ImageLast night I rode a skateboard for the first time since 2004. To be specific I rode a little cruiser board the size of my shin bone. Muscle memory works, yo! I picked it up just like that. That’s not to say I was any good, but the fact that I was able to push off, mount the board and ride it down a pussy-ass little hill amazed both myself and my friend (who is a seriously good skater). It almost makes me want to buy a deck, that’s how much fun it was.

Imagine skiing on land, or surfing on land. It’s a feeling of civil liberty, but at the same time intimidating for the novice. Skating also has a really cool image attached to it, so if you’re into looking cool, get into skating. Otherwise you can just wear skate apparel and look the part (you poseur, you!) I prefer the basic smart casual look – makes me look older so I can tune those 27-year-old dimes who somehow have a thing about “seeing” blokes so much as a day younger than them. Anyway back to the good times on a Wednesday night, just for the hell of it.

Last night my friends and I spent about three hours in an empty carpark, just skating and drinking. It was The Suite Life, with Zach and Corey (Disney channel reference, geddit?) I know for a fact that I will miss times like this when I get too old to be doing such things without being deemed a loser by society. Imagine: 30-year-olds drinking and skating in a carpark on a weeknight – whole different mental picture, huh? I get nostalgic sometimes about the present moment, thinking how I may never be as care-free as I am right now.

The thought of pulling 12-hour days at the office (routine numbers for the profession I’m currently studying to enter) mortifies me to the very core. How would I have time for nighttime martial arts classes and random drinking binges on public property? I suppose I’d have to settle for binge-drinking at classy bar/restaurants where they charge $11 for a pint of some beer brewed by mustached, Ray Ban-wearing wankers in some hippie district in Byron Bay. Give me a pint of Carlton Dry any day, brewed by real salt-of-the-earth types down in Victoria. It tastes better when the pint is $3 anyway (at a certain Irish pub in my city every Thursday till 11pm – all those Lawyer Bars should take a leaf out of the Irish pub’s book. Though I suppose one pays an eight-dollar premium per pint to be surrounded by fancy décor and fabulously dressed people).

My rapidly dwindling youth motivates me to live for the moment. I try not to care about work the next day, and just try to be home before 1AM. Oh, and don’t get the wrong idea, I never drink and drive – that would be the stupidest thing to ever be deemed stupid by a stupid person. Now that’s stupid. This mentality of living like there’s no tomorrow doesn’t extend to serious law-breaking, but it does motivate me to go to a bush-doof. If you don’t know what a bush-doof is, let me tell you. It’s a giant party/camping trip/trance music concert in the middle of the forest, usually out of major cities and organized without permission from the park rangers. That adds to the danger whilst also reducing the danger of getting done for DUIs. I’m really keen to try a bush-doof but I don’t really like camping, so I’d need to be pretty munted to not care about sleeping on rocks. That means money for getting munted (on alcohol – illegal drugs are evil, kids). There’s the Mayan End of the World party coming up, which should be the doof to end all doofs (pun intended). If the world did end, I sure-as-shit would want to be partying right up until the meteors started raining down and ruining everyone’s days.

Now to finish on a high note: did you know that over three people die, a day? It’s true, you know. I may be underestimating the actual figure, but definitely it’s more than three people who die per day.

 

It’s been a pleasure,

 

Jimi.

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