Insult + Injury = Eggs

'Tisn't a mystery that the waves in Los Angeles are sub-par on the best of days and that I love to get to SB or SD whenever I for some good surf. Well, when that plan fails I enter a state of eggyness. Indulge:

I woke up with the slightest of hangovers yesterday ready to give thanks to Huey for some excellent surf courtesy of a new WNW swell to be hitting the coast of CA. I called my friend Scott, who insisted I bring a fish of mine for him to use. I did, along with my Pod and my shorty - because the waves were going to be good today. I sat in traffic for a couple hours and finally arrived at the reliable Grandview in Leucadia, CA. The waves were slow, crowded and closing out. Ok, thought I, on to the aunt and uncle's for a feast, and I will surf again tomorrow.

Today comes, everyone has the day off, Surfline said a swell was coming, I went surfing with the rest of North County. The wind was light and offshore, the tide was perfect for the region, I was ready to shreddy. 'Twasn't to be. I checked all the usual spots along with some unusual ones and ended up at a campground in Carlsbad. The waves looked ok and an old man told me it was getting better. Dumb dumb dumb old man. I was like the day before only bigger and maybe more closed out. It was crowded, I wasn't really getting waves and the eggyness was starting to solidify.


Sooo I made my way back to my coche, ready to get back to LA to finish some work before the weekend (and I usually work on weekends, so...). A kind and young-faced Mexican man standing next to his gardening truck, parked behind my car, looked at me and said "You 'ave a teeeeckit." "Fuck" was my first response, followed by "the city of Carlsbad." "cunt" and "balls." My paisa friend had one too, as did a kid a few cars away. Gotta pay the price for parking in a "No Parking Any Time" zone I suppose. Maybe I should have learned that a couple months ago at Trestles when I did THE EXACT SAME THING. Ahhhhh. Better now.

Rejection is Opportunity

In light of several recent events I have decided to re-enter the blogosphere, this time under a new name to protect the innocent and the guilty. The sermon today is on the lessons one can learn from rejection. Here I speak of rejection in the broadest sense. This can mean being fired from a job, having a male/female bar you, not getting into a school you wanted to go to or a variety of other seemingly negative outcomes. We have seen Americans across the country and Worldians across the world reacting to rejection by creating opportunity since the beginning of each, but especially in recent rough economic waters through the invention of new things - some progressive, some nefarious. Nobody likes to be rejected. We become accustomed to a certain position vis-a-vis others and do not want that to change. Dynamics of power are involved and rejection means losing.

The opportunity comes because rejection presents an opportunity to re-assess oneself to assert an even better position. The power dynamics allow us to become comfortable, but stagnant and inefficient. The proof of this is in the pudding -or lack thereof: when women are in relationships they tend to gain weight. I did not do research on this, but it is obvious, well-accounted for and has surely been studied vastly. When women are no longer in relationships they dust off their gym memberships, start jogging, pick up a new sport, eat less and start boning down with tons of men as exercise.

If we're talking about work, getting fired or laid off can be one of the greatest things that can happen to somebody. I was fired from a job a little less than two years ago. It was a job I hated, but was too lazy to quit for myself. Getting fired lit a fire under me to make something new happen. As of now things have never been better.

Rejection allows us to look at life's situations with fresh eyes, which makes me ask: what if we could do this all the time? What if instead of "thinking outside the box," people took the perspective that "there is no box?" It may cause some destruction, but it may cause some progress - I don't know. But I do think that the lessons learned from rejection can be a valuable model for how to operate regardless of circumstances.

NASCAR!

I concluded my ultra long weekend of birthday celebration with a trip to the redneck riviera known as Fontana, California. The Auto Club Speedway is flanked by dilapidated steel mills and miles of 100,000 plus square foot distribution centers.

The NASCAR population lives up to all stereotypes: big trucks, big guts/ asses, lots of American beer, southern accents, driver-themed flags and all other sorts of memorabilia, shitty tattoos, homely women, extremely unhealthy food and good times.

I had never imagined myself as enjoying NASCAR, but perhaps it was the great hospitality of our hosts, the pit passes or great seats, but it was a blast. Unlike most American sports the drivers come speak to certain audiences, for example us in the Budweiser booth for a Q and A with Bud's driver. He was down to earth and seemed happy to be answering questions from our small crowd. I can't wait until my next chance to see a race.

Where's the Debate Here?

So the guy above was recently executed by the state of Texas for killing his three daughters. An article came out saying that the evidence on which he was convicted is shaky and he may not have killed his girls. I contest, however, that by simply looking at this photo it is clear he is at least as guilty of murder as convicted wife-murderer, the appropriately and cryptically named Mark HACKING (below).

Birthday Massage: An Adventure Into Homosexuality

I made plans to go to San Diego this past weekend to see my Dad for his birthday, go to dinner, surf around there and actually be able to drive around and find parking. When I told my mom I was coming she told me to be there by 2pm but didn't tell me why, just that she had an early birthday present for me. I arrived at my parents' house and my mom informed me that my dad and I would be going to get Asian massages. I had never had a massage before so I didn't know what to expect and my thoughts ran dirty. Here's how it went:

I woke up from a nap at 2:45 to go with my dad to the place right down the street and we walked in a few minutes before our 3pm appointment. We walked in an they weren't quite ready for us so we sat down in some uber-comfortable chairs, myself awkwardly close to a woman having her legs massaged by an Asian woman. They called my dad in for his massage, handed me a styrofoam cup of tea and I immediately fell asleep in the chair.

A woman woke me up about 10 minutes later and brought me into a room. She stood there alongside a man as said in her heavy accent, "Do you want woman or man?"
"Uh, woman, I guess, but it doesn't really matter," I replied.
"So man is OK?"
"Yeah, uh, yeah that's fine."

The man, a stocky mid-forties man with a complimentary heavy accent pointed to the table and told me to take my clothes off when he left the room. It still didn't seem too gay to me. I stripped down and put my clothes on the ground. When he came back in he laughed at me for not putting them on a small stool. I was nude on my belly and under a thin white sheet. The strong-handed man began to massage my neck and head and it felt phenomenal and I was thinking that maybe I was into dudes. He then pulled the sheet down, exposing my back and 4 inches of crack. He placed some oil on my back and began to rub it in. It got hotter as he rubbed.

And so went the massage for the next few minutes. He found some knots in my back and began to work them out with his hands, forearms and elbows. One knot in the upper right part of my back was especially painful and he was having a hard time working it out. He pushed and prodded, but it would not come out. After some time I moved, against massage etiquette I suppose, and he said, "Does that hurt?"
"Yeah," I laughed, with a hint of discomfort and obviousness.
"It is tight," he said, in a deep breathy voice, drawing out the word 'tight.'
I have never felt gayer.

Then I turned onto my back and got the leg and arm portion of the massage. He avoided my nether regions by only the slightest bit and went to town on my calves and the muscles around my knees. The feeling was pure jubilation. The hour was nearing its end and he moved it my hands. He disproportionately large and soft hands massaging mine was an utter pleasure. He did one particular move in which he massaged each finger then snapped at each one's tip. I imagined this on my johnson being even more glorious than the pepper-grinder.

And then it was done! Just like that, he told me it was done and it was over. No "thank you" and certainly no happy ending. He used my for my body with no thought of what may my needs are. So selfish. Next time I will insist on the woman.

Anatomy of a Bender

I enjoy being on the road via any means of transportation: train, boat, car, bicycle, and airplane. This weekend I decided to employ the automobile and skateboard the get me where I wanted to be as well as serve as my place of rest. Here's how it all went down:

Friday afternoon I spoke to Scott the see what was up for the weekend. I was planning on going to San Clemente to watch some surfing on Saturday and his Huntington Beach residence was the only logical stop in between. It's a mansion party in Orange County, was his reply, and I readily obliged. I got on the road at 3pm to make it down there before the start of weekend traffic and I was quickly immersed in weekend traffic. The forty-five minute drive took me two sweaty hours but I made it in time to sweat a little on Scott's couch just before he got home from work. He arrived in his working man's suit, changed and we got in his coche for the quick ride to the beach. The surf was fun, I was high, and it only lasted a brief time (maybe longer, I was high) so we could get back and make it to said rager in the hills of Orange.

We ground down on some delish Mexican food at a restaurant appropriately run by an obese white woman while enjoying the conversation of a middle-aged man (think chubby Jim Gaffigan) hitting on women with his riveting stories of being unemployed. He actually almost made it seem appealing. I pretended like I wasn't high and we proceeded to get back to Scott's house to make some moves.

The party was as expected for and OC gig - fake tits, drugs, pretension, black shirts and fake tits. We were cross-eyed before we even got inside, but not so much to remember being in line for the shuttle to the top of the hill and the scummy tool box running the party telling me to put my beer down or "I won't let you in the party." Thanks BRO. Down the hatch. The party consisted of being ushered in and out of various rooms, being offered drinks and drugs ("No thanks, I, uhh, have work tomorrow"), looking at fake tits, and finally being kicked out by the 400 lb. Don of the house of 4am.

Scott and I had few options but for me going to the afterparty was not one. I planned on surfing the next day (which it already was and the sun was about to come out) and going to watch a contest and some shredding. We slept in his car from about 5-8am, which equals roughly 13 minutes of bed sleep. We then went to Scott's house, grabbed our boards and got ready to show Newport how one is supposed to surf.

I suck at surfing when I'm sober and when I'm hung over it's a massacre. I fell on every wave and watched some groms ripping. I was jealous of their ripping and thought they would probably be jealous of the party I went to the night before. Advantage them. The session was brief due to the ensuing high tide and stark sea breeze so we were done and still drunk.

We ate, changed clothes and got on the road to San Clemente for the Hurley Pro, the biggest surf event of the year in North America. Parking is always great and this year it was better - we parked miles from the beach. I stopped to ask a cop who was ticketing some cars where it was kosher to park, and he pointed it out. I was still drunk and may have misinterpreted him so I parked 15 feet from a No Parking Any Time sign. We skated to the event site, Scott going fast, myself barely moving.

The contest was pretty fucking boring despite the excellent surfing. Mick Fanning beat Dane Reynolds in the finals and we were right there on the rocks - and epic equation that still managed to bore us. We staying for 6 hours until the finals ended then began the long trek back up the hill and, as I planned it, to make it to LA just in time for the Mason Jennings show at El Rey Theatre. My car had a $70 ticket on it, but it wasn't as bas as how sweaty I was from the beer, skating, lack of sleep, sun and excess of bro hand shakes. On the road again we were.

I dropped Scott's sorry ass off in Huntington Beach and had an hour to make it to meet my friend in Venice. No traffic on a Saturday evening, right? The freeway was closed in Long Beach and I tried unsuccessfully to divert myself around it, saving roughly 0 time and arriving in LA 1:15 later. I avoided a dying cell phone to meet my friend on time to carpool to the El Rey with time to spare and enjoy the show and twas magnificent. Mason's voice is incredible and we stood behind his biggest fan. This guy was chubby, had a shaved red head and would offer a thumbs up on approval and waive to Mason (about 20 feet away) if he though he could be seen. He was nary once acknowledged.

It was midnight when we left, my body was unexplainably sore and I had to get home. I did so to lock into some rest today, though the candle is still delightfully burning at both ends.

N'Ice Cream, listen up

Go to dinner, get ice cream, go home, can't get a chub? Not a problem if you get this ice cream:


LONDON -- If you're looking for a sweet treat that gives you a special boost, you may want to take the first flight to London.

That's because London is the only place where Viagra ice cream is about to go on sale.

Entitled the "Sex Pistol", the new frosty treat is packed with libido-boosting ingredients such as gingko, biloba, arginine and guarana.

It's served with a shot of the highly intoxicating La Fee Absinthe and is guaranteed to get your blood pumping.

One per customer, please, and you must be 18 to get one.

The "Sex Pistol" costs $16.99 and will be available on September 10 at the Icecreamist boutique in the basement of the Selfridges Department Store.

If Viaga ice cream isn't your thing, there are other flavors available, including "Obamarama", "Living in Cinnamon", "Glastonberry" and "The Molotoffee Cocktail".

No word on if the new Viaga "vice cream' will be headed to the U.S.