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Archive for December, 2011

For the last two weeks things were looking mighty good for Mauriello to take this quarter and the year.  Where had Kooky Kyle been.  Well if you follow this blog then you already know the answer.  Poor Kooky has been run ragged by me all over Santa Barbara in plenty of surfing and drunken mishaps.  All the chaos makes it hard to come up with UCB topics.  Not to mention when you are living in the court of Lisanti Land I answer most of your topics orally anyhow.  Mauriello can attest to that.  Kooky put forth an amazing Power of Ten one that would make even the likes of Nick the Kook proud.  He snags two points for his efforts.

1. What if trees could talk?:  Here is something I think about quite often since trees live for such a greater duration in comparison to the that of humans.  I personally am highly impressed by trees.  Their immense size and ability for survival makes me think they must be of a higher plane than us.  I believe they most likely can talk but care not to waste their breath on such simpletons as human beings.  I  like to assume that if trees could talk it would be much like Tolkien wrote in The Two Towers, the second book of the Lord of the Rings saga.

2. Pigeons Vs. Seagulls: Wow what a fight, beach rats against the city rats.  I have seen both species go at it in the heart of the city and on the beach.  Unless out numbered the seagulls always win.  If I had to pick a favorite and mind you this a stretch since I hate both species of birds I would have to go with sea gulls cause they make for hours of fun entertainment whenever I am stuck going to the beach outside of surfing.  Here is a fun little side story.  I hate just sitting on the beach.  It bores the shit out of me.  Over the summer I went on a beach date with this chick.  She fell asleep on the blanket we were sitting on.  As soon as she did that I went to town building an intricate society of sand castles with roads and different class neighborhoods. She ends up dozing off for nearly three hours.  Upon waking she found herself surrounded by this bizarre sand community I had been working on.  She looked at me with this interested yet somewhat appalling gaze.  Needless to say she did not return any of my calls after.

3. Ridiculous T-Shirts: This is a topic close to my heart.  I have always had a thirst to wear the dumbest most nonsensical, crazy colored t-shirts I could get my hands on.  I used to scour the surf shop racks for them as a kid, then raid my sponsor’s barracks for the most bizarre stuff I could find.  These days I score most of my finds on the $3 rack at Kmart. You should see some of the gnarl I wear.  Let your imagination run wild on this one.   Today for example I wore a shirt with nothing but a giant red human heart on it.  Yesterday I wore a shirt with a picture of a llama on it that said “I am not a camel, I am a llama”.  Day before that I wore a Globe shirt completely covered in a variety of assault rifles, hand guns and shot guns.  That is just the last three days.  I have an entire closet full.

I have just a few crazy shirts. Yes I have extreme OCD and those shirts are color coordinated.

 

4.  My Accent: This is one that always provides a laugh at my expense everywhere I go.  In my younger days I at times got hot headed about it.  Now I just work material off of it and enjoy partaking in the laughter.  If you can’t laugh at yourself sometimes then your taking life too seriously.  Shit I spend the majority of my time laughing at myself.  My crazy accent also has gotten me laid on many of occasion.  People never quite know where I am from and I have got everything from Aussie, to European, to just plain idiot.  What is this accent I speak?  It is a mix of New York, New Jersey, Surfer, Jazz Cat, Hipster, Californian, Australian, Italian. Basically I like to sum it up as Lisantbonics.

5.  Serenity Garden: I get stressed out sometimes.  A few years ago I got stressed out most of the time and did not know how to deal with  it except to fly off the handle and make an angry fool of myself.  Then I was at this Japanese exhibit in Florida and found real peace walking through their intricate little gardens.  When I returned to California I began a modest garden of potted succulents I grew from clippings.  Then I started finding all these plants in the trash my neighbor would throw away when the plants started looking ugly on her.  I pruned, trimmed, re-potted and nursed these plants back to health and have gotten great results.  All the while I would become very relaxed out there doing it.  Then again my backyard does overlook the ocean on one end and the beautiful mountains that surround Santa Barbara on the other.  Now that they have finished construction on City College it has gotten even more amazing back there.  I know whenever I am feeling especially down about the Adrienne situation I go our there and do some pruning and feel better.  Why cant people be like plants so that when you show them love and tenderness they grow to be marvelous.  I know my plants will be there for me as long as I take care of them.

A flower I picked from my garden, the whole garden pulled back and a few of my potted friends including, basil, agave, pineapple, thyme, rosemary and others.

 

6. French Food:  I fucking hate french food, with the exception of their baked goods.  It is so involved and over zealous.  Let me tell everyone a fact back in the days of monarchy  France one of their kings married an Italian princess and she brought her entire Italian cook staff over to Paris with her.  Her crew and the kings crew developed the French cuisine most known to us today.  Not to mention that we have been cooking over in Italy as long as the French.  The Italians were just too lazy to write it down.

7.  What Does Alfie Do When He Runs Away:  Alfie has become quite the little Houdini finding ways out of my apartment when not a door or window has been opened.  For a while I figured he just ran around killing shit and eating garbage.  Since his recent heroin addiction courtesy of my former roommate I am pretty sure he is running all over town looking for another fix.  With out Sleepy Time Nick here (the loving nick name we gave him since the heroin always made him fall asleep, sometimes even standing up) anymore poor Alfie has no more junk to get him his fix.  Poor cat went through a tough withdrawal.  Minus all the chunks of fur missing from him and the insatiable cravings I would say he is almost back to normal.

Alfie all strung out with no fix in sight. Sorry bud, but I taught you better.

 

8.  Favorite Author:  Myself of course.  Just kidding.  I suck compared to the greats.  To pick one would be a real crime but I will narrow it down to my top few in no order: Dickens, Hemingway, Thoreau, Ayn Rand, George Elliot, Shakespeare, Thomas Hardy, Voltaire, Faulkner, Hawthorne, Dostoevsky just to name a few.

9. What Does Alfie Think About the Girls I Bring Home:  I don’t know what he thinks.  These days I try not to keep them around long enough for him to get attached to them.  Poor Alfie was left behind by my ex-wife.  He was her cat, but due to her career path out of the country she was unable to care for him.  This left him in the custody of me, which for any living creature is a pretty scary feat.  Since then he constantly has been searching for another female and when I have such guest he charges her.  Then he could not get enough of Adrienne.  She left and the poor guy did not come away from the front door for weeks.  Since then I don’t really like women to get too close to him.  It is easier for her just to walk out on me.  At least I know why she is leaving.  Poor Alfie has no idea at all.  He just knows that she is gone.  I think that is way worse.

10.  Why Surfing in Santa Barbara Sucks:  First off surfing in general sucks.  The waves are always a let down.  The spots are always too crowded and it was better twenty years ago.  For all those reasons is why surfing sucks in Santa Barbara.  In all seriousness surfing in Santa Barbara is a bit more challenging in the sense that one really must be in tune with every swell angle, wind direction and swell period if he is to score the best possible waves.  You better have a reliable car that gets good gas mileage for all the driving involved in the hunt.  Either that or have a very, very versatile quiver and a love for stand up paddling.  The biggest reason why surfing sucks in Santa Barbara is to watch a handful of world class waves be completely dormant more then 75% of the time.

Yep Surfing in Santa Barbara sure is terrible. Don't come here you will get skunked.

 

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Lost? Get filled in by Reading Part I and Part II 

Have you ever seen that movie “The Hang Over”?  The last 36 hours I have been living it and let me tell you I still do not have any answers.  Instead I have a barely coherent tale pieced together from fuzzy logic, Kooky’s barely cognizant memory and lots of speculation.  Oh “ALCOHOL, CAN’T LIVE WITH OUT IT, NO DOUBT ABOUT IT”! How you have fucked with me since I started drinking at ten years old.

I have no idea what we were thinking.  I guess it all started with the strip club being closed.  On Christmas!?! How absurd is that.  Initially The plan West and I hatched on Christmas Eve was that we would all blow a lot of coke thus making it a white Christmas and then go to the titty bar from 7-9pm.  First we ruled out the cocaine for obvious reasons.  Remember I may be a drunk, but drugs have never really been my bag.

The Strip club, well that was just plain good sense.  All those lonely strippers too embarrassed to go home for the holidays due to their profession.  Us, three lonely bachelors looking for love in all the wrong places.  Then we found out Kooky had never been to a strip joint before.  It all made perfectly good sense.

Around 9ish we got to the strip club and it was closed to our utter dismay.  I had $20 bucks set aside for Kooky to get a lap dance and another $40 in singles for the girls.  Christmas dollars for everyone.  If that is not wonderful spreading of the holiday cheer I just don’t know what is.  (discloser: I actually am not a fan of strip clubs and honestly would rather spend my time and money at the bar where at least there is a chance the women may come home with me. These days I am told Trader Joes is the place to meet women except I can’t stand that place.  So I figure anyone who shops there I most likely would not care for either.  The only thing worthwhile to come out of that place is their wine selection. Two buck chuck not included!)

Wow, that was off topic.   I need to see a therapist…an Asian message therapist that is.  “Sir, would you like the happy ending?”  You bet your ass I do.  Last time I went for an Asian message they beat the living shit out of me.  I mean seriously it felt like I had six people kicking and punching me while the seventh held me down.  It was rather disturbing, but that is a blog for another day.

No Strip club, boo hoo.  We decided to dry our tears with rum and cokes and tequila shots at the Wild Cat in dedication to Sancho Clause.  This is after a few shots at home, Kooky drinking some moonshine out of a jar his boss gave him and mini-shots at JJ’s.  Yeah, you know the definition of insanity. Sound familiar if not then you did not read Part II of this very saga.

Hold the phone!  Who is Sancho Clause?  Sancho Clause is this character my co-worker Kevin and I created and is the Mexican ghetto version of our Santa Clause.  He is 5’3” over weight has a white beard but a black mustache, wears a sombrero and a Mexican flag colored poncho.  Instead of reindeer and a sleigh he rides in a 1986 Chevy Monte Carlo low rider with rims pulled by a dozen donkeys.  You don’t leave him cookies and milk, instead a bottle of Jose Cuervo and a copy of Hustler.  He does not leave you presents opting to take your presents, beat you with a lead pipe and rape your wife.  Ole. (Disclosure2: I am not a racist I hate and make fun of everyone and actually find the company of Mexicans most times more enjoyable then most Americans.)

After that round of shots I don’t remember a Goddamn thing.  All I know is that I woke up to Kooky pounding on my door at eight in the morning.  “I don’t want to surf right now” I yelled to him.  “Get up West got arrested, we have to go get him out” he replied.  “What?!!!!!” Kooky I think I got punched really hard in the side last night cause my ribs really hurt” I got out of bed and was barely able to walk.  Apparently I hurt my knee as well.  I limped to the bathroom and screamed.

Running the length of four to five of my ribs was a giant bruise and it hurt when I tried to breath or raise my arm.  I had no idea how any of this happened, my injuries or West’s arrest.  It was off to the jail to hopefully get some answers.

By now I have become a pro at this morning routine picking up more then one friend there after a crazy night.  Nick the Kook was a member of that club just this past January.  That is another story for another blog too.  We get there and It turns out they can’t let him out till ten.  To add insult to injury Kooky accidentally locked the key to my car inside it.  At that point him and I are sitting outside the jail waiting for AAA to come and unlock my car.  Both of us still drunk from the night before.  Forget AAA someone needs to call AA and have them haul my sorry ass away.

In the interim I got a call from West which ended with “Lisanti get me out of this box!”.  Things were a bit out of hand.  By this point it was 9am and with an hour to kill I did the only thing I knew in such situations.  After triple A got us back in the car Kooky and I went to Denny’s.  Somehow no matter how bad things look they always seem better after a janky Denny’s Breakfast and right now they have this build your own Grand Slam breakfast for $5.  We coupled it with an order of Ice Cream and red velvet hush puppies. YUM!

Following a meal like that how could anything be all that bad?  By the time we scarfed down breakfast West got out and we even threw a three stack of pancakes in a doggy bag for him.  Turns out he got charged with drunk in public, a common offense around here and one yours truly has been accused of and theft.  The latter definitely threw us a curve ball.  What could he have possibly stolen at 2am?  Of course he did not remember anything more then I did.

Now we went into crime solving mode.  The arrest took place at 7-11.  I assumed he must have walked in there wasted and waked out with a doughnut or something.  We rolled over there and the manager checked the tapes, called the night guy and came up with nothing.  We went to every government bureaucracy in Santa Barbara to no avail.  One cop told us not to worry and that it was most likely something stupid he would have to pay a fine for.

Here is what I have pieced together of what actually happened from 10pm on the 25th of December till 8am of the 26th.  According to Kooky another round of whiskey shots was done. Him and I danced on the cat walk while two gay guys attempted to put dollars in our pants (can you see the irony here cause I can).  In the process of dismounting from said place I most likely caused the injury to my knee.  We took a picture on my cell phone with some Norwegian girl, whose boyfriend was not amused.  Kooky and I signed out our tabs, collected our jackets and took a cab home.

Upon coming home we believe thanks to a testimony supplied by my roommate Ryan claiming he heard a scream, that I most likely fell entering my room and hit the corner of my night stand with my side. Judging from the shape, size and damage of the bruise it makes plenty of sense.  I remember waking up fully dressed in the middle of the night on the floor and crawling to my bed as well.  Kooky passed out on the little couch, which always seems to be the drunken choice for someone at the end of a “going hard” night.  As far as West goes we assume he got separated from us at some point stumbled around town lost for at least thirty minutes, got half way home eventually apprehended by the police.

Like I said all that is pure inference based on my gathering evidence over the last 36 hours.  Now my ribs are all busted up, my knee is fucked so I can’t surf at the present moment.  Poor West has to come back up here for a court date.  All as a result of being drunk and stupid.  For  me this was my wake up call.  Sure it did not come in the form of the ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and Future, but it was more then enough for me.

I am too old for this shit.  In three days it will be 2012 and I mean it.  I really am going to take my life back and this time I am going to make it count.  There will be no more lamenting about Adrienne.  I miss her like crazy, but I have to stop letting that pain ruin my life.  I registered for a full schedule of classes, will be working full time at Westmont and have already and should be done by early January with all the renovations on the Lisanti Palace.  Things are going to start picking up here in Lisanti Land in the positive.

Wild Cat Drunkards

Part of the evidence: Kooky, The Norwegian girl, Myself and half of West's face. Actually we wanted the bitch to take a picture of the three of us but then she decided to be in it making her bf take the pic, pissing him off and cutting off West.

Chris Lisanti is a dumb shit

There it is folks some heavy body damage courtesy of drunkenness.

 ****Post Script 12/29 1:33pm PST****
West hit me up today and it turns out he was arrested because he passed out in the back of a Taxi Cab.  The theft charge was  him not paying the fare.  All he has to do to get it dropped is pay for the taxi ride and he is in the clear.  The drunk in public like I said earlier is no big deal either.  Getting that offense is a  Santa Barbara right of passage.  I actually surfed today as well.  Check out the December ’11 Surflog for more on that.

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If you missed Part I click here to catch up.

Things started off rather amazing.  Christmas Eve West and I caught some really fun Rincon in the morning See December 24th of the Surflog for more about that.  Later the boys and I cruised back to the ‘Con.  Conditions were perfect if only it was about four feet bigger.  Then again if my grandmother had a dick she would be my grandfather.  That is an old Russian saying I picked up from a friend of mine a while back.  He would always tell me that in the water whenever I would say “it would be a ton of fun right now if the waves were six feet bigger”.

I ended up just bumbling around the rocks hunting for sea glass, shells and building rock stacks.  I played with a few random dogs that crossed my path as well.  Christmas Eve dinner featured steaks grilled on my coal grill in the back yard, a very nice bottle of French wine (It was Christmas so I decided to spoil myself).  The wine ended up being amazing and as a result I would not put the cork back into it.  The entire contents had to be drank.  West and I killed the bottle since poor Kooky had to work.  That kid is a go-getter.  We capped the evening off with a viewing of Mel Brooks’ masterpiece “Space Balls”.  How can it get better then that?

Before we proceed any further I find it of great importance to briefly speak on what happened or what may have happened on the night of the 23rd.  It was West’s first night in town and all three of us were in the mood to rage hard.  For whatever reason I bought a few days prior a fifth of Jose Cuervo.   Now tequila and I are bad news.  Whenever I get hammered off the stuff I get wild and those are the mornings I wake up with little recollection and big problems.

Of course I poured a few rounds of shots and it was off to the bar.  On the way down, mini shots all around.  Then at Wild Cat we did three rounds of Tequila shots, which we chased down with AMFs!!!! It was bad news.  Turns out none of us remembered a thing, but all were in agreement that a good time was had.  I know what little I do remember was awesome.

Skip forward to Christmas Day.  I awoke Christmas morning to no tree, no presents, no family and absolutely no fanfare.  Instead I woke up Kooky and West and we cruised to Rincon.  The point was firing.  The tide was a little high, but there was a light crowd and solid head high lines coming through.  For the next three hours I dismantled the entire point taking four runs from Indies to Cove.  Out of twenty four waves I caught at least fifteen were all time rides.  Kooky and West got some fun ones too.  Tom Curren was out with his sons and Yadin Nicol was all over it as well.

After a remarkable surf we rolled home for breakfast.  We made a quick stop at Vons to pick up a bottle of wine for dinner since I ended up drinking the entire bottle the night before.  This time I went with one of my favorite California red blends.  It has been nice to splurge on some nice wine this holiday considering how tight my wine budget has been the last few months.  At the check out counter the lady behind the register had some gnarly Christmas get up going that she finished off with her hair froed out and decorated like a Christmas tree.  Don’t worry I took a candid photo with my cell phone.

Back at the palace Kooky did up his famous crepes (they are incredible, kid has skills), while I did home fries and scrambled five eggs. It was a feast fit for a king and we reveled in it.  Upon the conclusion of Breakfast all three of us did the call home to our families thing and pretended like we missed them, all the while sitting on my back patio staring at the ocean enjoying the sunny 70 degree weather.  Jersey was like 35 degrees.

Then it was off to Rincon for round two.  Tide was a bit drained and the wind had gotten on it a bit.  It was still chest high plus and there were some real nuggets coming through the cove.  I had a few magical ones although tweaking my knee a bit in the process.  Kooky got the barrel of his life through the cove.  West had a good time as well.

Christmas dinner featured my acclaimed chicken parmigiana over gemelli pasta in my family’s old world marinara sauce.  We ate, we drank, we shared story.  Not once was there any disagreements, disappointment, or expectation.  It was just three friends sharing a meal and enjoying each others company.  If that is not what the true spirit of Christmas is all about I do not know what is. “It was the best Christmas Day ever”!  The night was a whole different ball game altogether.  Stay tuned for part III where things get just a little bit gnarly courtesy of tequila and Sancho Clause.  For in life even the best plans of mice and men shall go awry.

Christmas Tree Hair

This was our Christmas Cashier, trimmed and garland.  Sorry for the blur but I had to take it in secrecy all spy like.

Rock Stacking

One of my rock stacks made at Rincon on Christmas Eve

Rincon Christmas Day 2011

Christmas Morning at Rincon. mmmmmmmmmm!!!!!

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Merry fucking belated Christmas everyone.  How was your holiday? I actually don’t really care to be honest.  Wow I’m mean, maybe even a slight touch Ebenezer Scrooge in me.  I guess I am still waiting for the ghosts to show up and give the incentive I need to change my life.   In a way that did sort of happen this December 25th except it did not come in the form of apparitions, but instead rounds upon rounds of tequila shots.  Nothing says happy holidays like complete and total inebriation.

We are getting ahead of ourselves at the moment for there is a lot tell.  I do believe you will find it a rather entertaining yet somewhat disturbing read.  Then again that is the case with most of what I post here.  This is going to be a two parter as the amount of insanity and ridiculousness that has gone down in the last 48 hours even blows my mind.  Shit it may run three parts and grab one of the top ten for 2011.

Christmas as most of you know is far from my favorite holiday.  When I was ten I contracted phenomena on Christmas and almost died. My first girlfriend and love dumped me on Christmas Eve when I was 15 years old over the phone.  As a result I ended up cultivating an unnatural disdain for women folk that lasted for nearly a decade and most likely still lingers in my subconscious.  You can sure as fuck bet Adrienne did not help that case either.  I really need to move on.

I read some study on getting over hard break ups and it said the amount of time it takes to heal is about one month for every three you were together.  So I guess I am looking at around eight months.  Yeah! Just two more months to go.  Alright.  Enough of that this story has nothing to do with her other then the fact that it would not have taken place had she still been with me.  I promise I will not mention such again for this series.

When I was 18 I was coming up the stairs to my apartment during my tenure at Berklee in Boston and the strap to my saxophone gig back broke sending my priceless tenor saxophone careening down three flights of steps.  At 19 I was arrested for a certain unpleasantness I would rather not discuss on my blog.  All I will say is be smart and stay on the right side of the law.  It’s not worth it.

At 21 my apartment caught fire as a direct result of faulty wiring on my Christmas tree.  My ex-wife and I lost all of our belongings in the fire and had to move in with my parents for six months while we got back on our feet. When I was twenty three my ex-wife broke her back in three places.  Our Christmas present that year was that after a long road of rehab she would make a full recovery.  At twenty six my ex-wife and I decided to split up during Christmas time.

My string of Christmas bad tidings is ludicrous and the main reason I decided to sit this one out this year.  There is not one Christmas decoration in my home. I just could not handle going home to New Jersey.  Hold on what am I saying.  Home is Santa Barbara California.  The last three years I have been celebrating Christmas with my family whom I love and adore.  This year my head was not there.

I needed some time for myself for a change.  All fall between work and school I have been running myself ragged.  Add the many bouts with heavy depression and even heavier drinking, throw in a heroin addict roommate and you have quite the aperture to over come.  By December I was spent physically, emotionally and mentally.  Just the thought of going home and facing my entire family and the questions of how things were going was too much to bare.

I hate lying and I hate lying to my loved ones more.  If I were to tell them all the truth about things I would just get countless lectures about my poor life choices and how I should cut my losses and move back east.  Not to mention the fact that my cousin just got engaged.  Him and I are the same age and have been pitted against each other by our parents for as long as I can remember.

The two of us don’t compete, but I constantly had to hear about how great my cousin Rich was doing and how much I was blowing it.  I love my cousin and wish him the best in life.  We are different people making a comparison is completely absurd.  My sister is toting around her fiancé as well.  I just could not deal with seeing two happy couples on the verge of spending the rest of their lives together in what I hope will be both harmony and bliss.  Not after all I have been through.

I canceled my plans and decided to hang up in Santa Barbara with Kooky, Ryan and this dude West who decided to come up from San Diego, another recent New Jersey expatriate, to not spend the holiday alone.  Since I am off from work till January sixth I was really looking forward to kicking back, surfing and relaxing.  Just as most happenings in Lisanti Land things got exacerbated rather fast.

So now the stage is set for a tragedy or a comedy or maybe a little bit of both.  Tune in tomorrow to find out exactly how Christmas this year got even a little too gnarly even for me.

Christmas Van

Merry Christmas…I don’t think this guy is allowed to go by elementary schools and hand out candy canes.

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This weeks first UCB makes a winner of Mauriello.  Wow first he snags yesterday’s extra point and now the UCB, not to mention the whopper of a power of ten he put up.  Ladies and gentlemen watch out this guy wants the win for the year.  Mauriello picked a topic very close to my heart and that is “what is the soundtrack of your life”.  This is a topic which has certainly been in my head for as long as I can remember.

First off I have very deep roots in music being a prodigy on the saxophone as an adolescent, studying jazz performance in college and ultimately working in the business on and off for the last fifteen years.  The Groovin’ High section is a perfect example of my love for music.  I mean look how much random bull shit I write about just one song.  It always amazes me when I meet someone who has no real interest in music or what they listen to.  It blows my mind.  In Lisanti Land I have music going nearly all the time.  From the moment I wake up till I go to sleep I have some form of tuneage playing be it on my ipod or radio.

I used never turn my stereo off when I lived in Boston.  Back then I had a five disc changer and just had it on constant repeat all day whether I was home or not.  This way when I got home there was music on.  I even went to sleep with music on.  There is something about having grooves all around me all the time that just seems right.  As a matter of fact the only time I don’t want music is when I surf.  That is my spiritual time, please pardon the cliche.  In the water I am completely at peace or at least focused beyond the need for any distraction.

Why do I always have music playing you ask.  Mainly it is that I need something to allow my brain to slow down and focus on just one task.  If I do not have music playing my mind wonders all over the place with tons of different thoughts.  If there are tunes on then that captures half my mind leaving the other to stay on task.  It does not matter what type of music although I do prefer jazz, hip/hop, r&b and soul.  I will take any style of music over none at all.

The soundtrack of my life.  Well that is a tough one.  When I am just chilling at  the end of the night some Bill Evans or mellow Miles always relaxes me.  These days I have found quite the solace in sad love songs.  Corinne Bailey Rae, Nora Jones, Ashanti, Diana Krall, Billy Holiday all have a few tunes that have gotten me through the sad times these days. Now I finally have an appreciation of such.  Up until my own heart break I never really understood their meaning cause I do not believe I ever really had a heart.

Mostly my ipod is the sound track of my life.  I have nearly 4,000 songs on there and each one has its own special meaning to me.  Since it is always on shuffle it has become my life sound track.  I have it going right now as I write these lines, Dave Brubeck “So What’s New”.  What will come next I do not know,but one thing is for sure there will always be music.

 

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I promised myself I would write something significant this week.  Then Kooky Kyle forgot to pay the the cable bill and the swines turned off my internet.  After a round about phone conversation with a very nice sounding operator named Mindy I found myself paying way too much money to keep my “high speed” connection going.  Here is a quick play by play on how that conversation went.  Remember while reading this that I AM AN ASSHOLE.

Me: I went to log onto my internet today and surprisingly it said I needed to call customer service.
Mindy: Let me check your account.  As it turns out you owe us $84 USD in unpaid bills.
Me:  Really, that is surprising cause I know I sent a check in last month.
Mindy: Well sir it looks like you only paid $75 of the $89 you owed us and then there was no payment for December so we turned you off.
Me: Well I guess that is one way to get my attention.  So Mindy why do you think I only paid $75. Is it because you think I am stupid and did not know how to read my bill correctly?
Mindy: No sir I am not calling you stupid.  Maybe you just misunderstood.
Me: MISUNDERSTOOD!!! Wait are you calling me a retard who cannot read a bill correctly (this is most likely true).  I feel completely insulted right now.  It is a good thing you caught me on a good day or I might have hung up the phone and proceeded to slit my wrists in my bath tub.  Do you really want my suicide on your head Mindy.
Mindy: Sir, no I did not insinuate you should kill yourself at all.
Me: Thats right you didn’t, I did.  You know I am actually a rather smart man.  It baffles me that you think I am dumb.
Mindy: Ummm, sorry sir, uh. So your internet will be back on anywhere from eight to forty eight hours.
Me: I think I need to talk your superior cause I feel rather slighted here.
Mindy: I will transfer you…..Click

The bitch hung up on me and I was too lazy to call back.  over $100 later I got my internet back.  Hooray for monopolies.  I thought my trust busting friend Roosevelt took care of such bullshit.  I guess not.  That is the problem with these utility companies they can do whatever they want cause they know they got you by the balls.  Just for that I have a bit of fun with their customer service representatives.  I am sure Mindy got a good laugh or cry out of our little conversation together.  I hope she did not decide to slit her wrists.

As I was saying I wanted to write about something significant, but after all that hassle I guess I am just back to writing about “money, hoes and rims again”.  Tell me where that is from and who says it in the comments for 1 extra UCB point!  Actually that is an oxymoron since I have no money, no hoes and my car does not have rims :(.  I guess that means I am just writing absolute gibberish as usual, but you are reading it.

I posted some quality shit in the December ’11 edition of the surflog.  There are five new action packed sessions if you want some thing to read.  This week I am going to write two UCB’s. At the moment I am not married to any topics put down so if you have something I would post it.  The power ten is also still up for grabs.  This month’s winner may come down to the power of ten.  Besides that I have some fun comical stuff to post, a new recipe, and maybe even another short story.  Don’t give up on me yet.  If anything blame Kooky, but then again maybe just blame Adrienne since we here in Lisanti Land have decided that all my problems and those of my friends in the last six months can be tied back to her in some way or another.  I know real adult.  Then again life is all about passing the buck.

Its not my fault. Never!

This guy must be a cable company executive. I bet he has money, hoes and rims.

The cable company is not going to get his guys balls...

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This Edition of Kooky’s  Korner Kooky covers a topic which I have benefited from many a time, Hitch Hiking.  In my opinion it is one of those throw back common courtesies that has been lost in today’s society.  There was a time when one could stick a thumb out and get a ride just about anywhere.  Sometimes new friends were made, ideas exchanged or at the very least a good deed done.  These days hitch hiking has gotten a bad name with all the crazies out there.  

The thing is how many people really get robed, murdered, killed or raped in comparison to how many do not from hitching.  I mean they don’t make reports on the news about hitch hikers who have no adversity.  I guess a few bad apples spoil the whole basket.  I personally am a strong advocate for hitch hiking being on both sides of the coin.  This is not my forum to write and Kooky did a pretty good job on the issue.  I will let him run on it…Chris 

What do you do when you see a person with a thumb out walking down the side of the road? Most people in America wouldn’t think twice about continuing driving, and most Americans wouldn’t hitchhike. Well I am not most people. I am Kooky Motherfucking Kyle.

 The first time I ever hitch hiked was in Belize my sophomore year of college. I had just taken a plaster cast of Jaguar tracks on the edge of a jungle road that ran into a nature preserve and was walking back. I reached the edge of the preserve and was walking along the edge of a massive orange orchard.  It just so happened that a field worker was rolling down the rutted dirt road on a dirt bike. He pulled over and asked if I needed a ride back into town. With limited time to catch breakfast, I didn’t hesitate.
I jumped on the back of the bike and we zoomed off down the rough road.  I only really started hitch hiking in my final year of college to cut down on my walks to class. Short rides really, maybe a half mile. They made my day. Often times it would be class mates slightly puzzled that I was walking back from class and even more so that I was hitch hiking. Lately I have been using it as a means of getting around town here in Santa Barbara (most often back from the Kitty). I have gotten rides from a French surfer, a cute girl in her mid twenties, a British guy and his girl, and a taxi driver who was “headed that way anyway”.
On the converse side I have given people rides before too. Once on the way to a regatta, I was in the truck pulling our crew team trailer. This old black man came up and asked where we were going camping thinking that the shells were canoes. Well it turned out he was going in our direction and had no problem riding in the bed of the pick up. One glorious thing about the south is people can ride in the bed of a pick up even on the interstate.
 This past spring I tossed an ad on the wonderful Craigslist and gave a hobo couple in their twenties, their dog and her 10 day old puppies a ride from Wilmington NC to Baltimore MD. It was cool they had a different path in life and were pretty interesting as a result. These people had hitch hiked across the country and back, hopped trains, totally transient.  Gnarly as they were, the chick had a Mohawk, the guy had tats on his face and a rat tail, they were good people. I asked them about hitching and they said the people who pick you up are a strange mix of Bible thumpers, concerned parents who see their kids in the hitch hiker, people who hitch hiked back in the 60’s and 70’s, and people like me who are just nice enough to give you a ride. I asked them where was it easiest to hitch hike,  the girl said that hitching was easier in the south, because everyone has pick ups and you can just hop in the bed.

The fact that hitch hiking is frowned upon in America saddens me. Have things come so bad in this country that we cannot trust one another? Sure I the rider might be a nutso serial killer, but they don’t know that you aren’t either. In other parts of the world it is still acceptable. I hopefully will be in one of those places this winter, New Zealand. I will acknowledge that hitch hiking is not the safest activity to partake in, but it is not nearly as dangerous as people make it out to be. Trust your gut instincts, it will usually tell you when there is something arye. So, share rides, you never know what interesting tale you may hear or what interesting person will pick you up – Kooky Kyle

I have to say that I myself passed by this dirty looking homeless couple along Sea Cliffs the other day and just by the look of them I could imagine the stench.  I shook my head and drove on by.  If there was a puddle next to them I probaly would have sped up and drenched them.  Then again I am a fucking asshole.

I dont know if you want to give this guy a ride, but you can decided that for yourselves.

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