Rad Burger
West 49
Why is the new West 49 spot I just saw on Showcase Action (soon to be re-christened just “ACTION” on Aug 31st – stay tuned!!!) full of BAILS? Do they not get it at all? If I wanted to watch skaters, wakeboarders, and surfers kack again and again I’d spend my days drinking in sports bars. More often. And is Garret Morris drunk in that Nintendo DS ad on the plane? They’ve shown that one twice so far during Beverly Hills Cop. Fitting. Think about it, any old-timers out there. SNL?
Stay lame, ’49!
The Beach
The Ashbridge’s Bay skatepark is barely finished, and there are kids ‘skating’ it… but what’s there amounts to a few flat sections of smooth new ‘crete. No banks, no tranny – yet. They haven’t even started on the pool, which is what I want to say I’ll be pretending to skate. I’m goddamn 37 next month! The hills of the Beach are suiting me fine – upper Glen Manor north of Queen East is a beauty. The A-Bay park is balls.
Hot Blooded
1. Check it.
2. See.
Brollers, how did y’all like this heat wave? The roads are wet and brown, the air is weird and mild, and that down jacket is moving down the line on the row of hooks. What are YOU gonna do with this year of skating? I’m gonna build a board, start wearing a helmet more, and R&R slide the pocket at the Hoof. But basically, I’m going to get annoying and gay out all over the place for skateboards because that’s my right. It lifts my life up and you know what I mean.
Right ON, Chris!!!!!
I Was In A Bar
And saw a show that seemed to be about snowboarding on Fuel TV, carried by TSN.
Flip you, Fuel TV. And flake off, TSN.
Will roadgoggles, barscarves, confetticoats, and himp-honkberry peace the 5000 out please?
Cal Saltwater,
Expert
Holy Shirt!
Have you doodz gripped your Traz 13th shirt yet? This will be the new Have You Seen Him.
Don’t miss out.
Here’s The Thing About THAT..
There were surfable waves at The Beach last night in four spots. There was a consistently breaking 4 foot peak at the foot of Lee. Very cold and very dark. Don’t tell ANYBODY. Especially those KiteBlazers or WakeGliders or ParaShooters or BirdRacers or whatever they want to be called in the magazines. My advice to all you skateboarders and surfers out there – never get into a conversation with one of these dudes at the beach on a windy day. Just walk away. And never buy skateboard items from a shop that has mannequins, energy bars, or at least one staff member that has a lighter on their person at all times. Did anyone check out the ALL 80S ALL DAY footage? Quicksilver put on a street and vert comp. Highlights are huge. Tony Hawk’s lapper, Hosoi’s long wig, Cab’s suspenders, Reatugui’s vert wall R&R… but where was Lance? Shoot.
http://www.shredordie.com/videos/f701f3ac24/all-80s-all-day-vert-challenge-jam-session-and-high-air-from-all80salldayvertchallenge
An HE Could Back It Up.
Why didn’t anyone tell me Alex Olson was on Vans now? Or that Alex Knost (whom I consider a bro because I totally has a few beers with him at The Horseshoe (NOT Horseshoe, where all the ‘Trazzers and Alcaloids are getting on their get on at this very moment) goes by Al now? My ace boon coon Al also put a photo of mine on his band’s MySpace, so , … you know. And there are only like four photos. First day on the hill! Enjoy it, everyone. I’ll spare you ol’ Burgertime’s tales of HIS first day on the hill from seasons past. Well, there was that time, first day on an unwaxed Sims Switchblade (covered in Sessions stickers – and let it be known that back then you could only get them over the phone from their shop in Sunnyvale, CA. It really tested one’s own commitment to looking like a Grass Valley slabber from the pages of ISM.) It took me ALL DAY to get from the top of Chair four, now called Catskinner to lot 2, now called totally vanished. There were FEET of fresh and I was hearing hiking boots and a Descente stretch pants.
Are y’all checking out Powder & Rails on VBS? DO it. It’s no Later’d or even Hi Shred but it’s nice. But before all you patterned scarf and red shades-wearing Kirby locs find your messiah in Damian, remember (or realize) that the dude wore hard boots. Chris Roach and Mike Ranquet were your men. Mountain Men. Damian’s a Mall Man. I was once at The Crocodile Cafe in during Seattle Supercross circa ’96 seeing Mudhoney and I saw Mike Ranquet there. I was like; “Hey, holy s#!t, that’s Mike Ranquet.” I never met Chris Roach. That is all. Remember the hard boots thing. It’s relevant. And let me say this… as much as it may be sport to clown Ross Regbagliati and consider him to be a racer goon, I was once riding the Sunrise chair up Cypress and that dude pulled the biggest, smoothest, scariest, boned-out backside grasser over and off the massive under-chair ridge (very hard to turn this feature into a real jump: tough, bumpy approach, steep, mogul-y landing and NO sightlines). He pinned it and stuck it. It was Rad. It was huge. Yeah, Ross.
Ticklefront.
I used to be a PA in film and I once worked on a Nickleback video. No one knew who they were at that point; all I was told was that they were a “band from Vancouver”. Stoked! My homeboys!
Videos were always a nightmare for a PA- notoriously long hours, disorganized, egos, no shot list, entourages with absurd bottled water needs, the like. But, I was homesick and looking forward to talking to some dudes from BC about BC and the BC of it all, not to mention BC and the BC factor when BCing some BC. With or without the option of additional BC. This, unfortunately, isn’t how it went down.
These fellows are from a place called Hannah, AB… and were presumably by then tired of being asked about Vancouver, where they were UNOFFICIALLY from. I guess they relocated there to make their run at stardom (along the way naming their record company “604 records”… the equivalent of a bunch of guys from Thunder Bay coming to TDot to record their demo and changing their name to Honest Ed.) but might not have taken to the place, I dunno. The place probably didn’t take to them.
Anyway, they were like, “Grblbgblhhh! Raaaah whatever!! Get me this and this and this and that SUCKS!!” Yep. Clowns. Anyhoo, they lost some equipment in the AC baggage shuffle and had to source out some last minute guitar replacements. Alas, NOTHING for rent in the village of Toronto satisfied Chad Kroeger.
Finally, my good pal Gladstone, a fellow dirt-poor PA, offered up his own cherry Les Paul – his pride and joy and a hell of a nice electricity geete, to boot. It was a black reissue ’58 with an after-market Strat pickup (three in total) and primo gold hardware. Glads wired and soldered the thing himself. And this was no Epiphone, (Jay.)
Chad begrudgingly approved and used the borrowed wood for his gruffy and extreme rawk pantomime. By this point, I wasn’t surprised one iota by the sounds accompanying their pained grimacing and tender/tough growlerwauling. So, at the close, once the young and unfortunate director had completely had enough of Chad bitching about the panning camera catching his profile (that nose… a soft spot) and the walls being too flat and the lights being too bright and the raisins being too cold, the shoot wrapped. Keep in mind that this was LONG before they had become famous. Let it be said that they were ready to act famous.
Chad then theatrically DROPPED Gladstone’s beloved, expensive, hard-earned guitar on which he recorded and performed his OWN music and called it a “piece of sh*t”. Keep in mind that this is a music video shoot, not a gig.
Thankfully, Jeremy was on the road in a cube van returning giant rental fans or refused vintage t-shirt options at the time, so he didn’t see it. He likely would have been moved to do something horrible and violent to “The Kroeg” and may have ended up in jail, and we would have been denied a plethora of ‘tough teardrops’ movie tracks. But this ‘berta Treat remained un-battered. To rawk another day.
So, in summation: Chad Kroeger is a kook. And I’m gonna tell him exactly that when I meet him in rehab. Then I’m gonna tell him I’d love to direct his band’s next video. Or his next Carlos collab.
Never forget it’s all about connections, Burglers.
SO, when you see the video for “Leader Of Men”, know that those fat and nasty bright yellow cords the guitars and bass use are hollow surgical tube spray-painted by the props department. No juice runnin through them sh*ts whatsoever. Nor could there ever have been.
Just sayin’.
Dig It, Kooks.They’re finally playing trucks and tractors in the mess of dust that is allegedly to be the mighty Ashbridges Bay Skatepark, Toronto, Canada. BUT, the bowl is part of stage two, which will likely launch around the time they finish the improvements to the Sea-To-Sky. We’ve already got The Hoof, The Poop Chute, Bushwood, Cum Dumpster, and East Joke… what should this sooper park be handled? The Brown Pearl? The Be-otches? Danger Bay? Let me know at calsaltwater@gmail.com.
Another One Finds The Dust
Rene Johnston is going to start skateboarding again. Right in the middle of golf ‘season’ (he’d argue that golf season is actually called “whatever year it happens to be at that moment”). Watch for The Hoof garbage bin to top up on Warsteiner tall tins by the end of the month. His enthusiasm was missed, his park policing remembered, his stink-bug below-coping FS airs… well. HELMET!
Stack Attack
Ol’ Saltwater thought it would be a marvelous idea to drink two bottles of wine and a few tall-boys at dinner then hit the streets on Malibu, the newest addition to the Burger Bag. This thing is fast… you have no hope of even turning this springy, beastly weapon until you hit about 15 knots. Hambly Ave in the Beach is a hell of a little road – mellow decline, nice and long, one way northbound. It spits out onto Queen East… streetcar tracks, wandering yuppies with ice cream cones, cretinous drivers looking for a shortcut up to the Danforth… ick. Late at night, it’s Beach teens in their parent’s Audis or Scarborough transients screaming home from boozy picnics at Woodbine Beach. Anyhoo, I was pushing this mammoth peice of timber in the dark, nearing max velocity, when I felt (too drunk dark to see… that’s my excuse) the gravel. Little angry rocks. Who did this? I was just attempting to wheel ‘er back in from a seriously deep, long, sharp and Rad Matt Archbold frontside gouge when my scene went pear-shaped, and quick. Wham! A thunderous but essentially incident-free tumble, and it was over… maybe 20 feet from where it all began. There were some teens emerging from one of the nice houses to starboard, and I heard their voices in the dark: “You alright, Man?”I wanted to reply: “What do you little jerks mean? Get back inside.” But I replied, in a voice so weakened, so gentle, so lacking in force and breath, and so very old:“Yep. Yep. Thanks.”A week off the sticks, until I can bend my right knee again. I’m showing off the road rash, though. It’s like a ketchup chip!
Wallie! Or Is It Wollie?
Ol’ Saltwater approves so very fully of the new Jae clip. Jeff Kendal would be stoked. Who else did those consarned thangs? They always scraped the radial skin area on your front knee. I guess the move is to keep the walls short – below hip level. Let’s see… Natas, Tommy G… Ken McGuire. But Ken McGuire; who the hell cares about his red shirt-wearing ass? Not me, Son, and mos def not y’alls. That’s one right there for all you Buttery Ass Mondays heads, for real. But for the record, (and there IS a record) I think it’s mad dull and crazy annoying. Discuss – Don’t Hate.
Footy!
Kook.
Life’s A Beach!
Oh, nice. Gone forever. I hope all my Burglers out there photocopied, dictated, monumented and laminated my lacklustre ramblings following my Mexico trip, because all that stuff is Ghandi. My fault. But I’m ready to start fressssssshhhhhh if y’all are. Let’s see… what’s in the news? Blade and I live in the Beach now. Hot stuff. Still no word on the Ashbridges Bay bowl, so we’re all basically giving up hope. We still have the Hoof, which will stand as Ontario’s Raddest bowl another day. Saw three kids skating flat, kick-less longboards in circles in the hocky rink, which is floored over for lacrosse now. It was a beautiful sight. Looked like two of the Florence boys and their sister. Their Dad was taking photos. The dads at the jr. lacrosse game the day before were losing their minds and yelling. At least I hope that dude taking photos was their Dad… Good night hill-bombing sesh with Chico and his new Surf Rider. He wiped out and hurt his knee. I didn’t wipe out and I blew the minds of the kids smoking heaters at the bus stop with my signature tuck move: the “Crawdad”. I think I heard one of them say, “Dora Lives”. I also am sure I heard another one of them say, “Too old, too slow.” I watched Repo Man the next day and it made everything alright. Also in dog news, Archie learned to swim yesterday. Tiger Woods, Archie, Kobe… all had a big day Sunday. Whoop!
La Cucaracha
Tomorrow at 4 bells Blade and I are taking off to Mexico to Get Rad and delete Toronto for ten days. I hope to come back stupider, fatter, browner, more dots and creases, and only to be able to answer to “Taco Pete”. I want all you Burglers to continue to Touch Gold, ‘Traz Out, Hit Loops, Implode Awesome, and Chrome Down each and every kind of available Fool Plans, Thrill Yawns and Honk-Bonkery. Keep Newman company in the meantime – he’s grand people and won’t steer you wrong. I’m leaving this on…
In Other Words.
I began today’s post with a story about a Nickleback video I worked on in ’98 that was about lame things that weren’t as funny as I thought they might be and would make me seem like a righteous hater and petty beanbag. I got sidetracked for the first time ever (recommended!) and caught this episode of Lasagna Cat. I know a sign when one’s lobbed my way, and felt much better about sharing this with the world instead of the proof I carry that Chad Kroeger’s a bigger tosspot that you even thought. And, you indeed thought he was, Burglers. Get down!
It’s Coming.
This winter in Ontario has been Hella Gnarls or Way Choking or Totes Burl or Buck’s Fizz or Owner Of A Lonely Heart or whatever you wish to call it. But snow is nice. And it’s not hard to have fun with, even if you’re just whipping iceballs at filthy cube vans. Seasons changing is Rad, and winter is Rad. But Spring is… holy crow I just got a jolt thinking about it. We’ll all be there together, suntans and skinned knees, three-pint buzzes and empty pockets. Striding out the door to skate in a t-shirt, forgoing socks until late October, quitting your job, chasing that special someone around the season’s new crop of boozecans, and popping it down into third for a while. I’m going to put my Rat Bones on my Thruster, flip my hat bill up, (snapping the threading at the sides, natch), eat a Big Turk, and goddammit I’ll be collecting high-fives. So have two ready for me when I turn your life around with Rad.
About that.
But Kids, for reals. Your look is a far-too important part of the quest to build and rock your own unique identity. Do visit the dynamite and astounding ‘Traz Online Shop for the raddest and baddest in BeerGoggles, BarScarves, and StreetFlair available outside the Former Soviet Union today. Wussup Jay!
Snowboarding.
I know that we’re all really proud to be snowboarders but does Dave Hackett have a skate key hanging around his neck? Take your damned goggles off at the bar. Come on, you’re a Sporting Life mannequin at that point. In the Kootenays, Selkirks, Cascades, and Rockies the dude in the Steve Carrell haircut, nylon Lotto 6/49 track jacket, and wet runners was straight-lining icy rock gardens that are too dangerous to even look down back when you were still snipping the fingers off your Mum’s gardening gloves. At least that’s what I was doing back then. For Breakin’.
Bob.
Yesterday I was at The Rebel House on Yonge catching up with an old pal and his insane Dad. This is a good place – they have a ripping Bison burger. Get on it. Anyhoo, I met this friend of Paddy’s (the crazed older dude) who goes by the name “Burger Bob”. The reason for this is that he is a Chef and one of these grill wizards that can make burgers that are worth a thousand dollars because they’re so delicious. Veyron burgers. Burgers that Dustin Hoffman gets to eat. Get this – he converted a giant, thousand-pound ship’s boiler into a grill that he can do a beef side on. He welded wheels onto the thing and tows it all over North America doing demos, cooking for special people and kicking the sh*t out of people in competitions. Just sayin.
J-Dogg OUT.
. Jeff Healey passed on. Here’s why you shouldn’t be too cool to care. This Motherf***er plain kicked ass. Didn’t like “Angel Eyes”? Yawn. Not important. Jeff was a fret-melting outlaw that overcame a pail-load of setbacks to do what he loved, WELL. Not only did he sing, play, and compose music at an incredibly high caliber, he was a sweetheart of a man as well. A Gentleman. He owned so many vintage jazz 78s that he had to liquidate them constantly. At Monster on Yonge he had a bin of about 10,000 rare sides that could be yours for pennies a platter. Jeff played trumpet and clarinet as well. And hosted a rare jazz radio show for years. How did that go? How did he catalogue his vinyl? Brail. Jeff never stopped doing what he loved and bringing the evil to people who were on side. I saw him last summer at his namesake bar, shredding the FAWK out of the place… busting strings, whipping sweat, and throwing the most excellent vibes available in Toronto today to everyone lucky enough to see this old school killer get right the f**k down. He was in the midst of hella hizzeavy brutality in the way of Big “C” Cancer treatment at the time, and dropped a splash of light -hearted insight into the deal. Then rocked like a madman at the crossroads. Here’s the dude that could sizzle out a solo that would make Prince fling his panties at the stage, then a moment later, tell you who played fourth cornet on the first RCA/Victor recording made by Jack Teagarden. Jeff ruled it. He was also all class. And the only man Patrick Swayze was afraid to punch. He was rad. Recognize.
I used to be a PA in film and I once worked on a Nickleback video. No one knew who they were at that point; all I was told was that they were a “band from Vancouver”. Stoked! My homeboys!
Videos were always a nightmare for a PA- notoriously long hours, disorganized, egos, no shot list, entourages with absurd bottled water needs, the like. But, I was homesick and looking forward to talking to some dudes from BC about BC and the BC of it all, not to mention BC and the BC factor when BCing some BC. With or without the option of additional BC. This, unfortunately, isn’t how it went down.
These fellows are from a place called Hannah, AB… and were presumably by then tired of being asked about Vancouver, where they were UNOFFICIALLY from. I guess they relocated there to make their run at stardom (along the way naming their record company “604 records”… the equivalent of a bunch of guys from Thunder Bay coming to TDot to record their demo and changing their name to Honest Ed.) but might not have taken to the place, I dunno. The place probably didn’t take to them.
Anyway, they were like, “Grblbgblhhh! Raaaah whatever!! Get me this and this and this and that SUCKS!!” Yep. Clowns. Anyhoo, they lost some equipment in the AC baggage shuffle and had to source out some last minute guitar replacements. Alas, NOTHING for rent in the village of Toronto satisfied Chad Kroeger.
Finally, my good pal Gladstone, a fellow dirt-poor PA, offered up his own cherry Les Paul – his pride and joy and a hell of a nice electricity geete, to boot. It was a black reissue ’58 with an after-market Strat pickup (three in total) and primo gold hardware. Glads wired and soldered the thing himself. And this was no Epiphone, (Jay.)
Chad begrudgingly approved and used the borrowed wood for his gruffy and extreme rawk pantomime. By this point, I wasn’t surprised one iota by the sounds accompanying their pained grimacing and tender/tough growlerwauling. So, at the close, once the young and unfortunate director had completely had enough of Chad bitching about the panning camera catching his profile (that nose… a soft spot) and the walls being too flat and the lights being too bright and the raisins being too cold, the shoot wrapped. Keep in mind that this was LONG before they had become famous. Let it be said that they were ready to act famous.
Chad then theatrically DROPPED Gladstone’s beloved, expensive, hard-earned guitar on which he recorded and performed his OWN music and called it a “piece of sh*t”. Keep in mind that this is a music video shoot, not a gig.
Thankfully, Jeremy was on the road in a cube van returning giant rental fans or refused vintage t-shirt options at the time, so he didn’t see it. He likely would have been moved to do something horrible and violent to “The Kroeg” and may have ended up in jail, and we would have been denied a plethora of ‘tough teardrops’ movie tracks. But this ‘berta Treat remained un-battered. To rawk another day.
So, in summation: Chad Kroeger is a kook. And I’m gonna tell him exactly that when I meet him in rehab. Then I’m gonna tell him I’d love to direct his band’s next video. Or his next Carlos collab.
Never forget it’s all about connections, Burglers.
SO, when you see the video for “Leader Of Men”, know that those fat and nasty bright yellow cords the guitars and bass use are hollow surgical tube spray-painted by the props department. No juice runnin through them sh*ts whatsoever. Nor could there ever have been.
Just sayin’.
