We interrupt the normal flow of things to bring you this interruption.
Imbalance is skateboarding.
And of course, vice versa is also true.
I heard Tommy Guerrero paraphrase Bruce Lee recently. And I too will paraphrase. “Perfect balance,” I say he said Bruce said, “comes in motion.”
This is also true.
Moving through the equilibrium of 1980, Tommy Guerrero guides a back-bar nose-grabber at the Berkley tennis courts. Photo: Bryce Kanights
Isn’t it nice that in this world of lies and deception there are so many truths … even contradictory ones?
Do you know what a streak is? Yes, it is it a verb meaning to run around naked, but it’s also a long string of similar occurrences. Hitting streaks in baseball are talked about in reverent and hushed tones. Winning streaks are similarly worshiped in the world of sports, not only by the men and women whose professional lives revolve around playing and winning and losing, but by the fans who live vicariously through their ups and downs. There are streaks flowing aquatic under the stock market, the grades of your smarter friends, the music of Prince, and the spinning of each and every roulette wheel. There are also regretful streaks—losing streaks, streaks of bad luck, streaky streaks.
The best thing about a streak, though, is also kind of built into it. Up or down, win or lose, hot or cold, the streak has to end. It cannot go on forever. It must be interrupted. There must be a momentary imbalance to achieve … well … balance.
Eric Grisham interrupts all the to and fro with a well-balanced Andrecht. Photo: Chip Morton
And this is the shit I think of when I sit down to type. Take these broken fingers and learn to write … into the light of a dark black night.
It sucks (believe me, I know), but it could be worse. Usually the FIRST thing I think of is me. Then through an ancient exercise of struggling and Sun Chip eating, I TIVO backward and forward through my dim wits and find something like … balance. Yes, there it is. Something besides my aching wrist, my sore shoulder, and my swollen knee that’s draining a bruising and tender fluid down into my ankle. Anything but another sentence about a string of skateboard borne hurts and aches.
And the streak is over. Imbalance is found, the flow is interrupted, and the ironic and momentary balance of balance is achieved.
We all look for this kind of imbalance. It’s a futile pursuit, but one similar to the one that many misplaced souls chase every single day on their way toward an elusively perfect line, note, sentence, joke, or action—away from the ugly streaks of bosses, professors, creditors, schedules, and other yuck mouth blah blah blahs.
Movement—both away from and toward something—is where a pressure-free vacuum can sometimes be achieved. And there, inside that bulb, the goofy line and the regular line intersect, nollies stick to your feet, heels don’t drag down your Monty grinds, and the entire world smoothes out in front of you.
We now return you to your regularly scheduled interruptions.