super fancy good

Wipe out.

I’m not really thinking when I walk out of Bauhaus, freshly caffeinated and full of bagel, and cross the street to catch the metro. It’s early, after all, and man is not meant to pay attention to his surroundings at such an early hour. So maybe I should have noticed the man beside me at the cross walk. And his skateboard.

Now, I don’t live on the Hill. I’m basically a tourist. I enjoy my semi-regular visits to the Honeyhole — I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the name — and often find myself adrift in a sea of hipsters drinking tallboys, but I don’t pretend to be an expert on the culture. For example, I had no idea they rode skateboards. I thought that was more for the U-District Ave Rat set. You learn something everyday.

So we cross the street: hipster skater dude first, then me right behind him. I am half-awake and enjoying the hypnosis brought on by YLNT, joined by one Mr. Hodgman and one Mr. Coulton. But in a moment of complete harmony with the world and my surroundings, I look up just in time to see our man throw his board down and launch off.

And completely wipe out.

I’ve seen videos. Mostly on YouTube, not as part of some true representation of skater culture, but I’ve witnessed the scale of epic defeat that skateboarders face every time they place their feet on a plank of wood. But I’ve never been present when someone completely destroys themselves in the really real world. I’ve never watched a man become a splatter of dashed dreams and stolen pride right in front of me.

I’m happy to report that I didn’t laugh at him. Instead of becoming a cynical bastard, my heart went out to him. I picked up his board and asked him if he was okay. He said he was, but we both knew better. 

Don’t give up, hipster skater dude. Get back on that board and keep gleaming the cube, or whatever the kids call it these days.

Vote. Just don't tell me about it.

My apathy level is at an all-time high right now — that’s how I know it’s Winter — but seriously. This circus we call American Politics is going to take a break soon, right? It’s all but killed my enthusiasm for my laughable-but-budding music writing career and made the unfortunate dayjob that much harder to stomach. If I get one more forwarded email about a funny political video or get stopped in the hall to listen to my co-workers complain about our executive staff’s Conservative bias, I’m going to endorse Senator Fuck You as a third party candidate.

No more debates, which were a terrible excuse for drinking and Twittering at a time when no one needs an excuse. No more inane stories about which candidate spends too much on wardrobe or which candidate is a terrorist. God willing, no more assassination attempts to foil.

Just get me to November 4th. Put me in a smelly elementary school cafeteria with a couple of old ladies that might have literally been daughters of the American Revolution running the front of the line. Get me in one of those tiny booths and give me my Goddamned sticker when I’m done.

I’d like to get back to my regular life in time for the Holidays to make me wish I was dead.

Thanks to A Writer Dodging Bullets for the image.