Glamourpuss

Who says shaping surfboards ain't glamourous?

Good day

Today on Mt Baldy Ski Area there were unsubstantiated reports off some ass-clown wearing a blue jacket slashing and shooshing all over their snow. Some claim his awkward twisting gyrations reminded them of a young OCCY. Others say he was just some random sweaty never-was-been getting his rare schralp on. Regardless, his board never broke contact with the snow...that is a confirmed fact. Before and after the sightings, he was seen fighting the World's Worst Traffic when ever dicknose from Oceanside to San Luis Obispo to Riverside also decided it was a great day to head to the mountain. Further west along the 210, after passing possible canage from an overturned vehicle on the other side, he stepped on it. It looked as though he was on a mission to be somewhere. He was last seen, on the same day, tucking into some stoney shoulder/head high pockets on a red Christenson single fin back in Santa Barbara. The Greenough 4a Flex Fin appeared to snap him into just the right spot on every wave.

No sleep till dead

I'm racing to cram in a week's worth of EXTREME into 2 days, weekend warrior style. Currently there's no Misses Recluse. And it looks like there's no chicks lining up to rub themselves against me in the near future. That leaves me with plenty of time to myself. So it's surf and shred all weekend. The plan is to get a full day of muddy, crap-water barrels around Santa Barbara. There's a ridiculous amount of waves out there and I need all of them. I haven't been in the water for a week and half due to trade shows and biblical amounts of wind and rain. So I'm a little frothy. I'm seriously out there all fvcking day till my arms fall off. Then, it's time to grab the Hooger Booger and head to Mt Waterman International Ski resort. Kinda sketchy up there with the muslildes and shit. The road may be closed, but it looks like they'll open the highway. It's only open on saturdays and sundays. There's a shit ton of snow up there and it might even be opening day of their season. So it could be all time. I'll throw the gear into the BangBaru and lezmobile my way to the mountains above Los Angeles. To be honest, it's been a couple years off snow. And then it was a couple year off snow before that. In the last 6 years I've managed roughly 25 days on piste. And some of those barely count. I'm not sure how much gnar I can handle these days. My back and legs will need some refractory time between each run. Thank god for slow-ass, jenky old double chairs. So let's say I shoosh all over the mountain from 9am-1ish, than gets me back to the ocean around 3ish. Are you thinking what I'm thinking...time for hookers and blow? No you loser! I was thinking shred and surf in the same day. What?! Never done it, might as well give it a shot. Schedule are all subject to change. If the surf is epic manana, no reason to vamos.

Here's what I saw at friday's lunchtime driveby...

Axe yer balls

All this shit-brown, SARS infested water is sure to lead to dirty balls while playing at the beach. Scrub em down and keep em clean. Everybody's happier.

Clean up the messerschmidt

The howling wind and pummeling rain equals blown out surf. Victory at sea like i've seldom seen out there. Might get some clearing in the next couple days but I dunno. After my MRSA battles last fall, I'm a little nervous to get back in the water right away even if it was surfable right now. Might go shred some gnar over the weekend. All this downtime this week has given me plenty of time to work on El Hefe Nuevo. I've been pumping iron, climbed back into the Speedo after a couple years outta the pool, beating up inanimate shit in martial arts, get stretchy via yoga, and dominating the personal trainer dude's gnarly workout plan. My temple is making progress. Next up is practicing some tape measure tricks and building Messerschmidts to kill some time.

It's all good

It gonna be a stormy one today. There's lots of poopy brown water get churned up out there. Not many peeps surfing just yet. But when this wind backs off, we're gonna get some fun waves. Just like last year.

Alta, Mad River Glen, & Brooklyn

Hot off the webs via the good folks at Boardistan. It's 2010, Obama's leading the free world, yet the Man is still keepin the Brotha down. This so fucked up. It's all fun in the snow. Lots of high fives, and smiles all around. Then at 2:35 it all goes bad when 3 doughy, white park rangers declare "gimmie back my garbage can" and NO shredding in Brooklyn. I woulda thwapped them upside the head with my plastic shovel in violent protest. This shits racist as Avatar. They wouldn't pull that weak crap in Woodlawn. Where's the Reverend Al Sharpton, Jesse Jackson, and Nancy Grace? Alert Keir Dillon and Russell Winfield. Somebody call Mayor Bloomberg. Let's get a good old-fashioned burnin and lootin party started. We freed Taos in '09, now let's take back Brooklyn. Help us Jay-Z, you're our only hope.

Chance of showers

Why couldn't this have happened to the Chica Rica booth full of augmented hotness directly across the road from us?

Same as it ever was

Things seen at Surf Expo 2010...
-SUP is like spreading like AIDS
-Big C is now Fighting Shape C
-I'm able to sleep after 2 coffees, a Pepsi, and 4 Monster Energy drink
-Olive Garden is fuckin delicious
-Broken indoor fire sprinklers can douche a 6-booth radius really fast
-The PT Cruizer is a shitbox
-Rainbox Fins has some rad "stained glass" fins
-Volcom has jumped the shark
-Even in a bad economy, there's a lot of opportunity out there
-I'm diggin some of the new...Lost shapes
-I'd also like to test spin a Rusty Dwart
-At least 75% less ass-clowns seen begging for stickers and free shit
-Florida is the Downs Syndrome of states
-Trade Show chicks are just strippers who don't reveal the good bits
-Guys who are over 40 and ask for a sticker are weird
-Good waves always hit while we're in Orlando
-Surf retail is hanging tough

No vid for 2010, but here's what it was like in '09....

Back in the day

Check these things out. These exciting, non computerized pieces of paper are called postcards. You scribble words onto the back then mail them to your friends or family to share the stoke about the rad pooka shells, Vaurnets, and stink finger you scored while on summer vacation. You sent them by afixing a sticky paper thing called a POSTAGE STAMP. These here postcards are from around 1984. The last known postcard that was actually mailed in the US was in 1989. Which makes them irrelevant. I came across 1664 of these old relics from the days of yore while doing inventory over the Holidays. They're just a fraction of the 42,031 that we still have sitting in our warehouse ready to sell.

iSplooge

By the time this post appears, I'll be drinking more coffee in the Phoenix aeropuerto waiting for my connecting flight en route to SURF EXPO in Orlando. Trade shows are great if you're only job is to check out shit.. It's not as fun as it sounds if you're job is to man the booth. For us poor saps, it's all about standing on cement, slappin high fives, yappping all day & night about everything, eating crappy, not seing daylight for 4 days, and surviving off Lost Energy drinks, Olive Garden, and booze. The cool part is connecting with people we only speak with over the phone all year long. It's always great to put a face with a name. Real human contact is a good thing. Something this creepy computer-based humanoid wouldn't know the first thing about....

Orbiting Japan

For some reason, all things Japan have been around me this last week. First it was this little YouTube vid of Japanese dudes gettin so stoked on some guy gettin ridiculously pitted so pitted. Next up was Lovelace and all the boards he's sending over there. Plus he got some Blue Mag ink that we have no idea what is says. Then yesterday I came across this art-faggy Patagonia vid about backcountry shreddin Hokkaido on weird gear. I absolutely love the trailer, especially the stoney soul carve at 1:46. Konichi wah, fluffy deep pow. I think I should stuff my face with sushi tonight.

The New Hope

While scouring MTV.com looking to check out an episode of Jersey Shore, I nearly shit my pants. There's a new show called The Buried Life. 4 dudes cruise around ina big old motorhome doing everything they want to do before they die. Along the way they help others accomplish their own dreams. Feel good kinda shit. How did these guys get an MTV show? They're good people making dreams happen. Not slutted out whorebags starved for attention. They cruized through Santa Barbara a few years ago and I was so stoked on their mission. It's great to see good things happen to rad peeps.

Holy Shit

I am NOT kidding when I say that we are getting some solid fucking surf around deez parts. Reports have flooded the Brown Recluse Home Office that there's gapping, uncrowded, board snappin barrels up north and gigantic 12-15 foot faces everywhere down south. Huh. I didn't surf any of that shit, but man it's been a kick ass weekend what I did. I'm a broken down lazy fuck who doesn't feel like messing with crowds, so I've been surfing my secret spot alot. This spot is so top secret, you can grab a Starbucks and drive right up to it for a little chekalooka from your driver's seat. From friday to today, I've spent almost every second of daylight surfing there. It's been everywhere front waist high reefy drainers to head high screamers. My surifn's been hit or miss, but it's been so fun. Crowds have ranged from non-factor to GO FUCK YOURSELF, DICKNOSE. So here is sit, completely surfed out, random aches and pains, hole in my knee, fixin to head to stupid Orlando in a couple days, and I'm totally cool with that. All right, all right, all right.

Friday Melvins Haiku

Melt my fucking skull.
HEAVY SHIT PUMMELING LIFE!
Yes yes yes yes yes.

KP

It fucking amazes me how the updates on Kevin Pearce's condition have been nearly non-existent. It comes down to a Facebook Page with sporadic news posted from his bro. Does he have brain activity? Is he a veg? What? What? If The Flying Carrot Top had been the one who bashed his head, you'd see Anderson Cooper camped out at the University of Utah and Jake Burton rubbing his feet. But since he's not the #1 marketed face of US Snowboarding, all we get is some hack communications major from West Orlando Community College who hasn't cracked a sweat since her second place finish at 1996 All American Hot Eating Contest at Coney Island. Christine Brennan should stick to covering the magic of ice skating and tallying Tiger Woods' off-course victories. Chatty Kathys who have absolutely nothing to do with a sport except saying "I told you so" after-the-fact should shut their fat fucking pie-holes. She should continue to cover healthy sports for 9-year-old-bulimics like gymnastics. Where was Todd Richards when we needed his commentary? Finally, today we get some encouraging news from god knows who. I sure as hell didn't find it on the Target website. He's been upgraded from critical to serious. Still fucked, but less fucked. Good luck, mang. I hope this is one of those stories where Kid fucking rips/Kid gets injured/Kid makes miraculous comeback to win Olympic Gold 4 years later.



I'm too dumb to figure out the embedded code, so here's a link to the video with this stupid broad's opinions about stiffling sports dreams. DON'T LISTEN TO HER. She wants to bring it back to the days when the Olympics didn't have a women's marathon (1984) because chicks are too fragile. Plus the link's got a really good response from some shreddar. Stay the fuck away from shredding, you golf lovin goats.

Aha! Just found the embedded codes.

Free To A good Home

The time has come to part ways with the tresured Portland Trailblazers Lazy Boy. It'll cradle your back, soothe your sores, and warm your cockles. I've slept off many hangovers in her softness. It's great for extended TV sessions after surf or shred. Tonto, you know Jew Lee has always wanted one. My new apartment is way too tiny for all of my shit, so I'll give this baby away for free. I'll also throw in a large Trailblazers long sleeve shirt that looks like an Affliction Tee which I recived as a Christmas present. If you're in Santa Barbara, I have a lot more household crap that's gotta go this week. Like a dart board, car stereo, a blanket, jackets, and shit. Whatcha need?

Casey Johnson

Is the newest Death Comes in Threes closed? Does Casey Johnson count? I dunno, but damm, the world is now a much uglier place when we lose such a hot chick. And she was a lezbo? Mmmmm, lesbians. Too bad she lezzed out with plastic slutty ol mushface herself, Tila Tequila. Wouldn't it be neat if she bumped donuts with Stacey Keibler instead. Or Hayden Panatierre. Or Marissa Miller.

Hard Hat Fail

One of the best things about coming back to the desk from vacations is the amount of "catching up" on the interwebs, blogs, and FaceDildo. With the combination of shops slowing down, the crappy economy, and my lazy boycott of offering suggestions or to taking on added assignments, I have very little actual work on my plate. I was fully up to date on Fail Blog Dot Org and every other one of my 75 favorites before Christmas. And you can only spend sooo much time on Facebook. So this work week, maybe longer, is dedicated to CATCHING UP.

Day too

And on Day #2 of Super Hefe 2010, I picked up some new skillz. For the first time in my life, I stopped being my own personal trainer since I've seen where that's gotten me. I forked over some cash and put my future into a professional's hands. Dude is setting up a program for my comeback. Today we did all kinds of shit to stabilize my gut and low back. We also did some loosening of the hips. Lord knows, my hips are tighter than Lonis's wallet. But with a crapload of good pain and my New Personal Trainer's help, I'm gonna feel like Lou Motherfucking Ferigno by summer. My back will have a six-pack and my neck will be able to crush golfballs. And I'll fuck up bears with laserbeam punches and make constellations outta their weak-ass carcases.

New Decade Surf

Tough to tell, but it's probally chest high


Far right is the 1969 Yater


Waveset Fin System



Started off the new year with a kick ass slashing sesh up at Middle Peak on the Ranch. Wave height ranged from gut to shoulder high with steady offshore winds standing up the waves making for nice pockets of love. Actually, there wasn't much slashing cuz I was riding that weird Yater v-bottomish thing from 1969. That board is one year old older than me and has slightly less dings and water damage. It's a funky bitch to ride. I find it more fun for me to go backside (right) after pivoting on the waveset fin while dropping in. Then just trimming away till the bitter end. One hand skimming along gayly. I got to talking to Yvon Chouinard who was out there with us, too. I put him in the old Brown Recluse Mind Exploson of Death. He won't know what hits him when I drop off my resume real soon. He's one of the dudes that I admire most and I seem to be on a collision course with Patagonia. His ability to create an incredible brand and not lose his soul or sense of adventure is fucking awesome. He was rippin, and if I do my math correctly, he's 71.