Hot cup of coffee and the donuts are dunkin', Friday night in Jamaica, Queens, funkin'.

In the latest installment of ASYMNK (Amazing Skaters You May Not Know) we have Dug (née Doug) Moore. 

Once co-owner of ZT Maximus, now front man for Defcon 4. 

Unless you are from New England or had the pleasure of traveling to arguably one of the greatest skateparks of all time, then you probably don't know of this man. 

He rips.

Ask around.

Attleboro pool. Eastern Hardcore.

I love you,  Arlen Specter. 

Now all we gotta do is let Coleman and his GOP cohorts tire themselves out in the Supreme Court system, get Franken seated, and we got 60! ¿Cómo estás, beaches?!

Every once in a while somebody busts out something you always wanted to do but never did, cause you are lazy, and they are not. 

But rather than hate, you're stoked and have to get it. 

Exhibit A.

Patty H. like a motherfucker.

Slice those sleeves at the forearm Rocky Balboa style, and this shit ain't comin' off no matter how hot it gets up in this beach. Summer look?

As previously stated, I was always more of a KSN than a WCA person, more of a Rise fan than a Risk fan, but credit must be given where credit is due. Some burners are especially sick when you saw it run in person, and some don't translate as well in photograph. 

This falls into both categories.

Aerosolics. 

A splinter, one-off sort of crew that Risk and Slick did for a minute - but shit, that was a good minute.

Black Karate Federation.

Need I say more?

I had this setup, minus the magnesium trackers, copers, and nose guard. These look like mini-cubics, but the era would suggest rat bones. In any case, one of my favorite decks of all time. Most skaters are superstitious on some level, and as ridiculous as it sounds, I was and am still absolutely certain that this board gave me more pop than I ever had before. I distinctly remember doing some of my best skating on it. Now if I could just find the late 90's equivalent, my prized Ricky Oyola, Zoo York kit with the slick bottom and heavy paint. Damn. Lost loves.

I generally hate it when people dress their kids in "vintage" rock tees, ironic t-shirts, or anything "edgy". But this shirt is a real deal hand-me-down from Duane Peters, to Michael Barragan (Evil Spirit Engineering), and on to me. Something about my dude's first black eye, the Duane Peters anarchy tank, and the fuckin' gun show goin on....it nearly brings tears to these old eyes.

Mid 80's New Edition. Bobby with a side part Bullet (Black Mullet), Ronnie in a weirdo mock neck button up, Ricky in what I'm assuming is a Guess patchwork denim/leather number, Biv giving you blue steel, and Ralph ruling in blue leather like a 17 year old post-Delirious fuck machine. I especially like the edges of the photo, you can tell girlie girl loved her this picture when it was resting up on her dresser. This cardboard frame once housed her junior high school diploma, but she said fuck that and put in a shot of the greatest boy band of all time.

Picture disc.

This is not airbrushed, this is not an optical illusion - that is a stump. 

This is your worst alimony nightmare, and my sexual fantasy.

Quentin Tarantino is an oft-quoted screenwriter who I would under normal circumstances, NEVER quote, but in the words of Mia Wallace, "I say, God damn!".

I cannot remember a time I wanted a pair of shoes more.

Never mind the fact that they are probably going to look like ass on me unless I am wearing just the right pair of jeans, not too pegged, not too wide at the bottom, to fold or not to fold?

There's just so many variables that they'll probably just sit by the door and become a play toy for my son, but we all need a dream.

So drop them already, Gravis, I'm ready, and so are 11 other dudes, one of them is the singer in the Virgins, and the rest are boys who think Dylan Reider is a girl, apart from that, only chicks are gonna buy em, all it'll take is a mention in Nylon and they're in UO faster than you can say "Cheap Monday".

Riding on Slauson looking for Crenshaw, turned down the sound to ditch the law.

Growing up in LA, you were either a WCA person, or a KSN person. Despite the fact that one of my first times bombing was with a WCA legend, Miner One, I was always partial to KSN. Still am.

BBQ and Bikes. 

If you haven't read "Soul On Bikes", I suggest you purchase it. It's a great document of the longest running all black, all Harley motorcycle club in the country, the East Bay Dragons MC, Oakland.

Which to some in the 'sickle community is tantamount to this...

The future. Los Feliz carnival. Everything.

The past.

The Grammy's, 1984

And no, Michael didn't "touch it", but I did have to walk Webster to the bathroom. (Even though he was older than me)  

Brooke Shields was there, but she must have been in the ladies room. This was years after nothing was coming between her and her Calvins and 20 years before Lipstick Shithole. 

If you could pan down you would see the 8 trophies on the table that Jacko won for arguably the greatest pop album post-Beatles. 

And if you could pan to the left you would see that the reason I am smiling that smile of 11 year old lust, is that I'm mid conversation with Janet, his baby sister, post Good Times, pre-Nasty Girl.

BTW- My tie and cummerbund are pink. 

Not like I'm breaking the story here, but in the event you didn't know this ruling fact, what do these two bikes have in common besides being the "Billy" and "Capt'n America"?

They were built by Ben Hardy, a black bike builder, based out of South Central Los Angeles.

Just before they took the exhibit down on Easter, I took the family to see Black Chrome, a pretty sick collection of all things black biker history,  photos, leathers, bikes...epic. 

Sensing a theme here?

It was at the California African American Museum, just down a few miles from where Hardy made the Easy Rider bikes, and five blocks from my Grandma's. I didn't have my camera, so thanks to The Vintagent for the shots I snaked. 

Effective immediately, I'm jacking this dude's steez.

Also on display at the museum was a sick collection of Black Panther photos by Howard Bingham. 

This one kills. Kathleen Kleaver, flanked.

Totally unrelated.  Joanna Pettit.  Dreamy.

Rest In Peace, my friend, rest in peace.

Los Angeles and the world will not be the same without you. 

Shawn Mortensen

1966-2009

Suddenly you feel like you're in a horror flick, you grab your heart and wish for tomorrow quick.

Happy Passover!

And for the second installment of Amazing Skateboarders You May Not Know, I present to you, Robbie Gangemi.

I first came across Robbie at Maximus, arguably one of the best east coast skateparks of all time. 

Located next to the Cambridge projects and 10 minutes outside of Boston proper, Maximus was an indoor park that started its life as ZT Maximus until local tattoo artist/schralper Ram and vert killer Doug took it over in the 90's. It was a street park with a curved bowl opposite a vert wall, quarter parks, manny pad, and vert ramp. Whatever you needed. We would kick out the roller bladers, break out the Sam Adams, turn up The Spacemen 3, and kill it all night till we were sore, then soaked in sweat, brave the snow outside. Other guys I've seen lay it down at Maximus: Matt Pailes, unknown epic-local Mike Brown, Vanik, Kevin Day, and Vinnie Ponte (chest-high ollies out of the bowl).

I could write pages about the impact that place had on Boston and east coast skating as a whole, but I will keep it brief and say that with the exception of Upland Pipeline when I was a child, some of the most fun and epic sessions of my life went down at that place.

Maximus. RIP.

But I digress. 

The first person I met, the first time I walked into those hallowed halls was to become one of my favorite skateboarders of all time, Mr. Gangemi. 

This was about 94 or 95, and before he came to fame with Zoo York Mixtape or Eastern Exposure 3 in the shared part with Jahmal (featuring Panama Dan, I might add).

I didn't actually see him skate that that much on that given evening, as he mostly just cruised around the park. But when my mom moved to Boston and I found myself spending weeks there at a time, I really came to know the skating of this kid.

Style doesn't even begin to describe his whole shit, from his board control, all the way to the tips of his fingers, everything was styled out. Plus he's goofy foot, which is nice.

I've seen him throw down tech lines on the street course at Maximus, then walk over to the vert ramp and not only skate it hard, but drop tech shit on that as well. Inspiring.

Besides the park, I was lucky enough to skate around the streets of Boston with him, and even better; kick it at our boy Steve's house listening to the Wu.

If you know skating, you know that there are some guys who you just have to see in person to fully appreciate, and if you know Robbie, you know he's one of those dudes.

Boston skating is ill as fuck, as you will see when I feature more of them in "ASYMNK", but for now, marinate on this dude for a minute.

Legend.

It's all in that left hand.

Saw these on some random blog a while back, if you come across a pair in size 12, challah.

1975. My first setup. I wish I still had mine, or a pic of it for that matter. But alas, the interweb provides as the dude abides. 

Logan Earth Ski, Bennett trucks, and Kryptonics wheels (1 yellow, 1 red, 1 green, 1 blue).

They are all over Egay, but it's really not the same. (And the last time I tried to recapture my skouth on that fuckin' site I bought a too-small 60-dollar pair of musty mildew Rector gloves that are sitting in my backyard like a dead bird).

My friend and favorite tour bus driver, Skot Jonz turned me onto this. 

As featured in The New York Times, I give you, DEATH.

1970's Detroit proto-punk made by 3 Brothers. (Both literally, and as in black as fuck).

Delicious.

Post Stooges and MC5, pre-EVERYTHING ELSE.

I would  jack dude in center's style, except I've been rocking that look forevz.

Antwuan Dixon.

Gnarly.

Okay. You probably don't like Diablo Cody.

You are probably a hater.

I was for a minute, then I pulled my head out of my asshole and realized how dope it was that a young woman like her was getting props and winning awards for writing something relevant and not some Merchant/Ivory bullshit. 

Good for her. She's opening doors while you're peeking through them judging everyone on the other side.

She was doing this on dial-up when you were still listening to Britney (not ironically as you do now).

She's doing it while you're talking about it...and doing it with personal style and flair.

You're thinking, "she wears animal print, creates her own language, and is like a Suicide Girl, only eight years too late", and you know what, you're right. 

But who cares?!

That's REAL. 

And she's real.

And that's a lot fucking cooler than being some hipster bummer chick who wears what she's supposed to, reads what she's told to, lives by the code of Brooklyn Vegan, drinks PBR, and clams notes on her bass while playing in the back room of  The Cool Dive Bar, in the newly gentrified Cool Neighborhood, with her all-star indie-cred band that sounds like old Royal Trux, and is named after a mumblecore movie, while her 10 Coolest friends watch with folded arms, secretly wishing they could be at home listening to Fergie and watching Idol.

I say, right on Diablo, and long live the Fempire!

Besides, have you ever woken up to this kind of hangover?

Police, eat a dick, straight up.

Jim Greco/Deathwish model Supra.  I can't stop rocking these. So epic. Reebok style for 2009, hair-metal fantasy.

My Twitter pic. I just love this. Walking past, my wife said, "Batty, batty, batty!". If you don't get it, you don't get it.

I suck at blogging. I have a full life, so it makes it hard. But in an effort to step it up and try to update at least once every other day, I've decided to start featuring little known, underrated, unknown, or just under the radar shralpers. Everyone knows of the guys who get the coverage, but everybody also knows  of someone who just kills it when the cameras aren't around. This is a section for a few of those guys who have made an impact on skateboarding and my life.

First in this category is a guy that is the definition of gnarly. 

Seriously, he is a brutal skater, bad ass motherfucker, and the kind of guy you just wouldn't ever want to fuck with.

I have seen him attack coping like it talked about his family. He makes me want to be more aggressive in all areas of my life.

I've met him, but I don't really know him....nor do I want to. It would ruin it,  like bro'ing down with Santa Claus.

Ladies and gentlemen, Chuck Wampler.

Can you put that much style into a back smith? Shut the fuck up, you're lying.

Thanks to Reza @ thearabparrot.com for the above shot, and concrete d's for below.

Eric Ray Davidson, google him. He is an fucking amazing photographer. He shot a bunch of candids of my son and I the other day while I was shopping at Confederacy. His shots for The New York Times during fashion week are on display and for sale there, so if you're in LA, check it out. You can also check him out at ericraydavidson.com. That is where I found this shot. I don't know who this guy is, but I am going to start jacking his steez as of tomorrow. Be warned.

Eddie.

Eddie.

Stefanie King Warfield. My wife. She was wearing these when we met, Jelz?

Netflix this, and just try and keep your pants on.

The right wing is scared.