We’ve been through a lot together in this city. Thick and thin. I’m going to miss you guys.
I was looking for an old Trenchmouth track on youtube when I found a video correspondence between Fred Armisen and Charlyne Yi. And then I found this. Oh internets, so many surprises you keep.
Captain Eddie and I just finished making new shirts for our Friday night league team. When we first started thinking of ideas, I pulled out some old snaps of a kit I made for the ill fated Grand Life squad that Tommy Saleh and I patched together for the Adidas Fanatic Tournament couple years back. Our ragtag side included my poker/park ball cronies Jordin Isip and Greg Benton as well as reluctant superstar keeper Brian Kelly. My friend Jon hooked us up with a his buddy who helped us outfit out kits with massive gold dookie rolls. What our team lacked in practice, we made up for in floss.
Game day was a beautiful sunny summer Saturday. The air was filled with the smell of burgers and the sounds of King Britt. It was an fantastic day to play ball. With teams like Vice, Kid Robot, Tokion, and Complex Mag plus a continuous flow of beverages courtesy of Heineken, I was expecting a competition of beer pong seriousness. That seemed to be happening on all the other group pitches except ours. We were getting slaughtered. Tommy’s Grand Life team had hoisted the cup a couple of years before which explained why our scrappy squad was placed in Group D. D apparently stood for Death.
As we took continuous beatings, it was clear that our destiny was firmly stomped to the bottom of our group. Though I could see this coming early on, I was still unprepared for the relentless bruises to body and ego throughout the day. My spirit was crushed by a personal deficit of skill and fitness as well as an excess of free beer.
Looking back at the photos from that day, I can still taste the beatdowns but even though we suffered mutiple indignations, I actually remember having a lot of fun. Selective memory? Perhaps. But at least we looked cool.
The other week, as I waited for my old San Jo’ friend Derek to use the can in Cafe Habana, I spotted Terry Richardson and Bobby Gillespie walking down Prince street. I thought to myself “Geez, do all the cool dudes just like hang out?” Apparently so. I was instantly struck with a sudden longing to be more Fonz-like. Of course, since Derek was inside taking a leak, there was no one to share my feelings of inadequacy. To further exacerbate my condition, I saw this pic in a UK magazine our couch surfers Ronnie and Leon left behind. The Fonzarelli Deficiency Meter hit the roof. Though there may be little hope in treating my condition, I will take comfort in the fact that the individual cool quotient of Richardson, Gillespie and Obama combined would probably induce a similar condition to many a by-stander on Prince Street.
There will inevitably be the day when the words “Jeezus. What the fuck is Obama doing?!” will pass my lips. But nearing 100 days into his presidency, that particular sentiment has yet to enter my mind. In fact, quite the contrary. According to Fox News, millions (probably more realistically thousands) of tea baggers disagree, yet I look at the trajectory of our current economic outlook, our standing in the world, and our national psyche all pointing, if only ever-so-gradually, upward.
As I look out the window on this dreary morning, I’m forced to ask myself: Could it be better? Possibly. But could it be worse? Most definitely. To put things in perspective I imagine a scenario in which Palin-mania had infected a few more million minds and John McCain is currently steering the boat. Would we be further adrift in a his self-conflicted urge to be a ‘true conservative’ and actually doing the right thing? I can only deduce being three months further down a long, dark, 8-year-old spiral, with our best hope being an administration that would have some grasp on the concepts of ‘responsibility’ and ‘accountability’. And on this rainy spring day in April 2009, my world outlook, professional prospects, and 401k would be facing future that was very different.
Have I consumed too much Kool Aid? I am a blind to the fact that the monumental spending government spending occurring right now is going to fuck us and our children over for years to come? I guess only time will tell. But I look outside my window, and even though it’s gray and pouring outside, it definitely is a different season. How fucken cool is that?
Maybe it’s because I just got back from Brazil, or maybe it’s because I am in total denial that it’s 32 degrees F outside my window in Brooklyn, but I am gagging to see this. It’s a new doc, brought to you by Wesley Pentz (Diplo) about the music scene that’s been bubbling out of Rio de Janeiro’s favelas. Yes, please! If anyone would like to fly me to Austin tonight, or even better JFK to GRU, please contact me immediately. Muito obrigado. Tchau!
During his time at Arsenal, Julio earned the unfortunate nickname “Craptista”. I, on the other hand, will remember him as “The Beast”.
The world instantly became cooler last Novermber 5.