Zito Duetch, R.I.P. brother

My old heavy influence, Ken "Zito" Deutsch just past away from complications with a bad ticker. Zito more likely than not went out face down between two hookers with a plate of coke. He ran the skateboard park Z.T. Maximus in Cambridge, MA for the longest time. He was a living legend, hellion, good friend and absolute fucking ruler.
Boston can be kinda uptight, and Cambridge is the snooty blue nose side of Boston to the fullest. One corner of Cambridge, however, is seedy, predominantly black and littered with rusty hulks or former car chassis. Between Food Town and the Cambridge pool was a narrow alley, Ringe Ave. It offered few attractions other than great weed, no hassles and Alladdin's Chop shop. I learned more about real life smoking joint in a van outside Maximus that 6 years of college and 10 years on the make. The black folks I used to fear from living in a cocoon of Wonder Bread suburbia revealed themselves all to be people, much nicer and more open minded than my parents. I left my lights on one time and this huge hulking mechanic with skin as dark as night came over and reached in my car, popped the hood and jumped it for me. Zito cut a deal with the city cops that they would give this zone a wide berth, but that he would give every kid from the 3 nearby Towers projects access to the park everyday after school, for free. At first I thought he was nuts, but he was a visionary. So many talented kids got started on four wheels at that park, and I remember the huge box of part the suburbanite kids would throw away, and the ghetto kids would try to assemble skateboards out of them. Zito was the best. I was 17 years old and realized that a lot of what I had "learned" wasn't true.
Zito bent more than a few rules and could always be counted on for a cold beer, fat spliff or a thorough taunting when I got lazy skateboarding. He raced shifter carts the way most people breathe: non stop, day and night, second nature. His kingdom might not have ever been featured in a video game, and his impact will never be measure with the latest metrics, but thousands of kids rolled through his skateboard park exposed to something so intense that it burned indelibly in all of us: balls to the wall passion for what you dig. We'll all miss you Zito, but I'm sure you'll already have a spot at the bar staked out down in hell when we join you. "Fuck, I wanna live where it's hot!" Thanks for being so cool, all the time, everytime.

Dog days

I seriously thought my brain was going to melt itself yesterday. I've been having a "bad spell" for a bit, pushing away from friends and family, tailspinning. The lone beer in my fridge isn't going to help, but the two bottles of wine just might. I'm losing my fucking mind, caught in an unmedicated bi-polar tailspin that continues to become more severe with each episode. Do I rise to the challenge and dent my skull from the inside out with the a small caliber projectile? I know now that isn't the way to go, but yesterday it seemed logical, natural, easy. That is fucked up.
So now I'm going to have to deal with some serious shit, see a shrink and check into a mental institution of sorts. I'm not sure if the Dr. Feelgood industry is going to be any help, but I'm willing to walk that path in hopes of finding a solution.
I can't stop eating, but I can't taste food. I can't stop crying, but I'm not really sad. I can't find peace, and yet I have absolutely nothing to fucking do right now except job hunt. I used to wish for a month off so I could "do that thing" and build some amazing totem to illustrate how awesome I am. I built a shed.
I'm glad the blackness has passed but I recognize there is a problem. They say insanity is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result.
I sneak a peek into the backyard and watch my 11 month old dog furiously digging a huge pile with both paws rapid firing dirt out of the growing hole. She is so amped, so singular in purpose and so focused that I don't have it in my to derail her efforts. A few seconds later she sees me, nose and paws dirty with guilt and sticky clay. She slinks down low into the hole hoping I won't notice the gigantic patch of lawn missing, or the dog hunkered down in it. I smile for the first time in a while and it feels good.

Stevens Pass Day 3: $1.60

I must have eaten something aggro last night because I work up at 4:30 a.m. with a mean case of the tummy rumbles. I'm a voracious eater that suffers brutal aftermath. I'm not sure which part of the garlic and oil cheese pizza caused the rumbling, but I decided my best strategy would be to give my stomach a catalyst to purge these aromatic demons from my digestive tract. I fired up a pot of coffee and waited for about five minutes.
Despite grossing myself out, I was stoked that I could head to the mountain with my latest sharting episode behind me. With the fan humming on hi and my girlfriend providing me with the cursory "EEWWWWWW!" as she headed in, I figured today would pretty alright.
But after taking a few runs on the mountain my cell phone blew up with the familiar number of my former employer. That brief spark, the faint glimmer of hope was bright for an instant, then faded. Sheryl Olson informed me that Community Transit had denied my request to be reinstated, and that my former boss had seriously considered it but that it wouldn't work out.
I'll admit that I wasn't having all that much fun at my job before I was fired, but I still think I'm the best Outreach person in the bunch. I'm bummed out. I fucked up. I've certainly lost my mind a little bit. Oh well.
I played polite and nice and thanked Sheryl for her help. I guess if Community Transit doesn't want me as a part of their family, so be it. I think it's funny that we paint this "agency" picture of togetherness until something difficult comes up. Then it all weird, secretive and hush hush.
I wonder if they had sent out an email that said "Gormley fucked up again. He's fired!" would there have been more discussion, a champion for my cause? It seems consensus is the new best way to manage. Never mind cutting edge, leading edge or risk. We're gonna market by committee and proxy!
Someone said a camel is a horse that is designed by committee. Very apt, indeed.
I miss the paycheck and friends I had from my old job.
I don't miss power stuggles, fear, bullshit or posturing. I also don't miss being polite over being direct, enabling underachievement nor celebrating token milestones in the name of Unity.
Good luck with Swift, Social Media and other neat stuff. Call me if you change your mind... I'll be the weird guy with the beard snowboarding every day.
Oh yeah, I spent $1.60 at the ski area today. Rain in the forecast.

Stevens Pass: Day two

I rallied again to Stevens Pass today. No new snow but they were running the 7th Heaven Chairlift and we scored some dope freshies. While I headed up the mountain with Alex Shults, we had a bit of a debate regarding "free passes." I'm of the opinion that this gravy train could stop anytime, so I try to keep it real. NawhaImean? Anyhow, Shults feels the fucking world owes him something. I disagree.
So I rode a bunch and when the pow was blown out we headed on a short hike to secret location X. This was awesome. Now I have a motorcycle in my living room again. Why, you might ask? I say, why not!

Opening Day at Stevens Pass 2009

Opening day at Stevens Pass was fucking epic. I needed a day of schralp to get my head straight. Nose diving into a foot of new snow always helped me rattle my self back to normal. Funny how losing my balance riding helps me find it in other aspects of my life... I'm heading up tomorrow as well seeing as how I have secured a season pass in exchange for writing some nice things about the mountain and documenting the season with megapixels. I would like to try and ride 100 days this winter. If I'm not gonna have a job, I might as well have some fun.

The criteria:
Ride 100 days. Spend less than $5.00 a day at the mountain (preferably $0.00). Take photos (at least 4 for the web) each time I'm on the hill. Write 50 to 100 words for each day I'm at Stevens Pass. Network and job hunt honestly so I'm not a total shit pile. We'll see how it goes.

Sammy Sosa lightens things up a bit...

Who cares? White folks are always darkening their skin to look darker during the summer season. What gives? Better still, who gives a hoot?

No organics for me.

I just found out I didn't get the job as an organic farm marketing guy. Bummer.

Clarity, charity, doom and gloom?

All I can do right now it hunt, peck, tap keys and attach resumes... I know what I want to do, but I wish it wasn't so untimely. Regrettably, I had plans. I'm bummed on one front, but incredibly liberated on the other. If it wasn't for the dire need for little green pieces of paper to pay for things, items and tasks, I'd be all set. I'm pretty cheap, so I can stretch my reserves, but Ditech, P.U.D. and C.O.B.R.A. have demands on my resources.
It's bleak out there right now. Despite being educated, healthy and white, I can't lock up a gig for the life of me. Six weeks of happy hunting and I'm on a few short lists. While the clock is ticking, I can't help but agonize over having blown a good gig. The money and benefits were fantastic, but the bullshit was uber deep. After having lunch with a former colleague today I realize even more the depth of my mistake. What type of asshole gets fired during a depression? This asshole.
I'm not getting married anytime soon. The plan for kids is put on the back burner. I'm trying to move forward, but feel railroaded, for sure.
Any way you slice it, I fucked up. That is the deal. The ball is in my court.

Fired? That's tired...

A month ago I got the axe rather unceremoniously from my former employer. While I do miss the money, I'm looking ahead to a new chapter in my life. The good state of Washington has seen fit to allocate me a modest sum each week while I find my new career... Between hunting for gigs I have been spinning wrenches, rebuilding a 1974 Kawasaki S3 400 triple. If you don't know what that is, don't worry. Most motorcycle shops are scratching their heads too. I blew it up and needed parts and this is where the story starts.
There are two types of engines: four stroke and two stroke. Two stroke motors are very powerful when you tune them correctly. My bike is a 3 cylinder two stroke, which means it is very loud, and very fickle. After I rebuilt the motor with new pistons, rings, and cylinders, I started to break the motor in and hunt down some good carburettor settings.
Long story short, I blew the fucking thing up again! I'm bummed, because finding precision parts for 1970's era motorbikes is getting tougher by the minute. It is a cool bike and enjoy having it in the collection, but I'm teetering on the brink of parting the whole thing out on Ebay.
That would be like quitting, however. I'm much better at getting fired than quitting, so I'll continue the hunt for a middle cylinder, .020 overbore piston and piston rings. If you know anyone with some parts, shoot me an email, will ya?

Good for the geese...

Countdown to SWIFT!

I'm learning how to embed a slide show. Check it out.

Okay, so I need to learn how to upload a presentation to a blog. I think this might work. Comment if you read it and it looks okay. Part of an ORCA strategery...

Amazing Pictures Part 2.

View more presentations from Roelof Van den berg.

Smells like dudes in here...

I have some friends crashing at my house for ten days. They are a crew from Eastern Boarder that I used to work with. This is the third year for this crew, and it is killer getting to hang, skate and snowboard with old friends.

My girlfriend was slightly less than stoked (what else is new) about the arrangement but didn't really kick up too much of a fuss. After she met the crew and talked with them all, she pretty much fell into line and proceeded to knock back a margarita with the boys... As luck would have it, she then appointed herself team chef and then whipped up some top notch home made mac-n-cheese.

Despite the antics of Alexei and Steve, despite the chain smoking of Jay and Steve, and despite the vomiting of Steve (theme...), she has taken it all in stride. It feels great to share this visit with my better half. It felt like she didn't really take too much of an interest in where I'm from and who my friends are. I appreciate the effort on her part, and now she's excited to get stoned this weekend...

The crew tackled the jumble of pots, pans and dishes. The board bags are neatly stacked and they're calling the strip club the "interpretive dance studio..." out of respect to Aleta. It is all pretty funny how they tune up their shenanigans when she is around.

She grabbed my coffee cup this morning before we headed to work and sat down in the breakfast nook. Six pairs of boots and six pairs of gloves were all jockeying for the best drying position against the electric heater. She sniffed the air and crinkled her nose a bit.

"It smells like dudes in here..."