Asian Man

Today I was having a little kick around on my skateboard. (just as an aside, I feel so utterly worthless and lame saying, or even typing the word 'skateboard', but I don't know how else to describe the object in question. 'Board' implies a level of familiarity that neither I nor my readers have with the thing, and with that out, that leaves no other option... I've taken to writing 'bateskoard' instead, because I figure if I'm going to be a try-hard loser, I might at least spoonerise) Shit ok, that was a long aside, let's start again... Today I was having a little kick around on my bateskoard in the parking lot of a bunch of council flats where I've taken to practising. It's quiet, usually pretty empty of cars, and there's no one around to watch me eat shit as I regularly do when I try to pull off a kickflip. (yet to land one) Anyway, so my bag was half-hidden behind one of the parked cars while I skated back and forth, ollieing over the crack in the smooth cement and then turning around to go again. It was warm but not hot. I was wearing the same t-shirt I am now – grey with a picture of a withered tree drawn on the front and 'RaymunDo 1108' signed at the bottom. Vintage.

I decided to take a sideways run-up and try an ollie up the kerb and onto the footpath that borders the carpark – the kerb isn't very high, but at this point I was still yet to land anything other than a regular flat ollie, so I wasn't sure how it was going to go. Anyway, cue the inspirational music maestro, because I did it – kicked up, jump, landed on the higher part of the kerb and kept rolling, maintaining my balance. Let the trumpets play!

I went back for another shot, just to prove to myself that it wasn't a fluke the first time – “I am the greatest bateskoarder the world has ever seen”, I thought to myself in a moment of self-indulgent weakness. Up again, landed again. This time though, I had an audience; a decrepit, old Asian man with a walking frame had stopped next to the part of the kerb I was jumping up and had decided to watch me. ME! He saw what I was doing, and saw that it was good! So I went back again, and again, and again, I landed four of those jump-up-the-kerb-trickydoos in a row. It felt good. Something about the whole situation felt kind of off though. While I knew that I liked the appreciation of this near-invalid who, let's be fair, was probably just happy to be watching anything other than rent collection happen in his tired little corner of the world, it felt awkward to be examined so intently. He just stood there and watched, smiling at me and nodding each time I completed my little trick. I felt inadequate – I knew that there was nothing else I could offer him, I had no other tricks up my sleeve; no more songs in my repertoire. Every time I paced back to jump up the kerb another time I felt like I owed him something more for his continued interest, but there was nothing else to give.

Eventually, after like, I dunno, let's say three minutes? After about three minutes I jumped back on my board, went over to the other side of the parking lot and grabbed my bag from behind the car where I'd put it before. I had a few sips of water, then walked over the metal grate at the entrance to the car park and started skating away down the street. I waved goodbye to the frail old man who had been my number one fan for the afternoon and turned down another side street, then another, finally making my way to Aldi to buy some milk, razors, cheese, onions, lettuce. The story trails off here, and there's no moral... probably because for a moral to be found, there has to be some sort of challenge to be overcome. This afternoon was nice, and that man was even nicer. I hope he comes out again one time, but maybe not for a few weeks so I can hopefully have something new to show him next time. I'll start working on my handstand I guess.

Peace, Taco.

Bad Post Turned Worse

I feel like my room is this cocoon; I'm going to be in here for a while. I know that I have entered a stage in my life that will be full of frenzied, hurried activity – but activity that is unseen and unheard of. This room inside my house in Richmond acts like a kind of incubator – a place where I can go and mill about on my own, doing whatever it is that I need to do on this day and that night. I just need to make sure that I maintain focussed, so that I don't fall into the tempting routine of doing nothing. I know that everything I need to get where I want to with comedy and writing is here now, I don't need to go anywhere or have any experiences for a while, I just need to sit and work. To steel my mind and practice my craft.

Interestingly enough folks – and as a bit of a side-note – as I was writing that last paragraph, I realized that I won't much like this piece of writing when I'm finished. About halfway through that third sentence there, it dawned on me that what I was writing was complete wank... I managed to pull it back a little there at the end, after realizing that the words being tapped onto the page were boring and pre-emptively self-congratulatory (oooooooooh look! Hyphens!) but I pushed on didn't I? Because that's just what you have to do sometimes. Sometimes, you have to admit that what you are doing is shit. You put it up on your blog, and leave it there for someone to possibly find one day when you're rich and famous and everyone thinks you're brilliant, so that the intrepid fan who has managed to dig it up can go, “OOOH LOOKIT EVERYONE, DIDN'T HAVE HAVE A HARD TIME OF IT WHEN HE WAS YOUNGER... LEARNIN' ABOUT WRITIN' AND ALL THAT”.

Ok... now I can see this post is in some serious trouble.

I imagined that last quote to be spoken in an English accent – I don't know what type of English accent, because I don't know the names for them all... but some English accent, figure it out for yourselves.

I think I'm going to stop... now... not before any damage has been done – read that second paragraph again, this thing is a god damn train wreck. But at least before I take up any more of your time, patient, persistent reader. Thank you for coming on that journey with me. If you're reading this any time longer than a few months after it was posted, then can you please tell me, because I'd love to know what reason you could possibly have for digging so far into my history and finding this five-hundred-word turd on a page...

Oh, and if I'm famous and have heaps of money and everything, then congratulate me on that too.

Peace, Taco.