SKATE[SLATE] Supplementary "Bees Steeze" Recap Action

The following are supplementary images to accompany an article I did for SKATE[SLATE]:

A horny Tadaichi Nakayama. Photo Bandy.

James Kelly, toeside. Photo Bandy. 

Max Dubler Launchin' his skim-skate. Photo Bandy.

Max Myers haulin' into a drifter. Photo Bandy.

A true skatemobile. Photo Bandy



Even more photos here

Timelessness

This post is a brief tribute to timelessness. More specifically, inverts and Texas vert icon, Jeff Phillips (may he rest in peace). Like anything done with style, heart, and power; certain aspects of skateboarding's yesteryear will stay with us into the future—continually passed on from one generation of shredder to the next. This idea brings to mind images of a campfire somewhere long ago, deep in the heart of night and nowhere, surrounded by a band of scrappy frontiersman sitting in a loose ring around the fire, smoking and sharing swigs from a dark brown whisky bottle. As the men sit, I envision the shadowy gathering listening to tales of crossing some lonely expanse—it's unclear where or how far. They listen to a slow talking old timer as he spins a yarn of how he once, ". . . seens a buffalo kill a grizzly bare. Honest!", how he struck gold in a place called Stokes Creek, and how he lost everything chasing a one-eyed hooker named Trina. I imagine the men are weary and tired, yet eagerly listen quietly in the warm firelight.

You there, pull up closer to the lit screen, look to the image of our experience, push play (video below), and watch a true pioneer who inspired so many of us to shred till dead.

Danny Tim Tim does his part to pass on some skateboard heritage with this smooth invert in East LA.

  <*Scroll down to see video*>

Bill Murray Tribute

My girlfriend Ashley and I heard about an art show in L.A. that was to feature nearly fifty Bill Murray tribute pieces. Being big fans of the "Murray oeuvre", we, along with my brother Dave, decided to attend this Friday's opening night of the exhibit. I do have to make note that I'm a Bill Murray fan first and an artdog second. Due to my noncommittal interest in the art scene, I'm always a bit apprehensive about how seriously "arty" such exhibits might get.

Over the years I've come to understand that people who go to art shows not only take art very seriously, but themselves even more so. I'm intrigued at how many "slashies" (model/actor types) attend these events. I mean, I get it! These people have to go out there and show themselves, but model/actors are a bit ridiculous in person. Now even you must admit that.  The event did not disappointed in the area of ridiculous persons—the Slashies were out in full-force. We even saw an actual art-dog, one that a very stoned, and secondhand-garbed girl brought with her as companion. The dog seemed extremely interested in the giant, florescent-outlined nude of Bill Murray—more specifically his colorful cock and balls. The little pooch looked at it intensely, struck a curious pose, and then hoarsely barked three times. The girl found this to be an altogether perfect response. As did I.

Looking back, my favorite attendee of the soiree was the vampire-ponytail-guy (Dave's favorite too), whom, by the look on his face as he scanned the room with raised eyebrow and pursed lips, seemed to find himself the most interesting (Fuck that Dos Equis guy!) man in the world. I'm pretty sure he "glamoured" me (Trueblood reference) for like ten minutes. No worries though, I am a strong, straight man and was able to break free of his spell before he drew blood.

Anyway, there was a Ghostbuster's Hearst and a bunch of ghost busters dudes walking around with blaster packs on. We all liked that a lot.  Altogether, the show was pretty fun; there were some good pieces to look at, I actually ran into an old skate buddy, I caught, and threw-back, a number of "Blue Steel" looks that I'm confident were received well; and we had a great dinner at some random Chinese Bistro afterwards.

Bill Murray rules! (R&R Gallery, 929 E. Second St., Suite 106, Los Angeles. The exhibit is viewable by appointment through Sept. 30. (213) 626-2261; http://www.therandr.org.)

Skateboarding is going Downhill

I'm 37 now and it's funny to me that I still ride a skateboard. Not so much because I'm Old Mc Olderman, no, but mostly because I'm still able to enjoy it as such a radical experience. The idea is that if you keep trying new things, there is no limit to your growth on a skateboard. You can switch front heelflip off a quadruple set, you can skate across the continent of Africa with only a backpack and a camera, you can fakie to fakie 900 on a mega-ramp, and you can speed down mountain roads at up to 60mph plus. the combinations are limitless. It's fucking crazy because there is really no other time than right now that skateboarding has been so diverse and exploratory. It's wild to see the activity I've dedicated most of my life to morph into so many previously unimaginable directions. Please make note that I'm not trying to be all mushy and sentimental about skateboarding here. No, my intent is to share my stoke with you in hopes that you'll either get hyped to shred yourselves, or if you already do skate, that you think about skateboarding in a broader context and open your mind to otherwise hidden gems.

I guess the point is that I've recently been exposed to something I did not even know existed, which is downhill skateboarding, and through this exposure, I've met so many badass people that I otherwise may have never had the chance to meet—I am having a master-blaster of a time, and have found in it an even deeper love for the Ride. Thank you skateboarding!

Straight Chipmunkin'

Hey y’all,

It’s 12:15am on Monday, and I can’t sleep. The above pic you see here has nothing to do with anything except that I like chipmunks, and this particular one seemed to think I had some food, and I shot a pic of it. Anyway, back to why I can’t sleep. I’m not sure why I can’t sleep actually, other than I need a fucking job and can’t seem to find one. You can imagine how that might scratch around in your brain-pan, or make you feel like you’ve eaten a bowl of dried dog turds. Whatever, people. I can’t sleep most of the time these days, but I'll keep making a go for it.

            Right now I'm trying to figure out ways to make a living? I thought about becoming an assassin, but that’s too easy, besides I don’t think I’d like the killing element of the job. I also thought about riding the back of the next guy, but that’s already being done so much that I’d feel like I was selling myself short. I do have a shitload of ideas though, but no money. I’m finding that although not always true, that the old adage, “It takes money to make money” is very real indeed, and that sucks horse cock. So here we are (hopefully not sucking any horse cocks).

            I do have some initiative left in me though, so I’m starting this blog. Who cares, right? Well, I was inspired recently by a friend who said, “if you want to be good at something you have to do it everyday”—pretty basic, right? But it resonated with me and reminded me that, yeah, if you want something solid you are going to have to go get it, and get it everyday. I really want to be good at making money, writing, and photography. Basically, it’s fucking on! I’m on a What About Bob “Baby Steps” plan. I’m starting this blog here to build (“Baby Step” brick one) a foundation. The plan is to write everyday—go out and engage, and then share what I collect with everyone I know.  So it’s actually kind of funny really. The chipmunk does have relevance—I’m the goddamn chipmunk! I’m collecting my grub for the next cold season—yeah, that’s the ticket! The Truth is, an open mouth is the first to be fed and I’m starving right now! I’m no better that the hungry rodent seen above, so I can’t be sacred to reach up out of the grass to see if I can’t get me some acorns and shit.

Here’s the beginning of me as a dirty little California chipmunk. Squeak, squeak!

Disclaimer: It’s hella late and I’m not real sure if what I’ve said here is that coherent. If you don’t like this  post or are offended in any way by it, I’m very sorry, but go fuck yourself, and lighten up a bit 'cause I'm tired and dealin' with some heavy shit right now. Otherwise, call me and let’s talk about how we can make whatever you’re doing way better. Bring beer. Goodnight.

Chipmunk love-crumbs,

Marcus Bandy

Long Beach Livin'

Howdy pards and pardettes,

So I just moved to Long Beach a few months ago, and loving it. I'm not sure if it's because I was born here way back in '73, or if it's because so many of my fondest skateboard memories were created in this very city. Either way, I'm glad to be back. Along with cruising second street with Ashley, and maxing with the crew over some quesadillas and a few coldies at the Reno Room, I've been skating the DYI skatepark at Cherry. To say the least, it's been a f-ing treat; both through the actual skating, as well as though watching the young guys shred ever so hugely. After skating I usually click off a few pics of some of the loc dogs. It's so crazy to think that these dudes' warm-up tricks were our bangers. Anyway, here is a photo I shot the other evening and a link to some others: The High Coup Flickr Page.

Kickflip backside tailslide, Mike Ballbeardo, LBeezee.

What Was Lost

It was dark. No moon. The man with the missing eye looked out at the ocean. Never before had he seen it look so impenetrable. He squinted and squinted: nothing, only sound. The omniscient lapping of the incoming tide against the rocks and the cold single-minded western wind made him think of times long past: his mother. He longed to hear her small voice again. It had been twenty years since. Hadn’t it? Yes it had. In the times before, he would stop by her house on the weekends – in San Clemente – spend the day with her and her dog Cal. He would get so bored listening to her talk of a friend she had met at an antique store, or of a "real good discount” she received on a dozen scented candles. If I had the chance to go back I would not be bored listening to her. He knew good-and-well he could never go back.

            It was so dark on the jetty. He had to go in the water now. He had to search for what was lost – what still had the possibility of salvage. The man slowly lowered himself into the cold invisible ocean. He was breathing harder and deeper. Stinging pressure. He swam away from the rocks and towards a small zodiac boat he knew was waiting past the breakers. As he swam he thought about the ever-revolving teeth of sharks. Keep swimming! He could hear the small engine froth and gurgle in the brine blackness before him; a gasoline smell too. He reached the boat, grabbed the side and was mechanically pulled aboard by four strong arms. He was covered with a towel. No one spoke. They sped away into what he imagined as unavoidable misery, but there was a dim hope in finding his brother, and in finding the ten million dollars. Shame and duty struggled for supremacy within the man. The boat did not stop until it emerged on a deep purple Pacific sunrise –a cold glassiness and forever sky. This meant sleep. The men slept.

When the man woke he looked to the two other men in the boat  – burly beards and sunken eyes – a smell of stale whiskey and tobacco. . .

Words by Marcus Bandy

Super Bowl Sunday

Football is whatever. I decided that my Super Bowl Sunday would be spent in the Venice bowl instead of watching fat guys aggressively hug each other. Anyway, I ended up shooting my first skate shots. Most of the pics are kind of noisy with people everywhere, but this shot of Cuervo doing a stailfish grabber came out pretty cool. Who won the game anyway?

Ollie Pops

   Random bro boosting. HB, late 2009.


Sometimes when I wake up all I can think about is getting tech-nasty on some frothy faces. Such monomania is fairly normal when living at the beach in Southern Cali, so when I was kicking it in HB I used to go check the waves almost every morning. I'd either ride my bicycle down to the pier, or sometimes I'd take a motorcycle to Cliffs to check what might be rollin' in. This is one such morning when A Smoth and I took the motos down PCH. It really looked like a fun day to shred. A longboard, fish or tradish thruster action, whatever's cleaver. The weather was warm, sunny, glassy, and there was just enough swell to make it all work. And yes, I did say tech-nasty.

Techno-Blowback

The following is an excerpt taken from an AlterNet article titled  Five Ways Techno Gadgetry Is Bringing Out The Worst In Humanity (written by Scott Thill on Feb 2, 2010). I chose it here because I just received one of these Traffic surveillance tickets myself, just mailed out a check to the Culver City Police Department for $520.00, and still have to find the time to do an eight-hour traffic school. This article is interesting in that it explains how such surveillance does more harm than good, and that, as I suspected, it is more an attempt at State revenue generation and a show of power than trying to create safer roadways. The fact that they monkey with the length of the yellow lights, and that our state representatives know about this, is just so fucking disheartening. I also chose this excerpt based on the fact that it quotes the author of the V for Vendetta comic, and I loved that shitz, as well as it discusses Jeremy Betham’s idea of “invisible omniscience” via the panopticon. Ultimately, this is an insightful and though provoking piece. Check it. And hey, Police State, I want my money back! . . .