"Are you dumb enough to break the mold, or are you smart enough to bail,"

Thanks for coming to this blog to read the adventues of a crazy head. Nice 48 hours, feels alot like a blur, lots of fun though. Not really sure where is a good place to begin. I guess friday and the social gathering is a good place, but it's difficult. First arrivals were the couple who I am going to view Ok Go with, the midget and her smooth pimp. It's around 6 pm, too early to do a beer run I feel, and so we slide into the DVD player the trash fest that is "Lords of Dogtown".

Now I should explain that, me and little bear (the smooth pimp), we're skaters, you know, "dude, let's board" type skaters, totally like "sweet like totally" kinda guys, at least, we like to pretend we are. He's been skating about four years, the dog is tight on it. I've been skating three years, and I'm like some sketchy kid with a style that isn't used by anybody because getting it to look sexy and tight is a total arse and actually being sexy and tight using it is ever harder. Damn fun though, I wish I had the concrete and the weather to skate like a super sick monster dude, but I'm sure I wouldn't be, even if my current enviroment supported the idea. So, back to the reason I explained my skating roots; "Lords of Dogtown" is one of the worse movies I have ever seen. Myself and Little Bear, we were both hoping for a skate video with a tiny bit of plot that really wasn't worth listening to. What we witnessed was a parade of how not to, ever, even if you are a drunken chimp who is learning to speak english, write a script and shoot a film. "Lords of Dogtown" is a self-indulgent 2 hour ego fest from the skull of Stacy Peralta. Now, don't get me wrong, Stacy, now that dude can skate, and oh my, that cat can shoot a tasty skate video, but I can't even begin to explain how much that ego-driven moron can not write; the guy can't even pull a single scene out of his money swimming butt, let alone a cohesive plot or any sense of empathetic drama. This is a story in which the main character is himself. This is a story that every skater who cares about the culture of skating knows and does not need to be retold. This is a film, which having made an award winning documentry about already, has been rehashed into a series of barely interesting half truths, then padded with teen party scenes. It really amazing how he has managed to adapt an actually interesting piece of history into this poor a film. I'd have been happy with a plotless skate video about that beautiful style of old school concrete surfer skating. I'd have been happy with a nicely paced film about fictional characters developing a land version of surfing padded with scenes of just that. I'm not happy with a lame ass drama about the meaningless effect of broken homes on all these troubled teens who turn to skating as an escape and then barely skate at all. When I purchased the film, I was buying the documentry, it came for free. I am so damn glad this is the case. This film deserves nobody's money. Everybody, please go out and buy "Dogtown and the Z-boys," that is a masterful skating documentry about the rise of skating in southern california. Please do not even joke about watching "Lords of Dogtown," I think I've been clear enough already as to why, but just to clarify, it takes the awe inspiring story of the rise of skateboarding in southern california and turns it into a very boring, very awful teen party flick.

About half way into "Lords of Dogtown," Mark arrived, yes, that's right, I got naming permission, drunk and supplying cider. I hate cider, terrible stuff, makes my brain shrink just thinking about it. We pause the movie none of us are watching and do a beer run, leaving Mark in charge of the house. In retrospect, that something nobody should do, but the house still stands, so I got away with it on this occation. We grab a crate of Calsburg, which is flavoured pisswater in my opinion, but the red headed particle seems to enjoy it and it's mostly her money. We also picked up a multi pack of McCoy's, a tube of Pringles, two boxes of Jaffa Cakes and I finally got my dirty pisshead hands on my, long sort after, bottle of cherry brandy. Finally, I can make Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters and Cherry Hookers; Cocktails are so damn tasty, it's all Tiki Bar TV's fault that I've fallen into such forbidden loves so early. We make it back to the house and Mark has nearly finished his supplied cider and is offering to finish the cherry brandy with me. I quickly sway him off the idea as I get the food into an accessable munching point, only to find that the Pringles have already been devoured. I live less than 50 steps from the shops, how the little'un has managed to stuff that many pringles into herself in that amount of time is beyond physical conception, you need to slip into the realms of science fiction to explain the phenomena; T.A.R.D.I.S like ideas need to be drawn into process of thought. Regardless, we crack open the booze and sit back in front of the film none of us are watching.

Roll on nine thirty; the film has been finished a little while and we've drank enough to force the worst of it out of mind. We're down to the last few beers. Me and Mark are snuggling down to watch "My Name Is Earl," of which this eve channel four are supplying us with a double bill. "My Name Is Earl" is a masterful comedy staring the charismatic Jason Lee, who incidently is also a skater, the skater who started the, now failed, Stereo Skateboards Inc. before becoming Kevin Smith's actor gimp for a good 10 years. Spike Jones directed the classic skate video that contains Jason Lee; if anybody knows where I can get my clammy claws on that piece of damn sexy skate history I'd love to have it pointed my way, please. The last of the few who could make it to this great evening finally arrive with fake Malbu and even more potato based snack produce. This allows us to make another beer run, this time for Tetley's; which turns out to be the spike haired arrival's drink. I throw together margaritas for the few who want them and then settle back into the end of the second "My Name Is Earl" of the evening. Somebody is missing at this point, but I'm not sure who, too drunk to care about anything at this point but the comfy comfy chair. Roll on conversation and a review of the sickly entertaining Death Wish week that channel four provided the friday night shut ins during January. My bladder has reached a point that it needs to get rid of its contains in the fastest possible way, and so I excuse myself before flesh and urine cover my friends from the forceful explosion of my poor tortured bladder. Stumbling onto the stairs I'm hearing a very loud and heavy panting that makes me stop and wonder who the hell is upstairs. Suddenly my brain performs a spot the missing person on the living room and I realise that both T.A.R.D.I.S girl and Little Bear are missing and have been for some time. I decide it is wise to probably not try and interupt them, as I'm not sure of what or who I may see and I'm not sure I want to ruin friendships and the such in that way. For future reference, when I finished the last post with Learn the funk, I really never meant in my room. But such is horny drunk teenagers. My friends everybody, such wonderful people. Of course it raises the invaluable question of "fleeting or love?' but time will tell on that one, and heck, they make each other happier than I've seen people be happy, which is nice... just not in my room again please.

So, everybody is cleaned up, bladder is emptied and relaxing is to be had. The sexually charged couple are picked up and many jokes are made at their expense. I'd retell a few here, but it's all a haze by now. The fake malbu girl is not having a good time with Newton's fur, my cat. So, they discuss leaving. I'm not so keen on the idea; I've been fleeting all over the place all night, I've no idea how much either of them have drunk, and I'm stonked enough to think everybody is drunker than me. I really don't want people driving drunk when they can welcomely crash and be safe. Of course, I'm not thinking about the fact that she is choking as her air way slowly closes with this cat fur, but regardless of my worries it's decided that they shall leave. So, I say good bye to the second couple as the evening runs into the usual drunk rambles of me and markie. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a nagging paranoia tells me I scared them away, but I'm sure that's not the case, they knew I was crazy before last nightt, I'm sure. As their car drives away and I stumble back indoors I must end the retelling of last night as I don't remember anymore, but I remember why I don't remember. Once I'm back indoors, I notice that both margaritas are mostly unfinished and down the both of them. That's about eight units of alcohol and one of the dumbest things I've done in a while. It was a damn fun night.

Woke up at 9 am, my room is a tip, my mouth is furry and my mind is a screaming firey evil pit that is so dehydrated and tiny that I'm sure it's at the point that the nerves that attact it to the walls of my skull are so taut that I'm sure the slightest movement will sever every connection and kill me, as it detaches and escapes my torturous ways by sliding out my ears. I tidy my room followed by the house and drink fizzy water to try and shift the dwarfs mining my brain for food and education. I slide back into bed and then spend the next few hours charging in and out of my room as my stomach punishes me for last night and I punish it back by throwing more sugar and carbon filled water against it. Barely recovered and hacking my PSP to run Nethack, Little Bear turns up in my room, I'm very confused by this and we talk as I rush to pile clothes on and be in a sociable fashion. Turns out last night I apparently agreed to be a lighting/sound guy with him at the local theatre tonight. I'm shocked by this, but I stand by my drunken word and come along. Being a crew member is fun suprisingly, and while I sucked, it's not like it was finding the point on a plane in Cartisean form. But sweet Jesus those bulbs get fucking hot. I'll get up tomorrow with them swollen and blistered I'm sure.

Steve, Lunchbox extrodinare, has begun his blog. I'm just pimping it. He's a better and more entertainging writer than me, so enjoy, and his profile says where we live, so I think I'll probably stop being so closed about that information now I guess. Right, that's enough of an essay for now, hope you all enjoyed it, and sorry if I've forgotten to inform you of anything interesting. Keep being funky people, but not in my room.