Consider my raw demeanor the icing on the cake, I'm grindin'.

I just realized that after I changed my screenname on Twitter from justinhell to justinwarfield, I neglected to change the link on my blog as well.

The result of this act of neglect on my part was a stream of tweets from an individual with my old screenname who felt compelled to share the following sentiments with the world....

"recovering from a crazy weekend...party, practice, and so much bro love hahaha" - about 2 hours ago

"fuck blink played tonight but i got there too late!!!" - 2 days ago

"fuck T-mobile!!!!! ughhhh"- 3 days ago

Riveting. Needless to say I am going to change the link so that it mirrors MY twitter account, lest you think I turned into a serious Blink fan, and I don't mean Gladwell.

Substitute Goobers for chocolate covered pieces of evil your people call raisins, and this could be the perfect meal.

I fucking miss these.

A Gallup poll conducted earlier this year shows that only 39% of Americans believe in Evolution. 

Sweet.

The Sunset Fairfax yard. 

Classic.

I used to live a few blocks away in the hills above, and would often visit while this piece was running. 

I still think it's one of the best "Letters" pieces I've ever seen in LA.

Rise, KSN.

And the accompanying character. I've never been much of a "Character" guy, but besides being indicative of the time (I'm guessing 88'-89') the chrome on the rearview, the blacked out sky behind, and just the clean lines and style in general made it kill. 

That, and it was done by Rev, KSN.

It was just my wife's birthday. 

Her dear friend and I threw a huge surprise party for her, it was a rager, and I'm not the rager type. 

When I was 11 and this film came out, I knew that when I finally found my girl, I wanted it to feel just like this picture, and nothing less than a Julie of my own would do. 

On our wedding day, after we were pronounced man and wife, we kissed, and "Melt With You" played.

Beyond.

Thanks to an interview with 4Q Max in Street Chopper Magazine, I learned of Dave Mann. 

I'm in.

It ain't nothin' like black pussy on my dick, word to the motherfucker DJ Quick.

I've been waiting for someone to do a skateboard shoe that was basically a Wino.

Nice one, Angel. 

These are ridic, super comfy, skateable as fuck, and they look like you are going to beat somebody down. I'd expect nothing less from a guy with "Game Over" tattooed across his eyelids. They've been doing shoe launches for this and TK's new banger. Check the Supra link to the right for details (and a pretty lame video cameo from yours truly at the party @ Factory 413).

Oh yeah, I'll spare you the 3rd appearance in photo form and just tell you that I finally got the new Dylan Reider Capezio/Repetto rips, and they kill. Back to Winos and gum rubber.

Speaking of gangster. My little dude looking like Bobby D. in Mean Streets. This is on my mom's bday at this fully legit pizza place next to the gayest movie theater in all of Los Angeles. No, I'm not being a dick, that's their claim to fame. It's the Regent  Showcase on La Brea, and there's literally a sign that's like, "come out here". Anyway, I'm down for that, but the point is Verrazano's next door is full NYC style. Great whole pies, and slices as well. Good people. Try the sausage roll. No pun intended.

You know how when you aim your video camera at the TV screen it bugs the fuck out? Well, I wanted to see what would happen when my wife and I ichatted and pointed the laptops at one another. Contrary to my calculations, there were no disruptions in the space time continuum, although Mercury is in retrograde now. Coincidence?

File under : Remakes always blow.

I need.

Project. 56' Triumph Trophy bird. Status: Don't ask.

I started working on the minor aesthetics so I don't lose my mind, so for now I'm getting everything down to raw metal and plan on leaving it in it's natural state. 

Here's the Wassell after 10 minutes of fine grain sandpaper love.

I've been thinking of giving it a mild Frisco, nothing too steep, just a little nudge. Then again, I've had crazy visions of weirdo with this thing lately, like throwing a hardtail on it, Z Bars with risers, a springer, you name it. That's what happens when a bike sits and you're not riding it.

I took some parts to a powder coating place to have the chrome stripped.

That gas cap used to be lame as shit. Now it's patina is off the charts.

It's the little things. (Like that vintage Webco rocker box oil manifold)

Bates headlamp assembly, stripped raw. So ridiculous.

Next the upper and lower triple trees and upper fork legs are gonna get hit.

Even this budg 70's octagonal  oil bag looks sick after the econo chopper chrome got later'd.

I know, the moto pictures suck, but what do you expect? I shot them on my Blackberry.

I should probably carry a camera around, but that would require me to think and plan ahead, and if I do that, then how will Stefanie get all the great candids of Bowie that go down throughout the day?

But I digress....

So now if we can just mount the seat and fender, pull the front end, throw on some MCM's, clean up the wheels, and nail those bars, then this thing will make it's way over to F.A.G engines and we'll see if Druff and Beans can get this thing ready for Thunder Road.

I know it doesn't look like much now, but trust me, it's gonna be like listening to Burzum doing 120 miles an hour wearing a clown mask with no pants on drinking Listerine.

Stole this pic from Itsume's blog. I don't know her, and I don't read Japanese, but her site is totally killer with some evil shit in just about every area you could want, food, motos, hardcore...

I don't know where in the hell she found this photo, but the only non-entertainment job I've ever had was serving up cups of frojo at this place for my "summer job".

I spent every day slicing strawberries in the walk-in freezer to stay cool and avoid the work and customer service part of the job, and then occasionally I'd meander out to the front to pour hefty kick-down cups of yogurt for the cute girls who walked in off Ventura Blvd. 

Correction, I once worked at a Christmas tree lot. But that kinda doesn't count.

If you haven't peeped it out yet, you simply must check pilferedmagazine.com. 

Rudj and Patrick Hoelck. 

Two great minds joined forces and put together something really nice. 

The latest issue is guest edited by Cory K, and features a pic of my favorite non-family male human, Wade Oates of The Virgins. (it's kind of a Lost thing)

I jacked this pic from them, but if you read their mission statement, it's only fitting.

I gotta go pay attention to my wife. 

Ladies and gentlemen...and lowlifes.

I just want to go on record now, so when things turn out exactly the way I'm predicting, you can all go back and say, "Wow, Justin was right".

LOST will end as follows-

Whether it is by Jack detonating a bomb so that the plane never crashed on the island, or by other means, the show will end with all of the original passengers waiting for flight 815 in the airport, only the flight will be delayed or cancelled.

They will never board the flight, they will never crash land on the island, and they will never have the experiences that have taken place over the course of the show.

HOWEVER, once the writers pull it together, (and perhaps read this post), they'll realize that the simple Newhart, "it was all a dream" ending will be lost on today's media savvy ipod babies with limitless appetite and non existent attention span, therefore they will have to throw them a bone so to speak.

So here's what will happen -

Barring death, everything that would have happened (and in fact did) on the island will happen off island...kind of.

Confused? Let me assist.

Jack will still meet Kate and fall in love.

Jin will stop being a dick, learn English, and be cool to Sun.

Etc...

I cannot tell you exactly how this will happen as I do not know, and as evidenced by the last two seasons of random occurrences punctuated by Locke's creepy stare and Ben's Andrew McCarthy impression, neither do the writers, but I can tell you it will probably look something like this.

INT. AIRPORT - DAY 

Jack argues with the woman behind the counter, who insists that he cannot bring his father's casket on the plane. Suddenly, A VOICE comes over the monitor.

WOMAN'S VOICE

"All passengers for Oceanic flight 815 to Los Angeles, that flight has been cancelled, please see the ticket counter for further information".

Upon hearing this, KATE makes her way over to the ticket counter where Jack is standing, having just heard the announcement.

KATE

I'm sorry, did you say flight 815 was cancelled?

Suddenly, as if he's hearing a familiar voice (but how could it be?), Jack spins around, where he sees Kate FOR THE VERY FIRST TIME. Their eyes LOCK.

KATE

Do I know you?

________

You get the picture.

The flight is cancelled, they get to talking. Take a later flight, convince the guy in the seat next to Kate to let Jack sit by his "new friend", and lo and behold, after the long flight from Sydney to Los Angeles, there you have it. The seeds of love have been sown.

Except for one thing.

SHE'S HANDCUFFED TO MARSHALL EDWARD MARS.

So since no one except me wants to see Kate go to jail upon returning to Los Angeles, they are going to have to think their way out of this one.

But basically, ALL of the relationships that were formed on the island, and all of the intended destinies that came to fruition as a result, would find their way into being Off Island. (Are you listening Lindelof and Cuse?)

Example - Sayid and Shannon would either meet in the Sydney airport or on the returning flight after 815 was delayed, same goes for Libby and Hurley, Claire and Charley, et. al.

Oh yeah, and somehow Locke could walk.

What this scenario doesn't factor in is the fact that Sawyer would never meet Juliet, Desmond would still be pushing a button and Penny would never find him and have little Charlie. I don't even want to get into Michael and Walt.

You get it, I won't cover every survivor. (Of the original crash, not the cover up/fake crash and those killed on the Island)

I'm sure they'll let me down, and it won't be the first time, (Cause believe me, I wanted Shannon and Boone to have sex the moment I knew their backstory), and though nothing would bum me out more than having to see big Charlie alive and kicking, I'm sure it's the only ending they can conceive that will make all the geeks and casual viewers happy.

So you heard it here first....

Part Newhart, part Wizard Of Oz, part Back To The Future, part Chances Are, and part Dallas, some will be pissed, some will cry tears of joy, and some of us will just cringe when Sawyer and his slumpy shoulders calls someone a pop-culture tinged name, Jack makes his last Jackface, and Hurley utters his last, "dude".

Justin Warfield

5/11/09

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?