The F1nal Front1er with Christian McDreamy

A couple of weeks ago, I was lucky enough to get on up to Alaska to sleep with my good friend, Chris Lende (pronounced "lend"). Chris is originally from the last frontier and, in case you haven't seen him in awhile, he's finally shed his baby fat:

"Yeah I work at a lumberyard." - C.S. Lende

And although the picture below shows otherwise, he's also not afraid to show off his newly acquired bod. Each morning Chris managed to wake me with a smooth shirtless serenade (usually an original song he had wrote about me in his dreams):

But enough about ol' Chris. He doesn't need this much attention on a blog, considering how many chicks are into him. Let's talk about AK.

They have an awesomely lacklustre supply of maria:

Even so, Chris was a little shy to display his patronage of said maria:

Crashtian gets sketchy on some coping at Juneau Skatepark. What's he doing over there? Evil things, child.

Whoops, I'm back on Christian. He's just too good looking.

Well... I stood on porches:

And accidentally took videos outside of the bar at 4:20 in the morning:

Believe it or not, folks, there IS NO last call in the 49th state. Get up there.

And I purposely took videos of this guy. Goes by the name of Kid Burfle:

A few seconds only showcase a fraction of the epicness of this man. The weirdness of his name, Kid Burfle, and the even weirderness of his character inspired me to concoct an all-star team of dudes from Haines, Alaska.

Kid Burfle's the only one who managed to get some screen time, but each member of the All Stars were magnificent in their own way.

Adrian, another member of the squad, had a shirt with the word "Abstinent" scribbled on the front. Sure enough, when he turned around, he had sharpied his phone number on the back. Brilliant? Pienso que si.

"Hey Crash, who's the stash?"

But this has been one of HELLAMARIA's longer pieces, so I'm just going to sum up the rest of what we did in AK the old fashioned way:

fish carcasses!, sprained wrists, pretending to be on extremely hard drugs and getting stoked about it, witnessing Michael T. (another all star) get seriously amped up, crunchy banjo'd jams, shirtless hippies grinding on hairy hot canadian femalia (we were with 'em too... well Chris was?), bears from a distance, PBR, co-ed softball, bomb fried halibut, Christian smoking home runs, Christian and sometimes even the PhD smoking other things (king salmon, daniel kweed, each other occasionally), beached back yards, crashing bikes, 3 hours of darkness, dub-stepping to DJ Presha (?), bear meat bolognese and noodles, ferries, fairies, 40 yards out of rough chip-ins, and disturbingly psychadelic puppet shows:

Yes. That's a giant top-hatted Satan parading about with a bearded man in a dress.

But, if there's any chance you're still reading, I'm sure I know why. It's because you were wondering if perhaps there WAS a video of TCZ skateboarding in Alaska.

Well I'm sorry to disappoint you, but... yes there is. You know my skill level, but enjoy tranny-dog Crashtian and his P-Rod inspired headphoned homie, Nels, ripping pure Alaskan indoor terrain.

And if you're not too offended by the song, go find it. "Psycho" by Jack Kittel.

Terminally Chill in AKSALA from Dr. Tan Legs on Vimeo.

Alpha and Omega Kingdom Come

The great dragon was hurled down -- that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him... to destroy the Temporary Chill Zone and their miniature skateboarding apparatus. - Revelation 12:9

Yes, folks, what you have most likely heard is true indeed. The TCZ is in its final days at the location of 17th and Cascade.

While it might "move" to somewhere behind Denny's (the whereabouts of Ron and Roby Jr.'s new crib), we all know those days ahead hold nothing but eternal sorrow, unrelenting darkness, and, of course, Call of Duty online.

So, Mr. Nice Guy, Mayor Cherry Eyes, and myself took a few minutes to film the last couple runs on the ramp before we began its destruction.

It did us well, and will live forever in our hearts... and on vimeo.

And I used another somber country classic for added effect. Enjoy. Or don't.

Broken Fence Chronicles Vol. 2: The End from Dr. Tan Legs on Vimeo.

P.S. - Post and video of my adventures with the High Flying Alaskan in the last frontier coming soon.

Terminally (Ch)ill Zone

In light of Zach finally making his way to India, Christian bailing to the last frontier months ago, Jake teaching or not teaching in China, and the rest of the TCZers dispersing elsewhere, the Temporary Chill Zone might be on it's way out... in a strictly physical sense.

So I gathered a handful of clips from a one-night-stand at Longmont skatepark, used a lot of slo-mo, and put it to a somber song to really underline the true sentimentality we are leaving behind here at the TCZ.

But don't get your hopes up. There's no blunts, boobs, beers, bullets, or even bails in this video. Just skateboarding, in the most mediocre sense of the word.

So just enjoy... or don't. Either way, TCZ.

And Andy Wheeler has tricks!

Yay Andy. Look at him go.

One-night-stand in Longmont from Dr. Tan Legs on Vimeo.

P.S. - The song may or may not be a tribute to Z and his adventures in Gandhi-land. Follow his shilt: cowboyandindians.tumblr.com

Broken Fence Chronicles Volume One

Greetings, Earthlings...

If you guys love mediocre skateboarding, Zach Z, the TCZ, cross-dissolves, and dark and fuzzy camera quality, then this is the video for you.

A monday night at the TCZ (and somehow the first exclusively mini-ramp video... weird):

Monday Night at the TCZ from Dr. Tan Legs on Vimeo.

Thanks to Kane the Englishman for filming and the chicks on the sesh for not leaving.

Love,

Tan Legs, Ph. D.

Coming soon to a Goose near you...

I figured we might as well get the advertising going early, so....

BLAM!

Picture this in t-shirt or tank-top form sticking to your sweaty summer bod. A bod smelling of old socks, watermelon Four Loko, and Downer smoke. Hot, yes?

Well, my friends, your wish is coming true.

This Friday, y'all can buy your limited edition tees and tanks from the one, the only, Sean Dodge.

A Sean Dodge who looks like this:

And this:

But used to look like this:

And here's a nice old photo of the Brothers Dodge all of you nirgins should go print out and put in a cute little frame:

But, in all seriousness, the proceeds of the shirts will go toward paying Jimmy's rent while he's "away." And we all love the little guy. So do it.

Plus, who doesn't want a Free Jimmy shirt?

Facebook or e-mail Sean at deansodge@gmail.com

The two craziest dudes I know

Hopefully Karl Lawrence is the first of many sponsors for my longtime boyfriend, David Cole. But, if you haven't seen it, peep the ad we made with Dave and the infamous Ric-man himself.

Shot at the Saint Helena Skatepark (which wouldn't exist if it weren't for my pops).

Wine-os have finally infiltrated the hell-firéd realm of skateboarding.

Surfing roads, homie!

A Modest Proposal

Since the beginning of time (roughly), it has been frowned upon for us males to leave the toilet seat up. And, after many arguments ending in fisticuffs (damn straight), not getting any, and sleepless nights, I have decided to publish my disapproval of this unspoken agreement between sexes and toilet seat preferences.

To start things off, the rule doesn't make any fucking sense.

I'm sure all of you have been in a public bathroom, needing to go number two (or one and two, ladies), seen a fair amount of splatter on the seat, and either:

a. cried, left, and held it

b. cried and sat down

c. hovered

or

d. folded about nine squares of tp and cleaned up some stranger's urine.

If it was common law to leave the seat up, our bathroom culture would bypass the hazards left by lazy males who are too stoned to lift up the seat and aim correctly. This would then leave the throne dry for all to sit upon.

Now, I know what you're thinking: "Well if the seat was always up, then women would have to touch the seat for both numbers one and two."

Here's my answer: Since the invention of indoor plumbing, men have been touching (or not touching) the undersides of seats grimy and gruesome, only to keep in line with the ridiculous unspoken toilet law of society.

If women were to adopt this new rule today, it would take hundreds of years for their seat-touching sacrifices to equal the historic numbers of man.

And, as a result, we would never have to mop up unfamiliar pee again.

(Unless, of course, your seat is down because your precious little dog prefers toilet brand water. If that's the case, I suppose we are screwed.)

Photo of Chris the dog courtesy of my girlfriend. Somehow got one of those! Right on!