Read my lips - No New Donuts

• “And so, my fellow Americans, ask not what your donut can do for you; ask what you can do for your donut.”
• “Donut is the foundation of most governments.”
• “I will never relent in defending Donuts - whatever it takes.”
• “Few donuts have virtue to withstand the highest bidder.”
• “A people free to choose will always choose donuts.”
• “I am not a donut.”
• “I tried donuts once. I did not inhale.”
• “I want to make myself very clear, I DID NOT have relations with that donut, Ms. Sprinklewinsky”
• “Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new donut, conceived in Frosting, and dedicated to the proposition that all donuts are created Dunkin”.
• A man without a vote is man without donuts”

Andrew Wood, 1989.
Huge melon grab on the four foot quarter.

Todd Hinchman, 1989.
Straightup wallride in Indianapolis.

As great as this wallride is, I couldn’t keep my eyes off the deck art while processing the shot. Drawing on your griptape is a trend that, for the most part, ended with the 80s. However, through the wonders of modern technology we can obsess over Todd’s deepest teenage thoughts. His favorite bands (including our own, “Subject to Change”), girlfriend’s name, and even personal mantra are all on display for the world to see. Now, where are my paint pens…

Matt Gollnick, 1989.
A burst of flashes captures this layback on the indoor quarter.

I probably drew this in 1992, while a freshman in college.

Ian Davis, 1989.
An Adidas-centric 180 down one of the Osco ledges.

Andrew Wood, 1989.
Huge ollie grab to fakie on the mini quarter.

Here’s a quicky from the sketchbook. Poorly executed, but I like the late-80s’Madchester‘ clothing on the guy.

Ian Davis; 1989.
A evening slide into the void.

I love the Adidas, and I love the pants. If you remember what brand they are, let me know.

Todd Hinchman, 1989.
Bustin’ a rainy day manual under the covered walkways of CHS.

I really like this photo, not for its technical merit, but for all the old school primers it contains. The short nose. The Duckie hat. The Vision Street Wear shoes. The non-baggy pants. Literally classic!

And on an unrelated note, does Todd’s left hand look like a left foot to anyone else?

After looking at this sketch, I’m actually glad I can’t remember what it was all about. Teenage angst - you gotta love it!

And what’s with that extra joint in his right arm?

In a world where photoshopping is acceptable verb usage, transparent photography loses a little bit of its magic. Though I suppose it’s hard to look at some and not think it’s marginally cool.

It’s simple to do. First pick a decent subject - a refrigerator, car hood, computer case - then place your camera in a stationary position. A tripod works best. Then take two photos; one of your subject closed, and one with it open. Some simple layering in PhotoShop will complete the composite. Peek-a-boo!

Brian Barneclo, 1989.
You don’t see one of these in the wild very often; backside no-comply at Osco.

Here is the definition from Wikipedia:

The front foot slides off the side of the board. With the body weight on the back foot over the tail, the board ’snaps’ up and can be guided with the back leg/knee. To ride away the skater jumps with his/her front foot back on. The No-Comply was commonly used by street skaters in the mid to late 80’s, most commonly being done off parking blocks.

I remember drawing this in the early evening, waiting on a ride to a party. With awkward teenage energy I sketched this out in about 20 minutes, the whole time thinking of what lay ahead. But why Malcolm X, and why now? Maybe it was Black History Month in 1989, just as it is now. Maybe I had just seen Do The Right Thing. < --- Actually, it wasn’t out yet.

I really enjoy reading Chuck Klosterman books, if only because we are the same age and care about the same meaningless things. Reading “Killing Yourself to Live” was no exception. I appreciated that this book had more focus than has previous efforts, even if it’s Chuck’s version of focus.

I’m not even sure how to review a book that is so benign. It passed through me like one of the ghosts in Poltergeist, but without the bonus of a freaky little woman. It’s only been a few days, and I’m not sure if I even remember how it started. NYC? So, I thought I would break from my typical review format and offer up some unconnected thoughts about the book:

• Due to the slug of information about Chuck’s family and hometown, I couldn’t help be constantly reminded of my friend Alan. Chuck and Alan seem to be from the same bowl of soup, and have nearly identical parents, brothers, farms, interests, and eventual escapes from North Dakota. Alan didn’t get to write for Spin, but he was good people. I suspect that Chuck is good people too. This somehow makes me like Chuck’s book more.
• Everybody always comments about how the book is really about the three girls. No way - the book is really about Chuck. He could take out the parts about the girls, make the final stop in Cali, throw in a couple more “we are so going to party” stories, and readers wouldn’t even miss those girls.
• I have always loved the way loud music actually feels inside a car - I now have some further clarification on why that is.
• I would have liked the forgone California leg to have included a stay in the San Francisco room where Bradley Nowell overdosed on heroin. Sublime was unpolished for sure, but Bradley is as under-rated as Kurt is over-rated. I still think we lost more when he died, if only in potential - Cobain had given all he was going to give.
• I need to read the SPIN article. Was there actually a SPIN article? If so, it must have been published while I was between subscriptions. Come to think of it, I have a new sky miles subscription being processed right now. That seems about right.
• I have a new respect for all Tauntauns, two-a-days, hunting laws, and small aircraft.
• I want to go to that cornfield in Iowa where the music died. I can see me dragging my kids our there in ten years and making them listen to Don Mclean the whole time.

Kevin Powell, 1989.
Five-o to fakie in classic Converse.