ngc

ngc

Friday, October 29, 2010



I remember meeting Ol Dirty in 97. I was in line for a ride at Busch Gardens in Tampa. Just shuffling my feet forward with the rest of the herd, waiting to ride the roller coaster. Who do I come face to face with? Ol Dirty Bastard.

"Whut's up?" he said.

"Whuttup?" I greeted.

It was like we already knew each other from somewhere.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

NIKE SB Demo, from last fall

NIKE SB demo @ MIA Skatepark from steve paul on Vimeo.

Macing

I met Ozzy at the Coral Gables curb cut, in 1993. He was filming us skate when a territorial yuppie started a fight with Jamie and one of us proceeded to mace him in his eyeballs. This sent the yuppie to his knees, clawing his eyes out, and our crew scrambling to get out of the Gables. Ozzy caught the whole thing on videotape with an old school VHS jumbo apparatus. To this day, nobody knows what happened to that tape, and the City of Coral Gables removed one of the greatest curb cuts of all time.
http://www.milestactical.com/images/pepperspray/asp/demo.jpg

Skateparks in Miami

Miami @ 3a.m.


“What the fuck’s his deal?” I asked myself while catching my breath.

The breeze hit my face and arms and my feet vibrated as I rolled across the ground, eyes stinging from the sweat.

Mist clouds slithered around neon-lit buildings, up alleys, and out onto Biscayne Blvd., as fog filled the city. I know Downtown Miami at 3:00 a.m. isn’t the friendliest place. I grew up skating DTM.

I wasn’t out to bother anyone though, just skating the marble planters at Bayside, high off shrooms and Cuban Coffee.

My blurry, nearsighted, vision spotted a silhouette lurking. He was in the darkness, under the trees, and headed straight ahead of me, toward the marble planter I was skating.

As he came into the light by the planter, he made a ninety-degree turn straight at me, and I saw he had the hood to his windbreaker pulled tight around his face. He was tall, wearing aviator shades and boots, and I could see the white hair of his goatee. He looked like an artist’s rendition of the Unabomber, and he looked like he wanted to fight.
http://hacks.mit.edu/Hacks/by_year/1996/unabomber/unabomber-fbi.gifIt was possible that I disturbed his nighttime serenade of exhaust fumes, horn honks, people-mover trams, and hard blowing wind. I was skating a marble planter, by the fountain. 100 yards from Biscayne Blvd. I wasn’t even swearing.

And fuck it if I was, does he have more of a right to the park?

I wanted to skate, not watch my back.

As he approached, I picked up my board, ready to smash the tail into his face.

Thursday, October 21, 2010

Tales of an Unsponsored Amateur, chapter one


I snatched the revolver from the holster and stared at it. The blue glow from the television reflected off the barrel. Six Hydra-Shoks sat patiently in the cylinder while the cherry wood grips sat comfortably in my hand. Slid the holster on my belt, grabbed my brown handkerchief, locked up the apartment and headed back out on the Ave.

No skateboard for this one…


The mission started a half-hour ago, my black Thrasher hoodie kept me warm as I rolled towards Red Square.

I pushed hard with my left foot and put it back on the tail. That’s when I spotted Tatiana out of the corner of my eye.

The petite teenage junkie with bleached hair and too much black mascara. She was sitting next to Lenny in a metal bus stop shelter. He was old, like upper forties.

“Fuckin weirdos,” I said to myself and smiled.

I turned back down the hill towards my apartment, skating through Seattle’s University District with my hood up and going unnoticed.

She bragged to me once about how hard she was, Lenny being too much of a pussy to sell his own dope.

“He just buys it and bags it up. I’m the one who bangs it out on the Ave,” Tatiana had said as she loaded a rig and injected the filthy looking substance into her young vein.

Lenny fronted her work; crystal meth. They packaged quarter grams of the orange colored powder in little envelopes made from pages of a porno magazine. She banged it out all night, he returned in the early morning to collect his money and break her off.

I skated through the Dollar Store parking lot and into the rear alley of my apartment on Brooklyn Ave. My feet vibrated on my board as I rolled over the pavement.

The iron mesh door at the rear entrance squeeled on its hinges and slammed shut behind me as I entered the moldy concrete staircase and ran up to the third floor. Brightness had blinded me as I entered the hallway and twisted the key in the doorknob to my studio apartment.

I laid my board against the wall and locked the door. A futon, a television, a boombox, and a bong sat on the hardwood floor. I looked at my bong, crafted in the shape of the grim reaper, and felt a craving for a hit. No time.

The pitchfork veins in my forehead bulged as I changed from my black hoodie into the grey one. Kicked off my Lakais and put on my boots, lacing them tight. I reached under my pillow and felt the grip.

I got the Ruger .357 with a ziplock bag full of Hydra-Shok hollowpoints for $150. Bought it off an Army brat who’d burglarized his parent’s house for a fix.

My leg brushed against my skateboard as I headed out the door. I heard wheels spinning on Swiss bearings. I left through the back and made my way up the hill through the labyrinth of buildings, alleys, and streets.

I came out the alley onto 45th St. and saw the bus stop bench where Tatiana had been earlier. Empty. I continued.

It was easy to blend in. There were lots of freaks walking around the U.D. that night.

Tatiana was in front of the arcade drinking a Colt 45 and talking with some Vietnamese gang bangers. I posted up at a game called Operation Wolf and inserted a couple quarters.

After a few games, Tatiana breezed past me on her way to the ladies room. The shadow of the arcades rear hallway hid me as I pulled the handkerchief out and tied it around the lower half of my face. I looked like a train robber.

My left hand pushed open the door to the ladies room as my right hand slid the Ruger out from behind my hip. I stepped in.

Her feet were visible in the stall. I let her finish. I heard the toilet flush and the plastic latch unlocked. I stepped towards her with the gun to her face. Her nostril flared as I stuffed the barrel into her septum. She didn’t even breathe. I reached down the front of her pants and snatched the pack.

I was caught by surprise. Instead of porno paper triangles it was cream-colored rocks.

I herded her with the gun to sit back down on the toilet.

Backed out, flicked the light switch off and left.

This was way better than being a busboy.

Side Streets

Wednesday, October 20, 2010

Art Film Enthusiasts at Cosford Cinema

Interview with Convicted Robber of a Subway Sandwich Shop!

Cold Cut is serving a three year sentence for robbing Subway.

How old are you, dawg?
I’m twenty three.

Where are you from, originally?
San Diego area, Valley Center. A town north of San Diego.

What was it like there?
I grew up with really rich, preppy people. The whole town was Mormon, pretty much. The girls were slutty and the parties were wild.

Why’d you leave?
Everyone I knew left to go to college, so I was left there by myself. I had to start my new life. It was time to start a new adventure.

What was your plan?
My plan is to go to New York City. I plan to become rich and wealthy.

How will you acquire your fortune?
I want to become a world renown hit man- no- assassin.

What made you decide that you wanted to be an assassin?
Okay…I figured up all the thoughts in my head, and for me, that seems like the best thing to do.

Why would it be the best thing for you?
Because most people are scared to do the things that need to get done in the world. I’m not scared, because my mission on this planet is to create world peace. There’s so many things that need to be dealt with that can’t be overlooked anymore.

Why an assassin though?
Assassin not always meaning killing, but if necessary then yes.

What do you perceive about that type of lifestyle appeals to you?
Me eliminating problems that hold back the future. Also, having money to have nice things like clothes, cars, women, and friends.

Elaborate on that, if you will?
Louis Vitton clothes, tailor made pinstripe suits, silk clothes, all types of silk stuff, silk underwear, silk sheets. I’m gonna get my dog a suit. Cars, nice cars, and motorcycles. Ducattis, Oprillas, houses, guns, and houseboats.

The finer things in life?
Yes, exactly.

So how are you gonna get started?
First, I’m gonna talk to some people. I’ll convince them of a plan.

What people?
People who are interested in creating world peace by eliminating hardship, violence, and hurtfulness.

But how are you going to achieve world peace when you yourself utilize violence?
First off, I’m gonna find all the people who don’t want to cooperate. Then I’m gonna negotiate with them. I’m gonna be a world renown peace maker.

I thought you were gonna be an assassin?
Assassin, in my view, doesn’t necessarily mean killing. It means taking them out of their lives, and trying to change them before it’s too late.

How are you gonna get rich doing that?
By people who are interested in funding me. Cause if I succeed, we won’t need money. I’m just this little guy on this big planet that’s gonna become the future.

Have you ever ate acid?
Never.

Mushrooms?
Twice…three times maybe.

How are you gonna get people to fund you? They’re supposed to just give you money?
Yeah, kinda just like that. Anyone who has money to blow.

I thought you were going to perform hits for the mafia?
Yes, that also. That’s how I will get my spending money. To start out.

How will that work?
When I do my hits, they will put half the money in a Subway bag with a sandwich, a drink, chips, and a cookie. Then when I have completed the job, they will put the other half in the same fashion.

How will you perform the hits?
Silenced PPK. I will shoot them one time directly in the forehead. After they fall on the ground, I will put silver dollars on their eyes.

What is the significance of that?
To pay the doorman to take their body and soul to wherever they go. Like in Boondock Saints.

How did you acquire the name “Cold Cut”?
My first felony offense was for robbin Subway.

Could you elaborate on that please?
I robbed Subway with my little dog, Scrappy.

What did you get?
Two trash bags full of food-meats, bread, cheese, chips, and a soda.

Is that why you’re gonna have the mob guys put the money in a Subway combo?
Yes, for shits and giggles.

What kind of a combo will it be?
Cold cut trio with everything on it.

Lets say one of the people you have to hit has a gun and starts shooting at you. Then what?
The bullets won’t harm me because I’ll be covered in armor. From head to toe.

What if they shot you in your face?
Then I’m hit, huh huh…I’d take one for my cause.

So why N.Y.? Why not L.A., Miami, or Chicago?
I’m gonna start in N.Y. Once I’m known, then I go worldwide. It’s what I think is best for the future. I’m not bringin God into the situation cause Gads fine with me. I know he wants to change up the planet, that’s why he sent Jesus.

Okay,dude……..Whats your next tattoo gonna be?
Some HR Giger shit. Like aliens, predators, and machines. He had this one that’s like badass. Supreme being that’s like hooked up to a machine.


What is your plan for when you get released from prison?
To get started. Get my capital to get what I need to start my…uh….I call it my business. For my plan. To get followers. So we can save the world. Save it from God. I’m not kidding. Talking is worthless, but I have to talk about it to get interest from people that see my point of view.   


How do you feel about good luck charms?
I don’t really believe in luck. I’d wear a cross. I just know that I can do whatever I want to. The only thing holding me back is myself.

What kind of cigarettes are you going to smoke when you do a hit?
Oh, Lucky Strike no filters.(Cold Cut rolls a cigarette in bible paper as he answers)

Tell me about the fight you got into during the shakedown?
Okay, there was this smaller white gentleman and he got offended by me. Cause he wasn’t having a good day, so he started punching me. I put up my hands and laughed at him, and that’s when he got even more upset. And he strangled me. They took us to seg.

What about the chick you want to take back to Cali?
If I was to meet one, then I’d take her back to my house. To my home. And take care of her. Only if she liked me and was interested.

What kind of place do you have? And what is she going to do there?
I have a trailer house…a mobile home. She would grow my weed and have her own garden. She would do whatever she wanted to.

Would she have to clean?
Not really, only if she wanted to.

Would she know what you did for a living? How would you explain your lavish lifestyle of motorcycles, houseboats, silk underwear, and the mobile home?
I would own a couple of Subways. That, and I would also be a day trader.

What are the first steps for when you get released?
I’m gonna start working for people who need jobs handled. Dealt with. Like someone that owes somebody money and they’re not payin. All I have to do is, like, go to drug dealers houses. I’ll ask em if anyone needs to be taken out or anything.

Then what?
Then if they say yes, then I’ll do the job.

What if they want to pay you in dope?
That would be okay.

How much crack would you charge for a hit?
Quarter ounce..no…quarter pound.

Then what? Then you have to sell the crack?
Yeah. Then I’ll get professional weapons. Silencers, PPK’s, ninja stars, daggers, and blowguns.

You’re going to use blowguns for your jobs?
Yeah, deadly poisons. You can get tranquilizer darts and fill em with deadly shit, then, “pfft”, hit em in the neck or sumthin.

Have you thought about a cash only policy, maybe perhaps? That way you wouldn’t have to waste your time selling crack.
Cash only, yeah. But if I can’t get cash, then drugs.

What if you end up smoking all the drugs before you sell them?
I won’t.

How are you going to get your first gun, when you get out?
Rob a pawnshop. I’m gonna be like, “hey, can I see this gun?”, make sure everythings intact. Then I’m gonna run out the door with it.

What if he locks the door electronically?
Shit, then I’m loading and shooting.

You don’t think that the pawn shop owner has a gun?
Aw, fuck. He probably does. Then I guess I’m screwed. I forgot though, I already have a gun at my house. A Colt .45.

How are you going to prevent getting captured in such a dangerous business?
I’ll have disguises. Wigs and makeup and shit.

What kind of wigs?
Curly hair wigs, long hair wigs, dread wigs, and a bald cap.

What are you doing during your present incarceration, in preparation for your upcoming career?
Push ups, sit ups, bench press, run like two miles on the track. I don’t need any more head knowledge, I’m already smart enough.

Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Educational Background

As my knee exploded, I thought life had flushed down the toilet.

I had paid blood dues before.
Broken wrist back in Rochester.
Fractured jaw in Brickell.
Snapped ankle in the Grove.

I guess the Grove hadn’t finished collecting its tab.
I saw my right leg and cringed.
My knee was bent ninety degrees sideways towards my other leg.
I tried to push it back where it was supposed to be.
It was stuck bent.

Beads of sweat oozed from my pores and dropped into a crack in the black asphalt.
Unable to straighten my leg, I crawled.
Haran picked up my board. I clawed to the truck.
I climbed into the passenger side. The freshly blown-out ACL and torn meniscus sent me someplace where all you feel is injury.

The image kept replaying.
Landing only to see my knee buckle
It played over and over.
Main Highway didn’t give a fuck.
Banyan roots made bumps in the road. I could smell Poinciana berries as we drove.
We rounded the corner onto Douglas Rd.

Haran helped me get inside and onto the couch.
What I’d done this time was damage,
It kept playing. On a loop.

I didn’t give a fuck.
I needed to worry about walking.

After a few days I could limp.
If I straightened my leg, it buckled.
If I bent my knee, it got stuck.
When I unbent my knee, it grinded then snapped.

I was lucky to still be covered under my mom’s health plan.
Replaced my ACL with an Achilles tendon from a cadaver.
Allograft. I puked Sour Patch Kids on my surgeon, but he was cool about it.

“If you do the rehab correctly, your knee’ll be stronger after the injury than before it,” Dr. Blythe said.