Monday, August 31, 2009

Scary Movie

Back to the hate....You're a fucking idiot if you always buy bottled water. We all have to do it once in a while. But if you buy it all the time, I fucking hate you on so many levels. First off....IT'S JUST MOTHER FUCKING TAP WATER YOU FUCKTARD. Good job being a sucker to marketing, you should start's cool and makes you look sophisticated, jackass. Number 2...BPA will kill you and make your genitals fall off. It's in plastic bottles. Especially don't drink out of the 5 gallon jugs from Nestle, Coke, or Pepsi. Check out the fat Spokesasshole's face at 3:56 when asked about BPA. And number 3...You're making the planet a festering butthole. I'm no smelly hippy, but every godamm beach in Mexico and Central America is littered with the shit. For fuck's sake already.

Sunday, August 30, 2009

Sloth level low

Man, I could use another day added to this weekend, there wasn't much down time. The wedding I attended was really cool. Sitting in a hot fucking church and wearing a jacket, I was sweating more than the groom. The reception was classic. The music was a upgrade from every other reception I've drank at. Sean Kelly of the Samples played some mellow tunes to swill to. And I guess there was a couple Beach Boys in the other band. I don't know who they were, but it definitely wasn't Brian Wilson. I hung out for a while, but kept checking on the surf out front of the Biltmore. Finally, since I didn't want to get all drunk at 3pm and pass out before the sun goes down, I bailed. I waited until a good amount of the old people left and I made a break for it. Good timing, cuz Rincon was FIRING. Way better than I expected. My arms were crampng bad for the last hour, but it was worth it. And I may have found the new Ms Recluse. Let the stalking begin.

Friday's stoney sunset

10am shotgun wedding means afternoon waves.

The music included the guy from the Samples and a couple Beach Boys.

Friday, August 28, 2009

swell upcoming forecast

The futurecast is calling for an incredi weekend. It should be hot with great waves so 100% chance of shreddin the piss outta some waves. Creeping in sunday will be high levels of spandex due to the purchase of a brand new bike. Also, be prepared for a royal wedding in Montecito followed by a reception at the swanky Four Seasons Biltmore Hotel. I'm super stoked.

Wednesday, August 26, 2009

Black Surfing Dot Com

Dude's cool just standing next to a surf van...

Have you ever noticed that there's not many brotha's surfing? Especially in SoCal. I'll be honest, I have. There's some Mexicans and randoms, but why so few African Americans? Whenever I see a non-honky in the water, I always notice. Not in any kind of Southern-Man kind of way. More of a "hey, nice, good to see some diversity, but that fucker better not snake me" way. Today, one of my web friends, Surfsista had a post on her site about the man who died at the Wedge during that massive swell last month. He was 50 year old brother with 42 years of body surfing skills. So sad. In the memorial paddle out pics, there's a man with a shirt. Rad. I forgot there was a Black Surfing organization. Hopefully it's like the National Brotherhood Of Skiers. They're a group that's working to get a black athlete on the podium in skiing at the Olympic level. Four words for them...Shaq, Slalom, & Crushing Gates. The Brotherhood takes over random ski towns every year. These annual trips bring about 2000-5000 strong to a predominantly rich/white/old/stale ski resort. If you've ever been there when it happens, it's fucking awesome. Not the greatest skiers, but they win gold medals at hootin and hollerin. The bars are way better dressed and WAAAAYYY more rowdy that week. Good times for all. I dunno what the reason for this posting is. Just that it would be cool to get yelled at and snaked by a more diverse range of dickheads.

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Tuesday Time Killers

Really boring day today around the office. We shipped a fuckload last week and yesterday. Great Britain and Indo will be full. Later this week, Japan gets some. But for now, nothing for me to do today. But I can't just leave. What's really lame is there's surf out there right now. Good surf. I could be dorking on waves right now. Or I could be on an epic bike ride. Or I could be tanning the grissle while taking a nap on some beach around here. I don't care. Anything other than in front of this cuntputer. Nope. I'm stuck at the desk, faking productivity. Here's what I've produced so far today....

"All hail Satan,
Yes, hail Satan"

Monday, August 24, 2009

The Ranch

I was a little under the weather all weekend, but that didn't stop me from surfing The Ranch. My buddy Duffy took me out there saturday and sunday. Saturday sucked ass. Duffy's a great guy, but he's gone homo or something. He only rides those stupid fucking stand up paddle boards. To make it worse, we surfed Bolito with 3 other stand up dorks. The waves were crappy and it got super inconsistent and windy. So saturday basically was a worst case scenario. Sunday was a lot better. We surfed glassy Johns Pond by ourselves for about hour before another stand up donkey paddled out. They're everywhere at The Ranch, like flys on shit. While the 4 of us surfed for another hour, some kid had gotten his buddies 2wd pickup burried axle deep in the sand and high centered. The tide was coming up, too. We all surfed and watch this dude dig away. The others eventually paddled in to help dig/pull out this retard. Not me. It's called tough love. Survival of the fittest. Plus, this is THE HOLLISTER RANCH. I only have a limited number of hours on The Ranch and I sure as hell ain't gonna spend them breathing exhaust and scooping tons of sand. So it was just me surfing alone for another 45 minutes. Dropping in late, turning under the lip, and sitting in shoulder/head high pockets. Till the guilt finally got to me and I went in to lend a hand. I have no pictures because as I was pulling off the wave in the shore break they yanked the rig out. Turns out they didn't need me. Awesome, my arms were cramping badly anyway.

Saturday, August 22, 2009

Trek & Destroy

Bike week continues and the search for a new ride rolls on. Today it took an interesting turn and I found a killer deal. I went into a local shop that specializes in high end road bikes and I think I've narrowed it down to the Trek Madone 6.5. It's either the 6.5 or the 6.5 Pro, I can't remember exactly. They name these bikes so fucking similar that my brain can't remember which is what. The bike has full Dura Ace and weighs about 16lbs in my size 58. Did they say 16lbs? FUCKEN-A, man. I've taken dumps heavier than that. That shaves about 5lbs off my current frame and increases stiffness a fuckload. Therefore, it transfers all my power directly to the road, allowing me to ride 40% more miles with 65% less energy. Or something like that. I'm working this over in my head so I can justify spending $4500 on a bike instead of 6 months in Bali. Old Jeff would have walked out of the shop with a new bike today, even though Old Jeff was broke. New Jeff needs to pull the trigger or step away.

Friday, August 21, 2009

Sticker shock

Holy fuck, man. Road bikes cost a testicle or two these days. As I gear up for my Death Climb 09, I've taken a long hard look at my current bike and realized it's old and beaten. Like Tina Turner. So I've been cruizin around the innerwebs looking at upgrading. My frame is titanium, it'll be around after the Nuclear Winter. But it's tired and it could drop a few pounds. The first idea was to get a new Dura Ace grouppo for the old Litespeed. But I don't really wanna spend $4000 on parts. That's just putting lipstick on a pig. So then I started looking at buying retail and shit my pantalones. I like to get the best when it comes to bikes and shred gear, but HOLY FUCKIN recession man. 10 Fucking grand for 13.90 lbs of carbon fiber? What asshole pays these prices? And are you hiring? I step out of the bike world for a few years and what happened? Even if I get some sort of deal on a Dura Ace 7900 equipped super ride, it's still gonna cost me $5K. There's a Giant for $13,900. There's a Colnago that's $6500 for the frame, fork, headset, and you receive a free anal raping. And the bargain of the day is a Time frameset that's on sale for $3167. Whoopie! Looks like I gotta start whoring again to afford a new ride.

$1 to look at it
$2 to touch it
$3 to watch me touch it
$5 to touch it while I touch my toes
$6 to touch me while I touch your toes

Wednesday, August 19, 2009

Thank you Wend Magazine

Wow, crotch of steel at 2:35. This is similar to my climbing style for the upcoming Tour De Gibraltar.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Old San Marcos & Gibraltar Road

Since I moved to Santa Barbara 6 years ago, I've been meaning to climb Gibralter Road with my bike. I've avoided it since I don't really bike much anymore. Which would mean there would be a lot of pain & suffering since I'm fatter, slower, less dedicated, more broken-down, and generally a lazier dude these days. Gibralter's a big, grinding 3300 foot slog over 7.7 miles with an average grade of 7.7%. It's not death defying by any means. But it looms ahead because that's after you finally reach the base of it. I've got a few choices on how to get to the beginning of the real climb. To get there, depending on the route I take, I'll add another metric shit-ton of climbing. Either way, the complete route won't be massive miles at 49.72 round trip. Those miles will be quality and I should be a little worked when I'm done. Back in the day I didn't have a sprint and I didn't have the power on the flats, but I had endurance and I could climb all fucking day. At the start of the climbs, I'd patiently let people cruise off the front with heads full of glory. Then I'd get into my rhythmn and pick em off, one by one. I really liked getting them right before the top. As they're completely spent I just cruise right past em. For a couple months now, I've been training half-assd to climb this bitch somewhere around my birthday on Septemeber 11. As a warm-up last sunday I climbed another challenging road, Old San Marcos, just to see how the legs/lungs feel. OSMR is about 1100 feet of climbing in 3 miles with a 7.5% grade. I went into it with ZERO goals and expectations and it went pretty fuckin good. All I wanted to do was see how my peice-of-shit body deals with a massive effort. My gearing needs a little help. I'm rocking a 12/23 so it was mostly an out the saddle grunt. I'd like to get a 12/28 for some seated grinding. The good news is my legs feel awesome today. I haven't felt this good pain for a long time. I'm looking forward to throwing up all over Gibraltar in about 3 short weeks.

Monday, August 17, 2009

Minivan radness

Typed those words into youtube and this a sample of what I got....

Sunday, August 16, 2009

Wrong Way

Saw homie crashed out at the off-ramp near my house. Looks like his energy level is running real low. He could use a coffee. Or a fucking pillow. If I was in his Nike's, I'd pull some soft shit out of my big blue duffelbag and shove it between my skull and the cement. Good thing he was in the shade or he might end up like the dude on the roof in The Hangover.

Saturday, August 15, 2009

#2 is in the bag

Shredstick #2 is shaped, glassed, waxed up, and ready to rip whenever we get some waves. Come on you El Nino son of a bitch. Stats are roughly 6'4" X 21 X 3. Thick and wide. Just the way I like em. I'm pretty stoked on the whole shaping process. It's a great way to get little toxic foam dust floating around the neighborhood and places like your hair, t-shirt neckhole, and nutsack. It's good times. It's fun to grind away at some foam and end up with something rad. Like back when I lived in Idaho. Snowblowers were the shit. You destroy a pile of snow by depositing it over the fence in the neighbor's yard. That's what I did with a pile of foam. It's relatively cheap, except for the glassing. I didn't glass this thing, so I had to fork out a sphincter-puckering $220 for that. OUCH, that stung! Next time I may have to add "glasser" to my resume. All together, since I had some of the tools already, it cost me a little over $300. I can't wait to ride this fat pig. And I can't wait to shape another one once I find out what I screwed up on this one.

Friday, August 14, 2009

Catch it, drop it, stack it

Finally it's friday. Time to get the fellas together at the jungle gym and practice some moves.

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

Everything changed 13 years ago

13 years ago tomorrow, in the afternoon of August 12th, I was just arriving from Idaho and rushing to the Intensive Care Unit of a hospital in Portland, Oregon. My sister, Natasha had been in some kind of accident the day before. I had very little info about what was happening since the was pre cell-phone revolution. All I knew is that she'd been in a car accident and my parents said it would be best if I come home. So I grabbed to first flight out, which was in the morning. I had a few drinks on the plane and I don't remember who picked me up from the airport. They were the first drinks I'd had on a while since I had been off sauce an racing triathlons. I remember freaking out a little on the flight, so I thought it be best if I take the edge off a little. I also remember thinking it's not gonna do any good by falling apart, so I kept my shit together.

The ICU was filled with Tash's friends. Must've been 70 kids scattered about. I don't even remember seeing my family for the first time, but I'm sure it was a crying mess. We were led into her room asap. By the time I'd gotten there, they were done with all the initial tests and crap. Wires, hoses, and tubes were hooked up everywhere. Monitors beeping away. Nurses scurrying around. She looked like she was sleeping, but with a towel wrapped around her head. She didn't look like anything was wrong. Natasha had been going to her 20th birthday party the day before, August 11th. She was in the passenger seat of her best friend's Honda as they were going through a major intersection. They were following another car when they got t-boned by a 55 mph drunken heroin junkie in an F-350 who managed to drive away and flee the scene before being caught a few miles down the road. The impact point was the passenger seat door pilar. Right where the seat's headrest is. She had a bunch of internal damage along with the head trauma. For the next couple weeks we ate and slept in the ICU. Friends were always around. One day things were good, the next they were dire. But all along, we kept planning for her recovery. I mean, come on, she's gonna live through this. A couple weeks go by, she hasn't woken up yet, but it seems like she's out of the woods. Docs say she's stable enough that I could probably try to get back to a normal life. That way I could take some time off in the fall and be around for her recovery.

So I go back to Idaho. To relive the stress, I go for a bike ride and cry the whole 2+ hours. Later, to get my mind off things, I tried to work that night I returned. I was a waiter and I was fucking worthless. I couldn't look anybody in the face without losing it. I was downstairs hiding out in the employee room of the Pioneer so nobody could see me when I got the phone call from Portland. I needed to rush back, things had gotten bad. I had been home in Sun Valley for all of 12 hours and I was heading back to Portland already. When I got back to the ICU, there was no hope. Doc sat us down and gave us the news...her shit was shuttin down. Brain, body, everything was fucked. Her head injury had rattled everything loose. There was no brain activity, there was no hope. We had to make the world's worst decision. For a lack of better words, we had to pull the plug. It was either that or have them try to revive her repeatedly until it didn't work. Breaking rubs, crushing guts, and basically beating the shit out of her until she was nothing. I don't wish this decision on my worst enemy. Not even the biggest piece of shit in the world, Chad Barnes. It's a horrible thing to have to chose between. The family gathered around and held onto each other and Tash for as long as we could. It was quiet. Lots of machines. I don't remember much talking or crying. We said goodbyes. The nurses walking around doing things. Unplugging things. Untaping tubes and hoses. Creating less and less beeps. Until there was silence. I'll never forget how quickly she got cold.

So here it is 13 years later. My shit's changed. I notice everything but don't really care about anything. It's all about enjoying every second we have above ground. Everything is important to me yet nothing is important. Except love. It really is all that matters. Nothing's worse than losing a kid. My parents are incredible, but they'll always have heavy hearts. Earlier in the day on August 11, 1996...before I got back to my house...before I'd gotten all the frantic phone messagess from Portland...I had been wakeboarding on the Magic Resevoir south of Sun Valley. I was chillin on the dock at sundown and I actually said to myself "this is the perfect life". Little did I know that in a little over an hour how much things would change forever.


Ha ha ha ha ha.
Epic ball fail for your viewing.
Brazil eats much sand.

Monday, August 10, 2009

Staring me in the face

Hah hahaha. Of course. It all makes sense now. Billy Mays died from horking blow. Or maybe he was shooting it, but I doubt it. And I really doubt he was smoking the shit. He seems like a dude who packed his beak and yapped for hours and hours. That's the way he had to go. Coke. Dude screamed his own name for a living. How the hell could I have not seen this coming?

Friday, August 7, 2009

Gracias Malibu

After 2 days of hitting every stoplight and traffic jam in SoCal, my plan came together and I surfed Malibu this afternoon with a mellow crowd. There were some knee to gut high peelers and I managed to snag a couple. Even got one wave where nobody snaked me until half way along the wave. It was good to get out of the van and clear the head. Too many shitty drivers out there. Me included. Traffic, stoplights, minor accidents, and dead birds. But it's AWESOME that every surf shop except the FROGHOUSE, still employs young hotts to work their counters. it puts a smile on my face and lifts the spirits, so to speak. That's the one good thing about hitting 57 shops in 2 days. It was also really cool to run into Glilda out in the water. Right as i walked up, I saw her cruizin down a good, little wave. It was fun chatting it up. A couple hours of shreddin and I was back on the road, driving below the limit, letting people cut me off, and totally cool with it. Muy tanquillo, as our Mexican brothas would say. Can't wait to see what this weekend brings.

Not today...

Thursday, August 6, 2009

Fuck You san Diego

All kidding aside, I fucked up today. I actually swiped a brothas Nissan in downtown Whale's Vagina. The fucker stopped short in front of me on a green light. Stopped. Completely in the lane. In downtown San Diego. I give a courtesy What The Fuck Honks, then try to go around. Nope, not gonna happen today. The work van turn radius is only slightly better than the Earth's motherfucking orbit. As I'm barely brushing the paint off the left side of his bumper, I notice it's a carload that ain't happy with the howdy honk. Then THIS! Shiiiiiit! Some "sorry man, I fucked up", "we'll take care of this, no problem", "would you like some wax?", and I was able to leave with all my teeth. I haven't hit anything with a car in 20 years. The string is broken.

Oh, and earlier in the day, my windshield DESTROYED a pretty, little, yellow, birdy...right as I was entering BIRD ROCK. Hah! How ironic. Pretty awesome way to start the day.

No pics of any of this shiz cuz I was trying to leave the scene asap.

Wednesday, August 5, 2009

Seal Beach to San Diego

It's 4:30, I just finished loading the delivery van for this week's trip, and I could really use some Gold Bond. It's a muggy one out there. This delivery run is gonna be a big one. Lots of stuff and many stops. Mid summer, and it looks like everybody needs a little somethin somethin. So if you're on the road between Seal Beach and San Diego tomorrow and friday, and you see this van, I pre-apologize for cutting you off, tailgating, breathing down your neck, swerving around you, and/or throwing cans of Red Bull at you. You've gotta understand that I'm on a time schedule. I need to be on the 405 North by noon on friday if i hope to surf Malibu for several hours on company time. A stoney wrongboard sesh is calling my name.

Tuesday, August 4, 2009


I was diggin through the 2009-2010 Transworld Business Sourcebook today trying to find a backpack company so I can pro form some shit. I need to score a big ol backpack for all my Defcon emergency stuff. It's my new deal. Prepping for the big one. When Iran, North Korea, Mexico, or Somalia lobs some rusty old Commie nuke into downtown LA, I'll be ready to make a treefort in the hills above Rincon and re-populate the world along with Mila Jovovich. Food, water, wax, wine, and roofies is all I need. I'll have a mellow kit ready for when the shit hits the fan and I don't have time to dig through the garage for the tent and my stanky old boda bag that was filled with Julio & Julio 17 years ago for some stupid outdoor hippy festival.

Speaking of survival, how the fuck is Bitchboards and Ed Hardy Snow still around? They're listed in the sourcebook, so I'd assume they're going forward with their 09-10 products. They must be incredible to have next door at SIA. When you get sick of hearing your own voice, or the 12th can of RockStar finally breaks through the hangover barrier, you can look over and be happy you're not associated with with either of those assclowns. "Just because it's free doesn't mean you gotta wear it" a famous quote from a Pollish American friends of mine. Who the fuck pays money for this shit? Besides filthy rich, OC/LA douchbags, driving gold plated Benzos, of course. WHO?

Sunday, August 2, 2009

Lovelace. Ryan Lovelace.

Ryan Lovelace is a rad dude that shapes surfboards for a living. Yesterday, right before I went to the glasser, he helped me put the finishing touches on TWGFSS (The World's Greatest Fucking Shred Stick) I ran across his High School Yearbook. Check out this James Bond looking mother fucker.