Dairy Queen abuse.
How to banquet.
In the ether.
Friday, May 26, 2006
This is my old skateboard. Well, a picture google found for me of my old deck anyway.
Once upon a time, my mom took me to a skateshop and let me pick out my very own board. I dunno why I picked this one. Maybe because the deck was a bit wider than the others at the time, and I thought it would be easier to learn on.
It wasn't that easy to learn. Thank goodness for wrist guards is all I have to say, or I probably wouldn't be able to type this today.
Somehow, a girl on a skateboard was like a porchlight and all the little skater moths from a mile around came to check out the oddity. We made good friends, and they showed me some fun spots to skate in the city.
Lacking a Y chromosome was the only thing that kept me interesting. Really. I was terrible. At first, they got a kick out of trying to teach me stuff, but after a while they got kinda bored with my ineptitude.
We were still friends, but no tears were shed when I sold my "oldschool" deck to a collector a couple of years later. Apparently I'd been skating on something vintage the whole time and didn't even know it.
I miss my old ghost. Its top was covered in black griptape, and it had rails on the bottom. I say "had" because, after I endured relentless mockery and still didn't remove them, another skater finally took matters into his own hands. How could two little plastic rails be so offensive?
posted by hilary at 9:06 AM |
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