DAVE BACHINSKY

DAVE BACHINSKY

Words by Jay Riggio

DAVE BACHINSKY. Words by Jay Riggio. This Photo: Dan Zaslavsky

After I finished up my brief interview with Dave Bachinsky, he kindly asked if I would e-mail him our transcribed correspondence. This is not an unusual or outlandish request from any subject, especially when that subject is fairly down on their luck and vulnerable to the many evils the world might have in store for them.

When I phoned Dave, I was possibly in the worst mood ever and to be quite honest, was a good dick hair away from treating the entire interview as some suicide prevention hotline call. Me, I would be the hopeless jumper and Dave–he’d be the soft-spoken, earthly voice of reason. I wanted to curl up and die and the last thing on earth I needed out of this sorrowful life of ours, was to conduct an interview at 9:45 p.m.

‘Fuck it,’ I said aloud as I sat on my friend’s apartment floor and dialed Bachinsky’s number.  The text for this thing was already a week late.  It was now or never. But as luck would have it, Dave’s life would also suck.  Well, actually that’s not true. It doesn’t really suck, but initially I thought it might.

Dave Bachinsky Backsmith. Photo: Xeno

Dave Bachinsky Backsmith. Photo: Xeno

You see Dave wanted our Q&A to be sent to him because he ‘usually gets screwed’ with interviews. He went on to describe a particular interview he once did while completely shitfaced.  Unless you’re Ernest fucking Hemingway, I’m a firm believer that the drunken thought process does not translate well into print. Obviously, the end result of it all was Dave sounding as he put it, ‘like a stupid asshole through half the thing.’ As Dave explained this to me, my demeanor slowly began to transform.  Sure I was still pissy and sort of bummed, but here I was on the phone with someone who potentially has it worse than I do.  Misery loves the fuck out of company and Dave had instantly become my only possible faithful ally of shittiness.

Dave Bachinsky Switch Frontside blunt. Photo: Xeno

Dave Bachinsky Switch Frontside blunt. Photo: Xeno

My life leading up to the point of our conversation had been jam packed with misfortune, bad luck and a steady stream of golden tinted urine that had trickled down from some higher domain. About 2 months ago, my girlfriend left me for another dude who I’m convinced is not only big, black and more sexually equipped than I, but I’m certain he’s better looking and smarter than me too.  If that didn’t suck enough horse balls, I was rendered homeless as a result of our untimely split, which by the way also dipped my ass 2 G’s in the hole.  I’ve been sleeping on a friends couch ever since, battling unsettling nightmares, severe anxiety and an impacted wisdom tooth that I fear is slowly leading to the loss of hearing in on the right side of my head.  But back to Dave. Dave told me about how he just got back from a skate trip in New York.  On his last day there, he and his crew received tickets and a summons for trespassing at a spot nobody wanted to skate in  the first place. Yep, as I suspected, Dave’s life was so far sucking. His misfortune empowered me and made me feel normal.  “Go on Dave,” I creepily said, encouraging him to spew more personal details of sorrow. I perversely licked my lips and grinned as he spoke of his terrible luck.  “I think I have bad luck with my car,” spoke Dave. “My friend Manny destroyed my bumper twice.  Then my girlfriend destroyed my whole back end. I just went and got it fixed and the mechanic gave my car back to me. I get all the way back home and look at the right side of my front bumper, which was something he wasn’t’ even supposed to touch and it was completely destroyed.” ‘Wait a second,’ I thought, ‘Dave’s got a girlfriend?’ She didn’t leave him the same way mine left me? Fuck that shit. Perhaps Dave isn’t as down on his luck as I thought. I inquired about the seriousness of their relationship. They had been dating for 2 1/2 years, half as long as my ex and me.  I was quick to warn Dave about the dangers of commitment that soon lay ahead.  “Dave, don’t fuck around,” I demanded.  “She will leave you.” I caught myself just in time to not say something sick, like call his girl a whore the way I often refer to my old one.  But Dave laughed it off and said he would watch his back.  That’s my Dave: Cynical and ready for the big anvil of heartbreak to drop at any minute.  Before he new it, she’d leave him and we’d both be on an even playing field of misery.  I was sure of it. And actually, I couldn’t wait.

DAVE BACHINSKY Front Boardslide

DAVE BACHINSKY Front Boardslide Photo: Xeno

But just when I began to smile, knowing just how we’d both be miserable forever, Dave’s demeanor changed fiercely.  The bastard went and got cheery on me.  His voice rose with positivity and from what I can gather, complete and utter delight. “City (Skateboards) is actually going really good.  The deadline is coming up for the video so we’ve been doing tons of filming and stuff and I’m psyched.  I think we’re heading down to Atlanta and towards Florida and get some footage and the videos going to come out after that.  I’m pretty psyched,” spoke Dave.

I felt his happiness and it hurt me. Dave, happy?  Fuck that.  I didn’t like it. He went on to speak fondly of his friends and sponsors, his parents, his optimism for the future and status as a young, talented amateur skateboarder.  I was appalled, but tried to not to show it. I held the phone away from my ear, as I could not listen to this blasphemy any more.  I was duped.  Here I was the entire time thinking I was chatting up a young man on the brink of mental catastrophe, but I was wrong.  I let my voice drop a few octaves and pouted verbally.  “Dave, I’m going now,” I said, emulating the crankiness of an 8-year-old beauty pageant contestant.  Dave responded like a goddamned sweetheart, and went on to thank me repeatedly for my interview and the opportunity to be in the mag. I hung up the phone thinking that Dave Bachinsky was just about the most delightful, wonderful person I had ever spoke with.  He was also the happiest.  Fuck that noise, I’m crying this tortured ass to sleep.

Dave Bachinsky Gap To Backside Lipslide. Photo: Xeno

Dave Bachinsky Gap To Backside Lipslide. Photo: Xeno

 

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