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ME on "adult swim"

tomorrow. as in this sunday evening, im gonna be in some idiotic skit that cartoon network filmed with my homies from the "TIM AND ERIC AWESOME SHOW great job" on adult swim at the cartoon network. watch it.

swimmmmmmming w/ sharques'

poool partay!
standard downtown fun fun fun ! im djing at 3:00

vice mag party this tuesday

i'm taking the week off of needles & pins to do magic and pool and the 45 other trade-shows that wont stop spreading like a virus. this tuesday in las vegas. ill be DJing the the vice magazine party early part of the night and then running out back to see my homies the Japanese motors rock the stage. beauty-bar freemont street vegas baby.

moustache of the week!

by Lawrence Melilli

find out how you can own all four (why would you want to own 4 skateboards?) at bonza.com

big pushing

so, the big push is basically the UK's answer to 'king of the road' and DEATH (skateboards) HAS ALWAYS RULED THE UK in every way shape and form. ckick on this link and vote for my favorite skateboard company to win this year's big push again...... http://www.
documentskateboard.
com/the-big-push-2008/vote/


http://www. documentskateboard. com/the-big-push-2008/vote/

barcelona is fucking hott

ive gotten really skilled at jumping turnstyles and hopping over barriers in the subway, i have yet to pay for a single train ride yet.(and dont think that its not trains all day ) .... thinking that ill have a board in one hand and always some type of drink in the other, crippled, hand its not the easiest thing to do, this criminal act.....
the love of life has been bestowed upon me in the faction of a clean change of clothes and a shower. ahhh. its the little things,. . so today lost itself in my energy expences and the sunshine beating down on my red face. sweat bathing me in my own filth. skating falling into the dirt collecting allover my body, allover my wet saturated clothes down my asscrack, filth and sand in mt hair, or what of it is left. i try this full speed 20 push trick about 40 times in the sun until the gates of heaven open up and i pull it. breathing 30 sighs of relief that was the entirety of the energy i had for today. fatigue overcame , doubled with a full stomace, more falafel, and it was a night on the sly. some american kids were psyched to spot me alone in the street and wanted me to get in teh bar with them. i cant be bothered, ive gotta get all the rest of my baggage over to featch's "girl"-friend's house, im once again taking up residence next to the cavern of audio offense, the phenomenon known as his snore. i had 5 games of chess with a frenchman in mt everest today, we were equally matched, and it was the 2nd time i felt supreme joy in the last 3 days. i was psyched upon stealing that book and reading it right away too.

all tonight's parties

post:war:trader

Post War Trade is the Democratic Future of Merchandising. Brought to you by, my friends, The Dresden Dolls and the one and only Katie Kay.

Post-War Trade is a unique merchandising concept using the talent of fans and artists the world over. From toothbrushes to pillowcases, coats to ukuleles, Post-War Trade is the modern answer to band merchandising. Every item is designed and handmade by a talented artist, who shares in the profits from their sale. This creative model supports the designers and creators that help make Punk Cabaret a reality and insures that The Dresden Dolls can offer merch as unique as their music.

i have designed and been painting my own contribution to this PWT collective its a ukulele (like the one that steve martin plays in "the jerk").... check it, (www.postwartrade.com) and tell your girlfriend to buy you one for your birthday.

tribulations of a spanish malcontent

the last 2 days have seen the ups and downs of society in my life. since the 2 hours of writing that got erased off of my laptop, ive been abandoned by this swede, luckily i had no bags stored at his place. the dude was being sketchy all day and then after we had the usual roaming of the streets all night long , he decides to tell me that i 'cant stay at his pad anymore'. there is some confusion with his roomates and maybe there is somebody's stepmother that is coming in to town, so no melch. i was pissed. ''you have to wait till 5 am to tell me this, youve known all day and NOW is when you decise to tell me this, you prick''. so here i am.. 5 am and out on the streets. this is where and when i started to get the blues. luckily i hooked up with a couple of british guys who have a house way outside the city and offered up a space on the floor. this , since i didnt know these dudes at all, they just happened to be out on one of the 30 man sessions of the skatefest, turned out to be a bit wierd to me. although to them, im sure that this was just a normal night, they were already on coke and arguing about the best and or worst way to get home. this train ride lasted an hour and was , what i thought was a nightmare, but i soon found out what nightmare status really was. up up up three of spain's most unforgiving hills, only to arrive at mt everest part II. I've finally arrived at the solace i much needed, the place where i was promised sleepdowns, floor, meant a spot on the balcony where , as it was already nearing seven o clock, i had no chance of escaping the summer heat, 'no shade?' i asked , as the amphetamine ridden brits went on and on for 2 more hours , mumbling in a language something akin to hobbit talk. ugh, i just want a couple hours sleep . nevertheless, on the hot solid ground i slept, thankfully the sun receded behind the roof at 10 and i found a couple of hours of actual. ahhh. "id love to hang out", i said upon waking, but ive got to meet the t west for an adventure of epic proportions. the morning and thereafter started looking up. we trekked out to some park where there were trails and caverns and a bunch of religeous bullshit and a palace that overlooked the rest of the city. it was damn beautiful. although we climed mountains and scaled rock faces alll day i thought it'd be a treat to walk all the way back into town. it was fucking far, but i wanted to make myself as tired as possible, so that if i happened to be stranded out on the street tonight, id be sure to actually sleep it out. stopped into a bookstore and stole the new chuck phalanuck 'snuff' . everywhere here has security guards here, which makes theiving fun. sat at the contemporary art museum and had a read down before foraging on to find out about that airplane ticket mumbojumbo, gotta go home sometime. also it gives me a concrete deadline to film skateboarding tricks, instead of this lazy, we'll do it later , way of skating. i hadnt filmed one thing yet and ive been here a whole week. that changed today when i dropped the bomb that im leaving in 4 days so..... we went to this sick spot and both featch and i filmed eachother in a old oversaturated spot with new eyeopening tricks. exactly what i needed. i think it'll be on the up and up from here.

castle night

i never know what adventure is about to greet me around the next corner.... last night i bellowed out the statement at the top of my lungs "we are the lords of all creation!" and meant it. shortly after i heard from the midst 'this is the best day of my life!" in reply....with a view of the entire city we swam and frollicked and trecked onward. i didnt believe t-west when he said there is a castle just a bit farther up the path.... you have no idea..... we sat cradled in the busom of a 300 year old relic, a fucking CASTLE! and watched the sun rise, before lightning speed down-hills found me to my own bed in my own room for the early part of the day and on and on and on.

the reign in spain...

sorry, but this is the abridged version of my epic yesterday as it is too fucking hot and my patience for writing is thin as butcher sliced roastbeef. skated all fucking day. no really ... skated all fucking day. my legs are molasses and my eyes are bloodshot like the crackwhores of santamonica. we watched, when i say we , i mean every skater in the eastern hemisphere, it seems like there are never less than 30 kids out on a session at a time, we watched some euro try his trick for (no joke) two entire fucking hours while sitting in the broil section of the meter on the oven that is this southern europe. passing a bullfight arena im sure that i was the only one who had the thought , well, there is where they gorge innocent animals for sport in the name of enetrtainment. featch has indeed shacked up and found himself a semi-perminant residence, some lovely boy-girl. he is set with a place to stay nonetheless. i however, will change residences again tomorrow. joaquin, the swede im stayng with, is off to germany, and the spot that i may possibly stay opens up on wed, the dudes here are getting off to london. you just have to wait here and a bed will free up somewhere i guess, since skateboarding is the ultimate bro-community every skater in the world is looking for a couch in this oven and im just a pea in a pod. after the session in which i got a sequence for some french mag, we skated all over the world again untill i found myself in the middle of water.. the sun ebbed away to a shower of light in my life. the colleseum after the arc de triumph has a laser lightshow and we sat amidst the thousands of sweaty masses . we sat through 2 hours of spurts of water in a choregraphed show to the sounds of queen and your fave hollywood friendly classical songs, into a pinnicale of spanish pride.....freddy mercury;s 'barcelona' opera.(a fountain show is a poor-mans fireworks display, but here we are!) then up up up to this 2000 year old museum where we got on our boards and swooshed down hill on the most adiquate pavement that the gods had decided to throw down to us , for ten minutes at light speed i flew down past cars and peds into the front door of mt everest and out on more midnight skating ... out to the beach where there were lovers in arms at every turn and swooning in abbundance, stopping off where the brit im with (reese the piece) introduces me to' the manchester' an all english music themed bar, not a bad concept, with good music and ugly people. .. yes morte skating.... the spots tuly are endless. this city is a heaven of architecture and pavement. i cant walk. we meet up with 30 kids and i hop on a bike up top the t-west promised olympic pool. god damn this fucking cast on my hand! we are walking ... a thirty minute walk turnes into an hour thanks to drunkness of kids. i think featch is falling in love with a boy with yellowish hair . climb fences and behold... one two three olympic pools where they helt the 92 competitions. still heated but guess what... abandoned! of course. i float, hand above as i cheer on my comrades off of the 15 meter platform board, must feel like skydiving from that height. no cops no security... the worlds playground...

ASR san diego this SEPT

shine on, you crazy spaniards

starbucks here is double the price of any other of the cafe prices. i think that the city is in opposition to the big business tourist demons, but as i whine about it i realize that it is truly the only place you can get a 20 oz coffee. theyre telling me here that in paris there is no starbucks at all. in order to preserve the classic culture and not make the city the next bejing or new york. i believe it, even though i fully remember drinking it there, maybe memory has distorted, maybe ive been too many places and im attempting to use this addictive substance as a binding element to attain a sense of grounding. not a bad way of looking at it. you need a home even if its a scalding hot liquid served in a sippy cup. well, i knew it wouldnt take long, but last night featch and the featch australlian consortium premiered the video (transworld) at this skater-friendly bar which is on the same block as MT everest and the crowd went absolutely mad. absolutely. all was well until the featch part hit the screen, youve heard a similar roar in a matadorial bullfight perhaps, maybe a southern tractor pull. these onlookers were psyched. im assuming the feeling of elatiion out of his loins was triple that of any of the rest of us, . unfortunatly, ive also learned, the streets and bars are all run by some sort of spanish mafia and the owners and propirators were not thrilled. we didnt even get to finihsh his part before all the lights were on and everybody was shuffled out of the bar in haste. im not sure what why or wherefor, but this was about to get bad. seventy sweaty skaters and drunks spewed into the street after being stripped of their romantic accolades... alll of the street men who walk around sellling dollar beers were esctatic. their sales were about to skyrocket, there are opprotunists that feed off of the ignorance of tourists and are all run by some sort of sleasze-lord. the bar was up in arms and we all vacated to these houseparties, or so called houseparties , where two girls opened up their virtually vacant timeshare to the rest of the world. it seemed chill for about a half an hour until the owners got home. how could these chicks think it'd be a good idea to have the ebtire skateboarding populius of spain in their summer rental with the possibility of the owners dropping by? well ther stormed in and yelled a bunch of spanish. its great to actually BE truly ignorant, in lieu of what im used to, just playing ignorant. i have no idea what you're saying, so ill just leave. ive learned quick that the street-walking hookers of the world are really just pickpockets. ive done enough studying on the subject that im hyper-aware of anybody of unknown proportions attempting to give more than a handshake. these hookers are foreward, not to mention mostly all dudes with tits, they slide up aside you and feel you up in a mannor of grabing your piece or your ass and swiping whatever they can. no doubt many an idiot tourist boy has fallen victim and woke up the next morning to 'where's my wallet?" i lost my phone last night', or whatever. sneaky fucks. i almost just wanted to chill and watch them work, out of a sort of respect.

the new "I-SCOOT" (by macintosh)

beat that shadlambert!



in an effort to stay way ahead of the game i said 'fuck it' im not gonna live forever and since the i-phone 3G is already dated as hell, im just gonna go all out and get the new i-scoot. y'all fools have no idea how much texts this dawg can hold. and it dont even need recharging evs. all you gots to do is put this liquid in it couple times a week and youre way ahead of the game. it does better than talking on the phone (so 90's) and way better than even skype (bad resolution on those tv's anyway) you aint gonna believe what the I-SCOOT can do, man apple gone and outdid themselves this time. with the new I-SCOOT you actually get to get on and go to the person toy wantin' to be textin. instead of minicam talking back and forth, you are for real face to face, bam! and usually you get there faster than it'd take to upload a video feed too. damn, apple. on the mad forefront of technology... what they gonna come out with next?

senses overload (spanish streets)

The hillsides ring with “free the people” -
or can I hear the echo from the days of ’39
with trenches full of poets,
the ragged army, fixing bayonets to fight the other line?
Spanish bombs rock the province;
I’m hearing music from another time.
Spanish bombs on the Costa Brava;
I’m flying in on a DC-10 tonight.
-(mick jones, the clash)


this is , although ive said it before, an unbelievable paradise. the city goes on and on. with every block and around every corner there is just more and more and more. picture perfect, non confrontational, absolute ideal contitions. as if every time i step on the board im going downhill. smooth. the cast on my left hand is really taking a turn for the worse. i do not envy whomever has to sit on the left hand side of me on the sixteen hour plane ride home. with at least 2 more weeks of this sweaty stink-arm seeping into the ofactorial repugnantness. the hotter it stays here, the more unpleasant i must be to share an elevator with. im sure ill be chopping it off upon swift return. seeping oozing muck. dead flesh decaying into mold and mildew. a non stop sweatfest that nary a perfum can set asunder. skateboarding in the day means losing all of your bodys water content. im attempting to stay sunscreened, but the 2 fingered application of my shit-hand leaves my shoulder wanting. weak az. in this barren land of archetecture modern and classic. naarrow streets and bikelands for days, we can create our own adventure. as the sun beats down onto my scalp and shoulders there is a film constant of sweat. falling down or crashing brings the adoption of half of the road sticking to your body like a hitchiker in the pacific northwest. this evenings adventure will bring yet another temporary residence. adventure continues. skating out in the day also means , as we have to be courteous to our captors/(the ones who are kind enough to allow sleepdowns in their domosciles), there are never less than eight dudes rampaging the streets in our 'crew' . skateboarders are dogs , pack animals seeking out the next concourable endeavour. be it food, or obsticle. im over being one of many. i long for the individual smaller group . where you are ceneterd and focused and not waiting for billy to take a shit or bobby to get a drink. well im off. next time when i peel myself off of wherever i manage to lay it down for the night, we will see a hot morning.

night of the living spainards

on this morning im waking up to the featch mollesting my buttocs. in his drunken state , snoring like the lumberjacks of the high sierras, there is to be little sleep for me. he is in an understandable state of uncertainty and i am simply the body next to him that could provide solace. but no avail. i , all night long, am like a dog whith a bowl of food. simplest of animal instincts take over in a sem-concious state and the defense mechanism kicks in. i hope i didnt give him a black eye. as the night pressed on, i found myself on the street out below and amidst a sort of street gathering, which was none too different to a lake havasu spring break night on a new orleans type street. im assured that this is commonplace and , 'isint it great?' , indeed it is. i ventured out on a solo mission to find a coffe, im sure there is some great 24 hour cafe somewhere, why not - this is spain right? to be sure. street walking prostitutes, drug pushers and vagerants are all too polite to a man with a handlebar moustache, ive found. the women at the cafe took a glance and roused in uproarious laughter. they were thouroughlly amused at this classic image, a not too common one ive gathered. i was told of the swimming pool at the top of the street that the kids all go swim in between the hours of 4 and 6 am, while the security guards are on their spanish breaks. unfortunatly a southpaw melch will see no high-dives and backflips this night or any of these european august noche's . we've been informed that a change in temporary residences is at hand, due to the unexpected and untimley return of 'the piece's' roommate. today shall include the search for accomodations anew. simply different surroundings, hopefully not on the top of MT everest, where a drunken primate can snore into my ear all night long while i sweat to the spanish sunrise. ahh, i need a coffee.

spanish bombs

( the view from the top of mount everest)

in this euro trip- there are no guarantees only some life mysteries and a couple of skateboarding maneuvers thrown in for fun. okay, the tides have been ebbing and flowing in the harshest of conditions. first, im sitting in balls soup , as its so fucking hot that my fingertips are sweating as i type this. the getting out of the airport mission and finding accommodations was a penultimate breaking point, both physically and of the will. we traversed the spanish subway system with ease thanks to the heavenly train cars which are the only air-conditioned areas in this whole country. we lugged our bags from hostel to hostel until my fatigue crept into my personal active brain and i refused to go any farther. i pulled , what a GI would call, bodily refusal. i simply found the first piece of shade and laid down with my bags tied around my ankle, so as not to be stolen (thieves are as common here as hookers in vegas), i achieved a proper 15 minute nap. the only sleep that this body had seen since 2 nights ago in a tent in england (in the rain with dripping water torture on my person). i awoke to a sweaty featch tugging at me in an apologetic fashion, 'you look so peaceful, i didn't want to wake you' he informs me that we have made contact with tyrannosaurus west, our mate from oz (who will be , herein, referred to as t-west) a quick cab saw us dropped off in paradise. t-west lives on a jetty between a harbor and the beach, not A beach, ,, THE beach. although his place (a 3rd floor walkup) was too small, too hot , full, full, full of dudes traveling like us, it was exactly like a cliché spanish living situation. no obligations , not a care in the world, the dude lays in bed with his wife, whom he'd wed the night of our arrival. (im not kidding, he had gotten married hours earlier) and has the cool beach breeze blowing into his window where any time of any day he will gaze out to topless and bottomless tan masses all just steps from his front door. upon arrival i noticed that a full can of ''rockstar'' had exploded and emptied into my bag with all of my clothes. im fucked. all 7 of the dudes im with are went swimming in the Mediterranean and my cast wont allow. there is this bit of rock formation that is the cool-guy marker, you evidently swim out to this island and claim your stake in the world as an adventurer. the middle of the day is truly a non operational heat, but around 4 you can begin to live a life of splendor , if you stay in the shade. what rad foods i'll eat and lazy adventures to have. there are couples making out in the street on every corner. when i skate down the sidewalk, usually i really have to look out for tiny children, because nothing would feel worse that crippling a lil kid with my recklessness, but here i only worry about the couples who are embraced in wonderment and i make a greater point to avoid them. this place is no joke, as i type this, there is a man six stories down on the street singing and playing some sort of organ, he thinks this is 1925. what?... six floors,, yes, we've moved now, a new locale... as the day grew long, my eyelids had a weightlifting competition with each-other. but this is barcelona and i must explore. we, a crew of now fourteen, travelled around the city for hours and hours on skateboard, in the heat, nothing seems real at this point, akin to some sort of psychedelic trip. i start to see buildings moving in on each-other, this has become a test of will. how much do i live skateboarding? what ive heard over the years, barcelona is a skaters paradise, you'll love it, you gotta go, there's everything there. every word rings true. it's like they built this city to skate. there are no cops. the massive construction, a beautification of anthemic proportion, was constructed all over this land for the 1992 olympics and is now barren and vacant. we own the playground. every stadium, every piece of sculpture, every stone in every perfectly molded and crafted embankment. there is free reign. those chumps sitting in london and liverpool and glasgow trying to skate some wooden box in the cold and rain. all suckers! why a skater would not move here is beyond me. knowing that there are paridisos out there and refuse to better their situation. im only really musing on this because i was just in england for so long and have the handy comparison. we finally ended our city tour into an eat down, just me and featch at a falafel place where we were obliged to share our table with these two dudes who politely carried on our conversations about collective consciousness and the self and reality, they were buddhists or something and they invited us to the drum circle on the beach but , as i was in a total state of delirium , my animal state could only function on the idea of food and sleep. so we gathered our things from t-wests and met up with reese the piece, who is sharing his home. his home being the 6th floor walkup. it might as well have been the great pyramid of ghiza, for at the end of this day with all of my bags ascension was on par with... , say..., mt. everest. the bad news; there is no internet here, no phone either. ill have to trek out and find a cafe to mail this and then get on the purchase of my ticket home. im so dirty, sweat, beach, sunscreen, this cast, im burnt. this is truly a sort of paradise but somehow i still long for home. even in the wake of this spain, this babylon, this barcelona.

the leaving of liverpool

the end of the day

london calling

my london dongon will soon be a thing of memory. ive had plenty of time here . ive always said that spending over two weeks in one spot is risking the burden of familiarity. (what a nightmare) i was right. it seems that the people at the convienence store at the end of the road have come to expect my bi-daily visits. no matter - travel is emminent, the reality of spain is about to fruision and fold time and space into itself like a bad hand of blackjack. i only hope that my submissive southpaw retains its plattitude for the duration. featch, he is an enigma, skating one day and sleeping for three. the man has become bent on pursuing a life in reflection of salvador dali, one of madness, and uncertainty. if this continues, i wont be surprised to see him follow into the deep footsteps of his comrade and countryman t. west, and bed down a wife whilst in the medeteranian pleasantville known as espania. although weve been as fortunate as one ever could here, with the weather, it being sunfilled strawberry fields and london bridges (which are not, i am happy to report, falling down) capped with moonbeam kisses. today brings the rain, and in that, an indoor park session, blah. tomorrow, i ventire south, to a land of rising temperatures and less chlothing.