Slow burn redux: my Eastern European frizzle.

ON THE LAST DAY of the Enjoi tour I was at MACBA with the usual crew. Kenny Reed was suddenly like, "Do you want to go to Bulgaria?"

"Yes, I sure do." And there it was: Jerry Hsu, Paul Shier, Matt Eversole and I ended up in Sofia, the capital of Bulgaria. Kenny was already there when we arrived. Kenny has this odd habit of leaving everyone in the dark; he does it on purpose and I think it brings him great pleasure. He picked us up from the airport in a beat-up taxi with an uber-friendly driver. When we got to the hotel there was a giant tour bus filled with skaters from Bulgaria, a French contingent, some British dudes, and a Kingpin photographer. I didn't mind; it makes things easier when there's a tour bus to get on and people are telling you when to shit, shower, and shave. But it was still unusual that we'd get all the way there and Kenny would never mention how things were going to be. Kenny is half purposely aloof and half totally out of it. I like him a lot though; he's an interesting person, and I fan out often in spite of myself and in spite of the fact that I've known him off and on for eight years. He's just that kind of person.

ORIENTATIONS

I MIGHT HAVE KNOWN Paul Shier for just as long as I've known Jerry. Way back in my days of living in San Francisco he would come visit quite often and made quite an epic drinking partner, him and his British mates. Those British guys sure can drink if you haven't heard. Paul has this strange sense of humor that just leaves me in stitches. The whole time on this tour the ongoing joke was pretending we were German tourists. Sometimes we'd spot oddly-dressed or otherwise fruity men on the street and ask out loud to each other "German or gay?" because the differences are so subtle. Jerry (voluntarily or not, I'm not sure) makes a really good German--I mean, that's an awkward segue, whatever. Every once in a while people will ask me if Jerry's gay. I'm never quite sure why someone would think that--maybe it's because of Enjoi's slightly-queer marketing campaign and all of that goofiness. Jerry is an alcoholic, drug-addicted perv, but, let me tell you something, gay he is not. In fact, I've never met a straighter dude, as far as my definitions go. Jerry does practically nothing more than try to live on girls all day. That ain't gay.

DIRTY BIRDS

IN BULGARIA, the age of consent in 14. Dirty I am, but I'm not that dirty. Seriously. But it was nice to know. Anyhow, at least the question "So how old are you?" never really needed to be asked. Bulgaria is a country so filled with beautiful women that it makes even New York City on a good day seem like a sausage fest. I missed shooting a lot of skate photos by just gawking at all the women--staring at one of the many Eastern European model types walking by in a short skirt while Paul Shier was rolling away from a hammer situation.

VICE SQUAD 

WE DROVE IN THE TOUR BUS to the town of Varna, a small city on the Black Sea. Bulgaria, by the way, is located north of Greece and Turkey, south of Romania, and east of Yugoslavia. Not that you care. I've always had a fetish for Eastern European women and I was in the homeland. Helping matters further was the fact that Varna is the summer break beach town of Bulgaria. I honestly would be happy to spend the rest of my life relaxing on the Black Sea amid the Russian-esque architecture.

But I have a dark side--a weakness for drugs and alcohol you could say--a weakness that surpasses any urge to womanize. I had (up until Varna) lasted months in sobriety, an experiment in health and boredom. It was a nice dream compared to the ill-health, self-destructiveness, and bi-polar manic depressiveness I dealt with once I decided to listen to those voices in my head telling me "What's a little drinking? You're in Bulgaria, who's gonna know?"

On my first night drinking I listened to G'N'R on my Ipod and sort of wallowed in self-disappointment, until about the fifth drink at an outdoor club. My natural shyness had left me, and my drunken Mr Hyde was back--angry I had left him buried for so long. I approached an amazing dancing girl and told her I would take her to dinner the next night. I got her number and let her be, because no matter how drunk I get, I am not dancing.

The next day I never called. We went skating, and as night approached we headed to a party on the beach. They had a mini-ramp, and a skate shop was hosting This makes things much better for the Western skaters and hanger-ons (me), at least lady-wise. As the night went on our drinking progressed. I've been drunk with Jerry hundreds and hundreds of times, but I had never seen him like this. Jerry is usually so composed while intoxicated that it's almost impossible to believe he's not sober. He's a smart kid, intelligent far beyond his years. But not this time. He looked like he'd been hit by a car. I'd found myself a Bulgarian girlfriend that night, and I'd tell her "I'm really worried about Jerry. Maybe he's on the beach, like over here in the dark by the trees." My intentions were obviously impure, especially since on the way to the private darkness I saw Jerry stumbling around within the party. Paul managed to fire one off that night too. Jerry reportedly played some finger music. Kenny, 1 forgot to mention, already had a Bulgaria girlfriend; she was waiting for him when we arrived, a conquest from a previous trip. Evs didn't pull nothing. Maybe he wasn't trying, maybe he has a wife at home--but the rest of us were in straight pirate mode. Soon it was morning, and I was sitting hand-in-hand with a girl on the beach. The girl from the night before that I thought I loved then said to Paul "He says he's going to take me to dinner and doesn't call! He chooses her!" It was great and unusual for me to be wanted like that. In Bulgaria the people haven't learned to hate Americans yet.

BALLIN'

THINGS IN BULGARIA are incredibly cheap. A hotel room for all of us was about 20 dollars a night. A meal at an amazing restaurant with drinks would be about six bucks. Mixed drinks at the bar (which I bought any and every passing girl) were about 75 cents. I felt like a true baller.

Before this trip, all my camera equipment was stolen. I'd like to stop and mention that Jerry Hsu is the most epic bro of all time for lending me his Hasselblad. I told him, "This is like you letting me borrow your car!" and he said, "I would let you borrow my car." Jerry is such an fiber guy. I can't get over it. Thanks Jerry!

SAPPY ENDING

THIS PLACE IS HOME to the best skatespot of all time ever. Only I can find it, so don't bother looking for it unless you pay for me to come to Bulgaria, too; then I'll show you where it is no problem. Whenever I start complaining about my job, or thinking that my life has become dull and pointless, I can look at my photo album and see that I've done some very amazing things. This trip to Bulgaria might rank as one of the best ever. I see the photograph of me and the boys sitting wasted and careless on the Black Sea and know that I've lived. Leave me out of all the politics and stair counting and drama. Just leave me with my friends, skating and traveling.