Hangout Review
Engineering the Radical: A Quarter Pipe
The courtyard behind my apartment building in Los Angeles, CA
May, 2 2005

Her transition is too steep; several nails stick out of her sides, bent all gangly and heinous; the concrete runway leading up to her poorly-laid masonite surface layer is cracked and uneven. But, fuck if it isn’t the most beautifully constructed corner of skateboarding paradise this neophyte in the world of building and ramping has ever laid his eyes–and brand new hammer–on. I spoke with Billy Binaca, certainly not a neophyte in the world of anything shred worthy.

Jesus, you don’t look so good. Are you ok?
Fine, bro, I’m fine. The Binaca Barometer is at an all time fucking high.

Is that a ring of silver spray paint around your mouth?
Maybe. Look, last time I checked, sniffing fumes wasn’t a federal fucking crime. Tell you what motherfucker, when your weed connect decides to pack up and movie to fucking Fresno, see what kind of shit you get into. Beer is like fucking water to me these days. I need a little more edge. I used to hit the Robocop. I used to hit that shit way hard. Now I can’t even look at a bottle without feeling like I’m gonna turn into a gnarly old gastro-geyser. Shit makes me so goddamned sick. So yeah, I was huffin’ a little paint last night. No biggie, it’s an old Navaho trick.

What ramps are you frequenting these days?
As I mentioned in my review of Shaun of the Dead, the ol’ knee took some shrapnel when I was digging around in some boxes in my garage. Mostly I’ve been on a hardcore recoup mission. Just flexing my shit on Johnny Quarter Pipe, in the driveway. Before I tweaked my knee, I was fucking it up, and I mean killing some fucking shit, on a vert ramp by my house. It’s a pay-to-play fuckin’ joint, but I know some of the kooks that run the place. I say kooks because it’s mostly BMXer’s that cruise the plywood street course there. Fuck, before I gassed my knee, I was pulling bigger airs than those two-wheeling queers. Tell you what bro, when the old hinge is back up to the level, first thing I’m going to do is spray some vintage Binaca in the eyes of all those pussies. My shit’s like mace. Did you get all that, bitch?

Yeah. Uh, in five words or less, explain why quarter pipes are the shit.
Five words? Shit, quarter pipes?

That’s five right there. Thanks Billy.
Hey fuck you! I wasn’t ready.

Email Billy your skate questions: billybinaca@gmail.com