NYC Mega Post
Flew 3,000 miles east to New York City this past weekend. I needed it in a bad way, getting out of town. Hung out with old friends—land pirates, most of them. Had a shitload of fun meeting new people and seeing new things. Dollar pizza slices. Rooftop rock shows. Heat and crazy humidity. My fill of skate missions; never wanting for laughter. Always, always looking for a good place to pee, hopefully indoors, hopefully not just having to crouch on the far side of a car and street pee but willing and able and hey that's how they do it in New York City.
First day, we skated through Brooklyn, bombed the Williamsburg bridge into Manhattan, pushed into oncoming traffic, pushed through side street gridlock, Nassau, Broadway, Wall, et cetera, et cetera, moved faster than the cars, snuck past bumpers, constantly pushing, miles and miles and miles. The perfect way to see the city—the grime, grit, and beauty. Ended it all on the East River ferry headed back to Williamsburg, standing there tired as dogs watching the city sink into the sunset and drinking tall boys in the wind.
Williamsburg, I liked it alright. I know Portland has its own high-grade infestation of cookie-cutter hipsters, but the Brooklyn hipsters—mom jeans for the girls and beards for the boys—they were out in numbers and kicking down a kind of "I live in New York" coolness that Portlanders just can't pretend at cuz I mean fuck, we live in a little ol hippy town in the woods.
As mentioned elsewhere, I have new buds from New Jersey and had to go see their towns and the rad spots that they've built. We drove west Newark-bound through the Holland tunnel to Shorty's—a renegade tranny-land inside a decaying warehouse, and then on to Junk Spot in Jersey City—a slab of cement sprawl turned magical DIY skatepark. The guys behind these zones, they're a cool crew of builders and rippers who just did shit themselves. Found a little patch of land, built a little beauty in the wasteland. In general, that's the kind of kinetic self-made creative energy that I'm most inspired by.
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Aaanyway, New York City—walked a hundred miles, drank 18 cups of coffee a day, spent a crap ton of money and didn't regret a single cent. Love all of those people and love that town—see you again soon, I hope!
3 Things
Mini Ramp ism: As mentioned elsewhere, we tore down Bracewell's dilapidated mini ramp and built a fresh one. It took way more work and time than any of us imagined—but hey, all the best things take both work and time.
New Built To Spill Album: Thinking about this band takes me straight back to an era of corduroy pants and black studded belts, when I cared deeply about such things as indie-rock record labels. I haven't followed BTS since Keep It Like A Secret, and in general, it's tough to return to a band you were very emotionally tied to in the past. The music's too mixed up with memories—you just can't be objective about it. If I had to pick, though, Doug Martsch would prob be one of my favorite guitar players ever, and so I'm gonna give this a listen and see if it goes. I haven't formed any opinions yet, have you?
Vegetable starts: There's a romance to growing your own food. Sadly, maybe—it should be normal, not novel. But fuck—everyone can't live in cabins and chop wood all day. Anyhow, way back in February, I sprinkled some tomato and cucumber seeds in empty tin cans and sat em in a sunny window. Stems pierced the soil, broad leaves unfurled. A few months later, I just plopped the little plants in the ground. See ya in August, guys!
New Jerseys
As you may know, I used to travel all the time. Europe, B.C., Vermont, India—every week, somewhere new. That's not me anymore—different job/different life. But! I love when people travel to me.
This past week, some guys from New Jersey came through town, and I let them stay in my basement. I'd never met these people—friends of friends, you see, but they pulled up in a killer old Buick and we were all immediately buds.
Like any consummate host, I showed ’em all the spots. We skated, hiked, wandered. We ate. We drank. We made a backyard fire. They did all the dishes and gave Lefty more attention than he's ever known. They also, while I was at work on 4//20, made this funny little feature film on location in my yard.
As a rule, I love East Coasters. Salt of the earth, funny, hard boiled. I also love the rite of the traveler—how you can meet new people and feel like you already know them, bond over a couple days or a car ride, be instantly old friends. If you've never left your town or your life, if you've never stayed on someone's couch or let them stay on yours, well then that's one of the best things you're missing.
Lefty's new squad. Thick as thieves.
Showed ’em some Oregon magic.
Hung around the fire pit while a sliver of the moon hung in the Western sky.
They really know their way to a girl's heart.
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Friday Afternoon
I am not extremely wise, but I know enough to know that nothing productive ever happens on Friday afternoon. It's been a long motherfuckin week, and you're always in this addled, noncommittal headspace that isn't conducive to doing any kind of work at all.
My new thing, then, instead of sitting there with my hands hovering over my keyboard, is to launch off on a walkabout.
Because it's good to walk. Walking, like all the other slow things in life, is meditative. As is staring over the precipice of a towering cliff. As is the wind from an oncoming storm. As is the lacework of yellow flowers in the fields. As are the birds slipping through the tall grass and following us with their songs.
New Beginnings
Check it out. Everyone just thinks of mini ramps as things to screw around on—jungle gyms for adults or something. But what a mini ramp really is, or can be anyway, is a community.
I got my ass handed to me a couple years ago by circumstance. I was engaged, did y'all know that? And I owned a business together with my man. Both things went away, right around the same time. Reality bent, disorientation unfolded ... but the show must go on.
Circumstantially, I started skating this one backyard mini ramp a lot. Here, slowly, I collected all of these shining people who are now my shining family. To all who wander or are lost, see, there's always a new somewhere to turn.
This is all just a long-winded way of telling you that that ramp's gone now. Wet Northwest winters had done a number on its bones. We tore the thing out and took the last wood to the dump yesterday. Sure, it was a little sad. Like with an old, sick dog, though, we knew it was time to put it down.
But! A new ramp's coming! Different dimensions, fresh strong wood all smelling of sap. Maybe see ya there this spring?
Me, back then. Fun = good for mind and body.
Benjamin H. Graham in that nice afternoon light.
Unscrewing. The opposite of getting screwed.
Bye bye, baby.
A cozy Sunday at the dump with my bests.