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Posts Tagged ‘Party’

North County always reminds me that one can find empty perfection anywhere. Even in crowded ass California.

North County always reminds me that one can find empty perfection anywhere. Even in crowded ass California. Btw, its a bit bigger then it looks…

What a spectacle!?! Who what have thought such a thing would go down?  Certainly not I.  There I found myself with compatriot John on the beach at Davenport in the mist of an innocent surf check.  To be honest the surf was pretty bad at that point, the tide was a bit too high and getting fatter by the moment.  The wind had picked up out of the north west causing a bump and crumble from hell and the swell had appeared to have backed off, or was just not showing so great on the reef.  We ambled around the shingle for a bit in the hopes of seeing something magical.  What we ended up getting a look at was more like starring into the sun as she bent down to pick up a shell.  “You take a quick look and then you look away, it’s too risky otherwise”. I will just leave the rest of that up in the air for imagination and a laugh between John and I that pretty much set the pace of the entire trip.

Ahhha ha ha ha ha, pardon my brief sinister laugh.  I just was unable to contain myself.  This story all began just like many other summertime tales that involve surfing on the West Coast of the America, down off the coast of Anartica in the shape of some storm that sent crazy huge surf to South America, while gracing California with a nice groomed long period south swell.  My initial plan was to just stay home and take my chances with both Ventura and Malibu.  The period of the swell was a little long for River Mouth, but one can always find something to surf if he is keen.

Then on Tuesday July 9th the day after another less then stellar Trestles mission I found myself bitching to my boy John up in San Francisco just how much I hate the fact that I suck at surfing Lowers and dealing with the crowd there.  He mentioned the possibility of renting a car for the weekend and cruising down to either Santa Cruz or San Mateo in search of some empty reef surf.    It didn’t take much convincing to get me to make the drive north to join him in his endeavor.  Just like that I found myself on the 1o1 north heading to San Francisco.

You always see something interesting on the interstate.

You always see something interesting on the interstate.

I got up there in record time actually cracking city limits in just over four and a half hours.  Thanks to not properly following John’s directions I quickly became lost on the complete opposite side of the city.  Luckily with a little help from John I was back in the right direction and at his place only  with a thirty minute detour.  It was good to see my old friend and former surf shop minion.  I seem to find my way up there to see him once a year these days during either the spring or summer.  Santa Barbara pretty much sucks in the summer time anyway being that there is no surf to speak of and the majority of the town’s population, primarily made up of students bails for the summer.  Plus I don’t work and have nothing better to do either.

Early to Bed, Early to Surf

Just another empty cove off PCH. This one offered a very tricky to access right wedge.

Just another empty cove off PCH. This one offered a very tricky to access right wedge.

There are some places in the world where the surf actually stays clean all day or is better in the afternoon.  California on the whole with certain exceptions is not one of them.  This means if one wants to catch the best surf of the day he usually has to get up with the sunrise.  At one time in my life I was quite the early bird.  I used get up at 5:30 every morning when I was in my late teens early twenties, then it became 6:30, then between 7 and 8.  These days if I find that if I am out of bed and brushing my teeth by 8:30 I call it a “damn patrol”.  Hooray for laziness or maybe I just like surfing shitty blown out waves so that I can blame the conditions for the fact that I suck at surfing.  Whatever the case I can’t tell you the last time I have been up before 8 am for a surf.

As it turned out John was short a roommate in his place at the moment thus I actually had my own room instead of a spot on the couch.  I don’t really know if you could call it a room for that matter.  It was more like a walk in closet with a nasty stained full sized mattress on the floor that may or may not have wished to give me a social disease or two.  All of that was renting at the “bargain price” of $950 a month and I thought Santa Barbara was insane.  I have slept on a lot worse in my past.  Around 7:30 am there was a knock at my door and it was John looking to shred.

It was fucking freezing out.  I know Mark Twain once penned “The coldest winter I ever spent was in San Francisco” but this was ridiculous.  I am lucky I didn’t freeze to death in my sleep.  My poor dick had just about crawled up into my body like a scared little turtle.  What better way to warm up then to pull on a 4/3 and boots and jump into equally freezing water.  Oh and I guess one can completely forget about seeing the sun up there.  The entire time I was in the city it was foggy and grey.

Lefts galore. Just another empty beach break.

Lefts galore. Just another empty beach break.

We loaded up and headed down the PCH to find something to surf since Ocean Beach was not doing it one bit.  That was fine by me.  I love that stretch of coast  between San Francisco and Santa Cruz.  The Pacific Coast Highway just weaves in and out of all these cool pristine beaches, coves, points, reefs and river mouths.  On the whole most are unscathed by the stain of man.  Its food for the soul in my book.  The thing about this coast is that there are actually so many options to choose from it can drive a surfer mad.  My rule of thumb is never drive away from something fun.

From the get go we had Waddel Creek in north Santa Cruz County in mind because of its variety.  The place has an array of reef peaks, a river mouth peak and a beach break all with in walking distance of one another.  There is something there to suit any surfer of any level.  For the entire trip the place did not disappoint.  From fun rip-able reefy lefts to left beach break keggers, to kill-able walls to boost-able stupid close outs.  It was a party that allowed us two very keen sessions.

A kegger about to scream  down the line unridden at Waddel Creek.

A kegger about to scream down the line unridden at Waddel Creek.

Thanks to hard afternoon on shores we had to settle for a small protected cove in San Mateo County called Grey Whale Cove.  This wave was average at best and reminded me lots of Mesa Lane here in Santa Barbara.  It was consistent and had some really good corners.  I had two good sessions there, where poor John on the other hand had a hate session.  All and all I would say surfing wise I could not complain.  For details on these sessions consult the July ’11 Surflog dates 7/11-7/15.

Grey Whale Cove, this place looked like Point Dume except it broke more like Mesa Lane.

Grey Whale Cove, this place looked like Point Dume except it broke more like Mesa Lane.

Fancytown is a State of Consciousness (or lack there of), Not a Specific Location

Now how could I ever visit a major city or anyplace with booze for that matter and not party?  Friday night after an amazing day of surfing, charged up, John and I bought a bottle of Bacardi from the corner bodega and decided to cut loose on the town.  Unfortunately time and bus schedules were not on our side.  We had to make due with the legendary (according to Kooky Kyle, whom I found out had never actually been there) Buck Shots, John’s old college hang out.  College season is over at the moment thus leaving us in a dive bar with a barely palatable DJ, dingy picnic tables across the bar, dead animals on the wall and two forms of skee ball.  Shit, I might as well have been in a shit hole in Asbury Park, New Jersey.

Speaking of dead animals here is a picture of a sea otter skeleton that we decided to put sandals on.

Speaking of dead animals here is a picture of a sea otter skeleton that we decided to put sandals on.

I got wasted so who really fucking cared in the end anyhow.  I went to the bar to order a drink.  They had $6 double shots of Bacardi.  As the bar tender was pouring the top fell off the bottle and I ended up with a brimmed glass.  He was going to pour it out and start a fresh one.  Luckily I caught him and got way more then I bargained for.  From then on I was on the out skirts of Fancytown the rest of the night.  Besides a game of skee ball against John, which I got my ass whooped in I would say it was a most uneventful night.

Saturday night one of John’s friends was throwing a birthday party in the Mission.  We assumed it was going to just be an apartment event on the small side and in my opinion lame.  When we got there the party was in an auto body shop with cars and everything.  Apparently they rented out the whole space for the night.  It was packed and there was an open bar.  Things were looking up.

The bar was packed so we ran across the street and bought a large flask of Captain  Morgan to satiate.  It was not long before I was in full on Fancytown and not long after that when I became the president.  At one point towards the end of the night I found myself behind the bar downing whatever was alcoholic, just fiending.  That was about the last thing I remember before winding up in a puddle of my own vomit on the sidewalk in front of John’s apartment.  I totally ruined my suit.  From what I heard I was pretty much a full fledged shit show and John was barely able to get me home.

Next morning I woke up around 1 pm still drunk and an absolute mess.  John had this look mortification in his eyes, still a bit taken aback never having seen me in full on Fancytown before.  As the day wore on and I sobered up I found that I must have hurt my foot in one of my falls on the way home.  There was no surfing that day for I could barely walk let alone surf.  I  probably would have drowned. John’s friend Marc said he got “white girl drunk” that night.  I suppose then I must have been crack whore drunk. You have to pay hard to play hard sometimes.

Styling in my suit before Fancytown took over.  Lets just say the majority of that outfit found it's way into the trash.

Styling in my suit before Fancytown took over. Lets just say the majority of that outfit found it’s way into the trash.

The Impromptu Jam

Sitting at John’s kitchen table hating my life Sunday afternoon I noticed he had picked up his roommate’s base and began noodling around.  His roommate, Jesse got behind the drum kit and shit got real.  Jesse had a saxophone and although a beat to shit student alto with a crap mouth piece and tattered reed I decided to pick it up and give it a whirl.  It had been two years since I have jammed with anyone and John and I have never played together in all the years we have been friends.

Sure we played nothing earth shattering and most of the time it was out of sync, out of tune and out of tune.  I was still drunk for most of it and was just thriving in the moment.  I think if we laid tape there would have been a riff or two worth something.  We jammed out on “I want you back” by the Jackson 5 for like ten minutes that sounded pretty tight.  After years of lots of serious play it was great to just kick back and make some noise.  Almost made me stoked I drank to much to surf that day.

All and all despite some adversity and a port-a-potty or two from hell it was a “most excellent adventure”.  Life can get pretty stagnant if you stay in one place all the time.  Every so often even if its only a few hundred miles away I must change things up a bit.  One thing is for sure when I ever I leave Santa Barbara it feels that much better to get back.  When I got home I cooked an amazing Shrimp Scampi (click here for my Scampi recipe) for both Heather and Bizarro and all was well, business as usual.  I am actually headed to San Diego with Bizarro for the next four days for some surf, party and Comic Con fun.  Look for a fun filled adventure blog on that trip soon or follow along with the surf log while I am there.
July_SF-095

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Aboo Seinfeld

 

What can I say for myself in reference to my lack of surfing integrity for the duration of the month of November?  I think my friend Babu Bhatt has summed up my discontent above.  Then again it is still the “Fall of my Malcontent” till December 21st so fuck it.  There are a lot of factors I would like to help share the blame with me this month.  I am not passing the buck for I have always lived under the guise that we create our own destiny.  First I would like to thank Bacardi for coming out with Oakhurst their amazing version of spiced dark rum.  Nothing gets the night started like a rum and coke or two Lisanti style. 

While I am on that subject let me commend Albertson’s cause for whatever reason a handle of Bacardi is always at the affordable price of $18.99.  Fuck it has been on sale at that price for the last five years!!  I am glad that inflation has yet to turn its grubby paws on to alcohol.   When the world goes to shit and whether it happens on the 21st or not life as we know it is a very limited prospect, let there be plenty of booze to get us all through it.

Let me also bestow the bulk of my salutations on the Wild Cat.  Thanks for all the ridiculous nights of party, even the ones I can’t remember cause in all likely hood those were the best or worst depending on who I talk to.  Its funny how a pint glass or two full of rum and fire ball shots or two can do to change a person’s judgement.  I have an idea lets create a whiskey that tasks like candy.  Yeah that’s not going to cause any black outs.  My new friend Chris for always being as drunk or worse off then myself and my neighbor Griffen for not drinking allowing always for there to be a DD. Both these fun characters have helped up the ante.

All the party aside, which I believe it or not have gotten under control.  I choose whether or not I want to get fucked up and am completely cognizant of what I am doing.  At the moment that scene has filled a certain hole in my life and compared to last year at this time I must say things are much better and improving.

Early in the month I sustained a rather painful injury when I broke my pinky toe on my left foot while landing a frontside air reverse in the flats at Silver Strand.  To make matters worse some drunk bitch stepped on that same toe by mistake in high heels at the bar as I was trying to leave at last call.  The heel ended up ripping all the skin off the upper portion of the toe along with most of the nail.  As a result I was out of the water for a solid seven days of which there happened to be a small but adequate NW swell.

Finally mother nature decided to give up on us for the latter portion of November here in the 805.  If it wasn’t near flat conditions then it was crazy high tides, bad winds, cold mornings, fog and rain.  With my motivation to surf waning at the moment all that adversity did not help things any.  I must say as of press time I have been surfing a bunch more and am super stoked about it.  Here are the numbers for November and yes they are some of the poorest I have ever come across since I moved out of New Jersey.

Number Surf Sessions: 15
Actual Days Surfed: 14
Total Time Spend in the Water: 26hrs
Number of Waves Surfed: 348
Average Waves Caught Per Hour: 14

Spots Surfed:
Rincon: 5
Mesa Lane: 3
Emma Wood: 3
New Jetty: 1
Jalama: 1
Pitas: 1
Hammonds: 1

Top 3 Sessions (as per the surflog)

3) 11/21/12 AM Session: 2-4ft, Rincon
Time in Water: 2.5hrs
Waves Surfed: 26
My boy Trevor hit me up this am and wanted to car pool to New Jetty.  I hate showing up with another person, but it does fit into the rule of two and he is a carp-o local so I figured why not.  On the way we noticed there was way more west swell in the water then yesterday and checked Rincon. Turns out it was pretty solid although a bit wonky, with more bump and crumble then I would have liked.  We started in the cove where I banged out three solid ones.  I had one where I opened with a three foot gap air, landed cleanly on the other side of the peak then hit it top to bottom six times before sticking an air reverse to end it.  Then I went up top where it was bigger but way shifter, more sectiony and hard to line up.  Still I got a handful of gems before taking my last wave from low Indicator all the way to the highway.   My legs hurt so bad I could barely complete an end section floater.  There is more swell on the way!!! RINCON!

2) 11/24/12 AM Session: 2-4+ft, Jalama
Time in Water: 2hrs
Waves Surfed:23
Reports all looked rather small for the 805.  My boy Dave confirmed some poor looking New Jetty.  Conditions for Jalama looked decent and there was just enough SW and NW on the buoy to entice me.  Also I thought it would be a treat to take West up for a north county adventure.  Sure enough it turned out to be one of those beautiful days up there.  The air had to be 80, the water high 50′s and crystal clear azure, oil glass and some fun albeit drained out chest plus lefts and rights.  The crowd was super light.  In California to have decent waves to yourself on a nice Saturday during a holiday weekend is absurd.  It was a bit inconsistent but if you waited there were some good ones.  If I was solo I would have stuck around for an incoming session, but I figured I should take West into the Valley and show him some of the other treats SB has to offer.  Surprisingly he like Solvang which I think is the most tacky tourist trap in the area.  Then it was home where I served up some tasty egg plant parmigiana. All and all I must say it has bee a nice little “staycation” as a friend put it.

3) 11/22/12 PM Session: 3-4+ft, Mesa Lane
Time in Water: 1hr
Waves Surfed: 19
Wanting to get another surf in West and I cruised to Mesa and sure enough there were some really fun looking glassy bowls coming in all over the place.  Stoked we jumped in for the last hour of light.  I ended up frothing on it and got some really fun ones including a frontside tube that stoked me out.  After that it was Thanksgiving left overs for dinner followed by way to much booze and the Wild Cat.

With the WNW season in full force Rincon is finally starting to heat up.

With the WNW season in full force Rincon is finally starting to heat up.

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Whats left of the once picturesque mountain type.

When I travel I am not one to sit around get a sun tan, especially in a place I have never been.  For me its all about adventuring and true to the source my parents are the same way.  I guess that is where I must get it from.  We all had a serious urge to go check out Mt. St. Helen’s in Washington the site of one of the most violent volcanic eruptions ever recorded in north America back in 1980.  Although the explosion took place a year before I was born I picked up a picture book on the incident at a yard sale and it was one of my favorite books as a young-in.

The barren volcano among the green pine filled landscape.

My parents and I cruised up to the site of the blast and I must say it is a very impressive sight to behold for a number of reasons.  First the blast itself ripped off the entire top of the mountain.  Then the shock wave from it ripped down every tree within a 17 mile radius and scorched others with in 30 miles.  57 people were killed including the scientists studying the seismic activity at the time.  Now thirty years later there is actually some life beginning to take shape in not only the surrounding areas but even around the area just at the foot of the mountain.

It got me thinking about how life will prevail even in the darkest of places.  I took it further to symbolize how life goes on despite occurrences no matter how adverse.  As it turns out ground hogs who had been hibernating when the eruption took place and were then buried by up wards of 75 feet of ash managed to claw their way to the surface and helped to bring plant life back to area. Imagine how fucking pissed off they were to have to do all that extra digging only to pop up and find their home completely trashed.  Insects and bacteria did as well.  In a way it was like miniature model of how life came to Earth.

These tree stumps are all that is left of an old forest torn to pieces by the blast. If you look closely at the surrounding hills you can see hundreds of downed trees. Yet around all this death and destruction new life is starting to take shape.

After leaving Mount St. Helens we heard that in the town of Castle Rock there was a giant Rock that stuck out over 100 feet into the air.  We drove all over the place trying to find this thing only later to find out that it was in the center of the town but that trees have all grown over it.  I guess the Indians used it for navigation back in the day but hundreds of years later it is  nothing more then a hill covered in foliage. Talk about the tour book blowing it.  The town itself was this really quaint little mountain town one would expect of the area.  I think they should rename the town Tree Covered Rock so as to stop any future confusion.   That night I cooked us up a nice steak dinner over orzo pasta in a lemon basil olive oil sauce.

Oregon Wine Tasting

I have been as of late enjoying all different blends and varietals from both Oregon and Washington.  Being a wine enthusiast I just had to make my way out to the wine country for a tasting.  According to most sources it seemed like Mc Minnville, Oregon was the closest center for local wines to where I was staying.  We cruised out to do some tasting but as a result of heavy holiday traffic my parents and I did not arrive in town till well after 3pm and most tasting rooms in the area closed at 5pm.  My dad had highlighted a tasting room which his tour book said represented the broader spectrum of the area’s varietals.

It turns out that part of the world is know for their Burgundy like reds and pinot noir. Being from Santa Barbara I happen to come from a place that grows some of the better pinot noir I just had to indulge.  I started chatting it up with the sommelier and next thing you know she is pulling out vintages and blends not on the tasting menu.  Let me say I was very impressed.  So much so I spent a bit more there then I had expected to and joined the wine club.  Time was of the essence considering everything was about to close.

The sommelier recommended two more tasting rooms to check out one a personal friend of hers who specialized in Italian varietals,  barbera, sangiovese  and a blend.  My Italian pedigree made this one a must stop for me.  The wine maker was a total bitch to me the entire time I was there thus ruining my tasting experience.  I must say though her barbera was very good. Given her attitude I was not about to spend a penny at her place. I got one more tasting in that was average before the day was over.

The town on the whole was pretty cool.  It reminded me a lot of Red Bank New Jersey, this little artsy town near where I grew up.  I would have liked to have hung out there a bit longer but my parents were over it so back to Portland we went.

A Night on the Town

Initially when I booked my trip I was told that Vancouver, Washington was just “steps away” from the city of Portland.  I know people in the pacific northwest on the whole are taller then much of the majority of America but even for them the route to Portland needed some big steps and many of them.  I suppose it was about time I got a taste of my own medicine, “yeah guys its just down the street”.  The fact of the matter is in order to get to the city from where I was staying it took at least a twenty minute car ride and the crossing of two bridges.  Forget about public transportation. There were a total of three buses that got over the river.  Out of that only one ran on weekends and none past 9pm.

Basically I was trapped stuck at the whim of my parents.  I felt like I was 15 again except I did not have a bike or high school sluts to sneak around with.  After 72 hours of nothing but the folks and the sleepy town of Vancouver I needed to get out.  I needed to party.  My friend Grant from back in the day had too much  going on for us to link up for some debauchery.   About to solo it my good friend and UCB hero Mauriello said I should hit up his friend Lily from college who happened to just recently move up to Portland for work.

This is what I have been constantly preaching here people, the coconut wireless, friends of friends of friends.  My whole life I have benefited from the loose connections I have with others and in return have offered up the same hospitality.  Fact of the matter is if you were to hit me up in Santa Barbara and mentioned you got my info from a friend of mine as far as I am concerned you are now a friend of mine and I will do what I can for you.  Lily in this case really came through for me.

My parents and I were going out to dinner at this fancy over priced steakhouse Morton’s in the heart of the city.  I hit Lily up and told her I was in town.  She just happened to be hitting the scene that night too and clued me in to a hot spot her and a friend were at.  Morton’s by the way was terrible.  My filet mignon was over cooked and poorly cut and so were my parents’.  I could have made a better meal myself for half the price at least.  The wine was good.

From Morton’s I left my parents with the reassurance “I have no idea whats going to happen, if I’m coming home tonight, tomorrow, or if I will even survive.  I love you.” and cruised to the club.  The place was called Blitz and from the outside it looked like my kind of place.  Neon lights, sick music and I mean sick music.  The DJ was this black dude with dreads and he was fucking killing it.  I literally danced all night.  The bar was packed shoulder to shoulder making ordering a drink very difficult.  At first I was being all polite waiting my turn and in the process getting pushed and shoved by everyone in attendance.  Finally I put on my boxing gloves and fought my way to the bar.

Everything was so cheap compared to Santa Barbara.  A tall rum and coke and a shot ran me $10.25.  I know whats with the fucking 25 cents.  I left at the end of the night with a pocket full of fucking quarters.  I met up with Lily and her friend Melissa  and lots and lots of dancing ensued.  Melissa bowed out early.  Lily asked me if I was over it and I just looked at her and replied “who do think your talking to?”.  The club ran till two am.  There was in impromptu limbo contest that this Asian kid owned,  I got into a dance off with this random chick but then somehow lost her in the crowd.

Lily offered me up her couch for the night, which was way better then my initial plan to go home with a fat girl if all else failed rather then spend over $80 on a cab home.  Unfortunately Lily gave her keys to Melissa leaving us locked out hanging on the steps of her apartment building waiting for someone to hopefully show up.  At 2:30am it was rather unlikely.  Eventually Melissa called Lily to see if she was alright and as it turned out she was in Lily’s apartment all along and she passed us down the key.  It was good cause I was starting to get hypothermia out there as my alcohol blanket wore off.  All and all I would say it was a solid night of party.

Click here for par 3 where I will discuss my day of urban exploration in the city of Portland and the wedding.

My Dad and I in front of some new pine tree growth less then a few miles from the base of the volcano.

This is some Mexican guy with one arm in a cowboy hat. I like to imagine he lost his arm bull fighting but most likely it was due to a logging accident. Yeah, I’m an idiot but a romantic idiot…

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Who likes to party? We like to fucken party!

I have known this girl Micheala from my home town back in New Jersey since my buddy Bojangles dated her when she was 14.  Years have passed like their relationship.  Thanks to the wonderful internet perpetual waste of time FaceBook.com her and I began communicating pretty much right around the time Adrienne and I were falling apart.  It was nice to have someone to talk to especially someone who was an outsider to the situation.  When I was home in NJ over the summer playing some shows with a Santa Barbara based theater group, Proximity she took me around the NJ night life scene and even managed to get me to go out for a grovel  surf or two.  See A Trip Back East blog for more on that trip.

I was rather appreciative since Nick the Kook my usual partner in crime when I am back East was in Chile causing trouble.  You can read about his adventures on his blog Staywet.net.  The lazy fuck has not written anything in a while.  I need his incoherent stupidity to help myself feel better about the garbage I write.  As a token of my gratitude I offered Micheala a pass to Lisanti Land anytime she wished.  She had been claiming she was cruising for a while during her winter break.  I was skeptical.  People always tell me they are coming, but end up never making it, Keifer, Cory.  Cory may still be waiting for me to pick him up at LAX.  At this point he is like Tom Hanks in the movie Terminal.

To my surprise she ended up making it out here in early January and spent a solid seven days.  Now whenever I have a Lisanti Adventure Tour I always ask the recipient what he/she want to get out of the trip.  Santa Barbara is my town and if it is going down here and you want to be a part of it then more times then not I can make it happen.  My connections here get stronger every day and my own person wanderlust spirit has helped me to become a connoisseur on the town.  Whether it be surfing, skate boarding, wine tasting, hang gliding, sailing, island tours, whale watching, hiking, party, sky diving, breweries, events etc, I can make it happen.

Micheala was looking to surf and party as much as possible. These two options happen to be some of my stronger points as if this blog has not proved already over the years.  First night I had her at the Wild Cat sucking down rum and cokes with the boys.  I think I may have thrown in a round of Adios Mother Fuckers just for good measure.  It was a Sunday and those never disappoint at the Kitty.   A good time was enjoyed with out a doubt by all.

Next morning I had the day off.  The options were to either go down south and surf the beachies there or run up north to Jalama where conditions looked rather favorable.  I left the decision to her being she was a guest.  “I want to go get the biggest waves you can find” was her reply.  Remember folks in Lisanti Land one must always watch what they wish for.  We rolled up north and it was solid.  I was really only expecting chest to head high fun surf.  Turns out the beach break was easily 6-8ft and Tarantellas was breaking.

Like a bone head I forgot my wet suit back in Santa Barbara.  It was agreed that whomever got out first would allow me to use his suit between Sorbo or Kooky so I could get a few.  The gang paddled out at Tarantellas and were all rather shocked with the extreme gnarl factor and power of the wave.  Kooky fell in love with it.  Micheala and Sorbo found it a bit more then they were looking for.  Thanks to Kooky I managed to get a few fun ones too.  It was a splendid day on the beach.  Nice weather, good conditions and a very light crowd.  I think everyone had a great time.

That night Micheala wanted to keep the party going and then set the precedent that we were going to rage ever night till she left on Friday.  I do not think I need to tell any of my readers here about my party capabilities, but Micheala’s program nearly had me throw in the towel.  It was seven very exhausting nights of pure ridiculousness.  From druken fights, to samurai swords through living furniture, to urban golfing, calling a lady about her missing cat at 2am, throwing fruit and lord knows what else at one another on a drunken walk home, bizarre dancing on the cat walk and dance floor, vomiting behind dumpsters, after parties with Mexican gangsters.   You name it we did it that week.  Then after she left instead of taking the night off Kooky and I went out to the Kitty and I threw an after party that went just about all night with nearly thirty heads in attendance.  Good times.

Micheala also got a scrumptious home cooked meal from the Lisanti Kitchen.  By request Kooky and I served up grilled chicken pasta primavera in one of the best alfredo sauces I have put together yet.   Unfortunately thanks to starting up work at Westmont one meal was all I was able to prepare.  I had limited time to give to her tour as well.   She was an adventurous one and had no problem taking her skate board and meandering her way all over town.

She got a really fun day at Rincon where I believe she got one of the better waves of her life.  Learned first hand just how bad of a wave Leadbetter really is and got to sample my New Jersey wave away from home, New Jetty.  On her last night Sorbo and I decided to build a barricade of chairs to the ceiling in front of her bedroom door and then backed it up with the living room couch just to show our endearment towards her.  By far I think it was with out a doubt one of the heavier Lisanti Adventure Tours to date.  That’s the challenge out there for anyone willing to risk their skin in Lisanti Land, get more ridiculous then Micheala.

Here is a little slide show of some of the ridiculousness.

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The Lost Cat Video:

 

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I have written all this before and am beginning to sound like a broken record.  If such is the case so be it.  You know what one of the definitions of insanity is?  Doing the same thing over and expecting different results.  At this point in my life I have stopped expecting different results.   Maybe that means I am no longer insane?  Or at the very least not in the that sense.   I think I still classify for the derangement of the mind meaning.

I am not going to lie to you people I have been blowing it hard lately.  You know that New Years proclamation I made about  drinking less and putting my efforts toward more positive actions.   As it turns out since the first I have been partying harder then ever and drinking like a fish.  I must say that at this point I am for augments sake a functioning alcoholic.  I guess it was only a matter of time.  Then again through out my entire life I have went through periods of heavy drink followed by periods of relative sobriety.  Maybe this is just an up turn on the drink side.

Last night I went out to the Wild Cat full on expecting to get shit house wasted and throw an after party at the palace despite the fact that I knew it was the first day of school Monday and that I had a 7am class.  End result of the festivities was finding myself doing vodka shots at 6am while Kooky prepared to go to work.  Needless to say I did not make it to class instead sleeping the entire day away.  The good news is I won the urban indoor golf game we played at 4am to the enjoyment of all my neighbors trying to get some sleep on a Sunday night for their Monday work days.

A few weeks ago I would have been shocked that I would do such a thing. Not this morning.  Nope, everything that went down all the way to this chick I was sort of into hooking up with another friend of mine right in front of me was not surprising at all.  I have truly become one of those Santa Barbara loser idiots I used to make fun of.  At this point I am working on becoming a complete waste of space.

I had this realization of how hard I am currently blowing it in life as I  stood there mid point this afternoon at El Capitan watching five guys enjoy small little waste high plus peelers.  I sat there holding my wet suit still a bit drunk taking it all in.  The green grass rock speckled ground under my feet, the setting sun and subsequent orange sky, the fact that I could not see anything around me but trees and rolling green hills with a llama ranch on it.  And of course the waves.  El Capitan is perfect.  I mean perfect.  Watching the waves break there is mesmerizing.  I don’t think there is a surfer alive who would shake a stick at it.

The cool wind felt amazing on my face.  I took a deep breath of the fresh air.  This is what life is really about I thought at that moment.  This is what I should be doing.  I am better then some alcohol swilling miscreant of the night in a vain attempt to drink my problems away.   Why had I let myself get to this point.  The in shape motivated 22 year old professional surfing Chris Lisanti would slap the shit out of me if he got into a time machine and saw me, himself and what I have let myself become.  I don’t know if I have found rock bottom yet, but I am for the most part at the moment  existing at the bottom of the barrel.

I tugged my wetsuit on and jumped into the water.  My head hurt a bit from both hangover and dehydration.  I stroked into my first wave, a clean waist high peeler and cracked off three solid turns.  Then I started catching a bunch of fun ones dismantling each with a solid backside attack.  Things made perfect sense out in the water. If only I felt the same way on land.  There in lies the problem perchance.  I have been spending far too much time on land and far too little in the water.

Towards the end of the evening as darkness was settling in Kooky and I post change stood there in solitude watching one last perfect little set peel down the point.  I looked at him and said “you know I am better then all this”.  He gave me an approving nod.   We turned away and walked through the dark to the car.  I don’t have answers right now, only questions.     I can’t promise anything.  What I do know is that I can do better…

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Well It has been a while since I have wrote anything here, even on the surflog.  All I can say in my defense is that things have been ridiculous out here.  Between surfing, partying, renovations, one of the gnarliest Lisanti Adventure Tour yet and my work starting back up at Westmont I have been left rather exhausted.  Look for blogs about all of this very very soon.  Trust me it will be worth the wait. Here is sneak preview into just the brand of stupid insanity you can expect to enjoy:

If you can’t wait visit the January ’12 of the Surflog for a sneak preview.

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I have been scourging through the old Myspace archives to save some of my old writing.  So expect more blast from the pasts then usual.  Not to mention when ever I find myself lost in life I always look back to my past writings to amaze myself on just how little anything ever really changes.  This blog goes back to 2006. At the time I was surfing for this rinky dink small time NJ clothing company called Slide.  At the time I really believed in the thing and thought it had promise.  I dropped O’Neill to sign with them. 

They threw this elaborate party to promote the spring line at some swanky hip club in NYC.  It just so happened to be the same night and same club as Carmen Electra’s Birthday Party.  At the time I was on a hiatus from the party scene.  Being married I was trying to do the responsible settled down guy thing.  As you can see it did not work out, any of it, the wife, life or the sponsor for that matter.  Hindsight 20/20 right.  Fuck it cause I am still partying like a mother fucking rock star, but with out the money, glamour or accolade, but the same destroyed liver.  Who has it better then me??? I wonder!!!??!?

So about a month ago Mark Provost of Slide Clothing invited me to a party that him and Joe Delgado were throwing to promote the line.  He sends me this Evite invitation to my email. I had never gotten an Evite before and I thought it was rather impressive.  Just saying the word Evite made me feel important.  Turns out the party is gonna be held at this club in the Meat Packing District in NYC call AER.

I had no idea what to expect from this event so I decided that the only way to do a party like this was to bring an entourage and I immediately roused the troops.  I always try and roll with an entourage when I step out.  Power in numbers, well I say party in numbers.  If you bring your own little party to another party then you my friend have just made a better party.   My entourage included Nick Kiefer, Grep P., Sindia, Her friend Tina (Tina was this posh chick Sindia grew up with although the two were complete opposites. Her and I never really got along until about a year after this she took up surfing, cashed in her life and moved to Hawaii.  Not even I can hate on that kind of commitment to allowing Surfing to Ruin Your Life)  and her MYSPACE date James (who by the way was one of the most stylish Asian guys I have ever met I was from Jersey, we did not have very much diversity in the town I grew up in) and Tina’s Friend rachel.   The scene was set for a most interesting evening on the town.

Like I said I had no idea what to expect all I knew was that Joe was known for throwing legendary parties and that this was his biggest yet.  So we arrived in the city via train around 11pm and caught a cab to the corner of 13th and 9th where the club was suppose to be.  We got there and were totally not in Kanas any more.  I am talking like we just stepped into the Twilight Zone and were lost in Yuppie Town.  There were fancy resturants, posh clubs, well dressed people, limos and nice cars everywhere.  I was like fuck it lets get this show on the road.

Now finding AER should have been a piece of cake but as it turned out we ended up walking around the same one block radius for about 15 minutes. Sindia finally asked a bouncer from another club where this mystery place was.  He pointed around the corner which we had already walked by twice.

Now the only places on this block was a club called Fusion and another called CVB.   Sindia once again bails us out cause guys dont ask for directions and asked the bouncer at CVB where AER is (Damn NYC weird ass letter club names).  Turns out CVB is AER and that it is one of those NYC underground “It” clubs that does not need a sign cause its patrons are “cool” enough to be in the know. There was a time years before this when I was in the know.

This place had a line, but I was on the VIP list so there were no worries in my mind that we were getting in.  We get to the door and the lady with the list looked us up and down, rolled her eyes an said we had a bad girl to guy ratio and cannot come in unless we found 2 more ladies.  At that point we were on the street trying to find any 2 random girls to join the entourage.

This is where Tina’s Friend Rachel came into the group.  She jumped at the chance and grabed a cab across town to join us and boost our ratio.  AER and its contents was a pretty big deal at the time.  We got to the front of the line again, I have some words with the list bitch and she finally lets us in.  The next hurtle was if Greg’s fake was gonna get bythe bouncer or not.  It worked and we were in.

This is where the raping of our wallets began.  All the guys got hit wth a 15 buck cover charge and then we had to pay to check our coats.  The place is packed.  I am talking elbow to elbow, hard to get around packed.  Turns out the Slide party was in the downstairs VIP lounge. We meander our way through the club till we find an elevator that took us down into the VIP Lounge and the supposed Slide party (we had yet to see).  This room is packed too.  There had to be 200 people packed into a room the size of the surf shop.  The surf shop I worked in at the time was maybe just over 500sqft.

We made camp near the bar in an attempt to find a familiar face.  Nick went off and got an $8 beer.  My figuring was that eventually someone we knew would need a drink and have to show up at the bar.  After a half hour Greg was over it and bounced (not that I blame him cause it definitely was not our scene).  Nick managed to run into his ex-gril friend of 5 years who was with another one of his ex’s.  Whats the odds of that shit? Nick’s had his share of ladies.

Finally Nick decided that we should get wasted and always up making an ass of myself I concurred. See I told you some things never change.  Unfortunately our cash situation had been dwindled exponentially since we got to the city, but then a light bulb went on in my head: Bar Tab. Once again things that never change.  I pull my credit card out and told the bar tender (who was hot in a crack whore sort of way) to run me a tab.  Turns out you have to have $50 minimum.  I figured for 50 bucks we could get pretty thrashed.  Think about it you could pretty much drink yourself to death “Leavin Lost Vegas” style.  I now know after three years of trying that drinking yourself to death takes much more commitment then my wallet and personal triumph at suicide can handle. 

As it turns out it got us 3 rum and cokes and a beer, no one got drunk and not even a little buzz.  I decide we should cruise and try to find Mark and Joe to atleast get credit for being at the event.  Now getting through this crowd was no simple task and definately not for the claustrophobic.  Somehow we made it to the other side of the lounge where I see Joe mixing drinks and puring shots for some of the hottest girls in the room.

Turns out they were getting bottles of vodka brought over to them by the house all night and we could have been drinking for free. Now stoked that we could finally get some rounds free Sindia chimes in that her feet hurt and that she was ready to split.  Chicks always want to throw in the towel when the night starts getting good. Meanwhile I was just getting started, but when I looked to see what time it was my watch said 1:10am and we needed to be on the 1:41 Train which was the last one of the night.  Problem: Miss the train.  Solution: Party all fucking night till the 5am train shows up.

We had to make like Cinderella and book.  As we were leaving the club was even more packed and there were camera crews around.  I was like man the Slide party must really be a big deal.  Later I would find out that Carmen Electra was having her birthday party at AER that night as well.  Her, Dave Navaro and god knows what other famous people were there. If I had known that I would have fucked the train and just stayed till the club threw us out.  After all I did not get home till 3:40am anyhow.

Total Collateral wallet damage: $52.82 bar tab, $30 cover charges, $10 coat Check, $15 cab fares, $30 in Train tickets, $10 in gas and $60 for an outfit for Sindia. Over all I could have bought a board for what I spent at the Slide Party. Will I attend the next one you ask?

HELL YEA CAUSE THATS HOW I ROLL.

Turns out there were no more Slide parties since this one actually bankrupted the brand.  I like how I complained about all the money the night out costed me.  These days I do high roller nights like they are going out of style.  Shit my bar tab last month at the Wild Cat was over $400.  Its not cheap to party.  Forget about clothes, my wardrobe is always popping.  I try to figure out if I was better off back then or now?  Fuck I guess its not for me to decided and all I can do is move forward. 

 

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