Text & violence: Toy Machine East Coast tour ...

JOHNNY'S BIRTHDAY

ABOUT A WEEK or so before the trip, I went to Corona, CA, for Johnny's 19th birthday party. It's no secret that to get really good at skateboarding you often have to herd out on it for awhile--ignoring school, parents, girls, and the normal social schedules that most kids enjoy, in order to sink your mind and body deep into the science of stoke. Well Johnny and Billy have been there, done that, and now they're making up for lost time. Yes, the one-time Webb trucks nerds who were long content to sub crooked grinds for keggers, road trips for the prom, and the feel of a stomped hardflip over the feel of a girl's boob are now the Party Kings of Corona!

Forget the dingy apartments and basement rooms of the '90s pros; Billy rents a full-sized, two-story suburban home complete with two-car garage, stainless steel fridge, and even a pool and Jacuzzi. The house is decorated in a combination of styles mixed by the highbrow tastes of Billy's ex-girlfriend and the dorm-room chic common to all 18-24 year olds. Thus, the white suede love seat matches elegantly with the ninja sword and crazy clown bong, and the oversized dark oak wardrobe is offset perfectly by the manhole-sized black stain on the carpet and the Bob Marley posters. Other features include the menagerie of once-cute-puppies-now-ill-behaved-dogs cramming the side yard, the display of Billy's pro models above the staircase, the Las Vegas-style gaming table in the dining room, a gigantic flat-screen TV, Billy's California King-sized bed slept on with no sheets or blankets, and about 20-thousand ants. The garage is ruled by Billy's tricked-out Cadillac, and, to a lesser extent, by their friend The Grimes, who sleeps along side it on a pile of soiled towels and clothing.

"All I need is for Bennett to get me some beats and there's no telling what I can do," Grimes kept telling me. "I keep asking; 'What's up with those beats, Matt B?'"

The house has already seen its fair share of hardy partying, including an incident made famous on the Internet, where a potential romantic encounter was spoiled when the girl fell out Billy's window and onto the roof of the dog house.

When thinking about what a 19-year-old party animal would really enjoy for his birthday, I was struck by a story I'd heard from a friend from the hard-partying state of Wisconsin. A quick trip to the hardware store and I had all the ingredients for Johnny's present: a genuine second-story beer bong.

Needless to say, the gift was a hit and soon kids were lining up to get doused in up to three beers at a time, shot down the tube from the upstairs balcony. There was gambling in the dining room, dancing in the kitchen, poolside chit-chat, a bunch of drunk dudes with really cute hair, and even Brian Young pawing teen girls as the honorary Creepy old guy. Strangely, even amidst all the action and fun, there was a steady stream of kids taking turns checking their email and myspace accounts on a computer set in the corner. Looking, back, it was some serious foreshadowing for the Toy Machine East Coast tour to come.

THE TRIP

THIS WAS THE FIRST Toy Machine trip without Ed Templeton (injured), and also the first where gadgetry almost outpaced actual human interaction. Whether or not the two were related is unclear, but we all really missed having Ed along as ringleader, and maybe some were covering the pain of Ed's absence with their $300 sound-interrupting headphones and personal DVDs. I'll readily admit that I'm probably the old-fashioned guy who doesn't get it, but I'm not exaggerating when I say the only time Johnny and Billy didn't have a gadget in their hands was when they were sleeping or skating. Actually, that's not true, as once I saw Billy check his cell phone between ledges while filming a line.

Being the Party Kings of Corona comes with great responsibility, and the guys were keeping on top of all the babes and bros as best they could via constant text messaging. I've heard reports of today's teens getting carpal tunnel syndrome from texting, and after seeing Billy, I believe it. At first I didn't think anyone, much less a 23-year-old dude, would have that much to write about, that is until the guys started letting me in on the type of mail they were receiving. Wow-wee. Bedroom talk, murky photos of girls' private areas, updates on The Grimes it was pretty titillating.

The team went from Atlanta to New York with demos every other day or so at indoor skateparks. After a couple of stops, I realized that each guy has their demo gun that they can pull out--no matter how janky the set up--to get the kids up and screaming Austin kickflip 5-0s the rail, Matt B does the Bennett grind, Josh spins 360s and nosegrind 180s the rail Butcher catches hella air, Billy kickflip lips the rail, and Johnny switch 360 flips over the pyramid to flat. There was also a mini-ramp demo where Billy unleashed his new moves, the kickflip to fakie rock and lien disaster, and Josh did amazing backside tailslide reverts. Bennett also did all kinds of Bennett variations, including the switch Bennett, the Bennett backside 180 out, and the Bennett frontside 180 out. He even did Bennett grinds on the mini with raw scarecrow style.

The kids at the demos were generally pretty cool, and in one town I was surprised to realize that a bunch of the skaters with shaved heads lining up for autographs were US Army soldiers. I talked to several of them, a couple of whom had already been to Afghanistan and Iraq and some who were weeks away from going. It was strange to think that you could have people shooting at you one week and crooked grinding the flat bar the next. Crazy times,

I talk a lot of shit on the kids' gadget addiction, but sometimes you have to marvel at the wonder of it all, like when, after I explained the plot of Journey's "Separate Ways" video, Billy got if off the Internet in three minutes for all of us to enjoy. Have you seen this video? It's really amazing. I hadn't seen it since I was in elementary school, and it was 3,000 times more ridiculous than I could have ever imagined. We watched it over and over again and were singing the song so many times that it started to have a negative affect on Josh.

"Quit singing that song!" he pleaded. "Every time you sing it I think about the video--and it makes me feel gay!"

Still, an awesome video.

DIRTY BILLY

BILLY MARKS CONTINUES TO DELIGHT and surprise as he perseveres in his status as Most Perfect American. Not only does he love all new gadgets, horrible music, tract homes, and Wal-Mart, his drive to buy things he doesn't need even outweighs his desire for food. When looking for a restaurant to stop at, more often than not Billy would scan for anything that was near a Wal-Mart, K-Mart, or 99 Cent Store and cast his vote for that.

"I've heard K-Mart has awesome food," he once offered as we drove past a Super K.

Once we got to a restaurant. Billy would quickly browse the menu and then leave on foot to find somewhere to buy something ... anything. Most items were forgotten as soon as he returned to the van, but some stayed around for days and were even enjoyed, including several novelty T-shirts, bottle rockets, a gummy Mexican dinner candy set, and a miniature keg of Heineken that sat warming under the seat for days before we stayed in a hotel with an in-room fridge.

When he would dine, Billy most often ate puffed Cheetos and one-third to one-half of whatever fast food he ordered. The remaining portion of his takeaways would be carefully stuffed into a seat pocket, jammed into the crack or stomped into the carpet, but never thrown away in an actual trashcan.

Those who remember Billy's love affair with Barcelona's MACBA big four (the "quatro four-o," as he called it) will recall that he only likes to skate spots that have been in videos or magazines. This was fine as he battled the Atlanta blocks. but not so hot once we reached the wilds of the uncharted Carolinas. I left the trip four days early and apparently missed out when the dudes drove to the edge of Queens to find a rail that Zered Bassett had skated in the DVS video. Faced with the vague familiarity, I guess Billy went ballistic.

RED LOBSTER

RED LOBSTER IS THE NATION'S FINEST seafood restaurant in the same way that Men in Black is the best American film and the PT Cruiser is the best set of Wheels money can buy. It's a fish restaurant for the landlocked, a seafood eatery for those who, under most circumstances, shy away from fish on the grounds that it smells and tastes "fishy." I've alluded to it before, but you could pretty much batter and deep fry a cat turd and most Americans would declare it delicious, provided an ample array of dippin' sauces were provided. The chefs at Red Lobster have expanded on this culinary lesson, taking their recently deceased catch on one last ceremonial swim--through an ocean of melted butter and American cheese before a final lap in the deep fat flyer.

Complimenting the donut-like entrees, Red Lobster offers a wide selection of nine-dollar ice cream-based "cocktails," featuring a splash of their most candy-like liquors (think Malibu, Goldschlager, that electric

blue shit) sloshed into a fantastically oversized martini glass with about a half gallon of peach sherbet. And although the word "cocktail" suggests some potential for intoxication, you're chances of catching a buzz are far outweighed by your chances of urgently needing a toilet with a locking door.

With per diem checks sent out to the team (and likely spent) weeks earlier, there was considerable comparative shopping going on whenever we chose a place to eat. So in the interest of keeping the crew together, I announced the night's trip to Red Lobster was on me. With appetites rallied, Josh and Kev got the king crab leg platter, Johnny and Bennett chose the seafood sampler, and Diego and Billy each got the Fisherman's Feast--a true holocaust of the undersea kingdom. While I carefully tipped back my coconut booze trough, Josh gave a quick clinic in crab handling with the buttery overspray filling the air with each crack of the fork. The decadent food lifted everyone's spirits, and though they barely looked up from their text messaging, the generous spread of grease around Billy and Johnny's mouths told us they were enjoying their meals too.

All the customers in the Red Lobster were fat and by the time we were forking down the last bites of our Death by Chocolate or California Cheesecake Fingers, or whatever the hell we ordered, we all felt about 300 pounds. Out by the van. I had a decision to make. The maintenance barf actually goes back to the days of the Romans, and, even though it makes you feel a whole lot better, it's still a pretty shameful affair. But then again, so is eating Red Lobster in the first place.

BULL SHIT

ON THE US TOUR last year, PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) set up a booth at every demo, handed out literature about their concerns, and tried unsuccessfully to get Ed to go with them to picket in front of local Kentucky Fried Chickens. They were cool, even if they didn't seem to get much attention. This year for some reason. Red Bull was at every demo with their specialized Red Bull Geo Metro or whatever, and parents and kids alike were stepping all over themselves to get the free cans. I don't drink Red Bull and think that using an association with skateboarding to sell junk food to kids is completely sucky, so I had a great time asking the X-treme Red Bull reps (all women) stupid questions.

"Is Red Bull safe for use as infant formula?" I asked.

"Uhmm. No, I don't think so," she answered.

"Why? What will it do?" I asked

"Probably nothing. But it's not a good idea," she said.

"But what if the baby's tired all the time? I've heard some babies will sleep for hours and hours in the middle of the day," I continued.

"Uhmm. Yes, well, babies sleep a lot. It's like, you wouldn't give a baby coffee," she said.

"What about one of those Frappuccinos?" I asked.

"What?" she asked.

"Like, that's got milk in it, right? Those Frappuccinos?"

"Uhh, no. I don't know about that, but Red Bull's more for adults," she said.

"But what about that kid?" I asked, pointing. "He looks about eight."

"Adults and kids, but not babies," she said.

"How old should a child be before I should give them the Red Bull?" I asked.

"What?" she asked.

"Like, five?"

At that point she sort of walked around the Red Bull Mobile and pretended to get something out of the back until I went away. I also learned that if you ask the Red Bull people what flavor it is, they almost always say, "Well, it's a unique flavor all its own, but some people say it tastes like green apples."

Yeah, that or Smurf piss.

MEN IN TIGHTS

THOUGH TRENDS traditionally have their roots on the edges of America, some of the more interesting and bizarre interpretations occur once they've crept to the center and had time to really fester. It's in places like Michigan where MC Hammer dance clubs once prospered, and in Iowa where a boy let his friends run him over with a speeding car in the spirit of "bustin' some Jackass." Which is why it's not all that surprising to find the tightest jeans in the skate world on the legs of boys in smallish hick towns. Like Bob Burnquist, who as a kid in Brazil famously studied the skate videos of America and assumed that Danny Way and the others pulled all those amazing tricks every time, the skate fans in places like South Carolina and Wyoming assume that if Corey Duffel and Ali Boulala are wearing extra-snug women's jeans, everyone in California must be doing it.

The kids we met sporting extra-tight pants had either rigged them up themselves or were wearing something out of the Junior Miss department. You could tell which ones were homemade, because, although any novice can cut and re-stitch pant legs, it takes a skilled seamstress to successfully take in a crotch. For those deficient in such particularities, the resulting look is legs like a wet suit leading up to a pronounced diaper butt--a style also popular in Latin countries where macho teenage skate boys would rather die than wear the pantalones of a woman. During a couple of impromptu interviews, I found that some of the kids had been barred from wearing their tights to school and, like the Valley girls of the 1980% often had to employ elaborate methods and tools to get the pants off and on. In many cases, the foot opening is so small that it's difficult to get the heel through.

"I put my foot in a plastic shopping bag and then jam it through real quick," explained one young man. "It's kind of a pain in the ass."

Though most made pretty convincing Grecos and Ragdolls, a few looked like they'd wandered from their mime troupe or (especially when wearing a striped, cropped-sleeve T-shirt) were late for a Jazzercise class. Some just looked like dudes wearing black thermal underwear.

A lot of people are quick to talk shit on the tights, but t like them. I know there's some crossover from those horrible MTV2 bands, but for the most part, the ultra-tight pants are the result of skateboard kids wanting to look like skaters, and different from everyone else. Like the neon berets and hip sacks of the '80s, and the fat 40-inch waists of the '90s, the tights of the oughts will go down as another great and wacky chapter in the pages of skate history

JOHNNY RUNS RIOT

ONE THING I've always been amazed by is how together most of the kids I work with are. Dudes like Jerry Hsu and Spanky knew more about how to handle themselves and get along with people at 16 than I did at 25. Most of the kids can not only take care of themselves, but do so with gaggles of grown men breathing down their necks to win contests, grind bigger rails, film video parts, and travel around the world non-stop doing fantastic stunts on demand. Considering the pressure, it's surprising more of them don't lose their minds.

I've seen many, many people freak out on skate tours (myself included) and can attest to the fact that sooner or later everyone loses it. And like the time Rob G threw a full cup of ice at the driver's head, Matt Winterberg tried to beat up James Brockman while dripping wet and completely nude, or when Chad Bartie made us leave him at a gas station in the middle of nowhere, Johnny Layton got his turn on our East Coast tour.

Things started out normally enough. The Philly-area demo was a success and the team was assembled on top of the pyramid, side by side, for the ceremonial sticker and product toss. A good-sized crowd of kids scrambled for the T-shirts, wheels, and decals, and then, as the grand finale, the guys pulled out the highly coveted free boards. A small tug of war had already erupted over the first board when Johnny tossed the second high in the air above the crowd. With eyes in the sky, the deck peaked at about thirty feet before being blown backwards and spearing Billy directly in the forehead.

The very satisfying coconut sound was followed by a gasp from the crowd. Billy held his head while Johnny looked on in shock.

"What the fuck?" Billy growled.

Embarrassed, Johnny stomped down and marched around the parking lot a couple of times, smoking angrily. Upon arriving at the van, he reared back with one of his Big Mac-sized fists and punched out the passenger-side window.

The crowd gathered, standing in the broken glass, and a mother who saw the incident and saw that I was a little older than the rest of the crew decided I had some explaining to do.

"What do you have to say about that?" she asked me.

"Welt, I guess we'll need a new window," I answered.

"And what about that type of behavior?" she asked.

"What do you want me to say about it?" I asked.

"I think that made a big impression on a lot of kids," she said.

"Yeah," I said.

"A big impression," she said.

"Yeah. Well. These guys are kids, too," I said.

"My son was so excited about this. We, drove 45 minutes to get here," she said.

"At least it was free," I offered,

At that point our conversation sort of petered Out and she moved on to find someone who would apologize-or at least share in her outrage. By the time I got to the van, everyone including Billy and Johnny was already smiling and joking about the incident. Kevin fixed the window with cardboard from one of Billy's large fireworks packages and the gaping hole was replaced with a large picture of a Chinese dragon.

"Tight dragon," Matt Bennett noted.

And then we were down the road, the cardboard flapping and Johnny and Billy already happily texting. Though we were thousands of miles away, the kids in Corona already knew the story--in abbreviated code and Sideways smiley-faces--about what they'd eaten for dinner, the latest crap Billy had purchased, and the time Johnny knocked out a van window in one punch.

POST TOUR UPDATE

SINCE THIS TRIP, The Grimes has been kicked out of the garage, Billy started dating the girl he was texting every three seconds, and Johnny resigned as Party King of Corona and moved to Long Beach, CA, to Concentrate on his career as a professional skateboarder. The status of the second-story beer bong is unknown.