some very creative writting
In jacksonville beach, florida there is a bit of a rivalry...a silent
rivalry that is as old as the city. There are no gang wars, there are no
fights, no one even so much as shakes a fist...except for one time.
But as long as anyone can remember... skateboard kids and surf kids always
looked out of the corner of their respective eyes whenever their paths
crossed. These classifications had little to do with the actual sports in
question it was more or less the distinguishing marks of the basest of
cultural movements. Surf kids ditched their boards in the bushes as the bus
approached and spent the first three periods soaked in salt water (plus they
dated all the hot girls) and skateboard kids walked the halls with
headphones full of halo benders and pockets full of stolen markers and
finely crafted mixed tapes (most dated no on...content with days filled by
ledges, gaps, and st. ides special brew {purple}). There was cross-over
too...I for example...was a skateboard kid who happened to be a surfer...I
was a skateboard kid because of the halo benders tapes and the friend's
painting of trumpets and robots on scraps of wood and cardboard that
decorated my bedroom walls...but I was a surfer because I happened to stand
on top of a long plank near a salt water wave from time to time. Despite
the wet suit drying in my garage, the surf wax under my fingernails, and the
fact that I was a much better surfer than I was a skateboarder...i was
defiantly a skateboard kid. And consequently...i too looked out of the
corner of my eye whenever a bleached blonde mop top in board shorts crossed
my path.
High School weekends are the same everywhere...someone somewhere is making
out in the back row a horror movie they snuck into...someone is smoking pot
out of a coke can...someone is home alone and not happy about it...and
someone's parents are out of town and they cops have just been called. Roy
and Kirby (and maybe Jeremiah...i can't recall...skateboard kids none the
less) had been at this surf kid party for about 3 and a half minutes (3 and
a half minutes of awkward recognition without the comfort of total
acceptance) before the cops showed up...sending pretty blonde girls and jeff
specolis scattering like roaches when the lights come on. Roy and Kirby saw
their opportunity...not so much for the intoxicating potential...but more
for the insurance of not leaving this bust up empty handed.
So they stole the keg.
Dragged it over the fence...into the back alley...and tossed it into the
back seat of roy's dad's oldsmo-buick...this is where the backdrop of the
age-old rivalry ends and the games begin!
They went to the only place the knew they could be alone with their new
rotund aluminum dream girl without any interruption...the alley behind the
abandoned "Pic N Save"...the safe haven of budding graffiti artists and
skateboard kids turned keg thief. After some serious "quality time" with
their cheap domestic hooker...they decided it was time they share their new
found intoxication with the world! driving through jacksonville beach with
a keg in the back seat at 3am on a Saturday night presents surprisingly few
options. So that is about when they decided to start driving doughnuts in
random yards. Hoots and shouts float out the manual roll down windows
accompanied by the sound of tearing turf and Neutral Milk Hotel as the two
intoxicated dickheads loop their way down a block of suburban landscapes.
At the last house on the corner, a confused and frustrated homeowner comes
running out in his boxers and bathrobe trying to put a stop to all this
nonsense. When he gets out of the front door...he is at a total loss for
words when he is presented with the scene...he can only shake his fist and
shout (in the most beautiful display of middle aged confusion): "WHO ARE
YOU!?"
Kirby (in his finest moment of inspiration to date) leans out of the shotgun
window and responds: "THE DRIVING DRAGONS!!!!" and in a cloud of grass
clippings and beer fueled mayhem...the oldsmo-buick was gone.
The next day, in The Beaches Leader (our podunk little newspaper) the police
report documents the rogue efforts of a new local gang calling and their
campaign of terror against the city of jacksonville beach and its well
manicured lawns...and they call themselves: "THE DRIVING DRAGONS!!"
That is what my new album is about.
rivalry that is as old as the city. There are no gang wars, there are no
fights, no one even so much as shakes a fist...except for one time.
But as long as anyone can remember... skateboard kids and surf kids always
looked out of the corner of their respective eyes whenever their paths
crossed. These classifications had little to do with the actual sports in
question it was more or less the distinguishing marks of the basest of
cultural movements. Surf kids ditched their boards in the bushes as the bus
approached and spent the first three periods soaked in salt water (plus they
dated all the hot girls) and skateboard kids walked the halls with
headphones full of halo benders and pockets full of stolen markers and
finely crafted mixed tapes (most dated no on...content with days filled by
ledges, gaps, and st. ides special brew {purple}). There was cross-over
too...I for example...was a skateboard kid who happened to be a surfer...I
was a skateboard kid because of the halo benders tapes and the friend's
painting of trumpets and robots on scraps of wood and cardboard that
decorated my bedroom walls...but I was a surfer because I happened to stand
on top of a long plank near a salt water wave from time to time. Despite
the wet suit drying in my garage, the surf wax under my fingernails, and the
fact that I was a much better surfer than I was a skateboarder...i was
defiantly a skateboard kid. And consequently...i too looked out of the
corner of my eye whenever a bleached blonde mop top in board shorts crossed
my path.
High School weekends are the same everywhere...someone somewhere is making
out in the back row a horror movie they snuck into...someone is smoking pot
out of a coke can...someone is home alone and not happy about it...and
someone's parents are out of town and they cops have just been called. Roy
and Kirby (and maybe Jeremiah...i can't recall...skateboard kids none the
less) had been at this surf kid party for about 3 and a half minutes (3 and
a half minutes of awkward recognition without the comfort of total
acceptance) before the cops showed up...sending pretty blonde girls and jeff
specolis scattering like roaches when the lights come on. Roy and Kirby saw
their opportunity...not so much for the intoxicating potential...but more
for the insurance of not leaving this bust up empty handed.
So they stole the keg.
Dragged it over the fence...into the back alley...and tossed it into the
back seat of roy's dad's oldsmo-buick...this is where the backdrop of the
age-old rivalry ends and the games begin!
They went to the only place the knew they could be alone with their new
rotund aluminum dream girl without any interruption...the alley behind the
abandoned "Pic N Save"...the safe haven of budding graffiti artists and
skateboard kids turned keg thief. After some serious "quality time" with
their cheap domestic hooker...they decided it was time they share their new
found intoxication with the world! driving through jacksonville beach with
a keg in the back seat at 3am on a Saturday night presents surprisingly few
options. So that is about when they decided to start driving doughnuts in
random yards. Hoots and shouts float out the manual roll down windows
accompanied by the sound of tearing turf and Neutral Milk Hotel as the two
intoxicated dickheads loop their way down a block of suburban landscapes.
At the last house on the corner, a confused and frustrated homeowner comes
running out in his boxers and bathrobe trying to put a stop to all this
nonsense. When he gets out of the front door...he is at a total loss for
words when he is presented with the scene...he can only shake his fist and
shout (in the most beautiful display of middle aged confusion): "WHO ARE
YOU!?"
Kirby (in his finest moment of inspiration to date) leans out of the shotgun
window and responds: "THE DRIVING DRAGONS!!!!" and in a cloud of grass
clippings and beer fueled mayhem...the oldsmo-buick was gone.
The next day, in The Beaches Leader (our podunk little newspaper) the police
report documents the rogue efforts of a new local gang calling and their
campaign of terror against the city of jacksonville beach and its well
manicured lawns...and they call themselves: "THE DRIVING DRAGONS!!"
That is what my new album is about.