But what did worrying ever do for anybody?
The fact of the matter is, the train’s off the tracks. Twenty five years ago my then-professor Michael McClure told me that as a species and a society, we were doing 90 miles an hour, and headed for a cliff. We woulda had to hit the brakes three decades ago, and we’d still be in the shit. The fact is, and a thing of which I still contend, is I’ve kept my own backyard clean. I’ve maintained eye contact with those who I speak, I’m honest, try not to talk too much shit, and shake hands firmly. I’ve maintained a directive to leave as small footprint as possible, and if I meet my maker tomorrow, I have no regrets on how I’ve lived, and most importantly, how I’ve treated those with whom I’ve crossed paths, be it human or beast.
While it doesn’t mean I’m not continuing to be hyper cautious, and committing to a life of lockdown, my life’s mode of operation at least gives me some peace in the uncertainty that lay ahead.
And all of this of course isn’t to say I will be very kind to any possible Murder Wasps I might come across;
My god, into what kind of Jumanji-esque reality are we descending?
One entity that doesn’t seem even marginally phased by current events is the enigma that is Gwarsenio Hall, and his band of ne’er-do-wells known as Two Minutes To Late Night. As further proof that they are operating on an entirely different plane, behold their recent jaw-dropping tribute to Danzig;
If there is a cloud that’s above cloud nine, I’m there. Cloud ten maybe?
For those of us who were maybe asleep at the wheel, I first introduced this particular audience to 2MTLN here, but have adored them for much longer.
Anyway, there you go again, and you’re welcome.
Moving on from those things, I’d like to mention that my bandana vendor (who is not to be mistaken for my banana vendor) came though with a brand spanking new order of pocket rags just this weekend;
Would you like one? They’re going way faster than I could have imagined, so if you would, look no further than here.
Just in the last few days alone a multitude of happy customers have reached out with pictures of their smiling faces covered up, which makes my heart soar.
I look forward to a day when their faces are uncovered, and the rag can be kept safely in their back pocket, at the ready for beer, blood or sweat to be soaked up.
Until that time, thank you for the continued support.
In other news- Over the weekend I was perusing my giant tupperware tubs of ’80s skate and BMX magazines, when what should I come across but this photo of Brad Oxley caught by none other than the prototypical action sports photographer, James Cassimus;
If you aren’t familiar with him, he was the premiere action sports photographer of that era, whose work showed up consistently in (among other publications) Skateboarder, and later, Action Now (which is perhaps maybe why no one ever heard of him again);
That is to say that Action Now was kinda terrible.
But with a mere few strokes across the keyboard I came to find that he is very much still alive and well.
Thank goodness for the miracle of the internet.
But here’s a totally bananas story associated with the aforementioned tub of magazines that only unfolded as I pulled them from my piles in order to get those two cover shots. Firstly, I have no idea where they came from. A bulk of them were sent to me from somebody within the last five or eight years, but who specifically gifted them to me I haven’t a clue.
However the first cover had the remnant of an address tag still barely attached from subscription that’s long since concluded. Uncurling it to see the name, the mystery only deepened when it displayed the name John Haley of Evergreen, Colorado;
I don’t expect that to mean anything to you, so allow me to explain. Firstly, I’m from Evergreen, and any remaining association I have there is most certainly not why this almost forty year old magazine wound up in my possession. Secondly, John Haley was considerably older than me, and the only reason I knew of his name at all was because he had a letter published in perhaps one of the first three issues of Thrasher Magazine I ever saw in perhaps 1982, or ’83.
I mean, I was just trying to round out today’s post with a cool photo and a little filler concerning the person who shot it, and now I’m left wondering how the hell this relic from a place I haven’t lived in three decades, that once belonged to a person who at best, I was only peripherally familiar ended up in my possession.
I humbly request any information regarding this riddle, if by chance the person who sent them to me is reading these words, and if you need me, until then I’ll be to listening to records in my underground super fort.