When in doubt…

You can usually tell when I don’t have a lot of time to devote to updates. Old pics fron the 80’s should be the tip off. About once a year our family would visit my grandparents in Florida, usually around spring break time. These pics were taken in Clearwater in the mid to late 80’s, by my mother or possibly my sister. Enlarged with fashion commentary after the jump.

This one is the earliest, I believe. Here I am, bored out of my skull popping 180 ollies in the streets of the retirement community that my grandparents had just moved too. Check out the pink Hosoi deck, complete with copers and a tail block. WTF? At least the trucks are Indy. I colored them red with a permanent marker. Look closely and you’ll see a neo-devil lock on my mutated, almost mullet-like flat top that can only be described as a front-tail. One time I went to a barber who refused to cut my hair when I asked for a flat top with the front a little longer. He said he was a barber and not a stylist. I think he didn’t like me. Notice that my Converse Chuck Taylors are white with elaborate hand drawn paisleys. I’m also sporting cut out nylon surf-ish shorts. Anything to look like I didn’t live in the Midwest. Little did I know that those things were for kooks in California.

I must have spilled something on this print at some point. My parents thought it was so good they had it blown up to 16×20 size as a surprise, which was kind of weird and embarrassing. I already had a poster of Steve Cabellero in my room, and it just seemed wrong. I hung up the shot of myself briefly before becoming too self conscious. Hey baby. Come check out my room. Yeah, that’s me on that poster on my wall. I am happening.

This shot below is probably a year or two later. I think I’m riding a Bill Danforth Alva tri-tail. No embarrassing fashions this time, with the exception of fingerless gloves and whatever colored trucks I was riding. I think these might have been a brief foray into Tracker Ultralights, the ones with the nylon baseplates. Uggh. Then there’s the neon green grip tape. And why aren’t I grinding the top lip of bricks? Weak. That reminds me. Some kid later snuck into my house and stole that red Thrasher shirt along with a ton of other skate clothes. When I figured out who it was and put the word out, he later snuck back in, returned about half of it, and left a poorly written apology note. I still have it somewhere. This spot was at a community college or some other municipal-type location. Completely not a bust on a Saturday.