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From page 33
lots of chicks, the place is crawling with
'em. A couple asked me about you. Oh, I
see two of 'em now across the street.
What? Two minutes? O.K. See you then.
Later."
Showers are good. Lack of ARM-PIT-
STIK isn't. You can't win 'em all. Here I sat
in a burrito stand across the street from the
club with Steve Olsen and Mr. Nordic. A
group of "Fashion-Ite Boy-George" clones
walked in and cued up some Michael
Jackson on the jukebox. A long trip, a hard
day's weekend, and now this. On my way
out I stopped at their table. "Hey, I can't
believe this. Boy George in my favorite
burrito stand?" I put my hands on my
cheeks and pretended to look astounded.
"Oh, I'm not Georgie," an effeminate dude
said, his mascara, false eyelashes,
make-up and stove-pipe hat applied with
perfection. "True. I knew that. You guys are
a bunch of FREAKS!" I spun around so
hard that I bumped the jukebox, the needle
scratching through the rest of "Beat It."
"Sorry." I flipped them a quarter. "Here, you
need the fix. I knew I acted like an
asshole, but hell, no one else was doing it,
so I just took it upon myself.
Out in front of the club, a few of the Big
Boys and J.F.A. were milling about.
"Let's go," I said.
"Where?" said Biskit.
"Away from here."
"But we're going on in two hours."
"Yeah? So. Just get the rest of the gang.
I'm talking skate/photo session."
"Let me get my board and some of the
guys."
J.F.A. were already in the back of the
travel truck we were using for this expedi-
tion. As we were pulling down the street.
Biskit and Chris ran up and hopped in.
The skate spot is top secret. It's indoors
and it's a blast, consisting of a few wooden
ramps, supported by couches and what-
have-you. Immediately a session ensued.
At the same moment, the first band,
whoever they were, were finishing their set.
Don shredded up a ramp handplant-bert-
el-rollo-whoopter on one ramp, sped
across and ground heavily on another.
Biskit grabbed somebody's skate and,
along with his own board, daffied across.
the wooden floor.
"Look, looky thar boys. See how good ah
skate. D'ya see?" he said.
The sessioning went on for about a hour.
It was about the most spontaneous hour of
skating ever. Brian and Bam-Bam had thei
speed lines down, rendering themselves.
blurs for the rest of the session.
Steve Olson, who's rumored to be a
virtual god with women, was blazing so
hard it almost appeared that he was
intentionally trying to skewer me as I was
taking pictures.
"Hey, I know ya'll are havin' a fine fun
time, but we all have got to get back to the
club because we've got a show to do in
about half an hour," said Biskit after bailing
a frontside grind.
Vehicles were loaded, ignitions turned
and accelerators pushed. Back at the club,
AGGRESSION was midway through their
set. They were power packing the audi-
ence with a full barrage of energy sound
waves.
After they were through, the BIG BOYS
took the stage and just out-did themselves
from the previous night's rockin'. The kids,
at times, overwhelmed the stage, and
during their song "Fun, Fun, Fun" good 'ol
Street Scott comandeered the microphone
for some guest vocals. One thing is for
sure. Street Scott can't sing, and that's a
fact. But it doesn't matter. Does it?
J.F.A. tore it up next with some more
filthy renditions of their songs. Again their
attack was awe-inspiring. For the sake of
skateboarding, teenage dive-bombers
took to the air with double-flips, end-overs,
space walks and body-slams off the stage.
The atmosphere inside the club verged on
sweltering. No one was safe.
The final band that night was PERSON-
ALITY CRISIS. Why they were on this bill,
I don't know. I don't think they skate, and
there were plenty of bands on the bill
already, out of which should've headlined
themselves. Still P.C. cranked a full set of
power and speed, not disappointing
anyone.
After the show, there was an impromptu
party at Street Scott's house. People
yelled, girls screamed, somebody was
laughing and someone vomited out a
third-story window. Nobody won, there
was no contest, and I woke up the next
afternoon sprawled on Street Scott's
neighbor's couch.-?
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