If you missed them, be sure to read DAY ONE and DAY TWO.
Saturday morning:
The weather was much nicer:
Got up and loaded all the photos to the comp, uploaded the videos, jacked all of Sam's music files and chewed up a bunch of vicodin. Sam slept all day, and when we finally got out of the hotel, both of the shows were over. Never had a chance to get my print from Zerofriends. Oh well, I have since talked to Sean, and everything is on the square.
We were both a little hungover, so we hit Fuddrucker's again. Decided it was time to get it crackin, and started hittin the 'tron. Before we left the hotel room, I had consumed a 6 pack of Rolling Rock, and 3-5 shots of Patron. Feelin good.
Were walkin down the street and I start catchin gems left and right:
Can you say scraper??
Just another Saturday night in the streets...
Not only does this cat look like the guy who played "buffalo bob" in the "Joe Dirt" movie, but he was also sweating an INSANE amount. Peep the ring of sweat under those beads. And that hat? Damn homey. just damn.
These birds were posin for a picture for a different camera, but ol' girl on the far left is still staring at me. She asked me what the photo was for, I gave her a sticker and said "check the site, mine will come out better, I'm a professional". She giggled and smiled. Ollie, still a mack.
Fantasia?? HAHA. nah. The bad kind of thickness.
We roamed the streets, talked shit, ate dinner, got drunk, went to sleep.
Sunday Morning:
I got up early again and decided to hit the streets solo. Took some photos:
View from the corner across from the hotel.
No bloodclot batti bwoys.
The meter maids in San Diego ride around on Segways. What recession? I asked her how she felt about the segway and she told me "it backs itself into my shins alot". Interesting.
Street vendor with the vintage children's jump off. Didn't have my size though.
This bird had the dope backyard. Couldn't catch up to her to ask how many lunges/squats she does a day.
Heaven??
Nope, just a filthy porno store. I bought a couple new pieces.
Mick Jagger X Chicago Cubs X Oliver Wrist finger around eye. If that doesn't make sense, good. I hate when cats use the "item X item" description of two brands working together. Basically, I'm not sure if the computer is doing justice to this photo or not, but this was a painting of Mick Jagger. I snapped the photo and my reflection left it looking like Mick is wearing a cubs cap, and my finger is wrapped around his eye.
Thats the basic idea of what popped in San Diego. The economy being in the shits definitely showed as the shows weren't nearly as big as they have been in the past. Hopefully I can come up with enough money, and time off work, and passes into Magic to be able to get out to vegas for another streetwear massacre.
Peace to Sam for driving, and the badge, and the patron, and everything else.
Peace to TBC (the ball and chain/girlfriend) for being dope and not sweatin me for being a jack-ass.
Peace to anybody who was cool.
Fuck You to Mason and the goons from cardboard robot, your ideas are tired and the quality is wiggity wack.
OH YEAH!!!!!
Be sure to listen to alot more Draftklick. These cats are wild as fuck and extra mainy like Kevin Delaney. Peep DRAFTKLICK HERE.
If you missed day one, Scroll down to the post directly below.
Friday Morning:
Something alot of people don't know about me: I cannot sleep. I wake up early as fuck on Friday morning, take a hand full of vicodin, wash my ass, get dipped, and then wait around for Sam to get out of bed. You see, at any other time I would have just went without him, but I had to have him to get my badge at ASR.
Its pretty overcast outside. (View from our room):
We mob down to ASR. I, for some dumb ass fucking reason have my camera in my backpack and not around my neck and miss a ton of photo ops in route to the show. No big deal though. We check in, get our badges, mash through the convention center and head over to the Hard Rock for a drink.
1 Samuel Adams and 1 Jack 'N Coke. $18 motherfucking dollars. Don't these cats know I'm ballin on a budget? Fuck it, lets go to AGENDA.
Once we get inside AGENDA, this is when the photo snaps, and the ridiculing really began.
ArtsProjekt by Andy Howell. Unfinished panel.
Never got a chance to see the finished product by the way. If anyone has photos of the finished artsprojekt panel, shoot an e-mail to nickelplatedbama@gmail.com
Andy Howell is a legend. To get acquainted with his artwork, stories, and skateboarding history, you should read his book, “Art, Skateboarding, and Life” by Andy Howell. Homie is a BEAST, and he loves Ollie.
Cruised around and snapped some photos of uninspired, blatant commercial rip-offs being passed off as "designs".
Oh, a reference to pac-man. how (un)original.
Is that a Tecate can? Oh, so you just took the beer can and changed the words on it? I hadn't ever seen that before. Could you have used a dirtier screen? That shit is going to wash off the first time it sees the laundry.
Oh, I get it. You Run Shit. But trust me, the cat that was peddling this gear looks more like he runs from shit.
CARDBOARD ROBOT. Ok, so I mentioned it before I left that I had set up a meeting to talk with the cats at Carboard Robot and that Ryan and Rob were super cool with me over e-mail. Wellllll, I showed up to their booth, without ever having seen the gear these cats are peddling, and, well, this is what they were working with...
How (un)inspired. Anyways, so I was supposed to do an interview with Ryan... here's how it went:
Ollie: "Yo, is Ryan or Rob around?"
Fuckin Burn-out hipster: "Who's askin?"
Ollie: "Oliver Wrist, I write NickelPlatedBama"
Fuckin burn-out hipster: "Oh Oliver Wrist, yeah, I saw your e-mail, get the fuck outta here. (chuckles)"
Ollie: (rage in my eyes) "what the fuck?"
Fuckin burn-out hipster: "i'm just kiddin, maaaaaaan. Ryan's outside, I'm Mason, i'm basically like the boss..."
Ollie: "Good for you, what about Rob, is he around?"
Mason (previously fuckin burn-out hipster): "nope, talk to john right there."
I think to myself, "self, what the fuck have you gotten into, there cant be a bigger collection of fuckheads in the entire city of San Diego..."
In Ryan's defense, he was super cool, very easy going, answered questions honestly, and didn't try to come off like he was too big for my "little blog".
I finish up the interview and the fuckin burn out hipster Mason wants to "walk and talk". I tell him I got shit to do, he just wants to know what I'm going to write.
I tell him "well, its a satire blog"...
"but you're not gonna clown us right? fuck it, i don't care, do whatever you want"
Ollie: "Oh I will... thanks 'BRRRRRROOOO'.."
Ollie, Out.
Moral of the story, Ryan from Cardboard Robot needs a new job. The shit these guys are peddling is straight TRASH, Mason is a fuckin faggot, John was cool, but still a little "cool guy, i run a line, jock me" type, and Ryan was just an overall mellow dude. Somebody hook him up with a decent line to work with, he'll get shit done.
After that catastrophe i stepped to the ZEROFRIENDS booth. This is a collective of artist’s works printed to t-shirts headlined by Alex Pardee. This cat is a fucking bad ass...
Peace to Reez at Thegluttony.com for the above photo. My original didn't take well, too much flash. That is a canvas Alex painted the first day of Agenda. Bummer that I missed it.
Unfortunately, Alex wasn't there. I talked to Sean instead though, and this cat was straight up cool. Some wild shit too, apparently homie had set up the local "Zumies" in Visalia (my home turf, what now) and knew the homie Johnny who manages the place. We talked a bit, he gave me first dibs on the prints he brought down for sale, and I cut.
Lots of other bullshit goin on, I was over it, so we hopped in the limo and mashed it to ASR. I needed to drink, so I got up in the beer garden and started pounding beers. Apparently so did this bird:
cause she was gettin extra wild. Before this picture was taken, she walked by me and I said “hey, have a sticker”. She says “stick it on me”. I oblige and stick it directly over her exposed nipple. She says “I hope you’re prepared for a lawsuit, that’s assault…” I laugh and casually walk away. This bird runs in a circle around the piñata den, and comes back to say “I was just kidding.” I said “well put these stickers over your nipples and let me take a photo…” She says she can’t pull her J’s out in public, so I settled for the above joint. Trust in this, if I wasn’t in a faithful relationship with TBC, I would have pursued a photo shoot back at the telly. . Peep a couple videos I shot of her hi-jinx…
I call this one: wild ass hoe does cartwheel in mini-skirt:
Then she beat the shit out of a pinata:
Nipple slip:
This broad really needed attention. Badly.
After that fiasco, I walked around and snapped some random photos...
Who has more fun? The Blondes?
Or the brunettes?
I’m a brunette guy myself, and the stomach pieces on these birds were oh so silky smooth.
Cool Mustache:
Or maybe your shirt screams "I NEED ATTENTION". haha. This dude asked me if I was a cop. LOL.
Kareem Campbell in the building:
Casey from "The Captain and Casey Show" fame. If you look closely on the left, that's Jerone Wilson. He was mad cause I asked Casey for a photo and not him.
If this is on his head/neck I can't imagine whats under his shirt:
Neat Hat:
Look closely in the left corner, NPB reppin over the taillight:
The head muhfucka in charge over at L.R.G. (yellow jacket) One of the coolest cats i've ever met. Big ups to Robert!
This homie was extra smoove in his turtle neck:
On our way back to the room, hella saucy from a day's worth of drinking, I decide it would be a good idea to buy some boos. Remember earlier when I said they don't sell drank after 10:00 p.m. I tell the store clerk to give me a bottle of Patron, realize I don't have any scratch, so I tell Sam to pay for it. He was drunk, so he was like Fuck It. We get back to the room and Sam passes out at like 8:30. I call in an order to Fuddrucker's (that was directly next door to the hotel we were staying at), and ordered an ungodly amount of food. In honor of Reez at Thegluttony.com:
I have been putting this off since Sunday. Why? Because I have alot of photos, but not nearly enough to document the entire event. Fuck it. Here goes. The story will be broken down into sections. Unfortunately, the first section will have limited photos. Don't skip though, the story itself is pretty good.
***EDITOR'S NOTE: If the photos are cut off, just double click on them to open in a new window for full effect, I uploaded them in a "large" format and this blog layout does not support that size. Unfortunately for you all, I am lazy, so you can just click if you want the full photo.***
Thursday afternoon:
The homie Sam FTK Construction picks me up from Smalls' house and we hit the open road, lookin for adventure. HAHA. Gay. Anyways, I haven't spent any significant amount of time with Sam in prolly like 6 years due to a small misunderstanding that neither of us seemed to care enough about to address until now. Water under the bridge as they say. After some catchin up and bullshittin' I realize I've had to piss for like over an hour. I tell Sam to pull over sometime soon. He takes this literally and pulls off on the first exit we come to. Downtown ECHO PARK. The Hood. Great. We drive under the overpass and realize it is strictly industrial. Turn around, wait for a train to pass, and finally find a McDonald's. This place is unfriendly to say the least. So hood in fact, I opted to leave the camera in the car, so as to avoid snapping any photos of folks against their will thus putting Sam and I in a less than promising situation. I piss, slap some stickers up, and were off. Nothing too important happens, the rest of the drive, until I see this sign:
(Insert Photo Here) Yeah, I couldn't catch the flick cause we passed the sign doing 80. It wasn't the picture on the sign that mattered anyway, its what the sign said.
"Do you urinate when you cough or sneeze? 1 in 3 women suffers from this..." HAHAHAHA. What the FUCK? Seriously...
We get to San Diego, drive up and down Broadway lookin for our hotel. Valet Park (not cause were that bossy, but because it was the only option). Check in, head up to our room, get unpacked, get changed, get dipped and head out. (Shout out to TBC for the hook on the hotel room. $39.00 a night on peak weekend rates muhfuckas). 2 blocks from the telly I catch this guy:
He asks me for a tip... So I tell him "You should prolly shave your arm pits too".
After walking the wrong direction like 8 blocks, we turn around and head back the right way towards the Hard Rock Hotel to meet up with the cats from ORISUE.
**Side Note** If you're not familiar with Orisue Clothing and what they are bringin to the table, slap yoself. These cats got a mean cut and sew game, and are actually tryin to push the boundaries of fashion. Fuck Streetwear, these dudes are bringin Heatwear!
At the Hard Rock, I get introduced to Travis. A younger member of the Orisue staff who can't get into the bars yet, so he' havin a party in a suite upstairs. Head up, meet a couple of cats, see the amount of underage tail, I look at Sam, he looks at me, we give "the nod" and call it a wrap.
Big shout to Travis for havin us come thru though, and to be completely honest I would have loved to have kicked it and harrassed those little birdies all night if there would have been some boos around.
Fuck it. We mash out to go grab some drinks and get told at the 7-eleven that "there are no alcoholic beverages sold downtown after 10:00 p.m.". ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING? Scribble this into your mental notebook as it will come back up again later.
It's now approx. midnight and we havent eaten shit all day.
We got a hot dog. Its called "the deep south". It is really good.
The hot dog wasn't enough so we caught a slice of pizza and called it a wrap.
Day 2 of the trip tomorrow. For the record, I have the story typed up but I have to resize all of the images because it sucks to have to click every photo to view it. First thing Wednesday morning.
Seriously though. I feel like shit. 4 days of eating gluttonous amounts of food, drinkin' Patron and Rolling Rock's, Walking what seemed like 5 miles a day, weaving through hoards of streetwear kids dressed up for other dudes, breakin' in new canvas vans, taking pills, and lugging around a camera and a backpack all the time has caught up to me. My body is drained. The photos from the ASR/Agenda show are loaded up, but I don't really feel like writing the story to accompany the flicks. The story will be up by no later than Wednesday.
Some highlights of the trip:
-Haystak. Sheer goonery...
-WoodPile.
-Google Maps.
-Cardboard Robot. Ryan and John are cool. Mason is a fuckin burn-out hippy fag bag. Your line sucks.
-Fuddrucker's.
-Boners for vintage gear.
-L.R.G.
-Cartwheels in mini-skirts.
-Andy Howell
-Automatic Shotguns.
-Roscoes Chicken and Waffles.
Photos to come with full story and recap of the trip.
Yes, you read that post right. The first run of limited edition NickelPlatedBama stickers have arrived and are ready to be pasted on every city corner in the U.S. and beyond.
The ultra secretive and very exclusive street team has been having bi-weekly meetings discussing our marketing scheme. First stop, San Diego... Well, actually, thats the last stop on the first trip. Every rest stop, gas station, liquor store, and fast food joint that we stop at on our way to AGENDA/ASR is gonna get slapped.
If you want some stickers to represent your love for this amazing site, or if you're just into vandalism, shoot me a comment on here or an email at nickelplatedbama@gmail.com.
Tell a friend to tell a friend to tell a friend. This site is bigger than cigarettes in my brain, it's time we make that shit a reality. KEEP IT FUNKY!
I got my confirmation for ASR registration and AGENDA registration via E-Mail last night. I'm heading down to San Diego for the shows on Thursday Afternoon and will be there for the AGENDA and ASR after party on Thursday night, Friday, Saturday, and comin' back home Sunday. Got some meetings set up with some super cool cats down there, hope to grow the BAMA to new heights after this weekend.
To the readers that have been hangin around since the beginning, thanks a million for any and all support.
I'd like to throw a couple shouts to some folks that made it possible...
TBC- thanks for being supportive in my misogeny (most chicks wouldnt put up with it)
The homie Sam from ftkconstruction.com for the hook on the ASR badge. Those joints aren't too easy to come by.
The homies Ryan and Rob from Cardboard Robot, Raphel from Live Mechanics, Larry Luk from PROCESS, and Patrick from Akomplice for takin the time to get with me for some dialogue at the show or via E-MAIL.
Watch out for the interview with Larry Luk from PROCESS clothing in the near future.
If this is your first time stopping by NickelPlatedBama, I would suggest getting a feel for the blog by going through the archives. There have been too many classic posts to count. If you disagree with an opinion here on the site, make it public. The writer of this blog suffers from a rare condition that allows him to feel absolutely zero remorse when attacking a person's character or, in most cases, lack there of. Please feel free to enjoy, hate, participate, tell a friend to tell 2 friends, but always, ALWAYS stop back here again tomorrow, as you never know what this looney bastard might say next...
Directly below this box you will find an interview with Oliver Wrist by Oliver Wrist that should serve as an FAQ. Anything else you want to know, Oliver will literally answer any and all questions you may have, so don't be shy, shoot an email to Oliver Wrist at: nickelplatedbamadotcom@gmail.com
Nickel Plated Bama: Who? What? When? Where? Why? and How?
Who writes NickelPlatedBama?
Oliver Wrist writes, edits, designs, takes photos, and publishes NickelPlatedBama personally Monday-Friday. Oliver Wrist is an alter ego that I created as a means of getting things off of my chest. Ollie is irrational and flagrant. Once boos are introduced, the hillarity ensues. Rather than feel bad, Oliver chooses to embrace his lunacy and use his shamelessness for a greater good. Oliver's travels and opinions are documented on an almost daily basis. I say almost daily because I don't work on weekends.
What is NickelPlatedBama? What is A Nickel Plated Bama?
Nickelplatedbama is a face-melting social commentary blog written from the perspective of a self absorbed asshole with no shame or morals to speak of. If you're into hip hop music, silky smooth breezys, absurdly opinionated witty banter and reading the rants of an anti-social, overly confident, self absorbed "writer" (for lack of a better word) please continue. NickelPlatedBama is a source for venting and bashing, hating and thrashing, shitting and blasting on everything from bad food to bad music and everything in between. I don't hate everything however. NickelPlatedBama and more importantly Oliver Wrist praise iconic figures such as the ever elusive white girl thickness, mid-'90's hip hop, fashion, graffiti, art, ice cold behavior, celebreality t.v., Chicago Cubs baseball, San Diego Chargers football, College Basketball, Early '90's WWF wrestling, laughing at other peoples misfortunes, and generally acting like a complete type-a sociopath.
Nickel Plated Bama is extra gutter street slang for a nickel (the precious metal) plated hand cannon. You know, a burner, a strap, a gat, a tre pound, a whistle, or for the uninitiated a gun.
When did NickelPlatedBama get started?
Oliver Wrist has been the other half of my split personality for years. It originally started as my DJ'ing name. My career as a DJ lasted only about as long as it took me to write this BIO. As it turns out, I am an awful DJ. Not because I play bad records, but because I butcher the scratches. My brother, Young Smalls, a.k.a. DJ Fuzzy Badfeet, has taken over the reigns and is now my own personal DJ. Although Smalls refuses to accept the things I have taught him since birth as doctrine, he still gets the Oliver Wrist stamp of approval as a purveyor of all things mixed well. He uses my turntables, my mixer, and my records to do his thug-thizzle, but he is a much better DJ than I could ever be, so I just give him enough shit to remain enthusiastic. Being that my foray into the DJ world went south, I decided to use writing as a tool to express myself creatively. Thus far it has proven somewhat successful. How do I know? Well, you're reading this aren't you?
Where did you come up with NickelPlatedBama?
I have spent so much of my valuable time force-feeding the readers of this blog my personal musical preferences (Read: mid-'90's new york hip hop, ign'ant pimp shit, '90's bay area movement, etc.) and blasting all these idiots that set themselves up for utter failure everytime they open their mouth, or press record on the video camera over the last few months, that I forgot to ever place the credit where the credit was due. Nickel Plated Bama is a reference to a line in a song from the 808 King himself (No not you Kanye). I'm talking about The RZA. a.k.a. Bobby Digital. a.k.a. Bobby Boulders. a.k.a. The Abbot. a.k.a. The head of the Wu-Tang dynasty. When I came up with the idea to start writing a blog, I wanted to name it something that most people wouldn't understand right out of the gate, creating a buzz as a result of the inherent curiousity of the average internet lurker. The result was a line from a Bobby Digital album where RZA says "my head is a like a Nickel Plated Bamma". I guess I should just go ahead and spell it out for you. Instead of using an obvious title such as "The Smoking Gun" (besides, it was already taken) for a blog name, I decided to get creative. So, with this blog title, I pay homage to one of my favorite, not only rappers, but creator of things, and still stay sharper than a sword with the usage of metaphor in describing the gun (my keyboard) i use to roast those i deem indesirable.
See above question titled "What is a Nickel Plated Bama".
Why?
Why not is a better question. I hate alot of shit. I want people to know that I hate aforementioned "shit". This was covered in the above section titled "Who writes Nickel Plated Bama".
How do you pronounce the "BAMA"?
It recently came to my attention while I was in the streets passing out stickers and shamelessly promoting this blog that alot of people were mispronouncing the "BAMA". I will make it very easy for you all.
Think Alabama. Don't think Obama. Are we clear now? I really hope so.
Disclaimer:
While most opinions on this site are based in fact, they are merely that, opinions. If you take this shit seriously OR anything that Oliver Wrist has to say personally, than it was definitely directed at you. If you are easily offended, read on, YOU are the target audience. And ladies, Oliver Wrist is the Asshole your mother warned you about. Oliver Wrist is extremely self absorbed and could not care less if your feelings get hurt. If you disagree with anything Oliver Wrist has to say, please make it public, so that Oliver Wrist may be able to roast you publicly.
