Friday, May 4

19 and ready to Rock!

By Dave Finger

While in line at the Canadian border, our blue 84 Volkswagen camper van stands out like a leader amongst his people. Surrounded by new and expensive SUVs waiting to take their 19-year-old cargoes across the boarder for a 'wild' night of semi-legal underage debauchery, the van stands with a quiet poise of someone who has been there and done that. Contained within our vehicle is an air of experience, one that says to the border guard, "we're not here for the kegger thrown by somebody that reminds you of the captain of your High School football team." But rather, "we're here to subtly make fun of your country and it's customs while watching the biggest skateboarding event this side of America!" Seemingly content with this look of professionalism painted across my handsome jaw, the guard gives the "Blue Toaster" a thumbs up and off we go into the Great White North for the Slam City Jam, Canada's largest and most well established pro skateboarder competition.

Slipping my passport back into storage, Stuart (assigned the all-important duty of documenting the event on celluloid) passes a Zamboni, fresh out of the Canadian Curling Club's parking lot. Amazed at the culture I'm soaking up, my phone vibrates, then loses signal, and we are welcomed to Canadia with voice mail details for the big party. Having time to grab the substantial dinner of six McNuggets and small fries, we creep into a parking spot just across the wrong side of the tracks to scarf down our grease and get ready for the party. Stepping out of the van for the first time in hours, I recall there's nothing like leaving all the valuables that mean anything to you out on some dark street in a foreign land. Hooray for sketchiness!

Dudes only in this shot.

Crossing the velvet rope at Wetbar I throw a smile to those waiting in the queue and check my coat at the mandatory Canadian coat check. Relieving myself of the potentially gun concealing garment on my shoulders, I run into Frank Vu and Chris Dunham from Dub at the bar. Being both the well-dressed president of Dub and major sponsor of the party, Frank puts me on his tab and we are officially drinking for free in Canada. About midnight, I notice a huge group of Chocolate and Girl team riders causing a ruckus, ballyhooing about and posing like a platoon of veteran soldiers in front of the camera. Turns out the one commanding this crowd is Girl Skateboards pro Tony Ferguson and it's his 27th birthday. My man has on more ice than the bottom of a hockey puck and I promptly offer to buy him a shot. Declining in pursuit of some fly young fan, my eyes turn to the Soul Controllers (DJs for the night) and I think, "this is so fresh, the entire dance floor is packed and the best part is that 98% of the booty shakers are girls!" That's right boys, let's all thank Canada. The night blurs into us driving home to crash with our new friend Melissa. Directions aren't the only things coming out of her through the open passenger window. Then she dry heaves and it's kind of creepy.

Saturday is met with sunshine and codeine straight from the Canadian pharmacy; no FDA means no hangover. After the contest we lurk in the van for a while before the party at the Commodore starts, a mighty venue that will host tonight's action. Let me break right here and say that Vancouver does this weird thing where they make everyone queue up in front of the bar (I'm talking like hundreds of kids) and then slowly let people in maybe one or two at a time. Dedicated to the party, some kids wait for over two hours even to get in. Dear Vancouver, why not just let the kids flood the venue and get them all buying drinks? Reasons still unknown, the queue in front does make for a Hollywood-esque type of feel.

So, you have this one queue that is all local kids waiting desperately to get in, then you have this other completely empty entryway guarded by that elusive velvet rope. So what happens is the pros, with crew in tow, pull up in taxicabs smack dab in front of this huge queue. From here they throw all their gear out piece by piece (backpacks, skateboards, etc.) which kind of gets this "who's it gonna be?" vibe happening. Then finally they emerge from the vehicle's interior to the head-turning delight of the enormous group still waiting to get in. The delight of the queue shifts however when the occupants of the cab nod to the bouncer and walk right in, leaving them to another hour or two of waiting.

Das EFX on crowd control.

So, following the lead of these skateboarding stars, we roll in with our crew that has by now grown to seven. Once inside, the drinks start flowing again as I recognize people from the night before, everyone's calling out "what up!" and rockin' the styles that define them, as Swollen Members take the stage for a verbal assault on the crowd. Dope is what comes next, an impromptu B-Boy session breaks out on stage as both girls and guys bust out some ill ass up-rockin', cartwheels, poses, and combinations of each. Kids from the crowd jump up on stage, show their moves, and immediately make fools of themselves next to the crews that are holdin' it down. A blast from the past hits me as Das EFX take the stage and kick their fliggity-fliggity-flava' for the rest of the night, everyone's bumpin' and the crowd is hype.

I look around and see again what defines the Slam City parties this weekend - more girls than guys on the floor, people taking advantage of the liberal weed legislation, pro skateboarders getting their groove on, and lots and lots of strong beer. Who wouldn't love Canada?