other people write on their blogs more than me, so i figured i could at least show you some cool skateboarding-related blogs:
SHREDNJ: contributors include bill marshall, chris rozborski, filmer davy lee, nick immediato, and other pretty much division east/nj skate/boner bolts/bloomfield-related schralpers who actually get enough throwaway footage on a regular basis to post multiple times a day. bunch of sweet photos, clips, a lot of point break bigups, etc. good heads.
BOSTONRIFFRAFF: what seems to be a boston-oriented "homey cam" type of effort. lots of photos with one of those throwback shitty fisheyes (which i love) , vimeo clips, a lot of orchard-related skaters (tons of bro!), and they skate things that i like to skate, and you might too!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
the first chapter of something weirddd
Walking home today my dog fell into a manhole. There wasn’t enough slack on the leash, so I spent the subsequent twelve minutes defending my innocence to a pig-faced girl with blue hair, then the rest of the day mourning and eating tomato bisque. I enjoy most bisques. The soup version of the mosque.
Yesterday was no better. I woke up with a slicing pain in my neck. After some twisting and kinking, I was able to force it away, only to realize the ache in my feet. I sat at the television watching the relief blow the shutout while I pried at ingrowns with wire cutters for about an hour.
Then lunch with a friend. We were conversing over the merits of paper vs. plastic as the waitress inquired as to our preference of water. My request of coconut was declined so I settled on tap with a cocktail onion garnish.
As I brought the glass to my mouth, I realized the pungency of toe cheese on my fingertips, and the blood under my nails. Having been upset by the ill-advised game-losing fielder’s choice single play, I’d forgotten to wash the foot off my hands before lunch. I fled to the lavatory before Larry could catch wind of anything.
While at the urinal I could not help but eavesdrop on the handicapped stall. The voicemail that echoed against the tile told me that the man’s wife had starved herself for the purposes of vanity. When the phone closed, the slow, wet sobs commenced. Tear drops saturated the waistband of his sweatpants. Moist cotton ankle shackles.
I ate my brisket while chatting with Larry about button flys, but couldn’t help but examine the bathroom door’s reflection in his glasses. I waited for the mourning exercist to show a sign of productive life through the swinging of that door, but by the time we had paid, the door remained untouched. I hoped that he at least had the decency to wipe before ending it all in an attempt to reunite with his deceased love, if such was his intention. If this was the case, I do hope he was thoughtful enough to have brought her a sandwich, I’m sure she’s hungry down there.
Yesterday night was the usual, which I suppose might be unusual to some, depending on “some’s” definition of “usual.” For some, usual is kickin’ back with a nice cold one, playin’ Parcheesi with the ol’ wife n’ kids. Some find usuality in asphyxiating themselves while masturbating to late-night infomercials or professional poker. I suppose I fall somewhere in the middle-- in regard to the usual, that is. I, of course, do not mean that I like to asphyxiate myself while masturbating to the wife n’ kids playing late-night poker. I don’t have a wife, or little bastard kids, and if I did, I’m sure they wouldn’t have liked that joke too much.
No, the usual for Mr. Juniper Stopon is less depraved, or more, depending on your definition. It’s all about perspective, that’s something I’ve realized. Dog shit smells pretty bad when it’s on your shoe, but if you’re looking at it from a rooftop, you might mistake it for a penny, or a pretzel, or a profiterole; something along these lines. What I’m getting at, and I’m sure you’ll agree, is that a rooftop smells like a rooftop, even if it’s covered in dog shit.
What did I do last night? Well, you know. The usual.
Yesterday was no better. I woke up with a slicing pain in my neck. After some twisting and kinking, I was able to force it away, only to realize the ache in my feet. I sat at the television watching the relief blow the shutout while I pried at ingrowns with wire cutters for about an hour.
Then lunch with a friend. We were conversing over the merits of paper vs. plastic as the waitress inquired as to our preference of water. My request of coconut was declined so I settled on tap with a cocktail onion garnish.
As I brought the glass to my mouth, I realized the pungency of toe cheese on my fingertips, and the blood under my nails. Having been upset by the ill-advised game-losing fielder’s choice single play, I’d forgotten to wash the foot off my hands before lunch. I fled to the lavatory before Larry could catch wind of anything.
While at the urinal I could not help but eavesdrop on the handicapped stall. The voicemail that echoed against the tile told me that the man’s wife had starved herself for the purposes of vanity. When the phone closed, the slow, wet sobs commenced. Tear drops saturated the waistband of his sweatpants. Moist cotton ankle shackles.
I ate my brisket while chatting with Larry about button flys, but couldn’t help but examine the bathroom door’s reflection in his glasses. I waited for the mourning exercist to show a sign of productive life through the swinging of that door, but by the time we had paid, the door remained untouched. I hoped that he at least had the decency to wipe before ending it all in an attempt to reunite with his deceased love, if such was his intention. If this was the case, I do hope he was thoughtful enough to have brought her a sandwich, I’m sure she’s hungry down there.
Yesterday night was the usual, which I suppose might be unusual to some, depending on “some’s” definition of “usual.” For some, usual is kickin’ back with a nice cold one, playin’ Parcheesi with the ol’ wife n’ kids. Some find usuality in asphyxiating themselves while masturbating to late-night infomercials or professional poker. I suppose I fall somewhere in the middle-- in regard to the usual, that is. I, of course, do not mean that I like to asphyxiate myself while masturbating to the wife n’ kids playing late-night poker. I don’t have a wife, or little bastard kids, and if I did, I’m sure they wouldn’t have liked that joke too much.
No, the usual for Mr. Juniper Stopon is less depraved, or more, depending on your definition. It’s all about perspective, that’s something I’ve realized. Dog shit smells pretty bad when it’s on your shoe, but if you’re looking at it from a rooftop, you might mistake it for a penny, or a pretzel, or a profiterole; something along these lines. What I’m getting at, and I’m sure you’ll agree, is that a rooftop smells like a rooftop, even if it’s covered in dog shit.
What did I do last night? Well, you know. The usual.
Friday, April 17, 2009
in regard to that 538 johnson avenue post...it looks like someone's back from the dead...
Sweet Street from Jaundice on Vimeo.
friends doing tricks together. highlights include:
full loxton part
debarros back tail windowsill
tim penguin
both leks tricks
the dowds
abada and lykins killing with the animations and the planks with wheels
me being falsely accused of additional filming
next stop: david spud vid
Thursday, April 16, 2009
the light on top of the hancock building indicates:
Steady blue, clear view.
Flashing blue, clouds due.
Steady red, rain ahead.
Flashing red, snow instead.
(except during baseball season, when it means the Sox game has been called off).
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
I'LL FUCK YOU TIL YOU LOVE ME, FAGGOT
i was going to wait to see it in theaters, but fuck it. i'm halfway through right now and it's really no joke, that man did some wild shit. won the championship belt with gonnorhea, arrested for the first time at age 12 with 1500 cash on his person. but aside from that, you actually get the opportunity to listen to him instead of immediately accusing him. don't get me wrong, he's a complete sociopath, but not everything he thinks and says involves comparing his depression to the stomping of another man's child's testicles; he's been through some shit and has a lot of insight at times, which he is able to articulate very well. i might be so bold as to say that maybe we all got a lil' to learn from good ol' kid dynamite. so, without further ado, the tyson documentary.
lemme lend you a hand you fucking idiot
irony
1. the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning: the irony of her reply, “How nice!” when I said I had to work all weekend.
2. Literature.
a. a technique of indicating, as through character or plot development, an intention or attitude opposite to that which is actually or ostensibly stated.
b. (esp. in contemporary writing) a manner of organizing a work so as to give full expression to contradictory or complementary impulses, attitudes, etc., esp. as a means of indicating detachment from a subject, theme, or emotion.
3. Socratic irony.
4. dramatic irony.
5. an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected.
6. the incongruity of this.
7. an objectively sardonic style of speech or writing.
8. an objectively or humorously sardonic utterance, disposition, quality, etc.
hopefully you'll remember to think of me before you try and call stephanie and kim wearing the same blouse ironic. slight distinction between "irony" and "isn't that weird????"
1. the use of words to convey a meaning that is the opposite of its literal meaning: the irony of her reply, “How nice!” when I said I had to work all weekend.
2. Literature.
a. a technique of indicating, as through character or plot development, an intention or attitude opposite to that which is actually or ostensibly stated.
b. (esp. in contemporary writing) a manner of organizing a work so as to give full expression to contradictory or complementary impulses, attitudes, etc., esp. as a means of indicating detachment from a subject, theme, or emotion.
3. Socratic irony.
4. dramatic irony.
5. an outcome of events contrary to what was, or might have been, expected.
6. the incongruity of this.
7. an objectively sardonic style of speech or writing.
8. an objectively or humorously sardonic utterance, disposition, quality, etc.
hopefully you'll remember to think of me before you try and call stephanie and kim wearing the same blouse ironic. slight distinction between "irony" and "isn't that weird????"
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Monday, April 13, 2009
538 johnson
modern life is war, david o'brien, and 538 johnson avenue are three things that i hold very near to my heart. this clip contains all elements, it's footage from a show in the spring of 2007 that i still hear dudes talk about. i couldn't be there unfortunately, due to a boston-shaped cock up my ass, but i had the pleasure of catching a fucked up sunday matinee there once and the venue equaled fun. it's a loft apartment in bushwick, with a staircase going up the side of the stage, at the top of which there is a pipe going across the 20 ft high ceiling. you'll see people falling from the sky in the video, so that explains that. this show was deaded early by jacob, who apparently didn't interrupt mid-song and waited politely. 538 johnson deaded shortly after. mliw deaded shortly after. red-headed kid in the white shirt is david o'brien, who isn't wearing his glasses and was still straight edge at this point.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
SWEET STREET PREMIERE
My crew put together a 10-minute, 3-song long boardsport flick, starring the likes of dan debarros, adam abada, david spodofora, gabriel the magnificent, jack lykins! padraic "socialite" dowd, thomas penguin english, phil wong, i have a couple tricks, etc. below is not a trailer, but just a clip that david spud threw together of some recent funguy footage that may or may not be in sweet street:
the flick, entitled "sweet street" is premiering next thursday, the 16th at division east boardsport shop at 7pm, then halligan's party and beer shop again at 9pm. i'm very psyched. going filming is fun, drinking is fun, new jersey is fun...this thursday will undoubtedly be fun.
the flick, entitled "sweet street" is premiering next thursday, the 16th at division east boardsport shop at 7pm, then halligan's party and beer shop again at 9pm. i'm very psyched. going filming is fun, drinking is fun, new jersey is fun...this thursday will undoubtedly be fun.
Monday, April 6, 2009
a tip of the cap to gnarcotics.blogspot
q: did you just wake up or have you not slept yet?
a: the latter.
q: then what are you doing fucking around with your stupid blog?
a: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=170317960258
q: that's a dead medium. shitty sound quality and short lifespan.
a: shut up.
q: are you going to bed?
a: side A of mixtape is done.
a: the latter.
q: then what are you doing fucking around with your stupid blog?
a: http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=170317960258
q: that's a dead medium. shitty sound quality and short lifespan.
a: shut up.
q: are you going to bed?
a: side A of mixtape is done.
Thursday, April 2, 2009
PRISCILLA FUCKING RULES
P:i jumped this doug funny looking chick in the bathroom at ihop
P:and last night i smacked the back of some girls head when she wasnt looking, she still doesnt know it was me
P:and last night i smacked the back of some girls head when she wasnt looking, she still doesnt know it was me
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
i'm the kind of person who likes to go to bad parties just to stand in the corner and talk shit. the eagles have time and time again proven themselves to suck dick in every sense of the phrase, so naturally i was drawn to this 7 minute and 5 second pile of shit of a reunion show. if you can bear to watch the whole thing, i think you'll leave with a better understanding of why 99% of everything isn't cool.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)