skateboarding and love songs

the summer between 11th and 12th grade from Jordan Bee on Vimeo.

Since skateboarding is such a personal symbol and joy and freedom, it makes me sad that this video also of the first time I got dumped. Well, sort of. I had a crush on a girl. And like anyone should do to show their strong feelings, I made her a tape of all my best skateboard footage to the soundtrack of my favorite song (Neutral Milk Hotel - "Naomi"). We hung out for a month and then that was it - she cut it off when school started back up. So I did what anyone suburban kid should do to cope, and got my mom to get me an 8-track recorder and wrote a bunch of sad, sappy acoustic guitar songs.

I thought I only made one copy of this and gave it to her (you know, so it's extra special). But apparently I knew that was a dumb idea and secretly made a copy and hid it somewhere because I found it when I was moving to San Francisco. I can look back now and cringe at my bad style and butt sweat, but I know that it would take me forever to land a lot of those tricks today.

So the moral of the story is: beazies got snakes for brains.

I invented a game that I only play when I drink. I don't really recommend it. It is called...

RACE AGAINST TIME

When I am peeing, I try and realize that perfect moment to flush so that the water will begin it's rise just after I am done peeing. Then I can just walk away with no slightly yellowed water. Unfortunately, I am not very good at this game and it usually becomes me flushing as soon as I start peeing and then panicking... then accepting defeat.

Adrienne bought me a bottle of Chimay Grand Reserve. As a result, our toilet water is green (she upper-decked it with blue cleaner stuff).

On an unrelated note, Pat Wall visited me this weekend, and it was one of my favorite weekends since moving here.

There is something irreplaceable about the comforts of home that can only be enhanced in new surroundings. I have done a bit of traveling with Pat (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GSsJnmkFm4w) and some of the best times I have had are with him in various parts of the U.S. (unfortunately the two of us more-or-less spooning in the back of my Honda Element in Lexington, Kentucky to an audience of a family of four staring into my car window in a Holiday Inn parking lot is undocumented). This made my new home that may never feel as home-like as Columbia feel a little more comfortable, and I am so happy that he was here... and I encourage any potential S.F. visitors to come say hello.

HOODSTOCK 2009

a brief history my personal experiences with live comedy

Guess what... I went to my third live stand up comedy act tonight.

The first was a battle of the comics at USC. All I remember is laughing at Rusty's jokes a lot, but also feeling awkward during the jokes that I found humorous but were a little too much for the general public.

The second was the free Zach Galafanakis show at USC. I felt like that was more uncomfortable than Rusty's self depricating homoeroticism. He made a lot of date rape jokes and screamed at drunk girls. Funny/frightening. But more funny.

Tonight, I went and saw David Cross. He was really amazing, but it got frustrating having to sit with a crowd of dumb hecklers.

Little personal back story: I HATE IT when people yell stupid shit during someones performance. I saw Modest Mouse in 2003 in Athens and I left with a sour taste in my mouth. Not only because the bartender shoved me down (I had a broken ankle and was on crutches). But because these drunk dudes shouted "COWBOY DAN!" in between every song. In my mind I thought, "let Modest Mouse play what they are going to play. If they play Cowboy Dan, be stoked. If they don't, enjoy it because they (at that point in time) have approximately 8 albums worth of material to play songs from and the majority of it is quality stuff."

During David Cross's routine, people just shouted things at him. "NEVER NUDE!" "PUSSY DOODLES!" "SQUAGLES!" Not even in between bits, but mid-sentence. He maintained composure and brushed it off, but you could see his frustration. Finally, towards the end of his routine, he looked out and said, "Wow. I can't believe I missed doing this. I haven't toured in over 5 years and couldn't remember why..." He went on a little tangent about how he isn't Journey, but wished he was, so he could tour the world non-stop and play the same ten songs and be a billionaire without ever having to work towards doing anything new. He said something to the effect of: "Have you guys ever heard my standup? Did you just expect me to come up here and do an hour of Tobias?"

Whatever. Idiot crowd aside, David Cross's stand up was hilarious and I had a great time. I'll stop typing now. More pictures from now on. Less words. The end.

Stoked.

Hoodstock last Saturday in West Oakland. Ninjasonik killed it. Cadillac rooftops became dancefloors.

Claire sent me all of "69 Love Songs" by the Magnetic Fields.

Pat Wall is here to visit until Sunday morning.

Just bought tickets to go see David Cross on Saturday.

Monotonix onight night at the Independent.

Everything keeps getting better.

Photo shoots are a lot of fun, but really silly.

Friday night, I was asked to take some promo photos for an artist called Wallpaper who is M.C.-ing an event for a wonderful company called Mr Roboto Presents .

I am sort of bummed because the solo shots were "just okay" in comparison to the others featuring two beautiful ladies. The images weren't tasteless or trashy, but nonetheless I was asked to keep them off the internet out of respect for the women. I am not one to step on any toes, so off the internet they will stay. But keep your eyes peeled for one of those photos being dazzled up in flyer form for Mr Roboto Presents' legendary Halloween party.

We visited the home of our deceased King of Pop. It was sad. Flowers, laminated letters hanging from his mailbox, and a curb covered in wax from all the melted down candles. These were two of the posters kids had made for him and left by the curb.

They closed the bay bridge over labor day weekend, beginning on Thursday evening. I work off of the bridge, so I had an access pass to get to and from Treasure Island (which carries you over the scenic part). Friday night when I left work, there was only a single lane open and not any cars in sight... except for the huge van right behind me keeping me from pulling over. I told myself I would get back from Los Angeles in time to pull over into the blocked off area and see the sunset behind the skyline, Alcatraz, and the Golden Gate bridge - it seemed like a rare opportunity. Then, I heard on the radio that the bridge would be closed until Wednesday morning, so I went home to relax after my exhausting weekend instead of hurrying myself to the other end of the city. When I pulled onto the freeway this morning on the way to work, I saw a sign that said, "Bay Bridge Now Open!" Apparently they hurried through the night and got everything in working order.

The only documentation I have of the bridge being closed is a photograph through the windshield on Friday. Yet another lesson in never passing on opportunity.

I am ashamed that I am incapable of doing something without developing the slightest expectations. Friday night I was leaving for Los Angeles for the first time and expected to hate it. And had circumstances been different, maybe I would have. But everything was perfect and I fell in love with yet another city on the west coast.

Went to LACMA and saw some amazing work. Original Warhol prints, a really awesome elevator shaft done by Barbara Kruger, a crazy intricate sculpture of a busted up apartment building by Do Ho Suh... but what blew me away was the work of John Baldessari. This guy is up to some good.

Last night I had what was essentially a borrowed dream that fortunately incorporated the rightful owner. I sold almost everything I own, bought a beige 1983 Cadillac El Dorado and began what was sure to be a destinationless adventure throughout North and South America with Heather Parsons.

Though the adventures were only beginning when I woke up, it was still a great dream and a much needed improvement from the night prior. Two nights ago I dreamed that I applied to be a nanny, and the parents of the child sent me a small box filled with seamen and broken glass and a note that read, "Dear hippy faggot." Brutal.

This is the welcoming committee at the Tennessee Grill. Instead of actually being in Tennessee, it is a few blocks from my apartment. But I am pretty sure it is authentic Tennessee cuisine (salad bar, eggs, hashbrowns, toast, etc).