Archive for July, 2008

1980.


2008
07.31

I’ve been especially sentimental this year, due to it being my 20th high school reunion (c/o ’88!). My, has time flown by. So, in the spirit of reunions, I’ve decided to revisit my dusty old photo albums for some golden memories of my ’80s childhood.

My 10th Birthday Party

Our first trip down memory lane puts us smack down in the middle of my 10th birthday in October of 1980. My mom said I could have a few friends over for my birthday party, so I invited some kids from the neighborhood. L to R: Eugene, aka “Kubo,” the quintessential personification of early ’80s Cali rad culture, with the whispy ultra-blonde bowlcut and his crazy bike (in the picture) which had no brakes—the perfect match for his freewheeling, unstoppable nature; David, the cool and confident kid, who’d easily won the heart of the cutest girl in our class without even trying; Beth (behind me), the wizard of personal computers, tape drives and online bulletin boards (BBS!); me, complete with the asian helmety bowl-cut and a big smooth pumpkin-like basketball with absolutely no grip; Aaron, the younger kid who lived across the street and had a dad who looked like Chuck Norris on a Harley; Basil (sitting on Kubo’s bike)—when I asked where he was from, he held an imaginary rifle to his face, pretending to spot and kill a distant target, acting out the recoil and reloading—I was totally clueless, and he said, “Lebanon”; and last but not least, my younger brother Gayani, who munches away happily on a near-empty bag of generic BBQ-flavored chips that my folks had bought for the party…the twin-pak ones that had two clear bags inside a main big one. It made you feel like you got more for your money.

I remember that day vividly. As I’d probably mentioned before, it seems like 20 years ago there were actual seasons in Los Angeles. That day was nice and grey, overcast and kinda chilly, just perfect for the festivities. I’ve always liked grey days. There’s hardly any of those nowadays. Sucks.
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11 of 99.


2008
07.23

11

My 'Goose.


2008
07.10

goose80

I should be posting this in Vintage BMX but have instead decided to host a quick Show and Tell for the thousands of loyal Lefty Limbo readers who peruse my site on a daily basis.

What you see is a classic icon of ’80s youth pop culture—a 1980 Mongoose BMX bike. I adopted this gem from an old friend of mine whom I used to ride bikes with back in junior high. He sold it to me many years later (I think mid-’90s) at his garage sale which I just happened to stumble upon one Saturday morning. I can’t thank him enough for entrusting me with this awesome bike.

I’m hoping to get some input from Vintage BMX about how to get rid of some of the rust and oxidation which has appeared from years of storage. Perhaps I can get some input from some of the Limbo crowd first, eh?

goose80b

The Mongoose may have been iconic of my ’80s childhood, but the number plate adorned with prismatic stickers is a total throwback to the decade of rad. There is simply no substitute and no greater sign of the times. I clearly remember saving my allowance to go to the local bike shop to browse through the glass case of prismatic stickers. Doug (the original owner of this ‘goose) bought a lot of the same stickers I did. My favorite has got to be the FASTER YOU FOOL sticker. It’s like, as if someone is actually gonna turn around to read that and go, “Oh shit, I should speed up!” I especially like how it doesn’t have any punctuation at the end. This open-endedness makes it sound even more sinister. Of course, who can forget the “BMX RULES” sticker…it totally did. Then there’s the Playboy bunny sticker which was some kind of daring, rebellious move to slap onto your bike…like you actually looked at one at such an early, innocent age…lol…

1980 Mongoose numberplate

Equally impressive is the interior side of the number plate, decorated with even more great stickies. The Damn I’m Good! sticker is totally reminiscent of my youth, as well as the BMX Go For It one, with the rider in a crossed-up tabletop, which was pretty much the coup de grace of the day, if you could even find a jump which could launch you high enough!

I’m gonna have to dig through Ebay to find some replacement parts, such as the front reflector whose mount you see above. I’ll keep you posted on the progress…until then, enjoy…and share your own ’80s BMX pics with me if you have any. Thanks!

10 of 99.


2008
07.09

10

Shamshiri Grill in Westwood has always been a favorite dinner destination spot for us. It’s close by, serves immense portions for cheap, the food is fresh and tasty, our kid digs it, and it’s open late. Trust me, when you’re a new parent on the Westside, all these things really matter.

Last night we ordered the usual—Beef Koobideh with a side of fries. My wife and I, in our shared morbid humour, have constantly joked that the long, clumpy logs of delectable beef look a lot like the trains of digested material which our bodies dispatch every so often. Yes, quite a disgusting synonymity, but we would shrug it off and dig in (to the Koobideh, that is).

But last night was nearly an exception; for me, at least, after taking a trip to their restroom and being greeted with a clogged toilet, stuffed with too much toilet paper and crinkly butt protectors. The real clincher (no pun intended)? A huge, honkin’, curled up fecal super-mega-log on top of it all, which stared up at me like, “Hell no, I ain’t goin’ down!

I’m not easily disturbed…in fact, I actually seek obscure morbid morsels…but this was definitely something I didn’t want to see before chowing down on something that looked remarkably identical to it. So I turned towards the urinal and did my business, but that shit sausage wouldn’t leave me alone. It was like a horrible traffic accident—you know it’s terrible, but you can’t help but look.

Ugh. My stomach reeled for some seconds and surely my face twisted in disgust. I tried to flush the toilet by extending my foot to the flusher. The toilet gurgled to life and made the mess rise even higher. “Aw, fuck!” I gasped, and prepared to stand on my tippy toes as I watched the icky shit stew fill the bowl—if that log could laugh, I’m sure it was howling—but thankfully, it didn’t overflow. What a relief.

I finished up and got outta there, wondering if someone was going to be waiting to use the bathroom. Nobody was there. But I’m sure it was gonna be a treat to whoever went next. Then there’s the person who has to actually clean it…

I’ve decided to immortalize this momentous occasion by drawing the log in all its glory. And there you have it. 10 of 99.

Lefty loosey: 9 of 99.


2008
07.03

9

I’ve been listening to the Technicolor Web of Sound internet radio station for the past week or so, with amazingly cosmic and psychedelic results. I wish I was around to witness all those things in person. That station rules.

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