The Bigspin Sleep

Scene opens in a musty office; it’s dimly lit, the only light streaming in from the frosted windowpanes, and now the door, which creaks open to admit DAVE. Across the office sits BOB, behind his desk in the shadows, smoking a cigar. BOB motions for DAVE to take a seat, and he does. There is a pause as BOB sucks on his cigar.

BOB: ‘She’s Cheating.’

BOB spreads a handful of polaroids across the desk and gestures to DAVE to examine them. DAVE does, and begins shaking his head, clearly agitated. His face, when he looks up again at BOB, is a mixture of shock and anger. Briefly we can see ETHYL in a photo, with another man, his face obscured by a hat. BOB, calm, puffs again on his cigar.

BOB: ‘You Deserve It.’ (He fixes DAVE with a cold glare.) ‘You Changed. Don’t Ask Me When.‘

BOB slides another set of Polaroids across the desk; briefly, DAVE is seen with several different women. These further agitate DAVE; BOB next passes a set of papers, which look like bank statements and receipts. DAVE begins to leaf through them, then looks up.

DAVE: ‘OK Then.’

DAVE stands and, returning BOB’s icy stare, reaches into his jacket pocket; it’s implied he is going for a weapon. BOB pushes back his chair, revealing that he already has a pistol drawn — and it’s pointed at DAVE. 

BOB: ‘Play Dead.’

DAVE looks at BOB, looks at the pistol. BOB cocks it, and DAVE hurriedly drops to the floor.

DAVE: (muffled, his face to the floor) ‘I Just Took A Bite Of Dirt.’

BOB: (gesturing with the pistol toward the door) ‘Mind How You Go.’

DAVE: (still on the floor, cowering, eyes fixed on the pistol in BOB’s hand) ‘Easier Said Than Done.’

BOB, in one motion, holsters the pistol, steps around the desk, and reaches down to grab DAVE by the collar, then hoists him up and shoves him toward the door.

DAVE: ‘OK, We’re Leaving.’ (He stumbles, steadies himself on the doorjamb, and sneers at BOB) ‘Thank You For Your Patience.’

We see BOB now has the pistol in his hand again. He half-raises it in DAVE’s direction.

BOB: ‘Then Again…’

DAVE: (Seething) ‘See You Later.’ 

DAVE half-slams the door; we can hear his footsteps trailing away down the hall. BOB replaces the pistol in his shoulder holster and, eyes still on the door, puffs his cigar. Behind him, the closet door slowly opens, and ETHYL steps out — confidently. She strides to BOB’s side, slides an arm around his waist, kisses him on the cheek, plucks the cigar from his fingers and takes a puff.

ETHYL: ‘Good Riddance.’

The office lights go out. A moment later, the office is empty, and we see HORACE, the custodian, emptying the trash can beside BOB’s desk. Pouring its contents into the bin on his cart, we can see HORACE glancing at hotel receipts, airline tickets, and finally, a half-crumpled photo of BOB and ETHYL, embracing on a beach. HORACE shakes his head and tosses it with the rest of the garbage.

HORACE: ‘Sounds Like You Guys Are Crushing It.’

We watch HORACE push his cart out of the office and close the door; the last thing the audience sees as the lights go out are the words printed across the glass: “Bob’s Detective Agency.”

Screenplay by Harry Bergenfield, Pontus Alv, Federico Hazama, Tactics, Bill Strobeck, Drake Johnson, Joshua Simpson, Harald Reynolds, Jeff Cecere, Bye Jeremy, Logan Lara, Neema Joorabchi, Steve Mastorelli, Vincent Milou, Alltimers. NOTE: All proceeds from this production will go toward replenishing the reservoir of one-word skate video titles.

Could Tiago Lemos’ Incredible Switch Backside Tailslide Also Reflect Ledge Skating’s Shrinking Middle Class?

In what has come to be knowed as the ‘switch backside tailslide heard ’round the world,’ this week Tiago Lemos hopped on his board backwards, got up the high way on the long MACBA block and slid the length of a full-grown crocodile before rolling away to cement one of those increasingly rare, culture-unifying moments. “Ok. [Tiago Lemos] is a beast,” remarked Josh Kalis. Drake Jones figured “this could be the biggest,baddest switch backtail ever done!” “Amazing,” commented Mike Sinclair. Transworld, which once elevated Eric Koston to diety status, declared that Tiago Lemos hereby “is a god.”

Yet as Andy MacDonald and others understand all too well, one day’s lifted bar soon becomes the next day’s hurdle to be ollied, and later kickflipped, and eventually kilty mcbagpipped for an after-credits clip set to a whimsical indie-rock tune. Just days before Tiago Lemos seized the switch back tail crown, Antonio Durao had the internet agog at his own back to back assault on waistline-topping planters in Numbers’ second video drop, to the delight of Miles Silvas and Rodrigo TX and the vacant-eyed indifference of unnamed cell phone lookers. This all arrived a few days after Dylan Rieder’s birthday reminded how he once lifted a backside smith grind onto a Thrasher cover-meriting ledge.

Across history’s compendium of burly ledge tricks, these have been cause for celebration. But concerns have arisen among musty academic circles over a perceived ledge disparity that some experts fear may be growing. As anointed ones such as Tiago Lemos and Antonio Durao hoist their trucks and tails onto ever-higher blocks, planters and hunks of raw cement, there are separately signs that many others appear to be making do with less and less. According to the emerging theory, a slappy revolution, once conceived as a reclamation for the common man, is showing troubling signs of becoming instead a cage, a ceiling which grows ever more difficult to penetrate. While powerhouse pros claim more and more available ledge inches via high-altitude feats, increasingly curb skating is celebrated, stylized and fetishized for the world’s remainder, a disparity that grows more troublesome as ‘middle-class’ ledge spots like Love Park and JKwon increasingly face the bulldozer.

Do Boston’s Eggs, Paris’ Republique, and Los Angeles’ Swoosh-reconstituted LA Courthouse represent sanctuaries for ledge skating’s increasingly squeezed creamy middle? Will some type of social engineering be attempted via plunking cinderblocks on top of red curbs, and meanwhile chiseling down ledges deemed by ivory-tower eggheads to be ‘too high’? Is concentration of ledge height inches in the hands of a smaller few part of a broader ‘trickle-down’ theory under which smaller ledge-oriented masses will be inspired to seek out larger ledges and ultimately add inches to their own frontside crooked grinds and backside smith grinds? Is Tiago Lemos for real?