Archive for June, 2012

I stood on a bench this morning overlooking the break at Mesa Lane.  It was tiny maybe knee to thigh at best.  The weather was absolutely gorgeous.  Fresh off a new hair cut, I took a deep breath of the warm sweet summer sea air.  There is nothing like the feeling after a good hair cut.  You look at yourself in the mirror when all is said and done and there is this sort affirmation “you have arrived”.  Alright maybe that is a little bit of a stretch, but it is what such means to me.

There  were two guys out making the most of the meager offerings, a grom and his mentor.  The kid was struggling to catch a wave, as I stood there watching his agony. The guy out with him pushed the kid into the next wave.  The grommie stood up and cruised across the the wave’s tiny face.  I let out a giant hoot so loud he probably heard it in the water.  At that moment I felt his stoke and reveled in it.  What a day, what a week, what a month, what a year!

I just stood there in utter amazement of how beautiful the world around me was.  The islands were in full view.  A speed boat with boards on top cruised by most likely en route to the ranch.  A pod of dolphins frolicked along the swell lines. There was an old man walking his dog on the beach and some woman a little further watching her three dogs running in a blissful caper through the surf.

A huge smile was on my face.  I could not help but laugh out  loud at both life and myself.  One year ago (I sort of judge my years now from June 1st to June 1st) I wrote this blog: “A New Normal: The One Year Plan“.  Ironically while checking my daily stats I noticed someone read that this morning and it got me thinking.  What a pathetic miserably sad state I was in when I wrote that on June 30th 2011.  Back then if one would have told me that I would be sitting here writing a blog like this I would have strangled them to death after which committed seppuku.

Last night at my weekly family dinner I have now been hosting for five months surrounded by five  of my regulars, who really have in my mind become family and three new comers to the table I raised a class of champagne and toasted to what is looking like a very bright future.  Before  we get there let me take a minute to remember how arduous a road it has been to get thus far in 2012.

There were plenty of proclamations made all of which were pretty much shattered about a day after they were made much like most New Years resolutions.  And yes more drinking ensued, but  it was more fun drinking then depression drinking and slowly but surely everyday I began to feel a little bit better and a little bit stronger.  I did let a few unworthy people into my life whom I carelessly mistook as having potential.  But that passed too.  We renovated the Lisanti Palace so I could wake up everyday to a respectable looking apartment and want to get on par with my new ambient.

March came around and I saw the departure of Kooky Kyle who if not for him I may not have gotten through November to March.  I was sad to see him leave, but happy to relinquish his duties as keeper of the Lisanti Palace.  He went on to conquer his own demons in pursuit of wanderlust.  You can read about his post Lisanti Land adventures in his occasional segment here on SurfingruinedMyLife.net Kooky’s Korner.

After Kooky the keys to the Palace, ha that’s a joke to anyone who has spent time here(or the butter knife we use to open the laundry room) were passed on to this guy Dan.  He showed up on the scene and met all the requirements I have for a roommate. He did not shoot heroin, smoke meth or crack or any other heavy drugs for that matter, had a steady job and kept his mess to his room and was gone more then home.  The guy was some type of ultimate frisbee champion or something.  I though whatever as long as he pays the rent.

Turns out the guy was alright with me and I guess we have become a modern version of the odd couple.   The thing about Dan is he is super positive all the time always building one up.  When he would come home and find me depression drinking by myself in the dark he brought me out and got my head out of my ass.  No matter what the guy always got me looking on that bright side of things.  He helped fill out my dinner parties and as a result they are becoming quite the event.  Last night I made four contrasting styles of pizza and calzones followed by a splendid peach and kiwi French custard dessert.

This kid Sean I have know for years here in Santa Barbara found himself temporarily homeless and I think every reader here should know by now that no friend of mine will go homeless as long I have a couch.  Shit I have three and a leaky blow up mattress.  Sean came to stay for a few weeks before moving back to Bakersfield with his dad.  As it turned out him and I had pretty much went through the same type of shit over the past year.  Empathy can be rapturous at the right time.  Sean did something for me no one had yet out of all the astounding people that came into my life, each whether negative or positive contributing to where I am right now.  Sean allowed me to open my mind to possibilities I had for far too long been too skeptical to believe.

Last night as I raised my glass to make a toast to my new life.  Before doing so I silently thanked everyone who had a hand in the moment who could not be at my table, in time order: Adrienne, Aniaya, Heroin Bryan, Silly Steve, Sleepy Time Nick, Jules, Rye Guy, Kooky Kyle, Sorbo, Calvin, Dave, Vespera, Danny Boy, Sean, Jennifer, Anna and my always everyday people Ryan, Lindsay, Mauriello who put up with my shit on a regular basis.  From all of these aforementioned people I learned a bit more about myself and capabilities.  A king is only as strong as his court.  Thanks to all these people I will never have to worry about walking around naked unless I so choose “The Emperors New Clothes” style.

What the fuck am I rambling about you ask?  I mean seriously right I have been muttering on for over a thousands words now.  Who do I think I am Faulkner or something.  Well, about two weeks I hit a serious cross roads in my life and was walking the fine line between cashing out on my life here in Santa Barbara, hanging my hat where ever the wind decided to blow me or continuing on the path I originally set out on two years ago when I quit the gas station and got back to cooking.  The whole “growing up” thing and creating a “real life”.  Ultimately I chose the the latter.  Its fine time I stop running.  Maybe this past year was my time in the rock quarry like my fictional counter part Howard Roark (The Fountain Head, Ayn Rand).

I began putting out my resume to anyone and everyone, for any job available be it dish washer, prep cook or chef.  Yesterday I got hired as sous chef at a small bistro in Carpinteria.  Now, its only a trial right now and Monday is my first day, but Westmont was only a trial and that seemed to work out.  All I know is I am ready to meet this new challenge and move forward with the rest of my life.  Enough splitting rocks for it is time to fulfill my destiny.  The best part is all of it is for me and no one else, not a woman, not to impress, but just for my own personal quest to cook the most scrumptious food possible while enhancing my own person skill set.  “Please allow me to reintroduce myself”  my name is CHRIS LISANTI and I am not small!!!

Ahhh yes, here is to the Summer of Alf.

Sometimes in life it is the path more traveled upon that is the hardest to follow. I think I have finally chosen the right road.


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This weeks UCB makes a winner of Kooky Kyle who at press time has quite the lead thanks to snagging some extra points. I post extra point questions everywhere on this site.  There is still one more extra point floating around that I will triple if anyone gets it.  It was like four or five blogs ago I think.  Also the power of ten for June is up for grabs, get those lists in before or on the 30th of they wont count towards this quarter.  Kooky Kyle’s suggestion was “International surfing Day”.  Now I may have wrote on this topic before someplace either here or back in the myspace.com days, but I have new ideas on the whole thing.  

First off International Surfing Day is a FAKE HOLIDAY that was initially created by the Surfrider Foundation in 2004 to boost beach related environmental awareness.  Beach cleanups, pledge drives, bbqs, earth conscientiousness and good vibes on the whole were had.  At the time I thought it was a pretty rad idea even if it was stolen from skate boarding.  Since the late 90’s on a random day towards the end of June an unofficial skate board race was held through all five boroughs of NYC.  The event was completely underground and on the appointed day thousands of skaters would show up and basically clog the streets of New York for a day.  Eventually word got out and International Go Skateboarding Day took its place all over the world. 

At first things were cool, simple and all in good fun.  Then the surf industry stepped in and said lets use this day to hock more product and make more money.  The Magazines jumped on the bandwagon, videographers, pro surfers, surf shops, surf schools and anyone else who makes a buck off surfing.  Today much like the actual sport of surfing International Surfing Day is nothing more then another American Hallmark Holiday (I will coin that one) but with out the cards, although at this point with Target and Macy’s, yeah Macy’s, embracing the surfing lifestyle to make major dinero its only a matter of time before Hallmark will be making “Happy International Surfing day” Cards.  

Maybe it can have a guy deep in the barrel getting burned by some yuppie kook on a fucking soft board arms all flailing going straight fresh out his surf class he paid some surfer business man $100 bucks an hour for.  Sto00000ke! Surfing is so cool.  Or it can have some dick head pro burning some average guy just happy to squeeze an hour in before work.  Either way nothing spreads the aloha spirit like ruining another surfers day.

Happy International Surfing Day!

Lets go back to the Macy’s thing again.  I was suit shopping there the other day cause they were having this crazy 60% off sale.  I actually found a really smooth Alfani two piece Charcoal Grey suit that I am going to wear to my cousin’s wedding at the end of August with a black shirt and red tie.  I am going to be styling.  As I am doing this I walk by an entire surf section with all the brands, Volcom, Quicksilver, Rip Curl, etc.  There was a giant picture of Mic Fanning on the wall, a poster of Taj boosting.  I almost cried then destroyed the place.  Instead I shook my head and was stoked to have disconnected myself from the surf materialistic world.  I feel bad for all my friends who own surf shops lord knows how you compete.

A sneak preview of my new suit. I looked like shit this day. I don’t trust mirrors so I always take photos whenever I am buying a high ticket item. You can imagine when I am all done up this is going to be the shit.

Did I surf on International Surfing Day you ask?  Well if you read the surflog on occasion you would know I did not cause I hurt my back trying to pull a Kerrupt Flip at New Jetty earlier in the week after getting all pumped off it when I wrote about in the most recent power of ten blog “I Gots Power“.  For myself and most serious surfers every mother fucking day is International Surfing Day.  For me it has been that way for 21 years.  I don’t need a special day to get me pumped to go surfing and if you do then you really need to rethink your priorities in life.  There have been a few times in my life when I had forsaken surfing and I was miserable cause I tried to prioritize my life more mainstream.  Then I readjusted my thinking and got back on the horse.

Yes I was a sell out for a long time.  I did the pro-surfer thing, the surf shop thing, and even the surf school thing.  These days I am a complete surfing recluse.  I wear all black wet suits, ride wide surf boards some with original art work done by my friends. I show up, go surfing then as fast I was there I am gone.  No or minimal surf clothing, image or fanfare.  If it was not for my neck tan these days one would not even know I surfed.  I think most people just believe I have some strange skin disease that only allows my head to tan.

Actually I got this chick at the bar the other night to fall for that and almost got her to pity fuck me.   I went up to this woman to hit on her and after a few words I could tell she was over it.  She was doing the usual looking around the club, checking the phone, I am over talking to you sort of thing.  I was about to leave when her friend comes up to me and like a total bitch says “yuck why are you only tan from the neck up?”.  “To tell you the truth I suffer from a skin degenerating disease called pigmititus and can now only tan on my hands and from the neck up.  Its similar to the skin disease Micheal Jackson suffered from.  I must say I am a little self conscientious about it and now you have embarrassed me and I must leave”.  I turned to walk away and she grabbed me and was all apologetic bought me a shot of Patron and then chilled with me the rest of the night.  It was classic.  Now I know how that dude in the wheel chair pulls all those chicks.   Stupid California girls, got to love them.

In a world where commercialism has taken over every facet of life (phssst if your a hipster, if the majority of the population has embraced your style then you are not too hip anymore) it is sad that surfing has been taken down with it.  On the up side with anti commercial warriors out there like Dane Reynolds and Bobby Martinez maybe more will follow and we can take back the soul of surfing.  In the meantime Taylor Steele made a film recently where he picked one random day and filmed surfing all over the world on that day. No special title needed.  Here is what International Surfing Day is really about:


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While its been business as usual here in Lisanti Land since our good friend Kooky left the couch and set out on his own personal solo adventure.  I thought since it had been some time since we heard from our good friend it be pertinent to bring him back for another edition of Kooky’s Korner.  Kooky recently was on an El Salvadorian adventure with another suringruinedmylife.net all star John Mauriello.  Yours truly almost pulled the trigger and jumped on this bandwagon as well, but unfortunately had previously committed to a Lisanti Adventure Tour that fell in the same time frame.  Here is an account of a surf adventure from two of my better friends, brothers even and “I mean that way black people say it cause I find it is way more meaningful that way”.  (Where is that from and who said it for an extra UCB point)….Chris Lisanti

Luckily, Maryland and New Jersey were hot and sticky as a crotch before I got on my plane to El Salvador; I can’t imagine the temperature shock John must have had coming from San Francisco. Everyone I know warned me about going there. “Dude it is super dangerous.” “Highest murder rate in Central America”. “60 guys out at every point” . “Locals won’t give you a wave and they will burn you every time.” “Man, I am El Salvadorian and the last time I was there I almost got stabbed for my wallet, I will never go back again!” Then again everyone warned me about living with Lisanti and I survived

After going smoothly through customs and finding my shuttle to the hotel I arrived to find John and his friend Jason napping in our room. They had already gotten a surf in and I was anxious to get wet so we headed out to the end of the street we were on and surfed this fun river mouth La Bocana. It is a very high performance rivermouth that is usually a rippable left and has the occasional punchy right. It felt good to get in and wash off the airport ride.

The following morning we checked El Sunzal, which looked mushy as hell but like it might get better on the lower tide. We had our morning session at La Bocana again.  It was pretty crowded with the locals really holding the peak and forcing us to take scraps. John stuck to the inside and got a ton of waves, I tried snagging wide ones like I did everywhere else I surfed this year and got nothing all that great.  Jason elected to sleep in. After Breakfast we took a little rest and then surfed Sunzal. It is a lot like C-street and according to John it is very much like Maria’s in Puerto Rico. I found my punchiest waves on the left. Regardless, it was a decent session and my best at the spot.

After the session John and I were on a quest to find something that was a little more high performance. Punta Roca was nearby and we were told that the bus was easy but the language barrier and John’s aversion to risky situations precluded us from going. Luckily some helpful locals told us it was super easy, just get the bus to La Libertad that runs about every 10 minutes and get off at the point. Sure enough it was that easy.

The bus dropped us up the street from the promenade that goes along the point and we started seeing small glassy lines peeling down it. We got to the top of the point and there was a pack of locals sitting up the top of the point and perfect barrels rifling down the line.  A few would be cut in half by some of the gnarly barnacle encrusted boulders but most would drain out for a long perfect little round barrel. Once past the boulders at the top it looked like the Cove at Rincon. This was the session of the trip. I spent a ton of time in the barrel (Jason saw a few of them) and did some of my best turns of the trip.

That wave is as good as anything in the States. Mid afternoon weekday crowd was totally manageable we shared it with a few locals and a knee boarder who absolutely killed it. One of the locals was the little Occy like goofy foot. The kid, Charlie, couldn’t have been much more than 14 but threw more water than most grown men, full on Occy hacks. Right before we got out Jason nearly ran a local over and got yelled at. Luckily I was already out. The boys cut up their feet pretty good getting in and out. John had a particularly gnarly gash on his foot that I had to clean out for him. If you want a visual picture the scene in Forty Year Old Virgin when Steve Carell gets his chest waxed.

After Monday we were pretty surfed out and luckily the swell was down for the next few days. We rested and recuperated. Unfortunately I made the mistake of eating some bad street food and started to pee out of my butt, so did Jason. Though it could very well be the photos I saw of myself surfing that made me sick. Jason changed none of his eating habits and just dealt with it. I decided to fast and flush it all out. It worked, but it eventually returned with an evil vengeance. On one of these lay days we met this Floridian Rory while at breakfast. The guy spoke the best Spanish of any American I have ever heard. “Hola, yo queero un Sandwhich cone eggs e….bacon e cheese, poor favor”.

Make sure you read that and pronounce it as if it were written in English. Anyways he sold us on the idea of K-59. He said it was a really fun wave and had no problems with a crowd there. On one of these lay days Jason and I ventured to the bar next door which advertised a wide beer selection and extensive liquor list. If you know me, you know I love good beer. We figured it would be all shitty Central American and Mexican beers. Were we wrong, 40 rums, and 30ish beers. And while they did have the smattering of tropical pils, which the Belgian bar owner said sound like tropical piss, they did have a good selection of European brews. It turns out they were opening the first craft brewery in El Salvador and were going to have the beers ready before we left. We tried those as they were ready and they were good. If/when I go back I am staying there.  It was awesome.  I am sure if I smuggle them some hops they will hook me up.

On Friday we decided that with Punta Roca being such an easy adventure we would try our luck using the bus to get to K-59. It was as easy as getting to Punta Roca it just required a longer ride and a longer wait for the bus. Rounding the last bend, we could see K-59 and it’s sister point K-61 through the forest. Upon disembarking from the bus we wandered through the maze of dirt roads down to the point.

The place definitely has potential but we didn’t score it. In the morning there was some morning sickness from the previous nights thunderstorms. The point is tiny maybe 75 yards long and the wave hugs it. There were a few but I was slow as usual and feeling a little weak from the whole not eating for two days thing. We got out and a local cooked us up lunch, which was awesome. While we ate john let him borrow his board and go for a surf. During lunch it was the best we saw the spot the bobbles were out of the wave, and the afternoon chop hadn’t destroyed it. When we got out after eating the place quickly stopped working. It was frustrating to say the least.

The weekend came with the swell and crowds. The biggest act of angry localism came Saturday morning when this kook dropped in on a local at La Bocana the resulting was a lot of screaming in Spanish and “todos cebollos” had to leave. Later the offending kook burned me at Sunzal. But the world is an odd place. Later that day I went to pull money out of the ATM after he had just done so. He left his card, giving me the perfect opportunity to inform him of his complete and utter obliviousness both in and out of the water. Sunzal was crowded as hell too. There were some angry longboarders who would yell at the people they dropped in on. One particularly surly one even shoved Jason. The best though was one dropped in on John. Over the course of the ride he tried to box John out of the wave, but John was having none of it. He just kept doing his turns and crossing the guy’s wake. Eventually they collided much to the delight of the local guide at our hotel and down the douche went. I am sorry but if you are on a longboard and shortboards are taking off outside of you, there is a problem. Apparently the assholes are weekend warriors from San Salvador who don’t respect anyone.


Sunday the swell really filled in with the afternoon being DOH at Sunzal. We headed to Punta Roca. A fairly empty line up and a few 10ft sets. Guess who was sitting in the parking lot. The guy who Jason nearly ran over. Like a pussy Jason looked at the ground and walked past. I made respectful eye contact and for that I took the lashing for his infraction and orders that we better be respectful or else. After informing him of the local’s instructions, Jason then paddled out straight to the front of the pack. If he got in any more trouble I would have thrown his ass under the bus and let him take the wrath that was due. It was a fun session until I met the rocks getting some nice cuts on my hands, arms and legs. Some locals got some footage and it was pretty frustrating watching myself surf.


Monday was another fun ass day at Punta Roca. It was head to head and a half with friendly happy locals; it wasn’t as hollow as the previous week but certainly fun as hell and rippable. Tuesday we went back to Punta Roca for another helping of racy rights. Light crowd and our new neighbors at the hotel were there too, complete kooks. One of them burned a local at Punta Roca and sadly did not have his face torn off.
The night before, these guys had gotten a hooker and ran the train on her. I guess that is what happens when you get old. You get married, have kids and then cheat on your wife with third world hookers while on vacation trying to escape your miserable life. It was funny talking to them telling us about their kids in a vain attempt  to be buddies with us.  Then one of them would come down shirtless and slap his buddy on the shoulder and say, “You’re up!” And the fat fuck would go off to get his turn with the worn out third world cooter.
Wednesday John finally came down with the shits. Jason and I left him miserable in bed and went and surfed the last of the swell at Punta Roca. It was fun, it was like the first Monday but not glassy. We had the place to ourselves with Ricky and Proctor of Proctor surfboards. They were very friendly and we all had a good session. Overall it was a pretty marginal session and when we got out it was terrible.
We finished our last morning with a quick surf at la Bocana and at 11 I got in the shuttle to the airport and went home. Flights are always a crapshoot. Half the time you wind up getting crammed between two pigs like you are headed off to the slaughter house or someone who wants to tell you their whole life story when you just want to sleep. Sometimes though you get lucky. The flight back was great; I sat next to the Guatemalan Ambassador to the US with a whole extra seat in our row. Then once in the US, I got to hang out with the former US Ambassador to El Salvador while we waited for our bags. Nice guy, turns out he was originally from NJ too. When he was in his youth he surfed back in the 50’s on old redwood boards and he used to surf with some of the classic surf characters of the era. All in all the entire trip was worthwhile, even as my bowels are slowly recovering from the traumatic experience. But now the question arises, where will I go to next? I am thinking somewhere with cold water…

Punta Roca, one of the Jewels of Central America

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So what if May came and went like 16 days ago?  In Lisanti time that was yesterday.  In geological time it barely even registered.  There were two lists submitted for May (John and Kooky) and it would be rather rude of me to ignore that.  Sorry Danny yours counts towards June.  I have to say I was less then impressed with either list, but Mauriello’s took the cake and as such he will be awarded two points for his actions.  Now don’t fret June is here and that means you can still submit a list and the points will count towards spring.  I have decided to end the Spring quarter June 30th instead of the 21st.

1. Toughest Air Grabs to Pull off in SurfingTen years ago if you could just pull a sizable air it was sick.  If you could stick a rotation you were the man.  Now if can’t stick an air reverse nine times out of ten and have some type of flip in your arsenal you might as well be a  a sorry excuse for a ripper.  A grab is done for two reasons: to keep the board under your feet better or to invert an air to make it even  more gnarly.  The two hardest in my opinion one of which I can pull off the other I cannot are Stale Fish in which a surfer uses his inside arm and grabs the inside tail rail.  I find this one to be somewhat easy backside, very difficult front side.  The second one I completely gave up on as a result of far too many shitty wipe outs: Kerrupt.  The Kerrupt began as a sort of inverted ally-oop flip that was known as the Kerrupt Flip. Then people started doing the grab in all sorts of aerial inversions thus making it a grab as well.  Basically you turn completely looking at your tail and grab both tail rails of your board while crossing your arms.  You need a ton of air to pull this and there is a lot of room for error and injury when you fail.

Stale Fish

Here Evan Geiselman demonstrates a perfect stale fish.

2. MasturbationWhat can I say.  I don’t think anyone is as big an advocate for masturbation then me, except maybe Kooky Kyle.  Men talk openly about it, women are more secretive.  The establishment would have you believe it is a shameful act.  I say why not pleasure oneself.  End of story

3. My type (In Terms of Women)This is with out a doubt one of those topics I have been pondering for sometime now, could be a blog in itself if I actually knew the answer.  Looks wise its not too specific although I do prefer brunettes over blondes, like a darker complexion. Them pale pasty folk confuse me.   I dig a petite figure that is well proportioned.  I cook Italian food so she has to start out small so that I don’t make her too fat.  Height is a big issue for me.  She needs to be no taller then around 5’5/5’6.  Im only 5’9 and bit on the smaller side for a man in general (don’t fret ladies my man downstairs is more then he needs to be).  I like to dress up and go out and expect the same for my girl.  If she puts on heels and is either right at my height or taller how is that going to look?  Like shit, that’s how.  Remember Tom Cruise next to Nicole Kidman and then everyone wondered why they got divorced.  Personality wise at this point its up in the air.  I’m a tough one to put up with so I guess if she can stand my bs at least half the time she would be a saint.  She must have a healthy sex drive.  That “I’m too tired” crap is not going to fly ever again.  I’m not saying I want a nympho, but would love it if she would be all over me for a change.

Tom and Nicole back in the day. Look its like he is her pet monkey or something. Not going to be me.

4. Real DollsThis is some twisted shit even for me.  Although if it was for me I could use the previous topic to order my own “perfect” woman.  A blow up doll is one thing.  That is masturbation with props, but this shit is heavy.  These look almost real.  Anyone ever see the movie “Lars and the Real Girl”? It was based on this premise exactly.  Its a really decent movie actually.  I need to get a copy of that.  If one of my readers wants to hook it up send it to me with a picture of yourself and I will frame it and hang on the wall in my living room and worship you like a false idol.

5. The Surf IndustryJust when I thought we were done with all the dirty talk John goes and picks the dirtiest topic of them all.  I’m pretty sure the surfing industry is run solely by the devil.  It’s a classic Adam and Eve situation.  The Hawaiians created this pure amazing entity, where all one had to do was cut down a tree turn it into a ride-able hung of wood and go ride waves naked. Pure and simple,  Men, women, children all living in bliss, one with the ocean.  hundreds of years later some imbecilic business man in a suit decided he could sell this wonderful life style to the masses and convinced the current participants at the time it was for the betterment of the sport.   I.e. Eve having Adam eat the apple.  Then the Movie Gidget came out and surfers were expelled from the garden of Eden forced to endure crowds, traffic, kooks, valley people, stand up paddlers, surf camps, and all the other current annoyances in everyday surfing life.

6. HaircutsI feel like this should be a given, but then I am constantly amazed at the number of people who don’t care about their hair.  For me its my vanity for sure, but deeper then that I have baldness in my family and thus far am hanging on like a barnacle.  I feel it is my duty in thankfulness of whatever higher power has allowed me such good fortune and take the best care of my hair possible.  A good hair dresser is an artist, pure gold.  My current one a profit of hair design.  Everyone who cares about their hair ought to have their own hair stylist only they will go to.  If mine moves away I may seriously consider relocating.  Tipping should 30%.

8.  InlandersThese people baffle me.  I will start with Valley folk and work my way completely inland.  If you truly love the ocean then living a mere 30minutes to an hour inland is a fucking travesty to your soul just to save a few bucks in rent.  I pay a shit load of money for my ocean view causing me to live way outside of my means.  Waking up every morning to the smell of sea and then glancing at it out my window makes it worth all the sacrifice and frustration.  Those people who have never stepped foot on the beach in their entire lives cause they live hundreds of miles inland well I will have to go with Meg Ryan’s line from “Joe Vs The Volcano” “I have no response to that”.

8.  South Swell Hype:  Its officially summertime on the West Coast of the US and that means South Swell season or in other words a ton of bullshit and lots of let down.  Maybe it you live from Huntington Beach and south the hype is worth something. North of that it is all lies and heartbreak .  Most times its just a reason for Surfline.com to get extra hits.  In Santa Barbara who gives a fuck unless you have a boat since the Islands block everything anyway.  If you happen to be lucky enough to have a boat or ranch access you will be welcomed by quite the crowd to reward your efforts.  If you live in the Southern Hemisphere good on ya, but here in California it is nothing but a bunch of bull shit.

Over hyped or not you cant beat a good day at Malibu with 500 of your closest friends.

9.  Having to Use a Bathroom at in Opportune TimesRead this blog I wrote back in 2009 for my thoughts on this topic: Bathroom Revenge and Good Times.

10.  Alfie’s New ToyAbout a few weeks ago I decided Alfie’s life was a bit too simple and needed some adversity.  I devised this diamond type contraption I built out of cardboard with a little whole on two sides just big enough to let out a small kernel of dry food if kicked in just the right combination.  It drove him crazy.  Now he has it down to an art.  He can get all the food out of it in under thirty minutes.  I guess I need to go back to the drawing board.

Alfie hard at work…


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I must admit the last two days have been tough for me mentally and emotionally.  I am trying to stay strong, but its hard.   Deliberately acting out of one’s naturally ordained character can be very trying on that same person’s animus.  I don’t believe I was predestined to be happy or positive.  Thus this thinking I could ever actually be happy is a rather big stretch to begin with.  

I always like to go back to the Aldous Huxley’s take on happiness in Brave New World “Happiness isn’t grand and can only truly be realized by the simple of mind”.   Then I read Voltaire who in Candide presents happiness as the ability to “Tend one’s garden” to best of his own ability.  Garden in this sense being symbolic for life in general. Finally I took a look at Henry David Thoreau and “On Walden” , his personal life long quest for true happiness being true to yourself and your own beliefs.  To be honest I don’t really know how happy Thoreau was in life.

Up until I read his works in college when I was younger I had yet to really find an author that veraciously embodied myself.  I could in some respect be his reincarnation if such a thing is possible (I have just recently been exploring the spiritual side of things courtesy of my new couch guy Sean).  What ever salvation or delirium he found it was by living rather simply and wandering.  Simple was the common theme here.  

Now I am an intellectually inclined person or at the very least would like to think so.  I will admit that yes I can be a very miserable person to be around.  In my childhood I was down right wanton to be around.  In many ways I guess I still am. I don’t believe I did it on purpose it was just in my nature to constantly shake the tree.  When such an action is taken the results are many times adverse causing my spirits to fall.  After a while I just assumed a negative out look on the world around me.  My mother once put a smile or frown face on a calender for a whole year to prove such a point.  

As I got older and did more reading, thinking, traveling and overall gathering of life experiences I came to realize that I should be able to control my own destiny and emotions.  Being such I got better at changing the way I saw things.  Looking through “rose colored glasses” so to speak, “the bright side of things”.   Its fucking hard.  I find myself constantly torn by contradicting thoughts and emotions.  I fight it well and really do try and stay in the positive frame of mind.  It has for the most part worked out for me over the past few years or so.  

Then there is surfing.  An entity in my life I curse as much as praise.  The most frustrating yet rewarding part of my life.  A true paradox, oxymoron.  Yesterday afternoon I was on the phone freaking out telling my mother I was ready to cash out on my life here in Santa Barbara and move on to either Australia or New Zealand.  I still may.  Then I went surfing and had a hell of a surf and my perspectives changed.  I was stoked, came home cooked a scrumptious dinner for my roommates,watched a Seinfeld and passed out merrily on my couch.  

I woke up this morning and scored really fun Rincon.  I’m not going to go into the details of the surf sessions you read the surf log for that.  It just sets my mind at ease.  These days even the bad sessions bring a sort of solace over me.  I was just talking to a buddy of mine who just recently got back from a surf trip and has yet to surf since.  The first thing I do when I get back from a surf trip is go for a surf if it is ride-able to wash away the annoyance of travel.  Its truly is my soul.  

I find myself constantly fighting this reality.  How is that my essence of being is locked up in a feeling that last no more then a fraction of a second at most times?  Yet it doesn’t.  For me that feeling lasts the entire day.  Even the memory or telling the tale of an epic surf rejuvenates me.  Then the question comes up “can I really surf the rest of my life”?  At some point my body will be too decrepit to remain and then what?  

At the moment I find myself attempting to build a life that would have me surfing less and less all in the pursuit of happiness?  Surfing for me is happiness.  Its crazy talk.  I look around at my current apartment and all the THINGS that I have, the furniture, wood floors I added.  “Nice things” as my ex-wife used to put it, some one who has definitely traded surfing for a “real life”.   In the accumulation of these nice things I have sacrificed so many hours of surf, and good ones at that.  Why?  So people can come over my pad and tell me how nice it looks and how I am finally an “adult”?  I could have surfed all over the world for over a year on what I spent to make this place look nice.  

At the moment I am working on a life compromise.  For me compromising is the hardest thing ever.  If there has not been much writing here lately I am sorry, but I have been working through many serious thoughts and emotions.  I have to lump the two together cause for me they are in most cases synonymous.  At the moment I am at a very crucial cross road; which ever decision I choose will with out a doubt decide the course my life for a very long time.  The decision I have to make is if what I should do and is according to society the “right decision” is the right decision for me.   Maybe I’m not suppose to have nice things. Instead maybe just maybe I am suppose to do great things.  If the ability to have nice things completely trumps my ability to do great things then something is wrong.  

“All men aspire to greatness, yet so few succeed”.   

Perfection is out there and for some reason I don’t think it is found in a compromise.

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Alright…I’m gonna write this..from a..stream of …….musical consciousness.
My beat..be.in..4/4 time..
Quarter note gets….65…..
Use this tune as your set…cause that is what I am talking in time toooo…ooooo
Oh yeah. Oh yeah
Im-a-talkin’ ’bout that…soooouulllll…..Muuuuussaaaaak…

Who better to put the soul on the track then D’Angelo?  Yeah that’s right not that many.  What am I rambling about?  I am talking about that soulful, easy groovin’ baby making music, that black music.  Yeah I know its been a while since I have written.  My only defense is that I have been bogged down in the out of control, door swinging in the wind life style all of you my readers have come to love.  I don’t even know where to start and I think that has been why I have not been able to get any constructive words on paper.  At the moment I still don’t have words for all that has happened in my life over the previous few weeks.  In the mean time while I compose myself and gather my thoughts and “mouth words” (two extra UCB points if you post in the comments where and what I am referencing in quotations.) you can enjoy this entry of Groovin’ High.

My new couch guy (yes that’s right after being vacant for over two months there is finally an intrepid soul up for the task of being completely Lisantified.  How many words have I made up here on SurfingRuinedMyLife.net with my name somewhere in them? Talk about great moments in narcissism), Sean and I were discussing last night how the majority of America has no soul both musically and symbolically.  America is slowly diluting human ingenuity, integrity and individuality.   If the government had it their way they would start mass producing man like the Mustang and Costco, but that is a master piece blog for another day when I am at my most anarchistic.

What does this have to do with Music or D’Angelo?  Everything.  Americans on a whole have no appreciation for really good, creative and authentic music.  All the people want to hear is generic bullshit that has been re-recorded, re-produced, re-mixed, re-masterd, re-cycled and spit out the back end so they can shake their ass on the dance floor to the same song all night long.  Face it right now the majority of new music being made en mass no matter the genre is complete watered down, inaudible shit.  That is why the DJ’s turn the base real high and load it up with sound effects to make you forget how bad the song your listening to really fucking sucks.  Then people wonder why I cant bring myself to do anything with music anymore. What’s the fucking point?

I was first turned on to D’Angelo while playing with the Proximity Theatre Group this past summer by the music director and in my opinion one of the more brilliant cutting edge composers I have had to pleasure of working with, Ken Urbina.  He had this pre and post show music mix that always opened with “Lady” another great one by this fat cat, D’Angelo.  I used to jam out to it back stage on my soprano sax before each show.  Since then I have picked up a myriad of tracks from him and still jam out on all three of my horns to them.  If I was born black I totally could have been blowing back up for all these guys, but alas I am just a white boy trying too hard as usual.

“Me and Those Dreamin’ Eyes”  is just such a passion filled tune.  That was the whole point of my ramblings earlier in this piece was how too many in this world around me lack passion.  “Whatever” although the one word phrase that should most likely go down as the tag line for my generation is a terrible state of being.  This is the kind music you get down with that special lady in your life to.  Slow dancing round the living room after a hard day at work, bumping and grinding.  Slowly caressing each other as clothing begins to be shed.  I hope you have experienced the passionate love making I am describing  at least once in your life.

When I had a girl friend there was nothing I loved more then sweeping her off her feet in a soulful dance unexpectedly out of nowhere.  Its a bit easier for me since I always have music playing in my house and 1 out 3 songs on my ipod is a soulful, baby making kind of song.  These days I just cross step and shuffle around my apartment by myself on occasion forcing poor Alfie to indulge in a dance on his hind legs with me.  It is after all “The Summer of Alf“.

I want to for a moment refer to the video for this tune as well.  Take a look just for a moment at the scene where this is all going down.  Notice how classy this little juke joint is.  I used to go to places like that to hear music just like this in NYC, NJ and Boston.  Take a good look at the clothing everyone is wearing.  Yeah that’s right they are all dressed fly as fuck.  I don’t see any flannel in this crowd, do you?   I love that the bassist is playing an upright.  When ever I show up to see a group I never heard play and I see an upright bass I know I am in for a solid show.  If I ever get shit going like I want this is the kind of place I want to open up.  I probably wont stay in business too long if I do it in Santa Barbara.

D’Angelo fucking shredding.

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