Nick Boserio didn’t fall into this archetype, but surprisingly, none of his chosen video parts offered much indication as to where his frantic, Indiana-Jones-escaping-a-boulder approach to skateboarding might have taken root. Maintaining that mystery feels about right for someone who appreciates skateboarding that has a “rare” feel to it.
It is tough to imagine that the Dime crew went even a day through the grimmest days of lockdown without plotting the next Glory Challenge. (Montreal, by comparison to anywhere in the U.S., had way gnarlier COVID lockdowns.) The early days of the pandemic were fraught with unknowns, which gave way to hyperbole. Large-scale gatherings seemed like a fleeting figment of a recent, unreturnable past. There was that stupid meme mocking us for ever having gone bowling. One friend claimed that casual sex would forever cease to exist — a concept that had already survived the AIDS epidemic.
Skateboarding — like anything else that has been around long enough to earn a mythology — is full of references, nods, winks and homages. In an effort to shine a light on some of these bits of lore that are often left unknown to anybody outside a skater’s inner-circle or saved for a career-spanning interview, Farran Golding began digging on some talking points that piqued his interest.
The first arrived almost serendipitously, as an aside to his convo with Mason Silva for our “Five Favorite Parts” segment, which took place two months after Mason rode his multi-part year into a S.O.T.Y. trophy — apparently with Jake Johnson Mind Field spots on the brain.
The goal of these pieces will be not so much as a commentary track or a raw files, but an expanded version of what otherwise often only appears onscreen for a few seconds.
Elissa’s 45 seconds of new footage from last month managed to come up in more human conversation around the QS office than some marquee full-length videos, and offered up a nice reminder that we had yet to have her on here for one of these.
She’s a Menace head.
“Tell me how someone shits on a wall?” Nestor, who works for the New York City Department of Parks and Recreation, says to me between bites of a ham-egg-and-cheese on a roll. The first Parks employee at Coleman Playground is supposed to unlock the bathrooms upon arrival, but the men’s room is out of service. Nestor is the second person from Parks to show up — a lawnmower driver is sitting in the bleachers by Market Street, waiting for a lawnmower to be dropped off — and there is a piece of paper that reads “Bathrooms OOS” taped to the door of the bathroom. Nestor dances around what’s actually wrong in there, but the situation is severe enough that a second Parks employee reiterates that it is closed before I can say a word to him.