue sweatpants , a red t-shirt that had a huge green palm tree on front with the happy moniker–’Beverly Hills 90210′. This guy was a long way from being Beverly Hills material. I almost smiled in spite of myself.  His shoes resembled clogs of some sort until I noticed that they were sneakers worn through at the tops. He had a grizzled face & vacant eyes. Always keeping myself out of reach, I asked him if he was alright.  He peered at me briefly and told me , quote; “Fuck yourself, Batman!” I laughed ….watching him shamble down the alley.

I then continued on my way to the courthouse. I must have passed a dozen such people on the way. Scarred, scabbed and downtrodden. I saw piss-stained, dirt corners behind shrubs where they slept in huddled piles. I saw discarded cheap vodka bottles strewn about and tattered clothing in filthy heaps. Graffiti spelled out ‘E Narko Koiks’ on the walls adjacent…it meant only sadness to me. The broken are in the gutters, alleys and -I noticed-the courthouses of our cities. I looked on as people were shackled by the police and led away to whatever fate had in store for them. I gazed on children, snot- nosed  and disheveled, clinging to their mothers as the mom desperately tried to find a haven from a tyrannical, wife-beating spouse.

I witnessed horror and broken humanity. Once I had finished with my business, I left and drove to ‘Ridiculous’.  I felt like I needed a shower. It seemed as though I had rolled around in shards of glass. Driving in silence, I pondered my day; watching the world & its human depravity. I am thankful that I have skateboarding. It has truly saved me from -not only-myself…but it saved me from being one of the broken— forever. Thank you to Dan Bourqui & MRZ for the images…I am truly grateful. Skate Long-Ozzie

Not so funny.

The fire-blistered deadpool.

“Uhmm, dude?! You might want to think about calling 911…

In California, we seem to have natural disasters on days that end in ‘Y’. Daily, our biased news carries more horror into our living rooms. The ‘Accu-wrong’ forecasters call for this or that weather and only heat, wind and dessication continue to be the norm. Its like that ‘Cars’ song, ‘Heartbeat City’. The singer croons, “…and happy days we’ll count on thumbs.” I feel bad for another persons misery…its how I am wired. Empathy. For every fire or earthquake, there is -unfortunately- plunder. When a fire occurs, the firemen pull up out front & run hoses into the backyard pool; pumping it dry in an attempt to put out the inferno. I applaud their efforts. These fine men & women do society a great service at huge risk to themselves. I want them to know, I am here for them. Someone must come along after the ashes have settled and clean up those properties; clean out those pools. I am here to inform you that I would be perfect in that capacity! So, know this. When you read of another disaster striking …rest assured that I am out there in the darkness somewhere; ready to do my part for a clean, well-ordered society. Thanks to Dan Bourqui for Zarosh image. Skate-Ozzie

Under the radar.

adam morgan

tim galvin

My good friend, Scott Ward & I were talking. We laughed because we were driving through Ladera Ranch & all the wealthy, somewhat pretentious people were oozing about ; wrapped in Lexus, Gucci & Blackberry accessories. I guess these things are ‘success’ for some folks. I suppose its all good, if that does it for you. Scott told me that he knew a guy who had to come up with over ten-thousand dollars a month just to cover his mortgage, car payments, insurance, private schooling for the kids, etc. I told him that I have nothing.

I have no bills, no credit cards, not even a bank account…. I have no hangovers, no drug sickness, no girlfriend, no dates, no phone queens, no nothing. I have no job-really…no career, no past and no future. I have no savings, no house, no car payment…..I have a shoelace for a belt & one of Michs’ hair scrunchies to wrap around my cash for a wallet. I have NOTHING. It was funny….we laughed and laughed. I am truly under the radar. I did have so much -in the past-but misery was my constant companion. I had career, money, nice place, new car…but I couldn’t escape their ever present shadow-despair. Then, I found out that the one thing bringing me down…was me.

So, here I am. 46 years old, clean & sober, with nothing. I live a spartan life. All I have are  my books. I kept my library. When I have money, I buy books and if there is money left over, I buy food…or pay rent. You want to know something humorous? I am happier & much more at peace than I ever remember being in my entire life. I sleep like a newborn baby at night. I dream comforting things. Sometimes, I dream that I am broke, with a ‘shitbox’ to drive, no bank account & no money. Then, I wake up to realize its all true! Amazing. I have pool pals, a few people that love me for the fucking trainwreck I am at times, and I have examples like Adam Morgan & Tim Galvin to keep me stoked. I need nothing else. Thanks to MRZ for the images. Skate Long-Ozzie

Brian Whitney.

Brian before the debacle...

Bryan- FS Tailslide into shallow

On my birthday, this guy shows up with some pool pals. He lives in Upland/Ontario area and skates …like he’s on fire! I mean, the guy tore the shit out of the place. He just rolled into the pool & destroyed. Padless & fearless, he ruled every run. Halfway through the festivities, I was grilling burgers for the masses, when I heard a howl of panic & pain from the drain area of the pool. PK yelled at me, “Man down!” and I bolted into the pool. Brian lay there holding his knee & leg at an awkward angle….grimacing and in obvious distress. Being an RN, I felt along his knee and immediately noted that…well, Brian was plenty fucked! We got him iced, heavily medicated with Motrin & man-beverages, then positioned him in a chair- poolside. He spent the rest of the session, cheering folks on & self-medicating. He was taken to the doctors office and the diagnosis came back—torn ACL in knee. Get better Brian. You rule…pool pal! Thank you to Peter King for the images.Skate-Ozzie

Uplifting.

Lance Mountain @ Pala

Dave Kinstrand

I figured that it would be time for a bit of positivity this morning.  My apologies for my last post…but it is the way it is sometimes. Here are two great examples for a ‘positive’ outlook on life. Lance Mountain & Dave Kinstrand. Enough said. Go out & be positive today. I will be joining you! Thank you to JGrant Brittain for the Mountain photograph & Peter King for the image of Dave. Skate-Ozzie

“Cold…is the wait for nothing.”

skreech- burning for all of us....

Some days I wax maudlin. Its the way I’m wired. I heard an appropriate lyric the other day. “Sold- are the dreams I had and cold- is the wait for nothing.” Understood. Grey is the color of the sky this morning; as am I inside. Dawn & shadow moves across the land like a scourge. This is my time. Splendor. Dark, dirty splendor. I wonder if all I write or say has meaning for anyone but me. Am I just an empty black hole in life? Am I only a useless round wall skater; scarred & broken? I know little and care less. Its as if the gods I’ve always read about,  have all gone home. The angels hovered-carrying brutal weapons- and saw us with all our inadequacies, then fled on fluttering wings,  appalled at our savagery. It rained last night & the gutters are still running,  much like the glue that holds me intact. I feel godless, soul less, with no close family, few real friends or beliefs in anything. I’ve had disdain for a long time.

The world is a concrete prison of wires, dirt, desolation & decay. Strangely, I burn inside. I want to light the night time like the day. I want to make the pagan gods -if they exist-recognize us again. I wish to dance about a sparking fire with filthy, wrinkled witches in a hidden, gloomy forest glade….worshiping primal things. I want to taste evil as only the dark ones can experience it.  Life keeps pushing me…hard! Heaven forbid I become fed up & push back, raining panic on the world. I sit here watching society scurry. People clamor & move frenetically enroute to nowhere…I sit on the strand staring, as the dawn continues bleeding across the horizon. The ocean spreads out into the distance; a malevolent thing…uncaring. It goes on and on and on. Thank you MRZ for the image. Skate-Ozzie