In 1988 I lived with Jayme “VISION” / “Crazy J” Burtis, his dog Ike, also for a little while our friend Matt lived with us and slept in a closet, and of course the endless amounts of people that crashed on our floor. It was common place to see people such as RISK, DASH, TAME, SEVERE, FUNCRIME, VANE, 
DOC (RIP), and many other graffiti artists working on their craft in Jayme’s room, aka the living room.

    After wild nights of idiotic “I am 18 hear me roar” lunacy, Jayme and I both hungover and half drunk would stumble down to the Venice Jetty which happened to be in front of where we lived, to surf the spot that once was, that was in it’s final days of true existence. We would brutalize ourselves by surfing foggy drizzly June gloom mornings and getting under sea level closed out barrels that would slam us and grind us into the sand. We loved it, true glutens for punishment. But for as invincible as we thought we were, the abuse reminded us that we were only human. Side note, this was a few years before Jayme got sober and turned his life around for the better. 

     We drove the neighbors bat shit crazy every day and night in some way. We always lost our keys, so we just started to leave the window in the kitchen open just enough to squeeze through it. But before squeezing through the window we had to get on top of a trash can, pull ourselves up with our fingers holding onto a 2 inch ledge and with the other hand grab the windowsill, because of course we lived on the 2nd floor. The fact that we didn’t break any bones doing this was a miracle within itself. 

    Jayme’s brother Colly (RIP) and our other friend Joff “found” a pizza that was in an unattended delivery vehicle on their walk over to our pad. When they opened the box it was all jalapeños (Instant Karma). We took all the jalapeños off, and left a huge mound of them on the box in Jayme’s room. We left our apartment to go get into some late teen / young adult dumb shit somewhere in some way, and when we got home all of the jalapeños were gone. Ike had eaten them all. The poor dog had the runs for three days and destroyed the carpet in Jayme’s room. I laughed one of the hardest I ever had in my life when I heard Jayme scream through the wall “FUCKING IKE!” after he did more damage to the carpet late one night. 

     Fast forward to 33 years later and Jayme and I were talking on the phone the other day about how if some kids are up all night making noise that we don’t get mad about it being the older neighbors now, we understand that we were once those kids. Honor amongst thieves as they say.  

Ike the dog (RIP)
Venice CA, 1988
Photo: Josh “Bagel” Klassman