watchin wind blow out my window

sittin on a saturday wonderin what to do while Moe sleeps wrapped and swaddled like a banana. MF Doom rocks the computer speakers and outside the tree tops blow with the gusty south west wind -still naked . waves should be building. buoy is up to three meters at eight seconds. there should be a hamster wheel at a point a I know. walk to the top and get in. paddle, paddle, paddle against the current. snag one and milk it around the sections. get out. do over.  meanwhile Doom sings bada boom bada bing. the rats scurry under the sewer traps and the seaguls wait for summer for lotsa tourist scraps. some people do and some don't. the watchers are sitting at their screens right now.

just

like  me.

Doom and Sade move the next track through a double. why you've come this far I wonder? so I keep it going. remember that time when we went drinkin and ridin? you T -I'm talkin to you. don't remember what time it was. we were no-handin it down in china town and your front wheel turned and you went down like me on ice skates on winter ponds. then there was that other time -you ran into the back of that parked car and split your lip laughin through bloody teeth before we hit the next bar, bikes hung and locked on the fence to keep 'em off the sidewalk.

we used to drink heaps. "I'll get the next one" I'd say time and time again. and we'd talk about a whole heap of rubbish like some 20 somethins goin nowhere's fast. remember them days there? remember ten years earlier takin the door off your white vdub van so we could stick your motor bike part way in. power band kicked in 2nd gear and I'd almost get snatched right off the back. you'd be blastin the jumps with sneakers and shorts -no shirt no helmet. I was throwin down frontside slappys on the long yellow curb at the bank drive-through in downtown Bartow. the town was dead and dying. I was ready to exit but it would be a while still before I saw somthin new.

sunrise & sopes

florida in december

sunny and green. the big oaks bearded with gray spanish moss. on my run yesterday a four-foot-long otter crossed the road in front of me on his way to greener pastures and less slime covered lakes. cows. stray cur dogs in the yard. cans of assorted American beers fillin bags and crate. full belly bloated from too much of everything. uncle R. Grannie. pops and mom. Jack the furry dog lickin Moe's foot bottoms with love. brother and I winnin at bolas criollas. me talkin shit to my Dad as he smokes me on the court 12 to 3. beers with brother and sister. dominoes smakin the fold out card table and me gettin yelled at about "wakin the baby!" Matina making us all laugh to tears with pure charisma. fresh OJ from the trees in the yard. family. big oaks. spanish moss. no surf in the middle of the orange groves and forgotten phosphate mines.

last week's DIY

61 bottles of traditional red ale


board sock for my 5'8" fish -doubles as a body prophylactic

note B's print in the background. full image some other time with her permission.

human conditioning

paddled out into what looked like perfect overhead rights from the vantage of the bluff. I had the 6’3” under arm -shoulda had the 6’8” for paddle power. so much water moving made it hard to paddle for the 8 to 10 foot peaks. got stuffed a bunch. cut two slashes into my brand new winter suit with sharp glass fins. can’t imagine what woulda happened to my rear had I been skinning it. big bomb sets swept through the lineup. homeboy on the Flyer was in perfected position for a macker and rode it with style as we three sat on the shoulder in resigned drift.

paddled out again the next sunrise. walked down the trail, two boards under arm and a backpack with winter gear, skirting mud holes in the darkness. clean lines left over but all power gone now. big seals watched as Blacks and I shared the dregs of the previous day’s bounty.

saturday afternoon I bottled 61 red ales. it’s the second batch of brew for me and will be ready for tasting in the new year. six and a half percent power and of deep red colour. I hope it tastes as good as it looks. I’ll start a new batch as soon this one is ready to drink. maybe a dark lager.

professionally I stand at the threshold of dramatic change. the swing is dramatic –one way will be a working hell with a lousy work environment accompanied by endemic lifelessness and a demise of hope for self in the staff. the other swing, a new opportunity for me to write creatively for a living and perhaps still maintain a work life balance. or should I say a surf/work balance.

what would I give to be able to make my own hours and surf anytime the swell is running. at 34 I feel in better physical form than ever. and it’s strictly because of a surfing life. I am also more creative and surfing inspires me to write.

so any of you extremely wealthy folks out there who may be thinking about what to do with so much dough I have a proposition for you.

set up a trust that would pay me a humble salary so that I may focus on this surfing life and creating written works. in turn I will repay you by taking full advantage of a dream opportunity of a lifetime and transform myself completely into a finely tuned human. I will strive to achieve the highest potential of my physical and intellectual self to show that we have much more to offer than we are led to believe or allowed by our modern pursuit for the acquisition of wealth.

think of yourself as a muse, an investor in the human condition, in the dying art of personal development.

whadaya say?

diy IPA & heirlooms

my sweetest B got me a beer kit for my birthday. here is the first batch. it's an IPA and all the measurements before and after were good. tasted right too. two to three weeks in the bottle for the final sugars to give it some fizz and its testing time.

second fermentation at a steady 67F.


clean


final racking


puttin a cap on 'em


and today we picked our tomatoes. a cold north wind has been blowing for several days and the nightly temperatures are getting really low. we'll put this batch in the basement to see if they rippen. a big thanks to the man with my same name and birthdate for sprouting these beautiful heirlooms tomatoes. thanks Blacks for kickin down a few starts. sorry the summer was so foggy out your way eh.